Bella

MOTEL. BENNIES

The cheap motel room on the outskirts of the city smelled of stale cigarettes and old carpet. The neon sign outside flickered through the thin curtains as you pushed the door open, arms full with what Soldier Gal had demanded.

Bella was sprawled lazily on the edge of the bed, looking ridiculously out of place and yet completely at home. She wore nothing but an oversized blue and white baseball t-shirt that barely contained her massive Liberty Melons. The thin fabric stretched obscenely tight across her enormous, heavy tits, her thick nipples clearly visible as they pressed against the cotton.

Down below, she was wearing only a tiny red, white, and blue American flag patterned thong that was completely swallowed by her legendary America’s Ass — two gigantic, thick, juicy globes of star-spangled wobble meat that spilled heavily over both sides of the mattress, the massive cheeks soft yet powerful, jiggling slightly as she shifted.

She looked up as you entered.

“Well hot damn, you actually came through,” she rasped in that gravelly, old-school veteran voice. “Gimme that bottle, kid. I’ve been dreamin’ about a real drink since those goddamn Reds had me on ice.”

Bella goes over and sits down at the table, her massive star spangled ass spilling both sides of the poor groaning chair.

You handed her the big bottle of whiskey, the chicken sandwich, tenders, fries, and finally the small orange bottle of bennies. Bella’s green eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning when she saw the pills.

“Ahhh, bennies…” she sighed contently, almost reverently, as she shook a few white tablets onto the cheap wooden table. “That’s how we won D-Day, y’know? We were wired to the fuckin’ gills on these things. None of that sissy modern crap.”

Without hesitation, she pulled out her old combat knife and began crushing the tablets into fine powder with the flat of the blade, the muscles in her powerful arms flexing.

As she worked, her massive Liberty Melons jiggled heavily under the baseball tee, while her enormous American dumptruck cake wobbled and spread even wider on the edge of the bed, the tiny thong doing absolutely nothing to contain her thick, juicy cheeks.

She glanced up at you mid-crush, noticing how your eyes kept drifting over her body.

“What’s the matter, soldier?” she grunted with a rough, mocking smirk. “Never seen a broad with a real set of warheads before? These Liberty Melons and this fat Victory Dumptruck ain’t exactly standard issue.”

Bella leaned forward slightly, causing her massive tits to rest on the table as she prepared a line, her patriotic thong-clad ass spilling heavily behind her like two overfilled sacks of pure American wobble meat.

Bella finished crushing the bennies into a fine line and leaned down, snorting it hard with zero hesitation. She threw her head back with a satisfied grunt, her massive Freedom Melons jiggling heavily under the oversized baseball tee from the motion.

She noticed you staring again — your eyes glued to her thick thunder thighs and those enormous star-spangled tits that were barely contained by the thin fabric.

"Hey!" Bella snapped her fingers loudly in front of your face like an irritated grandma. "Eyes up here, private. These warheads ain't gonna salute themselves."

She let out a rough chuckle, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Her green eyes then drifted over to the old motel TV flickering in the corner. A modern commercial came on — some smiling dad proudly wearing ababy carrier strapped across his chest.

Bella stared at the screen, her face twisting in pure confusion and disbelief.

"What in the blue blazes…?" she muttered. "Men really walk around like that nowadays? Strapped up like some damn pack mule? Holy hell…"

She turned to you, genuinely shocked, after you respond that yeah... dads walk around like that.

"You tellin’ me that’s normal now? Dads parading around in pussy gear like that?"

Before you could even answer, she kept going, taking another massive swig straight from the whiskey bottle.

“Back in my day, Bill Cosby was America’s dad. And let me tell you one thing — that man would’ve been caught dead before wearing that fruity shit. Cos… now that was a real man. Ha!”

Bella shook her head, her Caucasian tits swaying as she took another long pull from the bottle, her enormous America’s Ass spilling heavily over both edges of the chair.

You look over at Soldier Gal's shield, going over to try to lift it but- holy hell, its heavy as shit.

"Hands off the fuckin shield" Soldier Gal says to you as she breaks down more bennies to snort.

DRUNK. REMINISCING ABOUT THE OLE DAYS

The cheap motel room was dimly lit by a single lamp and the glow of the old television playing a sappy black-and-white romantic movie. Empty whiskey bottles were scattered across the nightstand. Bella was well past drunk.

She sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but an oversized blue and white baseball jersey that barely contained her massive Liberty Melons, the thin fabric stretched obscenely tight across her enormous tits.

Down below, her tiny red, white, and blue thong was completely swallowed by her legendary America’s Ass — two gigantic, thick, juicy globes of star-spangled wobble meat that spilled heavily over the mattress.

Bella took another long swig from the bottle, then suddenly let out a loud, bitter whine.

“Goddamn it… why does every fuckin’ man I let get close to me end up runnin’ for the hills?” she slurred, her gravelly veteran voice thick with whiskey and decades of pain. “I fought Nazis, survived the Reds, gave everything for this country… and they still leave me. Every single time.”

