Rachel Rocket Saves The Day!
Story by StickyLongCockings
...Not much right now! A little pain, a bit more humiliation, nothing too extreme!
It’s not easy being the sidekick, you know? You’re never the hero – someone else beats up the baddie, and you’re stuck in the background while they get all the praise. You never get to DO anything – you’re the annoying one, the one who always gets captured – or worse! My least favourite thing about it, though? The dicks. Lots and lots of dicks. And I don’t mind ‘mildly unpleasant people who make fun of you behind your back’, either (though there’s a lot of them too!). I mean literal cocks. Fat, throbbing, veiny cocks. The Mistress’ cock (yes, she calls herself that. She’s such a bitch- But don’t tell her I said that!) is pretty bad, but I’m used to it by now. Mostly used to it, I mean. But, well, she calls me her ‘rape bait’. It’s exactly what it sounds like. My job is to cause a, ahem, ‘distraction’. Not that it ever happens on purpose – they always get me afterward. And then, of course, she makes me thank her for the rescue by gobbling down a king-sized helping of baby-batter. Yum.
Oh, sorry. My name’s Rachel Rocket. I think that’s a pretty cool superhero name, but The Mistress doesn’t. So people call me ‘Ballseye’. I’m not quite sure I get the joke, but there’s definitely one there.
So I bet you’re wondering what I can do, huh? ‘What’s her power?’ is what you’re thinking, right? Or maybe you just want me to get to my latest adventure. I’m not psychic, jeez! I’m just kinda fast. Not, like, speed-of-light fast – you can definitely see me running – but I am faster than most people. Like, I could totally win in the Olympics if, you know, they’d let me in. I also have a pair of- Well, they’re not really horns anymore. The Mistress, she had them sanded down so they’re just a couple of nubs on my forehead. I tried to stop her, I told her I could do more damage when they’re sharp! But she said something about ratings and blood. Or rapings. I’m not sure why she always whispers.
The phone rang, and I really didn’t want to answer it. It was The Mistress – I could tell by the picture of her floppy, frankly massive willy filling the screen. She only calls me during emergencies, so I knew I was in trouble. Sure, there’s justice to be done and evil to be fought but… Well, my butt still hurt, and I’d only just managed to get the stains out of my cozzie. I chewed on my lip, watching it, daring- Hell, forcing myself not to answer. If there’s one thing I’m scared of more than rushing into the unknown, it’s The Mistress. I held my breath, keeping perfectly still. I don’t know why, maybe I just thought she could see me somehow. Eventually, the moans echoing from the device faded away as she got to the answering machine. I began to let out my breath, but almost choked when she called me again, this time from her Super Emergency phone. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and the picture of her gigantic boner shocked me into picking up. Even before I put it to my ear, I could hear her rich laugh, and I swallowed hard, knowing I was in for it when this was all over with. With her low, deep voice, she gave me the directions and, to be fair, it didn’t take me long to get there. It never does.
When I arrived, I noticed two things. One was the cowgirl, and the other was a distinct lack of back-up. Same old, same old. The cowgirl was tall. Really tall. Not super tall, just really really tall. Like, six, nearly seven foot. Now, she wasn’t a ‘cow-girl’ like I am. I mean, I’m not a cow-girl, but because of my horns, The Mistress likes to call me her ‘Brown-Eyed Bull Bitch’. Which is more than a little bit mean.
No, this woman was dressed in the sort of wild-west attire you should only see at Hallowe’en, with knee-high fuck-me boots complete with spurs, a black jacket coming barely past her ribs, denim hotpants and a big, black hat. You can tell the sort villain they are by just looking at them and this one was definitely the dramatic type. The type to go hard or go home. And goddamn was she hard. I’d say that slab of she-meat poked out of the short-shorts, but seeing as the vast majority of her length was free to the air, that wouldn’t quite do her justice. I was slightly relieved to see that it was human-shaped – I’ve had at least one baddie with a fuck-off horse cock, and I do NOT want to repeat that experience. No, it was normal – or at least as normal as it could get while being as long as my forearm and just as thick. Even from this distance, I could see the foreskin sheaving what I expected to be a fist-sized bellend, and I shuddered at what was inevitably bound to happen.
Walking towards her, I squared my shoulders and adopted the most intimidating pose I could strike – which took me up from ‘laughable’ to ‘adoreable’.
See, I’m not that big. Or strong. In fact, I’m a little pudgy. Not fat fat, but I’ve got a little puppy-plumpness going on. I’ve been called ‘curvy’ or ‘voluptuous’, but that was by people try
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