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Nejire slowed down her chase to pick up the man crumpled on the floor. "Are you okay?" she asked, knowing she was leaving the chance to give chase behind her, but she had to check on the man left beaten down on the ground. She'd caught some men beating a guy up in an alley while on her patrols, and now she had her chance to do some heroism. Not big heroism, but it was still more than important enough to keep her clinging to him and hoping he was okay.
The man groaned as he was helped up off of the ground by the eager hands and the caring, uncertain panic seizing her. "I think I'm okay," he groaned, guided up to a knee. He looked at Nejire, at the beaming hope and brightness she shone back at him with as he showed he was alright. "Thank you for helping me."
"Of course! I'm really happy to see that you're okay. Is there anywhere you're hurt? And did you know them? I can help you out more if you have any further information about it." Nejire had a hand on his back, rubbing softly while easing him back into sanity, even if she bombarded him with too many questions, as she often did. Curiosity got the better of her even without thinking about if he'd maybe been concussed in the fight.
"I do actually have something that might help you, so listen to very closely, please." He spoke, and her perked an eyebrow, wondering what he had for her, leaning in intently. "I am your master, and you love me," he told her, his voice uplifted by an intense tingle of something forceful and intense. Something that made Nejire's eyes blank over, an instant slide into her mind.
"What?" she asked. her voice was flat and unconfident; she lacked something as she stared into his eyes. She didn't understand any of what caught her, but she felt frozen into his glare now, compelled to stare and to wonder.
Confidently and clearly, he continued, "Obeying my words is the only thing that matters to you. You live to serve my will, and you accept that you are below me. Remember that. Remember that you are my servant, and I am your master."
"You are my master," she said back, her voice lacking in any of the usual brightness it had. It was bland. Gray. Unfeeling.
"Now tell me your name, pretty hero."
"Nejire Chan," she said. "I am the hero Nejire Chan."
"It's nice to meet you, Nejire Chan. I'm Master."
Her answer back was automatic. "Master." Her head slowly nodded, a hazy sense of continued uncertainty throbbing over her body. She tried her best to understand all the many complicated things burning across her. Her head was fully emptied now. "I serve you, Master."
"You do." His quirk energized his voice with heavy hypnotic potency, forcing Nejire into the slide downward that she had no idea how to pull back from or spare herself. She was just empty, blanked out and staring in complete fascination upon him. "You serve me now." The men beating him up hadn't been coincidental at all; he hypnotized them, had them rough him up a little and pretend to beat him down, solely to bait in a pretty hero he could ensnare, and Nejire proved just as pretty and appealing as he could have hoped for.
Pushing happily forward, he shoved his tongue into her mouth, his hands finding her large breasts and her plump ass, groping her through the latex of her costume. Her curves were outrageous, and he was all too happy to grope all over them, to fondle and squeeze and tug at a body now completely under his touch. With every squeeze at her body, he was able to feel more of her, able to enjoy the way she simply folded against him and collapsed in the face of such insanity. It felt good, though, and there was a desire behind all of this. As she melted in against his touch, the ache of all-corrupting greed and desire had a funny way of burning across him, making his body throb with wild, wicked excitement, with a persistent need setting him aflame. He didn't care about control or reason or any such petty nonsense. He was built for greed as much as she was built for violating.
Nejire was a passive presence in the kiss, one who acted little in the face of such molestation, simply meeting his attentions and allowing him to sue her. That was all fine by him as he invaded her space and her mouth, as she showed how little she actually worried about his touch or about the ways she was falling to pieces, every passing second a bolder show of weirdness and haze, the throb of an obedience and a submission running deeper by the second. She understood only her role here, and she acted the part as well as she could with such an empty mind.
When he was ready to take things further, he guided her back from his lips and told her, "I want you to think about the truth that you have always been slutty," he told her. "How before you became my slave, you were a whore who couldn't keep her clothes on, but I've helped turn you into a better plaything who loves obedience to her master and loves being faithful." His hands continued to fondle her while he spoke clearly and confidently, her gaze locked onto his while she nodded along in complete acceptance. "I'm the one who helped you realize that making other people happy feels good, and that you love sexual submission way more than being a hero. Being sexy for me and me alone makes you the happiest."
"Yes," Nejire said. She nodded along to all of it. "I exist to make you happy. I used to use this slutty body recklessly, but now it belongs to you, and it's only for you." Her stare was empty and dumb, but full of devotion. Her smile began to return, the creep of Nejire's personality rushing back into her, but now warped and fixated on devotion. Devotion to him.
"Take your uniform off," he told her. Nejire stared right in her eye as she did so. The colour began to fill her cheeks again. "Of course, master," she said, stripping slowly out of her outfit, letting her curves come free as she peeled the latex off of her body. Her black bra was lacier and prettier tan he expected to see underneath her uniform, but that only delighted him more as he watched her go. As she stripped, Nejire's smile returned. Her head was always at least a little empty in the first place, so being horny dumb worked well for her as she disrobed. "I love how my slutty body is so perfect for my master. Every time you squeeze me, it makes me feel like I'm made to be yours. I'm so happy I can serve you with this body."
