Here it is, the third chapter of my ongoing superhero ballbusting story! I've decided this time around to take a little breather from Tristan's adventures and focus on an evening in the life of Copycat, partly because I wanted to flesh her out a little and partly due to some much-needed catharsis in the face of some recent events in the Internet celebrity circles. The fantasy of a lecherous creep getting wrecked, figuratively and literally, is one that's always appealed to me, and the satisfaction to gain from this scenario has only intensified in light of all those celebrity sex scandals last year. In this case, it also shows that despite Copycat's brutality and penchant for grievous genital harm, she's got standards like the rest of us, has no tolerance for unwanted attention, and has practically made a living out of giving all those sex abusers that walk among us unseen on a daily basis what's coming to them. As nasty as this chapter is, it was very satisfying to write, and hopefully it should be just as satisfying to read as well!
On a related note, I would like to express my gratitude to fellow CBT writer sfzephyr, whose stories about muscle studs in genital-centric peril were a big inspiration for my own stories on the subject. If you enjoy reading my ballbusting stuff, I cannot recommend his own writing blog enough, especially his Brick Haus and Haunted Mansion stories which were the primary inspirations for my Prometheus Busted series in general and this chapter specifically. For all of his works, check out Jayse's Brutal Ball Busting Stories!
Jayse, if you ever happen upon this blog, I cannot thank you enough for inspiring me to branch out into CBT, seeing as the simultaneously aroused and visceral reactions I experience whenever I read your stuff are sensations I wish to emulate in my own ballbusting fiction. I look forward to future writings from you, and I hope that you find this story as fantastic as it is cringe-worthy. ;D
On a related note, I would like to express my gratitude to fellow CBT writer sfzephyr, whose stories about muscle studs in genital-centric peril were a big inspiration for my own stories on the subject. If you enjoy reading my ballbusting stuff, I cannot recommend his own writing blog enough, especially his Brick Haus and Haunted Mansion stories which were the primary inspirations for my Prometheus Busted series in general and this chapter specifically. For all of his works, check out Jayse's Brutal Ball Busting Stories!
Jayse, if you ever happen upon this blog, I cannot thank you enough for inspiring me to branch out into CBT, seeing as the simultaneously aroused and visceral reactions I experience whenever I read your stuff are sensations I wish to emulate in my own ballbusting fiction. I look forward to future writings from you, and I hope that you find this story as fantastic as it is cringe-worthy. ;D
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Prometheus Busted — Part 3
By Skaea
Contains: F/M, M/M, and */M ballbusting, femdom, peril, violence/gore, and graphic castration.
Word Count: 6,855
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Chapter 3: The
Pervert’s Penance
There were two qualities Chihiro Tachibana was lucky to have: honor and modesty. Her culture had raised her on those two essential virtues, and so had her family and her experiences in life.
Her parents had come to America from their birth nation of Japan during the 80’s, hoping to find greener pastures after escaping a life of poverty. She herself had been born and raised on the west coast, and had lived there throughout her childhood until, in search of the college education her parents had long insisted for her, she eventually got accepted into a community college in — where else? — the suburban outskirts of Monumentropolis. Her parents, true to form for her culture, had moved to the city with her: her father became a software engineer and her mother a chop shop owner. Usual stuff for her origin story. So it was that life seemed to be moving up for her and her family.
Then a massive economic depression hit the entire city. In the wake of a series of consecutive disasters that had left the economy struggling not to fall to its knees, many, many budget cuts and tax hikes had to be made to ensure that the city had enough money for repairs. College tuitions spiked to an all-time high, and the lower-income students who couldn’t afford to continue their classes were the first to go. Chihiro was one of these students.
She had hoped to graduate with a major in medicine, find a profitable job as a doctor, and join the ranks of life-savers hoping to make the world a better place. But without the money to pay for her education, she was forced to swallow the shame of being a college dropout by necessity, abandoning her dream and her future.
Her parents were devastated. She had always been a bright student, always eager to show off her talent, but bad luck couldn’t care less about how skilled she was at identifying every artery branching from the Circle of Willis or describing the proper treatment for acute onychocryptosis. By the time she’d turned legal, she was forced to get by on fast food restaurant paychecks and ancillary earnings from helping her mother at her shop. It wasn’t even close to enough to get an apartment of her own, not in the least because the mental health issues that had stemmed from her being forced to drop out prevented her from getting a job lasting longer than 6 months.
Eventually, she couldn’t stand disappointing her parents anymore, and finally told them that she was going to find her own place and a sustainable career if it killed her. Her parents didn’t want her to go — most people who struck out on their own met terrible fates. But she had to at least try. And so it was with a heavy heart that she set off on her own to find the heart of the city, and hopefully discover an opportunity in the place where stories began.
It is not known how Chihiro had discovered her ability to copy the ability of virtually any other superhuman she physically touched, or what led to her becoming the small-name villain called Copycat. But those who know her have claimed that it was her bitterness over fortune favoring the big over the small that led to her pursuit of crime, the same as almost every other supervillain who called the city home. Perhaps this is why, when not making a nuisance of herself around the big names in Monumentropolis, she made a career of acting as a sort of modern Robin Hood — a rogue in cat ears, stealing from the rich to help the poor survive.
Far from the titillating, provocative outfits most female supervillains wore, Copycat chose a more conservative attire, a combination of body armor and flexible covering that sheathed every part of her except her head, fingers, and toes. Combining tiger-skin-colored spandex and bulletproof fabric, it was capped by a pair of wiry cybernetic tails, each tipped with a tiny adamantine mirror, and a cat-ear headband doubling as a surveillance and monitoring system.
She’d picked those last two add-ons as an homage to the nekomata, a two-tailed supernatural feline which could use its strange abilities to pass as a human. She liked that motif, not only because she always considered her guile and agility to be cat-like, but also because just like a nekomata, you could pass right by her on the street and never suspect that you’d just seen a villain in disguise, ready and waiting to unsheathe her claws.
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