The Violation of Storm
by Mecca
Prologue
(Skip to main)Ororo Munroe was glad to escape the burlap sack she had been bound in. She cried tears of joy, despite finding herself immobile. She paid no attention to her new bindings; she was free of the claustrophobic sack where she had been screaming endlessly over the last few hours.
Storm gulped down large gasps of breath, seeing the high ceiling above her. While she could tell she was being bound, she was no longer in a Small Place. This was something she could work with. She had never met a jail that could hold her. Only tight places where she had no room to move, no air to breathe, no space to breathe.
Her claustrophobic attack ended and she took stock of her surroundings. She seemed to be in some sort of video arcade, with lights and soft far-away sounds in a dark hangar. Like a carnival.
She was standing on a short platform, bound in some sort of pillory. Unlike a large wooden slab like they used in the Middle Ages, it was simply a plastic collar around her neck with two horizontal extensions on either side that ended in a wrist cuff. So her wrists and neck were stuck with her arms in a “gun show” pose. The collar around her neck was connected to some sort of stationary pillar. She tried to move her feet, but it seemed like her ankles were also cuffed and immobile. She was trapped, her heels stuck in place on the platform. Storm tried to stand up fully. She couldn’t, due to the pillory. She was stuck in a half-squat. The pillory prevented her from standing all the way up, sitting down, or even sinking down to a full squat on her haunches.
This was no problem. As the second most powerful mutant on the X-Men, all she needed was some inclement weather, maybe a lightning strike or two. Now that she could see her surroundings and was no longer captive to her claustrophobia, it was time to use her powers. Storm calmed herself and focused.
Her eyes turned milky white and… nothing happened. She could not feel the clouds or lightning being summoned. She couldn’t even read the barometric pressure of the room. The humidity of the room remained the same. Probably. She couldn’t tell if the local weather had changed at all, but it certainly wasn’t changing in the extreme way she was commanding. What was happening?
Storm tried to summon the winds of change again, and nothing happened. She was powerless. How had this happened? She suddenly remembered that Worthington Labs had been working on a mutant “cure.”
No way. It couldn’t be. Had they taken her powers? For good? She put her full strength in trying to break out of her bonds. Her biceps and thighs flexed as she put her full effort in breaking free. She moved maybe a centimeter, and only because of the flexibility of the hard plastic. Storm was in trouble.
She looked around for more details. This was more than an arcade. She noticed other women bound in similar bondage, some plastic, some metal. In any case, there were rows of women bound and they all seemed equally eager to break free of their bondage. Some looked like mutants she had seen before in her travels, but most she didn’t recognize. What was going on?
The pillar before her had two attached bottles, both labeled, LUBE. No, it couldn’t be.
Taking another look at the women around her, most were in some state of undress. All had their ornate costumes on, but many had their buttocks, breasts, and vulva revealed, with only a few completely clothed. A few were crying. No. No! Impossible!
Storm tried using her powers and then her muscles again to break free. Nothing doing. She was stuck fast in a half-squat. And she knew why: she was apparently a sex slave in some slaver’s dungeon.
Storm started to feel tears budding on her eyes. She shook them away. She had bested hundreds of powerful opponents, and she would break free here. She looked for more clues.
What was strange was all the effort that went into the bondage and decoration of each slave. All of the women around her had signs declaring their name as well as an identification number. No one was in front of her, but the woman to her left was in “Stand-022.” Posters on the wall… This was no ordinary creep’s dungeon. This was… this was a market. She couldn’t read the holographic sign above her own head, but she imagined it described her name and location. Oh god. She was not only a sex slave, she was for sale. She again tried to break free.
After a couple of minutes of expending her energy, she was still in the same position. The only solace she had was that she was still in her full uniform. She could feel the spandex covering her body, but she had to wonder… for how long? They were clearly going to rape her. There was only one thing left to do.
“Help!” she screamed. “Help! This is Storm from the X-Men, and I need assistance!”
The woman to her right shushed her. “They’re just going to gag you if you’re loud.” Storm heard a few other cries for help and saw no reason to quit. “Help! Please!”
After a few moments, she jerked suddenly as a woman appeared from behind her. Storm hadn’t heard her approach and the pillory was too tight for Storm to twist her neck to look behind herself. The woman was wearing a white uniform with purple trim that, in Storm’s opinion, left little to the imagination, even compared to a lot of the sexy suits that her coworkers wore.