He reached forward and stuck his thumb into her mouth, and she began to suck on it obediently, giving him an even brighter smile. Her eyes weren't so blank anymore, staring with growing appreciation for him as she took in the sight of him looming over her. She was in love, dizzily devoted and craving what his attention offered her, her ample breasts stuffed into her bra and swaying a little bit with the motion of her body. Nejire was fixated on him, fixated on being of use to him, on serving him. She couldn't do anything else. Nejire was too deeply entranced, too hungry and hopeless in the hyperfocus she had on him. On his voice. On making him happy.
"Your body is perfect," he told her, and flaunted his control over her by running his finger around in her mouth, toying with her tongue, pushing her jaw down, and hooking in against her lip. He made hero pen her mouth, and her tongue rolled out without warning, drool dripping down it and onto her ample cleavage. Her cheeks went flush as she held the position, her wavering gaze turning even more adoring, heat washing over her body. It was such a simple act, but this one gesture of looming dominance made Nejire feel an inescapable warmth so maddening that it made her go even dumber. Her mind felt like it was emptying out again as she drooled onto her cleavage and stood there, completely exposed.
But she held her position like a good slut should. Deeply obedient and caring only about serving, she accepted what was expected of her, standing there in ready submission, steady in the face of all the prodding and pulling, at the way his finger moved around to suppress her tongue or hook into the corner of her lip again. She stared with burning love at him, her eyes filling with life, but a demented frontier of pure devotion now, nothing steady, nothing decent. She was compelled down into something hopeless and hungry, the burn of satisfaction and wicked chaos continuing to send her alight. Her pussy dripped, leaving her panties soaked while her fixated gaze marveled in t the way that she was falling into this.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked.
"You, master," she gasped, pupils turning heart-shaped as she came to live only in the state of trance. Her breath was ragged, heart beating out of her chest, the pink in her cheeks so grand that it almost wasn't sane. She looked like she was so full of love and devotion that she was about to transcend existence itself. All from staring into his eyes while he played with her tongue. There was no escaping from the warmth creeping over her, from the cloying satisfaction and embarrassment of giving in deeper. Nejire was gone. Nejire was lost.
Nejire was ready.
Reaching into his pants, he fished out his cock, ready to push for more. This hero was going to give him what he wanted as he took his dick in hand. "Suck my cock," he commanded, downright forceful. The time for grace and subtlety was gone; this was a test of if she was properly under.
Without blinking, Nejire fell to her knees in raw obedience, dropping down to grasp his cock and taking it into her opened mouth, tongue still hanging out for a moment as she swallowed him down, using her tongue to rub and caress further down beyond her lips as she sank her way into. Nejire's only thought was to obey, her only action being to serve and surrender to the dizziness of letting go, of letting every ache inside of her melt away her will until there was nothing left. With every bob back and forth along his cock, she started up on a pace as steadily frantic and lustful as she could muster. Cross-eyed fascination swept over her, an all-consuming need to serve and slurp and obey her master's cock.
"Such a good girl you are," he groaned, steadily letting his head roll back while the sweep of burning lust carried him to crave this on a very fundamental level. The pleasure was too perfect, cutting to the core of what he needed and allowing all sense to leave his body. The pleasure kept him craving this, kept him on the edge of desire and lust while feeding into deeper hunger. The sight of a pretty hero stuffing her face with his cock never bored him after every back alley trap he set up for them. The sight of this reverent, slobbering devotion kept him hungry, lit up with an eager rumble of fire and heat too stormy to be able to resist. He watched with delight at how she worked, at the sloppy praise she paid his dick, at the way she moved with such burning desperation for the chance to attain even a shred of his approval.
But he remained silent, let Nejire work in her desperation, let the way she worked his cock over stand in growing depravity. She didn't care about his lack of response or the way this was all escalating, didn't want things to actually slow down or hold her back. She just wanted to suck. It made her happy. It made her burn with tremendous delirium and a fire more dizzying than she felt she could take, more potent now than made sense.
Shoving down the cock again and again, the insistence of pure desire and need continued to overwhelm the empty mind of the sweet hero down on her knees to service him. Her sloppy praise generated more and more indulgent, insistent rushes of chaos, of a heat and a greed she couldn't slow down for even a second. Back and forth she went in the continued chaos of the moment, loving how far she could fall, loving the plunge into this wild fever without a care. The pleasure had her burning bright and weird, the wicked throb of ecstasy that cut to the core of what she needed, and she couldn't get enough. Her master was everything to her, and Nejire felt like she had to keep serving him. To keep going until she broke down fully.
Standing idly by and throbbing in Nejire's mouth was all he had to do, and he did it with a smile steady on his face, a smirk of pure disdain and greed while he let the sloppy insistences carry her further along. The outrageous desperation pushing Nejire along was as calamitous and sloppy a could be, flaunting just how deeply she was committed to pure surrender and embarrassment, each passing second feeling like a bolder eruption of delight and fever by the second. He watched the way she debased herself, the way each passing second proved a greater mess of confusions and worries, and all he saw was opportunity now. The greedy and callous thrill of forcing her lower, of making her succumb to whatever he wanted at his immediate request.
