Fuchsia Fox: "Firepower", by Centurion

[flirty_but_nice]

Fuchsia Fox: "Firepower"


Chapter 1 -- Fairfax County, Virginia


It was not long after one o'clock that the armored car turned off the Interstate and into the parking lot of the Springfield Mall. The driver and his partner were relaxed, not anticipating any trouble as they headed for their first stop, which was the Wells Fargo bank on the corner.

"And now she wants to do bondage all the time," the guard riding shotgun was saying. "Every weekend. Not those weak-ass padded Velcro cuffs either. We're long past that. I'm talking handcuffs, ropes..."

"Aw man, you're killing me!" the driver complained jealously. He was single and didn't currently have a girlfriend.

"Sometimes she wears that sexy lingerie I bought her," his partner continued. "Sometimes she dresses up like Wonder Woman and lets me capture her and dominate her. I'm telling you, going to that swinger's convention was the best thing that ever happened to us."

"Man, don't talk to me anymore," the driver said. "Just don't. Unless your wife is saying she's looking for a threesome or something."

"Funny you should mention that..."

They had reached the corner of the building, about to pull up in front of the bank entrance. But just before they got there, a pickup truck abruptly backed out of its parking space directly in their path. "Hey, look where you're going, twerp!" the driver shouted, hitting the brakes with a jerk. Normally his instinct would have been to throw open his door and give the other guy a piece of his mind, but this time he just scowled. "Some people have no respect for--" he started to say.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Suddenly three jagged bullet holes appeared in the tempered, supposedly bulletproof driver's side window, shattering the glass and causing the two bewildered guards to instinctively duck as the bullets went through the cab and out the passenger side window.

"Toss your guns out!" a male voice ordered. Two men had suddenly appeared from behind a couple of SUV's on the driver's side of the armored car, halting about ten feet away. They wore jeans and hoodies, and each of them was holding an automatic pistol aimed at the two guards. A third man came from behind a dumpster on the passenger side carrying the boxy rectangular shape of an Ingram submachine gun as he circled around the rear of the armored car. The pickup truck was still blocking the lane in front of them, with a fourth man in the driver's seat also holding an Ingram.

"Do it NOW!" the thug said impatiently. "Guns and keys! Don't try to be heroes!"

The guards inside the cab of the armored car focused on the shattered bulletproof glass. Armor-piercing bullets obviously! If they tried to resist, the hold-up men could just pick them off like fish in a barrel and then take what they wanted anyway.

As if to punctuate that conclusion, just then one of the bank's security guards emerged from the entrance in front of them. In a glance he took it what was happening and drew his side arm, his other hand going to the radio on his belt. Before he could complete the gesture, the thug to the left of the one who had spoken swung sharply in that direction and shot him with his handgun. The bullet went all the way through the guard and emerged out his back in a bloody mess, sending his body sprawling across the steps.

"We're not fucking around here! Toss out the keys!" the speaker repeated. The guards raised their hands as the driver fumbled with the key ring.

The thug who had shot the bank guard, still facing in that direction, craned his head upward, his jaw dropping. "Holy shit!" he said. "It's HER!"

"What do you mean, HER?" the other one snapped, as all of the men followed the direction of his gaze upward.

About fifty feet off the ground, a beautiful young woman was gliding toward them along the street that ran parallel to the mall, with her brunette hair waving behind her in the wind. Her lean, sexy, supermodel's body was lovingly caressed by in a clingy, reddish purple halter top and briefs, with matching ankle boots and elbow length gloves. And across the nubile swell of her breasts was a triangular emblem in the shape of a fox's head.

For a second the men all froze, stunned by the sight of her. Then the Fuchsia Fox was on top of them, her lissome arms clotheslining the two men with handguns and sending them flying backwards along the street. The third holdup man emerged from around the rear of the armored car with his Ingram, but before he could get off a shot, the sexy superheroine had spun gracefully on one high heel, ducking underneath his line of fire as her gorgeous body twisted like a gymnast's, one silken stem sweeping his legs out from under him and dropping him hard on his back on the concrete.

"You guys having fun yet?" the Fox asked smugly, kicking his gun out of reach.

"You must think you're hot stuff, sugar lumps," the fourth holdup man said, stepping out of the cab of the pickup with his Ingram leveled. "But there's a new boss in town." He opened fire and a line of ten jagged holes appeared, punching right through the steel side of the armored car as he swept the gun in the Fox's direction.

"Oh my gosh!" the superheroine gasped, not certain if even her force shield could stop something like that. As the other three hoodlums hugged the ground, instinctively the Fox performed a cartwheel, evading the spray of bullets and feeling the searing wind of their passage right next to her smooth, exposed skin. The sound of gunfire seemed almost deafening as the thug emptied his Ingram, bullets going wild and hitting cars parked behind her until -- UNNNGH! -- the spunky girl felt a stinging pain along the right side of her ribcage, breaking her concentration and causing her body to stumble to the rough asphalt surface of the parking lot. She was hit and she was bleeding!

With a grin, the hoodlum jumped back into the pickup and gunned the engine as the rest of the gang scrambled for the cargo bed. But the one at the rear of the armored car had farther to go. The Fox sprang to her feet and intercepted him, blocking his punch and knocking the wind out of him with a trim knee to his solar plexus. As he crumpled, the pickup truck peeled off across the parking lot. The superheroine turned to fly off in pursuit.

But just then one of the parked cars that had been hit exploded as its gas tank ruptured. Fortunately, that car had been unoccupied, but the shock of the explosion caused another arriving car to swerve, ramming headfirst into the concrete base of one of the mall's light poles. The engine burst into flames. People were dashing back and forth in panic. The two guards in the armored car scurried out to help, calling on their radio for the fire department.

The Fox took one frantic look at the fleeing criminals, but this was more important. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her side, the heroine reached the car in a single bound. She could see the passengers trapped inside the car -- a woman and her teenage son -- beating desperately on the windows, unable to get the jammed doors open. The boy's eyes widened when he saw who was there to rescue him, lighting up at the sight of the superheroine's mouthwatering, scantily clad body.

"Cover your eyes!" the Fox shouted, balling her right fist. The boy's mother understood and wrapped her arm protectively around her son's face as the superheroine punched through the window. Getting a good grip on the door, she applied her super-strength to wrench it off its hinges and throw it aside.

Quickly she ducked inside, checking them both quickly for any obvious injuries before moving them. The woman's seatbelt harness was apparently jammed as well. The Fox had to reach across the boy in order to free it -- much to his delight, having the nubile young superheroine's two heavenly coconuts dangling practically in his face.

"Oh man, they'll NEVER believe this at school!" the boy muttered, his raging hormones bringing his adolescent body sharply to arousal.

"I beg your pardon?" the Fox said absently. She saw where he was looking and a faint blush colored her cheeks. Giving the boy a knowing wink, the sassy super babe backed out of the car, helping him to climb out and handing him off to the armored car driver who was standing right behind her. The woman crawled across the seat, grateful for the Fox's slender arm around her waist, gently lifting her out of the car.

A fire department was just pulling into the parking lot by then. The Fox looked around for any other sign that she might be needed. There were several injuries and several cars damaged by the stray bullets, but nothing that seemed urgently in need of a superheroine. She thought ruefully about the holdup men who had gotten away, but at least she had prevented any more deaths after that poor bank guard met his demise.

Suddenly Jennifer felt light-headed. "Hey, you're hurt!" said the armored car driver.

The Fox raised her hand and saw that it was slick with blood -- her blood! Her knees suddenly felt weak, her vision blurred, and she almost swooned into the brawny arms of the hunky security guard.