“Miss!” started Storm.
The woman stuck a needle in Storm’s neck and depressed the plunger. Immediately, the superheroine felt weird. Her vision blurred and she was slurring her words.
“Whaaart are youuu doooing?” drawled Storm.
“Shhh,” said the woman, smiling. “It’s okay.”
Storm watched in confusion as the lady pulled out a pair of scissors, and began cutting Storm’s uniform. Storm was too confused and drugged to resist as the tight black material covering her left breast was removed. It seemed like no time passed at all when the woman cut the material covering her other breast. Her boobs now hung free for all to see. The woman stepped back behind Storm, moved the cape aside, and began cutting material above the small of her back.
“Skkklllh!” Storm growled, spittle bubbling in her throat. It was the closest she could come to verbalizing her dissatisfaction at what was happening.
“Stop moving,” said the woman. But Storm could barely move. She hung by her wrists and neck in her half-squat, feeling too disoriented to move. In fact, she was barely able to breathe.
With great patience, the woman continued cutting of Storm’s uniform. She placed a hand on the black heroine’s pelvis to keep her steady and began to cut around the mons pubis. Storm drooled angrily.
The woman stepped back and finished up, removing the panel of fabric covering Storm’s rear and ripping Storm’s panties away. Storm’s pussy and bare ass were exposed to the warm air of the hangar.
The woman reached for something and came back. “Hard part’s over,” she mentioned. She placed what looked like a bucket underneath Storm. Storm grimaced at the woman out of the corner of her eye. Given the strange woman’s professional speed and care, she could only hope this was for medical purposes.
Storm wasn’t completely wrong. Storm gasped as the woman stuck a catheter inside her urethra. There was an intense stinging. It was a sobering act and Storm felt herself coming to her senses. Tears involuntarily dropped from her eyes as her urine poured into the bucket. She closed her eyes in humiliation as the other women watched her piss. But the worst was still coming.
Once empty, the catheter was removed. The removal also stung, but Storm was glad to be rid of the cathether. The strange woman fiddled with her tools and soon she felt a lubed object slide into her rectum. No! she thought, Bastards!
The rectal catheter was inserted into Storm’s beautiful brown-eye. Storm seemed to silently curse at her as the woman inflated the balloon inside her rectum. This balloon was larger than a typical Macy catheter balloon used on babies and other unwilling subjects. In addition to keeping her bowels from leaking fluid, this huge balloon would keep her ass plugged tight until it was time to release. Even in her disoriented state, Storm could feel the enormity of the object in her ass. It felt like a jumbo-sized anal plug.
After inflating the balloon, the strange lady tugged hard on the hose. Storm grunted and her asshole widened a bit to show the balloon. Her anal sphincter then closed as tight as it could, pulling the balloon back inside her rectum, but staying slightly ajar around the enema hose. Her bowels were airtight. Time to proceed. The woman let the enema flow into her body.
Because of Storm’s upright position, the enema flowed slowly. To speed up the process, the woman squeezed the hanging enema bag, pushing the bag’s contents faster into the bound superheroine’s bowels.
Storm sat and sulked as the warm water filled her up. This was not her first enema, but she had previously only resorted to enemas when massively constipated. Storm had lost track of time, but was pretty sure this was unnecessary. This was done just to humiliate her, or worse, to prepare her for anal rape. She knew how the rest of this would go: letting the enema sit for 5-10 minutes and then a humiliating voiding of her bowels in front of everyone. The woman who had inserted her enema left.
For the next few minutes she tried not to think about which of the two possible reasons they were giving her an enema. Instead she focused on holding the water in. After ten minutes or so, a heavy cramp formed in her stomach. Storm was ready to release.
Her stomach was large and she looked almost pregnant. The cramp became severe, so Storm tried to expel the enema. She could not. The catheter balloon was blocking her evacuation. The drugs had worn off at this time, so Storm was completely sober.
For the rest of the enema duration, it felt like constipation. She had to go, and felt cramps in her stomach, but she could not defecate. After twenty minutes she gave up trying to push it past the balloon. She could feel her anus widening, but after much effort, she knew her muscles were to weak to push past the barrier. She simply could not dilate her asshole to the required width.
It was unfortunate that she needed to defecate, and now actually wanted to, regardless of the surrounding women. She was no longer embarrassed. She didn’t care who her would see. Instead, she merely wanted to end the sharp pains in her stomach. She bent and flexed in her bonds, sweat dripping down her face.
