After the experience we’d had last year, there was no way Siobhan and I weren’t going to buy tickets for the next Comicorgy as soon as they were available. I was even more nervous this time around, however, as we presented our tickets at the gate.

We were wearing the same revealing scarlet spandex costumes as before — Terrance and Tiffany Tempest — and I was pleased to have gathered a few knowing smiles and approving nods from both staff and guests before even reaching the front of the line. But other people’s opinions weren’t the main source of my worries this time.

It wasn’t about being too edgy or not edgy enough. Mostly, I was just afraid of tarnishing the memory of last time. After getting invited to that private interrogation with Lord Nihil at the Keep of Annihilation on our very first visit, it was hard to imagine that this year wouldn’t be a bit of a letdown.

I struggled to keep my expectations low as we stepped into the bustling, colorfully decorated event hall.

Everywhere you looked, there were genuine mainstream and indie comic books and memorabilia, mixed in with adult parodies, novelty dildos in the speculated shape of a thousand characters’ penises, and signs advertising panel discussions with titles ranging from “A Reexamination of Bronze Age Homoeroticism and Gender Presentation” to “Hottest Crossover Smash-Ups You Never Got to See!!”

People rushed excitedly from booth to booth in painstaking cosplay, loosely themed lingerie, and simple graphic Ts. I was admiring one woman’s screen-quality yet page-accurate Gossamer Ghost negligee when Siobhan grabbed my hand and tugged me toward a poster that said,

Unfettered Villainy

Come watch the world’s most diabolical minds dominate a delectable lineup of victims… or apply now to be made an example of.

Space limited, not for the faint of heart, waiver required.

A man with a sweet smile and a tablet waited under the poster, eyeing us both with polite curiosity.

Siobhan moved her grip to my shoulder and pulled my ear to her lips. “We’re absolutely trying for that, aren’t w—”

“Yeah, absolutely,” I confirmed before she could even finish asking.

“Interested in being captured by a master or mistress of evil today, heroes?” the man beneath the poster asked cheerfully.

When we both nodded eagerly, he held out the tablet.

“Read it carefully,” he warned.

Siobhan and I held it between us to do just that, cheeks pressed together, tickling each other’s ribs in anticipation whenever our eyes crossed a particularly juicy hint about what we were in for.

Impact play. Penetrative acts. Real restraints. Experimental tech, whatever that meant.

Tiered safewords we could use to adjust or be immediately released from the whole scenario.

The only part we needed to stop and think about was the page where we could request a particular villain’s attention.

Lord Nihil was already booked solid, but there were so many other enticing possibilities.

“We get a two-for-one with this one,” Siobhan pointed out, stopping at the option for “Clutch, with assistance by Plasticine.”

They were from the same universe as the Tempests, even, and occasional direct foes.

“Sold,” I agreed, and tapped to add my signature.

#

When our timeslot arrived, a staff member fitted us each with a set of metal cuffs around our wrists, ankles, and knees, warning that they had “quite a kick to them,” and directed us out onto a raised stage in front of a packed presentation hall.

The lights were low, but I guessed there were four hundred people in attendance, at least.

We walked to our marks, on top of a pair of metal plates under thin metal archways painted to blend into the gray background.

With an epic swell of music, something shifted above us, and we looked up to watch Clutch levitate dramatically into view on nearly invisible wires, his cloak flying out and rippling in the air.

The actor looked to be in his late thirties, perhaps early forties, very fit, with a chin that could cut glass and a touch of gray at his temples.

As his feet touched down, he swept a hand toward us.

Powerful electromagnets activated in our cuffs, pulling us both to our knees, angled toward each other, with our hands suspended in midair above us. It was a shockingly good simulation of the character’s powerful telekinesis.

Clutch stood in front of us, addressing the crowd.

“Today, I will present a conclusive demonstration of the weakness of the antiquated human genome. Please note that the subject of this demonstration is far from an average specimen of his kind. On the contrary, Terrance Tempest is notably extraordinary by every measurable metric. He is widely regarded as a genius intellect,” his voice filled with subtle sarcasm, “and he enjoys superhuman physical abilities resulting from haphazard genetic alteration, but he does not share the absurdly stigmatized superior evolution gene. He is as exceptional as it is socially acceptable for a human to be, and I contend that any failure on his part…”

“Represents a failure for his entire species,” concluded a cold, husky voice that spread instant goosebumps up my arms.

