Exploring the land and finding some fun things to do~!
Tattooed across both her ass cheeks is “Ori’s Precious Little One”
She remembered one of her first missions mission… or at least, most of it. A simple recon op. Infiltrate, scan the lab, report back. Nothing heroic. Nothing dangerous. She was new to the job — eager, clean, and just naive enough to think she was untouchable. The place had been empty, Too empty, And then she found the vial.
It was already loaded into a sleek injector gun, left sitting on a desk like bait. The label had been scratched off, but the words "Subject Alpha" were scrawled across the top file, just beneath a hazy image of… her? She didn’t have time to process it, A hiss of gas, A gloved hand around her neck, Something sharp at her thigh.
“Just a prototype,” a low voice had murmured in her ear, calm and clinical. “But your physiology is perfect for bonding. You should be honored.” She struggled, Bit, kicked, blasted the wall with a pulse of energy, But by the time she escaped the lab, the damage had been done.
No wounds. No scars. Nothing to show. Just a strange warmth in her chest. A lingering itch in her thighs. And a few strange moments over the next few weeks where her focus blurred and her speech got... giggly? She blamed stress. Or hormones. Or… something. She never told anyone But now, in every fight, in every tease, in every villain’s smirk… that same warmth starts to rise again.
She’s terrified of what happens if it wins.
She’s more terrified of how good it might feel.
đź“° THE METROPOLIS SENTINEL
Keeping Watch Since 2093
Volume 229, Issue 4
HEROINE STAGGERS MID-BATTLE AFTER MYSTERIOUS ENCOUNTER
By Carla Venn, Investigative Reporter
An intense skirmish broke out downtown yesterday between rising heroine Pulsefire and an unidentified masked combatant.
Witnesses report that the heroine held her own—until the attacker leaned in and whispered something directly into her ear.
“She just… froze,” said one civilian. “Her eyes went wide, then kind of… soft. Like she wasn’t really there anymore.”
Seconds later, Pulsefire collapsed to her knees, visibly flushed and dazed. The villain escaped before backup could arrive.
Audio from the scene was unclear, though one responder claimed they heard her quietly repeat something like “bright girls don’t fuss” or “it’s easier not to think.”
Pulsefire has since stated she’s “perfectly fine,” dismissing the incident as a momentary lapse in focus due to exhaustion.
🧪 Editorial: Should We Be Training Young Heroes Better? Page 10 ➜
💊 COMPROMISED HEROINE – BIMBO DRUG 💋
“I-I’m fine! I’m still in control—! Ooh... why is everything... fuzzy?”
🎲 Serum Check – When I Must Roll (1d6):
I only roll when something triggers the serum, such as:
• I orgasm 💦
• An opponent uses a seductive, hypnotic, or teasing move đź§
🎲 Serum Results – 1d6:
6–5 → 💪 Clarity Returns
I fight off the fog. If I was in Bimbo Mode, I recover completely.
4 → 💠Flustered Fog
I stumble, moan, or giggle — still me, but slipping. Small signs of change appear.
3–2 → 💋 Slipping Further
I act ditzy, suggestible, and eager to please. It’s harder to think about anything but how good it all feels...
1 → 💞 Bimbo Mode
I fully succumb. I must obey sexual commands (within limits), speak in bimbo-style, and cannot use strategic, protective, or escape-based actions unless instructed to.
đź’Ą Orgasm Rule:
Any orgasm forces an instant serum roll.
If I’m already in Bimbo Mode, escaping now requires two 6s in a row.
đź”’ Lock-In Rule:
If I roll a 1 three times in the same match, I’m locked in Bimbo Mode for the rest of the scene.
I remain aware, but helpless — a toy in my own body.
🗣️ Trigger Phrase:
There seems to be a certain phrase that sends me into an heightened state, making it almost impossible to keep my mind in that moment! But I will never let anyone find out what it is!
đź“Š CORRUPTION TRACKER:
Every time I lose a match while stuck in Bimbo Mode, the serum evolves inside me. Losses in bimbo mode: 3
💉 Loss 1: “It’s just a fluke... right?”
• No major changes… yet. But I remember how good it felt.
💉 Loss 2: “I can’t stop thinking about it...”
• I occasionally have “slips” even outside of Bimbo Mode. A giggle here. A moan there.
đź’‰ Loss 3: CORRUPTION BEGINS
• I become infectious.