***


Chapter 2 –


Five minutes later, the Fuchsia Fox's pert little booty was perched on the rear step of an ambulance while a female paramedic finished up the bandage wrapped around her lean, bare midriff. The armored car driver had been called away to give his statement, but a crowd of onlookers was clustered nearby taking pictures of her and almost ignoring the fire trucks and police cars parked all around.

"It was just grazing wound," the girl paramedic said, "clean across interstices of the ribcage. I put some sutures on it and gave you some antibiotics. You're young, so it will probably heal fine without leaving a scar. But try to take it easy for the next couple of days."

"Thanks," the superheroine said to her wryly. "I'll try."

"Don't look now but you're on camera," the paramedic said, jerking her head toward a television news crew which had set up about thirty feet away and was filming her.

"Are you okay, Fox?" inquired a familiar voice, pushing through the crowd.

Jennifer looked up at the handsome features of Sergeant Paul Erskine of the District of Columbia Metropolitan Police. "I'm good," she said, standing up and stretching her lissome body. "But what are you doing here, Paul? This is Fairfax County. Aren't you out of your jurisdiction?"

"I'm part of a special task force," the detective said, holding up a transparent evidence bag containing one of the holdup men's handguns. "High-velocity, fused alloy bullets. You've just seen how deadly they can be. They go through body armor like nothing. Word on the street is that a new gang has moved into the Washington area with about ten thousand rounds of it. They're not distributing them, thank God. Probably want to keep their edge over the competition."

"We don't need this kind of competition," the Fox said, frowning. They both looked over at the county coroner's van, parked in front of the bank while they bagged the body of the guard. "It's such a waste. A useless waste."

"That's my job," Erskine said, "working with the ATF to find this gang and stop them, hard."

On the other side of the street was a Springfield Police car. The one holdup man who hadn't managed to escape with the others was in handcuffs, being shoved into the back seat even as they watched. "Are you busy just now, Fox?" Erskine said thoughtfully. "How would you like to watch the interrogation?"

Jennifer's ribs were still smarting from that bullet. The sooner they were off the streets, the better. "You bet I would," she said.


***


At the Springfield Police station, the holdup man was soon identified as Kevin Brand, 25 years old with a record of arrests for armed robbery and assault but only one conviction. Although the holdup had been caught on security cameras, their hoodies made the robbers hard to identify. Under interrogation, Kevin stubbornly refused to give up the names of his boss or the other gang members, and so he was fingerprinted and booked. He was now sitting alone on the cot in a holding cell, waiting to be taken to the courthouse for arraignment. He had been in jail before and wasn't afraid of it. He just wished they'd get it over with.

Presently he heard the door to the cellblock open, followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. His ears pricked up at the tantalizing sound of high heels.

Then he sat up straight, his pulse beating rapidly because standing there on the other side of the cell door was the Fuchsia Fox! The thug's eyes slid hungrily along the superheroine's smooth, feminine curves, drinking in the sight of her angelic body in that sexy little costume, her succulent tits cupped inside that tight halter top. "What are you doing here?" he asked, licking his lips.

"Why Kevin," the Fox said, playfully. "Is that any way to greet a visitor?" There was an electronic buzz as the cell door rolled back for her. The gorgeous brunette hesitated for a moment but then stepped into the cell with him. The Fox crossed her arms in front of her bust with a hint of apprehension as the doors rolled shut again, her brown eyes following the iron bars as they locked her in.

"You're wasting your time, babe," the thug said. "I told the police I've got nothing to say."

"Do I look like the police to you?" the superheroine said, spreading her slender arms and showing off her lissome body. "I'm here because I might be able to help you out of this. You're looking at a murder charge, you know."

"They can't pin that on me!" Kevin said. "I didn't shoot nobody. I was just there in case the police turned up. I was supposed to disable their cars and keep them pinned down. That's all."

"Yeah, but Kevin," the Fox sighed, cocking her luscious hips, "you were caught during the commission of a felony. The police chief tells me that you can be charged with anything done by any member of the gang. You're going up the river for a long, long time."

The sexy girl glanced around the small cell as though looking for a place to sit down, but obviously there were no chairs. Sensuously she glided over and perched her booty on the cot beside him. "All you have to do is tell me who you're working for. If you do that, I might be able to talk them into charging you only as an accessory."

Kevin's eyes hadn't left the Fox's body for a second. He licked his lips again, boldly putting his hand on her silken thigh just down from her knee. "That's not going to happen, super babe," he said easily. "I'm not a snitch."

"Really?" the heroine said, arching one eyebrow. "You'd really rather spend the rest of your life in prison rather than make a deal? That's what I call loyalty."

A thoughtful look came into Kevin's face. "I'll tell you what I will do..." he said, leaning closer and seductively planting a kiss on the Fox's smooth bare shoulder. "You get me out of here, just the two of us, and maybe we can work something out."

"Just like that?" the Fox said coyly. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Don't tell me you don't have any pull with the police," he said, his hand reaching between the girl's legs, beginning to caress the creamy smoothness of her inner thigh. "You could get them to release me to your custody. Say I'm cooperating."

The Fox felt her heart beating more rapidly. "Let me get this straight," she said. "You won't rat out your boss to the police, but you'll rat him out to me, in private? Just the two of us?"

"I'm not exactly promising anything, babe," the hoodlum smiled. "Let's just say I'd be more likely to talk if I'm treated nice by a hot fox." He kissed her shoulder again, while his hand slid inward toward her juicy snatch. "There's no telling what I might talk about in my sleep, after I've had a little bit of strenuous exercise. If you catch my drift?" He mimicked humping his hips forward and backward.

The Fox raised her right eyebrow pensively, as she was surprised that she actually felt a tinge of arousal in letting this cad touch her as he was. Suddenly, though, the sexy super girl laughed out loud. "You really are full of it, Kevin," she said. "Is this the part where I swoon into your arms and agree to anything you say?"

"Uh... well..." he said, taken aback by her sudden change in attitude.

"Not much brains either," the Fox said, thrusting herself to her feet and crossing the cell. "I can see why you're the low man on the totem pole. If I was your boss, I wouldn't trust you with anything important, either."

"Hey! He trusts me with lots of important things," Kevin blustered. "I'm one of his top guys. I picked up the bullets from the Big Boss. And I know where he keeps them."

"That's hardly likely, Kevin," the superheroine laughed derisively. "If you knew anything important, he wouldn't have left you behind, would he?"

"He didn't have any choice about that," the hood said grumpily, but resentment was building up behind his eyes.

"Oh didn't he?" the Fox said, leaning her back against the bars of the cell with her right knee bent seductively. Her brown eyes ran up and down Kevin's body as though sizing him up. "Your boss probably gets all the girls, too," she said, with a dreamy look in her eyes. "He knows when to cut loose small fry who aren't worth keeping around. Strong and decisive, that's really sexy."

Kevin jumped off the cot hotly. "For your information," he seethed, pressing her body against the bars, "Rollo Paton would be nothing without--"

"Rollo Paton?" the Fox said brightly, surreptitiously giving a signal with her left hand. "Is that your boss? Thanks, Kevin." With no effort at all, the superheroine pushed the astonished thug off of her just as the cell door let out a buzz and opened. She stepped through to the corridor and teasingly blew him a kiss as the door slid shut on him again.

Sergeant Erskine was waiting for her in the office at the end of the cellblock. "What did you find out?" he asked her. "We have a security camera watching the holding cells, but there's no audio pickup." Not lost upon the Fox was the fact that several male police officers were loitering around the desk where the video monitor was, suddenly trying to look busy.

