to make an impression on the local citizenry as well as the nation and world
at large. It was the city fathers’ way of saying Ocean City had arrived.
No one but the politicians and local Artsy elite seemed to be listening.
“But the world will take notice if Dr. Gadget succeeds,” Trisha
muttered. “Not the image the mayor and city council wants to present.”
Reaching the end of the alley, Trisha eyed the Exhibition Hall with a
tiny smile tugging at her full red lips. It would be a piece of cake.
There was no way Dr. Gadget or any other criminal was going to steal that
antique jewelry collection.
In the dark alley, the SEXY FEM Fighter was almost impossible to see.
Her sLIM five foot FIVE body was sheathed in a BLACK long sleeved latex
body suit, with French cut legs and low cut to expose her cleavage.
Her delicate hands were protected by BLACK latex opera gloves up past her
elbows. A wide BLACK latex choker was adorned with a silver cat’s head,
while her BLACK mask covered the upper half of her beautiful face. BLACK
hose covered her legs, with BLACK lace up calf boots.
The Force Energization and Manifestation (FEM) belt that gave her super
strength and endurance encircled her tiny waist. Like the laces on her
boots, it was charcoal gray. A BLACK cat’s head, matching the one on her
choker, adorned the front of the FEM belt. Besides strength and endurance,
the FEM belt protected her from projectile weapons up to .50 calibers. Of
course, .50 cal rounds hitting her would cause painful bruises, but few
pistols and rifles used by criminals did much to faze her.
On her wrists were Power Braces, both stained charcoal gray. The left
brace projected a force shield strong enough to stop a tank round. The
right brace projected a stun beam. Both braces sucked energy directly from
her body, so she had to use them judiciously or suffer the consequences.
Even her FEM belt pulled power from her when the force shield was protecting
her from bullets.
Moving back down the alley twenty feet, she glanced up, then squatted. Her
pETITE legs snapped straight, and Trisha streaked up and vaulted easily
onto the two story building. She went to a dark corner overlooking the
Exhibition Hall across the street and waited.
She didn’t have long to wait.
“Bingo,” Trisha said, big brown eyes narrowing.
A dark blue panel truck was creeping down the street with its lights off.
She watched it pull up to the closed metal gate to the underground loading
dock. A dark shape jumped out of the passenger side and hurried to the
access panel. He pressed a cigarette pack sized box against it and pressed
a series of buttons. In less that a minute the gate started to rise. Trisha
hissed at them as he returned to the panel truck and then vanished
inside. Before she could move the gate started back down.
Trisha leapt over the edge of the building. She hit hard, her PERKY
LITTLE TITS BOUNCING GENTLY even within the tight latex, but her FEM belt gave
her the strength and endurance to pull it off. Then she raced across the
street and rolled under the closing gate just in time. Surprisingly, the
alarm hadn’t gone off yet.
“What? Is security sleeping?” she said. There were four cameras inside
the shipping bay area and the main security office was just off the docks.
There was no way security couldn’t know the truck entered. “They absolutely
HAVE to be asleep.”
The panel truck was backed up to an open bay. She found no one inside or
around the truck. Easing through the open bay door, she looked around. No
one around. So she headed to security and found it empty as well. But the
cameras were all on, recording everything. So she walked up to the wall of
monitors and studied the situation.
Trisha hissed and scowled. The security officers were all in on the
heist. She counted eight men dressed in security uniforms and two men in
all back. Spotting Dr. Gadget, she zoomed one of the cameras in on him to
record his face. He proved to be a tall, slim Asian man wearing close
fitting black and a bowler hat.
“Gotcha, Dr. Gadget,” she said, smiling triumphantly. Until now, no one
even knew what he looked like. “You arrogant pup. It looks like you just
invented your way into prison.”
He was always full of surprises. Which explained why he’d never been
captured in fifteen years of criminal activity spanning the world. As far
as she knew, this was the first time he ever completely turned the
building’s security team to his side.
