Fragments by Burke Rakers and Anzeleth (TG, MC, Domme, Race)

[Burke_Rakers]

Well, it looks like Superstories.com (in it's previous form at any rate) has gone the way of the Dodo and the Great Auk, much as the original Superstories website bit the dust so many years ago. Hating to lose so many awesome superhero related TF stories, I tried my best to savage some of my favorite posts from my favorite storylines using the Wayback Machine, but most everything came back a bust (sigh...goodbye American Enchantresses, Wonder Woman & Doctor Psycho)...until I tried this cluster of old links from the 'Online Questionnaire' thread, and got a nice portion of the story to pop up. Here's what's left of the thread, Anzeleth and I worked on a few years ago. Both the previous and following posts come up empty, but I remember that Dick Greyson had received an online questionnaire that asked a series of multiple choice questions, and it was established that not only would the answers change him to match...but NOT answering would cause the questionnaire to randomly assign an answer to him. The *ding* sound is the sound of the questionnaire answering for him.


Rikki tries to convince Batman that she used to be a guy
by burke_rakers
Storyline The Online Questionnaire
Previous Chapter Nightwing tries to unplug the computer (this post was irretrievable)

Bruce grabbed him around the waist, pulling him back against his groin...his erection very evident as it pressed against his thick, bouncy buttocks. He struggled to get away...when he realised to his horror that the damn computer was still going *ding* every ten seconds or so. How long had they been struggling? What else had changed? He had to get this straightened out!


"Bruce..." he gasped, as he wriggled around to face his guardian/teacher/father figure.

*ding*

uh-oh

"I know your not going to believe me..."

*ding*

Damn it

"...but this is...this..."

*ding*

SHIT!

"...dis shee-it be's awl fucked up!"

*ding*

Oh, what the hell!

In a rush he pulled away from his grasping, aggressive partner and stumbled to a reflection...and he saw himself. He was still him. Still Dick Grayson...but a Dick Grayson who was so drastically and exaggeratedly altered that he honestly thought that only he could see it.

His jaw...his chin...but surgery had shaved and sculpted. His body...his limbs...but a different life had softened and twisted. His self...but also a total stranger.

It was a Dick Grayson who'd never engaged in his exhausting levels of exercise. His limbs were smooth, soft and oh so roundly shaped...save for his thick, bulging shelf of ass and swollen, bouncing, swaying pumpkin-sized tits. His face was his face...but his lips were a thick set of pouty pillows. His nose a blunt, flat bulb...his hair a poofed, teased halo of red-tinged curls.

He was black. Or rather, his body was the deepest, darkest and fakest 'Martina Big' chocolate brown. Illegally obtained tanning injections atop tanning injections had permantly increased the size, shade and density of his melanin cells.

(A boy...adopted by a staggering rich pervert...drugged, hypnotized and trained to be a wild object of his grotesque fantasies...educated only as a sex object...surgery and surgery and surgery heaped one atop another, until all that was left was this impossible creature. On his 18th birthday he'd finally been deflowered.)

Hyperventilation caused him to weaken at the knees, and he stumbled to all fours. His twisted, deformed body was that of a young man...who'd been turned into the new Bruce's fantasy image of an exaggerated 'Blaxploitation' queen. He was Coffy, Foxy Brown and Cleopatra Jones all wrapped into one package, yet still...still...his penis...

("Mah big dick!")

...was somehow an overblown slab of cartoonishly swollen man-meat, backed by a pair of fat, Peach-sized balls.

As he tried to process the nightmare he had been thrust into...

*ding*

...his huge tits were grabbed and thrust forward by a bright red support bra. His giant ass flossed and flaunted by a strip of green cloth that filled and shifted to position his fat cock. His feet were now strapped into a pair of tall, green stiletto heels. He scrambled to a standing position again, noticing that as he did, his nails were now two-inches long, glossy black, and decorated with little R's. His face a map of cosmetic perfection under his cute, black domino-style mask.