"Rollo Paton," the Fox said.

Erskine nodded. "I've heard of him. Muscle for hire. Not exactly a mastermind."

"He also said something about a Big Boss," the heroine added. "Obviously the out of town guy who's supplying the bullets."

"We'll run a check on Paton," the policeman said. "Find out his known haunts and bring him in for questioning."

"Paul," the Fox said quickly, "let me have a crack at him first."

"I don't know, Fox," Erskine said skeptically. "It's one thing to use a civilian as a consultant, but to actually let you in on the investigation... That's against procedure." He paused. "You're not going to threaten to beat him up or anything, are you?"

"Why, Paul!" the heroine said, wide-eyed and innocent, feigning a southern belle accent. "A lil’ol sweet-natured girl like me? How could you even suggest such a thing?"


***


Chapter 3 –


Tunwell's Gym on Hill Street was totally old school. There were no stair-steppers, elliptical trainers or computerized cycling machines here. Two empty treadmills stood side by side facing a section of wood flooring set aside for gymnastics, where a pair of muscular guys in trunks and tanks were working out on the punching bag, one bracing it for his partner. Another guy was pumping weights. Two more guys -- one in green trunks and one in blue -- were sparring inside the boxing ring while a trainer wearing sweats watched them.

All six men abruptly stopped what they were doing when the front door opened and the Fuchsia Fox walked in. Their pulses already racing from their workouts and their bare skin streaming with sweat, for a long time they could only stare in silent awe at the girl's sleek, sexy body as she strode confidently down the middle of the room directly toward the boxing ring. The only chicks usually seen inside Tunwell's were the ones on the Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar in the trainer's office or the centerfolds pinned to the wall in the break room.

The trainer scowled as if she were interrupting something important. "Help you, Legs?" he said grudgingly.

"I'm looking for Rollo Paton," the Fox said, wrinkling her pert nose at the smell of male sweat. Her brown eyes cut to the two men in the boxing ring. They looked nervous, and with good reason. She had already recognized them as the two thugs carrying handguns at the armored car robbery. The one in blue trunks was the one who had shot the bank guard.

"I ain't his social secretary," the trainer said, looking her nubile body up and down. "If you don't see him in here, he might be in the shower room. Knock yourself out."

The other three men had abandoned their exercises and gathered around, grinning salaciously at the thought of getting this classy babe alone in the men's shower room. "Want me to show you the way?" one of them smirked.

"I don't think so," the heroine replied arrogantly, resting her glove-sheathed hands on her hips. "I think I can--"

Without warning the hunk standing behind the Fox pounced, wrapping his brawny, sweaty arms around her alluring body and pinning her arms to her sides. The six men all laughed at her predicament. The scent of testosterone was almost overpowering.

The stunning superheroine didn't struggle or show any hint of alarm. Instead, she leaned back against her captor's broad frame and kicked forward with her two gorgeous gams, her boots smacking into the chests of the two men in front of her, bowling them over. The grappler tightened his anaconda-like grip around the Fox's lean torso as if to squeeze her into submission. But the spunky girl flexed her willowy arms, breaking free of his hold and flipping gracefully up and over to land beside him. Before he could make another move, she had slammed a forearm into his chest, staggering him. A downward chop to his beefy neck sent him to the floor.

Just then the other two jumped the girl from behind, struggling to seize the sexy super babe's wrists and overpower her. The Fox wriggled out of their clutches, grabbing one of the thugs by the loose front of his tank shirt and swinging him like a sack of laundry into his partner, knocking them both across the floor.

The trainer prudently backed out of the way as the two guys inside the boxing ring came sailing right over the top of the ropes. The one in green trunks landed on his feet, while the one in blue dove on top of the Fox, trying to squash her with the sheer momentum of his body. The slim young heroine fell back a single step, hooking her arm under his armpit and tossing him head over heels to the floor.

Green trunks tried a rabbit punch to the back of her skull, but the Fox saw it coming. In a blur of motion, the sassy girl sidestepped, throwing a backhand punch into his ribs that knocked the wind out of him and slammed him back through the ropes. By this time the first two were starting to scramble back to their feet. Showing the agility of her namesake, the Fox bounded over them, taking hold of the backs of their tank shirts and spinning them around, tossing them into the ring with green trunks where they all three lay gasping for breath.

The one with blue trunks was on his feet now, charging toward her. The Fox met him halfway, grappling hand against hand. Stunned disbelief appeared on the man's face as he struggled to break the deadlock against this slender girl who couldn't possibly weigh more than 110 pounds, and yet had superhuman strength that all his muscles couldn't seem to match. Suddenly she spun like a dancer, bringing her silken knee up into his breadbasket. A flurry of punches that he couldn't even follow much less block landed on his chin, and the next thing he knew he was being slammed headfirst against the frame of the ring. He sagged to his knees, only semi-conscious.

"I want to thank you guys for the workout," the cocky superheroine said, brushing her hands. "It was kind of fun."

The trainer had been standing to one side watching all this. He just shrugged and walked to his office, as if none of this had anything to do with him.

"Now..." the Fox said, her glove-sheathed hand grabbing the back of blue trunks' beefy neck. "We're going to talk about where I can find Rollo Paton."

"I'm right here, Sugar Lumps," said a male voice. "What do you have to say to me?"

It was definitely the same man from the armored car holdup, emerging from the locker rooms dressed in casual slacks and a neat white button-up shirt. His head was shaved. And he was holding his Ingram aimed at her -- probably loaded with those deadly fused alloy bullets!

But he wasn't alone. With him was another man dressed in red trousers, a red jacket with yellow cuffs, a red tie and a yellow shirt showing under the jacket. His shoes were yellow. His blonde hair was done up in a flat-topped style with a peak in front and a rat tail in back. At least he didn't seem to be armed.

"Is this the chick you were telling me about?" this man asked. "The one causing all the trouble?"

"That's her, Mr. Lambigetti," Paton said. "Kevin Brand must have spilled his guts to her, the twerp. It's a good thing we moved all the ammunition to the other hideout, just in case."

"You can't blame him for talking," the man in red said. "She's beautiful. But I can't believe she's that much trouble."

"I can see you're from out of town," the Fox said, moving slowly forward, keeping her eye on the man with the gun and trying to calculate which way to dodge if he decided to cut loose inside the gym with that thing.

Paton's finger tensed on the trigger of the Ingram, but Lambigetti put out a hand and pushed the barrel of the gun aside. "No," he said, smiling. "Let me handle this. It will be a good lesson for her not to mess around with us in the future."

Jennifer felt her pulse quicken. At least she knew where she stood with the bullets. This guy didn't look like he was armed at all, and yet he was walking toward her with confidence that he could handle her. What had she let herself in for?

"I'm warning you, Mr. Lambigetti," she said out loud. "If you're the one bringing those fused alloy bullets into my town, you're in big trouble."

"No need to be so formal, missy," the villain said, grinning from ear to ear. "You can call me Heatstroke!"

Suddenly golden yellow flames erupted from his head and his hands as though he were a human torch! Still grinning, he raised his right hand, and the flames seemed to form themselves into a sword made out of living fire!


***


Chapter 4 –


Sergeant Erskine looked at his wristwatch. He picked up the radio which connected him with the police car parked several yards ahead of him. "Okay, that's five minutes," he said. "Let's move in." He got out of his car and joined the two uniformed police officers walking toward the front door of Tunwell's Gym. He had two more men stationed at the back door to cut off their escape.


