Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer-Part 1

By Dr. Dominator

Welcome to the first part of my series. I hope you enjoy it and look forward to your comments either here in the forum or at [email protected]

The Wonder Woman character as well as Steve Trevor are the property of DC Comics. All the other characters in this story are the property of Dr. Dominator and cannot be used without permission. This story is very severe in its depiction of sexual fetishism and portrays acts of violence. It should only be read by consenting adults of 18 years or older. The story is simply meant as entertainment and is not written for profit.



Scarlet Avenger was absolutely exhausted; more so than she’d ever felt in her entire 23 years. Her pale freckled complexion was almost ghostly now and her powder blue eye shadow was badly smeared as was her mascara. The usually-striking violet irises were dull and half-hidden underneath drooping lids, confirming her weakened state. Her thin upper lip was wet with perspiration and her thicker lower lip was pouted outward as her breath sighed out of her in a long slow moan. Her signature thick mane of red hair, normally lustrous, was now a sodden mass of sweaty locks that hung down over her face, stuck to her shiny forehead and clung heavily to her neck. She was so tired that the weight of her own hair pressed her head to the padded surface. Face down on the table, her damp cheek rested against a thin tan leather cushion that was slick and browned by her sweat. She’d been chained to this table for hours wearing a specially-created clear rubber catsuit designed to stimulate her to repeated orgasms.

Clinging to every curve and dimple of her highly-toned athletic 5' 7" body, the suit contained over six dozen tiny stimulating electrical pads scattered throughout its interior. Managed by a computer chip at the back of her neck, the suit created cascading flows of sensation across her body that were impossible to resist. The young heroine had lost count of the number of orgasms she’d been subjected to, been delighted by, had cursed at and had cried through. Now she was shaking with muscle fatigue.

She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus. She hadn’t been able to for hours now. But she’d thought that had started even before she had put on the catsuit. She couldn’t be sure. Her brain was muddled and disorganized. She’d been greeted by the tall, good-looking French professor at his home, searching for answers about a missing female student of his. She didn’t think she’d eaten or drank anything when she interviewed him in his study but everything was so cloudy now, she wasn’t sure of anything. All she knew was that she wanted to sleep again. Another soft mournful sigh escaped her lips.

And then the dildo in her vagina buzzed to life again.

“...no....” she blurted in frustration. “....no...no...no...!” She rattled the thick steel chains that manacled her wrists and ankles with a weak pull but there was no hope in the act. Early on, she’d tried harder. Now she didn’t have the energy.

The thinner dildo embedded in her ass suddenly vibrated anew as well, followed by a cascading flow of pleasurable electrical current from the soles of her feet to the top of her inner thighs. It was matched by exciting pulses from her wrists to her shoulders to her neck and then down around her chest and straight to her nipples. Scarlet arched her neck in helpless delight.

“...aaahhh...” she gasped, enveloped by her electronic lover’s caresses all up and down her body as the dildos thrummed away at her orifices.

Delirious with the sensations bombarding her, the 23-year old heroine ground her pelvis against the thin leather pad and moaned in drooling ecstacy. There simply was no escaping the pleasure.

The dildos buzzed away and the sequence of sensations swept over the surface of her body in waves of unexpected electrical patterns that were incapable of being anticipated or blocked. She didn’t have near enough mental ability at this point to do so anyway. Or the energy to resist. The Frenchman had seen to that.

Her butt cheeks were being massaged by invisible electronic fingers, the series of stim pads circling her ass with three spiraling runs around her glutes that tickled and aroused. The sensation then buzzed under the jiggling bottom curves of both buttocks before plunging deep into her crack to highlight the feel of the anal probe, accentuating its affect to a new power.

“Ohhhh! ....man....that’s...ohhhhhhh.....” The husky sound of the heroine’s voice drew a pleased smile from the man watching her from ten feet across the room. He noticed that Scarlet’s nipples were rock hard and her breasts engorged within the straining rubber suit. He knew that a tiny electrical current was now being sequentially applied to the pink tips of perfect sensitivity in a repeating pattern. This little subroutine he’d written into the program drew the redhead’s mouth into an oval of pure pleasure. The sheen on her high distinctive cheekbones was caught by his smiling eyes as well as the constantly recording cameras mounted at the four corners of the ceiling.

No part of her body was left untended. Scarlet could even feel her stomach being caressed by gentle but steady currents of joy that slowly and surely flowed directly down to the apex of her loins only to have the vaginal dildo increase its vibration to its highest level. Scarlet Avenger’s eyes rolled up even further under her lids at this final assault on her body and her entire figure jolted and bucked on the table as she came wetly in place, her juices flooding into the rubber crotch and puddling there as she panted and moaned in helpless joy.

From behind her, a voice heavy with smug satisfaction spoke.

“This is wonderful to see you enjoy my pleasure suit so much, cherie. And now I think it is time to enjoy the pleasures of your body for myself one last time, yes? Entry will be no problem, of course. Your body is perfectly primed for me now. As I have arranged, as I have made it all come to pass.”

Too weak to respond, her breasts rising and falling as her arms trembled with fatigue, Scarlet Avenger simply lay there as she felt cool air on her butt when the suit’s rear flap was unsealed with the soft zip of a plastic zipper and pulled open.

He bent over her. “Let us remove this long, smooth butt-hole stimulator and replace it with my own, shall we?” His honeyed voice cooed in her ear as his fingers reached in between her ass cheeks and grabbed the anal dildo. With a firm easy draw, the now-quiet five-inch chrome tool was pulled out of Scarlet’s ass. She shivered with the thrill of its exit.

She felt the weight of the man climb on top of the table and then lie on top of her. His warm body pressed her own hard against the leather cushion but it was not overwhelming her. His nakedness was even pleasurable through the thin rubber, his body heat warming her crevices. His hard penis centered between her exposed buttocks, nestled neatly in her crack.

He’d taken her before this, of course. Twice during the hours of her imprisonment, he’d come in and easily plunged his hard muscle deep into her helplessly wet vagina. She’d been crazed enough by the suit by then to enjoy it thoroughly. She thought she’d been drugged with an aphrodisiac to augment the suit. There was a dim memory there of her possibly drinking something before she’d donned the suit. Too foggy and too distant now. She couldn’t recall. She couldn’t bring her thoughts together in any good order. Why was that? When was that? How had he...

There was a sudden lack of weight on her rear but that was just as suddenly returned.. The rounded tip of the long hard cock barged roughly against her anus, demanding entry. Wet from excitement, the muscled orifice relented easily and the grinning man pushed his cock firmly and steadily into her relaxed asshole, his thick member forcing itself into her cavity, filling it with urgent heat.

“Hnnngghhh!”

“Surely that cannot have hurt you, mon amie?”

“...suh....prised...me....”

“Ah, well. Good. Then we can begin our little game. I will be fucking your ass and you will be enjoying the breath play, yes?”

“...whuh...?...WRREEGGKKK!”

The thin silk cord came out of nowhere. First his one hand was on her shoulder then both hands were at the back of her neck with the cord pulled tightly around her throat. Her eyes widened in fear even as his dick withdrew and then roughly burrowed deep into her ass. And the cord slacked off. The low soft voice whispered again.

“Naturalement we need a safety word, yes? To avoid mishaps and such. If the cord is too tight, I think you should say ‘Help’ to let me know I have gone too far. This is agreeable, yes?”

The suit provided a sudden new surging array of stroking currents that circled her thighs, tickled her nipples and charged into her clit, forcing a harsh breathy reply from Scarlet Avenger.

“OHHHH!...............kay....”

“Good. We begin.”

The cord pulled tight restricting her airway with its cool silky grip.

“...acgkk...” Only the thinnest stream of air slipped through the cord’s hold.

His warm, slick penis worked her rear slowly and steadily, pressing forward and pulling back within her tight channel again and again. Scarlet’s body tingled all over from the thrill of it. With the dildo in her pussy vibrating with a fierce constancy, shivers of pleasure shimmied up the redheaded beauty’s spine. She moaned rawly through the choke cord, savoring the surprising pleasure of this new act. The aphrodisiac intensified her pleasure to extreme levels.

“Not too tight, cherie?”

“...nho...it’s...al...right......” she replied, dulled to the nasty reality by hours of pleasure.

“Ah, then let us take the next step,” he breathed. Then he tightened.

“WRRLLGGKK!”

Now there seemed to be no air getting through. And the penis was thrusting faster. The wet hard muscle was repeatedly filling her ass with undeniable pleasure. Over and over the rod plunged between her butt cheeks as his body pressed her to the table and he took her savagely. There was no escape. There was only him pumping into her rear end again and again. Her buttocks bounced and wobbled within the tight rubber with each thrust. Her limp body was nothing but a playground for him and she couldn’t do anything about it.

She tried to draw a breath but nothing came through the unrelenting cord. Anticipating her fear, the Frenchman spoke.

“Give it a few more seconds, sweet flower, the sensations are worth it.”

Saying nothing in wide-eyed complicity, Scarlet Avenger relented to his will as her head throbbed. The penis drove back and forth now with fevered piston-like speed. And that did feel wonderful, even as the electrical currents at her clit and nipples raged against them with feathery automatic unrelenting pulses. Avenger knew nothing but pleasure and pain simultaneously. Her body consumed with joy, her head frozen in terror of an airless death, her throat raw with fear. And then she felt the cord suddenly slacken enough to allow a thick, cool stream of air through. She came like a hydrant opened on a summer day. It was nothing like she’d ever experienced before. Ever! Her rocking, bumping body under his pumping form drained out its liquids in rushing rivulets of joy. Her eyelids fluttered like captured moths. Her jerking figure created too much pleasure for him and his delight joined hers. He gripped her hips tightly and erupted deeply into her ass with a jet of hot cum. The feel of his surging stream in her ass sent Scarlet over a second ledge of delight and she plunged deep into the pool of pure pleasure of yet one more climax in an endless night of them. Her body trembled helplessly under his as she was washed clean of all thought. She exulted in her skin. Felt connected to everything and nothing in the same instant. It was rapturous.

And then the cord came back tighter than before. Harsher. More unforgiving. Even as she felt his still-hard penis spasming deeply within her, filling her ass and spurting his final seed, she gagged out a helpless signal.

“HELP!”

There was no slack in the cord. No release. No yield. If anything, it was tighter.

Yanking in fear on the shackles, the spent heroine yelped again, energized by panic. Had he not heard her?

“HLLLP!”

“Mais non, I don’t think so, cherie. No help for you. Just as there was no help for my sister from the fucking bitch heroine who killed her. No, my trapped little bird, we are finished here.”

“HEHHHHHP! HEHHHHHP!”

Her eyes bulge in panic. Her face grows so red that it matches her hair color. Her wrists yank and pull helplessly at the steel shackles, fingers curled into balled fists that strain woefully against unrelenting steel. Her feet kick and jerk as well. Her body bucks under his weight, with her shapely butt pushing and bumping up against his groin. All for naught: he’d made absolutely sure that her uncanny physical reserve had been well drained by the suit. He’d measured and planned it all very carefully. He was a man of science.

She felt his weight increasing as the darkness gathered around her field of vision. Her face is pushed against the wet leather pad as her tongue wiggles like a dying fish. Her mouth gapes wide, a dark cave issuing a breathless wind. She feels his thumbs rubbing against her earlobes as the cord takes everything away from her. All of her hope. All of her fight. In her final struggles, her chin is now pressed against the pad now and she is looking straight ahead at the costume she’d worn in her brief career. Hanging limp on a wall hook, there is nothing special about it now. A passing fancy by some teenager who thought she was special. Her eyes well up and spill with a final passing regret. It shouldn’t have come to this. She had helped people. She was good. Was good. Was good.....

And then the heroine stares into nothing. Her eyes as wide as marbles and just as void of life; her fiery spirit extinguished..

* * *

NOTEBOOK ENTRY #275 - SA

SUMMARY: As planned, subject discovered link with student Andrews, (Melissa) and came to my home after calling to arrange an interview for fact-finding. Shake of hand upon entry applied electrical neural-neutralizing agent. Approximately two minutes later, hand on elbow applied second inhibitor of chemical conductivity. Subject reaction time declined markedly in less than five minutes. Mental acuity diminished equally so in same period. Subject readily accepted suggestion of intake of liquid “antidote” for possible transference of “experimental chemicals.” Knockout agent and aphrodisiac solution ingested. Three minutes later unconscious subject moved to basement lab, stripped and fitted into hyper-sensitive pleasure suit. Subsequently, 5.25 hours of applied physical stimulation within suit, including two physical incursions with subject by self. Both vaginal. At conclusion of stimulation session, subject’s stamina levels reduced to approximately .115 of normal based on initial manacle resistance readings. Asphyxiation scenario completed with anal penetration. Deceased subject redressed in own uniform and cleaned with DNA eradication regimen then left at drop point at National Zoo.

NOTES:
Neural Agents: Application of electrical neural-neutralizing agent was effected without any obvious reaction by subject. Dry chemical adherence patch protected researcher while efficiently dosing subject. Levels of active ingredients on both inhibitors for subject’s weight and body type appropriate at .44 mgs. Stronger subjects will require levels of .88 or more. Super powered subjects may need 1.32 mgs. Application of wet chemical adherence patch for chemical inhibitor drew a noted negative response from subject. Explanation of water bottle condensation accepted. Need to continue pursing possible dry formulations for chemical inhibitors. Risk levels too high even with compromised mental reactions from initial electrical neutralizers.

Knockout/Aphrodisiac Solution: With mental confusion and alarm present, subject’s acceptance of “antidote” was not problematical but this may not always be the case. Subject was relatively naive to heroine lifestyle. Consider using forced hypo of solution considering reaction time will be severely compromised in dosed subjects and should be easily administered. Dizziness and lethargy established in less than 15 seconds. Complete unconsciousness within 45 seconds. Physical arousal rates within suit were 225% of baseline readings for females of said body weight and type. Galvanic skin response, rapid breathing and perspiration levels markedly increased as well. Aphrodisiac level of .66 mgs proved effective when combined with suit’s stimulation sequencing. Again, stronger subjects will require doubling of dosage at minimum. Super powered subjects may require 1.92 mgs. of aphrodisiac or greater. Increased automated stimulation sequencing procedures for super powered subjects should also be considered to reduce the time needed to reduce subject’s stamina readings to levels where asphyxiation scenario and anal penetration can be safely conducted.

Conclusions: Very pleased with the results. Finally killed my first heroine today after all the planning and preparations. It went very neatly. Though not super-powered, Scarlet Avenger was a highly-skilled specimen with incredible reflexes, extreme tolerances to pain and vast reserves of physical stamina. Background videos of her in action demonstrated remarkable reaction times, keen intelligence and a spacial awareness that was second to none in combat situations. She was reduced to a mentally incompetent physical shell of herself in less than five minutes with my dual subjugation procedure. Her mental capacity was completely compromised and the stimulation suit and aphrodisiac drained her of all her reserves just as expected. Over-excitement about the results along with dominating her so thoroughly engendered an orgasm that I would have preferred at the actual time of her death, but I can work at that. There are many heroines out there to experiment with now that the overall procedure has proven successful. I feel closer than ever to avenging you, my sweet Marie.



End of Part One


If you like this story or have feedback that you'd like to share, you can contact the author at [email protected] I try to respond to all emails in a timely manner and welcome your comments.

[tallyho]

I love the story .

Great characterisation and plotting, and juicy predicaments for our heroines, looking forward to the rest.
Superb job.

[DrDominator9]

Thanks, Tallyho. I think you're right. Considering how long the formatting took, yes, the remaining chapters will be smaller chunks. Thanks for the advice and your feedback.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer-Part 2


Wonder Woman stood near the entrance to Washington DC’s National Zoological Park frowning heavily at the scene before her. About ten yards away, the lifeless body of Scarlet Avenger was draped over the three-foot high stone letters spelling out “Zoo” at the Connecticut Avenue entrance. Facing away from her, the heroine’s bright red costume with it’s thin blue outlines was darker around the buttocks and crotch, obviously stained by some foul substance.

The Medical Examiner, a short bald man named Murray Banks, just finished talking with the two detectives who were standing beside the body and taking notes. He walked slowly up to Wonder Woman with a sad expression, his on-site examination finally completed. The full autopsy would be done later in the day, but he knew the Amazon would want his preliminary judgements.

“I’m not used to seeing dead heroines. It’s eerie,” Banks said, shaking his head.

“Let’s hope you don’t get used to it, Dr. Banks. It’s a sad day for the citizens of Washington. Scarlet Avenger was young but she was effective, talented, well-liked and not prone to mistakes. Can you tell me how she was killed, doctor?”

“Like I told the detectives, she was strangled to death with what looks like a smooth cord, probably silk. She must have fought like a demon for a long time to prevent it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Her body moisture is very, very low. Her skin’s dry as parchment. She got quite a workout before she died. Extreme physical taxation of some sort, anyway. Can’t be specific until I open her up.”

Wonder Woman grimaced at the term but didn’t take offense. It was the nature of the job for a Medical Examiner to be a little cold about the disposition of bodies. She understood that. Still, it hurt to see the limp form hanging over the stone letters so cavalierly left for discovery by the Zoo’s day shift manager upon arriving at dawn. Murray had contacted Wonder Woman as soon as he got the call from the police about the costumed body discovered at the Zoo. He had a standing order to notify her on a special phone number whenever a superhero or heroine met their death in the nation’s capital.

“Can you approximate the time of death?”

“She hasn’t been here that long,” Murray declared. “ I’d say death could have been around 3 or 4 am. It’s 6:30 now. Whoever did this had his fun and got rid of her very fast.”

“That stain around her bottom. Is it what I think it is?”

“Actually, no, it’s not, if you’re thinking it’s semen. Actually it’s a special chemical cleansing solution with an active biological agent. Our boy didn’t want to leave anything to chance regarding his DNA signature. She’s scrubbed raw all over and especially within her privates. He used more than necessary hence the spreading stain. A very meticulous yet overzealous sort of fiend, this one. Careful about his procedures but almost fearful in his approach.”

“Hmmm.” Wonder Woman nodded at this, then asked, “Is this cleansing solution available at regular drug stores, Dr. Banks?”

“Not usually. Unless the manager had been asked to stock it specially. More likely its from a supply lab. It’s brand name is Elimanol, if my nose is correct. Haven’t run across it in a couple of years. The generic is called Cyclo-Peradesaline. It’ll be in my report. But if you’re tracking leads, ask about Elimanol. I’m 90% sure that’s what he used. I told that to the police as well.”

“May I examine the body now,” Wonder Woman asked. “Before you take her downtown.”

“Of course Wonder Woman. But her face is rather shocking I must warn you. I haven’t... um..dealt with it yet.”

“Thank you for the warning, doctor.” Wonder Woman strode forward immediately toward the limp figure hanging over the zoo sign. The doctor followed her, enjoying the Amazon’s statuesque form as she walked the short distance to the body, especially the wide expanse of her exquisitely- shaped ass. Superheroines and their bodies were amazing to behold. Even in death, Scarlet Avenger’s body was one of the finest physical specimens Murray had even seen. Such a waste.

Diana’s face went stone still when she walked around the body and saw the bulging bloodshot eyes that were absolutely, horribly blank. The distended purple tongue drooped out of her mouth, obscenely indecent.

“This is most unusual,” Wonder Woman said, breathing out hard and steeling herself against the horror, as she surveyed the limp figure from close range.

“What is?” The bald ME’s eyebrows rose up. Had he missed something?

“Her costume is quite disheveled. The seams aren’t particularly straight and I think her belt is buckled in the opposite way one normally puts one on.”

“I noticed that too,” said the swarthy Italian detective, Sal Abato, who stood nearby.

“Yeah, Sal said he thought she looked like she got dressed in the dark,” chimed in his partner, a beefy middle-aged redhead by the name of Jimmy Glendennan.

“Well, as I said, she had undergone some sort of rigorous physical ordeal. What are you suggesting, Wonder Woman?”

“I think the killer stripped off Scarlet Avenger’s costume and then redressed her in it.”

“Well, that’s quite possible. The cleansing solution certainly suggests sexual abuse. I’d be surprised if I didn’t find signs of tearing that occur when rape or sodomy occurs. I’ll know more when I examine her. But stripping her could certainly have been part of the scenario. What’s your point, Wonder Woman?”

“Yeah, what are you gettin’ at?” Sal said.

“I’m not sure yet. I just don’t like it. He’s a cold-hearted......person,” Diana murmured through thin lips, restraining the profanity she almost used. “And when I find him. He will pay dearly.”

“When we find him, you mean, missy,” Sal interjected. “Isn’t that what you meant? And, if by chance, you do find him before we do, I don’t expect we’ll have any vigilante justice, will we, Wonder Woman? Because that just wouldn’t be right.”

