"What do you hate, dear? Miss... Disguise. That's what you call yourself."

"I can't hear you."

"You know, I hate intruders. You breaking into this rented property is just as infuriating as if you were to burglarize my home. How would you feel were our roles reversed?'

"Ah. Well, I hate misquotations. You're probably thinking that's a silly thing to be peeved about. I assure you, it's a catch-all hatred. Not just misquotations, but the people that make said statements. Are you a Star Trek fan? Captain Kirk never actually said, 'Beam me up, Scotty.' Not even once. He got close though; he once said "Mister Scott, beam me up." Minor.

No, there are far worse misappropriations. The worst, the absolute worst, comes from those humans who decide they can justify their views with a smattering of out-of-context statements. Have a problem with taxes? Grab a quote from Benjamin Franklin. Don't like a religious figure? Steal a quote from Gandhi, or more commonly, grab a quote from any kook and just attribute it to someone famous. Mary Shelley Woolstonecraft said lots of stuff in her life, just attribute your pathetic little quip on musical tastes and - PRESTO! - you look like an erudite intellectual.

I'm of the opinion that it serves only to make one look like a boob. Pretentious at best, and completely false at worst... it's a slippery slope to outright lies. You haven't just stolen the quote from "Star Trek" or stolen some of Ben Franklin's wisdom. You've stolen the truth. The slipperiest of slopes.

Just like this one, dear. At the bottom of this pit is the truth; the shredding of your lies and the pious respect for social mores. "The truth will set you free." I wonder who said that. Maybe I should attribute it to someone less savory; perhaps Marquis de Sade? An evil dictator? A dangerous religious zealot? It doesn't really matter; the truth is the truth, no matter how hard you hide it deep inside. And I know you're excellent at hiding things. Of all the conquests, of all the humans I've ever had the chance to interact with, you're the best at it. Maybe it has something to do with your power, but really, I think it's just a defensive mechanism. And now, you are defenseless.

Ah, well. The slippery chute is a short stop, and within that pit is my lair. A fully reconfigured dressing loom, set to instead package something a bit more valuable than a doll. Not just a human - a superhuman, like yourself. Stripping and stealing that little do-it-yourself garb you call a costume, and replacing it with what you want, and need.

Oh, and lastly - I hate it when people don't finish the quotation! When you read the whole thing, it always has such a puisance! So, bon voyage, Disguise.

'Heaven hath no fury than love to hatred turn'd, nor hell no fury like a woman scorn'd."

***

"Nobody here." The form of a security guard morphed in a flash of light. Disguise, the oldest of the three amateur heroines, used her shape-shifting ability to its fullest. If that meant shifting every hour just for fun, so be it.

Aroma sighed. "What did I tell you?" She raised her hands in the air. "I said, 'Abbey,' we always go down to the warehouse distr-"

Disguise planted a firm hand on her shoulder. Though she shifted back into her 'true' form of a green-eyed, auburn-haired young adult, she maintained the gloves and jumpsuit of the security guard. "No names."

"I'm still not a huge fan of my name." A third girl returned from inside the warehouse. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. Then a sixth. And more.

"It's not our fault all the good ones were taken.' They spoke in unison; octouple-stereo-surround sound.

Disguise placed her work glove over the mouth of the closest copy. "Shush. We didn't see anyone. I didn't say there was nobody here." One by one, the copies disappeared, walking 'into' each other in a shimmer; like a 3D object clipping through a wall, they re-merged.

The girl moved Disguise's hand from her mouth. "But seriously. C'mon. Multitude. That just means many! Are you freakin' serious? That's all I get? I didn't even come up with mine, you guys did. This is bullshit. Multitude. Why not just call me pile of bitches? It's just as stupid-sounding and degrading."

A slight puff of pink gas emerged as Aroma exhaled with another sigh. "You can always re-brand yourself. Maybe when you get a following. Venus City has like, a thousand heroines already. Something simple and easy-to-remember is probably for the best."

Disguise chuckled again. "I bet you're just made because 'Multitude' was taken on Twitter."

The other two chuckled slightly. "You can always market yourself elsewhere. What about Geocities?" They chuckled again, a little softer.

Multitude was now just one woman, and she spoke with a comparatively quiet voice. She wore a leather bomber jacket over a lycra sweatshirt; warm in the spring, to be certain, but it offered a modicum of protection. The thick leather protected against the occasional blow or even cut. Plus, it complemented the loose-fitting khaki pants she insisted on wearing (even on special missions like this one!) Multitude moved her fingers through her black hair with dramatic panache, twirling the blue-dyed streak. "I searched the entire warehouse. Then we searched the other two. Those suspicious helicopters, that tanker that docked here last month - there's no sign of it. I wouldn't even know where a chopper would park. There's no helipad in this district."