Over the next hour, her ordeal did not improve. By the time the strange uniformed woman came back, Storm was shaking and crying, whimpering about the severe stomach cramps. She was utterly relieved to see the woman and even smiled at seeing her tormentor again. Storm’s smile turned to a frown as the woman took her time in removing the balloon.
“Please, remove the plug!” the superheroine exclaimed. “It hurts!” Storm’s asshole widened and closed on the balloon, testing the elasticity of her own asshole as she pushed.
On her own time, the woman squatted down, inserted a syringe into the catheter, and began to deflate the balloon as Storm pleaded for mercy. Before the woman finished, Storm blew the mostly-deflated balloon out of her asshole like a bullet. The strange woman sputtered and fell back as Storm sprayed a vicious torrent out of her ass, followed by a large brown snake of a turd that mostly landed in the bucket below.
“Fuck!” the uniformed lady spat. She crawled backwards as Storm released a long satisfied groan.
The black superheroine continued relieving herself of the rest of the enema. Storm shuddered and grunted, spilling putrid water into the bucket from her overworked guts. She finished and a second wave of cramps struck her. She had nothing to push out, except a small dribble of water out of her massive brown anus. She crumpled as much as she could in her bound position.
The strange woman was aggravated, but the job was done. To punish Storm for getting her messy, the woman delivered a swift uppercut to Storm’s bare cunt. Storm whined and squeezed her thighs together in pain. Storm couldn’t fully close the gap between her legs because her ankles were bound to the platform, but it hurt. A simple punch to the pussy by a regular woman had hurt. Even though Storm didn’t have superhuman durablility, it usually took a lot to injure her. It was clear that she was now abjectly human.
What’s more is that Storm was now open to more hits, unable to even close her legs completely. However, the woman didn’t hit her any further. The uniformed lady simply gathered her tools and left, leaving Storm suffering through further bowel cramps as she dripped anal juices from her winking asshole.
***
Image by Sabu
S-A
BOOTH 424 DATA:
Subject:
Ororo
Monroe
Occupation:
Teacher
Hourly
Charge: $350.00
Acquisition
Date: 23/05/2020
Acquisition
Level: Very Hard
Physical
Characteristics:
Sex:
Female
Height:
5’11”
Weight:
127 pounds
Bodytype:
Slender
Hair:
White, tied in long ponytail
Eyes:
Blue
Age:
26
Ororo Munroe was still powerless, forced into a half-squat, and bound in a pillory attached to a stationary pillar. Parts of her costume had been cut away, revealing her breasts, genitals, and her full ass. She had no idea what she and the other bound women were doing here, but by the enema they had given her earlier, she had the horrifying suspicion she was now a sex slave.
What Storm couldn’t figure out was: why all the fanfare? High ceilings, large screens, food booths, complicated bondage… someone had put a lot of money into securing her. And while many found her beautiful, she was much more useful as a powerful mutant. Someone could capture her, control her, and use her as a soldier to lay waste to armies. And while it would be much worse for the world if she was used as such—forced to commit violence against innocents—the concept made more sense than her current situation. Just her capture, which she couldn’t remember, must have been expensive and incredibly difficult. Who would do all of this, just to have sex with her? Without her powers she was merely an attractive African woman with white hair. There were thousands of women like that who were much easier to kidnap. It made much more sense that she was being humiliated before her inevitable use as a weapon. Or as a bargaining chip in a deal with the X-Men. This gave her a certain sense of relief. Before her powers could be used for evil, she could find a way to break free, or even dissuade her captors of their evil plans.
Bright lights turned on above her and the rest of women in her row. Buzzes and dings of arcade games began sounding as neon lights of food booths turned on. The large TV screens showed other women in bondage, with flashy titles about deals and discounts. A bit of bile rose in her throat, but she remained committed to her desperate hopes.
“Good morning, First Shifters,” called a female voice over a public address system. “It’s ten to the hour, time to open up Sections 10 through 20.”
Storm saw a woman walking towards her, wearing the same white uniform with purple trim as the lady who had given her the enema. She was unlikely to help, but Storm tried anyway.
“Help me,” Storm muttered, as she felt the woman applying a warm, wet cloth to Storm’s backside. “Help.” The woman continued kneeling and wiping Storm’s vulva and anus, the wet cloth swiping the folds of her pussy. The woman looked up at Storm to give her a lascivious grin. She stuck her tongue out at Storm, and moved on to the next captive, saying nothing. “At least tell me where I am!” shouted Storm.
