The House Always Wins.

Result of the May Poll.

Veronica Sinclair, AKA, Roulette, runs the underworld's premier casino, bar, and metahuman gladiator pit. Sure, there have been a few setbacks, but her latest iteration of Glamour Slam is the most profitable yet, not to mention pleasurable. Just ask Black Canary and Rocket Red...

CW: Mind Control

-o-o-o-

The house always wins.

Most of the time it was just an idiom, but deep underneath Star City it took on another meaning.

The travelling casino, gladiatorial arena, and all around den of scum known only as ‘The House’ had come to town, and even despite its reputation, it was packed night after night. Because even if most who paid the underground club a visit went home having lost everything they’d bet, they’d still gotten to see one hell of a show.

Veronica Sinclair, better known to the rest of the world as Roulette, or by her employees simply as ‘boss’ was having a great night. Star City was a much better place to set up than Gotham or Metropolis, all she had to worry about were two nerds dressed up like Robin Hood, instead of an invulnerable blue boy scout or some kind of fucking vengeance demon.

Roulette sighed, leaning over the balcony in her private box, lithe curves snug in a red silk dress. Her emerald serpent tattoo glimmering along her exposed thigh all the way up across her exposed midriff, and down her left arm. She took a thoughtful draw from a cigarette, looking down into the arena, currently empty.

She was a gorgeous woman by any metric, tall and slender with a pert round backside and plump breasts snug in her luxurious silk. Her inky hair was tied back in a severe black bun, pierced with a pin that could just as easily pierce a person if the need arose. Her lips were soft and crimson, and behind her mirrored sunglasses, her deep brown eyes caught every little detail of the scene below.

All around her patrons and customers were gambling, drinking, flirting, but the energy was getting low. One or two of them had already cashed out and were wandering to the exits, it was time to get their attention back and their money back where it belonged: in her pocket.

Years ago she’d staged a little fight club named Meta-brawl. It had been exactly what it sounded like, metahumans of both heroic and not-so-heroic inclinations battling it out for the entertainment of her clientele. It had been a rousing success, until the aforementioned Robin Hood cosplayers ruined her fun.

After that, she’d had a revelation. People loved watching metas fight, but there were always favourites among them, ones that the public adored more than others, and ones that were lusted after even more. Sure, people would come to The House to watch freaks like Hellgrammite or The Atomic Skull, but no-one was going home imagining them naked and oiled waiting for them in their beds.

That’s when she’d created Glamour Slam! An unimaginative name perhaps but it doubled her profits for the previous month in the first day. First just featuring willing femme fatales from the criminal underworld, she’d eventually gotten her hands on a little mind control tech courtesy of a certain bald presidential candidate, to recruit some of the world’s most desirable super-hotties to join her roster.

Sure, maybe she’d gotten a little over-ambitious putting Wonder Woman, Vixen, Hawkgirl, Fire, and Black Canary all in the ring at once, but once she’d escaped prison and rebuilt her ring here in Star City, she’d realised the benefits of moderation.

She only needed one of them at a time to bring a crowd, and it just so happened one had come to pay her a visit not long after her move.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Roulette purred as the spotlights swivelled onto her box, holding her microphone to her sultry lips and grinning to her crowds. “Are you having fun tonight!?”

A cheer of affirmation went up, sending tingles down Roulette’s spine. “Well the fun’s only just begun, boys and girls… it’s only just begun. Because tonight in the ring we’ve got a hell of a match up for you all!”

In the amphitheatre below, two circular platforms descended, a thick mist pouring from both openings as the lights and music swelled.

“Our challenger for tonight is this very city’s favourite protector! The blonde bombshell in black! The heroic heartbreaker with an angel’s voice! Star City’s very own… BLACK CANARY!” Roulette cried, snapping her fingers as the woman in question rose into view.

Black Canary was legendarily beautiful, even compared with the other great female heroes of the world. Her golden hair and pouty lips, her toned, muscular frame and the utterly delicious dumptruck of her ass, it all put her on a pedestal even as a relatively normal human standing alongside literal gods and alien superbeings. Her outfit helped of course, a tiny black leotard that hugged her plump bosom and gigantic derriere snugly, almost disappearing between her doughy cheeks and leaving nothing but fishnets to cover her legs down to the boots on her feet. Behind her black domino mask, her lovely blue eyes were glazed over, fixed in a determined scowl straight ahead as she waited for her opponent.

“And our reigning champion of a whole three days!” Roulette cried, waving a hand in perfect unison with a plume of scarlet fireworks and sparks that flanked the rising podium holding the second of her playthings. “All the way from Siberia! Russia’s favourite daughter! The walking tank with a heart of gold! Anatolia Babicheva, fearsome member of the Rocket Red Brigade!”

A gigantic crimson figure pounded into view, metal exoskeleton glinting in the lights, bright red and chrome all immaculately polished. On the vaguely feminine behemoth’s right breast was a proud red star, on the other the number 09. From behind a glowing yellow visor on the figure’s otherwise featureless face, two bright blue eyes scowled at their enemy.

If Black Canary was surprised or intimidated, she didn’t show it, her expression motionless as she shifted into a prepared stance.

Roulette smiled and nibbled on the end of her cigarette, admiring both her gladiators behind her shades. She’d chosen the two carefully, a match that was sure to be exciting and run long enough to maximise her profits. Neither “hero” had a power set like the other, meaning the spectacle wouldn’t be dull and devolve into two samey metas shooting different coloured lasers at one another. Neither of them had met either, so they’d have a nice long period of trying to figure each other’s weaknesses too. One was a walking tank, the other a quick martial artist. Speed, skill, and a sonic shriek, versus an indestructible armour, a nearly unlimited arsenal of weapons, and sheer stubbornness.