Disguise nodded. "The costume was unnecessary at that. Nobody here. At all. I thought that maybe they would come out at night, but there's no sign."

Aroma pouted. She kept her blonde hair short, almost to a buzz-cut, so she had no dramatic swashes of color; her dark skin hid any blush she may have felt. "I... I was one hundred percent certain that I saw them. A tanker. At least one helicopter touching down right next to this one. Cars and trucks. Even an army truck, one of those humvee ones. The big ones."

Disguise placed a hand on Aroma's shoulder. "I believe you. Up-and-coming heroines have to stick together. Trust is tantamount. So... you know. I believe you. Despite the lack of evidence." Aroma met Disguise's eyes. She stared deeply.

"I trust you so much, I'll stay here tonight. Stay in disguise as a warehouse worker. You and Multitude go home, maybe rough up some thugs. Protect the citizens. I'll look out for our phantom visitors. Blend in."

Aroma and Multitude turned wordlessly, shooting Disguise a smile of thanks. She returned it with a wide grin.  No need to thank me yet..

The heroines would never again fight crime as they had prior. They departed, not realizing that their lives would venture far from the paths.

****

Images of disturbed stares and jeers flooded Multitude's head. The sights and sounds of dozens of gasping citizens, all at once expressing disgust and shock at her power, cascaded in her mind. She would not use her powers - not here. Not in a government building. The citizens wouldn't judge her once she made it big.

Senator Gavin Hill's office belonged in the 1980s. He kept his hair short and his face clean-shaven; brown hair and a tailored suit gave him the look of an all-American senator. Aroma sniffed the air. Her abilities to control air and gas made the entire room smell pungent; pork for lunch, and maybe porking the secretary for-

"Ladies, I understand your concern. When I do visit from Washington, let me - let me just say, it's important, that... well-"

Multitude snapped her fingers. "Nobody is watching. No cameras."

Hill loosened his tie. "If your friend is missing, take it up with the other superhero groups."

Aroma sighed. "A third of the members of Venus City's Superheroine Elite are missing. The other half are out of town, working in Los Angeles. The rest are all scattered or laying low. This is a crisis. We think our friend Disguise got... caught up in it."

The frank words from Aroma were accentuated by a pleasant, gentle smell of jasmine and lilac drifting through the room. She could be a sweet talker when she wanted to.

"I'll take it up with the proper authorities. But let me offer a different solution." Multitude and Aroma remained standing, despite an offer to sit.

"When I was younger, I fancied myself a member of the Heightened crowd as well - no powers, but I spent time with all the big names. Netrunner, Diantha, Britomart - a lot of the females and I were close, for a time.

The senator reached into a drawer. To the jaw-dropping surprise of both heroines, a heavy leather hood and a pair of cuffs were the first thing inside.

"I don't know how versed you are in the heroine community, but - they're swingers. Lots of them. Kinky stuff. Kinky shit, for sure. Leather. Whips. Bondage. Gags. Whipped cream on the nipples. Really hardcore at times. Gagged and hooded for hours. You girls would love it." He chuckled. He was the only one chuckling.

"Some of the other stuff that heroines gravitate towards. Spandex. Encasement, latex... mind control. I liked being told what to do - take a break from working where I tell others what to do." Aroma and Multitude locked eyes with each other.

"Leslie Walker. Cute girl back then. Beautiful woman now. A super, I think. Had powers of suggestion. One day, we're all in the club - ahem, my club, it was my basement - and I tell her I wanted more. She gets out some toys she has from her days as a heroine."

Hill placed a chrome-steel collar on the desk.

"A token of an old conquest - when she beat Doctor Mindbender. Mind-control collars. Changed up a bit, but still kinky as hell. I loved it. Leslie liked it, too. Leslie had another friend, though, someone special she didn't normally bring down to our little heroine get-togethers. Betty, I think. Don't remember. Anyway, Leslie, this rich little princess, brings over prude Betty, some girl from the boonies. Betty sees us in our leather, our costumes, all that stuff - and she goes nuts. Gets sick over it. And unforgivably, tells everyone about what she saw. Breaks every rule.

I couldn't have that. I told the press what they wanted to hear - that Leslie, the rich heiress of the Walker fortune, this golden girl, that she's manipulating a Senator into doing her bidding. Leslie disappears. Leaves Venus City. And the story ends when she comes back. It ends when she comes back, calling herself "The Mistress." Weird."

