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April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering	By : Nickamano Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 448 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: April O'Neil, the Foot Clan and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and any related materials are not owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
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She was actually going to head down into the sewers. It was crazy. Stupid. Potentially suicidal, so to speak, but it had to be done, she needed the scoop. April needed the news currency to kickstart her career, once and for all. And those who didn’t take risks didn’t get anywhere. They were left behind. Forgotten about.
In preparation she had ordered a full-body protective cover-all with boot covers, gloves and elasticated hood. She still had the half-mask respirator and goggles set from when she had moved into her apartment and spent the weekend painting the walls and ceilings. She had also borrowed a little clip-on night-vision camcorder from the supplies room at work. It was the only way she was going to go down into the sewers alone at night.

She really wanted a weapon as well. For reassurance at the very least. She had considered the throwing star that had been embedded in her camera the last time. She still had it in a drawer in her desk, but if she was honest, she would probably just cut herself with it. She thought about a knife or one of those telescopic batons but again, she had neither the strength nor skill for the latter. The former… well, she had sharp knives in her kitchen like everyone did but she was scared of it being taken off her and used against her. Though, at the same time, was she going to stumble across anyone down the sewers anyway? It was a long-shot, she knew that much. Perhaps a homeless person? She didn’t think even people so down on their luck would make a home for themselves in the disease-ridden filth and stink of New York’s sewer system.
She settled on a five-inch multitool, though more for confidence than utility. She had slipped it into the thigh pocket opposite her phone. The phone was a cheap little burner she had picked up for emergencies. She had intended to enter contact numbers into it that she thought she might need, but she couldn’t actually think of anyone. Which was a sobering thought. The only other item she brought was an oil-based florescent coloured Sharpie.
The next question was where to access the sewers. She knew of two options when it came to manhole covers. One lay an alley near her apartment building; the other was near to where she had been targeted down in the subway. She went for the easy option, the closer of the two. Though she decided to wait until the coast was clear and go after midnight.
She assumed it was going to be quite warm down there and with the protective gear it would be worse, so she only wore a thin tank top and even thinner gym shorts. Over the skimpy attire she hauled on an old calf-length overcoat to conceal how little she actually had on.
With her equipment and protective coverings clutched in a trash bag, April hurried from her apartment building’s entrance, skipped quickly down the steps and raced across the street.
There was no one around, though it was a warm night. A few parked cars were in the area, but the nearest ones were sitting idle further up the street. The windshield of one looked a touch speckled with condensation but there was no movement within. She hurried across onto the opposite sidewalk and then slipped into the waiting alley.
Pausing in the shadows of the alleyway, April froze, listening but there was nothing to hear. Once reassured there was no one around, she moved into the rear part of the alley where it opened up a little more. She shrugged off the buttoned-up coat and then quickly hauled on all her protective gear. The coat went into the trash bag which got rolled up and shoved under a nearby dumpster. Standing in the dark she turned around slowly, reclaiming her bearings, before turning toward where she remembered the manhole was.
It was only then that she started to think about the practicalities of actually opening a manhole cover. They were heavy, thick metal things, and she knew the guys that worked down there had some kind of special tool to open them. Getting over the initial frustration of not thinking of it earlier, April glared down at the problem, telling herself to look at it as a positive, reciting the mantra that problems were just challenges to be overcome. However, even in the inkblot-gloom, lit barely by the dregs of yards-away street lights, she could see there was something wrong. The blackness of that manhole cover was too all-consuming.

She had a momentary flashback of another alley she had found herself in recently. It had been at the rear of the bank that those ninja kids had been robbing. And she had been forced to attempt an escape by going down into the sewers. This looked just like that one had - there was no manhole cover present. It was just the intense and oppressive blackness of a subterranean abyss.
So, someone had already removed the cover. For her? Was in the Trench-coat Vigilante? Or one of his kind? Some kind of invitation? The mutant or whatever it was, that had spoken to her with that broken, struggle-to-pronounce-English gravel voice, had warned her of the dangers.
However, April felt absolutely certain that her above ground dangers - reputation damage, the constant threat of being fired, all those cruel manipulative men constantly taking advantage of her; or her languishing in unfulfilling, soul-sapping anonymity - they all felt equally dangerous to her future. And this scoop could, no would, set everything right.
Of course, she would still have to sell it. A Channel Six exclusive wouldn’t cut it, that was painfully obvious. But maybe The Post, The Bugle or The Times, even The Daily News picking up the story would put her straight into the limelight. At last, noticed, impressing her contemporaries and better still, the upper echelons of editorial.
The fantasising gave her the confidence to sit herself on the lip of the manhole, to feel around for the mortared-in metal steps and then start down into the blackness.

She didn’t activate the flashlight or the night-vision camera until she was down there in the blackness, surrounded by slime-ridden brick. When she did switch it on, the light didn’t even help very much. Sure, it provided good quality LED illumination but it was a pool of bright light that all but whited out the details of what was inside its hazy disc while making everything outside seem twice as black. Still, better the near too-bright glare than walking around in the pitch black.
At least the mask’s filters replaced most of the dank, fetid putrescence of the vile place with the nostril-tickling aromas of plastic and rubber. That dark vileness was still all around her, slurping and dripping and sloshing. She kept herself up out of the worst of it, following along a low brick walkway that skirted the curved wall, while the flowing storm and wastewater ran idly along in a central channel. April brought out her fluorescent marker and drew an arrow on the bricks pointing the way back to the ladder.

More than once she almost slipped in the sludge coating the walkway and clinging to the bricks beside and above her. Making her gasp and her heart leap into her throat. She couldn’t tell inf the coldness surrounding her rubber boots was just temperature or leakage. She didn’t want to consider the latter.
She wondered if the ‘sludge’ was algae or if the sewage waters actually reached the ceiling bricks and left unappealing deposits during storms. She had certainly witnessed manholes belching sewer water onto the streets following days of heavy rain on at least a couple of occasions.
It occurred to April that she hadn’t anticipated how her flashlight beam might affect the quality of the camcorder recording and kicked herself for not testing it in her apartment while she was checking the suit, replacing the respirator’s filters and charging the batteries for the camcorder. Nothing she could do about it now.

A sudden noise behind her made April jump out of her skin. She whipped herself and her flashlight around but there was nothing in the gloom, behind or ahead of her. Not even a scurrying rat. No sign of what had made the sound or that it could have been anything more than just her own fraught imagination.
She almost called out to the Trench-coat Vigilante, hoping beyond hope that it was he who was making noises. Afterall, he must have opened the manhole cover for her. What could that mean though, was he watching her? Stalking her? There were plenty of street level grates to look up through and who knew how extensive the coverage of the city could be while beneath it? How much could you learn about someone by following them while under their feet? April silently cursed for having scared herself so effectively, then she shook off the chills as best as she could and continued along the slick surface of the walkway.

Minutes later she heard the unmistakable sound of human voices. They were echoing, as though inside a church or cathedral and seemed to come from up ahead of her. Quelling the surge of excitement that, at last, she was going to manage to get video evidence of the Trench-coat Vigilante, April took a long memorising look along the passageway ahead of her and then switched off her flashlight. She kept her gloved fingertips in contact with the wall and walked slowly and steadily forward in the dark.
It took a few minutes to notice that she wasn’t actually in complete darkness. There was a faint, hazy grey light ahead where the oval shaped passageway terminated. April had the sudden feeling that there must be a larger chamber beyond this tunnel.