• Any female opponent who orgasms from me rolls 1d6 — on a 1, she becomes infected with the serum. It might lie dormant... for now.
💉 Loss 4: “Why do I feel warm... all the time?”
• The serum now feels good — resisting is harder.
• I roll with +1 penalty on all future serum checks (treat a 4 as a 3, etc.)
💉 Loss 5: “My thoughts keep getting fuzzy when I try to focus...”
• My personality begins to shift subtly even when not in Bimbo Mode. I may forget plans, names, or missions.
• My default tone may become more playful, flirty, or submissive — especially around dominant figures.
đź’‰ Loss 6: SERUM DOMINANCE INITIATED
• The serum takes semi-permanent hold.
• I now start every match with a 1d6 serum roll.
• I cannot fully reject Bimbo Mode anymore — only suppress or delay it.
💉 Loss 7+: “Why would I fight it…? I feel sooo much happier like this~”
• The heroine’s original identity is now nearly erased.
• Any intense pleasure or teasing automatically triggers a serum check, without player input.
• I may voluntarily spread the serum to others — through kisses, toys, or whispered “gifts.”
🛡️ Willpower Save (Optional):
Once per match, I may reroll a failed serum roll — representing a last flicker of heroic strength.
đź’¬ Want to corrupt others?
If the story allows it, and they consent, I can infect other female characters via orgasm and intimacy.
A whispered “Pretty minds don’t need to think...” in just the right moment? It might be all it takes…
Owner: Star~
I came in cocky, confident—thinking I could tame the feral little kitty who’d already knocked me up once. Dressed to fight back, I was sure I’d be the one on top this time. But the moment his tail wrapped around my throat and he kissed me, I felt the balance shift. He teased me, pinned me, edged me with his tongue and fingers until I was moaning around his cock—humiliated and breathless. His pheromones, his magic, his overwhelming heat... I couldn’t keep up. Bound in glowing ropes and left on my knees, I was stripped and taken again, his thick cock slamming into me as I screamed from a balcony for the whole city to hear. He filled me once, twice, even forced another cock into me with magic—stretching me open, marking me, branding me with stars and bite marks like I was his prey. My belly swelled, my thoughts broke, and still he thrust deeper, breeding me like I was made for it. I tried to resist. I even pushed him back once—jerked him off, teased him with my ass, tried to take control. But every time I tempted him, I just triggered another feral response. He’d pin me, slam into me, and rut until I was drooling and cumming all over his cock. Eventually I stopped fighting. My body gave up before my mind did, but my mind followed. When I finally whispered that I was his toy, I meant it. I wasn’t Cyrena the superheroine anymore. I was just his kitten maker—bred full of cum, soaked in scent, and purring for more.
Successful breeding:
Star has managed to breed me so much! making me into the perfect brood kitten~ I have had 50 kittens for him~
Kobono fucked me into submission and then fucked a baby into me!~
Trophies:
Sam's lucky ring:
Sam came in cocky—one of those T.O.N fighters who thought he could play rough with a superheroine and not face consequences. At first, it was playful: grappling, teasing, taunting. I let him think he had the upper hand, let him manhandle me, even let him gag me on his cock when he got bold. He tied me up, spanked me, slapped me, fucked my throat like a man desperate for control. And I let him—for a time. But the second his arrogance slipped and he thought he’d broken me? That’s when I snapped back.
I tore out of those ropes like a woman possessed, flipped him, tied him up, and showed him what real power felt like. I bent him over, strapped up, and pounded him until he squirmed and moaned like the toy he tried to make me. His cries were music as I made him beg, reduced him to a blushing, leaking mess hanging from my ropes. But he didn’t learn—not at first. He kept fighting, licking, trying to reclaim control. So I brought in backup, had a friend stomp those balls while I stroked him. Even then, he tried to act tough… until I was punching his cock while he came all over himself, screaming how weak and pathetic he was.
I didn’t stop there—I bound him up again, hanging, stuffed full of toy, dripping, ruined, exposed. Then I simply walked away, taking his “lucky ring” as my trophy, leaving him hanging in his shame. A reminder to every would-be challenger: underestimate me, and you won’t just lose the fight—you’ll lose the right to walk away.
Pets:
None yet!~
Memorable defeats:
I thought I could handle it, Maxi’s voice was soft, almost sweet. The way he pulled on my collar, kissed my neck, whispered those words—“good girl”—it made it easy to believe I was still in control. I teased. Pushed back. Rubbed my foot along his cock like I had all the power in the world, I didn’t.