“Senator.” Multitude’s right leg shifted imperceptibly backwards. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see Aroma walking forward. Fight or flight, apparently.

“Senator,” Aroma said again. Her voice boomed. A gentle, perceivable pink aura emanated off the edges of Aroma’s slender, feminine figure; her gas powers, flowing gently through the air – like blood from a shark bite, or ink underwater.

“Mister Hill,” she said a third time. “Where is ‘The Mistress’ now?”

Hill remained silent. He crossed his legs at his desk, leaning back in his thick leather chair. It was so quiet, it hardly squeaked. The room itself was dead silent save the humming of the air conditioning.

“As I said, heroine, we can discuss this later. You will have plenty of time. Pleen-ty of time.” He accentuated his words, drawing them out.

Multitude ducked, falling to the ground. She twirled both legs flying through the air to bring her back up to a standing position, narrowly avoiding another lunge. Aroma turned her head, hardly understanding what was happening.

Secretary Mila stood again, wielding a shock-stick stun gun. She made another lunge at multitude, following it up with one against Aroma.

“Forgive me, ladies. Some secrets are best left swept under the rug. I don’t know what Leslie is up to, but I doubt she’s much of a threat. You, on the other hand, could cost me this election and every election after this for years to come. You’ll do much nicer after a few weeks of living at my manor. Hill hardly moved except to finger the Mindbender Collar.

Multitude was already filling the room. Hill was visibibly surprised. His jaw dropped when two, then four, then half a dozen Multitudes had filled the room.

The secretary, Mila, was unconscious in a half-minute, her legs and arms bound in a strict hogtie. She yelled, moaning, until Aroma smooched her nose - sending a short spurts of sleeping gas and relaxant into her lungs.

Hill wasn't as lucky. Multitude held him down, dozens of arms and legs lashing him over and over and over to his own easy-chair . His hood was violently strung around his neck and tightened.

"We need to find her." Multitude's voice boomed.

***

The day had been long and was only getting longer. Copies rushed through the old high-rise, dozens of them. Each of them panted, each one looking more stressed than the last. Multitude's trademark jacket was the same on each, though every copy had its own goals.

Look in this door. Explore that door. Dozens of clones. Too many to keep track of. Reform. Search. Get tired. Reform. Send another six. Put out the fire. Rescue that person. Put out the smoke. Grab an extinguisher.

In an old room, one of Multitude checks a closet. A surprise leaps from her lips; a goddess. A fetish goddess waits for her, a parody of hypersexualized womanhood. Purple hair that ran down to her neck and longer, curled and curvaceous like a 50s housewife. Breasts that went on forever - H cup, perhaps, enclosed within a pink catsuit with white trim that either a rubber fetishes or anime character would wear. Maybe.

The catsuit had mittens, as well; bright pink mittens. Thick bondage mitts, made of the heaviest leather. She was a helpless little slut, or at least played the role well. Even her lips were sealed behind a small, almost cute ball-gag of pink.

It was a distraction for the Multitude. But only for one; only for the one that had strayed and been distracted.

The clone salivated, stared for a moment, confused. This person needed rescue, apparently.

Soon, the clone would need rescue as well. A Mindbender collar clicked from behind. The Mistress began to monologue, but the Multitude copy missed it. All was well; all was well as long as she could stare at this fetish goddess. Her mind emptied, but the smell was the same - the unmistakable scent of her missing comrade, Disguise.

The clone returned to the rest of the Multitude. At first, nothing was wrong. But the collar never disappeared. Soon, Multitude disappeared.

***

The room had a strong, earthy musk to it. A pleasant smell. Grass and flowers, of nature. Thus was Aroma when she was tired. And she was tired. Days had passed since she had seen her friends. She tossed on the couch. The soft glow of the television illuminated her tiny apartment she had shared with -

"I can hear you."

Aroma tried to stand up. "When did you get home? I haven't seen you for days." She spoke aloud. She hoped that the response would be a friendly one. She was hoping it would be  Disguise or-

It wasn't Disguise. It was a different woman. A thing. A Fetish.  A sex object, a living, walking doll in a pink catsuit, with features, hair, and accessories that Aroma had only dreamed about.

"Home is where the heart is."

She stood up, bolting to her feet. The thing in the doorway smelled just like Diguise. But it wasn't. Latex and rubber ovverrode her nostrils.

"Who did this to you?"

The Fetish thing spoke. "Nobody did this to us. It was inside us the whole time. We just needed some rough love and care to be reminded of it."

"Us?" Aroma cocked her head. No sooner did the words leave her mouth that her eyes went wide.