Her assessment proved to be correct. The passage ended abruptly opening out into a two storey vaguely rectangular room, similar in dimension to a shoebox, she supposed. Brick and mortar steps straight in front of her against the rightmost wall, leading to an upper floor. Up there were a number of iron or steel supports, like fingers reaching up to the gloomy ceiling. There was also an open manhole, a streetlight’s glow cast down through it onto the upper floor with an additional meagre glow from a couple of grates. Also upstairs, near the flat brick ceiling and running left to right, out of and into the brickwork were thick pipes. Some were as wide as a human’s torso others as thick as a thigh. She could even see a small cluster of pressure gauges on the far left of the upper storey connected to smaller piping assemblies doglegging out from the thicker rows.
Most importantly, because they were so obviously out of place, were the number of crates and boxes stashed on that upper storey, once appearing to have been covered by large blue tarps, which had since been thrown back. It was hard to determine the contents of those twenty or more crates, due to the differing sizes. Some of it might have been booze bottles, some were packing crates, four-foot cubes. The sort of rough wooden packaging used for import and export. Other items were much smaller and of high quality, perhaps jewellery boxes and the like. Though in the low dirty light it was truly hard to see.
Another element of that chamber, impossible to see until movement provided a revelation, were a number of dark clad figures. April could see, maybe, five of them. However, she instantly knew that she had seen these types before - clad in black from head to foot, masked and hooded. Beneath were well balanced and athletic forms. Trained killers and thieves armed with martial arts weapons. The Foot clan.

For one horrible, heart-stopping moment, they all turned as one to stare down at her. They were statues, flowing and graceful; in-motion statues. Before April could will herself to move, they had dropped to the lower floor, fast and graceful, immediately forming a wedge in front of her, the foremost practically nose-to-nose with her. She took an instinctive step back, only to jerk to a shocked halt at the feel of something sharp pressing into her spine. There was a presence behind the sharpness.
The leader at the head of the wedge reached out and yanked off her googles and half mask, snatching back her protective hood in the process. All April could think of was: “Oh, please, not again”.
But then the unfiltered reek of the sewer struck her, momentarily snapping her out of the terror of another prospective assault. How many times could this happen to her? How often did it happen to other women? She knew she was hot, numerous men had told her, Dave had often said she had the face and figure of a classic 90’s Italian porn actress. But c’mon, how many other women suffered as often with such unwanted sexual attentions from men? Was she somehow cursed, due to her looks?
She was grabbed at the nape of her neck.

“I’ve seen you.” Stated the black clad leader. “I’ve seen her, she’s like a news anchor or something.”
“She’s hot though.” Came another voice from the arrowhead.
  “You think she’s hot from the neck up? Wait ‘till you see her from the neck down.” Commented the leader.
April gasped. A short, straight bladed sword appeared from behind the leader’s back, he leaned back a little and then performed a blurringly fast blade-wheel inside the twelve inches of clear air between them. April felt her protective suit slit open from throat to navel. The weight of the little clipped on camera pulled the opened front of the thin plastic garment wide. The Foot clan leader made the sword disappear.
April’s protective clothing sagged, bellying open, slipping from her shoulders to finally snag around her elbows and midriff. Her thin cotton tank top was revealed. And of course, the skimpy top was jutting, high and full and proud. And as she hadn’t expected to see anyone else down here other than the Trench-coat Vigilante - who had proved himself her ally, she hadn’t bothered with her uncomfortably restrictive bra. The overstuffed tank top was already darkened with sweat beneath her arms and the length of her cleavage. Even in the gloom she knew that all eyes would be on her eye-catching bosom.
“Goddamn.” Another one muttered. “Are they fucking real?”
“Looks like a fucking mirage to me, Genin.”

They all spoke with local accents, just like the last time. It still surprised April, she always expected to hear them sounding like Mr Miyagi. Someone laughed, a nervous titter. They all appeared mesmerised.

“You think master Tatsu would be angry if we took a little longer to get the stuff moved?”
“I think we’d be a bunch of punk-ass-bitches if we looked this gift horse in the mouth.”
“Enough contemplating. Get her upstairs, get her naked. We can lay her on a tarp and make good use of her. Spoils of fucking war ain’t it.”
“Right-on, Chunin!” Said one to the rear of the wedge. “Let’s go guys, fun to be had!”

April was grabbed by close to a dozen hands and lifted clear off the ground. She struggled in their cruel grasp but they were too strong and there were too many of them. Plus, she got a sharp slap across the back of the head for her trouble. It stunned her, even with the thick waves of her auburn mane, the impact made her dizzy and she momentarily swooned.

There was a strange light for just a moment - a tiny red glow, like a single demonic eye. Fighting to keep her awareness sharp and her surroundings in mind, April thought back on that moment, pictured it like a photograph in her head. She thought the light was somewhere in the tunnel back the way she had come. But it had only been visible for an instant. She was currently on her back being carried up toward the brick-and-metal reinforced ceiling of the upper chamber.
They righted her at the top of the stairs, the air was a little less foul up there, though not by much. And it was a little less dingy and less deeply shadowed, closer to a world of grey than a world of black and she could see the vague dirty amber of streetlight illumination creeping down onto them from above, through those grates and manholes covers.
Gripped by her upper arms, additional ninja hands snatched at her ruined protective suit, pulling at the garment, half peeling it off, half ripping it away. It left her, essentially, in boots and sleepwear. Her sweat-soaked cropped tank-top matched with her pair of mock-satin gym shorts appearing, in the gloom, as grey as her top.
“Hey, remember that movie when those Roman soldiers pinned a hot nun down for a good fucking, the first one stabbing his blade right through her hand into the ground? We should do that! It’d be fucking sweet!”
“Please don’t!” April pleaded. “There’s no need for that. I won’t fight you!”
“Fucking right you won’t fight us! No one fights the fucking Foot clan and lives, bitch!”
“Silence. Strip her. No tanto through the palm, no beating on her. We’ll all fuck her however we want and then we leave her here. Either she’ll find her way out or she won’t.”
“One thing you won’t do, bitch. Is tell the cops on us!”
“I won’t! I won’t have any evidence! I haven’t seen any of your faces. There’s nothing I could tell the cops.” April swore desperately.
“Fun first, we can decide what to do about her later.”
She couldn’t tell any of them apart, maybe in better light she was have been able to determine differences in height and build but they were all almost complete absorbed by the gloom. All she had was their voices, all New York accents, Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens, street guttural, uptown, a real mix. Though she also noted the way they interacted. She could tell one of them was superior and she remembered the terms ‘Chunin’ and ‘Genin’ from her last interaction. Which she assumed had been titles and had looked the words up later to confirm. They were essentially classes of ninja, middle and lower respectively. With ‘Jonin’ being the senior class.
That time she had been saved by the Trench-coat Vigilante… or Vigilantes. This time she didn’t know what was going to happen. Was she going to die down here, after they had all had their fun with her? Or if they were actually a gang of organised criminals, might she even find herself trafficked out of the country, organs cut out of her and sold off. Though, given her figure and tiny amount of fame, was it more likely she’d be sold off into slavery or something?
But that was the future, all she could think of was how to survive the next few seconds and the next few seconds after those. She assumed her best bet was to make them happy, they would be more likely to look on her favourably then, not hurt her as badly, perhaps not kill her. Perhaps even let her go.
“You take that off, we’ve got this.” One of the men instructed.
Even before April understood what they were getting at, it being so dark in the brick chamber, her skimpy shorts were snatched down her legs to the tops of her boots, there was a quick moment of navigation, April having her feet lifted one by one. Proffering obedience, she grabbed the rucked-up hem of her tank top herself and slid the skimpy garment up over her head, tossing it over onto the stack of crates and boxes. She stood there defiant yet shivering under the glaring lights of almost a dozen pairs of eyes, her head up in mock pride, her arms down but a little away from her sides, dressed only in rubber boots.