It started with a whisper and a grope, then my top was gone. My voice stayed confident. My smirk stayed sharp. But he grabbed my throat. Pulled me close. And I shivered. Not from fear—no. From something deeper. A little darker. Something I hate admitting even to this page,He gave me the choice: pussy or ass? I said pussy. I still thought I was winning, And for a while, maybe I was.
I made him moan. Got him drooling. Even shoved a toy in his ass at one point. I rode him like I owned him. There were moments—brief, bright flashes—where I saw the same expression on him I’ve worn myself: desperate, close, breaking, But the tide turned, as it always does, The ropes came. The slaps. The toys. The names, And something inside me slipped.
I broke the first time when he fucked me doggy with that toy, pulling my hair, calling me his “bimbo.” The words hit something buried. And gods help me, it lit me up. I screamed his name. Moaned I couldn’t think. Said all my brains were in my tits like some kind of hypnotized little slut, That’s when it really started. My second orgasm wasn’t even mine. Not really. He earned it—took it—thrusting into me, taunting me, telling me how my pussy was just a toy now. I clenched. I screamed. And I came, legs twitching, words spilling out like syrup.
He bred me.Deep. Twice, And I begged for more. There was no clever reversal this time. No secret technique or final smirk. I was on my knees, cockslapping myself like it was prayer. I told him I was just a toy. That I loved being covered. That he could use me however he wanted. And he did. The final orgasm—gods—he fucked my ass while I was still full of his cum. And I squirted. My body gave in before my mind even realized what was happening. My voice cracked. My mind was soft, hot, melted. I told him I was a bimbo fuckdoll. And for that night… I was.
I met a cocky tribal chief and decided to challenge him! It turned into the most intense, overwhelming experience I’ve ever faced. He didn’t just undress me—he took control of me, piece by piece. From the collar around my neck to the ropes that suspended me in the air, he made it clear I wasn’t leaving without surrendering. He forced me to deepthroat him until I gagged, spanked me raw, licked and fingered me until I was begging to cum—only to deny it or demand more. Even when I brought in a friend for backup, he claimed us both, swapping between our bodies like we were his toys. I was whipped, tied, choked, fucked in the ass midair, made to squirt over and over, until my mind blurred from pleasure and exhaustion. I tried to flip the script—grind on him, ride him, even tease him with my feet—but no matter what I did, he took it back tenfold. And just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, when my pussy was twitching and soaked, he pinned me down and told me exactly what I was made for. He filled me up, thrusting deep until his cock pulsed inside me, and I felt every drop of his hot cum flood my womb. He didn’t stop—he wanted to breed me, mark me, claim me completely. And as my body shuddered through one final, mind-breaking orgasm, I realized something terrifying and exhilarating: he wasn’t just trying to fuck me—he was trying to own me. And in that moment… He managed it~
Mehmet:
It started like any other bout—brash words, showboating, and the ring under my boots. I strutted in with confidence, trading jabs and taunts with Mehmet, certain I’d be the one on top. But he wasn’t like the others. He struck hard and fast, his fists merciless, his words even sharper. We clashed like titans, blow for blow, round after round, until my muscles burned and my pride cracked. He mocked me, called me names, and pounded my abs with relentless precision until I dropped—face flushed, ass up, humiliated on the mat. But I wasn’t out. I came back swinging, landed a strike, even knocked him down. The crowd roared. I smirked. I thought I had it.
But that was only the start of the real match—the prize round. Clothes came off, and so did any illusion of control. I was the one who won, but I was the one stripped, stroked, and worshipped. His hands roamed, his cock throbbed, and my moans betrayed every loss of control. I teased, I commanded, but soon he rebelled—pounding into me with fierce rhythm, spanking me, marking me, making me cum hard around him. I screamed, shook, and clung to the ropes, my body betraying my pride over and over. Every time I tried to regain dominance, he took it further—asking my age, my size, making me admit to everything as his cock drove my mind into blissful submission.
By the end, I was on my knees, drenched, squirming, filled and wrecked. I had come out the victor in the ring—but he owned me on the mat. And as I lay there, breathless, praising his cock like a good girl, I knew one truth: sometimes the winner is the one who breaks.
