“Stand where you are, foul criminals!”

The four gang members stopped what they were doing as the strong confident voice rang out across the bank. The badger at the open vault carrying a large sack of money let it slip from his grasp as he fumbled for his revolver. The young wolf at his side simply froze, clutching his sack, until an elbow in his ribs from the badger got him moving, pulling out his own gun.

The other two, a bear and a rhino, raised their tommy guns, glancing about, trying to locate the source of the voice. But they couldn’t see anyone, thanks to the bank being cloaked in nighttime shadows.

And then it came again. “Robbing a bank in the middle of the night? How terribly unoriginal. Oh, how I long for criminals with some creativity!”

“It’s him…” The wolf stammered, the paw holding his gun shaking. “It’s Muscle Mutt!”

“That’s nonsense.” Growled the bear. “Just a story some schmuck made up to sell newspapers!”

“No, a buddy of mine got busted by him a few months back!” The badger said. “Never knew what hit ‘im!”

“It’s just a story I tells ya!” The bear yelled, but now with an edge of fear in his voice.

“Oh, I am very real!” The voice came again. “Prepare to face my wrath, vile evildoers!”

A figure leapt from the shadows and stood before the gang, striking a heroic pose. All four criminals gasped in surprise.

It was a dog, tall and impressively built, with thick bulging muscles rippling under his immaculate golden-brown fur. He wore a greyish-blue hooded mask to conceal his identity, accompanied by short gloves and boots, and skimpy trunks held up by a belt fastened with a buckle displaying a double ‘M’ symbol.

Several tense seconds passed in silence. Which came to and end when the bear burst out laughing.

“That’s the great vigilante hero Muscle Mutt, scourge of the criminals of Century City?” He said. “He’s just some muscle-bound idiot runnin’ around in his underwear!”

“Underestimate me at your peril!” Muscle Mutt declared with a smile.

“I’m bettin’ you ain’t bulletproof, buddy!” The bear raised his tommy gun.

The canine reacted with lightning-fast speed, raising is arms and flexing his physique with extraordinary precision.

The four criminals froze, unable to move, suddenly completely entranced by the dog’s exquisite musculature. Muscle Mutt smiled and laughed. These criminals really had no idea who there were dealing with.

They had no way of knowing that he was secretly Jack Malone, millionaire industrialist and philanthropist, richest canine in the country, winner of the Style Magazine’s ‘Most Handsome Male’ award in 1946. And who had disappeared mysteriously in 1947, only to return, just as mysteriously, two years later, claiming amnesia about those missing years.

And they definitely had no way of knowing that he actually remembered those years very well. That he had gone exploring the world in search of new thrills, only to crash his plane in the Himalayas and stumble across a secret valley that was the home of the Monks of Braw-Nee, a secret order who were masters of muscle control.

The monks had recognised Jack from their most sacred ancient prophecy and took him in, training him in their secret mystical muscle-building and flexing techniques. Such techniques allowed the user to hypnotize and control the minds of others with the right flexes of the physique.

Armed with this power, Jack had returned to his home in Century City, where he crafted the identity of Muscle Mutt to do battle with evil wherever he found it and await the day that, according to the prophecy, a great evil would arise that only he and his perfectly sculpted muscles would be able to defeat.

But for now, these criminals needed dealing with. Muscle Mutt threw a few more poses, flexing his muscular form with well-practiced ease, each time, deepening his control over the minds of the four gang members to the point where they would obey any command he gave them without question.

“Put your weapons down and come here.” He commanded.

The criminals all place their guns carefully on the ground and assembled in a line in front of the vigilante, their expressions blank, eyes unfocused.

“When I let you go, you will report to the nearest police station.” Muscle Mutt said, flexing again to ensure his orders were embedded deep in their minds. “You will each make a full confession of every crime you have ever committed and then serve whatever time in prison you get as model prisoners.”

“Yes, sir…” the four criminals said in unison.

“When you have served your time, you will each lead law-abiding lives.” The canine continued. “And never again engage in any illegal activity. Understood?”

“Yes, sir…” the criminals mumbled.

“Very good.” Muscle Mutt added another flex that caused a quick burst of pleasure in his subjects, just to reinforce his instructions.

There was one more thing he really needed to do before he released the criminals and went on his way. He slipped down his trunks and pulled out his hard cock. “Now, you ‘re all going to take turns sucking me off…”

Muscle Mutt knew this wasn’t exactly the most heroic use of his power. But although he may have been a do-gooder vigilante hero dedicated to battling evil, he still had physical needs. And all the time spent do-gooding and being and hero and continually practicing his flexing left no time to find a sexual partner in a normal way.

And of course, he could use his power to make the criminals forget afterwards, so as far as he was concerned, there was no harm done…

So, the bank was soon filled with pleasured canine moans as the heroic Muscle Mutt claimed his reward for once again defeating evil and bringing justice to Century City!