In the gloom she started to note some textural differences amongst the layers of black or dark cloth covering her assailants. In her mind she slowly started to differentiate. It revealed not only differing fabrics clothing them but the weapons they bore too - wrapped hilts of knives, swords and sickles. Matt-coated lengths of chain, octagonally shaped pendulum weights. There were even small pairs of night-vision goggles covering their eyes. Which was why they weren’t throwing flashlight beams all over her naked flesh.
“You get one warning, woman. Just one. If you try anything, escape or fight… Anything other than complete cooperation, we’ll zip-tie you to those railings and leave you here, after we’ve all had our fun… Whether you die here of starvation, or get eaten alive by sewer rats… well. But either way, you will die. Down here. Alone.”
April desperately nodded understanding into the black lenses poking out from beneath the cloth hood and mask.
“I’ll cooperate. I promise. I’ll do anything you tell me to.”
He turned and addressed the others, but silently this time, using a rapid sequence of hand gestures. Though the content of his instructions was plain enough. He had split his group into two. A play group and a work group. No doubt, once the play group were satisfied - all raped out, they would swap.

The play group of four encircled her, up close, taking up compass points, not giving her any room or opportunity for escape. Even though she had promised cooperation, they obviously weren’t about to trust her word.
They moved as one. The guy behind her reached under her arms and scooped up her breasts, mauling and squeezing them fiercely. Pushing the twin orbs, overflowing from his large hands, together into the middle of her chest while he kneaded them with a baker’s passion. The others unfastened their trousers and levered out already fully hard cocks. Her hands were grabbed by the wrists and pressed onto two of those erections. The guy on her left was already jerking his own shaft and April’s palm was pressed to the underside to cup the big heavy ball sack that awaited her touch. The guy to her right closed her fist around his meat and got her working in a rapid pace up and down the good-sized shaft.

The guy facing her, she assumed the Chunin, took a step forward and took hold of her fear-stiffened nipples between fingers and thumbs. Besides uncomfortable the touch felt odd, unnaturally smoothed as though his fingertips were somehow devoid of prints. He pinched her nipples while the man at her back continued his brutal caress of the orbs. Though she couldn’t see his eyes behind those onyx lenses, she felt as though he was staring into her eyes while he pinched and rolled her pain-firmed buds with rising cruelty.
At first April was merely wincing but all too soon he had her letting out hisses and moans and then increasing whimpers of pain and wordless complaint, tears started to free themselves from her eyes and roll down her cheeks, but she maintained a defiant eye-to-lens contact as much as she could. For some reason she couldn’t understand herself, that little defiant stand meant everything to her.
More hands joined those of the man at her back, covering and caressing more of her breast flesh, while she also felt hands grasping and squeezing nastily into the taut muscles of her buttocks. It felt like all eight of them were copping a brutal feel with both hands. However, she could see the second group out of the corner of her eye, working away at transporting the stash of boxes and crates deeper into the shadows, perhaps to the surface via an out of sight manhole. All too often their heads appeared to be turned her way, taking a distracted interest in her.
There was no sign of any of the Trench-coat Vigilantes, however many of them there were.
The Chunin released one nipple which already felt tender and bruised. He slid his smooth palm and fingers idly down her ribs, her taut stomach, dipped below her belly button then down through her soft peach fuzz. His middle finger splayed her heated vulva and started to probe between the delicate, sweat-dampened lips.
One hand, she believed belonging to the man at her back, released his underhand grip of one of her breasts and disappeared behind her. She heard the rustle of cloth, the hiss of released rubber-suction. And then that disappeared hand reappeared in front of her face. It clamped across her upper face, covered her eyes. Again, the palm felt smooth and somehow plastic coated. As though he was wearing a medical glove or something.
A second hand cupped her chin and forced her mouth open. She felt the guy at her back leaning up against her, his head swinging around towards hers. The hand across her eyes pulling her head around until his mouth met hers. His lips felt full and soft and there was some itchy stubble around their periphery, he forced his tongue between her lips. April reluctantly kissed him back, wheeling his invading tongue with hers, then following him back into his mouth. He actually caught her tongue between his teeth, not biting down, just holding her tongue stretched out between his lips. April read the silent threat in those teeth; however pointless it was. She was cooperating, wasn’t she?
Finally, the teeth released her tongue, there was a raw mild stinging left behind, a band of discomfort across the slick organ. But then her head was turned back, pulled forward, the hand across her eyes maintaining its blindfold. And she was kissing one of the others, the Chunin she assumed. His kiss lasted longer, and again April reciprocated with forced passion, silently trying to impress on the leader how much she was cooperating with them.

She was suddenly pushed down to her knees, incidentally freed from her human blindfold. She managed to squat on the balls of her feet to keep flesh from the filth of the ground, hands gripping the loose cotton trousers of the Chunin. His erection jutted blatantly in her face. Fighting back a sigh, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue so he could bounce the underside of the crown against her protruding tongue for a few seconds; see-sawed the bloated circumscribed head across her protruding tongue before thrusting abruptly in deep, pressuring her to immediately take him all the way to the balls.
Swirling her tongue back and forth, she sealed her lips tight, sucking hard. She was perversely gratified to hear a groan from the Chunin. She felt the others closing in even more tightly around her, and felt a hand pressing on the back of her head. Someone knelt beside her, continuing to grope her naked breasts while a pair of legs lodged themselves against her back. They were giving her nowhere to go and nothing to do but suck ninja cock and get groped by lustful, uncaring and abusive hands. The grip on her head shoved her forward as her lips met the Chunin’s wiry pubes, driving an extra inch or two into her throat.

She sucked hard and deep, bobbing her head rapidly, sensing another erection near her head, to her right. Reaching up blindly, she went back to jerking off the shaft, or playing with the balls however she was instructed. The cock’s owner allowed her to play as she desired for a while, letting her use her initiative. She switched between gently fondling his balls and jerking rapidly on his hot length.
At some point the hand on the back of her head switched position, fingers were suddenly digging into her skull, pulling her head to the right. The Chunin’s cock popped out of her mouth and instantly replaced by the shaft she had been jerking off. It was shorter but thicker, stretching her jaw but bottoming out at the back of her mouth rather than penetrating into her throat. It was also sweatier, tasted as such, though not quite rank, it was salty with perhaps a hint of sourness on her tongue. She precisely replicated her hot sucking action, though with the additional thickness, there was less room for her to use her tongue on the corded underside and those coiled bulges of veins.
The situation shifted abruptly and with no notice, as far as April was concerned. The Chunin removed her caressing hand from his balls - a gentle fondling he had demanded a minute earlier, when he had relinquished her mouth to an underling. She sensed him step away. The man at her back came around to the side and for a few seconds she had a cock in each hand while a third thrust deep in her mouth. However, sooner than expected, they pulled away from her too. The next second, she was hoisted up off her feet and carried backward, upright, a few paces before being lowered again. Hands grasped her inner thighs and made sure she remained spread. She found herself squatting over the Chunin. He was lying on his back on the blue tarp, angling his slick cock upward between her plump thighs.

Like before, the other three crowded in around her, one standing in front of her face, while the other two squatted on either side of her. Again, April’s hands were pressed around pulsing, warm erections, while the leader slid into her from beneath. At the same time the fourth man thrust into her obediently open mouth.
The leader’s erection slid into her more easily than anticipated, his erection still slick from her sucking. She did know none of that lubrication was coming from her pussy, she felt dry inside. However, there was an infuriatingly pleasant throbbing heat emanating from her down there and she had little doubt her always-betraying pussy would start to lube itself up sooner rather than later.

The proximity of the three men kept April upright and balanced. Even though she was squatting over Chunin’s lap, squatting on the balls of her feet, rocking her hips or bouncing up and down via little knee flexes, all the energetic and youthful kinds of motion that, in another decade or so she would no doubt struggle with.
So far, none of the ninja had climaxed. It was all very controlled and protracted. They were using her body for their collective pleasure while drawing all that fun out, taking their time, making it last. And it felt like all four of them were filling their hands with the hot, pliant flesh of her bared boobs, mangling her tit flesh with definite and deliberate cruelty. On the plus side, though the hands squeezing her breasts were bruising and harsh, she was used to such treatment on that part of her body and there was little else being done to her that felt too painful or too much to take.
Chunin’s hands were gripping her ass cheeks from beneath but just to hold her, even supporting her with his prodigious strength. The guy using her mouth wasn’t long or thick enough make sucking him much of a chore and her jaw was barely aching, while his length was not enough to make her gag or choke or even to reach her throat.