*ding*

He turned and swept one arm wide, shaking his index finger in Bruces face and rasping in a throaty scream "Don' yo' be fuckin' wid meh, Big Daddy!" He'd always called Bruce that, right? "Ah ain' jus' yo' sweet piece o' ass, Daddy...ah be's de hottest tranny in de ghetto! You dig, Daddy? Ah means t' say DAT ah lubs t' suck yo' dick..."

This was...wrong? But how? He knew it was all some horrible lie...but he also remembered years of psycotropic drugs and therapy used to create his 'real' personality. He remembered hundreds of skanky, down market black whores, bar flys and club sluts...being told to walk like them...talk like them...think like them. Bruce deserved to do this to him, because the 'Man ' was always right. He'd watched every conceivable 'blaxploitation' film, always told to 'Imagine you're this woman' or 'Imagine you're that woman', until...he was done. Perfect. Normal. The surgery and injections came later, and now...

"Das right, baby. Regina Robin jus' live t' sucks dat dick! Ah gotta hab it ev'y night. Cum ova heah an' whip dat shee-it out, mutha fucka. Regina dropped to his knees and blew his partner, protector and champion like the most talented of boi-sluts. He didn't even think of the last *ding* that sounded behind him, he was so eager to pleasure his Big Daddy.

That night, Bruce Wayne...received a questionnaire on his computer.
by Anzaleth
Storyline The Online Questionnaire
Previous Chapter Rikki tries to convince Batman that she used to be a guy

Bruce Wayne woke-up in the middle of the night, feeling surprisingly hungry.

Beside him, on the bed, Regina moaned and clutched the sheets and muttered in his sleep: "Big Daddy, Robin needs her big ol' bat-dick. Show yer horny ol' Robin why you gots the best tools in Gotham."

Bruce smiled and patted Regina's head, and headed to the fridge to see what Alfred had left.

He found a turkey sandwich and was idly chewing on it as Bruce glanced into the study to see his computer screen was on.

He wandered in out of curiosity and sat down in front of the screen.

There was text on the screen: "I have questions for you."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. What is this from?

"What kind of cross-dresser are you?"

"Young and sassy tart? Sensual and sexy hottie? Mature and rapacious cougar?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow as the timer counted down from 10 to 0. The three boxes flashed and then settled on "mature and rapacious cougar."

The next question:

"What is your make-up style?"

"Bright and exuberant? Clear and restrained? Dark and extravagantly mysterious?"

This time Bruce selected "dark and extravagantly mysterious." He felt an urge to figure out where exactly all of this was heading. There was a tingling that was travelling up his body.

* * *

While Bruce was now trapped inside the questionnaire, Regina Robin continued to moan in her sleep and rub his "big ol' black dick."

"Oooo, Big Daddy, you wan' me to punish dis bad girl? Yeah, Daddy, I'll slap her face with dis big ol' black mutha fucka. Mmmmm, you likes when yer Robin punishes yer other girls, Daddy."

Little did she know that her "Big Daddy" was staying just as big, but now would have other extracurricular activities as well that would be fun for the eager dark-skinned slut.


Bruce Wayne transforms into a horny cross-dressing rich bitch cougar
by burke_rakers
Previous Chapter That night, Bruce Wayne...received a questionnaire on his computer.

Alfred Pennyworth brought breakfast up the Master Bruce, know in that he and Robin would be having breakfast in bed. It...seemed strange that the two of them would be breakfasting together. It seemed almost...wrong. What could be wrong? It was...so confusing. But then...this was a confusing morning. He kept having flashes of unreality that tore at his natural ideas and memories and ideas of how the manor had always been. For example, when he woke...he felt the need to go to he great portrait painting in the main room, light candles before it, and...worship it? The portrait was...different. not the proud elder Waynes but...(don't say it)...different. One figure only...dressed in black...


He'd dropped to his knees and groveled before it, gasping and grinding his crotch in both hands. He finally came in a wet *sploosh* that felt both deeply shameful, and...absolutely perfect. He'd reached down the front of his trousers and drew out his fingers, glistening with his own spent. He licked them with a zealots reverence for the sacred before making breakfast and now...he was standing outside the door...hand raised to knock.