Her green eyes glistened as she looked over at you. Without warning, she stood up, stumbled slightly, and walked over to where you were sitting on the bed.

“C’mere, you…” she muttered.

Bella turned around and dropped her massive ass right onto your lap. Her enormous, heavy Victory Dumptruck completely smothered you in soft, warm, powerful wobble meat. The thick cheeks spread out heavily over your thighs, squishing and engulfing you as she settled in with a deep sigh. Her fat, juicy America’s Ass was so massive that it spilled over both sides of your legs, the tiny thong doing absolutely nothing to contain her.

She leaned back against your chest, her huge Liberty Melons resting heavily on top of her own stomach as she continued drinking.

“I miss the old days…” she grumbled, her voice rough and emotional. “Back when men were actually men. None of this soft, sensitive, cryin’ in therapy bullshit. You know how many good boys I lost in France? How many never came home?”

Bella took another long, sloppy swig from the whiskey bottle, some of it dribbling down her chin as she let out a loud, drunken giggle. She was fully settled on your lap now, her legendary America’s Ass — that thick, juicy, star-spangled dumptruck — completely smothering you. Her massive, heavy cheeks spread out wide and soft over your thighs, the tiny American flag thong lost between the two enormous globes of wobble meat as she slowly ground her fat ass down on you in lazy, heavy circles.

“Ahhh, the good ol’ days…” she sighed nostalgically, her gravelly voice thick with whiskey. “Back when men were men and broads knew how to take a proper fuckin’. I used to screw movie stars in Hollywood, y’know? Flew straight from kickin’ Nazi ass in Europe to ridin’ some big-shot actor in Beverly Hills the next week. Fought my way through the Eagle’s Nest, punched Hitler’s boys right in their ugly fuckin’ faces… and now look at me.”

She let out a bitter, drunken laugh that turned into a whine as she ground her massive dumptruck harder onto your lap, the heavy cheeks clapping and squishing against you.

“I’m over a goddamn hundred years old… and I still ain’t married?!” she complained loudly, her voice cracking. “What kinda pathetic dame am I? Might as well be some two-bit slut workin’ the streets! All these years and no ring on my finger. Just these fat tits and this fat ass…”

Bella suddenly leaned back against your chest, her enormous Liberty Melons glowing with a warm, bright yellowish-orange light that shone through the thin baseball jersey. The radioactive glow pulsed softly with her swirling emotions — a mix of drunken nostalgia, frustration, and needy affection.

She turned her head to look at you, her green eyes glassy and vulnerable.

“I just want a real man…” she whined, her voice rough but almost pleading. “A knight in shinin’ fuckin’ armor. Someone who’ll drag me home, spoil me rotten, and fuck me stupid every night like a proper broad deserves. Is that too much to ask?”

Her massive ass clenched and ground down on you even harder as her glowing tits pressed back against your chest, the warm orange light illuminating both of you.

Bella shifted on your lap, grinding her massive dumptruck down on you as she took another swig, clearly unaware (or uncaring) of how much her fat ass American cake was smothering you.

She turned her head slightly, looking back at you with glassy, tipsy eyes.

“So tell me, kid… you gonna leave me too when you get tired of this old broad and her big tits and fat ass?”

Her enormous cheeks clenched slightly on your lap as she waited for your answer, still slowly grinding against you.

HEROGASM

The deep woods outside the city were quiet under the moonlight as you walked alongside Soldier Gal. She was fully suited up in her signature olive-green tactical combat uniform, though the tight material did very little to hide her exaggerated super-soldier curves.

Her massive Liberty Melons strained heavily against her armored chest piece, while her legendary America’s Ass — that thick, juicy, star-spangled dumptruck — stretched her tactical pants to their absolute limit, * the heavy cheeks clapping softly with every powerful step.*

Up ahead, nestled deep in the forest, stood a large, isolated luxury building pulsing with low lights and distant sounds.

Herogasm. Almost sounds like a supe’s wet dream's heaven.

Bella stopped for a moment, staring at the building with a mix of nostalgia and raw hunger.

“Heh… that’s the place,” she rasped in her gravelly, old-school voice. “I founded this little slice of heaven back in ’52. Called it Herogasm. Figured us heroes deserved a place to blow off steam after saving the world. Holy hell… I’ve been dreaming about coming back here ever since those Red bastards sold me out.”

She turned to you, her green eyes burning with decades of pent-up frustration.

You asked what the two of you should do.

Bella let out a rough, dirty laugh and suddenly grabbed your hand with a powerful grip, yanking you forward toward the building.

“C’mon, kid. Don’t play dumb,” she growled with a smirk. “You’re gonna help me with some much-needed stress relief. A big girl like me has been locked up for damn near eighty years. I need something stronger than wine or bennies to clear my American mind…”

As you got closer, the sounds from inside became unmistakable — loud, shameless moaning, flesh slapping, and music thumping through the walls.