“I uphold the law, Detective Abato. I do not break it.”

“Glad to hear it, toots.”

Wonder Woman glared at the Italian cop and his neanderthal ways.

“May I bag her now?”

Diana turned to the ME with a cold, hard stare, fighting to keep her anger in check. “You may take this sad fallen comrade back to your lab and find out everything you possibly can about how she died, if that’s what you mean, doctor? This city has lost a rare treasure and I would appreciate it if you would provide her the dignity she deserves as you conduct your investigation, Dr. Banks.”

“Yes, of course. I apologize for my lack of discretion, Wonder Woman. Truly, I’m very sorry.” Motioning to his co-workers standing by the ME’s vehicle, Banks called out. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind to help me remove the Scarlet Avenger and take her back to the lab for a thorough autopsy, I’d appreciate it. Now!”

Wonder Woman stood off to the side as she watched the remains of the superheroine carefully and respectfully placed in a body bag and carried over to the long-bodied “meat wagon.” The vehicle and the car with the two detectives both drove away from the tall Amazon who stood quietly by the stone letters spelling out “Zoo.” She shook her head sadly.

“Oh, Scarlet. How could you have let this happen to you? I thought you were better than that. How did you mess up so badly?”

* * *

Flare leveled off over the Potomac River and circled the tidal basin for a moment, taking in the view. Her expression through the flame that surrounded her body was tight, drawn, haggard. She had rushed down to D.C. from her normal home base of Philadelphia, the city under her protection. Her good friend Stacy Chambers was dead. She couldn’t believe it: The Scarlet Avenger, killed by some psycho not three days ago.

Their friendship had been brief but deep for the three years they’d known each other. They’d met at the Heroine Academy during their training out in the wilds of New Mexico. Flare was two years older than Scarlet Avenger but they ‘d become fast friends during that boot camp. The abandoned airbase had been set up by the Justice League and the training had been intense beyond belief. Both of them almost washed out but they’d helped each other through it and formed a bond as roommates during the two-month course. And now Stacy was gone. The funeral was tomorrow but Flare wanted to visit Stacy’s apartment and look for clues to what she was working on. If she could nail the bastard, Flare thought it would be sweet justice that she could do that for her lost friend.

Flying down to a small mews off of Rhode Island avenue, the female version of the Human Torch, landed and walked toward Stacy’s apartment house. At 5' 10" with a shapely figure sporting 37 C-sized breasts and stunning good looks, the black heroine attracted attention whether she was in full flame mode or just in regular clothing. Dressed as she was in her soft and shimmering metallic orange Flare costume, Janet Pryce got a startled look and then puppy love eyes from the college-aged concierge at the desk in the apartment house lobby.

“Wow! You’re her. You’re Flare.” His wide eyes took her in, registering the short chocolate brown hair layered in a cute pixie cut, the distinctive almond-shaped brown eyes flecked with orange glints, the cute short wide nose and the full sensuous lips. “You’re actually here in my lobby.”

“Yes, I know. I’m here on behalf of a friend. I have to tend to a few things in Stacy Chambers’ apartment.”

“Oh, uh. Um..I think it’s okay. You, uh...you know...she died, right?”

“Yes. I’m going to the funeral tomorrow. I wanted to pick something nice out for the service. A scarf or something. Open casket. Here’s a letter from her attorney authorizing it.”

Janet pulled a folded paper from the fireproof-lined pocket at her thigh and presented it to the lad. He looked it over quickly but wasn’t about to deny Flare entry to the poor girl’s place, especially on a errand of mercy as it were.

“You can go up. Apartment 517. Do you need a key?”

“No, I’ve got one. Thanks. I won’t be too long.”

“Take as long as you like, Flare. And uh...thanks for, you know, everything you do. I see you on the news. I like Philadelphia..”

“Thank you, Ryan.” Flare smiled brightly as she read the name tag on his lapel. Couldn’t hurt to spread a little sunshine. Never know if she’d need to come back here again for something else. She wiggled her fingers in a friendly wave and walked over to the bank of elevators and pushed the call button.

After she got on and the doors closed, Ryan thumped his forehead in disgust. “I like Philadelphia. What a moron.”

It didn’t take the 25-year-old heroine long to find what she was looking for. Stacy’s diary was right where she kept it on the hidden shelf of her secret closet where her Scarlet Avenger costumes were hung. After momentarily fingering the satiny red cloth and working hard not to break down, Janet took the diary back into the bedroom and checked the most recent entries Stacy had written.

Melissa not in class again today. 3 days and no calls returned, no emails answered, no texts. I’m worried. Last seen talking to Professor Pascal after class on Thursday. Where are you, girl?

* * *

Diana Prince walked into the beat-up offices of DC Metro Labs as the late afternoon sun glared through the cloudy window and made her squint. Half turning her body, she looked down at the receptionist through an equally cloudy privacy partition with tiny holes drilled through it so she could be heard.

“What can I do for you, darlin’?”

“I am a special envoy to the state department,” Diana said, flashing her ID holder, “and I’d like to ask someone in charge about one of the chemicals you sell.”

“Which chemical, honey?”

“Elimanol”

“Oh, that would be Harvey Johns. Hold on a sec. Harvey to reception, please. Harvey. Reception. He’ll be up as soon as he can get his fat....” Seeing Diana’s scowl, the receptionist balked and retreated into business speak. “He’ll be with you shortly. Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

This was the fourth chemical supplier that offered Elimanol to the science community. She’d gotten customer lists from the other three and had disbursed them to IADC agents for follow up interviews. This was the last supplier on her list. She hoped this lead would pan out but she felt like she was grasping at straws. But there was nothing else to go on.

The autopsy report had come back confirming what she’d already known. Scarlet Avenger had been raped and sodomized. Evidence of bondage restraints on her wrists and ankles indicated the restraints were either under her long sleeved leotard top and boots or, more likely, she had been all or partially naked at the time of her captivity. Based on the ligature mark and trace fibers, it had been a silk cord that had choked her to death. Her system had significant elements of barbiturates as well as chemicals associated with sexual enhancements. Scarlet had been subjected to a powerful aphrodisiac cocktail. There was also evidence of a tight garment involved, with slight indentations on the skin around the crotch. The body weight was down five pounds compared to the medical files from her regular physician. Whatever she’d gone through had been very strenuous. Her hair was damp with sweat. Elimanol had been used to clean the body and there was no extraneous DNA found on her whatsoever. In fact, strangely, there were no defensive wounds found on the body either. That surprised Wonder Woman. The young heroine had been surprised or duped so quickly that she had not fought back at all. That was extremely unusual for a woman of Scarlet Avenger’s uncanny reflexes.

After waiting for seven minutes, Diana Prince was issued into Harvey’s cluttered office with his helpful arm around her shoulder and offered a complimentary cup of coffee. The coffee she politely declined. She couldn’t do anything about the shoulder squeeze. After curtailing all pleasantries brusquely, Diana shepherded Harvey to the subject of Elimanol.

“Yeah, we don’t sell much of the stuff anymore. First off, once it went off patent, the generic ate Elimanol’s lunch basically. Sales dropped to half of what they were. The only thing that kept it going at all was the scent. It smells a little better than the Cyclo-Pera-shit, pardon my French.”

“Do you have records for those people or labs you have sold it to over the past two years?”

“Hmmm. Let me think. Off hand, I’d say there are four, maybe five customers who use it regularly. Boston Scientific, Meridee Labs, Bonbell Medical, Smythe Science and Kessler Labs.”

“Can you give me the addresses and contact names for those companies, Mr.Johns?”

“Call me Harvey.”

“Can you do that for me, Harvey?”

“No problemo.” Harvey tapped away at his keyboard for a few minutes while Diana looked around the office at the dreary posters for all sorts of chemicals with deadly sounding names. Preservine. Spasmedikal. Detend. Prostamex. Finally, Harvey turned and then clicked on his printer. “Why you interested, if I can ask?”

“You can ask.”

“I see, Fed stuff, huh?”

“Yes.”

Harvey leaned over and pulled the sheets out of his printer and handed it to Diana.

“This is everyone?”

“It’s those five I mentioned.”

“What is the usual amount of an order, Mr.....uh... Harvey?”

“Oh, I’d say three gallons. Three jugs of a gallon each.”

“Is there a shelf life to it? Does it lose it’s effectiveness after a while because there’s a biological agent in the formula?”

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Harvey looked her up and down with great appreciation. “Brains and beauty.” Diana met his gaze when it finally centered back on her eyes after roving at her chest for a long pause.

“Harvey. Hello? The shelf life? Would a smaller lab order lesser amounts and if so, are they on this list?”

“Righteo. Back to the salt mines.” Harvey returned to his keyboard and jabbed away with a bit of frustration. It was almost closing and this cow looked like she wanted to chew her cud all night at his expense. Not that she wasn’t easy on the eyes. When the second sheet slid out onto the printer’s receiving tray, he handed it over to Diana.

“That’s the smaller clients. Seven more. Names and addresses. Anything else, Diana?”

“Have you dealt directly with these smaller labs?”

“Yup.”

“Is there any one individual on this list or the list of larger clients that struck you as odd or whose behavior made you curious?

“Nope.”

“Please think before you answer so quickly, Harvey. This is very important.”

“So important that you can’t tell me about it.”

“It could be a matter of life and death.”

“Well, as I said, there’s not anyone that struck me as odd that I can think of offhand.”

“Okay. I’ll check these out. Thank you for your time, Mr. Johns.”

“Harvey, Diana.”

“Ms. Prince, Harvey.”

* * *

It was a very stylish house in Chevy Chase. A brick townhouse on an elegant street. Flare wondered how a college professor could afford such an upscale place in such a fancy section of Washington. Walking up the stoop, Flare pushed the doorbell and waited.

She was dressed in her regular costume. The bright orange fabric was a metallic synthetic material that served as body armor and provided even heat dispersion. The fact that it was form fitting and displayed her outrageously sensuous curves with style and flash was...well, to the point as far as Janet was concerned. She’d designed the costume herself and farmed out its construction to a supplier to the Justice League. The bright orange fabric had thin black flames licking up her legs to mid thigh with matching black flames ranging from her shoulders to her forearm. There was no cape, no mask. Just the unitard and black ankle boots made of a stiffer, more durable version of her costume fabric. She was a bad-ass looking bitch and she had the attitude to match. Anybody on the wrong side of the law was sure to be burned if they didn’t come peacefully.

After a few moments, she heard movement behind the door and it opened to reveal a tall, good-looking man with a close-cropped salt and pepper beard and hair. He had a notebook and eyeglasses in one hand and his other was holding the door open but guardedly keeping it from swinging wide, as if distrustful of her.

“Yes? Can I help you?” An accent. French. This was Professor Pascal in the flesh.

“I hope so, my name is Flare and...”

“Yes, I know of you. You are a superheroine, yes?”

“Some would say that. May I come in?”

“Well, I am very busy. I’m in the middle of an experiment and just had time to come up for some wine before I return downstairs.”

“This won’t take long. Just a few moments really.”

“What would you have of me, young lady?”

“It’s about a missing girl who was a friend of a friend.”

“Ah yes, this is Melissa Andrews. So sad. No one has found her yet?”

“I’m afraid not. May I come in?”

“But the police, they have been here already. Twice. I will tell you what I told them, young lady, I talked to Melissa after class about a week and half ago. That is all. Now I really have to...”

“Please, Professor, it will take just a moment. Her family is so worried. It would mean so much if I could talk to you. I will be brief.”

“Alors, have it your way. Come in then.” He opened the door wider now and offered his hand. “Professor Rene Pascal. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you for taking the time, Professor Pascal. I won’t trouble you for long.” Flare shook the man’s hand. A smooth grip and one firm shake; all business.

“Come in to my library. Excuse me for just a moment, won’t you?”

“Certainly.”

He led her into the library and then turned backward, put his notebook and glasses on a hall table and called out loudly. “Gregory, Run secondary sequence G9. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Walking into the library, the professor leaned against the fireplace mantle and put his hands into his pockets.

“What is it that you would like to know, Flare?”

Standing with her hands on the back of a wing chair, Flare poses her first question. “This girl, Melissa Andrews, why did she talk to you after class that day?”

“She was very bright. She had a follow up question about neural receptors. My specialty. I was considering asking her if she wanted to assist me in my lab work over the summer.”

“Did you offer it to her.”

“No. The moment was too short. I had another class to teach and I thought she might have had one to go to after mine. I was planning on asking her the next time I saw her. But she never came to the next class. I have told all this to the police before.”

“Uh huh. You said that you have a lab in this house, Professor?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’d love to see it. Another time. I know you’re busy.”

“Well there are some very dangerous chemicals down there. We need to have many safeguards in place. It is not a room you visit lightly.”

“Is it a room that Scarlet Avenger visited Professor?”

“That poor heroine who died recently?” The Frenchman’s eyebrows went up a bit but other than that, the surprise question did not seem to shock him. “Why would you think that?”

“She left some notes about you. I thought she might have paid you a visit.”

“Really?” The professor stopped leaning against the mantle and walked in a small circle in obvious agitation. Then, stopping and walking toward Flare, stood before her and surprisingly took her hands and held them while looking into her eyes. Startled, the heroine did nothing but look back as the man spoke slowly and earnestly.

“I have heard you were good friends with the Scarlet Avenger.” He squeezed her hands in sympathy. “And I’m so sorry for your loss, but I assure you, cherie, that she never came to my home. The only other person besides the police who asked me about Melissa was her friend Stacy....oh, I forget her last name. But she asked me in class, not here. I hope that answers your questions.”

Flare pulled her hands out of Pascal’s hold the moment he finished his heartfelt speech but she wasn’t sure she was buying what he was selling. Something seemed off about all this. His hands were wet, like he was nervous. He was the only connection but there was no kind of proof. There was no one specific thing that tied him directly to the girls. Not really. Not definitely. She was sorry about that but what could she do? Was there another question she should be asking? A trap question of a different kind? There was nothing she could think of right now, nothing that would let her know any new information. That wasn’t good. She might come back later. Find some hidden information or something. Maybe tonight. When the sun went down. When it got dark. That could be a plan. That might work. She thought that would be a clever thing to do. Even neat. Maybe fun.

“Flare? Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You seem distracted.”

“I am. Was. Just thinking about Melissa. And Scarlet. And Stacy.”

“They were all your friends, yes? So sad.”

“Yes. I’m sad.”

Janet realized she was just staring at the carpet patterns and not thinking very clearly. Was she letting her emotions get the better of her? That also was not good. That was bad.

“My goodness. You seem disoriented. I hope you haven’t been exposed to my neurotoxins.”

“What do you mean?” Flare looked at him with concern, wide-eyed.

“From my experiments.” He stared into her pupils and his face twisted into one of fright. “Sacre bleu, your expression is remarkably stupid. I’m sorry....um...blank..ah...confused. Yes, yes, I think you have been contaminated. We must counteract this or the results could be permanent.”

“What? How? Permanent how, Professor?”

“Long term mental retardation. I’ve been trying to map brain patterning with neural transmission experiments on rats. The serums are quite toxic. They may have been on my hands.”

“I...I’m not a rat, professor,” Flare says, backing up awkwardly.

“You must take the antidote quickly.”

“I can go to the hospital. Umm. Fly there...uh..right now. Where is it? Where is the hospital nearest....nearby....around here...?”

“There’s no time for that. They won’t know what to do nearly fast enough. Here, I keep some here on my person at all times,” Pascal says, pulling a syringe out of his pocket.

“NO! I don’t want that. That’s too risky,” Flare’s voice went high in alarm at the thought of getting a shot from a complete stranger.

“You would rather be mentally handicapped the rest of your life? Mais non, surely not.”

“No, of course not...but....”

“Please, Flare, you need this. Let me help you like you’ve helped so many others.”

“...doesn’t feel right....though.. Why would it be in your pocket?.”

“That’s the toxin talking. You’re getting dumber and dumber as we speak. Give me your arm quickly My toxin’s effects are irreversible.”

The tall Frenchman moves the two steps quickly to Flare. She doesn’t back up but she puts her hands up and they are engulfed in flames.

“Stop! Wait! Have to think,” she barks.

Recoiling from the flaming hands, the Frenchman pleads with her. “We’re losing precious seconds. Your modest level of intelligence is clearly spiraling down the drain even as we speak. Please. Give me your arm.”

“But I don’t know....What? Modest? What do mean by... I’m not...stupid. I don’t want to be stupid.”

“More stupid for the rest of your life. You can’t want that.”

“No. But...what..?...”

“Let me come closer.”

She puts her hands down, flames out. Staring in naive hope at the professor. She can feel her fuzziness swelling. Her indecision. Her brain slowing. She was scared to death.

“Okay....” she relents, confused and nervous.. “...uh...okay...”

He steps up to her squeezes two drops out of the syringe to clear any air bubbles and then inserts it into her forearm vein offered up without further resistance. The point goes in, the plunger is pushed and the antidote is delivered up Flare’s arm. The professor is smiling broadly now.

“There. I think we got you in time. You won’t have anything to worry about from here on out.”

“...thank you... professor....I....don’t know why such dangerous toxins aren’t better contr...ohhhhhhhhh....”

The bright brown eyes that were filled with dumb naivety moments ago are now filled with awful insight as Flare swoons against the professor. Her legs turn to jelly, her eyes start to roll up and she collapses against the man’s chest. In a desperate attempt to save herself, Flare tries to ignite but the neural nullifiers and the knockout drug impede her powers severely. Her belly bursts into flames as do her kneecaps but she’s is lost to the drugs now. Pascal throws the partially flaming girl to the rug with horror, feeling the intense heat and panicked about getting badly burned. She is unconscious before she hits the floor. His buckle has melted and his crotch is on fire. He grabs an armchair cover off the couch and pats the small flames out quickly. Then, reaching under the couch, he retrieves a small fire extinguisher he’d put there earlier in anticipation of the arrival of Scarlet Avenger’s fiery best friend. He sprays the unconscious heroine with ample hosings of thick white foam, snuffing out all the flames licking at the girl and the rug.

“You bitch! Now I have to buy a new carpet. I’m going to take that out of your black ass!”


End of Part 2

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer-Part 3

When Flare regains consciousness, she feels sluggish and confused and horny. She is also shivering wildly. She feels like she’s lying in a walk-in freezer she’s so cold. A thin stream of ice cold water drizzles down on her chest from the ceiling. It runs off her body and into the drain set in the floor. Flare is spread eagled on her back on a leather padded table with her head dangling off the head of the table, her neck arched. Steel manacles circle her outstretched wrists. Chains are linked to rings soldered to the corners at the table’s head. A steel ring gag has been forced into her mouth and buckled behind her head. Her knees are bent and forced wide apart by a steel spreader bar fastened between them. The ankles are also encased in steel manacles with thick steel chains connected to rings soldered into the table’s end.. A thin rubber catsuit encases her body from her wrists to her ankles.

“Ohhh...oddd...” He got me too!

She tries to flame on but is much too cold and way too unfocused from some drug to achieve this. With great effort she picks her head up and looks at her body. The cat suit is filled with a network of blue wires that feel like frozen luge runs all up and down her body. That can’t be ice water. I could fight that. Must be something so much colder. What was colder than ice? More ice? She couldn’t think....wait...Liquid..liquid something...what.?.... nitrogen? Liquid Nitrogen. This man was very smart to do that to her. Scarlet was so bright, too, but he took her down. Killed her. And now Flare had stepped right into his trap as well. Was that neurotoxin thing real? She sure felt slower than normal. She was in a bad way, she knew that.

As she lets her head relax backward off the edge of the table she sees from her upside down view that her metallic orange costume is hanging on a hook on the opposite wall. She was in a bad fix and couldn’t think of how she could get out of it. Her thoughts were slow and plodding.

The sound of footsteps sounded in the hall outside the door and then Professor Pascal walked into the room and up to the table. He is wearing only blue silk boxers and a tight blue spandex shirt that showed off impressive pecs for a 40-something man. Flare chastened herself for admiring his physique and letting herself be swayed by his good looks from the moment she entered his domain.

“Well, finally awake I see.”

“Ooo ohn ehd a-ay.....” She begins to make a brash claim but is cut off by him.

“Please, don’t bother finishing that sentence, Flare. It will be unintelligible anyway. Save yourself the trouble. Besides, I’ve got much better things planned for your mouth, as you may have guessed. Even someone as simple-minded as you probably worked that one out for yourself, right?”

“OHH! ONND!”

“Oh, was that some kind of protest, mon ami, because it’s just so difficult to tell.” Reaching down, the Frenchman touches a control on the side of the table and the thin stream of water from the ceiling stops. He looks at the heroine and wags his finger at her. “Between that ring gag and your crude American accent, one can’t understand a thing you say. So maybe it is best that you just shut the fuck up, yes?”