Don't do it. Leave. Flee. Forget this place.

Sweating and feeling nauseous, he knocked on the door.

Regina answered the door, dressed in red and green lingerie with a cape-like billow of yellow morning gown. He was black, bawdy, big-titted and ass-heavy...save for his huge pornstars cock.

He smiled, and husked "Mornin' Alfie...jus' put dat down on de bed an' let Regina hab a look at chu. Damn, but you a fine looking stud. Gotta wonder what it'd be like..."

Down, you bad boi. You know that in the morning...Mamma gets first taste."

Giggling like a naughty school girl Regina stepped back...and let...

(No)

...let Mamma...

(No!)

...take over.

It was...Master Bruce...it was obviously Master Bruce, but...

He sauntered from the massive walk-in closet looking like some Amazonian goddess. His body was tall, strongly muscled and put on display by a leather dominatrix costume. Hip-high boots with sadistically arched and pointed ballet heels that gave him a dominating height of nearly 7 feet. His hips padded and plush, though obviously the hips of a man. His waist was corseted and squeezed into an impossible hourglass that suggested sadistic self-control, and counterbalanced with a set of gloriously fake breasts that looked like the nose cones of MX missiles. Broad and intimidating shoulders, powerful arms - smooth, hairless, built for grace and violence. Broad, bullish neck supported the face of a sultry, sadistic angel. Master Bruce! It was Master..

...Madame Fledermaus. He was 'Madame Fladermaus'. The Dominatrix of Gotham. The Dark Knight Diva. The Queen of Cougars. Having lost his own parents to criminals, Bruce had devoted himself to living 24/7 as a living, breathing symbol of discipline to teach the criminal underworld a lesson they'd never forget. His face was the face of a Wayne, yet his strong jaw and cheekbones couldn't distract from his obvious beauty. His lips had been sculpted into a perfectly kissable pout and coated with dark purple lipstick. Smokey blush and shadow...feathery lashes...brows that were sculpted into perfect arches...long, black hair that hung down his back and over one shoulder in sensual Lauren Bacall waves. He was beauty, seduction and violence all rolled up into one impossible to resist package. Though obviously a man and hung lie a bear, his every pose, movement and motion was one of unmistakable femininity.

Alfred knew this was who young Bruce had grown into. Knew this was his goddess. Knew that he would always be loyal. But for a moment, he had to resist the urge to turn and run...

Regina Robin came up behind him and draped one smooth chocolate brown arm over his shoulder...long nails tracing his nipples.

Madame Fledermaus slipped his hand into Alfred's pants...rubbing his cock as he whispered commands to him. "Cum for me, worm. Cum for me, snake. Lowest of the low, you belong to me, maggot. Who does this cock belong to? Who owns this trouser worm? Who owns you? Say it....say it..."

Alfred began to shudder and cry in a mix of emotions. Fear...horror...shock...shame...submission...

"Ma-ma-madame owns it. Madame...madame owns everything. Madame owns me. I-I-I am...nothing before the g-g-glory of m-m-my...imperious Madame..."

Regina giggled and slipped his own huge cock into Alfred's ass, and he groaned as Regina pumped into him without asking permission. Why should he? This man belonged to his mistress, after all...and Madame was so generious to his friends

Bruce. Dick. Help...

The hand around his cock squeezed so hard that he cried out in agony.

"Madame who?" He asked, his voice purring and silky as a knife slipped from a sheath.

(Years ago...Bruce dressing like a sultry vixen, yet nothing like the wicked sex goddess he would become. He was lounging by the fire while Alfred fed him peeled grapes. Bruce was obviously deep in thought.

Then a crash...a shower of glass...as a huge bat smashed through the window.