***


Inside the gym, the Fuchsia Fox instinctively ducked Heatstroke's flaming sword as it arced toward her body. She felt the heat given off by it as the weapon swished over her head, inscribing a figure eight as the villain's wrist deftly snapped it back for an immediate return swing which tagged the lissome girl on her right shoulder. He definitely knew how to wield a sword!

The stunning super lady winced as skewers of red-hot pain shot along that whole side of her body. The flame had vanished on contact with her skin-tight force shield, only to return as the weapon arced past her, but the intense heat had made itself felt anyway.

Heatstroke was still grinning as he lunged forward, the edge of his sword of flame just barely missing her. The Fox executed a beautiful pirouette, catching the sleeve of his suit and twisting his sword arm to one side, keeping his fiery hands at a distance. She figured that the suit must be made of some kind of fireproof material and she could use that against him. Even so, as the sassy superheroine grabbed his left shoulder, she could feel the heat of his body through the fabric, as if he had a body temperature of at least two hundred degrees!

"Up close and personal, eh?" the villain smiled. "I like that." Suddenly the sword exploded into a fireball which engulfed them both, ringing them around with flames. Once again the Fox's force shield protected her from the fire, but the heat was incredible, like standing next to an open blast furnace. The girl had to let go of him, and the second she did he turned on her and grabbed her by the throat in a strangle hold. His fingers felt red hot against her bare skin.

"Chicks always tell me I'm too hot to handle," Heatstroke laughed, the flames still forming flickering rings around him.

He was surprisingly strong, too. The Fox found herself sinking slowly to her knees, her stamina drained by the blistering heat generated by the villain's body. Her silken skin was glistening with perspiration, rivulets of it trickling down her swanlike neck and between her succulent breasts as her chest rose and fell, gasping for breath. She needed air!

The five thugs she had beaten earlier were recovering now, climbing to their feet and gawking at the battle, cheering for the superheroine's defeat.

Desperately the Fox drew more power from her bracelets of Ishtar, forcing herself to stand, thrusting both arms forward in a double slam to her opponent's chest that broke his hold and sent him staggering back several paces. As he struggled to catch his breath, the superheroine herself retreated a few yards to where she could suck cooler air into her burning lungs.

"Don't go away, toots," Heatstroke panted. Another flaming weapon appeared in his hands, this time a long, broad-bladed spear which he swept toward the Fox. Jennifer leaped over the slashing blade, tumbling back in the direction of the gymnastics floor. The villain followed relentlessly, the blade of his long spear now jabbing and slashing as it kept her moving and on the defensive.

The Fox kicked off from the wall, delivering a spinning roundhouse kick to the punching bag which snapped its chain and sent the implement flying toward Heatstroke like a missile. The impact knocked the villain flat on his back.

"That was pretty clever," Heatstroke said, sitting up dazedly and rubbing the back of his head.

It was right then that the front door burst open and Sgt. Erskine entered the gym, followed by two police officers. At the same time, two officers came in through the rear door, their guns drawn and ready. Rollo Paton, showing remarkable presence of mind, darted forward and slipped his left arm around the Fox's delectable waist, thrusting the barrel of his Ingram against her ribcage.

"Do you think you can stand up to a whole clip of these armor-piercing bullets, Sugar Lumps?" he hissed, his hand caressing the supple skin of her bare midriff.

Jennifer felt an icy cold stab of genuine fear shoot through her body. At point blank range, with no way to evade? Out of an entire clip, one or two bullets could very well penetrate. Even if they didn't, the ricochets might riddle Sgt. Erskine and the other officers!

"I'd just as soon not find out if you don't mind," the superheroine said meekly, as she slowly and deliberately raised her hands. She could feel her heart hammering within the walls of her slim chest like a snare drum.

"I thought so," the thug smirked. "Okay, cops. Drop the hardware or the sexy babe gets it." Keeping the Ingram jammed right up against her ribs, he slid his left hand upward along the Fox's sleek, alluring body, crossing over and cupping her right breast through the clingy fabric of her halter top. The Fox instinctively squirmed as he squeezed her tender boob, but there was nothing she could do. She felt the hard pressure of the thug's manhood rising against her tush.

"Good work, Paton," said Heatstroke, getting up off the floor. The flames around his body disappeared as he brushed at his suit.

The other four officers glanced nervously toward Erskine for guidance. The detective kept his gun aimed at Paton, thinking hard while he briefly caught and held the Fox's frightened eyes. This was a totally unexpected development! When he had agreed to let her help out with the investigation, he had never imagined that the daring young superheroine herself might be taken hostage! And Paton was already facing a murder charge for the bank guard, so he had nothing to lose!

"Take it easy," Erskine said, relaxing from his shooter's stance. "Ease off, guys," he said to the policemen. "Give them some room."

"I thought you'd see it my way," Paton said. His hands occupied with the Fox, he jerked his head toward the rear door and the five thugs skedaddled in that direction. The police officers sidled around to the front of the gym to allow them exit.

Heatstroke calmly straightened his tie. "Too bad we were interrupted, babe," he said, fingering the Fox's chin. The heroine tensed but couldn't pull away. "We don't know who would have won. But I'm game for a rematch any time you say.", he said with a wink.

"Just name the time and the place," the Fox answered defiantly, but then she let out a gasp of surprise as Paton gave her nubile B-cup another firm squeeze.

"You talk tough for a spineless hostage," her captor sneered, backing slowly with her toward the rear exit. "It's too bad we can't take you with us. There's never any vibranium chains around when you need them. But how do we keep you from chasing after us as soon as we leave?"

"I don't suppose," the Fox said submissively, "you'd accept my word not to?" Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. It was humiliating enough being taken captive and used as a hostage against the police, but abject surrender was worse.

"Criminals are not the most trusting of people," Heatstroke smiled. "It's an occupational hazard." He snapped his fingers. "Aha! I have it!"

A sliver of fire like a blowtorch appeared at his upraised index finger. Paton gingerly released the Fox and backed away, keeping the barrel of his Ingram pressed against her spine. Heatstroke leaned close enough to whisper in her ear, "You're playing a Dead Man's Hand, babe."

Standing there with her hands raised, Jennifer had no idea what they were up to for a moment. Then she felt a searing heat in the middle of her back. Her skin-tight force shield was still active, protecting her from injury, but suddenly she felt the clasp of her halter top part with a snap! A second later, the same thing happened to the garment’s clasp at the nape of her neck.

The policemen couldn't help starting at the Fox's wonderful, mouthwatering breasts in anticipation as her halter began to slip off -- but only an inch or so before the sexy super lady's reflexes kicked in and she caught her halter top as it fell. Jenn clutched the garment in front of her vulnerable nubbins, her cheeks flushing crimson.

"Oh wow," one of the policemen quietly murmured, his eyes bulging as Heatstroke and Paton used their grace period to slip out the back door of the gym.

"Don't just stand there!" Erskine snapped, waving the men toward the back. They all poured outside into the alley, where they found only empty parking spaces. The tail end of a white sedan was just disappearing around the corner. The police officers made a dash for their cars, but the bad guys already had a good head start.

The Fox joined Erskine in the alley, still clutching her halter top in front of her sweet bosom. Obviously the spunky superheroine couldn't give chase with her costume hanging loose like this. "I'm so sorry, Paul," Jenn apologized sheepishly. "I feel like such a doofus! That was our only lead, and I made such a mess of things."

"Hey, it's not your fault, Fox," the detective said. "He had an Ingram full of fused alloy bullets. He could have just mowed us all down if he had wanted to." Gently he reached over with one hand and caressed her vulnerable bare back. "Do you need a lift someplace?"

