The Return of Fritz Krieg (Part Two)
Angela didn’t know what to say or do. No criminal ever presented her with such a dilemma. No villain ever put her in so inescapable a trap. It was either submit, and become his sexual plaything—or fight—and bring about the ruination of her home and the possible deaths of her children and neighbors. Sweat beaded on her brow. She felt weak and helpless. Like a normal woman without superpowers. Certainly her powers were of no use to her now.
“And if I do what you ask…? If I let you…make love as you say. What then? How do I know you won’t still try to attack me and hurt my family?”
He put his hand over his heart. “I give you my word. Once I have finished, I shall collect my clothes, get dressed and bid you good day. We may however do battle at some other time, on some other battlefield, but I swear to you, on my honor, I will never trouble you here in your home ever again.”
Angela was not wholly convinced. Krieg was evil personified. But he was known in the super-villain community for having an archaic, if misguided, code of honor. Despite his murderous ways, he made agreements and stood by them. There was one story she’d never forget. It happened twenty years ago, before her time, but it had become legend among her fellow superheroes. Krieg had kidnapped an heiress. Promised no harm would come to her unless her family paid the ransom. One of Krieg’s henchmen violated the girl. When Krieg found out he had the girl returned, without ransom, and had the guilty henchmen castrated.
He indicated his watch. “Your time is up, my dear.”
Angela sighed. She nodded sadly.
“Yes, I know. I leave you no choice.” He was almost apologetic. “But you might even enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it?” she hissed. “I will not. And you won’t either. I’ll let you do this vile thing. But don’t expect me to make it fun for you.”
“We shall see,” he said, undoing his belt. God, she thought, it’s really about to happen. I’m really about to go through with this! She’d faced death a thousand times. She’d been shot and nearly blown to smithereens. She had been tortured and humiliated. But what was about to happen would prove the worst indignity of them all. That bastard Krieg was forcing her to become his whore.
He took off his boots and set them by the closet. His pants he folded neatly and set atop his boots. His legs were long and bony without much hair. His black socks reached all the way to his knees the way her grandpa used to wear his. He had on some khaki boxers, the kind they must have issued him sixty years ago when he was an officer in the German SS. He caught her eye and said, “I’d like it if you undressed as well.”
“Go to hell.” But she took off her shirt anyway and flung it angrily across the room. There. Happy? Maybe if he got a good look at her, saw all of her flab and bulges and imperfections, he’d find her less attractive.
If anything it seemed to excite him. He got a little bulge in the crotch of his shorts. Angela looked away. She wanted to look anywhere but at that.
She looked at him. He was eyeing her breasts. The bastard wanted permission to molest her.
She shut her teary eyes and grunted something that sounded like approval. A chill ran the length of her spine the instant Krieg’s hands touched her breasts. He cupped them tightly, intimately, as if he had any right to. He played with them for what seemed like a long time. She had a lot to play with. He whispered something in German. Mein Gott, it might have been. My God. Without warning he squeezed her breasts—hard. “Ow,” she said. Her husband was always trying to give her tits a good squeeze but didn’t have the strength. Naturally, Krieg had no problem. She’d forgotten what it was like to have her boobs manhandled like that. As suddenly as he’d grabbed them, he let them go. Nevertheless they continued to throb from his rough handling.
He said something else in German. She was part German herself but didn’t bother to learn the language outside of a few words her family used around the house. It was a language of gruff, clumsy words, anyway. He put his hands on her shoulders, pressing into them. He pressed her upper arms. Her forearms. Like a doctor, feeling for whatever it is doctors feel for. “What are you doing?” she wanted to know. He shooshed her. Turned her around. Raised her arms up so he could press her sides. Her hips. Her thighs. He gave her ass cheeks a long, deep squeeze. She groaned. She hadn’t had one of those in while either. “Are you finished?” she made her annoyance quite clear. She was being poked and prodded and inspected like a cow and she didn’t care for it.
“My God, you are big, but you are firm all over.” He nodded approvingly.
“Well then, let’s get this over and done with,” she said. Without another word, Angela got into bed and pulled the covers up over her bosom.
“What is your rush my dear?” He began undoing the dozen or so buttons of his shirt.
“I’d like you finished and gone before my husband gets home. I’d like to time to change these sheets so he doesn’t catch wind of your old man odor. ”
“Ah,” he said, nodding his agreement. “Of course.” He folded his shirt as neatly as his pants. He removed his watch and set it on the nightstand. “Remind me to take my watch before I leave. I have a habit of forgetting it.”
“Oh I’ll remind you,” she said, voice hissing with anger. “I don’t want you to leave a damn thing. Come on, now. Do it to me so you can leave.”