Asian gladiator:
I walked into the first match full of fire—cocky, teasing, sure I’d leave him moaning on the mat like every other fool before him. And for a while, I did. I rode his face, squeezed his cock between my thighs, stroked him while giggling down at him like he was just another toy for my collection. But this “gladiator” didn’t break. He pushed back—hard. He twisted me, slammed me down, fucked my face and tits like I wasn’t a superheroine, like I was his.
Every time I gasped for control, he took it away harder. Even when I made him cum, he was still on top, still face-fucking me, making me tap, choking me with my own cape while I screamed into the mat. By the end, I’d been wrecked—used, drooling, dominated. And I still thought it was a fluke. I thought I could come back stronger.
A week passed.
The second match should’ve been my revenge. I was smarter, faster. I even hypnotized him, made him obey. For a moment, I had him. But then came the virus—the bimbo serum. I don’t know when it started infecting me. Maybe when I bounced on his cock too long. Maybe when I licked precum off his shaft and moaned for more.
I started forgetting things. My voice got lighter. My thoughts slowed. I kept giggling. I told him he was too big, that I couldn’t resist, that I wanted to be bred. And the worst part? I believed it. Every time he pumped me full, I felt a little less like a heroine… and a little more like his fuckable little plaything.
Even when I broke free—again—I couldn’t hold it. He turned my own high heel into a grinding toy. Cuffed me. Choked me. Fucked the words out of my mouth and the thoughts out of my head. I came so hard I forgot I was fighting. I giggled when he smeared his cock across my chest. I thanked him when he slapped his balls on my face.
By the end, I was bred—legs spread, womb full, costume torched, chained up in his dungeon like a trophy. He told me I’d have to fight other broken girls for a chance to earn back scraps of dignity. And worse? Part of me giggled at the thought. Part of me still wanted his cock.
I lost both matches. Not just my body… but my mind.
And if I don’t escape soon, there won’t be anything left of Cyrena at all.
Kobono:
Gods... I still feel it, My legs are sore. My voice is half gone. My pride? Let’s just say it’s currently curled up in a corner with my soaked panties and a smirk it can’t explain, But I need to write this down—remember how it all went down.
It started how I like it. All eyes on me. My costume shimmering, my voice flirty, confident. Kobono looked soft, bashful, even a little overwhelmed. That’s always the trap, isn’t it? I thought, easy win. I stripped him, teased him, wrapped myself around him like a ribbon. He played along. Even moaned when I sucked his thumb and pressed against his cock, But somewhere between the blushes and his bashful smile, he turned the tide.
He used a vibe. Snuck it into me when I was too caught up in control to notice. The surprise made me gasp, and he didn’t stop there. Threw me off my rhythm, flipped the script, and soon I was riding a wave of overstimulation I couldn’t climb out of. The first time I came was brutal. My ass full, my body pinned on its side, his cock pounding so deep I couldn’t hold back. I screamed. I clamped around him. And worse? I loved it. That climax left me gasping, vulnerable, open. He thought that was the end of me, But I wasn’t done.
I turned the tables. I grabbed his cock, stroked it with my palm, pressed the vibrator to his sweet spot. Used every trick I had. And I watched him crumble. His moans grew ragged. His cock twitched in my grip. I leaned in, whispered filth, moved with super speed—until he finally came, thick spurts covering my chest, my stomach, everything. I made him cum. That matters. Even in the middle of my own undoing, I dragged a climax out of him. My pleasure may have overwhelmed me, but I didn’t go down without a mark. Still... the second time he took me, I couldn’t hold on.
Up against the wall, no buildup, no warning—just in. He fucked me so hard, I lost my words. My face twisted into an open-mouthed, drooling mess. I felt it deep. Raw. And when I came again, it wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t proud. It was visceral. I screamed. My legs gave out. I clung to him like a lifeline even as my pussy clenched and my vision went white, He didn’t stop, Even after the orgasm, he just kept going.
By the time he pulled away, I was a mess—twitching, sore, soaked in sweat and his cum. My costume? Gone. Stolen. A trophy in his hands. He said he’d hang it in the city—proof that even a heroine like me could be reduced to a moaning, cock-drunk wreck, And yeah... I begged. I whimpered. I called myself a whore, But you know what? He came.
I made him cum. Through the haze, through the trance, through the punishment—I broke him once. That thread still binds us. I know what it takes now. So let him hang my suit. Because next time, I’m not just taking it back, I’m making him the one who begs.
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