Yanking on the chain and growling through the gag, Flare lunges at the Frenchman only to be stopped short by the steel manacles as they jerk her to a stop, her head a foot away from Pascal’s crotch off to the side of the restraint table, her chest thrusting forward toward him, raw fury in her eyes. Pascal instantly thrusts out his hand and grabs her left tit, squeezing it hard through the thin rubber, drawing a yelp from Flare who jerks back in horrified humiliation. But still his hand grips her breast as he takes a step forward to compensate for her retreat. The cocoa-colored skin beneath the clear rubber is dimpled by his fingertips. And then his whole hand encompasses the front of her ample breast and he squeezes it more softly now, massaging and caressing the pliant flesh.

“...eeeeehhhhnnnn...!” Flare squeaks in despair as her tit is mauled. She presses back into the table’s leather pad but with her wrists heavily shackled off to both sides, her body encased in a nastily effective chill suit and her brain addled with barbiturates and neural inhibitors, the short-haired black heroine can do nothing to prevent his large warm hands from manhandling her girls.

“If you did not want me to fondle these, you should not have thrust them at me, cherie.”

She stares defiantly at him, her anger counteracting the drugs somewhat for the moment. He’s pleased with her spirit as he brings his other hand up to fondle both tits now. He squeezes and mauls them, rubbing them in circles and compressing them under the shifting squeaking rubber. He’s enjoying this foreplay with her, staring right back into those brown eyes with smug impunity. His fingertips move to both nipples now and he tweaks the dark brown nubs, rapidly rolling them between his fingers. This draws out a sudden gasp through the ring gag and Flare’s eyelids flicker and droop momentarily with unexpected pleasure. When they open wide again, the anger has been augmented with a look of sudden need and the young heroine drops her eyes in shame, knowing what they are broadcasting to her nemesis.

“Ah yes, I see you are feeling the effects of the sexual stimulant. It’s extremely powerful, mademoiselle.” The tall doctor smiles wolfishly at her as he continues to tweak and roll her nipples. “You and I are going to pass an extremely intimate evening together.”

His hands now slowly wander down her body, smoothing over her waist and hips to her rubber-clad thighs. He strokes them up and down, sliding his hands all over her, possessing her.

“Before the night is over, you will be reveling in the taste of my cum, delighting in the feel of it on your face...” His hands circle into the insides of her thighs, his thumbs rubbing back and forth over the surface of her neatly packaged and proffered mons. “...and you’ll be coming to shuddering orgasms with the heat of my semen as it shoots deep into your orifices.”

“I ONT! OT EHER!” Avenger shouts her defiance but her sex dampens despite herself.

“Never? But you have not even felt yet how my suit feels. Oh, of course you feel the super-cold channels surrounding your skin that keep your famous flame snuffed down to a pitiful nothingness. But, mon amie, you have not felt the joy of what my subjugation suit with its remarkable chip can do along with all the stimulation pads placed over your delightfully sensuous body. Please, allow me to demonstrate my magnificent creation.”

Taking a small remote control from his pants pocket, Pascal pushes a three-digit code into the number keypad on the device and suddenly Flare feels a thrilling tingle of electrical current streaming from the back of both knees up and around her thighs until they meet at the apex of her thighs and circle her groin in a steady circle. Immediately the sequence repeats and Flare’s eyes go wide at the physical demonstration of what the French professor had been rambling on about. The suit had a dual purpose.

Not just a chill suit! It’s a whole body exciter thing!

The sequence repeats again, this time a bit stronger. And then it begins repeating at a much faster rate, less than two seconds from knee to crotch, over and over again. It tickles her thighs, excites her loins and centers on her labia with buzzing pleasure. Flare’s head drops back limply, dangling off the table’s edge, her eyes closed.

“HHUUGGHHNN!” Her grunt is visceral, thick and needy. Her eyes flicker with the pleasure. She feels a growing moistness between her legs, building on the sensations she felt moments ago from his nipple play and brief body massage. This was pleasure on a much higher level. Her mind was a confused jumble of angst but her body was having a hell of a good time.

“You see what my toy can do? And that is one of the simplest settings. You are in for, how do you American’s say it...‘quite a treat,’ yes? So when you say ‘never’ to my description of how much you will enjoy this evening, I must chuckle at your foolishness. Your friend Scarlet felt the same at first. And, as she quickly learned, as will you, things will go exactly how I planned. That is a certainty!”

Flare’s body shivers with a combination of sensual excess and the stunning chill of the suit. As the stimulation cycle slows down again, she lies on the table feeling heavy in body and mind. A long low shuddering sigh issues from her gag. Her head hangs low off the table as the young heroine tries to gather her strength and wits. But the Frenchman has other ideas.

“And now that you are properly stimulated...wait, let me check to be sure.....” The sound of the plastic zipper in the suit and the waft of cool air on her privates pulls Flare’s attention to her crotch and she lifts her head to see the Frenchman’s hand between her legs.

What’s he doing?

Her body jerks suddenly as she feels his fingers spread her labia and another finger probe into the slushy opening of her snatch.

“EUHHH!”

“Oh yes, indeed. Nice and wet.”

Suddenly there is a cool brush of metal at the lips of her cunt that surprises Flare and draws another grunt. And then her body is invaded by the slick sudden insertion of a wide, chrome-covered dildo shoved deep into the very heart of her sex.

THWWERRPP!

“AAAHHH!” Flare gasps in shock and pleasure as the smooth hard tool takes up uninvited but happy residence in her vagina. It fills her completely. Owning her now. Making itself the house guest that wouldn’t leave. And suddenly it’s running through the halls of its new home and banging on the walls as Pascal turns on the motor and the device comes to life with a vengeance.

BBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZ

“OOHHHHHHH!” Flare gasps and bucks on the table, her mouth tightening down on the ring gag, her tongue fluttering, her wrists and ankles straining against the manacles and her eyes clamped shut as the wave of delight passes through her body from her toes to her twisting, shaking head.

“Oh, you’re quite the live, flapping fish, aren’t you?” Pascal smiles down at the jerking, naked brown beauty encased in rubber on his table, delighted at her sensitivity. It will give both of them much pleasure. He treasures the full 30 seconds of watching her flail, grunt and twist in her constraints, her breasts wobbling in the thin rubber, her thighs spreading and closing, revealing her twitching pussy with its chrome passenger, her hips rotating, her ankles shaking and pulling helplessly at the steel cuffs. And then her body jerks a final time and comes to rest on the table.

As the shock of the dildo’s sudden occupation of all her senses wanes a bit in her mind, Flare is able to finally regain a measure of control, even with the buzzing dildo and the aphrodisiac working into her system. She pants through the gag and her eyes sharpen a bit and she masters the excitement within her. She doesn’t raise her head. It still hangs off the table but she finds her calm inner center and finds the dildo’s vibrations are manageable for now. Her breathing slows and she feels a small level of calmness.

I can fight this. I can win.

“Well, what have we here? A surge of willpower? Amazing!” Pascal is truly surprised. The drugs and the suit are a combination of sexual punches that have turned the majority of his test subjects into drooling fools in mere moments but this is different. Flare’s resistance is much greater than his common college girls, and even significantly surpasses that of Scarlet Avenger. “Fascinating, my dear! Who would have thought this? Just fascinating.”

Centered and calm, Flare puts her id into a separate room in her mind and is able to withstand the pleasure. She feels the stim pads with their live sequencing jolts circulating around her. She accepts the coldness. She manages the moment. The neural inhibitors actually make things simpler in a way. Less distractions from random firings. More attention to the basics of letting the pleasure be without having it pinball within her brain as much.

I can do this!

She feels a tug on the spreader bar and her knees are raised slightly along with her rump.

Whatever he’s doing I can handle it. I won’t submit to any...

“HUUUUHHH!”

The dildo shoved into her ass is a nastier guest than the one in her cunt. It hurts more, it scrapes her walls, it occupies every inch of space and it won’t shut up.

BBBRRRAAAAZZZZZZ. BBBRRRAAAAAZZZZZ. BBBRRRAAAAAZZZZZZZZ.

Flare is back to bucking again for the moment. Her hips bang against the leather pad as the pleasure of both dildos works against her in tandem now. She is frenzied with lust as she loses the calm center of control. She has to find it again. Has to recapture the id and put it back into its quiet room. It’s running wild. She feels it in the back of her head, wide eyed and doing jumping jacks. That won’t do at all. Come on, settle down, sister. Be calm again. Be....

Suddenly Pascal twists her nipples to distract her and the suit goes into overdrive. Sensors all around her chest light up her nerves, pulsing and circling her tits with rushing and buzzing sensations that widen her eyes and draw harsh pants out of her. He begins to fondle her
roughly and her breasts ache with delight. And then all the suit’s circuits fire up. From her wrists, down her sides to her hips to her toes and then back up the insides of her thighs to her groin, constant cycling rounds of delicious neon sensations light up her entire body and focus her attention on the buzzing dildos. This was way too much to handle.

Flare writhes on the table as Pascal squeezes her tits and runs his hands all over her body, not giving her any chance to regroup, to withstand the pleasure. The persistent catsuit runs the circuit continuously now, cycling all over her body with electric precision that drives Flare mad with pleasure. Over and over the sensations from the stimulation pads course over her skin, tickling, tensing, releasing and returning again and again. Her head dangles loosely off the table. Flare is stunned into helpless pleasure.

Pascal’s unseen hands fondle her tits, hold her waist, rub her thighs. The dildos have been ramped up to high gear now, buzzing away. The aphrodisiac possesses her soul now, intensifying everything. It’s beyond any control and Flare loses herself in the rush of her orgasm as it fills her brain with a jerking unchecked spasm of pure ecstacy. She freezes in the man’s grasp on the table, her breasts squeezed tight in his palms, her eyes clamped shut, a loud, pleasured grunt bursting from her mouth.

“GGHHUUUUUUUNNNHHH!”

“You see, my bon cherie, my Flare, it is, as they say, a cakewalk to get you to cum with this suit and my drugs. It makes no matter that you are a so-called superheroine. It matters only that you are a woman. And I know how to control women. I am, after all, French, yes?”

Pascal lets out a long laugh and then punches in a new three digit code into the remote control for Flare’s pleasure suit. The very cycle it had used before is now going in reverse mode. The stim pads fire away, the sensations going faster and faster around her body in the opposite direction even as the two dildos kick into their highest vibration mode.

The overstimulated heroine cannot begin to handle this sudden second onslaught of absolute pleasure and she writhes and shakes in Pascal’s arms now as she cums violently for a second time, lost in the circle of his hold. Her eyes flutter under her lids, her knees shake the spreader bar to a near blur and her pussy releases a second thick rush of juices into the crotch of her suit. After half a minute of trembling aftershocks and twitching, Flare goes limp and he lets her slack form relax down onto the padded table, her chest rising and falling in slow steady heaves, her mouth drooling heavily from the ring gag onto the leather padding. The heroine is spent, her short sweaty hair is disarray, her almond-shaped eyes open but vacant. And there are several hours yet to go.

* * *

Diana hangs up the phone with a grim expression and a shake of her head. Steve Trevor pokes his head into her office and gives a friendly wave at first. Then, seeing her grimness, steps in.

“Problems, Diana?”

“It’s that Scarlett Avenger case we’re working on. The only lead we have is leading nowhere for the moment. No agents interviewing any of the companies using Elimanol have found anything unusual yet. No vibes, nothing. And that’s the sixth one that I’ve personally called that really didn’t produce anything either. I’m just frustrated.”

“Well, you know, detective work can be a grind a lot of the time,” Steve said. “But something may break soon. You can’t always tell about these things.”

“I just hope we don’t find some other poor girl left for us to find.”

“Is there anything that would lead you to believe this guy would strike again.”

“It was so well planned and he got away with it...”

“For now....” Steve interjected.

“Fine, for now. I just think he may feel he can do it again. I asked Wonder Woman to put out warnings through the Justice League to all heroines throughout the U.S. about this guy’s M.O., as much as we know of it anyway. I just hope its enough.”

“There’s not much more you can do about it, Diana,” Steve said, patting her shoulder. “And we’ve got a debriefing with the Admiral about that Straits of Hormuz incident in five minutes.”

“Right. I just have four more names on the list to contact, some smaller firms. I’ll get back to them after the briefing,” the tall brunette sighed.

“Okay then, I’ll meet you in conference room #5 in just a bit. I’ve got to get a file off my desk.”

“Fine. I’ll see you there.”

Diana enjoyed the view of Steve’s butt in his tight uniform trousers as he walked out of her office. Absently she gnawed on her thumbnail as she pondered what she could do if the chemical company leads led nowhere.

* * *

Flare wakes up because she can’t breathe. Something hard and warm is blocking her throat entirely. And her nose is being pinched. Her eyes snap open and she sees the wrist of one hand stretched above her eyes. It’s firm fingers are squeezing her nostrils tightly shut. Another hand is coming from off to the side and clutching her throat. From behind her head, the French bastard’s hairy ballsack is bouncing against her nose and his cock is thrusting through the hole in the ring gag, the length of him choking off her airway. She is being face fucked!

“AAAAGGKKK!”

“Swallow me. All of me, bitch!” Pascal’s face is the definition of fury. Red and fierce and mad-eyed. Flare can’t see it from her vantage point since his chest looms over her, but if she could, she’d fear for her life even more, if that were possible.

The hand on her throat was tightly holding her head in place. The hot, hard cock was drawing in and out of her mouth now but it wasn’t pulling out far enough to allow any air in. And now Flare’s face was getting red as her eyes bulge in fright. The sensation of the hard muscled member rubbing flush against the walls of her throat is painful, horrifying, life-threatening.

Can’t end like this! It can’t!

Her wrists strain with all her energy against unforgiving steel manacles and achieve nothing. Her ankles yank and strain against the bright steel cuffs at the other end with table-jarring jerks to no avail. There is no escape for Flare. She’s much too tired at this point.

And then, without warning, the cock is pulled all the way out of her throat and a screaming desperate wheeze of relief shrieks out of the young black heroine’s mouth. Her ample chest heaves and wobbles inside the clinging rubber as her lungs exert a mighty effort to fill themselves. Her eyes tear up with joy. She’d been given another chance in a night where all her luck and hope had been systematically stripped away.

It has been four hours since her first orgasm of the evening which seemed like a lifetime ago. She had no idea how many thrilling pinnacles of pleasure she’d experienced in the interim. Three dozen? Four? Her mind was a dull blank slate at the moment. The Frenchman had let the suit and the dildos do his dirty work for most of the time. And it had been relentlessly efficient. Every 15 minutes a new program would initiate and tease and grow in its sensual assault on her body. Synchronized with the two dildos, the effects were devastatingly effective at reducing her to a blinded, jerking collection of quivering muscles and drool. Over and over again it had happened.

And now Flare was completely exhausted. The demon suit clings to her sweaty skin with pockets of moisture and condensation everywhere. Plastic zippers had been opened periodically to release the collected puddles of her cum, her sweat and his cum, his sweat. She was due for another draining.

Pascal had fucked her twice during this endless evening. Laughing, he’d palmed her knees as the spreader bar held them open for his pleasure and shoved himself deep inside her, grinning at first like a crazy man as he had his easy way with her, sawing his prick in and out of her as she lay there in limp, dazed acquiescence. Then he got serious and started ranting about someone named Marie and how Wonder Woman had killed her. Or left her to die, which was the same thing to him. Flare couldn’t follow his train of thought with so much pleasure cascading through and around her body as his cock was still hard inside her gripping pussy during his wild-eyed rant. Every spastic motion during his shouting tirade had sent shivers of pleasure through her that made her weak with joy despite his mania.

Eventually, he calmed down and proceeded to enjoy himself again, leaning low into her, holding her waist and in his two sweaty palms and thrusting between her thighs like he was trying to push a cookie across a finish line with the tip of his fat thrusting dick. She had cum hard on that one, her head hanging back, eyes dazed at half-mast and her thighs trembling like a Parkinson’s patient. It had filled her with delight and disgust in equal measure.

At times throughout the night, she’d tried to concentrate and bring on her flame to melt her shackles and fry the French prick and his prick to cinders. But the drug she’d been injected with prevented her from concentrating. More critically, the suit’s cold blue chilling tubes prevented her body temperature from raising to point where she could ignite in any way. He was very careful about always checking that readout!

At some other point in the night, (Flare had lost track when she’d lapsed into brief periods of black unconsciousness) he’d fucked her again, squeezing her chest like some inflatable doll and slobbering all over her neck. He was only wearing his silk boxers at that point, his cock sticking out of the fly as the smooth silk brushed against her nether lips, adding extra stimulation to her already overheated libido. The spreader bar had been removed and her legs were freer to move around the surface of the table, although her ankles were still firmly secured in steel. She’d pumped her hips and writhed eagerly beneath him as he thrust back and forth. She spread her thighs as wide as she could with no spreader bar to restrain them. Then closed them and opened them wide. It wasn’t to help bring him to a faster climax in order to get him off her. The suit and that aphrodisiac he pumped into her made her lust for the sensations. She craved them despite herself. She had clung to him with her inner thighs like a gymnast as he came within her with a lusty yell. Her own shout joined his moments later as his ejaculation sent her into a secondary orgasm. So many shouts and fevered, juicy flows in the evening. She was absolutely spent by them.

Thinking morosely to herself, Flare contemplated her behavior. She was deeply ashamed of her actions throughout the night but knew if his cock were to venture back to her pussy, she’d welcome it with deep, satisfying grunts like a sow in heat.

And now a new humiliation had been heaped upon her. Face fucked! She was near to tears, her reserve of energy completely depleted, her willpower shown to be tissue-thin and easily ripped to shreds, her stamina against his campaign of sexual torment had been drained away, her tank empty. She was beginning to hate herself and wishing the evening to end, one way or another. At this point she didn’t care.

Stepping forward, the Frenchman loomed over her once again, the hard dick bouncing against the tip of her wide nose. Again it bounced there and then trailed across her cheek, the heat and slickness of it leaving a glistening thread of pre-cum on her pretty face. The hand that had been holding his dick now brushed her damp bangs off her forehead.

“Suck me off, Flameout! Show me how a prim and proper American superheroine gives an A#1 American blowjob.”

“...eeez.....ohh......” Flare protests weakly.

“Do it, bitch. NOW! Besides, I’m genuinely curious. I’m pretty sure you people are naturally good at it.”

A sex fiend and a racist! Can this night get any worse?

The sudden appearance of a scalpel in Pascal’s hand from a drawer in the table confirms the sad fact that the night can, in fact, take a serious turn for the worse. He lowers it near her face, the point waving in the air above her.

“Don’t make me damage these lovely features of yours, cherie. After all, it is only a blow job. Not worth losing your life over, certainement? What do you say, eh? Be the good sport, yes?”

The wide-eyed heroine says nothing, her neck arched, her body frozen with fear, her eyes glued to the scalpel.

“Nod your head, moron, if you will do this blowjob to me.”

Flare nods and the scalpel is put back in the drawer.

“Besides, we both know by now that you’re going to enjoy sucking on my cock, just as you have thrilled to everything else this evening. Oh, no sense denying this. You’ve proven very clearly that you are quite the slut, my hot little road Flare. However, to make it even more fun for you, I will spray my penis with this special strawberry flavoring I purchased in a novelty sex shop. Let me know if you like it when you’re done, yes?”

Flare stares at this lunatic with disbelief.

“Nod your head again, you pathetic half-wit, if you understand.”

Another nod produces a small can from a second drawer with a badly screened image of a strawberry on it and the name and slogan in bold cursive letters: “Prick-licious! Artificial strawberry flavoring. It’s Un-Humming-Believable!”

Uncapping the stubby little spray can, Pascal holds the nozzle over his dick and presses it down. A narrow cone of fine pink mist covers his shaft and his balls. He directs the hissing spray onto the head of his cock, coating it lightly. The mist in the air over Flare’s head slowly floats down onto her face, filling her senses with the taste, smell and sticky resin of strawberries. It makes her eyelids a bit gummy and when she opens them with an extra jerk she sees the 7"long cock bobbing an inch away from her gaping, ring-gagged mouth.

“Bon appetit!”

Shuffling forward, the grinning Frenchman guides his penis through the hole in the gag so just the glans is in her mouth. Thinking of the scalpel and knowing there was no possible recourse open to her, the heroine who had once single-handedly used mini-fireballs to take down a heavily-armed motorcycle gang of a dozen men holding hostages in a check-cashing dive in Inner Philadelphia slowly sucks in her cheeks around the head of her captor’s rigid cock. The taste of sweet strawberries fills her mouth, covering the tang of his cock and its wafting pheremones.

I can live with this.