They changed positions again following some kind of silent urging from the Chunin. Someone knelt behind April, making himself into a living seat. She found herself pushed onto his lap, her legs upraised and pulled wide apart by the other two. The Chunin repositioned himself so he was kneeling between her legs, still fully hard and ready to penetrate her again.
He thrust in, sending a shockwave of heat through April’s loins. Something about the angle was grinding the swollen ridge of his mushroom crown against her G-spot, sending elicit bursts of lightning throughout her core; horribly delicious, and utterly unwanted sensations. Her nipples were achingly hard and they were pinching on them again. April felt her face must be furiously flushing with unsolicited pleasure and she couldn’t help but stare directly into those night-vision lenses of the Chunin, thrusting up into her with ever-increasing pace.

The man in her mouth pulled out and started jerking off in her face, it gave her a few inches more space to see herself in the gloom of this sewer hellscape. Glancing down at her chest showed no less than five hands cruelly molesting her breasts, squeezing cruelly, pinching and tweaking her nipples. Two more hands were holding her calves in a vice grip, keeping her spread wide, stretched out.
Chunin’s left hand, while the right one attacked a nipple, was palming her pubic mound, the side of his thumb flicking back and forth across her constantly spasming clitoris, while his shaft slicked back and forth, only using the upper third to violate her. Even so, April could feel her orgasm building rapidly, electricity on overdrive. It was going to be huge, yet she just wanted it gone. She wanted to be hating this gang rape, not enjoying it. It wasn’t fair.
The Chunin started to batter her pussy, thrusting ever harder and faster, having shallowed his thrusts, a sacrifice of depth for speed. April fully expected to feel the hot, wet rush of his cum jetting into her at any second. And then, all of a sudden, he pulled out.

She could feel him drumming the underside of his swollen helmet against the top of her labia and over her clitoris, sending hot sparks bursting like fireworks inside her, making her gasp and writhe each and every time.
The ninja who had been using her mouth abruptly unloaded over her face, mostly into her hair and across her forehead. She wondered if he had been aiming lower and misjudged. She felt it trickling down the side of one eye, like flowing tears, some of it ran down the line of her brow, seeping into her ear before making it to the line of her jaw. A lazy trail followed the side of her nose, once its mass had disentangled itself from her brow. The satisfied ninja stepped away, giving his Chunin more room. Though he didn’t go far, April remained aware of him, continuing to casually tug on his slick, semi-hard shaft.

She looked down and saw the Chunin pause to scoop the free flowing pre-cum fluid from the tip of his shaft, taking up more and more onto the tips of his fingers, while April continued to guiltily enjoy-hate the sunbursts of sensation rushing hotly through her loins. However, it all turned sour as he reached down with two well lubricated fingers and started to smear that oily pre-cum against the puckered mouth of her anus.

“Please… Please don’t. Please…” She whimpered. “Not there, I’m begging you… Please!”

Ignoring her, he made a couple of hurried attempts at oiling up the inside of her anus but in his urgency gave up far too soon. Instead, he angled his hardness, pressed the blunt purple head against her puckered sphincter and forced it urgently inside.
Being experienced in anal, the penetration wasn’t as difficult as it might have been a few years earlier, however the abrupt spasm of burning pain eclipsed her growing pleasure, instantly stunting the building orgasm - popping that glorious balloon before it took her up and embraced her in euphoria.
April was rocked backward, her hips jolting upwards as the pulsing burn of her overloaded sphincter muscles reacted to the sudden forced stretch and penetration. Her head thumped back against the solidly muscled chest of the man she was pressed up against. He reacted by squeezing harder still on her already overly abused breasts.
She cried out, cursed, verbally stumbling over the random, blindly snatched profanity before denigrating into a guttural moan of hot pain and humiliation.
Her loud pained groaning continued of course, because the Chunin had begun thrusting rapidly in and out of her painfully overburdened anus. Her head was, again, grabbed and yanked around to the right. She found herself facing another cock, as another of the Foot clan thrust his way back into her mouth. April had to fight hard against a strong desire to bite down - not to avenge herself on the double-ended rape, but as a simple physical reaction to all that scalding pain throbbing again and again along her well-pummelled guts.
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Reggie Collins tried his best to keep quiet. Something in him was telling him that his life literally depended on it. He didn’t know what the fuck he had stumbled into. His initial plan had simply been to take his private copy of April’s Connecticut Wet Tee-shirt contest footage and try to blackmail her into letting him into her panties. Or at least letting him fuck those fantastic world-class titties.

He had been sitting in his beloved 87 Buick Regal, outside of O’Neil’s apartment. Fighting to build up the courage to break the law by blackmailing that fucking awesome auburn piece-of-ass. Staring at a high-quality screen grab on his phone of those immaculate tits in all their glory and sporting a raging boner, he was just about to open his car door and head on up to her apartment when that ‘ultimate cock tease’ actually showed up. She emerged from the foyer, skipping down the concrete steps carrying a stuffed refuse sack. She was dressed in a long coat, buttoned and belted up like it was the middle of winter. Hurrying straight across the street with hardly a look up or down, she disappeared into an alleyway across from her building.
His nervous lust was eclipsed by a raging reporter’s curiosity. The sort of curiosity that had sent him on his career path, had got him his favourite car and his house in Hell’s Kitchen and also got him into trouble more times than he could count. Trouble that too often proved rewarding. So, tossing aside those grasping fingers of reluctance, and a conscience he had long since stopped listening to, Collins climbed out of his thirty-year-old car, automatically grabbing his trusty camera from the passenger seat, and hurried after her.
He was surprised when he realised that she had disappeared into a stinking, dingy, shadow-ridden alley. It was the kind of place he was oddly familiar with - the number of murder victims found in such locations, the homeless-dead killed by the New York winter, even the artistic-degradation of the environment. Of course, knowing the dangers of such places, he almost always carried the ČZ75 under his jacket.
O’Neil was nowhere to be seen, and the alley appeared to dead end. There were no obvious doors or places she could have gone to, nowhere she could be hiding from him, once he’d checked behind a dumpster or two. Though he could smell her perfume, a residual delight amongst the low-level putrescence. It led him to her refuse sack. He spotted it, thrust under a dumpster. Snatching it out, he discovered her overcoat inside. It was an old and worn thing and had nothing in the pockets. He dumped it back in the trash bag and dropped it at the foot of the dumpster.
There was a nasty sewage smell that was distracting him, it led him to the open manhole. It was the only place she could have gone, no matter how explicable. She certainly hadn’t gone past him. And the eight-foot wire fence at the far end was topped with razor wire. No, either she was hiding somehow and he had suddenly turned into an old blind mindless fool and couldn’t spot her, which was inconceivable, or she had gone down into the fucking sewer.
His curiosity was thoroughly engaged now and he didn’t think twice before climbing down after her.
As a kid, Collins had always dreamed of being a private eye, Sam Spade, Phillip Marlowe or even Harry Angel. So, when he’d left the army, he had immediately tried his hand at it.
The job had proved tedious, it was all sitting on the phone behind a desk performing background checks, or calling every motel and hotel in the state and beyond. Boring, tedious and nothing like his childhood fantasies. So, he had quit after three months and side-stepped into camera work. Crime scene photography, paparazzi, freelancing for TV studios.
Still, he had never quite been able to shake off the allure of Phillip Marlowe and he often liked to dress the part, an old suit and tie, pocket handkerchief, the old leather shoulder holster holding a classic automatic. He had tried a 1911 but the .45 calibre ammunition proved too hard on him. He switched to a 9mm, wanting a Browning High Power to begin with but they had been too expensive when he was shopping around. He found a very nice ČZ and, though it was technically anachronistic to his look, he hadn’t looked back since. It was more homage than accurate styling. Rather than loafers, he preferred his worn Chelsea boots. And having tried out a fedora, immediately realising it didn’t suit him. And had let his receding hair fly free.
When he got to the bottom of the sewer tunnel, he immediately whipped out his handkerchief as a nose and mouth covering, with his necktie knotted over it to keep it pressed to his mouth. It didn’t work particularly well but it was better than nothing.
There were no visual or audible signs but of the meagre light he could detect, there seemed to be more of it to the right rather than the left, so to the right he went. He had no flashlight other than his phone’s flash. But the infrared/night-vision feature on his camera proved to be far superior and, other than the Camera’s red ‘active’ LED, he should be all but invisible. He was also relieved to be wearing his boots, though he had little doubt that his trousers would have to be trashed, maybe his entire outfit.