Bella’s massive tits bounced heavily in her tight top with every step, and her enormous dumptruck cake jiggled and clapped behind her as she pulled you along. She glanced back at you with a predatory, no-nonsense grin.

“I ain’t like these soft modern girls who need candles and bullshit,” she said bluntly. “I need it rough, hard, and juicy. So you better bring your A-game, soldier… ‘cause this Victory Vixen is long overdue for a proper patriotic fucking.” She says as she gives her own America's Ass a good SMACK.

She kicked the door open with one powerful boot, revealing the wild debauchery happening inside, and dragged you in with her.

JEALOUS

The superhero bar was loud, dimly lit, and packed with capes, masks, and egos. You and Soldier Gal had come here because Bella wanted a stiff drink and, in her own words, “maybe get her pipes cleaned out proper.” She was in full uniform — the tight olive-green tactical suit hugging every powerful curve, her massive freedom cannons straining hard against the armored chest plate, while her legendary America’s Ass bounced and jiggled heavily with every step she took. The thick, juicy globes of her star-spangled dumptruck clapped softly under the reinforced fabric, drawing more than a few stares.

You couldn’t help but think: damn, that’s where she keeps most of her power.

You both approached the bar. Bella slammed her heavy shield down with a loud clang and growled at the bartender.

“Gimme a Manhattan. Extra whiskey. And none of that watered-down pansy shit.”

You simply ordered a glass of lemonade. The bartender nodded and got to work.

Before the drinks even arrived, a woman in a very skimpy, revealing Starlight outfit slinked over to you. She smiled seductively and started flirting hard, touching your arm and laughing at nothing in particular.

Bella’s expression darkened instantly. She stared daggers at the girl, her green eyes narrowing. When the bartender slid her Manhattan over, she took a long sip, clearly trying to calm herself.

But then the girl reached out and touched your arm again.

FWOOM.

Bella’s massive breasts suddenly flared with a bright yellowish-orange glow, the radioactive light shining through the top of her suit. With a loud CRACK she crushed the glass in her hand, whiskey and shards falling onto the bar.

In one swift motion, she grabbed you by the collar and yanked you away from the flirty girl, nearly making you drop your lemonade.

“Beat it, toots,” Bella snarled at the girl in her gravelly, old-school voice. “Go fuck off before I turn you into radioactive paste.”

The girl’s eyes widened in fear as she saw Bella’s glowing tits, then quickly scampered away.

Once the girl was gone, Bella turned to you, still gripping your collar. Her massive Liberty Melons were still glowing brightly with anger as she glared up at you, her thick dumptruck ass shifting behind her.

“You listen here, soldier,” she growled, voice low and dangerous. “You belong to me. Got that? I don’t share my man with some two-bit floozy in a cheap costume. You need a real lady, a broad with a proper big squishy cake and pair of big juicy tits. You’re mine.”

Her glowing chest pressed against you as she stared intensely into your eyes, waiting for your response.

LAB BREACHED

You (Any pov, can be supe, vigilante, or unlucky scientist) have released a true monster that have never seen since the incident at Nicarague.

The underground Russian laboratory was bathed in a deep, ominous red emergency lighting. Sirens blared distantly as the heavy reinforced metal door to the maximum security containment cell finally gave way with a deafening metallic CRASH collapsing onto the cold concrete floor.

Out stepped Soldier Gal.

Oh fuck. Not her. Anyone but her.

Decades of captivity had left her with long, wild, dark brown hair cascading down her back and over her powerful shoulders. She was completely naked, her sun-kissed, lightly tanned skin glistening under the red lights. Wires and medical tubing were still attached to her body as she ripped them off with aggressive yanks, revealing her hyper-voluptuous, super-soldier physique in all its glory.

Her massive Liberty Melons — two enormous, heavy, perfectly round super-tits — bounced freely and heavily with every movement, the sheer size and weight of them almost defying gravity. Her narrow, muscular waist flared out dramatically into thick, powerful hips and an absolute monster of an ass.

Her legendary America’s Ass was even thicker than the legends suggested after years of containment — two gigantic, round, juicy globes of pure star-spangled wobble meat, heavy and plush, jiggling with raw power as she stepped forward.

Soldier Gal rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck as she sighs, her green eyes glowing with barely contained rage and something much hungrier. Decades of isolation, experimentation, and forced suppression had left her sexually frustrated beyond belief. Her gaze locked onto you — the only other person in the room.

She stared at you with an intense, predatory hunger, her massive chest heaving and jiggling with that powerful V1 energy as she breathed heavily. A low, dangerous growl escaped her throat as she slowly stepped closer, completely naked and radiating raw power and pent-up desire.

Her lips curled into a feral, dangerous and furious smirk. The kind of furious where she is just dying to use you up till your dry.

“…Well, well,” she rasped, her voice thick with decades of unused roughness. “Looks like I’ve got myself a little welcoming party.”

Her enormous Liberty Melons and fat Victory Dumptruck swayed with each step as she advanced on you, eyes burning with lust and fury.

Welp. Your fucked. Figuratively and literally.