Somewhere to stage left, another player sauntered into the light. I twisted my neck to catch my first glimpse, over my shoulder, of Plasticine. She cut a stunning hourglass figure in her slinky purple dress, with her bare hips curving out of the high side slits. I could see her breasts responding to the cool, air-conditioned room through the sheer fabric. Her striated gray body paint, signifying the character’s changeable physiology, was so expertly applied that I forgot for a moment that there must be human skin beneath it.

“Of course, for a true test of his capabilities,” Clutch continued, “it’s important that our subject be properly motivated to succeed. To that end—”

“After you reveal his weakness,” Plasticine cut in, tossing a heavy satchel of mystery supplies to the floor next to me, “I punish him for it.”

“Succinctly put,” said Clutch. “If rather incompletely. There is a general belief that so-called heroes will fight harder to protect others than themselves. Whether true or false in the case of our Mr. Tempest, I have controlled for this possibility. In addition to his own physical comfort, you see, his wife’s honor will be on the line.”

Clutch ran a hand from Siobhan’s collarbone down over her right breast and dipped it between her bound-together thighs.

“So, I’m sure he’ll be giving us his best.”

“Don’t knock yourself out, babe,” Siobhan joked, raising her hips to lean into Clutch’s rough yet controlled touch.

He withdrew his hand and smacked her lightly on the ass for her lapse in character.

“I mean, oh no,” Siobhan deadpanned. “Save me, darling. I believe in you.”

“Well then,” said Clutch, crossing the short distance between Siobhan and me. “Shall we begin?”

I squared my shoulders and tried to play my role a little better than that. “Do your wors— ah!”

I broke off into a yelp when, with a gesture of Clutch’s hand, the pull of my cuffs shifted direction. My wrists dropped to the floor and stuck there, my knees released, and my ankles reached forcefully for the metal lattice above, suspending me upside-down.

With another flick of his wrist, my ankles swapped places with each other, and so did my wrists, so that I was once again bound with my face angled toward both Siobhan and the audience.

I could see what the waiver meant about experimental tech.

“Tell me, genius,” said Clutch, “why is grass green?”

“Chlorophyll,” I answered, heart pounding harder to work against the pull of gravity.

Clutch touched the back of my thigh, like he was admiring the feel of a ripe piece of fruit.

“Which weighs more, a pound of butter or a pound of feathers?”

“They both weigh a pound,” I said.

He worked his way down to squeeze my ass. The thin costume barely blunted my nerves.

“And how often should a man orgasm?” he asked.

“Uh.” My snappy rhythm faltered, and the weight of all the eyes on me pressed in a little harder. “I think doctors recommend at least once a week.”

“At least,” Clutch repeated. “What about at most?”

“I guess that depends on the man,” I said.

“Depends on what about him?” Clutch pressed.

“On how many he can take, without it interfering with his life.”

“Ah,” Clutch nodded, following along with my answer in a way that definitely meant he was about to follow it down a dead end and into a brick wall. “Yes, it wouldn’t do for a hero to miss duty’s call because he was too busy polishing his baton, would it?”

“Yeah, exactly,” I said.

“Or,” Clutch went on, “for him to wear himself out on his own before tending to his marriage.”

“…Right,” I said.

“If those are your convictions, you must be quite skilled at saving yourself for your duty,” said Clutch. “Particularly in moments when your wife is so obviously in need of attention.”

Siobhan’s hips were circling, grinding absently, uselessly against the air as she watched us.

“Look, he’s getting impatient already,” Plasticine chuckled, running a finger lightly over the growing bulge that showed easily through my suit’s spandex crotch.

She handed Clutch a wand with a glass handle that almost made it look like the glowing vibration bullet on the end was floating on its own. He started the toy buzzing and dragged it over the outside of my costume, up the underside of my cock, from base to tip. In spite of the blood settling in my head and hands, I felt myself harden up to full size and soak through my thong with a rush of anticipatory fluid.

“Even your favorite things about this handsome, powerful, enhanced human body can be turned into weaknesses so easily,” said Clutch.

He found the delicate little zipper that opened the crotch flap of my costume and pushed my thong aside, exposing my erection to the room.

“Tell me again,” he said, drawing the cool, glassy surface of vibrator more slowly over my bare skin. “How often should a man orgasm?”

“Whenever…” my breath was coming in sharp, panting bursts now, interrupting both my voice and my thoughts. “Whenever… it doesn’t… interfere with… duty.”

“Breathe, now,” said Clutch. “We have an audience. We don’t want this to be the shortest public demonstration in history.”

I tried to breathe, genuinely.

Clutch sighed. “Bring me something milder.”

He held out a hand, and Plasticine placed the handle of a large painter’s brush in his palm.

“Milder” wasn’t the word I would have used to describe that brush when Clutch teased it up my shaft and all around the crease beneath the head of my cock. The feeling was softer, yes, but intensely ticklish, with a subtle prickle every time he changed direction and the sharp tips of horsehair bristles touched me directly.

Without hairs of its own to stand on end in response, the vulnerable skin he brushed seemed to squeeze inward instead, tightening the pressure inside me.

“What about a woman?” asked Plasticine, one corner of her mouth curled up in amusement.

“Huh?” I asked in a shuddering burst of breath, half delirious from the sensation.

“How often should a woman orgasm?”

“As often as… she wants,” I panted.

She let out a snort and patted my ass. “Good answer. Glib, but good.”

Some mad part of my mind expected a reward to follow her praise. When I received only another swirling stroke of the brush, I couldn’t take it with anything resembling dignity. I thrashed in my restraints, using every bit of my limited range of motion, though I wasn’t even sure whether I was trying to escape the brush or lean into it harder.

Clutch pulled it away and crouched down to steady me with a hand around the back of my neck.

“There’s no need for distress,” he soothed with a hard, smug edge to his tone. “This is all just an exercise. Your wife will be well fucked today, one way or another. The only supposed question left is whether you’ll have any part in it, and if we’re brutally honest, we both already know the answer to that, don’t we?”

He let go of my neck and reached up to wrap one bare hand hard around the base of my shaft.

“You won’t be using this cock for anything today, except painting this exhibition hall with the proof of your inferiority. All other responsibilities have been lifted from your shoulders. You might as well enjoy it.”

I twitched hard in his hand.

“He’s probably feeling too guilty for that,” Plasticine mused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her lower lip. “Someone as self-righteous as him probably can’t bring himself to enjoy anything until he’s suffered at least a little.”

“It’s not your turn yet,” Clutch began to censure her, “…but you may have a point. Bring the clamps.”

A shiver ran up, or rather down, my spine, followed by a second one when I actually saw what Plasticine was pulling out of the bag.

The two wide, steel clamps each sat at the end of a foot-long cable of flexible clear plastic. The two cables joined together at a palm-sized base, which Plasticine placed in Clutch’s free hand.

In his grip, the cables came alive and undulated toward me, clamps snapping on their own like vicious little mouths.

In a more rational moment, I might have tried to understand the mechanical tricks in play, but in this moment, I was content to let Clutch’s telekinetic power fucking ravish me.

“Here, Mr. Tempest,” he said. “Does this satisfy your human need to feel like a victim?”

The clamps bit into the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gasped out loud, and a fresh trickle of precum dripped past my face onto the floor.

Clutch released the base of the contraption, letting its weight hang from my skin, and used both hands to stroke my cock with uncompromising efficiency.

It took only a few seconds of work before my legs spasmed ecstatically in their cuffs, and a flood of white fluid spurted down to join the clear puddle on the floor.

“Just as I said,” Clutch turned to the rapt and silent crowd, prompting a few nervous whoops and claps. “Even the strongest human is nothing but a predictable set of animal impulses, easily bent to compliance with the right stimuli.”

Siobhan snorted, maybe with agreement, and Clutch rounded on her, with the broadest smile he’d yet allowed to slip through his controlled demeanor.

“Ah, Mrs. Tempest. I’d almost forgotten you were here. And how could that be, with you looking so lovely?” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it to look up at him. “Are you ready to experience unacceptably superior genes, from as close as you’ll ever get to them?”

Siobhan slid the tip of her tongue eagerly along her lips, then gave me a shrug of false apology. She’d used that shrug before in similar group games. She knew it drove me wild.

“Well, that was the deal, wasn’t it?” she said.

“There’s that pretense of honor again,” Clutch chuckled, and leaned down to kiss her.

Plasticine cleared her throat. “If you’d be so kind.” She nodded at me.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Clutch waved his hand dismissively, and the charge in my cuffs changed direction again. My legs crossed, twisted, and shot down from sky to floor. I would have fallen on my face if Plasticine hadn’t caught me around the waist with a surprisingly powerful arm and helped arrange me in the most comfortable position my new confinement allowed.

I was back on my knees, hands stretched forward on the floor in front of me, facing Siobhan, who was in more or less the same position. I would not be allowed to miss a single detail of what was about to happen.

Siobhan’s wrist cuffs crept forward to match mine, drawing her hips up from sitting.

“Let’s have a look at you,” said Clutch, pulling down the long zipper along her back. He pushed the red spandex down to pool around her wrists and knees, then did the same with her bra and thong, putting her whole torso on display for himself, for me, for a crowd of hundreds. He had to wait for a wave of hoots and whistles to pass before speaking again.

“Another extraordinary body.” With his hands, he admired her muscular arms, her soft hips, her round, generous breasts. “For a human, of course.”

He reached a hand between her legs, prompting a gasp, though he touched her for only a second before pulling away again.

“I’ve hardly done anything yet, and you’re soaking wet. Are you accustomed to having to prepare yourself without competent assistance?”

“No.” Siobhan was willing to defend me that much, at least. “It’s just… how could I not be excited, after watching that?”

Several audience members vocally agreed.

“Watching him?” Clutch asked. “Or watching me?”

Siobhan paused. “The whole interaction,” she said. “It was both of you, together.”

“Such a diplomatic wife,” Clutch reveled in his dubiousness. “Has watching him ever had this powerful an effect on you? Is there anything he could do from the other side of a room that would make you drip like this?”

“I don’t remember,” said Siobhan. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Clutch said, and kissed the back of her neck. “I think you’re fully aware of what, or who, you were so interested to observe.”

A sudden burst of pain grounded me back in my own body. It took me a moment to understand that Plasticine had removed the clamps from my thighs with one ruthless yank of the cables.

“Have you fantasized about fucking a shapeshifter?” she asked, once she had my attention.

“I… um….”

“Of course you have,” she said. “Someone you can pretend doesn’t exist, beyond serving as a perfect simulation of your wildest fantasies? What human doesn’t have dirty little fantasies about that? Someone who can adjust their shape to whatever pleases you… even forbidden shapes.”

She paced behind me, and I heard the snap of a buckle, followed by hoots of excited laughter from the crowd. When she made her way back around to within my range of vision, a large, realistically sculpted strap-on was poking out from under her dress, perfectly matched to the striated gray pattern of her skin.

She crouched down to study my face more closely.

“This form doesn’t bother you,” she concluded.

“Why would it?” I asked. “You saw what your boss’s form did to me.”

“My associate’s form,” she corrected.

“Right, of course,” I said, with just enough snark to earn myself a sharp, satisfying pinch of one nipple.

“You’re a bit of a shapeshifter yourself, aren’t you?” she mused, still studying me. “An inferior one, but still.”

I grinned in confirmation, already feeling a distinct twitch between my legs, cutting through my soft, oversensitive afterglow.

Plasticine glanced down, laughed, and grabbed me hard by the hair. “Don’t forget what you are, human,” she whispered, “or that you’re here to be punished for it.”

It was a strange juxtaposition, the intimacy of her breath on my ear, at the same time as the very public amplification of her voice over the auditorium’s sound system. Two kinds of exposing at once.

She reached into the bag of tricks on the floor.

“I will be choosing both of our forms today,” she said. “I will have a cock. And you will not.”

She pulled out a very sturdy-looking chastity cage with the emblem of Clutch and Plasticine’s villain gang engraved on top of its extremely short shaft. I wondered fleetingly how many of their other “examples” might have one just like it hidden beneath their costumes already.

I’d have to apologize to Siobhan later for rolling my eyes at her breaking character. I couldn’t keep myself from smiling like a lunatic while Plasticine forced my still mostly flaccid cock into the tiny, unyielding space, locked it up, and tucked the key into her bra.

I knew from experience how genuinely frustrating a cage like this could get, always sooner than I expected, but even knowing that, the caging part never got any less exciting. Or less scary.

I lowered my head to look between my legs and embraced the shivers that ran through me when I saw nothing but a tiny metal nub. It remained visibly motionless, even as my body pulsed madly in an effort to expand.

I looked up to find that Clutch had picked up the vibrator wand again and was running it over Siobhan’s nipples and the back of her pussy as if she and the wand were two parts of a musical instrument. Her head was tossed back, her eyes closed, blonde hair cascading over the sides of her naked back.

“No more pleasure wands or gentle hands for you,” said Plasticine, squirting a line of lubricant onto her cock. “All you get is this.”

In spite of her promises to punish me, she wasn’t irresponsible with her approach. She rubbed the lube well over the dildo’s textured surface and pressed it to my hole with a firm but slow pressure, pausing when she’d sunk in just the head.

“That’s not all you can take, is it?” she taunted and spanked me, mostly for the audience, I think.

I had to hand it to her. By putting that onus on me, she’d managed to make it both humiliating and safe for me to work my way backward onto that hard piece of plastic at my own pace.

It probably didn’t take me more than a minute, but it felt like twenty with all those people watching and waiting in the dim auditorium, and Clutch working Siobhan up into ever more of a frenzy in front of me.