He heard the din first, a good-few yards before the dome-ceilinged passageway opened up. There was grunting and groaning as well as breathy feminine panting and whimpers. Someone was fucking? Down a sewer? ‘Homeless skanks’ was all he could think of. It made his dick tingle. So, he was a pervert, so what?
He spotted a side tunnel just before the mouth of the main tunnel’s ending. Well, more like an overflow pipe. It jutted slightly from the right-hand wall. Mentally coming to terms with righting off his entire outfit, he climbed inside and lodged himself securely into the four-foot diameter pipe, nice and still and comfortable. At least as much as anyone could be, sitting in sewer filth and slime. And the stink.
He trained his camera across the inky blackness toward the two-storey chamber beyond. balancing the camera on his knee, which was braced by his other leg and the curved concrete wall of the pipe, he activated the zoom first. He moved carefully, getting a slow pan of the interior of the chamber. He immediately spotted a number hardworking individuals, clad in black from head to foot, their heads and faces concealed behind hoods and masks.
Ninjas. He thought, trying to still his excitement. Real-life fucking ninjas! He even saw weapons in their belts, Goddamn ninja swords strapped to the backs of a couple of them. Some of them seemed to be moving swag of some description, boxes of varying dimensions. Some wooden crates. It could only be illegal stuff. Then he took note of a second cluster of them. They were standing around in a cluster, on the upper level. He tightened the zoom. Within the viewfinder’s zoomed in image, someone abruptly swung around to the left and in a blaze of whitish green nudity an adult woman was revealed. And what a fucking body on her!
He zoomed in tight on her exposed pussy, then panned up and zoomed out a little to bring a simply glorious pair of tits into the frame. Which was the precise moment he, belatedly, realised it was O’Neil herself. She was up on the higher part of the chamber, and she was totally naked and she was getting thoroughly gang-banged by four fucking ninjas! Ha! Fucking ninjas fucking!
He had to bite down on the saliva-soaked handkerchief to steady his excitement, while he zoomed in again. Carefully. This was an expensive HD camera and even in its night-vision mode, the optics revealed high quality well-lit and high contrast images of O’Neil. Naked O’Neil. O’Neil fucking and sucking, as she currently was, taking on multiple ninja cocks into that superb, ripe, body.
Being so closely zoomed in on that body - her slick, drool-glistening lips stretched around a fast-thrusting cock, while she was forcefully ( by the looks of the angle) sodomised by the sword-wielding man kneeling between her spread thighs - Collins actually failed to get any footage or even any awareness of the first few kills.
<><><>
April couldn’t see or hear much of anything, her ears filled with the slick, bubbling squelch back-and-forth of whichever cock was currently thrusting right into the back of her mouth, and the fapping noises of Foot clan fists on their cocks, as they watched her dual oral and anal rape. And of course, the increasingly enlivened pleasured grunting of the leader, who continued to make her over-burdened anus burn and painfully cramp, her sphincter ring screaming with sharp, hot-pain as it was stretched forcefully around his girth.
Still, worst of all was the smell, which she had hoped and yet failed to have gotten used to. Without her rebreather mask the putrid, sickening stench of the sewer constantly assailed her senses with its own form of assault. That, rather than distract her from the raping, or vice versa, was nothing more than an additional assailant to contend with. Something else she couldn’t protect herself from.

However, in her current position, April was the only one who didn’t have her back to the remaining group of Foot clan ninja; the only one whose attention wasn’t distracted by her bouncing flesh. Eyes fully adjusted to the gloom she took note, via a series of sneaky looks, of the second ninja team. They were still engrossed in their duty of shifting whatever stolen merchandise they had stored down here. And they had grown increasingly distracted. Though not by April. They appeared confused, constantly pausing to looking around and searching through the gloom. And then she realised there were in fact only the two of them when there had been four, or perhaps even five. It was possible that the others remained, though too deep in the shadows for her to see, but somehow instinct told her otherwise.

A cotton-candy bubble of hope and excitement expanded inside her, making her smile, at least on the inside. She suddenly didn’t feel quite so alone.
She wondered again, about that momentary red LED light in the entrance to the tunnel she had entered through. It had been just for a moment and had been blurry as she had been hoisted off her feet and hauled up the stairs. And it had vanished almost immediately, to the point she had started to assume it had been imaginary or just a reflection of her own equipment. However, now she was starting to think it might have belonged to a third party after all.
However, if that was the case, why was he or it waiting so long before stepping in to save her? Did it like the view? Like what was happening to her? Did it enjoy her humiliation somehow?
The Trench-coat Vigilante had definitely expressed an, admittedly not unusual, admiration for her figure. Maybe to get a good look at her naked… would it stoop to the low of allowing her to be stripped naked and assaulted? Gang-raped, just so it could get a look at her naked body? April noted she didn’t know enough about the Trench-coat Vigilante to know what might be going on it its mind. In fact, looking back she had often found herself almost idolising it, certainly putting it on a pedestal. Perhaps even mild hero-worship.
She realised that the Vigilante was also providing a much-needed distraction from the more mundane horrors of her world. Horrors that recently, well actually for a long time, had seemed to follow her around, haunting her. Even now, she realised, she was distracting herself with it. Thinking about… no, fantasising about being rescued by the Trench-coat Vigilante, rather than facing the reality that this might very well be the final torturous hour or so of her life - brutally gang-raped and then murdered down in a stinking sewer by criminals dressed as ninjas. Even if they didn’t use those martial arts weapons to end her life once they had finished ‘having their fun’, they might make good on their threat to immobilise her down here and leave her to die of exposure, or rat bites or thirst. It was unlikely that anyone else would wander down here and find her or come to her rescue. These might very well be the last few hours of the last day of her life.
All of a sudden, one guy from the second group called out to the leader. But he just snapped back at his underling, obviously enjoying himself far too much plundering April’s gripping rectum to pay any attention. He belatedly delegated to one of the guy’s jerking off, to deal with it, apparently without taking in the specific problem. But April heard. Two of the second team had indeed gone missing.

It took a third disappearance before the situation really grabbed the attention of the Chunin, who was still working toward cumming up April’s ass. In fact, other than the guy who had jizzed on her face no one had, which surprised her. And so, with a curse-coloured sigh of exasperation, he yanked his meat violently out of her burning ass hole; the sudden, sharp evacuation snatching an equally piercing squeal from the naked reporter.
Yanking his pants back up, the leader looked around and then started to snap out orders. One of the other three tried to get himself insinuated into April, but he was grabbed and shoved off her, and given a swift gut-kick before having fresh orders snapped at him. The winded insubordinate ninja stumbled toward the brick staircase, dragging his trousers back up as he limped off to his duty.

The leader grabbed April’s right wrist and dragged her over to the top most horizontal pipe that formed a rudimentary barrier to the edge of the upper storey, arms spread out along the top bar of rusted irons, in a cruciform. Producing a pair of matt-black zip-ties, he secured her wrists to the flaky, yellow-painted shaft.
He gave her one last, perhaps longing, look over and then followed after his minions, all of which were now spreading out across the chamber’s upper and lower floors, searching for the missing Foot clan ninjas.