“Yes, always full of surprises, but he is in for a surprise himself,” Trisha
said, smiling. “He’s never had to deal with me.”
“Halt!” a strong male voice commanded.
Trisha slowly glanced over her shoulder. A security guard was aiming
his pistol at her back. He was tall and clean shaven, but a little
overweight and looked to be well into his late thirties. He looked
confident until she smiled at him.
“Put your hands behind her head and turn around slowly,” he said.
“You’re not the brightest candle on the cake, ARE you?” she purred sweetly
as she turned around. But instead of doing as told and putting her hands
behind her head, Trisha assumed a classic Super Heroine pose, with hands
on SLIM hips and hip cocked to one side. “I’m a FEM Fighter.”
She looked to the heavens beseeching. Why must she constantly deal with
imbeciles? Then she leveled mischievous brown eyes on her foe. The pistol
was a .38 Police Special. Looked clean and well kept.
“Whatcha going to do that big, bad gun, mister?” she purred seductively.
“Shoot little ole me?”
“I will if I have to.”
She arched a perfect black brow. Then the lovely FEM Fighter
started walking toward him.
“I said stop!”
The bullets got within inches of her sEXYbody before the FEM belt’s
force shield “pushed” them to the side. One of the monitors imploded and the
water cooler shattered.
“Oops, you missed,” she said as she leapt at him.
Trisha darted left, then right, and within a second was right beside
him. She sent a brutal roundhouse straight into the side of his head. He
spun around and slammed into the wall next to the door. She followed, and
punching him a dozen times in the back before he collapsed at her booted
“Stupid man, you should know guns are useless against a FEM Fighter,” she
chided the unconscious man. Shaking her head woefully, “So hard to get good
If he was any indication of the kind of men Dr. Gadget hired, then it was
going to be easier than she first thought. There were eight guards in the
building, which left seven more with Dr. Gadget and the driver. Nine men
left to deal with. The FEM belt gave her the strength of ten men, so she
had the advantage.
Departing security, she headed straight for the exhibit. She wouldn’t let
Dr. Gadget succeed. Tonight, his criminal career came to an end.
Two guards were waiting at the base of the stairs. They called out an
alarm and leveled their pistols at her. Trisha snarled an oath and
charged them. They had given the alarm, so Dr. Gadget knew she was after
him. A dozen shots rang out as she charged the two men.
Trisha kicked the pistol out of the first guard’s hand, then picked him
up bodily and threw him into the other guard. Following, she kicked both in
the head, leaving them unconscious as she ran up the stairs to the ground
floor. The exhibit Dr. Gadget wanted was on the ground floor, in the main
The door at the top of the stairs was closed. She didn’t pause to open it,
but kicked it open instead. It slammed open, striking another guard and
flinging him across the room. She watched him hit the wall, then crumble to
the floor. Then another guard kicked the back of her left knee.
“Aaiiee!” she cried, and dropped to one knee. It only hurt a little.
Unfortunately, the belt’s force shield did nothing to protect her from a
fist or kick. They didn’t move with enough velocity to activate the force
shield. But the blows still hurt, though not nearly as much as they would
if she wasn’t wearing the FEM belt. As it was, she was more surprised than
hurt. Then he whacked her over the head with his pistol. “Ouuuchh!”
That hurt, and left a growing knot. In a flash of anger, she spun on her
left knee, and lashed out with her right leg. Her sharp stiletto caught him
in the side of the knee and he fell beside her with a grunt of pain.
“Crime doesn’t pay, miscreant,” she said.
“Fuck you,” he snarled and reached for her neck.
Trisha ducked back, so he missed her neck. Instead, his hand grabbed
her costume between PERKY mammaries. His blue eyes lit up with wicked
glee, and he pulled. She grabbed his wrist and tried to stop him. But he
shifted, and lashed out with his good leg. She was struck once, twice,
three times in the ribs. The FEM Fighter endured that beating, trying
desperately to keep from being stripped by that disgusting man. He would