She and other uniformed women kept on working.
Storm spent the next half-hour in a panic. The signs were adding up that she was here for her body, but she refused to believe it. After all, no one had told her what she was here for, especially not the uniformed woman who had wiped down her body, but refused to answer her questions. Her mind was racing in a million directions until she was approached from behind by a man.
“Oh my God,” said a male voice, “it’s her.” Storm looked over her shoulder to see the image of a hipster-y man in the corner of her eye. Geek chic glasses, a teal Members Only jacket, a violet turtleneck and too much pomade in his hair. “It’s fucking Storm, dude!” There was apparently another man next to him, but she couldn’t see the second guy.
“Nice,” said his friend.
“What do you mean ‘Nice’? She’s it.” said the hipster. “The most powerful X-Woman, excluding Phoenix. And she looks perfect.”
Storm felt no sense of pride in these words. These were facts. She was powerful, beyond comparison. And she had a feeling this man’s obsession with her strengths would not be used to her benefit.
The hipster’s friend mentioned something about going to the “Overwatch” section and left, leaving her alone with this man obsessed with her. It was not the first time she had run into a fan, but it was the first time she had also been bound and powerless. This was not good.
“You fucking bitch,” said the hipster. “I really don’t need to do this right now. I didn’t come here for you.” He continued ranting to himself. Or perhaps to her? She wasn’t sure. “Fuck, you’re killing me. You’re not even that hot. I should buy you just to hurt you, then move on. But goddamn… you’re so fucking perfect.”
Storm ignored his nonsensical rambling. She needed to focus on getting out of here. This man would not help her, but maybe she could free herself. She struggled in her bonds once more. There appeared to be no weakness in her bindings. With no way to break free and no person nearby that could be reasoned with, she was stuck.
“Fuck you,” he said. With all of the hope in her heart, she prayed for him to move on to someone else. He clearly was not a regular fan. Why would he take interest in her? But then she heard the sound of him swiping a payment card in the pillar. A beep signaled a successful transaction. She braced herself for what came next.
Fingers traced the skin of her buttocks, leading down to her vulva. “Fuck you, you sexy bitch.” he said. “You made me do this.” It was happening. She was a sex slave. Not just to one man, but evidently to any man willing to pay the price. The Queen of Thunder had been reduced to a common prostitute. All was lost.
A finger poked into her anus and she gasped desperately. “Please,” she begged, without really believing he would listen. His index finger continued to sink into the soft pit betwixt her brown cheeks until it reached the knuckle. As he pulled out, her anus latched onto his finger like a hungry infant.
“Fuck you,” was all the man said. There it was. There would be no reasoning with him. It was happening whether she liked it or not. He squirted a couple splashes of lube into his hand and Storm immediately felt the cool, viscous liquid as it was slathered across her exposed bottom. She felt her right breast being gripped hard by his rough hands and her asshole felt a pressure of something larger than a finger. Strong hands gripped her haunches. She once more strained against her bonds.
Storm fell into despair. She pictured herself back in Egypt; independent and powerful. It was her happy place. Away from this terror. Back then she was free: free of obligations and responsibilities, free to do whatever she wanted, free to destroy any man who crossed her. She answered to no-one but herself.
She reawakened to her new reality. The man behind her was entering her ass. She was powerless to resist. And despite the large enema she’d received this morning, it was a tight fit. Two heavy tears dropped from her eyes. Other people walked by as this unimaginable transgression occurred. She could only grit her teeth as he began to anally rape her.
In the midst of this transgression, a thought occurred to her: this man was quite attractive. This moment was not unlike when she let T’Challa fuck her ass. That truly was a wonderful series of nights.
No! This was different! Storm focused on her hatred of the man who was inside her. But something deep within her mind kept distracting her. It reminded her of various sexcapades she’d had with strange men.
Storm resisted. Those times were different. Those were consensual. This man was raping her, and that was not okay. She shook in her bonds.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he said, gripping her waist and slamming his dick all the way to the hilt in her asshole as she choked on angry spittle. He withdrew and slammed in again. He was fucking her ass deep. Keeping one hand on her waist, he combed five fingers through her silky white hair. She whined impotently.
“Stop!” Storm cried. Heavy tears dripped down her face, and she didn’t care how weak she looked. She only cared about stopping this painful intrusion and the strange feelings bubbling up inside her.
Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that wonderful week when she had finally allowed T’Challa access to her ass. They’d had so much fun, testing the limits of their muscular bodies and expressing their love for each other, for hours at a time. She’d savored those moments, wishing to never leave T’Challa’s royal bed. And now her tormentor was evoking similar feelings as her ex-lover. In fact, she was getting wet, projecting her memories into the current moment.
But it was wrong! “Stop,” she mumbled again, now less angry at the man for raping her and more angry at herself for getting turned on. She didn’t want to enjoy this. She didn’t want her nipples to grow sensitive and eager for touch. She didn’t want her pussy to start drooling at this intrusion. She wanted to hate every moment, so that she would feel justified when she later tortured this man to death; after she had freed herself and brought destruction to this facility.
Yet while this man slammed into her backside, rippling her ample buttocks with angry thrusts, muttering about how hot and bitchy she was, the worst thing she could say to him was, “Hurry up.” The man laughed, unbothered by her empty threat.
Storm was astonished at her lack of backbone. It was impossible to destroy this man physically, but perhaps she could injure him verbally with the right words. Yet her last statement didn’t attack him, it encouraged him to continue, albeit with the caveat that he finish quickly. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she think straight?
Storm vowed to break her longstanding oath not to kill, as she wished death upon her rapist. He was slamming into the half-squatting Storm, and she could not pull away. With one hand still gripping her waist, the fingers on his other hand swam upstream in her ponytail, until he grabbed a handful of her hair at the base of her skull. She gasped, her body still lurching with every thrust of her rapist. This disgusting hipster was pounding her ass, against her will and she was encouraging him and reminiscing about previous consensual sexual encounters.
It was quite a sight to see. A powerful warrior, reduced to a mere whore to some mere man. While he was physically mediocre, she was a thin, muscular goddess in all senses of the word, and her her breast and ass meats jiggled tantalizingly and dripped sweat from the furious fucking of her patron. Her angry grunts and whines were becomingly increasingly gluttonous, adding to the erotic nature of the scene. He racked her body with his fucking, pushing her to stand higher and higher in her bondage, as the slap-slap-slap broadcasted their savage copulation. To a casual observer, it would be difficult to conclude that she was not enjoying this. Instead it looked like two lovers enjoying some hardcore bondage. It looked pornographic, not traumatizing. Her angry grimace appeared to display the desperate fervor of masochistic ecstasy.
All the while, no one seemed to notice the scene. Men and women alike traversed the aisles looking for food and unused booths, pausing only momentarily to watch with moderate interest a rando ass-fuck X-Men’s Storm. They then continued casually wandering around the arena.
“Fuck you,” she spat, feeling his rapid fucking warm up her ass. “Fuck my ass,” she whimpered, to her own shock. But she meant it. She needed to get fucked good more than ever right now. It was the only thing that could console her. It wasn’t the problem, it was the solution.
Her pussy was on fire, and the deep anal fucking was hitting a spot she didn’t know she had. There was still a dull pain in her ass, but it was outweighed by resplendent pleasure. Her tears of hate felt on the verge of being replaced by tears of joy as a warmth grew in her loins. Her nipples were hard. Goosebumps spread across her flesh. Impossibly, she was close to orgasm.
“Ah! Harder!” she cried.
She felt seed being spilled into her bowels. The hipster screamed in ecstasy, hammering hard into her asshole. With some small semblance of luck, his thrusts subsided before she could cum. He unloaded with a few choice curse words and uncorked himself from her tenderized rump. Storm calmed herself with bittersweet moan. She had survived without her body betraying herself.
It didn’t feel like a victory. Instead, it felt like a consolation prize. All she wanted now was more dick, and her patron disappointingly withdrew his, giving her a satisfied slap on her buttocks and stumbling away. Instead of wanting vicious revenge, she wanted more of what he had given her. She wanted to be used. She wanted to be buggered. And she wanted to cum. Even if it meant, gods be damned, this hipster coming back to visit her once more. But she dare not call to him.
Without someone to hold her up, Storm sank back into her half-squat, with most of her weight resting on the pillory around her neck. She felt his white come dribble out of her anus and onto the platform and floor. She wished he had lasted longer. She missed his dick massaging the depth of her bowels. She missed his surprisingly strong hands on her body, making her feel desired. A nice hard fucking could fill her up and make her happy again.
This place was breaking her.