"You're such a good little slut," he told her. "Sucking on master's cock and giving him everything he deserves. You really are a perfect woman with this body and that mouth."
With a hazy moan and a dumb, empty-headed giggle, Nejire escalated things another step up by pushing through him with the rush of a pulsating wave of energy vibrating through his cock. She pushed it forward with her eyes going cross and pure lust washing over her, the sweetening satisfaction and sweep of joy that sent a surge across him. It made his cock throb harder, radiating with tingly excitement up through his cock, making him buck forward, making him groan in wild need. The throbbing hungers taking hold of him pulled him to want more of this, and the immediacy of this slide into chaos brought on something utterly irresistible now. It felt amazing, and it left him aching for pure joy, for the satisfying warmth of letting completely go.
He was so close, but he felt the delights make him lose his will, lose his control. He was so close to cumming so far, engrossed in how sexy her body was and how perfect it would be if only her personality was sluttier, something he wanted to feed him. "There's one thing I think you probably forgot about yourself that I want to remind you of," he said, booming with confidence and wickedness as he stood over her. "One of my favorite things about you is how you love being covered in my cum."
Nejire's brow furrowed, but she listened intently while she sucked, drool dripping down her chin, every push forward a clumsy show of mad fascination and chaos keeping her moving. This was perfect, and she felt it guiding her into weirder places, into the grand surrender of a moment fully getting away from her now. She wanted to hear more. She had to.
"Yes, you do. You love it when I treat your sexy body to cum, and the thought of it makes you wetter than anything else. You love being cummed on so much that just my cum on your body will make you orgasm."
Nejire moaned and nodded and shook her way through the weirder pleasures, the sweep of insistence and chaos growing sloppier and weirder, messy pleasures to fall deeper into, heat burning across her without a shred of reason or sense to it, the illogic of pleasures and chaos that didn't let up. Her eyes went cross, a desire to make him cum so she could experience that very ecstasy he described. He was right; she couldn't remember it about herself, but she needed to find out so badly, needed to keep sucking and revering and losing herself to the messy worship of exploring into what now felt like an inevitability too beautiful to fight. She kept sucking him down in the fit of joy taking her by storm on the way to pure, manic ecstasy.
Gagging him down, slobbering all over him, pushing with all she cared about, Nejire threw everything she had into the pleasures with mindless satisfaction, desperate to prove herself and to be able to cum, too. She wanted to make her master happy, wanted to flaunt her ability to satisfy him, and to feel the joys of falling apart in the process. This was perfection, the sweep of dizzy lust and heat weighing down heavier on her thoughts, and she couldn't handle it. She needed to cum. She needed to make him cum. Only that mattered now.
Fortunately, she got what she wanted. The throb of his cock, the ache of loud groans, the sudden shove back of her master pushing her away amid his cock's twitching, desperate joy. He found himself unable to hold it all back, and let loose the eruption of molten spunk all over the pretty face of the shivering, writhing girl before him. "So good! You're master's little slut!" he yelled as he came, his cock erupting with an overblown load--thanks to his quirk--that left him firing off everywhere. Onto her face, onto her cleavage, all over her bra, down to her stomach, onto her shoulders... He made a mess up into her hair, even. He left her with plenty of cum to wear and plenty to be set off by.
The weight of these brilliant pleasures left Nejire falling to pieces every bit as intensely as she could have imagined. Shrieks of magical ecstasy filled the air as she flopped to the ground, hips rising into the air and thrashing about in the mad fit of chaos and delight taking her by storm. Nejire had no idea how to deal with all these miraculous passions, no clear sense of what was happening to her or what it meant, but she was all too happy to fall apart, all too eager to take it. The warmth of the cum on her body, the shudder of churning, sweet satisfaction reminding her of just how badly she needed all this, left her gasping out in hopeless spectacle, a wanton mess of joy and fascination carrying her down deeper, making everything feel right, feel perfect, feel like the burning rush of a greed beyond words.
She kept gasping and huffing, bucking into the air while her panties became drenched in her own arousal. The orgasm of Nejire's life consumed her, and she didn't want anything but this chance to fall fully to pieces. Nejire was gone. The mind control had pushed her to an extreme depth of madness, and now all she could do was savour it while he stood over her, cock in hand loosing a few more ropes onto her body for good measure.
"Look at you," he spat, burning with disdain and greed. "The perfect whore."
"All for you, master. All for... for... I can..." The pleasure left her exhausted, and she slumped back into a blackout, left limp on the ground, dressed down into her underwear and drenched in semen.
Standing over her, the man had a choice. He usually just erased the memories of heroines he did this to. Ryukyu, Mount Lady, and the Wild, Wild Pussycats were all left to go their own ways without a glimmer of a memory of what happened beyond them helpfully saving some poor man from thugs. But Nejire found himself captivated by her body; he may have needed to keep this one on and keep molding her into something even more wanton.