The cock is withdrawn and thrust forward again, slightly deeper. Flare sucks down again and the upper circle of his shaft flavors her mouth with ripe berries again. With effort, she slides her tongue along the underside of the shaft and the happy professor jerks his prick back and forth through the gag’s hole with unexpected pleasure.

“AAHHH! C’est si bon! I knew this was true. You are good. Exactly as I suspected. And so, to reward you and encourage you, I think Routine 7C will please you, yes?” After punching in a new three-digit code, the professor puts the remote in the side drawer of the restraint table and leans forward. He places his hands under Flare’s hips and then slides them under her rubber-wrapped butt cheeks and squeezes. Then he rolls them in circles. “And some old-fashioned manual manipulation as well, I think.”

The suit begins a new routine that jerks Flare’s eyes open wide. Her clit stim pad is suddenly buzzing away with a humming electric charge that draws a gasp past the cock shaft and deep into her lungs. And the nipple stims are close behind, firming them up rapidly. Inhaling strawberry essence and cock sweat, Flare chokes out a harsh bark and then closes her eyes and gathers herself for a bit, trembling with excitement but handling the surge of pleasure. And then she begins sucking in earnest on the cock as it edges forward, deeper into her mouth, stretching out her cheek.

“Mmmm...uuuuhhh....mmlllphhhh....mummm....hllphhh.....hmmmm...”

Cooing and murmuring with the thrill her body is undergoing, Flare sucks hungrily at the tasty muscle, savoring the slippery sides of its generous width as it rubs forward and back between her drawing cheeks. She feels the heat of Pascal’s toned body through her thin rubber catsuit as he leans over the full length of her figure. His strong hands fondle and squeeze her buttocks with constant firm strokes that drift from her fleshy lower butt around to the outsides of her thighs and back again. The clit and nipple pad are bringing her to full arousal. An orgasm is only minutes away, if that. His cock is nearly at the opening of her throat now and she is sucking away with gusto and licking his shaft often. She couldn’t get enough of his hard manhood now. She gulped him in, squirming her body forward as far as the chains would allow to bring him deeper into her throat.

That was better.

His shaft filled her mouth and clogged her throat but her nostrils were wide and compensating perfectly.

“Mmmmmm....uullpppphhhhh...ohhhhhh....ahhhhhhh....mmmmmhhhhh....” Flare’s blowjob was becoming world class, considering she had only her mouth available.

Without warning, the vibrator suddenly made a reappearance. The crotch flap had been zippered open and yanked down by Pascal in a fraction of a second and the dildo’s rounded tip slid between her nether lips like a guided missile. The wide 8-inch chrome tool filled her snatch with buzzing coolness and a new plateau of pleasure. This gets Flare sucking down on the man’s cock with the intensity of a vacuum hose. She sucks and licks and sucks again, her cheeks hollowed and blown out, over and over in a frenzy of shocking lust. Her eyes burn with intensity as her body commands her thoughts. Her wrists pull desperately at the manacles wanting nothing more than to caress his balls, stroke his shaft, palm her hand all over his cock head and show him her unfettered true talents without the bondage. She was little more than a crazed whore in heat right now.

She could feel him harden even more in her mouth at her dedication to his pleasure. His excitement was nearing its peak but he wasn’t thrusting at all just then, merely hovering over her. His shaft filled her mouth and poked two inches down into her throat. She bobbed her head back and forth to please herself and stimulate him even more.

And then his prick shifted and drove deeper as the Frenchman suddenly climbed on the table and settled down on her body, pressing her flat on the table as he rotated the dildo inside her snatch.

“HHUUUUNNPPHH! AWWGGGK! OHHHHH!”

The full-on sexual assault was as shocking as it was exhilarating. He was pumping the dildo in and out of her sopping wet pussy now at the same time his hips were rocking up and down, driving his cock as deeply into her as he could. His blue silk boxers blocked her view entirely as his ballsack bounced up and down on her nose. Inside Flare’s mouth, his hard hot glans rubbed the deep walls of her throat with a steady motion that perfectly matched the rhythm of the chrome tool between her legs. It made her swoon. Just then, his motion froze. The sudden extra stiffness and stillness of him in her mouth filled her with a deep, drug-induced pleasure that she’d made him cum. With that, as well as the stim pads humming away at her clit and nipples and the constant sawing friction of the dildo working her cunt: it was all far more than the young heroine could stand.

“EEEEEEEEEEEAAAHH!” Flare went blind with ecstacy and he was a fraction of a second behind her.

“GGHHHHUUUNNHHH!”

Her eyes blurred, her body froze in time, she went rock still beneath him and felt his cock erupt into her throat. She swallowed a geyser’s worth of his hot cum, the force of it filling her throat twice over and a third time as she gulped and gulped in order to breathe. Between her legs, she was virtually geysering herself. A wide spray of her juicy cum arced onto the leather pad like a misty waterfall. Her body spasmed a second time and thick rivulets of ecstacy ran out of her cunt like a river seeking the sea. It stained the leather and sought its own level in the creases of the table pad. The panting in the room was loud and raucous, the pair of bodies clinging together in the dull throes of mindless aftersex.

Whoa! That was one for the books!

What a fucking great mouth on this cunt!

After several moments of absolute silence, Flare moaned.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhhhhh....” It was long and low and stifled by his cock. The hefty muscle was now slowly shrinking, its work done. Trails of his white cum drained out of the corners of her mouth and drained down her hanging head into her eyes. For the moment, lost in oblivion, Flare didn’t care. She just lay there spreadeagled on the table an exhausted, satisfied slut of infinite shame and absolute pleasure. After a moment longer, Pascal pulled himself off the table, waved at her in a gesture of exhausted gratitude and wandered out of the laboratory. Flare fell into a dreamless sleep of the dead. Nobody commented on the strawberry flavoring.

End of Part 3

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer-Part 4


Diana is down to the second to last phone number on the list provided by Harvey Johns. It was Pascal Research LLC.

Not incorporated, could possibly be a very small lab.

A tiny gleam of hope blossomed in Diana’s breast as she dialed the number. It rang for six times and Diana was about to hang up. It was after 9 pm after all, most labs would be closed. This was a long shot and she’d probably have to call back in the morning. More time lost, more chance for some sexual predator to work his evil.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, I’m sorry to bother you this late but its rather important. Is this Pascal Research?”

“Uh..yes. Who is this, please?” The French accent was immediately noticeable and the inflection in his voice told Diana that although he spoke English, it didn’t come naturally to him.

“My name is Diana Prince. I’m with the IADC, a government organization dedicated to homeland security. Among other things.

“And why are you calling me at this late hour, Miss Prince?”

“Again, I apologize sir. May I ask your name, for the record?”

“Record? What record? What is this about?”

Diana frowned at her rookie mistake. She’d put this man on the defensive with a display of high-handed officiousness. Not a good start.

“I just mean for my notes. I’m making a routine follow-up with all the labs in the area who have purchased a certain chemical in the past few years.”

“Which chemical would that be?”

He still hasn’t given me his name. Hmmm.

“Is this Mr. Pascal I’m speaking with?”

“Yes it is, Ms. Prince. About which chemical are you seeking information?”

Stilted proper English construction. How long as he been in this country not to know idiomatic speech?

“It’s called Elimanol.”

“Ah yes, we use it quite frequently in our lab work. It’s a cleansing agent, as you’re probably aware. We studiously prevent DNA migrations in our lab. Bad for results. Ruinous actually. We like the Elimanol for that. And it has a pleasant scent.”

“I see,” Diana nodded standing in her apartment’s living room on her cell phone. Pretty standard reaction. Nothing suspicious there.

“When was the last time you ordered a supply of this chemical?”

“If you have my name from our supplier, I’m surprised you don’t already have that information, Ms. Prince.”

“Uh, no, he didn’t provide that. Just your company name and contact number. Is this your lab that I called?”

“No. Yes. It’s my home and my lab.”

“So you’re a small operation then.”

“Small but doing critical research,” replied the French researcher somewhat testily. “A great many breakthroughs have come out of labs no larger than mine, Ms. Prince.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pascal. It is Doctor, correct.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything. Has any of your supply of Elimanol gone missing lately. Any unaccounted for gallon jugs misplaced or lost?”

“May I ask what this is about and why Homeland Security would be interested, Ms. Prince.”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential, Doctor, at this point. Have you lost any of the chemical, sir?”

“None whatsoever.”

“You sound quite certain.”

“Being the only employee of my business, I assure you I keep very careful records and precise control over my chemicals.”

“I see. Well, I thank you, Doctor, for your time. Oh, you haven’t ever met the Scarlet Avenger have you, Doctor?”

“Pardon?” By slipping suddenly into the French pronunciation of the word, Pascal raised a red flag in Diana’s mind. Was he nervous or just confused by her sudden posing of a question out of left field. “Who is this person to whom you are referring?”

Didn’t he read the papers? Her face and name were all over the news in the past week.

“She was the victim of a sex crime, Doctor. And her body was drenched with Elimanol. That’s why we’re following up so closely.” Diana didn’t like releasing critical crime information like that. It was a holdback, something only the perpetrator would know. She was playing a desperate hunch.

“I see.” Dead silence on his end after that short comment. No sympathy. No horror. No reaction at all. Not a lot of humanity about the man. But she’d met a lot of scientists like that, especially researchers who were wrapped up in their own worlds. It could mean nothing.

“We’re just trying to bring her assailant to justice.”

“I wish you the best of luck with that, Ms. Prince. Is there anything else?”

“No, not for now Doctor Pascal. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”

“Not at all. Good evening.” He hung up and so did Diana.

There was nothing substantially wrong in the conversation but Diana simply got a strange vibe from the man. She was probably profiling him as a foreigner and doing him a disservice to boot, but no one else on the list had given her any reaction. Maybe she was just grasping at straws. She dialed the last number on her list. It rang eight times and then went to voicemail. Diana would try them again tomorrow and try to get some extra background on Pascal Research. In the meantime, she had a patrol she had to go on and then a two-hour shift at the Justice League satellite. It was going to be a late night.

Back at Pascal Research LLC, the thoughtful professor stood over his desk phone and smiled. Things were going right on schedule. And now he was looking forward to yet another session with his lovely African American captive. He began whistling as he walked out of the room.

* * *

When Flare opened her eyes again, she was staring at the floor. She’d been turned over on the restraint table, still chained, still captive. The rubber catsuit was stilling clinging to her body like the hothouse, sweat-filled uncomfortable second skin it was. Thankfully, the ring gag had finally been removed and she worked her jaw muscles and they clicked and chattered like castanets.

Still, she was barely able to lift her head, she was so very, very tired. The continuous evening of sex had taken everything out of her. Everything. She just wanted to go home. She realized she was so out of it and forlorn that she was crying. No, actually blubbering now. Her mouth quivering, copious tears falling, and now wracking sobs shaking her.

“Oh..huh.....huh.....ooohhhhhh...sob....no...no....huh...uhh.....”

She was so distraught, she didn’t even realize that a thin linked chain had been looped loosely around her throat with each end fastened to the front edge of the restraint table. She tried to collect herself, to get back into heroine mode but it was hard. Her thoughts were still so slow in forming, her strength was a fraction of what she’d been, her nerves were frayed to their breaking point and beyond. This Frenchman Pascal had beaten her down to a shell of herself with sex and drugs. The bastard had used her in every way he could. She tried hard to let her anger build but even that effort was exhausting.

When he walked into the laboratory wearing a set of green boxers and a matching spandex top while whistling, Flare was hard pressed not to break down again. She’d just managed to achieve a badly transparent facade of stoicism. He was obviously dressed to fuck her again. Her body involuntarily responded to this input from her dulled brain and she felt her loins dampen at the thought. That notched up her anger a touch.

He’s already trained me to desire his body, the French prick!

What neither Flare nor Pascal knew was that in the process of flipping her body over, one of the cooling tubes got a minor kink in the area under her chest. Tiny, unseen and detected by the readout as a 10% drop in efficiency from 98 to 88. If one didn’t look closely, you could confuse the numbers easily.

Pascal walked over to the restraint table and looked down at his rubber-encased prize. It was a shame that he had to complete this part of the experiment since he had truly enjoyed himself tremendously with this unbelievably sexy chocolate mademoiselle. But science was a hard mistress and he had to be sure the table’s new chain drive mechanism worked properly. He would absolutely need it for his next experiment with his strongest quarry yet: A true super-powered heroine that could smash him and his lab to bits in the blink of an eye. But he had worked out a very specific plan of attack and was confident that he could pull it off. But that was for later, right now, he had to concentrate his attention on ensuring clean, definitive results with this subject.

“Are you comfortable, mon cherie?”

“No. I want to go home.”

“Well, why don’t we play one more sex game and then you may go.”

“What? What is it?”

“It’s called breath play. Have you ever tried it?”

“No. And I don’t want to,” reduced by exhaustion and the neural inhibitors to a petulant childishness, Flare pouts moodily on the table.

“No breath play, no release. Those are the rules, cherie.”

“I do this, you promise I get out of here?”

“I promise. I will gladly take you out myself.”

“I’ll take myself out, thank you. So, what do you want me to do?”

“It is most simple for you actually. You just lie there and I do all the work and you have all the fun. Well, almost all the fun. I enjoy myself too a tiny bit.”

“I don’t get it?”

“There’s not so much to get, my pet. I simply enter you anally and...”

“Oh, I see where this is going,” Flare cuts him off with a snarl, her energy level rising with her righteous indignation. “Butt-fuck the black bitch! Typical stereotyped racist honky bullshit! Black women all love it up the ass!”

“Actually, mon amie, it is my customary preference to GIVE it up the ass, if you must know! The fact that you are black has really nothing to do with it. Unless, of course, you do prefer it that way. Many women do. Black and white.”

“Well I don’t, you sick fuck.”

“Have you ever had anyone do your rear. Really good, I mean to say?”

“Uh...no. Had it done once, but it hurt like hell. Not good at all.”

“Then you can’t judge. It was a poor sampling. You need a wider control group.”

“He was definitely trying to widen my control group, I can tell you that!”

“Zoot alors! You are very funny. I have treasured our time together this evening. I regret it has to end.”

“Yeah, well all good things and all that. Tell me about the breath play part.”

“That, too, is easy. You will have your air restricted by the device around your neck for a few moments and....”

“What?” Cutting him off again, Flare yanks and pulls on the manacles with rising panic.“What have you DONE?”

Scarlet had been strangled! He planned the same thing for me!

She jerks and strains in her restraints, whimpering in total frustration and beginning to hyperventilate. Pascal merely stands there and watches while shaking his head. Too weak to maintain this for long, the wild-eyed heroine tucks her chin in and looks down as best she can. She can barely make out a glint of metal hanging around her throat. She shakes her head and neck and can feel the light, loose chain dangling against her skin. It seemed so insubstantial that she loses her panicked edge. Chains of this weight were breaking all the time on her. She’d lost at least three pendants in her Janet Pryce identity thanks to inferior chains like this.

“You’re going to kill me!” She yelps, still afraid, daring him to tell the truth.

“Mais non! No I am not. You will feel the chain tighten but it is more like a, how do you say this...ah...a symbolic chain. You can see how light and ineffectual it is. It gives the sensation of choking without the true harm, yes? Just enough to fool the brain and the body into ultimate pleasure.”

“Symbolic, huh?”

“You choke a bit, you’re senses heighten, you appreciate every feeling, every sensual nuance, yes? Then the paltry chain releases, maybe even breaks, and you cum like a broken water main.”

“With this little necklace?”

“Yes.”

“Well if it breaks before you get off, I hope you don’t get all upset. This thing feels pretty flimsy.”

“I am not concerned.”

“It’s your party. Let’s just get this done so you can fulfill your promise and I can get out of here.”

“Excellent. But so the anal sex is pleasurable, I will set the subjugation suit to Routine 3A.”

“Oh no, not again. Not the suit, please don’t! I’m so, so tired!”

“You will want this, I assure you, Flare. You’re sphincter has to be most relaxed so the pleasure abounds, yes? It is for but one last time.” He punches in the three digit code as the young black heroine whimpers in exhausted frustration, at least until the suit begins to cycle. Then she feels the stim pads on the tops of her toes buzzing slightly, easing her into a nice relaxation. The pads along her spine run up and down it’s length, adding to her calmness and easing her tension. Her shoulders are lightly buzzed next, cycling in circles that have Flare sinking into the table’s leather pad with a light, feathery feeling. Slowly the spinal stims lower down are activated, one by one, lower and lower until the pad on her sternum is charging her lower spine with waves of warm, glowing delight. The entire suit is devoted to her dazed and limp acquiescence and, like every other routine the suit has run throughout the night, it is successful.

And then the excitement subroutine of Routine 3A is engaged and Flare feels her nipples tickled lightly at first, and then her clit. Surprisingly, next comes a warm buzzing at the crown of her head. Buried in her hair, the lone stimulation pad placed there works off of high-frequency waves. The rush of pleasure from the four zones, her snatch, her ass, her tits and her head combine to give her a shuddering quiver of whole body sensual delight. That is when Pascal’s hands undoes the plastic zipper covering the butt access flap and pulls it down with slow, gentle care, maintaining the calmness, relaxation and mild body-wide stimulation that the suit has created. His warm hands slowly and steadily reach between her naked ass cheeks and gently pull them apart. She sighs gently, a willing participant with the suit handling the driving.

She feels two things simultaneously. Pascal’s warm breath caressing her neck and the tip of his penis pushing between her cheeks. No, it’s not his penis, it’s a finger, warm and slick with some kind of gel. He spreads it over her anus, slowly in gentle circles, even as his breath wafts up and down her sensitized neck. She cringes with sensual pleasure and giggles like a schoolgirl when he does this. Her hands shake out within the manacles, relaxed and limp. She shakes her ankles next, her body compliant and waiting.

The penis is next. This is definitely his penis. The warmth of its tip, the wide roundness as it fits perfectly between her cheeks feels welcome to her. She sighs with mild surprise. He is definitely better at this than that guy Buster who, now that she thinks of it, was way too aptly named. She chuckles at the thought even as the Frenchman’s hard dick presses its way patiently but insistently into her well-greased, relaxed and totally undefended butt.

“Mmmmmmhhhh.” Flare moans in delight as the pain-free and gullible rape of her ass proceeds smoothly and efficiently. Pascal’s first phase of his final experiment with the young, naive and thoroughly disoriented heroine is continuing exactly as he planned. Her guard is down completely thanks to the combination of neural inhibitors, the aphrodisiac, the barbiturates and the remarkable subjugation suit. The trusting subject is completely under his command. Even more than the Scarlet Avenger was. It was all coming together very nicely.

He pushes his dick deeply into her now, pulling apart her soft round ass cheeks and then slowly beginning to withdraw half the length of his cock before pushing it back in, deeply with a forceful thrust now.

“Uugghnnn!”

“That did not hurt, did it,” he asks with false concern.

“Not in the least. Whenz da breathplay?” Flare’s voice is thick with sleepy pleasure.

“Very soon,” he answers, luxuriating in the feel of her warm tight brown ass enveloping his cock over its full length. From her side, she too is aroused and pleased by the length of his hard, muscular prick buried to its hilt within her sensitized and easily yielding ass. The famous heroine is completely deluded by his suave manner, good looks, worldly technique and perfect guile. And her body and brain now conspire against her reduced intelligence to completely mislead her into her coming disaster.

He withdraws and thrusts again, firmer now, more insistent. His hands leave her ass and travel up the full length of the slick rubber cat suit, passing over her hips, her broad lower back and her sides. Then, sliding beneath her, they enclose upon and fondle her wide cocoa breasts. He squeezes them gently, even as he thrusts against her rear end with slow steady rocking of his hips. Back and forth the cock owns her rear end with its constant driving penetrations to her inner depths.

“Aaaaahhhhhhh.....sooo nice....” Flare murmurs, feeling the sensations passing through her entire figure with gently insistent delight. So when he touches the remote and engages the chain choker, she is actually surprised. With each end sliding in opposite directions, the chain draws slowly and steadily around her throat, pulling her head down below the level of the table.

“Augh...that is a little tight,” she says.

“Yes, it’s meant to be. That is why it’s called breath play.”

She nods but it strains her throat to do that. That was dumb.
The ends of the chain slide farther apart, closing the loop tighter around her throat and cutting off most of Flare’s airway.

“Hey! Oww. Stop it! That is really hurting me!” Her voice is tight and raspy.

“Shhhh. Feel the sensations surrounding your body and enveloping it, my dear. That is the purpose of breath play,” coos Pascal in her ear as his hands squeeze her tits and his hips bump against her rear as he plows her anal furrow with steady, rapid little jolts. Her heat is amazing. And he can feel her fear growing now.