The other two men also armed with swords had drawn their blades and were using them to prod the layer of vile stinking water downstairs, searching for submerged bodies.
The second body turned out to be hidden under the water. However, it was another corpse that was discovered first. It had been lodged into a gap between the brickwork and one of the big pipes up near the ceiling. When they pulled him out, his black clad skull flopped unnaturally, neck obviously broken. But also, his skull, beneath its cloth hood, looked wrong too. It looked partially crushed. Like someone had put his head in a vice.
For some reason they decided to unwrap the skull of its hood and mask. April quickly turned her face away from the reveal.
A minute later the two sword carrying guys were pulling another missing ninja’s corpse out of the water. One of them was pulling the body up, hands hooked under the its armpits while two more waded through the nasty water to help them drag the body toward the stairs. The leader stared for a moment and then started snapping orders to the remaining guys to go back and “guard the whore”.

Something, a rough black dome of indeterminate size, broke the surface of the grey, scuzzy water. Then it exploded from that liquid murk in a blur of motion and a putrid spray of filth. One of the ninja was made devoid of his sword, and his hand. At the same time the fast-moving shape gained a sheen of blurred steel while the water spray took on a faint suggestion of crimson. The disarmed ninja disappeared under the sewer water, the blur along with him, both vanishing in the same splash.
For a couple of seconds there was no sound or movement.
April was shocked by how these men could be so utterly quiet. Not even panting, not even the swish of cloth covered limbs in motion. The water ripples slowly steadied into silence and there was no sound except April’s noisy breaths and occasional drips from splash run-off.
Something plipped up from the water and for a second April was reminded of that monster in the first Star Wars, the trash compactor thing. Whatever-it-was flicked a quick arc of motion and then vanished again. However, it had hurled something into the air. April caught the impression as the device tumbled on its upward arc of a lightbulb plugged into a small plastic base. And then whatever it was activated.

There was a blinding burst of light. A flashbang without the bang. There were yells and curses, men ripping overloaded night-vision goggles from their eyes. April saw movement again but now she was struggling with sun-bright afterimages obscuring her vision. She couldn’t imagine what those light intensifying goggles would have done to the Foot clan guys’ collective vision.
The blur reappeared, erupting from the water and with it, the pale lance of the stolen sword flashed through the gloom. A man screamed and multiple pieces, chunks of body and spraying blood, spattered down into that murky sewer filth.
The blur moved again, leaping high and landing halfway up the stairs. April knew then that it was the Trench-coat Vigilante. However, he wasn’t wearing a trench-coat this time. Or a hat. He seemed to have something big strapped to his back but she couldn’t make it out. A shield of some kind?

The leader was the next to die. Some kind of fast, almost silent grappling fight. It appeared to last no more than a couple of seconds and ended with the Chunin dropped, spine first over the blur’s knee. The sickening sound of the dry crack of the Chunin’s spine breaking and the final death-rattle exhale that followed was spookily loud.
The last of the sword wielders was trying to wade through the water toward the stairs. The Trench-coat Vigilante picked up a second sword from the twitching back of the discarded Chunin’s body, drawing the identical straight bladed weapon with its square shaped handguard from its scabbard. Waiting for the Foot clan guy to close in, the shadowy vigilante spun and wheeled both swords. His movements appeared expert to April, well-practised and precise. He also appeared to be showing off, like some cocky teenager, showing his skills to a competitor. Inviting contest.

This was the longest time April had seen the vigilante remaining still and she gazed down at him, from behind the bars of the rusty metal barrier. The vigilante was big, well-muscled, huge arms and legs. He was mostly in silhouette but there remained enough gloomy light touching details of his frame to confirm that he was naked and definitely male. A pronounced male appendage jutted from his crotch, hair-less and nestled in the valley between a big pair of testicles.
She could also see abdominals and pectorals but they looked different somehow, not like a standard shape for a normal human being. She had dated a wanna-be bodybuilder for a little while in college and he had made sure she had got closely equated with the way male muscles looked and interacted, and felt. She had retained enough mental scarring from those few weeks to note the differences even in this sub-twilight illumination. The muscles of that vigilante mutant-male hardly looked like muscles at all. April couldn’t understand it. And then there was that strange, big shield-like thing on his back. She couldn’t understand that either. Though in her defence his whole shape was all but a silhouette.

There appeared to be only three clan ninjas left - one at the top of the stairs, one guarding April and the sword carrier down in the water, The closest two were closing in on the vigilante, while April’s guard wasn’t moving quite yet.
The foot clan guy’s sword training was ineffective against the vigilante. A thrust toward the guts with a half-circle twist. But the vigilante parried easily with one blade while wheeling to one side, the second blade came down pommel-first, like a hammer. There was a ringing crack followed by the clatter of fallen metal. The vigilante swept around in another wide arc, now coming in behind the ninja. April saw that the Foot ninja’s blade had been snapped clean through.
The vigilante’s twin blades rose high, points poised, and then stabbed down hard through the guy’s trapezoid muscles on either side of his neck. The blades were driven straight downward all the way to the handguards. And they were left there hilt deep, both swords fully sheathed inside the man’s torso, and surely penetrating most of his internal organs.
The vigilante became a blur again. Leaping off the steps, aiming weapon-less for the lone ninja downstairs. The man near April was on the move at last, hurrying down the steps, trying not to slip on blood or the obstacles formed from the corpses of two of his brothers.

The vigilante and the first-floor ninja met in the middle of the pool where it was thigh-deep. Though the vigilante was a head taller or appeared to be from April’s perspective. The ninja carried a spike tipped staff, maybe three feet overall. He whipped and wheeled the sharp spiked point, and so did the vigilante’s arms, the flesh more of a blur than the steel. And it appeared to catch the sides and rear of the spike with inhuman skill, sweeping the dangerous point constantly clearing it from getting too near its own body. And at the same time, the mutant was closing in, getting inside the ninja’s guard.
Once that was accomplished, the vigilante - arms raised - suddenly snared the man’s weapon arm, whipped its own arms about, putting the ninja into what April could only guess was a kind of arm grapple. Only it didn’t stop with the grapple, the pressure was maintained, muscles bulging, the ninja straining, both arms hyperextended, while his body stretched upward vertically, trying to fend off the inevitable. The spiked staff fell from the man’s grasp, vanishing beneath the foul water with a plop.
And then his arms came off at the shoulders. Both limbs adding their own weighty splashes as they were lost to their putrid tomb. And then the ninja started to scream.
The vigilante was having none of it. He wrapped one big bodybuilder’s arm around the man’s blood-soaked upper torso; while the other encircled his hooded and masked skull. A quick heavy torquing of the head and it came off like a butchered chicken. The head was tossed into the water and the body, at least torso and legs, were discarded. The body remained standing for a grim moment, before the legs gave way and it splashed down into the sewer-water graveyard.

Four quick and shockingly loud cracks with corresponding blinding muzzle flashes filled the chamber. Like a still image snatched under a strobe light, April saw the vigilante under dazzling light four times. She was absorbed by those frozen moments of action, revealed in staccato sequence. Put together the sequence would show the mutant yanking an eight-inch black spike, it could have been a pencil for all she knew, out from the under dark wrappings covering one forearm and then launching it across the illuminated space.
The final gunshot, the last Foot clan ninja had drawn a snub nose revolver from inside his costume, illuminated the spike hitting the frame top of the little pistol and ricocheting upward, burying all but the last half inch diagonally upwards under the ninja’s chin. He fell onto the stairs alongside his deceased brethren. The revolver, still clutched in his hand. The aftereffects of its muzzle flashes encasing the two survivors in pitch-blackness.