Jennifer's smooth skin tingled with a feeling of defenselessness. "Thanks, but I think I can manage to get home alright," she said.


***


Chapter 5 –


Captain Martin Fletcher, U.S. Army, unlatched the door to his Pentagon City apartment and dashed breathlessly inside, careful to shut the door behind him. Tossing his hat on the sofa in passing, he frantically hurried through to the bedroom, where he paused briefly in the doorway.

On the carpet at the foot of the bed were lying a pair of fuchsia ankle boots. On the bed itself were a pair of elbow length gloves and a clingy little halter top with a fox head emblem. A pair of matching briefs was lying on the carpet where their owner had presumably tossed them in the general direction of the bed but missed. All the garments looked a little bit singed, as if they had been worn while running through a burning house.

"Jenn?" he called, moving past the dresser where rested a pair of golden bracelets and bursting into the bathroom. "Angel, are you alright?"

His wife Jennifer was lying back luxuriously in the bathtub, her brunette tresses coiled into a bun on the back of her head, which rested on a folded towel. Her brown eyes glanced up at him impassively. "Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?" she said calmly. Then she frowned. "What are you doing home in the middle of the day?"

"Oscar's covering for me," Martin said. "Do you know how many times I tried to call you?"

Jennifer shrugged her slim, naked shoulders. "Sorry about that. I didn't feel like answering messages."

"Can you tell me what this is about?" her husband asked, kneeling beside the tub and showing her his phone. He pressed a key and a video began to play.

A dark-haired female reporter was standing in the Springfield Mall parking lot, with a Channel 14 News logo across the bottom of the screen. "It looks like Washington's resident super babe may not be quite as super as she purports to be," the girl said with a suggestive smirk on her lips. "Earlier today the Fuchsia Fox bit off more than she could chew with a couple of would-be bank robbers." The camera panned over her shoulder and focused on the rear of the ambulance where the paramedic was putting sutures on the Fox's svelte abdomen.

"If not for a timely rescue," the reporter continued, "by security officers Mike Todora and Kent Sanders, the Fox might have been in serious trouble. But in spite of her bungling interference, the officers did manage to thwart the robbery. Let's hope that she learns a much-needed lesson from this fiasco. This is Vicki Ransom. Back to you, Chris."

"That's Channel 14," Jenn said indifferently. "They never say anything nice about me." Languidly she lifted one smooth, bare leg out of the water, stroking it sensuously with both hands.

"I know," Martin said. "I got the rest of the story from Keri Keller at Channel 3. She told me about the fused alloy bullets. She also said that the police were asking the media not to mention that yet, so as not to cause a panic. Let me see it."

"Martin, it's nothing," the girl protested. "It's just a scratch."

"Show it to me if it's just a scratch," he insisted.

Jennifer obediently rose to her feet, the soapy bathwater streaming from her vulnerable naked body. The wound was already visibly healing due to her half-Zumerian metabolism. Martin touched her, gently tracing his fingertip over the sutures the paramedic had placed over the bullet wound. At the same time, in order to steady her, his other hand naturally snaked around her svelte waist, resting on her round, baby-soft buttocks. At first the girl felt awkward in this pose, being nude while he was fully dressed. But the gesture was so natural and so masculine -- expressing both his instincts to support her and to protect her -- that it was just as natural for Jenn to drape her arm around his shoulder and press her naked breast against him.

"It's not just that, Martin," she said softly, her brown eyes suddenly misting up. "I went with Paul Erskine, the police detective, helping him to track down the gang. I insisted he let me have five minutes with the gang leader, to soften him up. I was cocky, I admit it. I fought this guy named Heatstroke to a standstill... but then the gang leader ambushed me with a gun full of those bullets. What could I do? I surrendered. I held up my hands like a spineless girl and I let them take me hostage!"

"That's nonsense," Martin soothed, both of his arms encircling her body and drawing her close. "You're the bravest person I know. What did Sgt. Erskine say? Did he blame you?"

"Well no..." she said miserably.

"Of course he didn't. Anybody would have surrendered in those circumstances."

Jennifer sighed. "I guess it's just hard finding out that I'm not invulnerable," she said, resting her head on his shoulder and drawing strength from the feeling of security she found in his arms. "You know something else? I'm getting your uniform all wet."

Martin smiled. "I know what to do about that," he said. "We'll have to take it off."

He lifted her out of the bathtub and set her down on the tile floor. Jennifer's eyes seductively held onto her husband's eyes as she slowly began to unbutton his shirt. She peeled it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor as she did the same with his t-shirt underneath. She had to break eye contact as she fumbled awkwardly with the tricky military belt buckle, but as his trousers dropped, the girl sank to her knees along with them, helping him out of his shoes. Reaching upward, she took hold of the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down.

Then Jenn was in Martin's arms again, her lips meeting his in hungry, open-mouthed kisses while her hands caressed his bare chest, her fingers making teasing circles around his hard nipples. She felt his cock immediately grow stiff and swollen, rising up and throbbing with passionate urgency against her creamy thigh. The feeling of his body against hers was arousing, making her heart flutter, her blood hot with lust. "I want you, darling," Jenn whispered amorously between kisses. "I want you so badly."

She maneuvered him back onto the toilet seat. The lid was down fortunately; Jenn had trained her husband well. Her long, elegant legs parted as she straddled his upright pole like a cowgirl mounting a horse, her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His hands took hold of her lissome waist, helping to guide her wet coosh over its erect head. Gently she eased him inside her tunnel, her brown eyes closing with a gasp of pure ecstasy as the two of them became one and she felt his hardness thrusting past the soft folds of her pussy lips and filling her.

Martin groaned with pleasure, his hands caressing Jennifer's smooth thighs and hips and butt as she flexed her knees and slowly began to ride up and down along the length of his rigid shaft. "Oh sweetheart! Oh my Angel!" he murmured as she picked up the pace a little, grinding her hips energetically back and forth against his love stick.

"Ohhhhhhh," Jennifer sighed. Her sweet breasts were right in front of Martin's face, gently bobbing up and down along with her movements. She felt his lips rubbing against the pliant softness of her tender orbs, ardently kissing her sensitive nipples in turn and driving her wild with love. Meanwhile his hands moved upward along her lean torso as she felt his hips thrusting upward against her cleft, matching the rhythm of her sliding dance. The tight fit of his cock was driving her into a frenzy with its delicious friction against her love bud, stroking her up and down, long and deep. She could feel her orgasm building gradually within her, rising like an oncoming storm surge that could very well drown her with its violence.

Was it minutes or hours that the two of them spent that way locked in mutual bliss? Who could know? "OHGOD!" Jenn suddenly gasped, as a dam seemed to burst inside her. The walls of her vagina were tightening in spasms around Martin's cock as her slippery girl cum slid down the shaft. Oh god! At the same time, she felt him let go his own orgasm, his jizz bursting upwards into her tunnel like a hot geyser. Both of them were gasping for breath now, hugging one another close as they tumbled to the bathroom floor together, kissing each other's faces and necks, feeling weak from spent passion.

"Mmmmmm, that was amazing!" Jenn panted, lying on top of his body with her arms twined around his neck.

"That was heaven," Martin agreed, gasping for breath for a few moments. "I'd love to stay here on Cloud Nine with you, sweetheart, but I've really got to get back to work."

"I understand, darling," Jennifer said. "Thank you for cheering me up." Giving him one last, lingering kiss, she slowly slid off of him and let him up. She watched, delicately biting her lower lip, as her husband dashed into the shower stall for a quick wash before getting dressed again. While he did that, the beautiful brunette walked into the bedroom and got some fresh panties from her dresser. I'm on Cloud Nine, she was thinking blissfully as she slipped her panties on, then pulled on a white camisole top.

By this time Martin was out of the shower, drying himself off. "Martin? You play poker," Jenn said as he got dressed. "What's a Dead Man's Hand?"

"A Dead Man's Hand?" her husband echoed, buttoning his shirt. "That's, uh... well, it has to do with a famous gambler. Wild Bill Hickok I think. It means two pair, eights and aces. Why?"

"It's too complicated to go into right now," she said. "You'd better run or you'll be late."

"Okay," Martin said, kissing her goodbye again as he dashed out the door.

Jennifer frowned after him, her mind elsewhere. A Dead Man's Hand. Eights and Aces. Wasn't that an odd thing for Heatstroke to say? Quickly she sat down on the bed and turned on her laptop, using her password to log into the National Archives website. "Eights and aces..." Jenn muttered, finding a listing of all businesses in the Washington D.C. metropolitan area and typing in a Boolean search.

Right away she found a night club called Eights and Aces, but it had been a fixture in D.C. for years and one of the owners was a retired police captain. Jennifer started trying out phonetic variants and within twenty minutes she had narrowed the possibilities down to just one -- Nate's Aces Junkyard, in Alexandria. A quick check confirmed that the license in that name was only two weeks old, the new owner having taken over the premises of a defunct business.

Jenn got to her feet, pacing the carpet nervously. Should she tell Sgt. Erskine what she had discovered? On the one hand, she wasn't certain that she had discovered anything at all. She had to ask herself why Heatstroke would give her a cryptic message like this in the first place. Of course, he WAS an arrogant prick. He had taunted her about wanting a rematch; maybe this was his way of arranging it. On the other hand, maybe she was so desperate to catch this criminal that she was seeing a clue in some random comment. She couldn't call in Erskine until she was sure.

Jennifer began peeling off her camisole and getting dressed in one of her spare Fuchsia Fox costumes.


***


Chapter 6 –


The sign at the junkyard entrance was new and low-key, simple block lettering with nothing flamboyant to call attention to it. The big, drive-through gates in the encircling chain link fence were padlocked. The driveway led between tall rows of junk cars to a squarish building like a garage. A couple of beaten-up but still drivable cars were parked nearby, but no pickup truck or white sedan, unless they were inside where they couldn't be seen.

The only sign of activity was around a smaller gate in the east side of the junkyard, facing a row of shops across the street. A man stood guard from the seat of a rusted old Volkswagen minibus with no doors or tires, wearing jeans and a sleeveless ribbed t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms.

Presently two black men wearing colorful leather jackets came walking down the sidewalk and approached the gate. "Yo, cracker," one of them hailed. "Rollo said you was looking for muscle."

The guard looked the two men over. "Whatever Rollo says is fine with me, dude," he said, opening the gate. "He's with the Big Boss in the main building. Go up this lane and then hang a--"

Suddenly a brightly-clad figure leaped from the rooftop of one of the shops across the street, where she had been hidden from view. Her long, lean body alighted on the sidewalk just behind the two black men, the hem of her short, purplish-pink miniskirt fluttering flirtatiously around her creamy thighs as she tossed her brunette tresses over her smooth bare shoulders. "I'm with them," the Fuchsia Fox said sweetly.

For a second the three men's eyes goggled as they enjoyed the sight of her heavenly frame in that clingy halter top and skirt. "It's that Fox bitch!" one of the black guys snarled, throwing a punch with a fist armed with brass knuckles, while his partner pulled a set of nunchakus from the pocket of his jacket. Neither weapon came anywhere close as the Fox parried the fist, spun backwards with a high kick that disarmed the other guy, snaking one exquisitely silken stem around his neck as she turned a cartwheel along with both men, her miniskirt swishing seductively as she used the momentum of her body to flip them both across the narrow lane and into the side of the minibus with a double THUD!-THUD!

Meanwhile the guard had yanked out the automatic pistol that was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. But before he could pull the trigger, the spunky superheroine had grabbed his wrist, wrenching his arm painfully behind him and catching the gun as it fell from his grasp. "OW! That's my arm!" the brawny thug protested.

"Don't worry, you've got another one just like it," the Fox said haughtily, having already recognized him as the man in green trunks from the gym. "And I'll break them both if you don't answer my questions. Is Lambigetti here right now?"

"Yeah, yeah," the punk blurted, wincing from the agony of his twisted arm. "He's getting together a gang for a big raid on the Capitol One bank. Body armor and everything..."

"That's all I need to know, tough guy," the heroine said, releasing his arm. Picking up a piece of iron bar, she bent it around his wrists and attached him to the gate post. Quickly Jennifer checked the ammunition clip in his gun and found it loaded with normal bullets. Tossing the weapon aside, she started jogging along the narrow lane -- more like a path really -- in between piles of junk on either side. Flying would be faster, but it would also make her a more inviting target for gunfire if anyone saw her.

Soon the narrow lane crossed a broader avenue that was wide enough to drive a dump truck along. To her right, the Fox could see the main building about thirty yards away, with those two cars parked beside it. Nobody seemed to be in sight.

All at once, the gorgeous girl felt butterflies of fear churning her stomach. Those fused-alloy bullets terrified her. What if she encountered a whole gang armed with them, so that there was no way to dodge? What then? Jennifer didn't like this feeling of helplessness creeping over her, making her skin crawl. But she was a superheroine; she couldn't just hide under her bed like a frightened girl. And she had to show that Vicki Ransom at Channel 14 that she was no bungler.

Suddenly a metallic crashing sound came from behind her. The Fox spun around. A thug who had been sneaking up behind her had just knocked over a stack of hubcaps. Three more thugs appeared, wielding short lengths of chain and pieces of metal pipe. The beautiful superheroine grinned in relief. These four wouldn't be a problem.

There was a sort of muffled "bang!", and a strip of ribbon about ten feet long came spinning through the air from behind her. Distracted by the four thugs, the Fox didn't have time to dodge as the six inch thick band of heavy cloth ensnared her lissome waist like a bolo, pinning her arms to her sides, then rapidly encircling her body and her legs four or five more times, wrapping her up tightly. She was caught!

The thick material felt like a combination of metal and synthetic, really tough. Instinctively the cocky superheroine flexed her arms to break free, triggering a devastating shock of electricity that shot through her bindings and into her nerve endings, driving her painfully up on tip-toe.

"Ahhh!" the Fox cried out, her pretty knees buckling. As the sexy super lady started to fall, three more men rushed from hiding places amid the junk to catch her. Hands roughly grabbed the girl's waist and her torso as she struggled, another gloved hand clasping over her nose and mouth.

"Hold her still, you morons!" Rollo Paton's voice shouted. "The Big Boss wants her alive!"

The Fox smelled the sweet, medicine scent of chloroform. No! She could see Paton's face now, grinning down at her. Jennifer struggled to turn her head away from the drugged glove, but there were too many attackers on her. Pinioned and helpless, there was nothing that the stunning young heroine could do to resist, as her brain seemed to be smothered by a black cloak of darkness. Her brown eyes fluttered as she felt herself falling into a drugged sleep.

"Okay, let's get her inside!" Paton ordered, pulling the glove off.

She could feel them carrying her now, her slim, delectable body lying limp and defenseless, bound up in the synthetic ribbon. The men picked her up by her legs and by her torso, hustling her across the compound and inside the main building. It felt like only a couple of minutes later that they lowered her to the floor, and she was sitting upright on her knees, her eyes adjusting to the relative dimness of the indoors.

