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The Taking of Felicia Hardy	By : JayDee Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Spiderman Views: 74815 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man and Characters, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
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The Taking of Felicia Hardy - Chapter 2
By JD joandoe@gmail.com

Description: Continuing the sexual adventures of the beautiful Black Cat and the repulsive guard

Content Codes: M/F, rape, humil, creampie, toys,

Disclaimer: This story is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The author does not condone any illegal and immoral actions described. I do not own Black Cat, or the Marvel comics she appears in, or any other characters of the comics. Marvel comics own all that intellectual property. Everything I have written is purely fictional, means no harm, and again is solely a work of fiction. I make no profit from this story. Please read the story codes to ensure that you are not going to be offended by, or otherwise dislike, the content. The plot of chapters 2 & 3 requested by boomerjp after reading my first Black Cat story, he made me a cool picture in exchange!

The great heat wave that had pummelled New York City like the Hulk scratching his nut sack had finally broken. The weather had turned suitably autumnal. The city’s residents noted the change and wrapped warmer, hoping the winter wouldn’t be a total bitch. One resident, the stacked blonde reformed criminal, Felicia Hardy, noted that Ian Hunt smelled slightly less sharply rank as he rutted away on her. It was to her great and lasting shame that she too often experienced a great deal of pleasure from the unwholesome guard’s attentions.

Time after time she reached her apartment with her pussy feeling sore but satisfied against the leather crotch of her costume. An animal part of Felicia Hardy revelled in her submission to the vile man and his freakishly large cock. Ian’s sweat and semen had worked into the interior leather. He didn’t permit Felicia to clean herself before dressing and returning. If she ran into Spider-Man over some lonely rooftop then the true hero wouldn’t be able to miss the stink of hard fucking in a filthy room hanging about her. Ian had hours of footage enough to ruin her reputation, certainly, but Felicia could have overcome that if her spirit was unbroken. Instead, she’d been turned into Ian Hunt’s whore and served as his sexual property.

The first time the Black Cat had gone back to the warehouse where he worked, as he’d demanded, she found him nervously clutching his gun, with his knockout gas at the ready. After blackmailing the buxom beauty into sex, he had quite reasonably expected her to come with angry vengeance in mind. Instead, she’d blown him in his chair, sucking his mouth-stretching cock down until her face was again pressed in his stinking pubes. Felicia had followed up by riding his cock as he mauled her breasts and licked at her face. After that, they’d almost got a routine going although Ian seemed to be looking at new ways to play such as making her act like a cat for him, and wear a leash he brought for her.

As she headed back to the warehouse for another meeting, moving across the cool rooftops with speed, she had no reason to suspect the night ahead would be much different to what had gone before. Though she very much hated herself for becoming the ugly man’s slave, there was no denying her pussy was already growing slick with arousal at the thought of Ian’s huge tool. The way he stretched her out as he plowed her with his graceless roughness was powerfully arousing in Felicia’s thoughts..

Ian Hunt, perhaps the most worthless man in New York City, had indeed been very worried after his first encounter with the Black Cat. He’d barely slept the day afterwards - while his personal guilt had passed, he entertained visions of The Avengers smashing through his cheap apartment’s walls and beating all hell out of him. The image of a short stocky Canadian shredding his scrotum was a picture that particularly repeated in his mind.

When there was no snikt soundtracked castration in the first few days, he relaxed a little. He watched the recordings of him fucking the Black Cat over and over. He nearly reached the point of rubbing sores into his shaft as he jerked himself silly over the memories and the pictures and sounds. In particular, the Black Cat’s gasping acknowledgement of the size of his cock was nearly enough to get him off on it’s own. He lost concentration on his job, but failed to have any discernable difference on his effectiveness at it. When it came to the date he’d casually ordered her return to the warehouse, he got nervous all over again. He worried excessively that the Black Cat was going to setting a trap for him.

When, instead, the Black Cat slunk in, ignored his gun, and got down on her knee she felt a little better. As the masked blonde unzipped his fly and fished out his flaccid tool he felt a lot better. Finally, as she sucked on his cockhead while simultaneously slipping her costume off, he’d felt a whole lot better than that! As before, he enjoyed the look of disgust in her eyes as she found herself with her nose so close to his ill kept tangle of body hair and heat-sweat. He liked the feel of superiority the Black Cat’s eyes brought almost as much as the pleasure her skilled tongue brought to his new favourite organ.