In fact, April was again left with nothing but afterimages playing behind her eyelids. All she could see was the shape of the vigilante. The shield on his back, the first two bullets bouncing off it, the third and fourth going wide. The strange torso musculature looked almost like plates of armour, rather than human muscle. The bald head appeared humanoid yet earless, those same lifeless black eyes. Instead of a mouth it appeared to possess an inhuman hooked beak under a wide, flat and faintly canine nose. She had also had a second stark reminder of its genitalia, only faintly humanoid she realised, but definitely a cock and balls. This time the cock was rampant. Hard as a jabbing weapon, it had swung pendulum-like as the mutant thing had spun to throw the spike weapon.
In that moment April was reminded of that punk girl, Megyn Jakes. She had been on the receiving end of one of those mutant members, on the floor of the subway car. And then again later, April had no doubt. It made her cringe slightly inside. No wonder she was now sedated and strapped down to her hospital bed.
She smelled its approach before she saw it. As her eyes readjusted to make the most of the meagre illumination that drip-fed from the surface above them. It was a towering body-builder in silhouette, looming over her. It stopped. She could hear it breathing, hear sewer liquids dripping from its naked flesh but it remained in silhouette. The smell was pretty bad too but she assumed it was sewer water droplets from its flesh. Was it an extraterrestrial, maybe? A hybrid? An experiment gone wrong? A mutation? Was this what had become of the alligators, people had gossiped about living down here for so many years? That urban myth had been going since at least the 1900’s.
Was she about to die after all?
It stood there looking down at her, its breathing slow and steady. Then it turned and bent, she saw the shallow oval of the shield thing. If that was truly what it was. It actually had a kind of shell-like form. And, though she could hardly see, she felt like it might even have a faintly hourglass shape, a broad wedge at the top and a narrower wedge at the bottom.
The vigilante reached for her and April whimpered, shaking all over. However, he grabbed hold of the horizontal pipe she had been zip-tied to. And taking a solid two-handed grasp, he started to twist and pull. The pipe rumbled, crunched and then started to shriek in response. Spotwelds under pressure, rust flaking off and falling onto the concrete and brick, more flakes raining down into the putrid water below. The pipe began to move. It finally gave with a tug and popped out of the housing in the vertical strut to its left. With surprising care and gentleness, the vigilante slid the pipe out of the loop of the zip-tie and then slipped the loop off April’s wrists, freeing her.
She felt more shocked than grateful, though it felt good to be free. Still, she couldn’t help wonder why he hadn’t just snapped the plastic loops to free her. Was he just showing off his strength? His masculinity perhaps? The blatantly rampant state of the rigid phallus, a little too close to her face for comfort, offered more than enough evidence as far as she was concerned.
  “Th… thank you… For saving me. You’re very powerful. And … sk… skilled.” She stammered.
He just stood there, pitch against the charcoal of their surroundings
“Could you please cover me up? I’m really cold.”
“Nay… kid.”
“Is… Is this what you wanted?” She stammered. “What you wanted to see?”
She blanched suddenly, even to her ears it had sounded like an invitation. And she wasn’t doing anything to cover herself. Did those huge pure black sharklike eyes provide natural night-vision? Could he see her as clearly as if she was standing in Times Square at noon? The thought made her shiver. She found it hard to take her eyes from his erection. It was pulsing a slow, strong heartbeat behind the rhythm.
“Ree…ward. For ress...koo…” It growled. “Giff. Giv… Ree…ward.”
Immediately, April noted a difference in the tone of the voice. This one’s voice was different. Not ‘her’ Trench-coat Vigilante. The voice was at a higher pitch and while ‘her’ Trench-coat’s voice had a grate like loose gravel, this sounded somehow wetter. Almost squelchy. It also sounded darker, crueller. More commanding. At least to April’s harried, fractured mind.
Instinctively, she felt she understood the words and the iron ball of anxiety slammed down hard into her stomach again. Renewed feelings of dread, fear and disgust enveloped her like a cape. She could smell the sewer grime, the grey water, the stagnancy, he reeked of it. At least it didn’t seem like a natural aroma, just due to the stealth and the fighting.
“Ree…ward…” He said again, more demanding this time.
He reached down with one big stubby hand. It looked somewhere between human and flipper, three fingers, one a vestigial lump. But there was also a perfectly developed and large, human shaped, thumb. The hand encircled the hard jutting phallus and gave it a squeeze, a light tug, an urging thrust toward April’s face. She couldn’t help recoiling, as much at the thought of what she was going to have to do as at the rank, sickening stink of it. For a second April cringed again. Her reaction might be seen as an insult. A rejection. And she knew all too well how men didn’t often take rejection well. All too often, in her experience, they grew angry, offended. And too many in her past had become abusive. This particular individual had not even been brought up with the civility of the typical New Yorker. At least that was her assumption.
She got lucky. The mutant vigilante sniffed, releasing his cock and whipped his hand in the air, shaking off the filth of the sewer that covered much of him. He gave a grumble and she saw the dark shape of him step back and half turn toward the leftovers of the stash of ninja swag. He drove a fist through a small plain wooded crate and drew two bottles up out of it. They were large magnum sized bottles. Gripping the necks of both in one hand, he used nothing more than thumb pressure to snap off the tops along with their corks and foil wrappings.
He upended one bottle over his erection, anointing the length while using his other hand to wash the flesh with the bubbling alcohol. April heard him give a low throaty groan as he did so. He repeated the bathing ceremony with the second bottle and then much more quickly and urgently slid back into April’s personal space, his fat mutant cock an inch from her nose.
“Ssss… Suuuckkk.” He moaned, a command not a request. “Blooow… J… Jorb.”
The vigilante fisted her dishevelled auburn waves with both hands, gripping and controlling her. He shuffled forward until the strangely scooped and pointed tip of his phallus slipped between her barely parted lips. Then he dragged her face urgently into his strangely inhuman crotch.
“For... Pay…munt.”
April had to fight back a wave of nausea at the thought of what she was doing, where she was doing it and what she was doing it too.
It almost felt like she was living one of those awful porn videos’ that her ex, Dave, had made her watch - mostly of middle aged, often European or Hispanic, women sucking and fucking horses and dogs, and pigs and the like. She had always found it vile and had felt sorry for the animals. But Dave had always gotten off on it and it had often ended up with some pretty full-on and frantic screwing sessions in his bed. She’d seen enough animal cocks to know this was closer to one of those than anything naturally human. Humiliating wasn’t the word, this felt sickening. However, she’d had to do things more than once in the past that had sickened her, and as she had back then, she pushed all the feelings down and tried to close her mind to what she was doing.

Opening her mouth wide, April allowed herself to be drawn firmly along the immensity of the vigilante's shaft, she had to stretch her lips so she could take the girth inside. Of course, he kept up the pressure on the back of her head, forcing her deeper and deeper, even letting out a squeaky, throaty groan when she started gagging. It might have been laughter.
A gush of warm saliva poured over his engorged meat. April felt his shaft tighten even further and he groaned some more.
With nothing around her but darkness and the vile stench of the place, the sense of touch and taste became her world. She could feel every sensation - the smooth slickness of his shaft cinched by the tightness of the back of her mouth; the little wet bead of her uvula squashing and rolling against his sensitive flesh. His pulling, urging hands paused when he felt the sharper edges of the entrance to her throat, rimming the bulbous tip of his pointed phallus.