"So here you are at last," Lambigetti said, standing underneath a skylight that let a square of sunlight fall directly on him. He had taken off his red jacket and tie so that his yellow shirt gleamed in the light. "I was beginning to think that you hadn't figured out my message."

"It wasn't that difficult," the Fox said, still feeling muzzy and disoriented from the chloroform.

"And you came alone, without the cops," the villain smirked. "I figured you'd be arrogant enough to do that, after the way I humiliated you last time."

The room was big, like a garage. The pickup truck and the white sedan were both parked off to one side next to big set of doors. On the other wall was a gun rack with a couple of dozen submachine guns and pistols. Rollo Paton and the other man from the armored car robbery were present, along with eight other thugs. But Jennifer's attention was drawn to a caged-in area about the size of a linen closet, with a padlock on the door. Through the steel mesh of its walls could be seen ten hefty cardboard boxes stacked inside.

"Ah yes, the bullets!" Lambigetti gloated, following the direction of her gaze. "That's what we're all here for. Ten thousand rounds of high velocity, fused-alloy bullets. As long as they hold out, we rule this city." He gestured toward a dozen longer, thinner boxes stacked nearby. "And with the body armor I also brought with me, no one can touch us. Doesn't that make you boys want to join my gang?"

The eight punks murmured amongst themselves, nodding. "I'm hip," the consensus seemed to be. "Sounds good to me. When do we get started?"

"How about you, Fox?" Lambigetti said invitingly, moving from his position under the skylight and cupping her chin with his hand. "Have you ever thought about joining the Other Side? You could be a pin-up girl, servicing each of the boys after a hard day of thievery."

"I think I'll pass," the superheroine said bitterly, interrupting the laughs of the men. The villain's hand felt hot against her bare skin, almost feverish. It was too hot for mere human flesh.

"That's good," Lambigetti said, turning and going back to the square of sunlight, "because you're spoken for already. I was sent to Washington with just two tasks. The first was to recruit a gang to set up a drug pipeline. Later on, we'll probably get into human trafficking too. The second task was to capture the Fuchsia Fox alive. I'm already well on the way to accomplishing both."

The superheroine narrowed her eyes. Someone had SENT him? He wasn't the Big Boss after all?

"Who would want to capture me?" the Fox asked, genuinely at a loss.

"Do you want me to spoil the surprise or something?" Lambigetti said, grinning. "You'll find out when he uncrates your helpless ass."


***


Chapter 7 –


The square of sunlight coming through the skylight had lengthened into a rectangle as the afternoon wore on. Nate Lambigetti, alias Heatstroke, stood so that it shone into his face.

"I love the sun," he said. "But then I'm from Las Vegas; you might say I was born to it. As a kid, I had a constant temperature of 100, 102 degrees. Nobody could figure out why. I used to amuse the other kids on the block by starting matches just by touching them with my finger. When I grew up, I got a job as a dealer in one of the casinos. Got pretty good at it, too. Until early one morning as I was coming off my shift, I witnessed a mob hit."

"Is this going to be a long story?" the Fuchsia Fox asked, just to annoy him. On her knees and bound up in synthetic metallic ribbon almost like a strait-jacket, there wasn't much else the stunning superheroine could do.

"These two goons grab me, see," the villain continued, ignoring her, "and they stuff me in the trunk of their car along with the stiff. If you've never ridden in a trunk with a dead body, let me tell you I don't recommend it. Anyway, they drove forty miles out into the middle of the desert and tossed us out like garbage. They zip-cuffed me to the stiff and left me for dead. Can you imagine that?"

The ten gang members silently shook their heads in awe.

"But something happened out there," Heatstroke said, holding up his right hand so that small flames flickered between his fingertips. "I found out that somehow my body could collect the heat energy from the sun, store it, and redirect it. I melted the zip-cuffs and I walked back. And when I got to Vegas, I found those two goons and killed them. Their boss hired me on the spot as his new enforcer. That's what I've been doing ever since. True story."

"My God," whispered Rollo Paton. There was a moment of reflective silence.

"You were saying something about a bank robbery?" one of the bolder thugs asked.

"Oh yeah," Heatstroke said. "We're going to need money for operating expenses to set up an opioid lab and so on. I figure eight men can handle the heist. The others stay here and help me build and escape-proof crate to ship the Fox in."

As the rest of the henchmen nodded in agreement, suddenly there was a long, feminine sigh. "Excuse me for saying so, guys," the Fox said, "but I don't think that's going to work."

"Nobody asked you, bitch!" the bold thug snapped.

The superheroine suddenly lurched upward off her knees, her lovely limbs straining against the tight restriction of the ribbon holding her confined. For a moment she stood poised in a half crouch, looking as if she were going to succeed in breaking free, but then the electrical jolt triggered again with a zap, dropping her back to the floor, gasping for breath.

"Don't bother, babe," Heatstroke laughed. "I had that thing custom designed, because I heard that the Centurion once held you prisoner with something like it."

"Yeah," the Fox panted from the floor. "But only because he IS the Centurion."

Suddenly her entire body seemed to go rigid, every muscle tensed as she levitated straight off the floor. The electrical zap arced through the ribbon again. "Yaaaahhh!" the young heroine cried out; her beautiful face taut with concentration as she struggled to ignore the pain and break free of her bonds. The synthetic ribbon suddenly split down the middle and then shredded, as the girl's lissome arms and legs pushed apart from one another. At the same time, a flash of energy burst forth from her body, lancing upward through the roof of the building.

Gently the heroine descended to the floor again, her miniskirt fluttering delicately and tantalizingly around her trim waist.

"Holy crap!" said Rollo Paton, pulling out his Ingram machinegun and yanking the cocking handle.

The Fox swept her left arm in his direction, firing an energy bolt from her bracelet. It was a near miss, grazing his left shoulder, but it had the effect of spoiling his aim so that the burst of bullets he fired went wild across the garage, sending the other nine henchmen diving for cover in frantic fear of those fused-alloy bullets.

In the next instant, the Fox was crossing the room in a tumbling somersault, giving Paton no opportunity to take aim as she tackled the muscular thug and slammed his body against the side of the white sedan. The other nine henchmen struggled to regroup as the sassy superheroine tore through them like a human whirlwind, deflecting weapons and fists alike with her invisible force shield as she punched and kicked her way through the gang. As the last one fell, the Fox paused to catch her breath.

"Well, I have to say this is disappointing," Heatstroke said testily. Yellow and red flames had appeared, blazing around his head and hands. "I'm supposed to bring you back alive. If I have to kill you, my employer is going to be pissed."

"Trust me, sparky," the Fox said, bunching her fists as she started toward him, "your employer is the least of your problems right now."

Heatstroke thrust out both of his hands, shooting streams of fire from his palms like twin flamethrowers. The spunky superheroine felt the heat engulfing her, but bravely held her ground, pushing her force shield to its maximum. The villain shot another burst, and another. Jennifer was beginning to feel a bit charred. Her body was glistening with perspiration, and she could swear her costume was starting to smoke around the edges.

"We're really cooking now, aren't we, babe?" Heatstroke said as he suddenly lunged forward, punching at her with fists surrounded with flame, leaving fiery trails in their wake.

The Fox parried his first blow with a forearm, but felt the second smack into her marvelous chest, the heat of contact causing the fabric of her costume to smolder. She grimaced from the searing pain, countering with a kick upward with her knee which the villain barely managed to elude. Heatstroke aimed another slash which caught the tail of her skirt, ripping it as he whirled around with a roundhouse meant to sweep her legs out from under her. But Jennifer nimbly leaped over the arc of flame, landing behind her opponent and grabbing the collar of his fireproof shirt. With a heave, she flipped him backward against the metal mesh wall of the storage cage.