When he wasn’t working, masturbating, or shoving too much food and beer into his mouth, Ian was on the Internet. Superheroine sex fantasy sites were his primary destination. Ian’s lack of class and intelligence had never previously endeared him to other Internet forum users, but his thread supposedly describing a fantasy about the Black Cat was an instant success, as was his plea for ‘what to do next’ ideas. The only thing that bothered him was the user MasterlessSamurai’s insistence that, if he were to have the Black Cat in his power, he would practice a certain act upon her until the cows came home.

Ian was against it. His reaction wasn’t as strong as to some Internet shock sites, but certainly he didn’t see any favour in the act. Still, as the months went on, he came round to the point of view. The most compelling argument in favour was that such an act was degrading and humiliating for a woman even if she was in favour of it - another example Ian saw in a similar light was golden showers. Some even argued the act was particularly sinful, against God - that made Ian laugh - and that doing it to an willing woman was worse than vaginal rape. Ian was finally convinced, and began reading up on techniques and advice until it was eventually time to go to work again.

“Hey, Hunt! Get over here, you fat slob!”

The manner in which his boss, Donny, and indeed all the other employees regularly addressed Ian was a sore point to his ego. They’d say that maybe if he’d been in any way likable they’d have seen him as a jolly fat guy colleague, instead of a creepy, smelly, douchebag. Nobody was polite to Ian if they could help it. There was one spotty teen at a pizza place who could say, “Here’s your pizza, Sir” with more contempt than a trained Broadway actor. Ian half hoped he was a trained actor, and that the little shit was permanently resting between roles.

As Ian waddled his heavy flabby body over to Donny, the fattest security guard in NYC reflected that having the Black Cat call him Sir was very much a high point of their relationship. There were other terms people had suggested on the Internet like “Lord”, “Master” and the like, but for Ian a simple “Sir” was the best of all options. The rest of the world had a deserved superiority complex towards Ian, but he could dominate a woman who was unquestionably smarter, sexier and tougher than him. Yes, hearing the Black Cat beg for his cock like a whore and calling him Sir was even better than jerking off.

“Yeah, Donny?”

“Got something for you - day shift already have ‘em issued. I guess you’re the only one who could properly call it a nightstick, huh? You’ll get a belt for it when I can get a special fat ass order from China!”

Ian hadn’t risen to his boss’s taunts in years. He just bottled the resentment deep inside. Donny had once nearly sliced a man’s face off, and he was only a small time mobster. Dealing with Donny was better than dealing with Orfanelli himself, who’d never bothered with ‘nearly’ committing acts of violence. The repulsive guard looked at the club-like weapon Donny held out. He wondered why they needed a glorified twig with his gun and gas, but Donny didn’t seem inclined to volunteer any further information. Ian didn’t like to mention that burglary was so unlikely at the warehouse anyway, because it would be a good way to lose his guard work.

“A nightstick? Sure thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. Try not to lose it up your ass.”

There was no denying that taking abuse from the world had gotten easier since Ian had somebody to shovel it down onto. As Ian took his nightstick back into the warehouse, he entertained an expansion on his plans for the Black Cat’s next visit. It’d be pretty funny if the next time he saw Donny the stick were imprinted with the Black Cat’s cunt juice. Ian grinned as he came to the conclusion that having the Black Cat turn the nightstick into a dildo was his best sex toy idea yet. It was even better than the latex horse cock he had considered buying online.

A couple of nights later Ian whistled cheerfully but tunelessly as the Black Cat arrived. His musical ability was as negligible as his other talents. As the high-pitched cacophony reached her, Felicia wished for earplugs almost as much as she occasionally entertained dreams of wearing nostril filters. She steeled herself outside the warehouse door, and then entered. To her surprise Ian had left a sign up just saying ‘basement’. The fat guard hadn’t fucked her in the interrogation room after the first night. He found the security office warmer and the chairs more comfortable.