She could feel it on her tongue, it was temporarily blessed with the fruity tang of its alcohol bath, some kind of zesty wine April thought. Fortunately, it masked any natural animal scent that April thought might make her gag and retch. What almost did make her gag and retch was the texture of the phallic shaft, she guessed it must be something like seven inches, though thick. And it felt cool and slimy on her tongue. There were firm ridges and rounded nodules along its length, though they didn’t feel too distant from the bulging veins on a human’s cock. These were harder, more like knuckles, though not as hard as bone.
Knowing there was no alternative, she tightened her control on her analytical mind and went to work with her well-honed sexual skill.
He allowed her a few minutes of bobbing her head back and forth along the upper half of his length, while her hand gripped the lower half tight, her other hand cupping and gently teasing the big heavy balls.
All too soon however, it wasn’t enough. With a lumbering groan of desire, he asserted pressure again, using that tight grip on the back of her head, while simultaneously pushing forward with his hips. Of course, his cock’s tip immediately slid deeper, pushing beyond the cinching entrance to her throat and plunging into the tight gripping tube of wet heat beyond it.
Tickled, April gagged again, forcing more saliva to flow over the mutant’s dick. Her throat muscles bobbed, squeezing and releasing his cool crown as she hurriedly swallowed the overflow of her saliva before it went down the wrong way and made her choke.

She worked her tongue, darting it forward as he thrust, making it a buffer for her bottom teeth, always caressing, always flicking, stroking and lapping at the mutant phallus. She stretched down for his balls whenever the vigilante paused all the way down her throat, her muscles gulping, fist tight around his pulsing length. Her protruding tongue teased the soft folds of his scrotal sac, stretching forward toward his full, heavy, hairless balls.

April finally gained control of her reticence and reluctance, reminding herself that she would probably be dead if not for this inhuman male taking an interest in her. And that, once she was done here, she would be free of her bondage and would be able to get to her clothes and make her way back to the surface, to safety. So, she went to work on his cock with a reinforced degree of determination. At least, she did her best. However, he was so domineering and controlling that after those first couple of minutes, he barely gave her any opportunity to show off her natural skills. He basically skull fucked her, slamming the whole of his erection from slick, pointed tip right to the root, into her face and down her throat until her already tingling lips felt tender and bruised and her nose throbbed from being repeatedly pummelled by those hard abdominal plates.
Her throat already felt raw from the Foot clan's oral abuses but this mutant used her with even more aggression.

His forceful slams dragged her overflowing saliva back and forth, each outstroke had it pouring out of her pursed lips and each thrust punched it down her throat, making her gag as she fought to keep her drool from flowing the wrong way. His urgency also forced violent backwashes from throat to mouth, and the pressure of his outstroke urged her drool past the seal of her lips, to bubble and spurt out over her chin and down her neck.
He neither cared nor, April suspected, really noticed. He simply gripped the sides of her head in both freakish hands, with handfuls of her hair, and whipped her head back and forth at dizzying speed. Both mutant hands pulled painfully on her hair, dragging April’s face forward and back. Gripping her head painfully tight. He started to snatch out a series of great, guttural and definitely inhuman groans.
The next second his cock began its own response, a series of straining, steely pulses. With each pulse came a suddenly noticeable heat, actually emanating from within that shaft of dense muscle. It surprised April. His deep, full-length thrusts became erratic and hard to keep up with, though she was doing her best to continue to use her lips and her tongue like she always did.
She didn’t even realise he was cumming in her throat until he gave an animalistic climactic roar, and slammed her face first into his bony crotch. He held her there, her mouth filled with thrumming tensing sensation while wet bursts of impact struck somewhere in her gullet. He drew back until he was out of her throat. Finally, she tasted spraying cum, plentiful, hot and thick as it erupted into her mouth. Jet after viscous jet, dumped across her tongue or sprayed into the back of her throat, depending on inward thrust or outstroke. It made April gag and splutter as the rapid back and forth of his climactic thrusting continued.
In the end, half of his mutant seed blasted her oral cavity, coating her tongue and the walls and roof of her mouth while the rest was already in her churning stomach. She couldn't tell the quantity but it was a hell of a lot more than the average human ejaculation. It didn’t have any particular flavour, though she did note an initial saltiness, and then a sugary aftertaste that clung to her tongue and throat and even her gums.
He eventually pulled out, releasing his cruel grip of her head and hair. April's head drooped allowing a thick flurry of saliva and vigilante seed to burst from her puffy, tingling lips. It splattered down her front, coating both her upper chest and her huge tits. However, she didn’t have chance to react to that, as a final couple of viscous spurts of that hot jizz belatedly lashed her face. Lancing up and down, from hairline to jaw and up again. It caught her unexpectedly, tattooing her hair and face, before finally dripping off her chin.
"Pry...sss. Pay...ed. Ary...ga...toe. Aye... prul."
She couldn't bring herself to respond with anything more than a series of breathless hacking coughs, down on her hands and knees, trying to calm her spasming stomach.
"Say…effff now. Leaf now, Aye...prul. Gow bak saymmm wye."
By the time she had managed to lift her head, the mutant vigilante was nowhere to be seen. However, a telling, distant sounding grumble echoed its way back to her.
“Dooo…note. Reh…tern.”
It was a warning she had ignored once. She would not ignore further warnings. There might not be alligators in the sewers but they were absolutely dangerous.

She had recovered her clothes, or at least her shorts and tank top, her rubber boots were, fortunately, still on her feet. She had also managed to salvage her respirator mask and goggles, which were a mild blessing. She even found her burner phone, still in the pocket of the torn away leg of her protective one-piece. However, her clip-on camcorder, the one she had borrowed from the studio, must have been lost to the putrid filth of the knee-deep sewer water. And she was not about to go feeling around for it.
With just these items remaining from her utter failure of an underground adventure, April made her way back to the surface. She crossed the two-storey chamber and returned to the tunnel, past the wide yet filthy outflow passage to her left. Her trick with the fluorescent Sharpie was useless without the night-vision camcorder, there wasn’t enough light to highlight the chemicals in the ink. So, she had to keep one hand, now gloveless, in constant contact with the slime and filth of the brickwork to her left. However, the trip back to the open manhole felt much quicker. Then she started to worry about the manhole cover. Maybe the ninja guys who had come up behind her when they had caught her, had followed her down from there. Maybe they had put the cover back in place. It might be too heavy for her to shift on her own. How would she be able to get out?
It turned out, as she rounded the bend and saw the shaft of dull amber light, that she hadn’t needed to be concerned. The lid was still out of place, illuminating the mortared rungs of the metal ladder. She was almost home and safe. The sooner she could get back, the sooner she could get into her shower.
Those metal rungs brought her to the alley’s filthy surface but already the fresh air, the early hours breeze on the exposed skin of her filthy limbs felt great. However, the cool touch on her naked flesh reminded April just how little she was wearing - here in the early hours of crime ridden New York City. She immediately hurried across the space toward the dumpsters to retrieve her trash bag and her old raincoat within it.
For a moment, dragging the trash liner out from where she had shoved it, she had the horrible picture of pulling the coat out only to find a rat making a nest of the fabric. She shivered, shook off the horror of the image and then yanked out the coat, giving it a snappy bedsheet flick or three and then whipped it across her shoulders. She found the armholes in mid swing and pulled it tight around her, buttoning and buckling quickly to hold off the early morning cold.

There was a low metallic rumble from somewhere to her left, where the manhole was. Startled, she jumped and spun around, staring across the trash strewn asphalt of the alley. Seeing the dark, rust-grey of the manhole cover already back in place made April shiver and she rushed out of the alley and back onto her street.
There was no one about. On the street, the distant drone of cars, mainly taxis she assumed, the echoing squeal of emergency vehicle sirens, a low electric hum of street lights, neon advertisements, and probably static charge filled the air above her head.
Holding the front of the coat against her chest, forearms securing her unencumbered breasts, April ran across the deserted residential street back to her apartment. She punched in her access code to the entrance and its poorly lit foyer and then took the elevator to her floor.
She felt she could only just start to breathe and relax when she slotted her key into her apartment door, shoved herself across the threshold and locked it up tight behind her. Slamming the six locks in place as quickly as she could. Although she had afforded herself the foresight, before going into her apartment, to haul off her filthy boots, and leave their stink outside the door to as not to traipse that vile sewer grime into her home. Having lost her apartment key down in the sewer when her plastic pants had been torn away, she silently blessed the spare key she hid on top of the doorframe.
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April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering