The Erotic Avengers: Mindfuck

Chapter One

Midland City, 10:36 PM

The neon night skyline of Midland City glittered like lube under a strip club mirror ball, sweltering in the summer evening air. The kind of heat that clung to the skin like a needy ex. Asphalt sweated like a drunk uncle at the titty bar buffet. The air was thick with humidity, every breath a mouthful of cherry vape, body spray, and crotch sweat. The whole city pulsed like a dirty thought. Velvet ropes lined pavements outside clubs called The Slurp Tank, The Sin Bin, Fuckhut and Analectric Avenue. Girls with high heels, low necklines and lower morals laughed on street corners. Guys with even lower IQs and high libidos revved muscle car engines, windows down, bass heavy trap music and talk radio blaring across the street. But in the heart of the Media District, from a rented radio booth on the 17th storey of a high-rise owned by Midland's hottest talk radio broadcaster '69.5 Oral FM', one sultry voice cut through the noise of the city like a stiletto heel through hot body butter.

Doctor Penelope Price, neuropsychologist and renowned celebrity sexpert, leaned into the mic with a slow, deliberate exhale, a smile curling the corners of her plumped lips like a cat who just knocked over a fishbowl. The red "ON AIR" light glowed. The line clicked.

"Welcome back, lascivious listeners," she cooed, her tone smoother than a silk glove wrapped around a lubed-up cock. "You're listening to Deep Inside with Doctor Price, and tonight, gird your loins because we're talking about compulsive masturbation. Again. For the fourth night in a row. Because apparently, Todd just can't keep his hands off his hog. Todd, you're live."

From behind the glass at the other end of the studio, Kate, Penelope's redhead deadpan, dead-hot but long-suffering producer, didn't even look up. She just raised an eyebrow and sipped an "Irish" almond milk latte from her 'it ain't gonna suck itself' novelty mug.

Penelope chuckled low as Todd's rhythmic, strained breathing came over the line. Her thighs crossed beneath the desk, the delicate fabric of her pantyhose making a soft whisper. Penelope was 28, with a degree in Analytical Psychotherapy from the prestigious Roxford College of Medicine; or as she told her colleagues and friends, she had a degree in Anal. She was short and slender with a tousled bob of auburn hair framing a face that could make grown men weep from their cocks, lips that could suck a rugby ball through a garden hose, and a body like Michaelangelo's wet dream. Tonight that body was poured sinfully into a tight white blouse buttoned so low it technically qualified as a vest, showing her tanned toned midriff and almost all of her tits, an expensive black suit jacket, and a skirt so short it wouldn't get into any of the rides at Disneyland.

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to the kind of husky, wet velvet register that made perverts fall to pieces.

"Todd. You've called me three nights in a row. Are we really doing this again?"

On the other end of the line, there was the faint rustle of sheets and the unmistakable wet, fleshy slap-slap-slop of a single man's entertainment.

"H-hi, Doctor Price," he breathed, heavy, grunting. "I, it's just your voice... it's like, like a dog whistle for my dick..."

"Darling" she interrupted, her tone half-mock, half-molten, "I'm flattered, but if I had a vibrator for every man who came to the sound of my voice, I could build a fucking novelty xylophone."

Kate snorted into her coffee. Penelope reclined in her chair, legs elegantly crossed, one stiletto dangling with lazy, predatory grace. She took a long drag from her passion-fruit vape and exhaled. "Okay, Todd," she purred, breathy, "My voice appears to be a trigger for your uncontrollable onanism so let's work through your little issue. I want you to listen to me not as a sex aid but as an instructor, take a deep breath and not touch your cock."

slap-slap-slap

She sighed.

"You're touching it, aren't you?"

"... I can't help it! You said 'cock!' That's so hot! Say it again?"

There was a strangled groan from the receiver. He was close, again. Probably had a whole graveyard of shredded tissues around him. Penelope rolled her eyes and focused her senses, reaching out beyond the high rise to wherever in the city Todd was rampantly throttling his dick.

She closed her eyes.

Psychic waves shimmered from her mind like invisible sex pheromones, latching onto Todd's wriggling, overworked little consciousness. He gasped. The slap-slap of his fist on meat paused.

In his mind, Todd saw a hallucination, a vision so realistic it seemed impossible; Penelope, on her knees in a candlelit boudoir, her mouth slick and smiling, lipstick smeared, tits bouncing as she pumped her fingers into her shaved, sopping tight cunt while whispering, "You're such a dirty little cumslut, Todd... mommy's proud."

"There you go," she whispered, still perfectly composed in her booth. "Take your hands off your cock, Todd."

"Fuck Doc..."

Penelope narrowed her focus.

In Todd's mind she was on him now, her mouth on his cock, swallowing him all the way as her head bobbed up and down with expert precision and perfect pressure.

"You're not touching yourself, are you Todd?"

"No Doc but... auuugggg"

There was a wet splurging sound as Todd shot his load everywhere, and a second later the call disconnected with a click. Penelope shook her head.

"Every damn time," she muttered with a grin. "Midland City, stay tuned, we'll be right back to cure your sexual dysfunction together right after these messages from our sponsor."

A jingle for 'Loveslick Lube and Toys' twinkled from the monitor as Penelope removed her headset. She stood up, stretching like a cat. Kate cracked the booth door.

"Well, another one busts a nut, as Queen famously sang."

Penelope chuckled and adjusted her tits.

"It's not a show unless someone ejaculates live on air. How much time we got? I could use a pee break "

"Thirty seconds til air," Kate shrugged. "You could always piss yourself live on air, we'll mic up your pussy and your leather chair and I swear the listenership will rocket."

Penelope chuckled.

"We're not that desperate for ratings are we, Kate? I'll hold it."

"Your loss, people love ASMR for some fucking reason and besides, we could make a killing on adult diaper sponsorships. Fuck it, sit your pretty arse back down, Doc. Coming back live in five... four... three..."

'So next time you're stuck in a rut, stick it in your own rut and slide it in easy with Loveslick Everlasting Lube! Because Wetter is Better.'

Kate gave Penelope the thumbs up through the glass. She leaned into the mic with the casual confidence of a woman who knew she had the listeners eating out of her... hand?

"You're still deep inside with me, Doctor Penelope Price, Midland City. We're still on the topic of chronic masturbation; helpless, mindless stroking and fingering, wet and hot and uncontrollable... so let's take another call! Our next caller," she suppressed a chuckle, "Is facing financial ruin thanks to his helpless addiction to goonong over OnlyFans models, is that right caller?"

Click.

The voice on the line wasn't the usual breathless beta looking for permission to blow a load; no. This one hissed.

"Well, well, Doctor P," the caller rasped. "Heard you help the hopeless. Maybe you can help me warn the hopeless WHORES who drained my bank account that their days are numbered!"

Penelope's brow arched. Kate shot her a look through the glass.

"You sound upset," Penelope said, voice silky but cautious. "Why don't we unpack that, together?"

"Oh, I've unpacked it, alright. Unzipped it. Y'know how many hours I spent stroking it to Samantha Squelch? She's the one who does nude cake-sits in clown makeup. Bitch made me throw thousands her way to show me her asshole stuffed with icing, and what do I get? A butt full of Marzipan! I'm allergic to almonds, how am I supposed to nut to nuts?! Or what about Vanessa Taint, that greedy little gremlin who charged four hundred bucks for a fart in a mason jar? I got one hit off that and barely the time to shoot one load and bam, gone! Let one rip? More like a rip-off!"

There was a wet splatter as Kate choked on her coffee and sprayed the window of the booth. But Penelope kept her voice calm, but her spine straightened.

"I see," she said slowly. "Sounds like you've had some frustrating financial experiences."

"Frustrating? I mortgaged my mothers bungalow for these! A grand for Carly Clamp's 'Nutcracker Sweet' Christmas special video, and it was only fifteen minutes long. And what am I supposed to do, Doctor; not pay them? It's the only way I've been able to get off. I used to be a man, Doctor Price. Now I'm a paypig with a bank account as drained as my ballsack."

The voice dropped, dark and sticky like venom.

"Well no more. Cos now I got a new kink. Punishment! And it makes me hard, yeah, makes my snake rise! Midland City's gonna feel my venom, baby. The whores. The streamers. The sploot-girls. The ASMR Piss girls..." Kate, wiping the coffee from the window of the booth, mouthed 'told you' at Penelope. "They took everything. So now, it's King Cobra's turn to rise!"

Click.

The line went dead. A beat of silence.

"Alright, Midland City," Penelope breathed. "I guess jerking off isn't always enough to relieve tension. Let's take a moment to decompress after that incel call and we'll be back after these very important messages..."

"Crackpot," Kate laughed as she entered the booth, taking a sip from her mug again. "King Cobra? What is that, a sex toy?"

Penelope stood, lips pursed. She adjusted her skirt, clearly unnerved, but masking it in a swirl of mystery.

"I think I need to go for that piss now, Kate, been holding it so long I'm gonna be a while," she said smoothly. "Cover for me? Tell the next caller about your dog's diabetes. Really rivets the audience."

"Hey, it's serious! He's insulin resistant, treatment is a nightmare!"

"Good, use that! I'll be right back. I have faith in you, Kate!"

Penelope air-kissed either side of Kate's face, stepped out of the booth and disappeared down the hall. In moments the elevator doors shuddered open. She stepped inside. Alone. The doors hissed shut.

And Doctor Penelope Price changed.

In one fluid motion she slipped her jacket from her shoulders. Before it hit the elevator floor, she popped the last few buttons on her blouse and slid out of the silky thin material, baring her firm, proud, bouncing tits, nipples hard and pointing slightly upwards. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her skirt and pushed it down along with her pantyhose as she stepped out of her stiletto heels and her smooth, tight, freshly-waxed pussy glistened in the bright halogen elevator light. She kicked her clothes into a messy pile in the corner of the elevator; she was completely naked, jaw dropping l sexy as she winked at her reflection in the mirrored elevator wall.

She closed her eyes a moment and focused, breathing in as her mind expanded, and a shimmering, faintly glowing and completely transparent bodysuit of psychic energy enveloped her like a second skin, faint swirls of telepathic energy like oil on water glistened across her body, leaving every curve and crevice, every subtle twitch of her hardening nipples and dampening cunt clearly visible. She ran her hands back through her hair, changing it to a deep red with a psychic illusion; and with one finger, smudged some dark illusory eyeliner at the corner of her now-glowing eyes and a smear of neon pink lip gloss across her plump, wet lips.

She was no longer celebrity sex psychotherapist Doctor Penelope Price PhD.

She was 'Mindfuck'.

The elevator pinged and the doors glided open. A young security guard sat at the front desk next to the elevator, a chocolate brownie slice held inches from his open mouth. He blinked. Then blinked again. Then dropped the brownie. Mindfuck hovered a few inches off the ground, bare feet glowing with psychic force.

"Evening," she purred, floating past him in a soft swirl of perfumed air and faintly humming telekinetic energy. He watched her glide to the doors of the building and out onto the night air in a daze, boner tenting his pants like a cartoon teepee.

"I gotta lay off the edibles when I'm on duty."

---

Chapter Two

Three Years Earlier...

Dr. Penelope Price was a young and brilliant but jaded sex therapist operating out of a shared practice in Midland City's affluent Avalon Gardens neighbourhood. Fresh out of Roxford College with the highest passing grade in her class, she was twenty-five years old with a body that wouldn't quit; tight, toned, legs smooth like silk and sin, a tight, peachy arse that could make men beg like dogs, firm perky tits that sat high and proud on her slender body, and a tight little cunt that hadn't been satisfied in far too long.

Despite her fame, even as her viral podcast 'Deep Inside with Doctor Price' drew in listeners by the tens of thousands and got her a late night slot on Oral FM, she was burning out. She could talk people to orgasm, tease out traumas with a whisper, see into people's deepest repressions; but something inside her had gone numb. She needed more.

So she disappeared. Vanished from her practice, her plush west end flat, left the podcast and radio show on "hiatus," ignored the calls from publishers begging for another sex book and from TV producers wanting her to appear in "documentaries", and she boarded a plane with a one-way ticket and a travel itinerary to the mountains of Yllama-D'hara, a barely-mapped region high in the Himalayas. Rumors spoke of a hidden temple secreted away there filled with nuns, but not the type who wore habits. These were the Sisters of the Unending O, an all female erotic martial arts order dedicated to harnessing the power of the body and the untapped potential of the mind through total surrender to lust.

When she arrived by mule in the cold mountaintops led by a hardy but straggly guide, the altitude nearly choked her. The silence pressed in like a lover. But it was the sight of the temple that made her pussy throb in excitement. It wasn't built. It was grown from a strange smooth pink stone which covered this region, shaped like a blooming flower. The entrance was a gaping vulva carved into the mountain itself. The nuns met her at the threshold; bare-breasted, oiled, some moaning softly in meditation as they practiced Tantric Combat with slow, grinding movements. They welcomed her.

Penelope dropped her bag and followed, breathless.

Stripped naked, she was bound in silk cords. Her body was oiled and massaged. For three days and three nights, she was not permitted to speak or eat. Only feel. The nuns teased her mind and body with their fingers, tongues, licking and tweaking her nipples, ghosting across her throbbing clit, whispered mantras that danced inside her skull. She was denied sleep, and brought to the very edge of climax over and over, but never allowed to cum. By the dawn of the fourth day her mind was swimming, reality seemed to be dissolving, hallucinations filling her vision, an unbearable feeling of arousal tearing through every nerve of her body. And then on the fourth day, they brought her the root.

It grew only once every sixty-nine years. A glowing, veiny, phallic bulb that throbbed with sexual energy, buried deep in the Cavern of Sighs. The nuns unbound her and she knelt. Wrapped her lips around the tip of the veiny thick, warm throbbing root, and as the sap dripped from its tip, she drank. It was like swallowing stars. Her spine lit up. Her nipples tingled so hard she screamed. The psychic gates in her brain shattered open and everyone's thoughts came rushing in.

Lust. Desires. Secrets. Shame. Hunger. She saw it all. Felt it. Became it.

The nuns held her down as her body thrashed, her eyes rolling back, her pussy gushing like a burst hydrant on main street as the mystical power altered her mind. She moaned like a banshee, coming and sweating and suffering and experiencing and knowing as the world came inside her... head.

When she came down the mountain a month later, her mind was alive, a powerful tool; reality bent to her telepathic will. She was naked at first glance; but wrapped in a shimmering, second skin of psychic energy alive with swirling hypnotic patterns. She was no longer simply Doctor Penelope Price, PhD. She was Mindfuck.

---

Chapter Three

Midland City Red Light District, 11:26 PM

Mindfuck floated above the tarmac, hovering through the back alleys and dingey salacious spots of Midland City, the parts that stank of piss and bottle bins and body odour, the soles of her bare feet never touching the pavement. Her skintight see-through suit shimmered like saran wrap dipped in oil, catching the lurid glow of every neon sign and flickering massage parlor light. A drunken frat boy leaned out of a party bus window, saw her hovering past, and just screamed, "Oh my fucking god, dude," before immediately nutting in his khakis.

Midland City pulsed with sex and danger. Mindfuck glided through it like a whispered promise of justice and lust. Her mind was a net. A wide, wet web cast through the chaos of lust and the buzz of thousands of thoughts, honing in, sniffing out and focusing on the foul cocktail of hate and horniness that had oozed through the airwaves on her show. And now, with the precision of a bloodhound on the trail, that sickly psychic stink brought her here; The High Value Gentlemens Club.

A squat, windowless building crouched at the edge of the red light district. No sign or neon outside, no; those were low quality affectation, no need for them here in this Alpha gathering place. Those in the know knew this was the place to be for real men. The only thing that distinguished the building from a public John or an electricity substation was the two meat-bricks in suits standing guard beside featureless doors, each clutching stun batons the size of bowling pins.

She landed like a sexy nude feather on the breeze. The guards straightened, immediately on edge as this shimmering, near naked drop dead gorgeous babe landed softly in front of them.

"Whoa whoa whoa," the taller one said, eyeing her with the awe of a teenager who just found his dad's vintage VHS stash. "This is private property, sweetheart. VIP club. Gentlemen only. Unless you're here for entertainment."

Mindfuck cocked her hip. Her tits shifted under the sheer bodysuit like glistening gravity porn.

"I'm here to see the -", she wrinkled her nose in disgust and embarrassment as she said the words " - The King Cobra. Jesus, fucking lame or what, am I right fellas?"

The two security guards stiffened, expressions serious. The shorter one took a step towards Mindfuck.

"Hey, you don't get to make fun of The Cobra, alright sugar? He's showing us the way. Showing us how to be Alphas. To take what we want! So unless you're here to suck a round of dicks, why don't you float your little slut butt back to whatever skanky subreddit you came from."

"Oh honey," she said sweetly, already sliding into their heads like warm fingers in tight wet holes, "I'd never suck your dick." She took a step closer, swirling her fingers lazily in the air. "I wouldn't even get the chance, you'd explode before I even got my gloss onto the tip."

The taller one snorted, but blinked rapidly. "Wait... what, what the fuck are you doing?"

They opened their mouths to protest, but she was already inside. Not the building, but their heads, as Mindfuck extended her will. She dropped the illusion like a psychic anvil. Suddenly, to their fried frontal lobes, they were in a liminal, velvet-lit mindspace, sprawled on a silk sofa, naked and sweaty, each with a blazing hard-on like the stun clubs they were holding moments earlier. In this psychic sex-space, Mindfuck was bent in an impossible bridge, taking both their dicks at once; one in her tight, willing throat, the other stuffed into her slick, needy cunt, hips grinding and throat gagging, spilling cum and drool over their throbbing cocks. The scent of sweat and cum filled their senses as they began thrusting their hips involuntarily.

"Uhhh... fuck... oh fuck, fuck yes bitch, uhhh..."

Reality became an unwelcome and irrelevant distraction. Both guards dropped their stun batons. Their trousers and underwear were down at their ankles before they even finished moaning. Two average-at-best stiff cocks sprang free, twitching with pitiful urgency. The security guards started pumping their cocks like their hands had minds of their own as they felt the sensation of Mindfuck taking them both to the hilt.

"Yeah. That's it," Mindfuck whispered aloud, smirking as she watched them jerk like marionettes. "Do it, fuck, stroke for me, piggies. Don't stop 'til you squirt."

Thirty seconds of fevered jerking later, both grunted like busted lawnmowers and came all over the tarmac and their own black slacks in mental and physical orgasms so intense it drained them. They collapsed against the wall with dumb, drooling smiles, their eyes glassy as they slid down to seating positions, trousers and pants around their ankles, splashed in cum.

Mindfuck hovered over them, expression amused.

"Smoke em if you got em, boys. This won't take long."

With a flick of her wrist, the heavy black doors unlocked with a telekinetic clunk, hinges groaning open as if the building itself was reluctantly parting its thighs. for her to enter. She floated through the threshold into darkness, tits shining under the ripples of her suit, mind abuzz like a vibrator on max.

The inside of the High Value Gentlemens Club was a far fucking cry from the plain exterior. As she drifted down the wood panelled corridor, she found herself in an open club, with booths and tables set up around a circular stage. The place reeked of man money, all oak panelling and green velvet, taxidermied bucks on the wall, the scent of cigars, brandy, scotch, and self-importance. A barman who looked like he was cosplaying the bartender from the Overlook Hotel tended a well stocked bar at the far end of the room, and on the pole a suspiciously young looking nude dancer was spinning, being jeered at by men in blazers and slacks with receding hairlines and the kind of jawlines only generations of old money inbreeding could achieve.

Mindfuck's transparent bodysuit shimmered with a barely-there swirl of hypnotic patterns, as she scanned the thoughts of the room; a lot of misdirected anger, a sprinkle of alcohol and stripper-induced horniness, and someone worrying about their stock portfolio. The King Cobra's venomous energy was absent from the room, though. Mindfuck spied a door at the far end of the club and sped towards it, gliding through the haze of cigar smoke and surprised exclamation like a lubed up dildo through freshly fucked lips. The first man who saw her dropped his snifter of brandy and came in his pants so fast he doubled over in his booth.

"Shit," she said aloud to herself. "Nice work Pen, not exactly in incognito mode right now."

As more eyes turned to her, she extended her erotic will into their minds. She waved a pinky like she was stirring a cocktail, and their brains fizzed into erotic hallucinations faster than a teenager in a Victoria's Secret. One by one, they slumped deeper into their green velvet seats, panting through their deepest, most intimate fantasies brought to full sensory life in their psyche by Mindfuck.

One older man, a high court judge, was grinding his gavel between a stripper's ass cheeks as she farted onto it.

A politician was bent over his desk, being pegged by his young female intern with a particularly girthy strap-on while signing papers.

A high ranking police chief was getting his dick sucked by a gigolo in the alley behind the police station.

One guy was just having missionary sex with his wife in his own bed. Mindfuck raised an eyebrow at that one. Fair, she thought. Guess they're not all bad.

They moaned and twitched as she floated past with a smile and a wink to the girl on the stage, who blew her a kiss. Mindfuck reached the far door and with a flick of her wrist, blew it wide open to reveal a dimly lit office with a sole occupant. The man stood with his back to her, mid-phone call, pacing in a full snakeskin bodysuit like a psychotic cosplayer. The snakeskin bodysuit had a wide hood pulled up, obscuring his face. His gloves, snakeskin too, covered his arms to the elbows. His boots? Alligator skin. Mindfuck shook her head. Guy couldn't even fully commit to the bit.

He turned as he paced, revealing his front; a diamond shaped hole was cut in the crotch of his suit, and his balls were out. A very real, very veiny dick flopped free atop his balls, flaccid, like a sad cobra trying to seduce a mongoose as he ranted down the flip phone in his hand.

"Ten million!" he shouted into a battered flip phone, pacing like a reptilian drama queen. "That's what you're gonna pay me, Mr. Mayor! Ten million to cover every penny I dumped into those goddamn OnlyFans sluts! Hundreds of them! Hundreds of lying, bouncing, ass-clapping bitches! I want it in my Swiss account by midnight, or Midland City's sexiest club goes boom!"

He slammed the phone shut, dick wagging angrily with each step. Mindfuck hovered through the door, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but King Cobra, I presume?" She pointed to his flaccid cock,. "I'm gonna have to assume you're a grower, not a shower with that name. Here's the part where I say you'll never get away with this," she purred, crossing her arms beneath her tits.

King Cobra spun on his heel. "Y-You!" he gasped. "H-How did you get past my guards?!"

"They're recovering from a very happy ending," she said, casually inspecting her nails. "They'll be up and about again in an hour or so, depending on their refractory period, by which time you'll be in handcuffs, and not the fun fluffy kind."

He backed up, one reaching for a small remote detonator on the desk.

"Oh yeah? You just fucked with the wrong snake, baby. Come one... step? Hover? Whatever that is, closer, and I blow the whole club right now."

Mindfuck cocked her head.

"You're gonna blow the whole club? Like all the guys out there? No kink shaming, honestly, but I didn't expect that to be your thing."

"Not this fucking club!" he spat."I've got a bomb planted in a strip club, and unless I get paid what I'm due, it blows at midnight. But you come any closer, bitch, and I detonate it now!"

"Come on, sweetie," she said. Her eyes shimmered, two pink spirals of light and lust. "You blew your load on a phone book's worth of OnlyFans girls. You're clearly lacking in impulse control, hell I could write a whole paper on you as an avolition case study. So, 'King Cobra', you really think you're in control here?"

Her voice hit his mind. Not just sound, but pure sensation. Like her fingers were inside his skull, teasing him, stroking every filthy secret like a soft, slick cock. "I'll tease the truth out of you," she cooed, stepping forward. "And you'll beg me to go deeper."

He tried to resist. Failed instantly. With a pulse of psychic force, his legs buckled. His eyes rolled. His cock jumped to half-mast like it was saluting her. She surged into his psyche like a dry dildo, no lube, no warning.

Memories flared past her: desperate subscriptions, tip after tip, dick ratings and JOI vids, simping himself into bankruptcy. Names and faces and bodies flickering through her minds eye. BustyBitchBecca, Lady60Nine, Piss-Girl, CarlyClampOfficial, Bubble Butt Slut, Brianna Bums, Preggo Shaya, Teeny Olivia 18, WaifuGirly, Anal Amy, Nasty Nikki. Mindfuck's pussy was gushing at the sight of them all rushing past, mixed with King Cobra's emotional overload. No impulse control, just obsession, humiliation. Hundreds of accounts. Tens of thousands of pounds spanked over a computer keyboard. Tears. Jerk-off sessions. Rage.

And then, boom! What she was after! A vision of the Fuzzy Muff club, the filthiest, nastiest strip club in Midland City; full nude dances and a reputation for extras in the champagne room. Pow! She saw the bomb in King Cobra's mind's eye, ticking away in the champagne room, tucked beneath an elaborate kink throne.

She pulled back, eyes blazing.

"Fuzzy Muff," she snapped. "Of course it's the fucking Fuzzy Muff."

"Nooo!" Cobra shrieked, reaching for the detonator, only to collapse in a psychic quake, his mind flooding with orgasmic overload as Mindfuck brought him tumbling over the edge. His cock twitched. His eyes crossed. He blew his load with all the power of a box of flood-damaged party poppers, splurging and dribbling down the leggings of his snakeskin suit. He collapsed to the floor with a sobbing, sticky whimper.

Mindfuck hovered over his dazed, spunk-smeared body and smirked.

"That one's for free, don't worry about it. Now let's see who you really are, King Cobra..."

She grabbed the snakeskin hood and yanked it back with a flourish, revealing the sweaty, reddened face of none other than Midland City's deputy Mayor, Dan Duggan.

"Oh fuck me," she muttered, tilting her head. "I voted for you!"

Sirens wailed in the distance. Backup was coming. Mindfuck floated to the door, pausing long enough to psychically jam Duggan's orgasmic humiliation on loop long enough to keep him vibrating on the floor like a discarded Hitachi wand until the cops showed up. Then she soared through the club of post-orgasmic gentlemen and rocketed skyward through the night like a glittering athletic cum shot, aimed straight for the Fuzzy Muff.

---

Chapter Four

Midland City, The Fuzzy Muff, 11:57 PM

The Fuzzy Muff was in full swing, neon lights strobing over slick poles, pounding bass echoing off glistening curves and dollar bills. Ironically, not a fuzzy muff to be seen in the place as naked dancers with enormous fake tits like torpedoes and pussies waxed so clean you could practically see your reflection in them gyrated, spun on poles and ground against the eager stiff dicks of whooping clients. The air smelled like dry ice, sweaty, lube, cherry vape and the sweet tang of pussy.

Mindfuck hovered through the open doors like a shimmering sex specter, her skin-tight transparent bodysuit hugging every. A pair of strippers paused mid-twerk as she floated inside, gazing in unfiltered awe and wet, dripping lust. One dancer with 1200cc fake tits and lips full of collagen grabbed her by the waist.

"Holy shit, are you Mindfuck?!"

"Guilty," Penelope purred, letting her fingers graze along the girl's jaw and down her chest. The dancer swooned like a damsel from a golden era Hollywood film.

Another blonde, completely nude and absolutely soaked, pressed in behind her, groping her ass from behind.

"Oh baby, I hear you can make people squirt with a wink, that true?"

Mindfuck chuckled as the women clung to her, their bodies slick with body oil and desperation, kissing her neck, fondling her tits through the sheer bodysuit. She winked at the blonde, who spontaneously combusted from her cunt and fell backwards, whooping, slipping in her own orgasm on the floor.

"Ladies," she said, moaning as a hand dipped between her thighs, "I love a good group session, but there's a fucking bomb in here and it's gonna go off very fucking soon."

That got their attention.

She peeled herself free from the remaining stripper and glided through the club, her mind pushing past the fog of music and pheromones. Behind the velvet curtain, past a row of locked VIP booths, she found The Champagne Room; or rather, as it was in a club in Midland city and not the Champagne region of France, the Sparkling Wine room.

The double doors blew open with a pulse of telekinesis. A pretty shabby affair all in all; purple velvet curtains hung over drywall, a mirror ball hung from the ceiling, speakers hanging off the plaster playing whatever thudding trap beat was gyrating the main room: and a golden throne straight out of a novelty shop window display, bedecked in Temu branded BDSM restraints. But what was on the gold-painted plastic throne was what caught Mindfuck's eye.

Two strippers; hot, busty, young and completely naked, one with a blonde bob and the other with dark hair and a smorgasbord of tattoos, were bound together and gagged on the throne, legs splayed. The women moaned behind their ball gags, eyes wide with panic, tits heaving with every breath.

Below them, nestled in a velvet-lined case at the foot of the throne, was the bomb. A chunky black device with thick wires snaking from it. A countdown blinked across an LCD display on the front.

00:48.

00:47.

00:46.

"Fucking shit," Mindfuck snapped, landing quickly, bare feet slapping on the mirrored floor. She gave a reassuring thumbs up to the two bound and gagged women then knelt beside the bomb, opening the casing with her telekinetic powers. Inside were three prominent wires; red, blue and black. Mindfuck sighed.

"Should've probably dug into that asshole's brain for the right wire to cut. Next time, Pen. Less ejaculation, more interrogation. Right, how hard can this be?"

"Thtsh wmht she shid," one of the girls mumbled behind her gag.

The room was hot, nervous sweat dappling on Mindfuck's already shimmering skin, dripping down her lush tits and between her thighs as she crouched. The timer ticked.

00:31.

00:30.

"Alright girls, hold tight," she said, tossing her hair back. "Mama's got this."

She reached out, finger hovering between the wires.

The timer ticked.

00:18.

00:17.

She shrugged. "Once you go black..."

Fingers curled around it.

"... you never go back."

She yanked the black wire with a confident snap...

And the timer went dark.

The throne groaned, and one of the tied-up strippers pissed herself from the sheer relief, the other whooping behind her gag despite sharing a seat now covered in urine. Mindfuck stood, smoothing her bodysuit over her gleaming curves as she turned to the gushing girls and with a flick of her hair their restraints loosened. The girls pulled the restraints off and yanked their ball gags out, drooling down their tits.

"Oh my god," the blonde gasped, rubbing at her wrists as she stared up at Mindfuck like she was a literal goddess. "You actually saved us."

"We were about five seconds away from a very literal explosive orgasm," the tattooed stripper added, her voice sultry and soaked in gratitude. "Least we can do is return the favor."

Mindfuck smirked

"Why not? Let's call it... hazard pay."

She lifted one hand lazily and with a shimmer of mental force, the last lingering threads of her psychic bodysuit dissolved into nothingness. One second she was swathed in glimmering illusion, the next, she was standing completely naked in all her glory: perfect round breasts tipped with dusky nipples, flat belly, and thighs that could suffocate a man's thoughts clean out of his skull.

The blonde let out a low, reverent moan.

"God damn. You're like... if sexual energy was a person."

"I am sexual energy," Mindfuck said, already climbing up onto the throne between them. "Literally my prefrontal and orbitofrontal cortexes, cingulate gyrus and cerebellum were massively evolved to beyond standard human potential by a spiritual ritual and an extremely rare chemical from a plant which imbued me with superhuman carnal-based telekinetic and telepathic abilities..." she cleared her throat. "But don't take my word for it. Come the fuck here."

The three of them crashed together like they'd been magnetized, lips on lips, tongues tasting each other in a blur of spit and friction, hands everywhere at once. The blonde's mouth found a nipple, sucking greedily, while tattooed girl slid her fingers down Mindfuck's toned stomach and between her legs with a whimper that became a giggle.

"You're so wet," she whispered, thumb circling her clit, a finger sliding effortlessly between her tight smooth lips. "It's like your pussy just knew it was time to party."

Mindfuck arched her back as she exhaled, deeply and sharply.

"It's psychic too."

Tattoos knelt between her thighs, tongue tracing lazy figure-eights over her clit, lapping at her shimmering cunt while the blonde rode Mindfuck's fingers like a woman possessed, moaning, grinding her slick needy pussy against her palms, begging for more. She looked down and realised Mindfuck wasn't even touching her; she was using her telekinetic abilities to massage her cunt. Blondie gasped, more turned on now as Mindfuck slid one of her hands to join her telekinetic rubbing, slipping three fingers inside her, curling them up to caress her sweet spot, driving her into a relentless, shaking orgasm as Tattoos' tongue slid inside Mindfuck's soaking wet tight hot slit. Mindfuck cried out, verbally and telepathically, as she came all over the dark haired strippers face. The three of them collapsed together in a giggling, sweat-drenched heap.

Mindfuck's skin glistened under the low pink lights, her pussy still wet and hungry, thighs streaked with the evidence of three shared orgasms. Her breasts rose and fell with heavy, satisfied breaths as the blonde curled up against her side, her lips lazily dragging across Tattoo's shoulder.

"Okay," the Tattooed girl with dark hair said, breathlessly, "so which one of us gets to sit on your face next?"

Mindfuck arched a brow.

"This is still pro bono right?" The strippers nodded, enthusiastically. "Well in that fucking case, why would you assume only one of you does?"

The girl's grins turned downright feral.

"Bitch, yes."

The throne's faux-leather padding was slick beneath Mindfucks back as she lay down, arms folded behind her head like she owned the place. Blondie swung a leg over her face without hesitation, lowering her glistening pussy onto Mindfuck's waiting mouth with a groan that bordered on religious.

"Jesus fucking Christmas, girl, your tongue's as good as your mind!"

Tattoos, meanwhile, climbed back between Mindfuck's legs like it was her calling, licking her lips as she eased two fingers into Mindfuck's dripping cunt. Mindfuck moaned into the blondes slick meaty folds, her lips and tongue lapping up every drop while her hips bucked at Tattoos' touch. She didn't need to project anything now, didn't need illusions or enhancements or mental nudges. This was pure sensation. The blonde ground down against her face like she was riding a wave, one hand braced against the mirror behind them, the other tangled in Mindfuck's hair, fucking her mouth. Tattoo's fingers pistoned, curled, fucked deep, and her tongue circled Mindfuck's clit with focused, merciless hunger. The telepath's thighs trembled. Her arms dropped, hands gripping the throne as her own orgasm built again, thick, molten, and entirely unstoppable.

Blondie was the first to cum, screaming it into the air as Mindfuck sucked and licked her clit through the wave. Her thighs squeezed tight around Mindfuck's head before she slumped forward with a happy groan, sliding off her face and laying on the floor while Tattoos picked up speed, chasing Mindfuck's second climax with the desperation of an alcoholic at last orders. When Mindfuck came, it ripped through her like lightning. She arched off the throne, a shuddering cry breaking from her throat, cunt clenching around Tattoo's fingers as her whole body spasmed with release. And still, the stripper kept going, drawing it out, dragging every last ounce of pleasure from her, sliding up her body to suck and nibble at her taut, sensitive nipples until Mindfuck finally had to push her away using telekinetic force, legs quivering, tits sweaty and heaving.

"Okay," she gasped, voice hoarse but smug, "Your turns, tattoos, ride my fucking face."

Tattoos obliged, climbing up her body; stopping only briefly to rub her smooth, wet cunt against Mindfuck's bullet-hard nipples, Blondie kissed her stomach and tits as Tattoos plunged her pussy down on Mindfuck's waiting, willing mouth. Her tongue slid inside, lips locked on her clit, sucking and lapping at her until she exploded, spraying a wash of warm, clear squirt all over Mindfuck's face and tits. Heaving and sighing, Tattoos climbed off Mindfuck and the three of them embraced, sweaty, cum-covered and grinning.

"Holy shit," Mindfuck exhaled. "I haven't been fucked that hard since I signed my publishing deal without a lawyer."

"You write books?" Blondie asked, eyebrows raised. Mindfuck thought for a minute. Shit, don't blow your secret identity.

"Yeah, children's books," she said, untangling from the sweaty lesbian mess. "Like a less problematic Harry Potter. Anyways, gotta get back to it. Someone should probably tell the cops about the deactivated bomb under the throne here. Might wanna towel it off before they arrive, i think you pissed on it."

The three women shared a long, slow, drooling three way kiss, their tongues intertwining as Mindfuck psychically summoned her bodysuit. It wrapped around her naked wet frame like cling film. As she hoovered to the door, and shot out of the club into the neon drenched Midland city night, she smiled to herself. The day was saved, another creeps plan had been foiled, and she'd been absolutely fucked senseless by two hot strippers. Sometimes, the superhero business was alright.

---

Chapter Five

Midland City, 12:30am

The lobby doors whooshed open on a gust of hot night air as Mindfuck hovered back into the 69.5 Oral FM building, shimmering in her translucent bodysuit like a dripping wet dream. The security guard at the front desk blinked up from his crossword and spat a hot spray of coffee like a gushing cunt as she glided past, dripping with glittering sweat.

He tried to speak, but it came out as a choked little gasp as she gave him a two-finger salute and slipped into the elevator, hips swaying, skin gleaming.

Inside the elevator, she exhaled deeply, rolling her shoulders. The shimmering bodysuit peeled itself back from her skin and vanished in a swirl of light and illusion, revealing her nude, slick body. Luckily, despite her apparent lack of forethought, her civilian outfit was still crumpled in the corner. She pulled on her skirt, buttoned her blouse, stepped into her heels and threw her jacket casually over one shoulder, grinning at her reflection as the doors slid open. She stuffed her crumpled up pantyhose into the inside pocket of her jacket, grabbing her vape as she did so, and taking a long, deep drag of tropical fruit haze.

In the studio, Kate was hunched over the mic, chin resting on one hand.

"--and that's why grain-free kibble is best for diabetic dogs, unless they're allergic to poultry, which my little Muffin absolutely is," she was saying, eyes flicking up to see Penelope step back into the booth, glowing and reeking of post orgasmic triumph. "But more on muffin later, the switchboard is heating up, Doctor Price will be right back after these messages." She clicked the mic off and exhaled.

"Thank fuck," she muttered, holding out the mic like a lifeline. "What took you so long? Wait, you smell like pussy. Did you even piss or did you just spend the last hour jilling off in the ladies room?"

Penelope shrugged without missing a beat, hips sashaying as she took her place.

"Umm, yeah, just really went to town on myself. What can I say, when you gotta do it you gotta do it. Here, smell my fingers." She held her hand out to Kate's face. The producer winced, though Penelope noticed she did sniff them.

"Well that's your last piss break, we're on til 1am straight."

Penelope sighed. She really did need to pee now.

"Well fuck. Alright, we've got two minutes til we're back on, I guess we're miking me up. ASMR time."

Kate's eyebrows raised.

"For real?"

"Make it quick," Penelope grinned."I'm about to burst."

As Penelope Price slid her mini skirt off again and sat in the host chair, legs spread, Kate got to work placing a microphone between her legs. As she worked, Kate looked up at Penelope from between her thighs.

"By the way, while you were knuckle deep in yourself, weirdest thing happened. According to the news, the cops arrested that weird guy who phoned into the show earlier. The deputy fucking mayor. Can you believe that?"

"Wild," Penelope chuckled. "Midland city never stops surprising you."

"Alright, we're all set for the golden age of radio," Kate said, standing and motioning towards the mic between Penelope's thighs. "If this doesn't double our audience, I'll eat my hat. Actually I don't own a hat. I'll buy one and fucking eat it."

As the adverts ended and the red ON AIR light sparked to life, Penelope licked her lips.

"Alright, we're back," she purred into the mic, stretching out in her chair like a satisfied cat, legs spread wide. "I'm Dr. Penelope Price, and our next topic of the evening is; pee fetish. Listen close, gooners. If this gets you off, call us up and tell us why..."

As Penelope relaxed, a warm stream of piss arced from her pussy, splashing and soaking the chair and the floor. The switchboard lit up like the Midland city square Christmas tree. Kate gave an enthusiastic thumbs up from the producer booth, and Penelope grinned.

Everything was right once again in Midland city, all thanks to the strange salacious sexy psychic superpowers of...

Mindfuck!

---

Scene Six: The Obligatory Super Hero Post Credits Scene

Midland City Bank, Three days later, 3:45pm

The Bank was in chaos.

Tellers and customers threw themselves to the floor as the wall exploded inwards around the figure, bursting through like the goddamn Kool-Aid man. As Plaster and Brick fell in a slow motion dust cloud, the figure: partly obscured by debris and dust, stepped forward. A woman, busty and supple, in what looked like a full body pink morph suit, stepped forward, buzzing and vibrating with every step. The ground shook, vibrating with her frequency, as a wet patch grew in the suit between her legs. She pointed one finger to the manager, a middle aged balding man in a mid price suit, as he staggered to his feet. The woman's voice was distorted by the vibrations emanating from her body, so hard it almost seemed like she phased in and out of reality itself.

"(bzzzz) You, (bzzzz), Vault.(Bzzzz). Open. (bzzzz) Now."

The manager stood, panicked.

"I can't do that, I need the assistant manager with the second key, and he went home early today."

Wet patch growing between her legs, the buzzing pink woman stepped forward, dust and debris vibrating at her feet until she was almost face to face with the manager. She extended a pulsing, vibrating finger and pushed it into his chest.

The manager exploded. Not literally, like in a shower of blood and guts, no, that's not this kind of story. The extreme pulse of vibration shook through his body like he was sitting on a washing machine on full spin, his cock immediately stiffening, shooting a load in his slacks as his glasses shot clean off his face.

"Tell (bzzzz) me (bzzzz) how (bzzzz) to (bzzzz) open (bzzzz) it (bzzzz) or (bzzzz) I (bzzzz) make (bzzzz) you (bzzzz) cum (bzzzz) over (bzzzz) and (bzzzz) over (bzzzz) until (bzzzz) you (bzzzz) can't (bzzzz) walk..."

The manager whined, falling to his knees as his cock stiffened again from the vibrations. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a torrent of supernaturally slippery liquid shot at the woman in pink, jetting around her feet. She slipped, skidding and falling into it, buzzing and yelping as she broke contact with the bank manager, who rolled away in a breathless heap.

All eyes turned to the source of the liquid spray. A woman. Young, dark haired, creamy skin, with large, pert tits and a wet dream of a body, literally. She was completely naked, and covered from head to toe in slick, shimmering, dripping lube which seemed to exude from her very pores, pooling at her bare feet, dripping from every orifice as she slid slowly, effortlessly on a snail trail of her own making towards the woman in pink.

"That suit is property of Loveslick industries, lady. I'm here to take it back."

Buzzing and slipping on the ground, the pink morph suited woman yelled through the vibrating fabric.

"(Bzzzz) Who (bzzzz) are (bzzzz) you!?"

The dark haired, lube slicked girl grinned.

"I'm Slippery Sue."

---

TO BE CONTINUED IN:

THE EROTIC AVENGERS

EPISODE TWO: SLIPPERY SUE