“How much...m....AUWGK!” Her eyes bulge wide now. The chain has left no air at all for her and the tiny smooth links sink deeply into the crevice they form in her skin. She can feel everything at once within and around her body. She feels the cool air passing over her naked ass cheeks as well as the numbing cold of the chilling tubes as their unremitting presence continues to neutralize her powerful body heat. The hard fondling hands at her breasts make her shimmy with surprising pleasure and this is heightened by his fingers pinching her nipples. The sensation of her ass being filled and emptied over and over, the constant friction a rising tide of delight that makes her lightheaded in conjunction with the lack of oxygen.

“NNNNGGGHHHHH!” Strangling and tingling at the same instant, Flare sees how breathplay can be an addictive game. As soon as the chain releases, she’s pretty sure she’s going to come. Her breath is raspy now as she gulps for air that can’t find its way through her now grossly constricted throat.

“NUFFF! NUFFF!” She begs, ready for her orgasm, her body alive with sparking lights behind her eyes, her soul ready to pour forth like a dam breaking when the chain finally relents.

“Just a few moments more, Flame, and you’ll be in heaven,” purrs Pascal in her ear. “I know I am already.”

“Cn’t brith. Cn’t brith!”

Why isn’t this chain releasing or at least breaking?

It was impossibly tight now and her body suddenly realizes the trick at last before her brain. It begins to buck and thrash with instinctive reflex now. The muscles bunching and releasing in helpless spasms. The arms yanking against the manacles in wild frenzied snaps of the ringing, unyielding links. The legs kicking and flailing in panicked desperation.

“Chaaaynnneee....nt....brkng!”

“Of course not, cherie. It’s forged molybdenum steel. Very light, very durable and very fire resistant. Up to 5000 degrees fahrenheit, you know. Even if you had your power to flame on, they’d resist melting long enough to ensure you were well choked to death before you could escape!”

“Nhhh! Nhhhhh!!”

“Oh but yes, mon ami. You’re just one more superheroine who is going to pay with her life for the forfeited life of my dear sister. I hate all you types. So smug. So superior. But where’s that superiority now, hero? Now that you’ve willingly allowed yourself to be ass-fucked while being choked out, huh? What’s your snappy comeback, bitch?”

“Plz....Plz...” Flare is devastated. She bucks and writhes in horror as her eyes widen beyond their natural borders from the chain twisting off all her air. This man had completely outmaneuvered her, destroyed her. And now was going to end her life, her career. Everything. And she had let him walk her down the path to her own destruction with blind stupidity! She begins to go limp as all her fight is extinguished. She hears him droning on in her ear even as he continues to pump his dick deep between her ass cheeks.

“So, what is your classic heroic tactic to this, Flare? What act can you perform that will save the day for you? Well, there is none, my foolish girl. That’s the point, you pathetic stooge! My sister had no dramatic rescue and neither do you! It’s been ground out of you by my planning, my intelligence, my research, my very hands. And now the very last thing you will feel is my cock cumming inside you, hero! How heroic do you feel now, Flare?”

“Ggggglllggkkkk!” Her head is completely pulled down to below the table now as the chain steals the last of her precious life breath from her. She feels Pascal hold her tits and lift her body slightly off the table and then, with a final double pump, he freezes in place and shoots a hot stream of semen into her quivering rear as her final seconds wind down.

This final humiliation is too much for the heroine to bear. She screams with her final last gasp with ferocious unlimited abandon at the horror and waste of this cruel death. She brings all her soul to her effort as she digs inside, past the chill, past the fear, past the shame until she finds her old self, the inner hero she knew she always was. Despite all he’d said and done to her.

And she blazes like the sun!

Her body bursts out with a stunted nova of light and heat. Horrified, Pascal feels her body melting the plastic, forging it to her body, making it a new layer of clear, plastic skin. His hands are searing, burnt and blistered before his eyes, before he can remove them from beneath her tits. Her hair smolders and alights in weak glow of fire around her head and her ass is growing very, very hot. Pascal pulls out of her screaming in pain and falls off the table onto the floor, shocked and frightened.. He watches as her body’s flame engulfs her for a brief 10 seconds and then the fire dies out and just the body lies there now. Her eyes stare ahead, blank and dead at last from the drive chain. Her neck is noosed tight by the links, her body a limp dead form on the table now. The links are not even seared or melted, true to their forged nature. And Flare, true to hers, had died a hero.

He had won but it didn’t feel that way to Pascal. His hands might heal but he wasn’t confident they would ever have the dexterity he treasured from them. Another thing taken from him by a super heroine. He ground his teeth as he headed for the medicine cabinet to tend to his hands. They would pay. They all would. Every last one of them, he silently vowed. For Marie and now for me!

* * *

NOTEBOOK ENTRY #276 - F

DICTATED SUMMARY: Subject connected the dots between SA and me and came calling as expected. First handshake regimen good. Second touch regimen even better with extended contact of 10 full seconds to deliver chemical neural inhibitor. Diminished reaction time was less than one minute due to extended contact. Mental acuity remarkably destabilized in same period. After a strong self-protective response by subject, her fear overcame distrust with simple verbal directives from experimenter. Subsequent syringe application of sleep agent and aphrodisiac readily applied. Despite this, the subject’s remarkable specialized abilities engaged in reflex defense mechanism, though in coarsely ineffective manner, before unconsciousness took hold. Neural agents and sedatives reduced “flare up” to mere seconds. Subject was moved to facilitation table after being fitted with pleasure suit with liquid nitrogen cooling tubes included to prevent “flareups.” 4.75 hours of applied physical stimulation with two customary vaginal incursions by experimenter. Subject’s stamina levels reduced to 0.095 of normal per manacle resistance readings.

Asphyxiation scenario with newly tested motorized chain drive successful, complete with anal penetration. Despite severely low physical stamina levels, subject’s specialized abilities were manifested in a prime burst flareup at time of death of approximately 8 seconds with temperatures ranging from 180 to 520 degrees F, climbing logarithmically in process according to ambient readings from lab thermo recorders. Said heat burst forged chemical bonds between subject’s skin and pleasure suit forming cohesive new layer that could not be extracted. Deceased subject redressed in own uniform over rubberized skin layer, cleaned with DNA eradication regimen then left at drop point at Jefferson Memorial.

NOTES:
Neural Agents: Same effectiveness in capture protocol as previous experiments. Levels of active ingredients on both inhibitors increased to 0.55 mgs for this subject. Extended application of wet chemical adherence patch for chemical inhibitor achieved with assertive behavior by experimenter that unwary subject was either unwilling or incapable of breaking off due to social mores and/or highly efficient mental degradation of neural pathways. Said lengthy application accelerated mental and physical degradation to highly satisfactory levels in record time.

Sleep/Aphrodisiac Solution: Subject’s acceptance of “antidote” was minimally problematical. Test subject was able to exhibit specialized abilities of limited scale. Once again in this experiment, however, assertive verbal directives convinced subject to permit injection of hypo solution. Dizziness and lethargy established in 5 seconds. However, despite raised dosages and quick degradation of mental and physical reactions, subject was capable of producing a flareup significant enough to melt plastic (belt buckle), ignite fabric (polyester/cotton blend) and smolder carpet (wool). Complete unconsciousness achieved in 9 seconds. (Although it felt longer.) Increased dosage of barbiturates might be suggested to affect faster loss of all motor skills, mental acuity and reduce likelihood of subjects exhibiting specialized abilities within the capture protocol time line. However, this would adversely affect the sensual enhancement properties of the aphrodisiac. Moreover, increasing aphrodisiac levels for subjects of given height and weight could increase aggressive behavior that would be contrary to ultimate purposes of experiment. Need to redress this balance issue with laboratory test animals to establish perfect proportions of solution. Physical arousal rates within suit were 199% of baseline readings. Lower readings than other human subject due, no doubt, to inclusion of liquid nitrogen cooling system. All other high arousal indicators present and validated with aphrodisiac level of 0.88 mgs.

Conclusions: Experiment proved successful but with significant complications that could be limited to this test subject exclusively. The flareup at time of death was a dangerous and potentially life-threatening situation to be avoided in future experiments. Without conclusive tests, which are impossible due to the destruction of the costly pleasure suit, it’s deemed possible that a 10% decrease in the cooling system efficiency seems to have allowed the flareup. Video record of experiment shows a reading of 88% rather than the customary 98%. Why this occurred is unknown. No other subjects in future experiments will have need for such sophisticated heat dampening equipment but next primary subject does have certain visual abilities which are heat related. Still conducting separate sub-experiments to quantify the protocols to deal with this next subject’s unique and considerable abilities. Nonetheless, extreme adherence to all safety issues is critical. Two badly burnt hands and the fact that this summary had to be dictated into voice recognition software are all the proof needed to establish how critical safety is in the matter of dealing with subjects of such remarkable physical attributes.

Nevertheless, I achieved successful conclusion to this experiment, including an orgasm at nearly the precise moment of death. Additionally, the motorized chain drive proved most effective and should do well to produce equal or better results with next test subject. I press on eagerly in my dedication to avenging you Marie and have laid additional groundwork to ensure the ultimate subject of the ultimate experiment will be led down the rat’s maze to the finish line I have devised.

* * *

Once again on a dewy early morning in the nation’s capital, Wonder Woman stands at one of its most famous national landmarks and stares forlornly at the dead body of a superheroine. Left in a compromising and blasphemous position, the figure of Flare has been set against the base of the statue of Thomas Jefferson within the majestic beauty of his memorial on the Tidal Basin.

The dead heroine’s ass is high in the air, her elbows are tied to her knees, her toes touch the base of the statue, her face is pressed flat against the cool marble floor and she’s been situated so it looks like she’s bowing away from the great man, ready to accept his sexual favors.
And once again, the costumed rear end of the pitiful figure is drenched with dripping Elimanol. She could smell its now familiar signature scent from here. The entire scene is surrounded with yellow police tape.

Turning away in with a combination of disgust and fathomless sorrow, Wonder Woman looks out across the broad marble stairway leading up to the memorial and her eyes fill with tears.

“Dammit! You bastard. You cold-hearted sadistic bastard. I will not rest until you are caged and put down like the rabid animal you are!” Her fists are balled, her brows knitted together in fierce anger and it takes an act of Amazonian will to make herself unclench and relax so she could do her job, focus on everything like a laser and catch this monster.

Turning around she looks at the assembled group under the dome of the Jefferson Memorial. Off to one side, a group of technicians search for clues, photograph the scene, check the body’s lividity and conduct themselves busily with gathering all the information they can. Fifteen feet away from the body, other more familiar faces gather, swap theories, point out similarities and share the sad moment that all police must face in their jobs: acknowledging the waste and loss of another human life. This one was remarkably special and thus all the more poignant.

After a moment, Murray Banks, DC’s executive ME separates from the group of technicians and walks over to Wonder Woman, his wide reddish face dour, his bald head shining with reflections of the roof lights as he greets her with a sad nod.

“I’m sorry Wonder Woman. I know this is hard on you...having another heroine discovered like this,” he swept his hand back toward the blasphemous tableau.

“It is hard on all of us, Dr. Banks,” She replies sternly. “When the people who sacrifice so much to help protect others are slaughtered and laid out at our treasured shrines with such monstrous presentations of indecency, it diminishes us all, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes. Of course it does.” Banks takes a step back and turns to go with a soft promise. “I’ll get her back to the lab and start my autopsy right away to help catch this animal.”

“Please, Dr. Banks. Don’t rush away. I am sorry,” Wonder Woman says in almost a whisper. The ME turns back toward her, eyes appraising, waiting. “I apologize profusely. I do, “ she then continues in her normal speaking voice. “It is not you I am angry at. Do not think that for a second. You have helped me considerably in this case and through the years. I never say so but I’m saying it now. Your help has been invaluable to me and this city.” Diana’s eyes are moist as she glances at the body of the dead Flare so abhorrently displayed.

The ME is flat out shocked since the heroine before him had never indicated nearly this level of appreciation to him. She’d always been so businesslike and, well, officious. This case was affecting her deeply, he could see. Shuffling back, he looks up at her and nods.

“Thank you, Wonder Woman, that means a lot coming from you.”

Sighing heavily she actually puts her hand on his shoulder and smiles weakly at him, “I mean it, Murray. Now tell me everything you think is important here. Any differences, any similarities, anything unusual that can point me somewhere.”

They talk for a good fifteen minutes, discussing salient facts, impressions, theories and possible avenues to pursue. As they’re concluding their discussion, Banks promises swift action on the autopsy and all results from the lab work.

“I will put these tests at the highest priority Wonder Woman and get them to you the moment they’re concluded,” Banks says.

“And to the police, too, I assume, Dr. Banks,” says Sal Abato who’s just joined them. His tone is heavily sarcastic.

“Of course, Detective,” answers Banks curtly as Abato’s partner Jimmy Glendennan comes up to the trio and surreptitiously glances sideways at the amazing body of the Amazon princess standing four feet away from him.

“I mean, it’s our job too, you know, Doc,” Abato adds.

Wonder Woman’s fists come to rest on her hips as she turns her imposing six-foot frame toward the shorter policeman. “And just how is your investigation progressing, Detective Abato?”

Standing his ground, he slowly raises his gaze from Wonder Woman’s chest to her face and smiles cooly at her. “Swimmingly, toots.”

The look in the tall heroine’s eyes in not unlike that in Supergirl’s when she’s melting iron to slag metal. But it is not Wonder Woman who offers a reply to Abato but rather the short ME.

“Is that a fact, Detective? Because when my office requested a follow-up confirmation on the list of suppliers of the components of the sexual arousal cocktail administered to the first victim, we got no response from your office whatsoever. Nada! Zip! If my supposition is correct, we’re going to find those same chemical components in the body of that victim right over there, Detective Abato! I would hate to think that the DCPD, namely in the person of YOU, were responsible for holding back the proper and timely investigation of the nationally prominent case that this is becoming. That wouldn’t be happening here, would it, Detective Abato?”

Sal is stunned. His mouth gaping wide, his hands limp at this side. The ME had never hinted at this level of dominating official power. Never! Fumbling for words, Sal grumbles softly, pulls out his notebook and says to Banks, “It must of fallen through the cracks, Murray. I’m on it. Right now.”

“That’s Dr. Banks, Detective Abato. Just so you know where to send that confirmation report!”

Turning away and grabbing Jimmy by the arm, Abato quickly stalks off with a gruff “Come on, let’s go,” as he drags the hapless, stunned Irish detective along with him in a near trot.

Diana cannot suppress the smirking smile a second longer. Or the healthy husky chortle that accompanies it. “Oh, Murray, you have made my week!”

“And you mine, Wonder Woman.”

“From now on, Murray, please call me Diana.”

“Done, Diana. Now I really must get this sad soul home to my lab and get you those answers.”

“Thank you for everything, Murray.”

“Don’t sweat it, toots.”

Shaking her finger at him with a pointed frown, she says, “Don’t push me, Banks.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, Diana.”

The two of them share a brief smile in the shadow of the statue of the highly-honored third President of the United States. Wonder Woman reads the words carved into the marble on the walls of this sanctuary devoted to the man who wrote that we’re all entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

She thought to herself after reading that famous phrase: This was definitely a high point in the World of Men.

Then, silently, she rededicated herself to tracking down the vile man who had denied two of this country’s heroines their single most fundamental right mentioned in the Declaration of Independence: life.

End of Part 4

[tallyho]

A much easier read broken up like that, and as a fan of cliffhangers I think it works well on the 'what''ll happen next?' Front too.
Look forward to the rest!

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 5

By Dr. Dominator

I hope you enjoy this next installment of this Wonder Woman story. I look forward to your comments at [email protected] or below.

To date however, I have gotten almost no reaction to this posting. Are you guys not enjoying this series? Let me know what you think, okay?

Wonder Woman is following a tall dark figure through the rainy DC streets, keeping to the shadowed doorways, ducking behind newsstands and turning to look through store windows to keep from being spotted. It’s not easy tailing someone when you’re dressed in bright reds and blues and you’re one of the most recognizable people on the planet. But the Amazon is able to do this despite such handicaps. She has been well trained by the IADC and she’s putting it to good use. When she sees the cloaked figure step into an alleyway she follows him quickly. She lets herself smile because she knows he has probably come to the end of his route and she will finally discover her quarry’s identity and possibly his hideout at last.

Pressed against the wall at the end of the alley, she sticks her head around the corner and looks down its length. It’s heavily shadowed and hard to see its end in the falling downpour but she sees no one; just litter, dumpsters and doorways. She spins into the alley and runs down its length, testing the knob on each doorway with a quick twist to determine which door he might have fled through. On the fourth door, she grabs it, feels it turn and then is jolted with a dazzling sizzling arc of painful lightning that jerks her chest forward and her rear end in opposite directions. Helplessly, she feels her entire body jerk back and forth four or five times, unable to release the knob. She smells burning flesh and then the arcing flashing light stops and there is a smell of ozone in the air and a small grey cloud surrounding her body. Wonder Woman feels faint, her eyes roll up into her head and she falls against the door, limp and barely conscious. The door swings open into a blackness that captures the heroine’s body and mind as she falls through the portal into oblivion.

Next thing she’s cognizant of is being shackled to a table. A spotlight overhead blinds her to her surroundings. Beyond its cone of light, everything is black. She sees that she is naked and her hands are wrapped in silk cords. She pulls at them but without her belt, she doesn’t have the strength to break them. Just then she realizes there is also a silk cord around her neck. Someone is under the table, pulling on the cord. It grows incredibly tight around her throat and Wonder Woman begins to gasp and struggle, trying to break the cords and fight her way to freedom.

“HEEEEEZZZZZ! HEEEEEZZZZZ!” Raw, screaming pain fills her throat as the cord cuts into her neck with brutal tightness. It’s impossible to breathe now and Wonder Woman is panicked, her legs and arms flailing in all directions. The cords hold firm and the mighty Princess of the Amazons can’t break away this time. This time she’s come to a bad end. The voice under the table laughs maniacally. Diana gasps and wheezes and cries out “NO!”

The raven-haired beauty bolts upright in bed, screaming “NO” into the quiet dawn light of her apartment. Her entire body shudders and quakes as her brain transitions between the nightmare and reality. Diana feels her heart thumping in her chest with a beat that feels like twice her normal resting pace. She wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and reaches to her bedside table to take a long gulp of water from the cool bottle resting there. Finally she speaks again to the empty air.

“Hera! What a dream!”

Her bladder is suddenly tight and insistent for relief and a naked Diana swings her legs off the bed and dashes to the bathroom, plopping down on the toilet just in time. Her knees flop wide apart as she sags backward, her back pressed against the cool back of the toilet seat. She interlaces her fingers on top of her head and groans loudly as her heavy stream noisily churns the water in the bowl.

“Ohhhhh. This case is really doing a number on my head.” She then bends forward, resting her elbows on her knees and lets her bladder empty out completely, the fear and anxiety draining out with her urine as she collects herself at last. She wipes up and paces back into the bedroom, looking at the clock. 5:00 a.m. She had an hour until the alarm was going to go off but she’s far too keyed up to sleep. She moodily shuts off the alarm and starts her day early.

* * *

That afternoon, the day after the body of Flare had been discovered, the report from the ME’s office came into Steve Trevor’s email with a copy sent to Diana Prince as per regular procedure and Wonder Woman’s standing request. When Steve knocks on Diana’s office door with the printed out report in his hand, Diana has already gone through it carefully herself. She is now making small red check marks on her printed copy as Steve approaches her desk. She is noting points to check up on.

“It’s the same M.O. used as the first victim with small exceptions,” Steve says without preamble. He sees the ME’s letterhead on the document on Diana’s desk and knows she is already at work breaking down the possible leads from the report. The two of them have built up such a rapport over the last few years that each knows what the other is thinking half the time. Except for the fact that Diana sometimes pictured Steve without his pants and a throbbing muscle in his shorts. But that was for her own leisure time. She tried to ban those thoughts during working hours. Not always successfully. His slightly over six-foot frame, broad shoulders, kind face, and great looking thick black hair made it tough on a gal. Especially a superheroine disguised in dowdy clothes and a bun who had to act a little bit timid.

“Yes,” Diana replies, completely focused on the details before her on the page. She taps the middle of the sheet with her pen. “A different choking method: a thin chain with very small links instead of the silk cord. Wonder why he switched?” Diana nibbles on the end of the pen, thinking.

“Maybe the silk cord was too slippery during the first attack for the man,” Steve suggests. “It IS a smooth material and in a struggle things could get dicey if the woman’s strong that he’s fighting against. Maybe he had difficulty and switched his method just to be sure.

“That’s possible,” nods Diana. “But there were no indications of any slippage or blurred ligature marks on Scarlet’s....on....on the victim’s throat.” Diana’s voice catches momentarily and then she goes on. “I’m not sure metal is any less slippery than silk in sweaty hands. Hard to say for sure. In any case, the chain must have been very durable with those size links. Any normal chain of gold or silver or even stainless steel with those link measurements would have broken under stress according to Marty.”