Krieg started pulling down his comically old fashioned boxers. Angela looked away. She didn’t want to see his instrument. It was probably shriveled and gross. He got in bed beside her and sought a kiss. She jerked away. “No!” she spat. “No kissing. No foreplay. Just stick it in and…you know. Just stick it in.”
“Very well, “he sighed. He climbed up and over her, probed for her opening , and pushed himself in. It wasn’t even that big or hard, Angela thought. Hopefully he’ll blow his wad in a couple of minutes, the old geezer.
“Excuse me ,” he said, trying to better position himself. “Would you mind opening your legs so that I can…”
“Alright, dammit.” She got herself properly spread eagled. Krieg pushed deeper into her.
“You’re a little tight, my dear. This is why some foreplay is recommended.”
“Deal with it.”
“As you wish,” he said. Angela winced as he drove deeper into her. It was bigger than she thought. And it was firming up now, swelling. “I should have warned you,” he said, noting her look of discomfort. “I’m quite large.”
She rolled her eyes at that one. Men. They all they are well hung studs. Okay, so he was getting large. Larger than what she was accustomed to. She would just have to accommodate him. Her plan for enduring this nightmare was simple. Just lie on her to back and do nothing. Ignore his thrusts—try to think of baseball or count backwards or something—until he was spent and it was over.
“Ah, now you are loosening up,” he said. She cursed him but it was true. She was getting wet.
She widened her legs and his instrument plunged deeper until he was as deep as he could go. It was as big around as her forearm, or so it felt, and nearly as long. “Jesus!” she cried, as he started thrusting the full measure of it in and out, over and over. She groaned with each forward thrust. She yelped when he probed especially hard and deep. Her scheme to lie docile and silent wasn’t working.
She prayed he’d finish soon. Men his age don’t last very long do they? One thing was certain. For the moment, at least, he was fucking her with the vigor of a teenager. His strokes were deep and confident. And hard to dismiss. Despite her best efforts, her body began responding to his powerful thrusts in ways she did not like but could hardly. Her hips subtly matched his rhythm. Her legs spread wider, higher, to comfortably receive his length. An inappropriate sense of excitement began welling up in her loins. As if her body wanted this!
She was angry. At herself for allowing this. At her body for betraying her. She felt an orgasm coming on. This after only a few minutes! It took her husband thirty, almost forty minutes of exhaustive pumping and prodding to bring her close to climax. That’s if he could last that long. And here, Krieg had done the job in minutes. Damn him. When she came, she tensed and clutched his hips. She wailed, cursed. Felt angry. Felt wonderful. She hadn’t felt like this in years. She hadn’t been fucked like this in years. If ever.
So this is what it was like. To “do it” with another superhuman. To be with a super man with superhuman strength and endurance. She had been with normal men for so long. Stayed faithful to Harold. Adhered to her marriage vows. But after she gained her powers, after she and her husband became somewhat mismatched, sexually speaking, she began wondering what it would be like to screw a man with enormous power. She fantasized often. Had imaginary affairs with Captain Courageous. Mister Universe. And of course her handsome mentor, Commander Marvel.
But life was funny sometimes. And cruel. Why did it have to be Fritz Krieg of all men? Why did it have to be Krieg who caused Angela’s first super climax? It made her furious angry that she couldn’t hide it from Krieg. The bastard must have known. If not by her labored breathing, or her high pitched shriek, then certainly by the way the walls of her vagina swelled around his shaft. The bastard had driven her to orgasm and knew it.
Krieg stopped a moment. “I’m still pretty good, yes?”
He laughed and resumed his pace. The bastard. He was far from done. Despite his age, he wasn’t the least bit tired. Whatever super formula he consumed all those years ago had given him super strength, super stamina, and a horse’s cock. Angela had to think of something, anything. Otherwise he’d bang her ’til sunrise.
Just then, someone knocked on her bedroom door.
Angela gasped. Krieg, reluctantly, stopped mid-stroke.
“Mom?” It was Nick. God damn it! And she hadn’t bothered to lock the door either. “Are you okay? I heard yelling.”
Krieg whispered. “Tell him it was a bad dream.”
Angela tried to sound reassuring. “It’s nothing, dear. Mommy had a bad dream that’s all.”
“You want me to come sit with you?” Nick started to turn the doorknob.
“No! No dear. Mommy isn’t decent. Go back to bed.”
“Yes! Yes I’m sure.”
When she was certain Nick had gone, Angela could breathe again. If he had walked in on us…
She moaned as Krieg sank his meaty instrument completely inside. It felt good. God help her, but it felt good.
END OF PART TWO