"I guess you can stand the heat," he quipped, thrusting both his hands out again to shoot streams of fire at her. The Fox instinctively raised her own hands, countering with concussion rays fired from her bracelets. The beams of energy met with a flash, exactly parrying one another.

The villain frowned, keeping up the pressure and intensifying it. The heroine braced herself as she continued to deflect the heat rays with energy from her bracelets of Ishtar. The very air seemed to be boiling around them.

After a few moments, Heatstroke began to falter. Theoretically his body could only store so much solar energy, but nobody had yet pushed him anywhere near that limit before. Suddenly the streams of fire from his hands became mere puffs of flame as the beams cut off and the Fox's concussion beam hit his chest, sending him staggering backward.

"What's the matter, sparky?" the Fox smirked. "Can't get it up?"

"This has never happened before, Fox. Honest." The crown of flames was fading from his head as the villain charged forward, doing his best to bring her down while he still could. The Fox caught his fist in her glove-sheathed hand, now hardly feeling the heat, and then threw him back with a lateral kick to his stomach. He crumpled up, falling against the steel cage just as the sound of police sirens seemed to surround the building.

"Did I forget to mention that?" the lovely super lady said smugly. "When I shot that energy beam through the roof, it was a signal to Sgt. Erskine. You didn't really think I was going to do something so stupid and macho as to walk in here without telling the police, did you?"

Heatstroke sagged with his back against the steel cage and passed out.

Just then the side door and the garage doors were both flung open. Police and ATF vehicles could be seen outside through the gaps, their emergency lights flashing as agents and policemen poured into the building with guns drawn. They pulled up short when they saw the Fuchsia Fox.

Her heavenly body was slightly flushed, body and costume alike streaked in places with sweat and soot. The upper half of her left glove was hanging in tatters. Her miniskirt was ripped, giving a tantalizing glimpse of creamy thigh, and there was a charred spot on the side of her left boob where her white skin showed through. But for all that, she was the center of attention, looking as gorgeous as a supermodel at a photo shoot.

"Er... are you all right, Fox?" Sergeant Erskine gulped, licking his lips.

"Of course I am," the heroine replied casually, shaking her luxurious tresses. She pointed out the villain she had been fighting. "Allow me to introduce you to Nate Lambigetti, alias Heatstroke. He said that he works for someone in Las Vegas. I'd be very careful with him if I were you. Don't allow him to be exposed to direct sunlight any more than you can help."

"Yeah, right," said one of the ATF agents skeptically, as two of them pulled the villain to his feet and handcuffed him.

"I'm serious," the Fox said. "He's some kind of mutant. His body can store the energy from direct sunlight and use it as a weapon. Be careful with him."

"I'll see to it that they do," said Erskine.

"Thanks, Paul. I'll just get out of your way."

The Fox strolled out the door and into the junkyard grounds, the agents and police officers respectfully parting for her. Outside under the blue sky, Jennifer wondered about the unknown person who had given Lambigetti his orders. Someone had wanted her taken alive and sent to him. Who could that be? Who in Las Vegas would care about her one way or another?

Suddenly it came to her, Crowell! He was the man from Las Vegas who had bid a million dollars for her when she was put up for auction by Ignatz Kodosky! It seemed as though Crowell hadn't given up on his prized acquisition after all. Wasn't that a cheerful thought?

The End>>>>>

By Centurion

[DrDominator9]

Nicely done. Direct, straight-forward plot movement in a style that's almost a throw-back feel to the early days of the Fuschia Fox. Fun peril and a refreshingly simple tale told well. Thanks, Centurian.

[GeekyPornCritic]

I enjoyed this story. Fox was on the ropes TWICE! She was once again challenged mentally and physically by the new gang in town.

Heatstroke is a great addition to the series. I have a feeling that he is going to break out of jail.....

[Clyde123]

Another great story. Shame the Fox's reactions were fast enough to catch her halter top.

[flirty_but_nice]

Guys, thank you so much for you quick feedback!

As always, y’all are so sweet. Your feedback means so much!

[dodosony]

Here we got another exciting new adventure of Fuchsia Fox. The new criminals equipped MAC-10 submachine gun with deadly fused alloy bullets and Fox’s bulletproof invisible shield not performed well as before — one of the alloy bullet hit Fox’s right ribcage and made her bleed.

It may the first time that a weapon could hurt the body of FOX -- so exciting to see FOX received a mild level of peril within her adventure! A superheroine usually has a bulletproof body that made her invulnerable during the battle. Thugs who stripped Fox’s bracelet of Ishtar only get an advantage in temporary but it cannot shake such “bulletproof” position. Yet, in this time, we can see a brand new method which pushes Fox into a dangerous game even she has her full power invisible shield. Thus, Fox forced not relays on her superpower too much —such plot also well balanced the power difference between Fox and her opponents -- also not fluctuate and change the status of a superheroine.

As Mr.Dominator's point that this episode is more like stories in early times. I think it because, in initial stage works, Centurion had paid more attention on the detail of the fight scene instead of made more erotic scenarios fulfilled within the whole story. For example, in the episode of “Fuchsia Fox: Dark Lady”, Centurion uses nearly a whole chapter to describe the scenario which Fox was captured by eight police officers through a tough battle and given her a pair of special power-absorbed manacles in the end. Such brilliant chapter above that describe the battle among protagonist and opponents usually seen in high-quality fictions rather than shallow-brained superheroine stories from many authors. In fact, considering a typical Fuchsia Fox adventure usually composed of seven chapters and more percentages of erotic descriptions will certainly reduce the room that draws details of action scenes in the adventure. That is to say, it only achieves a superficial level if an author mainly fulfills SHIP fictions with erotic plots. Instead, master writers such as Centurion and Flirty more skillful with the volume control that only given a fine turned amount of peril elements and scenes through the adventures. In my point of view, a fabulous superheroine adventure likes induce the protagonist fall and trapped into an orchestrated ambush which not only weakens the power of a superheroine but also let her received appropriate punishments after that.

For instance, the plot that FOX was captured in Chapter 6 made me recall CW's Supergirl TV series S4E7 that both superheroine hold by chain-like stuff and knocked out after that. Similarly, those superheroines use their wisdom to find out a way which helps them escape from such a situation. In addition, the application of electrical jolt increased the difficulty to escape in front of villains with a submachine gun and Centurion even raise the bar for escape that let Fox tight restriction by a heavy ribbon that holding her confined.

There is a small surprise in Chapter 7, Heatstroke mentioned the name of Centurion when he held Fox prisoner with synthetic ribbon and Fox said: “but only because he IS the Centurion”. It seems that Fox willing to be captured by Centurion rather than other villains and such words possibly imply a special relationship between Fox and Centurion, just in my view ; )

Again, thanks for both Centurion and Flirty, hope to see the next episode in the near future.



Dodo

[flirty_but_nice]

Hi Dodo. As always, thank you so much for your feedback!

Here's Centurion's response to your post …

"Well... I wouldn't say that the Fox is "willing" to be captured by the Centurion more than other villains. Her comment was merely a tribute to the fact that the Centurion's version of the ribbon was more difficult to break out of. The Centurion afterall is an engineer,who designs his own weapons. Heatstroke is just a hitman, so he had to hire someone else to build the weapon for him, someone who had less experience with the Fox than the Centurion did. That's what I meant to imply at least.

Centurion"