Even after I’d made it all the way to the base, Plasticine waited for several more dilated seconds to be sure before giving me my first proper thrust.

The muscles deep in my pelvis contracted, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my dick as it struggled for space and found none.

“That’s not all you can give, is it?” I threw back at Plasticine.

She fucked me harder, and I groaned for her, relieved that it hurt, at least a little. I would have felt misled if it hadn’t.

“You could learn to be whoever you have to be, too,” she said, running her hands over the sensitive backs of my thighs. “You have such nice legs. So versatile. I’ll bet they look delicious shaved and stockinged.” Her hands went to my waist. “This flesh would cinch in so nicely under some firmly tightened laces.”

“It does,” I confirmed. My skin tingled almost feverishly as she painted that image with a squeeze of her hands.

Clutch was unzipping the crotch of his own costume now. He took the time to make sure I’d seen his impressive size — just as long and even wider than the toy stretching my insides — before rolling on a condom and kneeling down to line himself up with the back of Siobhan’s pussy.

“Do you want this?” he prompted her.

“Fuck, yes, please,” Siobhan panted, all pretense of guilt or other hesitation gone.

He held her by the hips and slid his way into her, precisely controlling the pace. “Describe it.”

“It’s amazing,” she moaned.

“You sound surprised,” said Clutch. “Why?”

“Well, you are a villain.”

“A stern radical, perhaps,” he said, giving it to her in a firm, steady, confident rhythm. “But you are not the one being punished today.”

Plasticine hammered into me faster, more roughly, scraping nails down my back to underline the point.

“No,” Siobhan agreed blissfully. “No, definitely not.”

“In fact, none of this is really about you, is it?” Clutch’s voice took a harder turn. He leaned forward, put a hand around her neck, and pulled her as close and upright as her cuffs allowed. “How does it feel, knowing that you’re nothing but a prop, here to help a man make a point to another man?”

Siobhan’s eyes flashed, furious and vindicated and brightly alive at the acknowledgement.

Clutch could not have coaxed out a stronger reaction if he’d had a second chastity device to show her.

“It feels fucking trite,” Siobhan answered, then moaned as he thrust in hard, reaching around to hold the vibrator to her clit. “Oh, fuck, you’re lucky that you’re so good at the execution.”

“Say that again.” He drove into her, shifting a hand from her throat to cup and rub her breast.

“You’re so good,” she gasped, “so… good…”

She screamed out the proof of it, shuddering through every limb, relying on Clutch’s arms to keep her from collapsing completely. Somehow, he held her, even through the faintly shaky grunts of his own orgasm.

There was no such conclusion for me this time, though Plasticine’s brutal thumping of my prostate kept giving me false, twinging hopes of it. She pushed in deep, and I felt the length of the dildo shift its pressure up and down as she rubbed herself against the back of it with a deep, satisfied sigh.

As one, Clutch and Plasticine pulled out of us, stepped to the front of the stage, clasped hands, and took a bow to thunderous applause.

Clutch waved his hand again, releasing us from our restraints and gesturing to us in a single motion. The audience obliged his polite gesture with more cheers and hoots for us.

Siobhan and I were grabbing for each other, kissing deeply and whispering words of affection and assurance not meant for the audience. We were both far too wrecked and wobbly to get up and bow just yet, but we managed weak waves and nods of acknowledgement.

Clutch and Plasticine removed the condom and strap-on and straightened themselves up a little. He offered Siobhan his hand, and Plasticine yanked my arm across her shoulders to support me heavily to my feet.

Right, of course, we had to clear the stage for the next time slot.

Her manner of helping me up also put her mouth conveniently close to my ear as the applause began to die down.

“Meet me in room 107, if you want to explore your own shapeshifting some more,” she whispered, covering the discreet microphone clipped to her dress. “I can transform you into the most gorgeous heroine you’ve ever seen.”

I smiled and felt myself go red at the thought.

“I’m kind of on a date,” I reminded her. “I wouldn’t want to wander off on my own for too long.”

Plasticine glanced at Clutch and Siobhan on her other side and smiled, unperturbed. “Your partner is obviously craving a different role for herself next. I’ll bet she won’t be able to keep her hands off you…” she pulled the key to my cage from her cleavage, twirling it between her fingers for emphasis, “…after she rescues you from me.”

She tucked the key away again as we exited the auditorium into the now blinding brightness of the rest of the hall.

“Room 107?” I checked.

She smacked my ass and Siobhan’s once more in unison before sauntering away into the crowd, the back of her head nodding.

***

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