“Marty? Oh, Banks. Uh, yes, I did see that but didn’t give it much attention. What do you think it means, Diana?”

“We just can’t say at this juncture why he changed from silk to metal but it could be that Flare was stronger than Scarlet. I wonder if he went to metal because of her ability to generate such intense heat. Hmmm. It’s a thin lead but we could check to see who manufactures chains of high-durability alloys that are heat resistant. And see if anyone’s bought anything like that.”

“Huh, thin doesn’t even begin to cover it, Di. We don’t know the alloy, don’t know when it was purchased, and the length was probably so insubstantial it might not even have been recorded as a sale of any note.”

“Well then, what do you have to offer in the way of leads from this report, genius,” Diana barks testily, mostly because she knows Steve is right and she is frustrated.

Steve just gives her a raised eyebrow and a twist of his mouth that he sometimes does when he looks concerned for her. She lowers her head, embarrassed at her behavior and not a little chagrined at having chastised her boss. It is a rare occasion, though, and Steve treats it as such, lightly moving on to his idea.

“I’m thinking that the chip fused to that rubber suit at the neck is another lead worth following. It’s a beta version of one that was eventually put into thousands of laptops...”

“And that isn’t just as thin?” Diana humphs at the suggestion.

“If you’ll let me finish...” Steve gives her an even rarer cold look, his eyes matching Diana’s steely glint for steely glint. She looks at him a moment longer, liking the strength of his face when he is angry. She relents and gives him a smirking grin.

“Sorry. Go on.”

“I was going to say that the Beta testers are most likely all recorded for research purposes and follow-up interviews for the product marketing departments so we contact the chip manufacturer and see where that leads.”

Diana’s face lights up like the edge of the sun after a passing eclipse. “Whoa! That’s right. I didn’t...I mean I.... You’re brilliant, Steve!” She pops up from behind her desk and kisses his cheek with glee, then giggles out a cute snort and quickly sits down again, once more embarrassed at her emotional outburst.

Steve’s face gets serious and he peers at her as if studying her face, then speaks quietly. “You know, Diana. I’m not sure why this case has sunk its hooks into you so deeply but if it’s too much, if you want out, I can reassign it to another agent.”

It is Diana’s turn to get serious now. She shakes her head and speaks just as softly as he had. “No, please don’t go that route, Steve. I know I’ve been off my game on this case...”

“But that’s just it, Di. You’re NEVER off your game. I mean, it just doesn’t happen. What is it? I know you’re good friends with Wonder Woman. Are you worried on her behalf? Is that what’s got you so on edge?”

Diana laughs loudly and shakes her head. “Oh no, that’s not it. I’m sure Wonder Woman can handle herself. She’s no rookie like the two unfortunate heroines who this monster has killed. No, it’s more the fact of the heroine’s sad deaths have possibly affected countless lives that they might have saved over the course of their careers. I guess that’s what has me so upset. The shocking waste of lives, not just of the two girls but those of the people who won’t be rescued, won’t be saved, won’t grow older. The girls, the people they protect, all of them. It just gets to me, I guess.”

“Well, I hadn’t looked at it quite that way, Diana. You’re a very decent person with a good heart and a brilliant mind.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there about to rear its head...” she smiles up at her tall boss.

“You’re right. I’m simply saying this: But if you aren’t able to compartmentalize those feelings while you work this case, you’re going to either miss something or slip up and put you or one of your fellow agents at unnecessary risk. That’s something I cannot have. So do we have an understanding, Agent Prince?”

Seeing all trace of mirth dissolved in Steve’s face, Diana nods quickly and verbalizes a very emphatic “Yes sir!” There is no levity or sarcasm in her tone whatsoever.

Steve smiles, his point made. Then he looks a bit chagrined himself. “Good. Okay, I, uh, had one more thought about possible leads. The suit that Flare was wearing under her uniform, that rubber cat suit...”

“Cat suit?” Diana looks puzzled.

Steve presses on, knowing such things are probably completely unknown territory to a dowdy workaholic with no social life to speak of like Diana. “Yes, that full body garment found on both victims is called a cat suit.”

“Oh yes, I noticed that phrase in the report. What is it supposed to do? It can’t be for electrical conductivity being rubber. Perhaps it provides some kind of dampening of their abilities or senses.” Diana nods down at the information as she glances at the report, then looks up at Steve while waiting for him to expound on the subject. It takes everything she has not to smile. She knows damn well what a cat suit is. She simply wants to have a little fun at Steve’s obviously uncomfortable expense.

“Well, no, not really, not for dampening per se...” Steve says, tugging on his collar a bit. “It’s more for well, there’s no other way to put this so I’ll just say it. It’s for sexual enticement, Diana. A woman clad in such a tight item of...such unique apparel as....it’s...it’s part of the sexual game this man was playing. Possibly as a humiliation aspect. Certainly as a sexual turn on. And...”

“Cat suits turn men on?” Diana looks up, wide-eyed at Steve.

“Well, some men, yes. I’d imagine. Sure.” Another collar tug.

“Some men in this room?” Diana gives in to a little smirk at this.

“Well, that’s really neither here nor there,” Steve coughs softly. “And not really to the point, Diana. I was just thinking that, uh, with that suit fused onto Flare’s body, our perp might have to go out and purchase another one. The suit he used might be locally bought and could be so again. According to the ME’s report here,” Steve’s tone is very official sounding now, very proper in all aspects. “it was an expensively-made version, high-grade material of distinct thinness for...ah, ‘maximizing the sensual experience’ as he puts it.”

“Hmmm. I see,” Diana, nods. “You’re right. We should pass that on to the police for..”

“Actually, Diana,” Steve interrupts, “I was thinking you would be more effective as a possible purchaser. It’s such a high-end item that I’d imagine only two or three adult stores in the area would carry them.”

“Me? You want me to go into an adult store and ask about some sort of sex suit?”

“As a potential buyer, undercover, no IADC badge flashing. They’ll clam up more than likely. See what you can learn as, you know, a regular woman looking to buy one. A rich regular woman perhaps. What do you think?”

“I think you’re enjoying the idea of this way to much, Mr. Trevor. I’ll consider it.”

Diana is startled at Steve’s suggestion. It made sense but damn it could be very awkward to be asking such questions in the type of establishment that sold such apparel. The mirth she’d been having at Steve’s expense and been hit back hard into her court and she has no answer for it as it skims past her for the point, set and match!

“And that’s all I have to say on that topic. Will that be all?” Diana’s mood turns sour at this new assignment.

“Not quite,” Steve replies, hiding a smirk of his own. “The police are still following up that cocktail the girls had been given. They’re focusing on who are the normal suppliers of the barbiturates and the aphrodisiac chemicals involved. But the ME also appended a note to the toxicology report for the second victim. Besides the cocktail, he determined there are trace signatures of some sort of powerful chemical that affects the brain’s neural pathways. He missed it on the first tox report for Scarlet Avenger but when he found it in Flare’s body, he went back and discovered it in SA’s system as well. It’s possible it was part of that witches brew he gave the girls to keep them docile during his time with them, but it’s a highly specific chemical and very rare. That clue may be our single best hope of all.”

“I didn’t get that addendum at all, Steve.” Diana frowns.

“Have you checked your email box because it just came through before I came in here. He’d just verified it about an hour ago.”

“It is here!” Diana blurts, opening up the document and pouring over its contents. “I guess I’m going back to the chemical companies for follow ups.”

“That’s not in the budget, I’m afraid,” Steve shakes his head. “It’s only available in Europe at this time. We’ll have our Interpol contacts check out the companies. According to Banks, there are only two or three of them in the world who make this chemical.”

“Well that should help narrow things down. Once we get their clients list from the three suppliers, we can cross check against the Elimanol clients and see if we get a match.”

“That’s the Agent Prince I’ve come to know and respect,” Steve smiles, heading for the door. “I’ll have Interpol get on those suppliers immediately and give you a heads up the moment they have their lists.”

“Thank you, Steve. For your faith in me and your trust. I won’t let you down.”

“Diana,” he says, leaning on her door frame, but earnestly looking directly at her. “You never have. Oh, and good luck with those cat suit leads as well. You know, while you’re waiting for the Interpol results.” He smiles broadly as her face turns a bright scarlet and she twists her head away and down, mortified to the core as she hears his lusty laugh as he walks down the hall to his office.

“I’m not going in those stores as Diana Prince,” the dark-haired agent vows softly to herself. “Wonder Woman is going to do those interviews. She’ll command the respect from those adult store lackeys. Or they’ll pay the price if they don’t!”

* * *

End of Part 5

[tallyho]

Fiendishly awesome!

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 6

I hope you enjoy this next installment of this Wonder Woman story. I look forward to your comments at [email protected] or right here in the forum.



The teenaged blonde heroine clad in her tight, mesmerizing bright gold, orange and blue costume hovers in the air over her tall blond-haired opponent, giving him a patronizing smile. At 6' 6", the villain who calls himself Battle Axe usually looks down at his victims with triumph and satisfaction. Not today! Today he looks up at the lithe beauty named Destiny in her orange pleated skirt, her thigh-high boots and the stylized D within an orange star burst on her ample left breast and scowls in anger.

He has come to the grim conclusion that none of his weapons he’d unleashed on her have given her the slightest discomfort or worry or even pause whatsoever: Not his tungsten axe or chains whipped at her body; not the 10,000 volt taser that failed to penetrate her skin to deliver the nasty shock; not the highly caustic spray mace leveled at her eyes; and not his 30-caliber wrist guns or wrist flame thrower fired at point blank range. They too had done nothing. They hadn’t even damaged her clothing. Not at all. No bullet holes, no scorch marks, no luck! All his weapons had either bounced off her or had been shrugged off with a flick of her wrist or a nod of her head or a blast of air from her puffed out cheeks. She didn’t look winded. She didn’t even look very upset. Not a hair on her pretty young head was out of place. He’d never faced anyone like her. And didn’t ever want to again.

“So, have you finally used up all your sad little toys, Mr. Grumpy Pants?”

Battle Axe on the other hand looked like two miles of bad road. He was scraped all over his bare arms, his hands and his face. His kevlar body suit was scraped but essentially not compromised at all except for one of the seams on his thigh which had split open at one point in the fight where his body had been used as a scrub brush on the concrete security barrier in front of the Libyan embassy. She had dragged him there and bent him backward over it before telling him she was doing this for his own good. He had to learn a lesson about playing well with others she’d said.

His forehead was gleaming with sweat that dripped into his eyes and he ached all over from being tossed around like some stunt dummy. Yes, he’d had more than enough. If the Doc wasn’t satisfied with what he got on tape of him fighting this little bitch, than he could find another guy for the job. Battle Axe was done for the day. Now he just had to ditch the bitch and hightail it out of this beat down zone before she captured him and held him for good.

“I may have one or two more ‘toys’ that will prove interesting to you, Destiny,” he yelled up at her.

“That would be a switch. Because up til now, it’s all been pretty dull, I have to tell you, Axe. Say, are you backed by that deodorant company? Because they should get their money back. You’re not giving them a whole lot of value as a villainous spokesman.”

“Maybe I’ve got something that will change your mind, you long-winded cow!”

“Cow, is it? You think my girls are too big?” Destiny looks down at her exposed cleavage. Her deep V-neck collar with its blue lapels shows off her ample assets to full effect. In fact, her whole beautiful body tests the stretchable impenetrable material of her costume with eye-riveting wonder. Nevertheless, the insult to her figure has Destiny letting out a growl that sounds like distant thunder.

“Hear that girls? He thinks you’re udders. What do you say we head down there and show him some manners before I haul him off to jail for assault with intent to kill as well as a seriously flawed fashion sense. Kevlar, Axe? Really? That is sooo 2010. Didn’t you get the memo? It’s carbonized cotton these days. Its light, flexible, repels just about every weapon known and it breathes and is comfortable as all get out.”

“Don’t you ever shut up, bitch? Are you trying to bore me into surrendering?”

“Now that’s just rude!” Destiny declares and starts to head down to the tall blond villain with the intent to knock him out with a flick of her finger and hand him over to the police. That’s when his hand reaches to a row of buttons on his left side and he presses a green one. Immediately a tiny circle over Axe’s heart sends out a bright blinding ray of intense green light that pierces through the air and strikes Destiny right in the face.

Instinctively she turns her head but it is too late. Even Destiny is not faster than the speed of light. The beam cores into her optic nerve and stuns it badly.

“Whoa! That’s almost hurts it’s so bright. Jimminy, what is that thing?”

Destiny’s vision blurs badly, obscuring her vision to a cloudy gray through which she can only make out dark shapes. It takes all of eight seconds before it clears up again. That’s more than enough time for Pascal in the street below to reach his hand out unseen from behind his copper shielded cloak and press the button on the hand-held remote before retracting it back behind the special metal-lined cloth he’d brought along.

“Wow, I thought you were trying to use a kryptonite ray on me for a moment. I may have a lot of the same powers as Supergirl but that green stuff doesn’t work on me, buddy. Anyway, your dumb flashy thing barely even....”

BOOM! WREEEEEEEEKK! The sudden explosion and scream of twisting metal from overhead turns the surprised heroine’s head around. She looks up to see a giant billboard twenty stories up shudder and begin to fall from its lofty perch on the building above. It tilts over completely and heads down toward a neighborhood bar with patrons inside and some on the sidewalk outside who’d been watching Destiny totally handing Battle Axe the beatdown of his life.

“Golly, a distraction. What sly misdirection. What a dramatic tactical maneuver. What a waste.” Destiny turns in mid-air, kicks her legs and sprints through the sky toward the falling sign: over a ton and a half of gravity-enhanced death. It’s an easy catch and replace for her. She returns it to its proper place atop the building and quickly proceeds to spot weld it in place with her heat vision.

Back on the ground, the light flash and the preset explosives have done their jobs. Destiny is too preoccupied and too far away to prevent Battle Axe from making his escape.

He dashes for the sewer hole he had emerged from only 40 minutes ago and is about to hop down it and make his way through the tunnel system below the street when a golden lasso flies from over his head and snares onto his shoulders.

“Stop at once!”

Battle Axe goes rigid in place, a mere foot away from the sewer opening. From behind a parked car, Wonder Woman stands up out of her crouch and strides up to the frozen villain. He can’t move a muscle within the loop of this tightly cinched golden rope. This wasn’t in the Doc’s plan.

“Tell me. Why are you here?”

He starts to lie to her for then for some reason the truth just seems like a much better alternative. Funny he never realized that before.

“I’m here to fight Destiny. To learn her moves. Record her tactics.”

Twenty stories up, Destiny is just finishing with one support leg of the sign and is about to move on to the other. On the street she sees Wonder Woman has roped Battle Axe and is talking to him.

Cool. We’re the Sisterhood of the Dazzling Pants!

The blonde beauty looks down at the second strut and focuses her heat vision so it melts back onto it support base and forms a solid base. A couple of moments longer and she can form it and straighten it and cool it with her breath.

“Why is it so important to know her tactics?” Wonder Woman holds the lasso lightly between her fingers. It’s all she needs for this simple minded thug.

“Well, if we know her tactics then we can figure out a way to fight her more effectively next time.”

“Who is we? Who are you working with or for?”

“It’s more like ‘for’ since I’m being paid by the job and not a full partner. But that’s okay. I have come to accept that arrangement.”

Diana jerks the lasso, scowling at the fact that her slightly imprecise questioning has brought this ramble out of the big blonde thug. “Who is paying you?”

“ Ahh, I get you now. That would be.....”

The bag of lead balls that slams against the back of Wonder Woman’s head seemingly bursts behind her eyes with blinding white pain. She collapses to her knees and then onto her face in the street, flat on the ground, viciously stunned and bleeding. She then loses all consciousness, her body sagging inertly in the street with a final grunt.

“UUUHHNN!”

“....Doctor Paaa..,” Battle Axe starts to say his employer’s name but stops the moment Diana’s conscious will collapses with her body’s final explosive breath. Even as the golden lasso is jerked out of the unhearing Wonder Woman’s limp fingers by the fast-thinking Pascal, he quickly pulls the lasso over Battle Axe’s head. He tosses it down onto Wonder Woman’s prostrate form with a shudder.

“Ugh. Nasty thing. Quick. Let’s move, we haven’t got much time. Destiny’s got to be almost done with that sign. We need to get into those sewers and away from here. Get in the hole, Axe. Now!”

Doing as commanded, the big man, dangles his feet into the hole and drops out of sight. Pascal kneels down beside the defenseless Wonder Woman, pats her rump and then glides his hand under her starred pants with a big smile.

“Oooh la la! La derriere c'est fantastique!” He caresses the curve of her firm buttock and then pats it gently again before withdrawing it. “Another time, mon cherie,” he whispers in her ear and then quickly follows his companion down into the sewer. He doesn’t bother replacing the cover. Speed and a carefully preplanned getaway route within the concrete sewer tunnels with their miles of copper wiring will be more than enough to cloak them from Destiny’s remarkable x-ray vision. Copper is the bane of Destiny’s existence just as lead is to Supergirl’s.

65 seconds later, a concerned Destiny is rolling over a limp and moaning Wonder Woman.

“Oohhhhhh...what....hit....me...Owwwww....” Diana’s head rolls on her shoulders in sick confusion.

“I’d say a steel pipe or some kind of sap very forcefully brought down on the back of your head. Take it easy. You might have a concussion. Don’t try to sit up so fast, you’re going to get diz...Oh there she goes.”

Wonder Woman swoons in place, collapsing to the side before Destiny can haul her back up slowly from nearly banging her head on the concrete curb of the sidewalk. With her left arm firmly around the Amazon’s shoulders, Destiny reaches over with her right and lifts Diana’s chin to look in her eyes. The pupils are hiding under thick half open lids.

“Uuhhhhh...head hurts...”

“Wonder Woman. Focus. How many of me do you see?”

“One.”

“That’s good. How many fingers?”

“Three.”

“Right on the money,” Destiny smiles. “Who’s the President?”

“Osama Obama.”

“Hmmm. Close but no cigar. Although there are many people who would agree with you. Republicans mostly. Let’s try another one.”

“This isn’t friggin’ Jeopardy. Help me stand up,” Wonder Woman groans.

“Not quite yet.” Restraining the mighty Amazon is no challenge to the Most Awesome Teen as she has been labeled recently in the press. Brand new to the ranks of superheroines, Destiny is only six months past her 18th birthday but has already filled the headlines in the nation’s capital many times and twice around the world with her amazing exploits and incredible powers. Some say she could give Supergirl a run for her money. She certainly outclassed the Maid of Steel in chest size. She was a 39 D whereas Supergirl was only a 35 C or so. Like those things mattered! Anyway, next to Wonder Woman’s 44s, it seemed to be a moot point.

“One more question. Who’s the person on watch in the Justice League satellite right now?”

“Uuhhh...J’onn. Martian Manhunter, I’m pretty sure. Why?” Wonder Woman’s pupils lower from their heights under her lids and she begins to focus again. Held in check by Destiny’s arm around her shoulder anyway, the Amazon warrior sitting on the street curb lowers her head between her knees and breathes deeply, gathering her strength. Her remarkable belt helps heal the cut but the headache and wooziness remain for now.

“Because its your new protocol when heroines are attacked to notify the JL”

“Oh. Right. I forgot.”Diana looks up and over at Destiny. The Princess from Themyscira is feeling a little better with every passing moment.

“Don’t worry, I have my new communicator. I’ll do it.”

Pressing the central button of three on the small disk she removes from a tiny zippered compartment on her belt, Destiny calls in to the Justice League and, indeed, J’onn J’onzz is on duty, although he simply answers as “Manhunter.”

“Uh, hi. This is Destiny. I’ve got Wonder Woman here. We were attacked but we’re both okay. Well, she might have a bit of a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion. That mistake about Obama is pretty common. Anyone can make it.”

“Diana, Princess of the Amazons. Do you require assistance?”

Destiny makes a stern face and silently mimics “Princess of the Amazons” with a heavy back and forth wiggle of her head but suddenly stops when she sees Wonder Woman glaring at her with absolute focus in her eyes. The searing look along with a slow shake of her head has Destiny gulping loudly.

“I’ll be fine J’onn. Just following protocol as suggested by my young friend here Has anyone else called in need of assistance while you’ve been on duty?”

“No, Princess. It’s been mostly quiet. A volcanic eruption in Micronesia. A near crash of an airliner in South America. Not too much. It’s all been handled. You sure you’re fine. I can be there in no time.”

“Things that dull up there?” Diana smiles at Destiny who’s handed her the communicator and smiles back.