His whistling grew louder as Felicia descended to the basement. She wore her full Black Cat costume as always on arrival. She didn’t expect to be wearing it for long that night. Felicia sometimes tried to foresee things Ian might come up with for her, and fully expected it to be only a matter of time before he made her dress in the style of other superheroines or fantasy slut costumes. For the moment, he liked seeing her arrive as the Black Cat. Her collar had a sturdier ring than originally; Ian’s leash-tugging had snapped the metal during a hard fuck a month before, but otherwise her costume was unchanged.

“I’m here, Sir.”

Ian stopped whistling.

“Of course you are, you filthy whoreian.” Ian had shamelessly stolen the fusion of whore and heroine from his Internet discussions, and utterly failed to see the corniness.

On the room’s metal table sat a hefty nightstick, which drew Felicia’s eye immediately. It was the kind of unskilled weapon that as either thief or heroine she would have had little trouble taking from and using upon its wielder. As Ian Hunt’s personal slut, she knew she would do what she was told. The large tub of lubricant also atop the table allowed her to form a very certain image of where the cold hard wood would be going shortly, yet she was only partly right.

There was little else different in the room, save different positions on the camera. Ian finished setting the tripods up as she turned her eyes back to the table. The final items on the cold surface were the dog leash Ian liked to attach to her collar, and a digital camera, which Ian had started recently using to snap off high res shots of things that he particularly liked. He already had hundreds of images just of Felicia’s shaven cunt on his hard drive. He’d photographed her body from almost every angle, before during and after sex.

Ian turned and pulled the Black Cat into his arms. He was already stripped down to his boxer shorts, and semi erect. As his flabby hairy gut pressed into Felicia’s shiny leather catsuit he got even harder. He groped her ass hard, pleased at the brief wince on her face as his heavy hands groped her buttocks through the resilient material. He was so eager to fuck; he nearly started pulling her costume off right then and there. Instead he released his bear hug, and sat down on one of the room’s fold out metal chairs.

“Chain yourself, Black Cat. Get that ankle back on your chain… Fuck! You know what I mean! I wanna hear it rattling when you fuck yourself with my nightstick! The key’s on the floor there.”

“Yes Sir. I’ll put on a good show. The nightstick’s not as big as your cock sir,” Felicia knew the kind of things Ian liked to hear.

“Oh yeah, you bet it isn’t Black Cat! You’re going to open yourself up for my cock with that thing tonight. When I slide into you, you’re getting my whole length on the first stroke!”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Felicia quickly cuffed the chain to her ankle. It was unbreakable to super criminals, and designed to be nearly impossible to pick. Ian pointed to the corner, and she threw the key well out of reach. As she secured herself in the simple bondage, it occurred to Felicia that she was submitting to an extra level of subservience to the lazy guard. She had a master who was too lazy to even tie her up before he fucked her. At least he just used her for sex, and hadn’t considered making her his domestic servant. Felicia had never been to Ian’s home, but imagined it to be less pleasant than landing in a dumpster.

Ian hadn’t even known the erotic touch of a woman until he captured the Black Cat. At 40 years old he had been an entirely less amusing virgin than Hollywood would have portrayed. Still, in the months of encounters with the blonde, he’d found that just watching a young woman move had a sexiness he’d not really noticed since his lonely teenage years. She was here to display her body for him; everyone else just got glimpses across the roofs. He motioned for her to dance and strip. The Black Cat ran her fingers through her hair, shook it wildly, and started.

“Get that costume off! It ain’t right you got more clothes on than me when I’m the boss here. Do it the sexy way. You’re good at getting naked. Lots of practice, right slut?”

“Of course, Sir.”

As things went, Felicia’s strip teases for Ian were amongst the least of the humiliations she submitted herself too. It actually made her feel quite good to strip off for such a visibly appreciative audience. She understood why some women went into exotic dancing when there were other options open to them. As she peeled the leather from her skin with graceful slow wiggling of her breasts and ass, the manacled Black Cat felt for a few moments as if she controlled Ian more than he controlled her.

“You’re stripping fast tonight! Can’t wait for my cock, huh? You love it don’t you Black Cat?”

“I can’t get enough!”

Felicia was still in her angular domino mask as she tugged the top half of her costume down. Ian grunted his appreciation as the Black Cat’s large pale breasts came into view. There was no sign of the light bruising his over-eager mauling had marked her cleavage with during their last bout of rough sex. He drank in the expanse of skin between her nipples, then barked another command.