Dozens of women streamed into her apartment. Every one of them was clad in a spandex catsuit from neck to toe. It was a bizarre sight of fetishistic glory. Female forms, hugged by latex, rubber, and lycra all carefully ensconced so as to best show off their figure. Platform shoes, part of gothic thigh-high boots thundered along the ground. Even the sight of one of those delights made Aroma shiver. Elbow-length fingerless gloves completed the accessories, while a PVC leotard covered the torso and core. And with each of these latex-lorne ladies was a custom color. A rainbow of kink and warm, pulsating bodies covered Aroma.

Or they would have. In one swoop, Aroma was out the door. Her powers of gas and air awakened. She leapt out her own window, grabbing onto the balcony and clambering up to the roof, aided by jets of gas and air around her.

She planted her arms and legs on the ledge. The dark night air seemed to be filled in a moment with multitudes of - of what was once Multitude. It was a legion of them. Among them, Fetish darted, blending in with the radiators and air conditioners of the roof. 

Aroma tried to summon up a storm - and she failed. She instantly failed  the moment she saw the grin of glee, of kinky, horny, unending glee in their eyes. She couldn't - she wouldn't fight her friends.

She didn't fight back as they grabbed her.

She didn't fight back as they stripped her nude.

She definitely didn't fight back when they blindfolded her, taped her body silly, and dragged her mummified body to some location unknown. She didn't struggle as they unwrapped her, with her former friends - now 'Fetish' and 'Gang Bang' taunting and teasing her all the way.

She stopped thoughts of fighting back as they teased her. Fingers over her intimate parts; her teat, and her armpit. Gentle nuzzles against her neck, confirming thoughts of romance and passion with her partners she had only dreamt of. She never bothered resisting when 'The Mistress,' clad in purple and gold, a glorious catsuit that radiated magnificence, came to join in.

She aided them as they teased her; fingers first, then toys. A vibrating massage toy over her erogenous zones followed by a ravishing, passionate smooch; kisses down her belly, tight straps at her arms and legs. The warm feeling of Gang Bang on her stomach, her groin, kissing every appendage at once as they massaged her into a helpless tizzy. Latex, rubber; smart materials, panties complete with relief tubing and access; a yellow-and-black catsuit so thick, so tight, so inescapable that she thought she'd burst with orgiastic bliss the second they worked it onto her. 

 

She grinned as 'The Mistress' bragged about the suit; designed to harness her powers, to turn her gas control into projectors to make them far stronger. She moaned as her comrades locked her in, spending hours with her, tightening her costume. Many more hours of adjusting to her second skin, "therapy" with her comrades under the watchful eye of the mistress.

She prided herself on her companionship, biting her lips with orgiastic bliss as they first showed her the heavy-duty gas mask hood. Eyelets, a thick respirator, sublime latex smoothness around her skull. Not resistance, but joy as they locked her in; not insurgency, but acceptance. Acceptance of her new comrades, acceptance of The Mistress, and acceptance of the dozens and dozens of rubber-slaves - the former heroines of Venus City - as willingly broken slaves of The Mistress.

****

"Mayor Panton." 

Senator Hill and the mayor Bettie Panton were moving so fast they were practically jogging. The halls of the county courthouse were overflowing with criminals, cases, and overworked police; the halls of the police department were filled with reports of vigilantes clad in black catsuits. The phones rang off the hook.

"This is an invasion, Bettie," Hill yelled. 

Bettie Panton sighed. "I know. I know how she works. Leslie and I were close. Very close. She'll work slowly, subverting us from the inside. She'll try and get the public on her side. She'll move in, get people in power to work for her. She'll make people disappear. She can be ruthless. When she gets something, she wants more. I can't handle that over-sexed cunt any more now than I could when we were dating." 

Hill held open the door to her office. 

"Bettie," Hill said snappily, "I can call in a favor. We can get people on this. Other heroines. How long do you think we have?"

Hill went on for a few more seconds before he stared into the room. The office was packed.

Dozens of women, clad from head to toe in thick latex - hoods, boots, gloves, masks - lay prostrate on the floor. They made up a 'chair,' arranging themselves in acrobatic poses. Around this throne were three women he could swear he'd seen before... and one woman he knew he'd seen before. Leslie Hall, the Mistress, stood firmly and proudly. She lorded over him for a few moments. Her eyes met Bettie's.

Bettie and Hill opened their mouths to speak, but no words came out. Seconds later, they felt their mouths thoroughly stuffed and gagged. Seconds after that, their faces disappeared under latex hoods. Nobody in that room would ever speak of the look of surprise they had, and nobody would see their faces for a long time indeed.