Bruce shot to his stiletto-heeled feet, crying out "It's a sign, Alfred! I've become a dominatrix, studied combat, martial arts and criminology, yet only to improve myself! Yet...no longer. Criminals are a cowardly, superstitious lot! From this day forward, I shall become a creature of the night! I shall become...Madame Fledermaus!)

"Madame Fledermaus! Madame Fledermaus! You are Madame Fledermaus!"

With a gush he came, and Madame cupped it in his hands...brought it to his own lips...took it in, then kissed him...spitting his own cum into his mouth just as Regina cried out and moaned through his own climax. Alfred felt...wonderful! To be the property of so wonderful a mistress as Madame Fledermaus was a dream come true. With a song in his heart, he bowed before Madame and his own favorite creation, and saying "I shall return for the tray later. Good morning, mistress. Good morning, Regina."

As he left, he thrilled to hear Regina comment "Dat white boy gotta ass to set fo' dinner. Any day that starts wit' Alfies ass is a good day."


Madame Fledermaus and Robin hop in the Batmobile that evening...
By Anzaleth
Storyline The Online Questionnaire
Previous Chapter Bruce Wayne transforms into a horny cross-dressing rich bitch cougar

That night Madame Fledermaus and Robin strode towards the Batmobile.

The elegant cross-dresser was dressed in his leather dominatrix outfit, but had added a long black bat-cape and a black mask (with no back, so that his gorgeous hair could hang free. His stiletto heels clicked on the floor and he was smoking a cigarette in a long elegant holder.

"Gonna do some punishment, Big Mamma?" Robin asked. The she-male was dressed in a brightly coloured outfit like the original Robin outfit, except this one was low-cut to show-off plenty of cleavage and the green shorts were more of a speedo that showed the outline of the she-male's throbbing cock and whose back was enveloped by Robin's huge black buttcheeks.

"Yes, dear," the cross-dressing cougar cooed. "Some bad little boys and girls need Mamma to teach them some manners."

"Mmmm," Robin cooed as she activated a new feature on the Batmobile, causing a dildo to rise up from the seat. The eager she-male slid her huge black ass around the shaft. "Yeahhh. I like having mah buns wrapped around somethin' big. Let's go strike some fear intah dem baddies, Mamma."

The Batmobile roared off, the movements of the powerful vehicle causing Regina Robin to moan.

* * *

Lois Lane stared in confusion at the questionnaire that had appeared on her screen.

How big are your muscles? Are they as big as a superhero's? As big as a body-builder's? As big as a gorilla's?

"What the heck is this?" she asked herself.

* * *

Alfred was dusting the mansion. His outfit looked relatively normal, but it was a little tight, a little more form-fitting. And of course there was now the cock-cage and the vibrator in his ass, both held firmly in place, and keeping him in desperate need.

If he did a good job, his mistress -- his goddess -- would reward him, and let him cum. Maybe even on Madame's beautiful, perfect leg.

The doorbell rang....

Lois answers the question about her muscles
by burke_rakers
Storyline The Online Questionnaire
Previous Chapter Madame Fledermaus and Robin hop in the Batmobile that evening...

"What the hell sort of question is that?" She mused, checking the questionnaire over. Was this some joke of Lana's? It didn't seem like the sort of thing she'd have sent her...

*ding*

"Ugh!" She groaned aloud...as her body suddenly and forcefully expanded with hundreds of pounds of extra muscle. One moment she was just sitting there in her fashionable pantsuit...and a moment later, she was a massive slab of beef. She screamed in horror...but though her once dainty hands were now huge, calloused, thick-fingered paws at the end of brawny arms...her suit still fit her perfectly. She stood up, and her legs were twin towers...yet her pants still fit...shoes still fit...she looked at her face in a mirror...and saw the face of someone who was almost a stranger. Oh, still basically her face...

But her cheeks and jaw were so...hard and defined. Her foundation was perhaps a little heavy...to cover up the ever present case of acne. Her brow somewhat more prominent. Her eyebrows growing together into an obvious uni-brow. Sparse chin and lip hairs. It all pointed to one thing : Steroids.