“You have no idea, Diana.”

“Hang in there, J’onn. The Flash should be there in only six hours. WW
out!”

There is a small groan followed by a subdued “Six hours. JJ out.”

“Satellite watch can be very tedious. 8 hour shifts,” Wonder Woman explains. “We’re talking about cutting them down and increasing the rotations but it puts a strain on the heroes and heroines doing their job well when they keep having to race back to the satellite so often.”

“Maybe you guys should, you know, increase your membership drives. Sounds like the pressure’s intense.”

“Being a member of the Justice League is nothing but intense pressure. In between periods of remarkable boredom. It’s akin to what its like being in a war, or so I’m told. Not everyone can stand up to such pressure.”

“I’d like to try it one day,” Destiny says brightly.

“Well, you certainly have the powers for it, but it takes a lot more than power. It takes personal inner strength and commitment and knowing your boundaries and when to push them. It means a lot of different things. It’s pretty complicated at times to be a member of the JL.”

“It’s complicated enough to be a superheroine sometimes,” Destiny retorts.

“Can’t argue with you there. Like this guy getting away. That’s very frustrating. We both had him soundly beat. I was watching you for a while. Before the sign was blown, you handled him with no problems, but can I give you some advice?”

“Sure. I’d love that.”

“You should bring things to a conclusion faster. Drawing things out with extra chatter only delays the inevitable and who knows, you could be needed on another emergency sooner than you think. I know having the upper hand is appealing but you can’t do the cat and mouse thing with your enemies. You can’t play with them, Destiny. It’s not right and it’s not fair and it can lead to mistakes. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Sure.” Destiny tosses her head, her brilliant blonde hair tousled by the shake. She’s a little put off by the older heroine’s tone.

“I hope you can take that as constructive criticism. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I think you have a bright future. I’m just trying to help.”

“I understand. It comes with training and practice. Like, you know, watching your back so people don’t sneak up on you.”

Diana gets very quiet and very still for a moment. She hands the
communicator back to Destiny and stands up quickly, only to sway momentarily from rising too fast. When Destiny moves to help her, Wonder Woman slaps her hand away and simply lowers her head, focuses silently for a few seconds and then straightens her body, her spine, her entire being as if nothing at all had happened to her. It was an act of will that had Destiny’s mouth gaping at the view.

Diana turns to her but her tone is not severe. Rather it is soft and even. “You are right, Destiny. Even battle-hardened veterans need to be reminded of the basics every now and then. I truly did not mean to offend you with my advice.”

“Oh, Wonder Woman. I’m sorry, too. That was just so bitchy of me. I blurted it out without thinking. I appreciated your advice and I will take it to heart. And try to cut down on the chit chat with the enemy.”

“Don’t get me wrong, there are times you want to be talking to them to get them distracted, to learn their plans or secrets or sometimes just to stall to clear your head. You just need to be aware of when the talk helps you and when it hurts you.”

“I see what you mean. Thank you for helping me be better at what I do. That’s what I really need. The training in New Mexico was fabulous but nothing beats real world experience out here in the streets.”

“You’re correct about that. And my experience tells me I should keep my ears tuned for sneaky opponents more carefully. Heck, I should be more careful about all my opponents lately. Letting this guy get away. Not being able to locate the man that killed Scarlet Avenger and Flare. It’s so damn frustrating to know he’s out there, baiting me and I can’t do anything about it!”

“I read about both of them. You’re the one trying to track him down? Any luck so far?”

“Not really. Nothing solid. There’s one French guy but I’m not even sure its him. He’s a professor at Georgetown University. He barely ties in. Anyway, I’m probably grasping at straws. Hey, thank you for the assistance. And for the refresher course,” Wonder Woman pats the shorter girl on the shoulder and smiles at her. “I like the costume by the way. Very dramatic. And the boots, thigh-highs. Wow!”

Smiling back, Destiny reaches out to shake Wonder Woman’s hand her eyes gleaming brightly from all she’s heard and learned this day. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll remember it and follow it. I hope we can work together again sometime.”

“I hope so too. Stay out of trouble. And thanks again for your help. If you weren’t there, I don’t know what Axe would have done to me.” Wonder Woman gives a final nod, then runs off to the south where her apartment and a warm bath await her tired body.

Destiny flies off to the north and her new apartment. She was thinking about how she could be a better heroine and help Wonder Woman at the same time. Maybe that French professor....Dr. Paah at Georgetown University. At least that was what Destiny heard with her super hearing from the roof while she finished cooling the billboard’s other support. Whoever he was, he wanted to know how she fought for some reason. Probably wanted to take her on. Well, she’d find out who he was and show him her tactics from a front row seat. No one had come close to beating her yet. And if he was the one who’d killed those heroines, she might just have to put a permanent hurt on the slimy pervert before she took him to the police. Break something that wouldn’t heal right the rest of his miserable life. That would teach him and all his kind a lesson about what it meant to kill a superheroine.

“And thank you, mademoiselles for the update and girl chat. Very, very enlightening,” Pascal says as he clicks off the radio receiver that had been transmitting from under Wonder Woman’s costume briefs where he’d secured it before dropping down into the sewer. The adhesive would disintegrate and the spy microphone with it’s two-mile range would drop off in about another six minutes. More likely than not, it would end up in the wash with Wonder Woman’s tights and panties, just a tiny dark speck that could be a cookie crumb if no one looked closely enough. It was an expensive bauble but it had more than served it’s purpose for Pascal. It had given him an additional fighting edge he could exploit against the Amazon cunt.

“Poor Wonder Woman. She is so frustrated by me that she is blabbing everything to this dumb blonde. C’est si bon! Things could not be more perfect. Wonder Woman will be going on a guilt trip of epic proportions before I am through with her.”


* * *


Sal Abato and Jimmy Glendennan are waiting in the attractively furnished reception area at the offices of Chesapeake Pharma Supply Corp. in Bethesda, Maryland, just over the border from Washington DC, about 10 blocks from Chevy Chase.

This company is one of the prime suppliers of not only the barbiturates found in the cocktail used to sedate the murdered heroines but also the psychoactive drug used for the aphrodisiac component of the cocktail. The two detectives are slouching in the leather and steel chairs flipping through industry magazines and yawning. After a while, a young pretty brunette pushes open the door in glass partition wall separating the back offices from reception and walks toward the two men who rise to meet her. She is holding a sheet of paper in her hands and looking over the two policemen.

“Detective Abato,” she says looking at Sal, immediately sizing him up as Italian as opposed to the his ruddier Irish-looking partner. She hands him the sheet. “Here’s the information you requested. There are 14 clients on that list that purchased both of the drugs from us that you inquired about. I hope it helps you in your investigation.”

“Thank you, Miss Williams.” He barely glances at the sheet before folding it in thirds and stuffing it into the inside pocket of his worn and shiny sportcoat. If he’d checked it at all, he would have seen the name Pascal Research LLC near the bottom of the list and the small amounts purchased of the two drugs. As it is, he won’t be turning in the list until the following morning.

“Does this have anything to do with the death of those heroines,” the secretary asks, leaning toward Sal with a conspiratorial whisper. “The news said that they both had been heavily drugged. I was just wondering.”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information, Miss Williams. You wouldn’t want me to compromise the case would you?” Sal is flirting as best he knows how but the brunette isn’t having it.

“No, of course not. Good luck, Detective.” She shuts him down cold with an officious tone, turns and walks back into the rear offices without giving him a second look. The glass door barely swings shut before Abato murmurs angrily about her being an uptight bitch.

“Nice try, Romeo,” Jimmy grins. “Next time, tell her what she wants to know. Give her a little inside info to feed her ego. I would.”

“I know you would. That’s why you haven’t gotten a raise in rank in three years, ya’ dumb mick.”

“You’re just sore ‘cause she shot you down faster than a Patriot missile.”

“Come on, dickhead, we got three more places to hit today before we punch out. After that, I’m going to Clancy’s for a nice tall one and a whiskey chaser. You in?”

“Am I ever not in?” Jimmy grins.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re Irish. I forgot.”

* * *

Meanwhile, over at Georgetown University, Destiny is following up on Wonder Woman’s comment about the French professor. In her secret identity as Kasey Draper, the brunette-wigged teen is posing as a reporter for the school paper doing a story on notable professors at the school. She asks at the administration building if there is anybody named Professor Paah who teaches French there. She is informed by the exasperated tall and thin middle-aged secretary who’s eyeing the clock just coming up on the five o’clock closing time that there was no professor of any kind at the school named Paah. When the secretary reads out the names of the two professors and their graduate assistants who teach French, none of those names even comes close to sounding or spelling like Paah. Disappointed Destiny is about to leave when the secretary offers up the tidbit that there might be some professors at Georgetown who hold French citizenship. Could she mean that kind of French professor?

“OH! Of course! I was being too literal. Yes, please, can you check on that for me?”

Again, eyeing the clock now two minutes past five, she exhales heavily. “I can try. It’s not how we’ve filed them, of course. Why don’t I think this through and you can come back in the morning and I’ll see what I can find out for you, okay, hon?”

“There’s no way to check quickly now. It’s really important.”

“What’s this story about again, that it’s so important?”

“It’s about the most noteworthy professors at the school.”

“Who teach French...” The secretary’s eyebrows dart upward.

“..or who are French, yes.”

“Why would anyone read a story like that? Or write one?” The secretary is now openly skeptical and starts packing up her area at the counter by closing the registration book with a hearty thump.

“The paper’s doing a continuing column on all the nationalities represented at the university. It’s called ‘Uni-Diversity’ and my column for it is due real soon. Can’t you help?”

“I can’t tonight. It’s going to take a little while for me to check the possible sources for that kind of information. Citizenship isn’t even one of the regular filing data fields we can sort by. Well, never you mind, hon. I’ll track it down first thing. Oh, is tomorrow Saturday? I forgot. We’re only open in the morning, from 9 am until noon. And we’re usually short staffed and very busy. I won’t be able to get to your information request until at least 11 am. Come by around 11:30 and I’ll see what I can give you at that time.

“Oh. Okay, I guess I’ll have to wait. Thanks for all your help....Frances,” Kasey says, reading the name tag.

“No problem, dear. See you tomorrow.”


End of Part 6


If you like this story or have feedback that you'd like to share, you can contact the author at [email protected] I try to respond to all emails in a timely manner and welcome your comments.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 7

I hope you enjoy this next installment of this Wonder Woman story. I look forward to your comments at [email protected] or right here in the forum.


Gary Kramplitz flips through the latest issue of “Titanic Tits” magazine, lazily appraising the gargantuan breasts revealed on its glossy full-color pages. He sits on the raised stool behind his cash register, slowly sipping his Coca Cola with its secret shot of rum from the flask buried in the broken returned items box beneath his feet. The breasts displayed in the magazine laying flat on the counter before him start at size Double D and move up the alphabet to dizzying heights of mind-altering reality where physics and Photoshop meet in some Mobius loop of total male fantasy.

In truth, the 39-year balding, overweight clerk of Heavenly Desires Adult Emporium is keeping his eye on a salt and pepper team of teens who he’s fairly sure are trying to shoplift a free magazine or two...or six. It’s a quiet night for a Friday and there are only five other customers in the store. These browsers include two young men in business suits, two in casual wear and, disturbingly, one older gent in a long raincoat and sneakers with no socks.

Despite the sign over their heads that clearly advises them that shoplifters WILL be prosecuted, the white kid with the shifty eyes and the black kid with the fast, flapping hands are definitely looking to score free merchandise. They’re joking back and forth over the boxes of porn magazines and around the racks of sex-packed DVDs.

In this job, Gary has seen every shoplifting technique known to man, and he eyes the ceiling-mounted concave mirrors repeatedly between downward glances at breasts large enough to have their own area codes. He figures the teens are going to do the classic Q&A routine, where one partner asks him a Question while the other Acquires the stolen merchandise. They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

True to form, the white kid is now approaching him. The teen is doing his desperate best to try to be black and a ‘playa’ with his ball cap worn backwards, a ripped black T-shirt with a red death head grinning skull and cargo pants so low that his blue and green plaid boxers are boldly displayed from waist to his upper butt. Meanwhile his dark young cohort is flipping through the magazine box that Gary has labeled Sloppy Sluts. These skin magazines show off the collected charms of women giving blowjobs in less than neat fashion. Magazines with titles like “Faced!”, “Cum Slurpers” and “Gaggers Gone Wild” attest to the heights of classlessness and the depths of depravity that is the porn industry in the new millennium.

“Excuse me, sir,” the kid says, his fingers nervously tapping out a rhythm on the counter while his eyes are everywhere but looking at Gary. “I was wondering if the new issue of “Jism on Juggs” has come in this week.”

“How old are you, kid?”

“19.” The boy is looking off to the side, seemingly trying to memorize a poster promoting Christina Carter’s website.

“Right. You got ID? That’s real?”

“Uh, sure. Right here in my wallet. So, has it come In Or NOT?” The kid suddenly gets loud and his hand with his ID is now waving in the air in front of Gary’s face. The angry clerk reaches out and grabs the kid’s wrist and pins it hard to the counter.

“Oww!” The teen yelps as his head twists to the side in pain and his cap falls off revealing badly chopped dark brown hair.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doin’, you little twerp,” Gary snarls, then yells out. “HEY! YOU BACK THERE! CHRIS ROCK! You stick one more magazine under that jacket and I call the cops. I saw you slide that mother up your shirt. Come up front here. NOW!”

The young teen walks forward as his friend struggles to free his wrist from Gary’s iron grip. The black youth spins at the precise instant he is hidden from Gary’s view by a steel support column, lets the magazine under his T-shirt drop to the floor and kicks it under the table bowed with the weight of countless years holding up hundreds of pounds of slick magazine stock. He continues on to the counter, bringing lots of attitude.

“What you talking about? I ain’t took nuthin’ from you.”

“Lift your shirt, Shaft.”

“You one funny honkey. And I ain’t lifting my shirt so you can get your perv rocks off looking at my body.”

“Lift it or your friend spends the night in the emergency room before the cops cart him off to jail.”

For what?”

“Do it Jamal,” winces the white boy as Gary’s fingers dimple deep enough into his flesh to leave bruises later on.

Jamal lifts his shirt anyway. The pale blue shirt with a picture of the rapper 50 Cent comes up with a yank of his arms. The grand gesture, the big ‘oh no he didn’t’ comes dramatically. With the stolen magazine now pushed under the table twelve feet away, it’s a cold surprise he serves up to the startled clerk. The only thing showing is the boy’s skinny black hairless chest. No stolen magazine. Nothing.

“See? Nothing here. So let Jake’s wrist go or we can all talk to the cops about how you’re roughin’ up a kid half your weight.”

Gary was damn sure he’d seen the boy slide that mag up his shirt. Kid must have dumped it real quick. He was good. Gary doesn’t release the partner’s wrist just yet though. He’s contemplating his next move when the doormat buzzes to announce a new customer entering the premises. He turns his head to see a sight that drops his jaw open wide. Both kids match his look precisely as Wonder Woman steps into the establishment.

“Good evening,” she says to Gary, her eyebrow raised at the sight before her. The clerk is holding onto a squirming teenager while a black teenager is baring his chest and has his head turned, staring at her with his mouth yawning open like a dead mackerel.

“Fuck me, that’s Wonder Woman,” announces the Raincoat man from the middle of the store.

“Is there a problem here I can help with,” Wonder Woman says, ignoring the crude comment from a man in a tan raincoat and putting her hands on her hips. She relaxes somewhat from her hesitant manner, now that she’s into the store and sees a situation she’s dealt with countless times before.

“Just a little shoplifting. Nothing I can’t handle, Wonder Woman,” Gary replies, still holding onto the squirming Jake. “Uhh, you’re a little out of your natural habitat, aren’t you?”

“We weren’t doin’ nuthin’, lady,” Jamal declares, pulling down his t-shirt.

“Bullshit!” Gary says, holding Jake who’s stopped twisting and is now just staring at the incredible woman standing right before him like a goddess. He drinks in those amazing red and white ‘fuck-me’ boots; those tight-fitting, high-cut blue briefs with their famous white stars showing off endless legs; those world-class ta-tas barely contained by that gold eagle; that incredible face with its bright red lips made for.... And she even had a crowny thing in her hair. She was totally fuckable royalty! Everyone in the store is staring at this vision, more or less thinking the same things. And what they’d do with all of that beauty. Oh man, what they’d do...

“Why don’t you let the boy go, sir, and we can talk this out reasonably,” Diana says, taking control of the matter. Glancing around, she didn’t like the looks on the faces of anybody in the store. She was used to getting this awed reaction but this was more than awe, this was a rough hunger she didn’t like seeing in men’s eyes. And especially not in teenagers’ eyes. The place is officially back to creeping her out. “Look, you’re obviously hurting him,” she pushes on. “I’m sure he wouldn’t try to rush past Wonder Woman, would you, son?”

“N..Not in a million....” stammers Jake.

“Or you either,” asks the statuesque Amazon of Jamal.

“Not in two million,” smiles the cocky teen.

“Fine,” says the clerk, releasing his quarry reluctantly. Jake rubs his wrist while still mesmerized by the incredible set of knockers not five feet from his face.

“Good. Now were you trying to steal merchandise from this store? Either of you?” Diana looks at the two young faces who eye each other briefly. This was trouble on a whole different level than either had ever been in before.

“No!” Both kids are adamant, going for the big bluff.

Diana reaches to her waist and unhooks her lasso, then shakes it just a bit at the two kids.

“Do you know what this is and what it can do?”

“Sure, everyone knows what...” begins Jamal, who stops suddenly and bites his lip. “Oh!” He says and shuts up. He’s totally screwed now.

“Hey yeah,” says Gary. “That like makes people tell the truth. All right Wonder Woman. You’re alright!” The clerk slaps the counter top with delight. “Yeah!”

“So, do you two still maintain that you weren’t going to shoplift anything here tonight?” Diana is giving a half smile, encouraging the truth without the rope. She didn’t like using it if she didn’t have to and this was such a minor thing. She knew she was stalling a bit because she didn’t want to get to the real reason for her visit. From around the store, the other customers begin to edge toward the front to get a better look at the famous heroine up close.

Jake is the one to speak, knowing the jig is up. “Well, we were going to try to cop a couple of magazines. It’s no big deal. Look around, he’s got thousands here. What’s the big diff?”

“Because it’s stealing and its wrong, that’s the big diff, young man,” Wonder Woman says sternly. “Do you have money to pay for what you were going to take illegally?”

“They were gonna take a bunch of them. Five or six for sure. Make ‘em pay up, Wondie,” Gary urges stridently.

“What’s your name?” Wonder Woman gives the clerk a much harsher look than she’s just given the two teens. She didn’t like his demeanor at all. And she could smell rum on his breath.

“Uh, Gary,” he replies, taken aback. How did he get to be the bad guy here?

“Let me handle this from here on out, okay Gary?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Diana looks at the magazine that lays open on the counter that the clerk was reading. Big color pictures of naked womens’ breasts are splashed in a montage across the spread pages. God they were enormous. Many of them far larger than her own. Diana is a bit disconcerted by the reality of what this place catered to, it being so boldly thrown up in her face. She looks away from the magazine and back at the two teens.

“What did you take so far?”

“Nothing,” Jamal blurts.

Wonder Woman just calmly plays with the loops of her lasso in her hands a bit and gives Jamal a raised eyebrow.

“Well, okay. I did put one mag under my shirt, but that’s all.”

“You were gonna take more than that,” Gary barks.

“Where is that magazine?” Wonder Woman directs her comment to Jamal, ignoring the clerk. “It’s obviously not under your shirt.”

“It’s under that table over there.”

“Go get it and pay for it now. And don’t try this again on my turf or I will make an example of you,” the Amazon says gruffly, driving her point home so the teens will be shaken enough to turn away from such behavior.

As Jamal walks back to the table he kicked the magazine under, Gary speaks up, reiterating his earlier statement.

“Your turf? I never seen you in here before, Wondie. Are you also cruising through the skin parlors, looking for hot women to tie up with your lasso?” Gary laughs roughly at his crude humor and gets a blazingly angry stare from the Amazon that cuts his laugh off into a cough.

Jamal comes up to Wonder Woman and shows her the magazine cover. “This is the one I was going to take,” he says. The tall Amazon looks down at the proffered item. The picture of a wide-eyed redheaded woman lying on her back with her mouth crammed full of a man’s penis, her face lathered with a thick combination of sweat and cum stares up at the unwary heroine. The bold red title shouts out “Throat Fuckers” and Wonder Woman gasps in shock.

“Good lord!” The raven hair swishes in a swirl as the tall beauty twists her head away from the horrifying trash that had just confronted her. “Why on earth would you....I mean, how could you think so little of... Oh, this is just so wrong!”