Slowly, she raised a hand, a single playing card held in her fingers, and then she let it drop.

By the time the card hit the floor, the sound of metal fists and canary cries already filled the arena.

-o-o-o-

“Girls girls girls, you were magnificent!” Roulette cooed, stroking her palms over her gladiator’s shoulders as they stood naked in her office, peeled out of their costumes and battle suits straight out of the ring. They were bruised and sweaty, their perfect physiques glistening and stinking of exertion. Canary’s hair was a mess, a nasty bruise and a smudge of blood ruining her lipstick. Rocket Red was simply drenched with her own exhaustion, red-faced after hauling her armour through a tough fight.

“Thank you Mistress Roulette.” Both women smiled in unison, tone sleepy and slow, but genuinely pleased.

“We made quite a profit tonight, you should be very proud.” Roulette sighed, admiring them both before smiling and cupping their chins. “I know I am.”

“Thank you, Mistress Roulette.”

Roulette grinned and perched on her desk, crossing her slender legs and peering over her sunglasses to the pair of brainwashed panting bombshells before her. “Now, before you hit the showers there’s the matter of your prize. I’d never make my girls compete for nothing but my own amusement of course.”

Even mesmerised, Rocket Red grinned with delight and anticipation, flexing her titanic muscles on instinct. She wasn’t quite as pretty as Canary, a more muscular, masculine woman with enough scars to cover her almost completely, both from combat and from being biologically integrated into her battle suit. It had taken a dozen technicians to disentangle her from the crimson armour without killing her, but it was difficult to make love to a woman under two inches of steel and promethium. All in all, Roulette was glad she’d gone to the effort, Anatolia was a handsome adonis of a woman who, whilst a different kind of beauty to Black Canary, was gorgeous enough to be one of Roulette’s personal favourite gladiator/ love-slaves.

Anatolia had been the clean winner of the fight, knocking Black Canary firmly onto her fantastic ass with a crushing blow to the head. Roulette was proud, but definitely needed to find someone to knock Red on her own metal butt before her clientele got bored. Perhaps it was finally time to for a certain star-spangled amazon princess to return to the ring?

“Well, you know the rules. Dinah, be a good girl and lie on the floor.” Roulette smiled, stroking Red’s chest with a nibble of her lip, enjoying the warmth of her skin and the eager tremble of the Russian behemoth. “Anatolia… sit on her pretty face, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“Yes, Mistress Roulette.” Red whimpered, immediately kneeling down over Black Canary’s impassive face, and setting her sweaty pussy down on the blonde’s waiting mouth. No sooner had her head been swallowed up between Anatolia’s thighs and her panting lips smothered in cunt, Black Canary did as she had been programmed and began to eagerly and messily devour the woman who had beaten her.

“Ahn… M… Mistress Roulette… thank youuu.” Anatolia whimpered, staring pleading up at the woman who controlled her as Roulette smile and slid her panties down her legs.

She stepped neatly out of her underwear and took off her heels, placing them beside her on the desk before parting her thighs and lifting the silky hem of her dress. “Come get your prize, Hero.”

Anatolia didn’t need to be asked twice, lunging forwards and clutching Roulette’s thighs in her strong, calloused hands, nuzzling her lips against the Asian bombshell’s soft, wet cunt.

If either hero thought anything was strange about how they were rewarded for their performances in the ring, they didn’t show it. Match winners got to taste Roulette, match losers pleasured the woman who had beaten them. Both Dinah and Anatolia were delighted to brainlessly tongue their respective cunts, eyes glazed over, the only thoughts in their heads the ones that Roulette allowed them to think.

Roulette sighed happily and stroked her fingers through Anatolia’s blonde buzzcut, silently encouraging her current champion to devour her. The Russian adonis’ bright blue eyes stared up at her even as her lips and tongue explored every inch of Roulette’s pussy, kissing and sucking and stroking her with desperate passion. For such an impressive specimen, she was adorably eager to please. Roulette decided she’d have Anatolia oil herself up and do some flexes for her later before round two.

Whilst Anatolia was lovingly grasping Roulette’s supple thighs, Black Canary’s were hard at work below. One strong gloved paw was clutching Anatolia’s ass as it rolled and wiggled against her face, the other was between her own legs, frantically masturbating as the taste of sweaty Russian cunt dominated the mesmerised vigilante’s tongue.

She was wildly envious that Anatolia had won the honour of devouring Roulette, dreaming about submerging her own tongue deep into her criminal mistress’ petals and tasting her delicious depths, but second place wasn’t bad either.

High above, muffled by the weight of muscular Russian thighs, Roulette’s cry of orgasm rang out and Dinah realised her fun was at an end. She whined as Anatolia staggered to her feet, depriving her of the intoxicating flavour of her cunt, and slowly rose as well, panting as she stood before Roulette, who was as immaculately beautiful as ever.

“Well done girls… very well done.” She smiled, brushing some stray strands of obsidian back into place. “Now, about your rematch tomorrow, what do you think? Should I bet on black, or red?”

“I… I will crush her mistress!” Anatolia gasped eagerly, “I’ll make you proud!”

Roulette smiled and turned her gaze onto Black Canary, standing proudly, determinedly, her warrior spirit restored even as she panted, face smeared with quim and pussy sopping wet. “And you, Canary?”

Dinah smiled, as if there were any doubt.

“Always bet on black, mistress.”