"But...but I don't..." she said aloud, yet even as she did...her deep, masculine voice made a liar of her. She...loved steroids. She'd been abusing them for years. She'd started just exercising as usual, but once she'd heard of those three magic words (androgenic anabolic steroids) she'd never looked back. Bigger and bigger doses had helped her build up bigger and bigger tolerances to the powerful drugs, until she simply couldn't imagine life without her daily injections and hours long regiment of benching and curling. Once the side effects started to hit her, they seemed so minor...even worth it. In fact the loss of her period, deepening of her voice, increase of both body and facial hair, clitoral growth (it was practically a fully formed dick these days), and perpetual acne were more than made up for by the supposed 'emotional effects'. She wasn't 'irritable'. Other people were just assholes. She wasn't 'hostile'. She was direct. She didn't have 'mood swings'. She was complex. And she didn't have a 'false sense of invincibility. She WAS invincible!

But...she was also still Lois Lane...and she KNEW it was the questionnaire.

She looked up and saw 'Body-Builder' was chosen...and she knew it was right...but also knew it was wrong. She could remember as a young girl idolizing Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lou Ferrigno. She looked at women like Heidi Krieger, Candice Armstrong and Denise Rutkowski not as horror stories and warnings but role models. She looked down, and saw that even now...one tremendously thick, girder-like arm was curling up and down with a massive barbell she'd never have been able to move before. Up and down. Always lifting. Benching. If denied the chance to get her minimum four hour session in, then she'd spend all day doing chin-ups on random door jams. Dropping and doing 200 German pushups with one arm. She had good-natured contempt for people who couldn't keep up with her, which meant...she had good-natured contempt for most of the people she met during her day. She called Jimmy Olson 'Squirt' and Lana Lang 'String bean'. Perry White was 'Old Man White' and she only really respected a couple of the guys and girls down in shipping or janitorial. Big, brawny folks (though not her equals) who earned their wages with their strong backs.

She struggled...but she knew that from this day forward...this was her. She was Lois 'Lou' Lane. Though only a few inches taller than her previous height (steroid use during her youth had caused a growth spurt, leveling he off at a respectable 6 ft even) she was now a nearly impossible 350 lbs of solid, tight-packed muscle.

The questionnaire switched to another question, and she growled at the screen. Brainiac? Lex Luther? More likely Mister Myxlplyx or the Toy Man, considering the strangeness of her change. Well, she'd have to contact Superman as soon as possible.

"How do you dress and present yourself? Mannish? Tomboy? Girl-Next-Door? Professional Woman? Lady of the Evening?"

She resisted the urge to instantly hit 'Mannish' or 'Tomboy' as they were what the current 'her' wanted, and she had enough presence of mind to realize that the current her...wasn't the 'real' her. If she allowed her new reality to dictate her decision, then she'd never get back to normal. Though she suspected that Superman could help her...part of her really wanted to solve this by herself. Now...as mannish as she was...was this a trick? She suspected that at any second the question might just answer itself as it had before, so she hit 'Lady of the Evening' thinking that an extreme choice one way might counterbalance an extreme choice the other. She heard the *ding*

She sat with her head cocked to the left, chin angled just so. Not an actual example of posture, but rather of posing. Her thick, right arm was held bent, her wrist loose and palm open to flaunt her long, red nails. Long nails were important to her. Long, red nails just screamed 'sexy', so her nails were VERY red and VERY long. It took training to type with nails that were always at least 2 inches, but she'd spent her whole life perfecting the skill. She smiled, with her thick, pillowy collagen-stuffed lips set in her strong, manly jaw. Her makeup was thick and theatrical. Lips were glistening with glossy red. Cheeks boldly defined with smokey blush. Eyes dark with mascara that turned her lashes into feathery brushes, and heightened with sky blue shadow that fades into golden streaks. Red leather minidress clinging to her gigantic fake tits thrust out like the dagmars on old cars, her musclebound body now carrying an extra 50 lbs of soft, jiggling flesh as extra padding to her legs, hips, ass and breasts. Her long legs were crossed, accentuating their muscular thickness with smooth, dark hose and bright red, 6 inch pointed toe platform stilettos.