“Stop stripping! Attach your leash, then get on your knees, crawl over here and blow me. You can get my boxers off with your teeth!”

Ian spread his sagging soft-fleshed thighs as wide as he could for the half-stripped Black Cat to crawl awkwardly between them. The leash dangled freely after she clipped it on to her collar ring. He caught the wrinkle of her nose as his stench grew closer in proximity. He’d make her pay for that by holding her face right in his crotch. His great heavy balls ached with their load of spunk. He felt ready to shoot as the Black Cat took the stained, crusted material of his shorts in her mouth and tugged. She pulled gently at first, then harder, but with Ian’s great ass weighing the bottom of the boxers down - and his oversized cock tenting them up - she made little progress.

Ian wanted Felicia’s full lips wrapped around his cock. He grabbed his boxers in irritation and pulled them down enough to reveal his cock. As the elasticised hem caught the crown, his shaft slapped the Black Cat in the face. The accidental impact was heavy enough to rock her back on her knees. Ian’s chubby fingers caught first her hair, and then the leash as he pulled her back to him. Her reluctance to be so close to him was as much a turn on as ever, and as soon as the Black Cat had her mouth around his swollen cockhead he forced his way fully into her throat.

Felicia had grown experienced at taking Ian down into her gullet, but it was not a pleasurable experience for her by any stretch of the imagination. His rough body hair and scratchy pubic bush ground into her as she swallowed him to the balls, while his too-fast thrusts threatened to deprive her of breath for longer than was healthy. He seemed so over-excited this time round it was more like a face fucking than a blow job, though he couldn’t lift his ass enough to thrust up. The leash hampered his efforts and he dropped it for another handful of hair. Felicia adjusted as best she could, hoping his stamina would stop him soon enough. Her eyes watered heavily, and tears splashed Ian’s thighs as he impaled her face repeatedly onto his shaft. She rested her hands on her thighs, and resisted the growing urge to lash out or pull herself away.

Animal grunts escaped Ian’s mouth in time with the slobbery sounds coming from the Black Cat’s throat. His mind was so aflame with the fantasy he was going to enact that night, that the present oral pleasure was needed to tide him over. He was actually rougher than even he realised to the extent that the Black Cat suddenly moaned with-pain and then gagged hard. She almost never gagged on his cock anymore. The vibrating moan seemed to tighten his balls as her gullet squeezed his shaft. Ian released his grip on the platinum blonde strands of hair so his slut could fall backwards.

The brutal throat fucking had left Felicia short of oxygen. Her face was flushed darkly as she rocked back on her heels to draw a great groan of a breath. At the same moment the sight, sounds and recent sensations combined to drive Ian to his first climax of the day. Minutes earlier than he had hoped, his spunk shot out in a great spurt across Felicia’s red face and into her gaping mouth. The follow up spurts were almost as powerful. The Black Cat caught Ian’s strong smelling seed across both cheeks and her forehead. The hot creamy facial began to slide downwards immediately.

“Wow, Jesus…” Ian muttered, before managing to raise his voice a little, “you… you can get the rest of your costume off now. Leave your… collar and the leash. I still want to see that nightstick up your cunt, Black Cat. Just because you’re such a cum junkie you couldn’t wait for me to paint your face doesn’t mean I’m done with you!”

The fat man’s last words were almost inaudible as he broke off to catch his breath again. He felt sure he’d be able to get hard again at least twice more before he had to send the Black Cat away again. Twice more was all he needed. When he raised his head again and focussed on the Black Cat, she had finished removing her costume and taken a seat on the edge of the table. She had her legs spread, letting him see the moisture already glistening along her slit. It looked like the superheroine had the measure and heft of the nightstick already. She reached for the tub.

“Not the lube. It’s there if you really need it, but I’ve been thinking and I believe you can get it smoothly in and out just using your spit and your own slutty arousal!”

“Yes Sir. I’ll do my best, Sir.”

Felicia realised that Ian was probably right. The Nightstick was narrower than his cock, and the smooth varnish-like finish on the wood should ensure if she got herself wet enough it would go up into her. If he made her lick it clean, it would taste better without lubricant too. She could feel that the wood was cold to start with, but no worse than commercial sex toys - and she’d used a few of those in her time. As Ian tugged his boxers fully off, she rubbed the smooth round end of the nightstick up and down her pussy. It actually felt pretty good moving near her clit, and drew an appreciative moan from her.

The erotic sight of the Black Cat masturbating for his entertainment meant that Ian’s cock never even got fully soft. He felt it growing again after only a few minutes of the collared blonde babe working the hard wood into her pussy. Her moans and groans seemed sincere rather than theatrics for his entertainment, while her pale breasts were flushed and her nipples erect. He imagined Donny’s reaction if his boss came in now and saw the use that Ian had put his nightstick too.

“Do you like fucking yourself with my nightstick?”

“Oh yesss…”

Felicia had found an angle that really hit the spot, figuratively and literally, and the arousal-dampened wood stretched her pleasantly enough. Her body heat soon warmed it to a more acceptable temperature, and Ian was quickly forgotten as she rocked herself pleasurably against the table. She found one hand was enough to draw the nightstick in and out of her pussy, while she could use the other to probe around her labia or clit and then play with her nipples. She was dripping wet and groaning loudly when a heavy hand grabbed the nightstick. She opened her eyes to see Ian’s fingers wrapped tightly around the slick wood, right against her cunt.

Pulled up short as she felt the stirrings of an orgasm, Felicia Hardy came closest yet to lashing out violently at Ian Hunt. She fought his grip for a half second, and then released her own. He yanked the nightstick from her cunt with an audible pop, and tossed it noisily down the table. Her frustration lasted just a moment before she noted he was hard and ready to fuck again. She grabbed his cock with both hands and pulled him towards her throbbing cunt.

“Please Sir! I need you in me now! Fuck me hard!”

Ian didn’t need to be begged twice. Her pressed his great bulk against the firm bodied blonde. They groaned together as she guided him to her sopping entrance. True to his promise, Ian gave the Black Cat his entire length on his first hard thrust. She was so wet and ready that there was only the barest stretching as he sheathed himself in her. The Black Cat wrapped her limbs as much around his fat torso as she could, and in just two thrusts he had her howling like an alleycat with her delayed climax.

The metal legs creaked worse than the chair as Ian pressed the Black Cat down against the table. Her substantial breasts were crushed near flat under his hairy man boobs. Her eyes were rolled up, and she knew pure sexual bliss as Ian fucked her hard and drove her orgasm onwards. Her cunt gripped him fiercely as she came, but his own earlier climax gave him the edge to hold off and keep fucking her. It was a high point of Ian’s life to have this hot little bitch screeching away as he banged her. There were few contrasts in life greater than her slim beautiful body and his in-all-ways ugly obese frame.

Felicia Hardy perhaps realised deep inside that it was sensational orgasms like the one racking her body, which kept her coming back to the fat guard. As ugly as he was, as badly as he treated her, he was hung like a horse and had quickly learnt how to use it. Though he got off on treating her like dirt, she undeniably got off on being fucked like a two bit whore. He’d turned her from a flirtatious goodtime girl into a shameful slut.

The Black Cat’s legs seemed to be trying to cram Ian deeper into her. As he thought about how her reluctance to fuck a guy like him had become instinctually sluttyness, Ian felt his balls tightening again. He fucked in shorter strokes, rubbing the head of his shaft as deep inside Felicia as he could get it. His seed surged again along his shaft, and exploded with only a little less force across the Black Cat’s tight vaginal walls and cervix. He’d always refused a condom, riding the bitch bareback the way he wanted.

“Come in me, Sir!”

Felicia had to breathe shallowly as Ian’s strength deserted him for a moment, and most of his weight pressed down squarely upon her. She was relieved a minute later when he slid off without suffering a heart attack, and pinning her to the table. The platinum blonde’s breasts shook on her chest as she caught her breath anew, to the sound of Ian collapsing back onto the chair. As ever after Ian made her come, she felt a stab of shame in her heart. The shame was even worse this time as she recalled too clearly the genuine eagerness for him to bring her off after he had denied her the nightstick orgasm.

Little did Felicia Hardy know, the worst shame was yet to come...

Continued in Chapter 3

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The Taking of Felicia Hardy