Hyper femininity had been the logical answer to her growing muscularity. Don't stop working out, and NEVER stop using steroids, but it was more than enough to counterbalance one with the other. She patted her great, sweeping cape of white-gold hair as it tumbled down her back to her surgery-inflated ass. It had been hard work, but it had paid off in spades. She giggled, her deep voice arching into a sort of trilling faux-femininity that made most people assume she was a Drag Queen. In an effort to counteract such talk, she'd had her name legally changed to 'Lushious Lulabelle Lane', but the idiots just assumed that was even more proof.

Then again...the truth was just out of range. She knew this wasn't...quite who she was...but she also knew in her heart that she was 'Lushious Lulabelle Lane' - a female (?) bodybuilder, plastic survey nut and devote to what she often called 'Extreme Sexuality'. What did she do here at the Daily Planet then? Was this even her desk? What was real and what was fake?

The questionnaire asked another question, just as she lit a cigarette and slipped it into a long, red holder. "Where do you fit in? Wife? Husband? Brother? Sister? Mother? Father? Friend?"

She tossed her head - her mountain of hair sweeping about and assuming an even more perfect arch that covered one eye in a bluntly sexual display. "Oh, REALLY.? Now THIS is just TOO MUCH!!!" She cried like any deep voiced man attempting a haughty woman's exaggerated outrage. She gestured with her red-talloned right hand, the cigarette tracing a perfect circle of silvery smoke. "What sort of options are THESE? Wife? Husband? REALLY? It makes no sense!"

She fumed and sputtered, but knew that sooner or later...she'd have to decide. Husband, Father and Brother were out. She had enough self control to decide that. But 'Wife'? Whose wife? Jimmy? Clark? Perry? And 'Mother'? Sister had the same stumbling block. The only safe choice...was Friend.

She'd have to choose 'Friend'.

She glided the mouse over 'Friend' and clicked it...only to watch in horror as 'Friend' morphed into 'Foe' just as she clicked it.

She screamed...as her skin darkened till it was a beautiful emerald green. Her blond-dyed hair aquired green accents and highlights, while her red lips, nails, dress and pumps became a gaudy and shocking pink! A tiara formed in her hair, glittering with emeralds and rose quartz. She gasped again in shock, as her mind...

It wasn't her fault! Her precious steroids had been tainted by a Kryptonite-based mixture, transforming her into Kryptonia the Kryptonite Queen! No! She loved Superman! She wanted him, but...he always fought her! She had to team up with other Superman foes in an effort to show him that she was the woman for him, and that surrender into her brawny arms would be bliss. She had once turned into X-Kryptonite to give herself the powers of a Kryptonian, and would next use her Green Kryptonite powers to weaken Superman to the point that he couldn't resist her, then change into Red Kryptonite to change him so he could truely love her....then perhaps she'd turn to Gold Kryptonite and strip him of his powers. The infamous Kryptonite Queen was one of Supemans most powerful foes...

"You CHEATED! Not this...not this..." she snarled, her deep voice taking on a naturally villainous tone. After all...she was now a villainess. An infamous villainess.

She snarled at the screen. Unfair. It was unfair! She'd wait here to take some of Superman friends hostage, perhaps exposing them to her Bizarro Red Kryptonite (which affected humans the same way Red Kryptonite affected Kryptonians) and watch the fun! Eventually Superman would show his face...and she'd take him...break him....make him her swishy, swooning bottom boi...

[Junketh71]

Thanks for posting those, they were fun to read.

[Burke_Rakers]

Thanks, Junketh. After almost 25 years of writing, I've only just started to grasp just how little of my stuff is still floating around on the internet. I think only the one story I've on this site, and my various posts on BEAdd, Fiction Branched and Stories.com are all that's left. It's just a fragmented clump of posts, and the fact that this is all I could salvage from SuperStories is so depressing.