Diana can feel the rising warmth of redness flush through her chest and face. The way men thought of women and treated them in this place, in this industry, it was appalling to her. She had already been in two other adult stores earlier this evening and had withstood the ogling stares as men clearly enjoyed their perverted imaginings as she questioned the clerks and managers of the stores about a man who may have purchased a cat suit from them recently. It was like crawling through a thick stagnant bog just walking into these temples built solely to lust. It disgusted her to the core. The way men thought of and debased women in these places is the polar opposite of every single thing she believes in. Grimacing, she takes Jamal’s arm and pulls him toward the counter, far more roughly than she intended. The black teenager sprawls onto the floor with a yelp of pain.

“Aaarghh! My arm!”

“Oh my! I’m so sorry,” Diana kneels beside the lad who’s holding his arm. “Are you okay?”

“You just twisted it a little funny. I think it’ll be okay. I was just surprised is all. It’s already getting better,” Jamal replies, not wanting to show weakness to a woman, especially this one.

She helps him to his feet and he puts the magazine on the counter and goes into his pocket for his wallet. A scowling Wonder Woman flips the disgusting magazine over so the cover is face down. Her eyes drift back to the magazine spread laid out between Gary’s elbows and he notices her pupils widening at the images there, her expression shifting to wonder.

“Oh, these gals might have bigger titties than yours, Wondie, but I wouldn’t worry. Yours are a lot nicer. No sag there at all. You got a support bra built into that costume?”

“You are human trash!” Wonder Woman seethes with fury at this man’s nerve. She would break him in two if it weren’t against her principles.

“I’m just saying I’ll bet those beauties would bounce around a lot if that top didn’t have some extra latex in the lining. So yes or no on the support structure for those boobies?”

“Mind your own business, you pervert,” she growls.

“Hey,” Gary spreads his arms wide, taking in the whole place, “this is my business. And knowin’ about women’s undergarments counts.” The balding clerk leans over toward the Princess of Themyscira and throws out a final comment in an obvious stage whisper, “You look like a black lace kind of girl. Am I right?”

Diana frowns darkly, giving away her secret. She had three different styles of black lace lingerie back home in her dresser drawer that she’d laundered just two nights before.

“I knew it!” Gary slaps the counter in victory.

“Pig!” Wonder Woman snaps, furious she has given him the satisfaction.

Jamal has finished counting out six singles onto the counter. He now follows that up with two dropped quarters. “Here,” he says gruffly to Gary, who reaches toward the cash. Wonder Woman spears her hand out, blocking Gary’s grasp.

“Oh no! Not so fast!” She gathers up the money and tucks it into the zippered pocket on the inner side of her power belt. “I’m going to take this and donate it to a homeless shelter nearby. Consider it your charity donation for the day, Gary,” Diana says icily.

“Whatever, Wonder Woman. Why exactly are you here anyway?” Gary is rankled at her attitude and gives her back some of his own. Besides everyone in the store is curious to hear her answer to this.

“I’m here to investigate the purchase of a high-end rubber cat suit.”

Suddenly, the only sound in the store is the air conditioner humming. The looks she’s getting from every male in the place are extremely dreamy. Each of them is suddenly off in some fantasy scenario. She just knows it.

“Not for me!” She declares loudly, going red again.

Before she can clarify, Raincoat man says grunts loudly and says, “Right! You’re just buying it for a close friend, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” says one of the young businessmen, “There’s no way Wonder Woman walks into a shop like this and admits to wanting to buy a skin-tight sex suit. We understand, Amazon. You’ve got a reputation to protect. You’re secret’s safe with us, right guys?”

“Absolutely,” the chorus of male voices combines together.

“I bet she even sends out some dyke friend to buy her tampons for her,” one of the casually-dressed men proclaims. “I mean Wonder Woman can’t admit that she needs max protection to stem her super flow now, can she?”

Diana looks down the aisle at the last speaker, glaring hotly at him. She does require the biggest pads. This is humiliating!

“Or that she needs someone to buy a dildo for her,” a man in dark blue shorts and a yellow knit polo shirt adds, “for times when Superman just can’t get it up.”

All the men in the store laugh at this and Wonder Woman is livid with rage. She can’t beat up all these men. Well, she could – and easily. But she really can’t do that and she knows it. She slams the counter top with the flat of her hand and the wood cracks with a boom. The split isn’t wide but it runs over a foot down the center of the counter.

“Hey! You gotta pay for that!”

“GARY!” Wonder Woman shouts at the clerk, powering through all the ridicule to get her answer and get out of this nasty place. “Listen to me, has anyone come in to purchase your most expensive cat suit model in the last couple of days?”

Staying calm despite the ferocious look on the Amazon’s face not even a foot away from his own, Gary nods slowly and says softly, “Ahh, I see. You sent in a front man to buy the suit for you. Very clever, Wondie. Does he get to sample the merchandise after you put it on?” The long lingering look he gives the Diana’s body makes her want to dash home and shower with lye soap.

She steps forward and reaches across the counter, gripping the clerk by the throat.

“I’m in the middle of an investigation here, little man. And you’re impeding it. Unless you want to end up in court, I suggest you...”

“Everybody seeing this?” Gary’s voice is thin and squeaky through the choke hold Wonder Woman has on his neck. “Superheroine harrassment. Thank you, sir. Thank you, I’ll pay you $100 right now for that cell phone video you just took of this.”

Wonder Woman turns her head and frowns at the man in the yellow polo shirt holding his phone out and capturing the moment digitally. She releases her hold and talks to Gary in a much less threatening manner.

“I apologize for that, Gary. But you have to understand something. There have been two murders of Superheroines in this city recently. Are you aware of that?”

“Sure, I read the papers. That still doesn’t give you the right to threaten normal upstanding citizens.”

“Upstanding cit....! You all have been insulting me ever since I walked into this store. I’m just trying to get a simple question answered. Has anybody bought a cat suit in the last few days here, yes or no, Gary?”

“It’s possible. I’d have to check the records. What’s it worth to you?”

“It’s worth a subpoena,” barks Diana. “And if you make me get one and that delay costs a woman her life, you will regret it for a long, long time.”

“Bodily threats now from the mighty Wonder Woman to an innocent man. You’re all witnesses! Please come forward and write down your names, addresses and phone numbers on this pad.” Gary grabs a white legal pad from under the counter and slaps it down loudly. “My attorney may have to be in touch with you.”

“I didn’t threaten your body. I was talking about your conscience for Hera’s sake!”

Everyone in the store moves forward and each person writes his name and other information on the top sheet of the pad. Wonder Woman fumes as the line moves slowly forward.

“This is absurd. Will you answer my question or not, you little weasel?”

“Let me say this. I did not sell a cat suit to anyone in the last few days. One of the other managers may have. Which model are we talking about so I can get a better idea of what you’re in the market for?” Gary leers at her body again. “What are you, a 44 or 45 double D, I’d say. A big girl. We may have one in your size. They do stretch but yours would have to stretch a hell of a lot there, Wondie.”

“I told you before, it’s not for me. It was bought for someone else.”

“Yeah, right, right,” Gary nods. “You said that before. So, are you asking about the ultra-thin poly-tex Virgin Defiler model with the double crotch flaps for easy access?”

“Oh! I...i...am not sure... it’s possible.” Wonder Woman isn’t sure if the suit found on Flare had multiple flaps. It was so badly fused to her, the report hadn’t said.

“Well, how am I going to help you find what you want, sweetheart, if you don’t know how many entry holes you need for your big hard man?”

“What?! Look, you moron, I told you it’s not... I need you to check right now to see if any suit of any kind has been sold here and if so, if it was paid for by credit card?”

“I can do that. While you’re waiting, would you like to sign up for membership in our Super Slut Savers Club. It’s super, just like you, Wondie. In fact, every $100 you spend on dildos, butt plugs, cock rings or anal gel earns you 20% off your next purchase. And, you know, those top end cat suits can go for up to two grand apiece. That could add up to real savings for you, Wonder Woman. Interested?” Gary smiles widely directly in her face. With her needing this information, he’s got her over a barrel and he’s making the most of it.

“I am not interested in your filthy discount plan. Check your records now or I go get a subpoena and we do things the hard way.”

“Relax, Wondie. Just trying to help.” He grins at her as he takes an account book out from under the counter and flips it open. “Hmmm. It appears we did sell a cat suit to your boyfriend just yesterday.”

“Will you listen to me! He isn’t my boyfriend. He could be the man who’s callously done in two heroines.”

“And you’re upset that he hasn’t “done” you yet.” Gary air-quotes the word ‘done’ and thrusts his hips forward in a crude gesture that punctuates his taunt. “So you figure that a nice body-clinging rubber play suit that shows off your world-class tits and tight Amazon trim will bring him to attention so you can ride him all day and get him hooked on you. Clever girl.”

Gritting her teeth and restraining herself with every ounce of willpower she has, Wonder Woman lets the man’s venomous words hang in the air like the stench of dead skunk, but persists with her line of questions. “One last time or I will forget myself and care not for the consequences of my actions: Was the purchase made with a credit card or not, Gary?”

“Let’s see what we have here. Hmmm, you’re killer boyfriend-to-be has got good taste. He bought the Cunt Hugger Xciter model...”

“Great Zeus, is there no bottom to the depravity of this place?” Wonder Woman curses softly and bows her head at the shocking and shameful words, but she’s faced suddenly with the two page spread of mammoth tits. She goes scarlet again and takes a step back, looking around at all the grinning male faces of all ages surrounding her, enjoying her discomfort immeasurably.

“Dear Hera, you are all nasty evil men. Even you two youngsters! I ought to... Did the man buying the cat suit pay with a credit card or not, Gary. I won’t ask again.”

“Don’t get your costume panties in a bunch, Wondie. I’m checking. I’m checking.”

As Gary takes out a storage tray from under the counter that’s filled with credit card receipts and begins flipping through them, Diana feels the heat of all the males surrounding her. She lifts her chin and strikes her heroic pose to show these vermin she’s not intimidated by their kind. Her wide stance and fists on hips feels natural to her and she feels empowered once again.

Then she feels a hand between her legs squeezing her crotch.

“WHAT IN HERA’S NAME...!”

Wonder Woman has spun in place, her eyes wide, her fists still bunched as she studies the faces of every man behind her. They’re all looking directly at her, challenging her back with leering smirks. No one seems more guilty than another.

“Who did that? Answer me immediately or suffer my vengeance! I swear to you I will use my lasso to yank the hard truth out of you demons! Answer me!”

“Sorry, Wonder Woman,” Gary says behind her, “but it looks like whoever bought the suit paid cash for it. There’s no receipt here for the Cunt Hugger suit. Looks like you wasted your time here. But thanks for coming.”

The glaring Amazon turns back toward Gary, her face crestfallen. She is crushed by this news and disheartened by everything that has gone on in this vile establishment. All men are pigs. She’s about to leave and put this nightmare behind her, to ignore the abuse both physical and verbal and go home to try a different lead to the killer of the two heroines; to keep her mind on the bigger problem than her own minor debasements. Then she has a thought.

“You do know who sold this man the suit though, correct? Based on the time on the register tape for the item sold?”

“Yes, of course, Wondie,” the clerk’s patronizing tone grates on her final nerve.

“Let me know who that is and I can question him and get a description of the man.”

“You’re assuming it’s a man who purchased the....” Gary slowly draws out his pronunciation of the product’s name knowing how it digs into the Amazon’s sense of modesty to hear it. “C u n t H u g g e r X c i t e r suit, champ.” Gary gives her his most cloying sweet smile at this. “Fuck, for all you know, it could have been a woman coming in to buy it: a woman who wanted to get herself off wearing such a tight sensually arousing outfit but who didn’t want people to know her kinky side. Maybe a woman just like you, huh, Wonder Woman? So she paid cash and walked out happy. Sadly, you’re not going out of here the same way.”

“Give me the name of the clerk, Gary. And know this. I will not forget this day. Ever.”

“It wasn’t a clerk on this sale, smartass,” Gary taunts, not put off by the threatening gaze of those icy blue eyes boring into his. “It was the owner himself, Mr. Rockleigh.”

“Give me his address and I will be out of here,” Diana snaps.

“He lives over at the Watergate. Beautiful co-op on the sixth floor of Unit 2. Number 675. I’ve been over there myself delivering stuff. This business pays well.”

“Too well. By far,” Wonder Woman replies coldly. Turning to leave, she gives every man there his own private withering five-second stare. It isn’t until she has her hand on the door handle before Gary shouts across the store.

“Oh Wonder Woman, one final thing.”

She freezes in place and turns her upper torso, giving the hateful man an angry tight-lipped stare. “What?”

“That address won’t do you any good. At least for a while. Mr. Rockleigh is on vacation for the next two weeks.” Gary glances at the convex mirror above the front door and is rewarded with a prize view of Wonder Woman’s breasts right down to the dark hint of nipple. With the way she’s turned, her top is slightly twisted out of place. The cleavage is cavernous, the breasts are two floating dark vanilla scoops of heaven. Gary’s face bursts into his biggest smile of the day. He will have to check the security tapes to see if this view is captured for posterity.

“Oh, believe me, I won’t forget this day either, Wondie,” he tosses out his last caustic taunt. “In fact, I’ll always have the crack in this counter here to remind me of just how special your visit was to me and all the guys here. Am I right, fellas?”

The resounding cheer fills the store as Wonder Woman’s shoulders slump miserably. She pulls open the door and she walks out into the dark that descended while inside the hellish pit of dishonor. She is hugely disappointed in herself, in the wasted time and in the entire World of Men. She vows to herself that she will return to Paradise island as soon as conceivably possible for a non-male 2 week vacation just to detox from this horrific experience.

Inside the store, the men are high-fiving each other amid a hubbub of voices recalling every sparkling moment of shame for the famous heroine. Finally Gary whistles it all to a stop and says, “Okay, I gotta know! Which of you grabbed beaver?”

They all look at each other shaking their heads and disclaiming credit. All except Jamal who issues a small sly smirk.

“Okay, you got me,” he says, his smile now lighting up the store. Amid more loud cheering and back patting, especially from his beaming friend Jake, Gary whistles again to be heard.

“Jamal, my man. You are hereby entitled to ten magazines of your choosing...on the fuckin’ house!”

End of Part Seven


If you like this story or have feedback that you'd like to share, you can contact the author at [email protected] I try to respond to all emails in a timely manner and welcome your comments.

[tallyho]

More awesome fabulousness...ness.!


I love your dialogue it's very natural which makes it (the whole scene) much more believable.
Look forward to more

[bare_thighz]

I can't wait to see what happens to Wonder Woman and your enticing heroine named Destiny. This story keeps getting better as I'm reading it. Love Wonder Woman's ridicule in the adult bookstore. Hope the next part comes out soon!

[DrDominator9]

Thanks, bare_thighz. Glad you're enjoying the story. Destiny is in for some very tough times I'm afraid. She does show a lot of grit and determination throughout however. She is, after all, a superheroine.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 8


Rene Pascal and Battle Axe are moving stacks of empty wooden pallets around the brightly lit warehouse space to the sound of heavy grunts and screeching wood on concrete. Everything had to be ready for tomorrow. Pascal felt sure that Destiny would be here to track him down. With the information Wonder Woman had let slip, the resourceful heroine should be able to find his home address and he’d take it from there. Virtually everything was in place. He just had some final adjustments, some equipment testing here in the warehouse and back at his basement laboratory, and then one last review of the tactics he’d laid out already to Battle Axe that they would use when the naive blonde heroine came calling.

“Tres bien,” he says as the final stack is carefully situated. “We are nearly ready for our lovely young guest.”

* * *

The next morning finds Diana Prince at her office at IADC headquarters. Being Saturday, the place is quieter than normal. The dark-haired agent sips from her coffee mug and types yet another phrase into the search field of the department’s database. Diana is doing follow-up on that French scientist and his company, Pascal Research. The company doesn’t have a website and information on him is quite thin. She’s dug up a few papers he’s written on neural pathways and their conductivity tendencies. That’s why she needed the coffee. This was tremendously taxing stuff that brought her almost to a doze.

As it was she hadn’t gotten much sleep, tossing and turning most of the night with residual anger at the humiliations she had endured in that sex shop. Steve might have found it all so amusing to send her there but she was feeling extremely angry at him for delivering her into that lion’s den. The fact that the treatment she received there wasn’t his fault and that it was her decision to go there as Wonder Woman barely mitigated the displeasure she harbored toward her boss at the moment, despite knowing better.

The search she was now conducting had just brought up Dr. Pascal’s personal history. The Georgetown University connection she knew already. She couldn’t find anything about his family. He never referred to them. Diana suspected she might have to go into French files for that information. She was spending a fair amount of time on this one guy based on nothing more than a slight hunch from the time she talked to him. She trusted her judgement but there was so little to go on. The picture on the monitor before her of him accepting a grant award for yet more brain research was a grainy black and white photo from twenty years ago. It was a picture of Pascal and a woman with her arm around his shoulder along with the head of the chemistry department at American University, another college located in Washington DC. that Pascal had taught at years ago. The woman could be a colleague. The story, oddly enough, didn’t say. In fact the caption just listed her as an unnamed woman. There was something familiar about her but Diana couldn’t be sure. It was an old photo from an article dated 1992.

Sighing, Diana moves on, keying in another name into the search field from the client list of Elimanol buyers provided by Harvey Johns at DC Metro Labs. Doing this kind of work was never as rewarding as fighting foes as Wonder Woman Parrying bullets and matching judo moves beat surfing the net looking for key connections that would break a case. Both were important, but more often than not this lead-tracking stuff was downright boring.


* * *

Dressed in a dark brown suede skirt, a cream-colored silk scoop-necked blouse and brown leather sandals, Kasey Draper walks up a tree-lined street in Chevy Chase not far from the home of Dr. Rene Pascal. It is just after 2 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. The secretary at Georgetown had come through with the name just before closing time. After consulting a map and planning a simple strategy, Kasey is ready to conduct her surveillance of the French professor’s residence. She has her costume on underneath her street clothes as usual, except for the boots which are tightly compacted in a zippered compartment in the canvas carryall on her shoulder. If things get hairy, she’ll be ready.

Coming up to Pascal’s street, Kasey spots a four-story apartment building across the street from Pascal’s brick townhouse. Perfect! She can watch from that roof.

Breaking the lock to the roof proved no obstacle whatsoever for the powerful teen. She settles down on her rump, a little annoyed she’d chosen the suede skirt with the dirty roof and all. That was a rookie mistake. But that was good. She’d just learned something new to file away for later. From time to time she pops her head over the parapet and watches the front door of Pascal’s place. She’d already used her x-ray vision when she got to his street and saw that no one was home. Just a little dog was there, wandering around inside. Now, up on the roof, she knows that this could be a long day. But it couldn’t be too long. He had to come home at least and walk the dog sometime!

She understands that this is something of a long shot. Wonder Woman hadn’t definitely said this guy was their man. Otherwise, Kasey knew, if she were more certain, the Amazon would be here herself. Still, Battle Axe had said “Dr. Paah” and Wonder Woman hadn’t heard that. So this was a strong match in that sense. She felt it was a pretty good bet. All she had to do was watch the place and see if anything suspicious was going on. Besides, as Destiny, she didn’t have to start her patrol until around 6 or so when she usually took to the skies. It wasn’t that crime didn’t happen during the day, it’s just that the odds were higher she’d be needed at night. Bank robberies did usually happen in daylight but that was something the police could usually handle. Unless there was a hostage situation. They liked having meta-humans help out in those cases. Looking up at the clear blue sky, Kasey thought and waited and hoped. She wonders if she should have told Wonder Woman about the name Battle Axe had started to say while the Amazon was unconscious but Destiny didn’t want to appear foolish. For now, she would see what came up. She could handle it after all. She was invulnerable and that went a long way.


* * *


After following up several other names from various leads by IADC agents, surfing the many databases she had access to and still getting nowhere, Diana finally opens a file from the ME. It’s almost time to leave. This will have to be her last lead for the day. The opened ME file includes a list provided to Detective Abato yesterday afternoon around 4:30 pm from the Chesapeake Pharma Supply Corp. in Bethesda, Maryland. It was sent to the ME at 8:55 a.m. this morning.

Diana fumes silently at the lackadaisical attitude by the DC cops. Scanning the list quickly, she is stopped short by a name near the bottom of the list. Pascal Research LLC. Checking the heading quickly, this is a list of companies who had ordered the barbiturates found in the cocktail used to sedate the murdered heroines. It also is a cross-matched list of clients who purchased the psychoactive drug used for the aphrodisiac component of the cocktail. Diana is stunned by this information. These drugs as well as the Elimanol were all used by Dr. Pascal in his work. Even though she’d read extensively about Pascal’s research, Diana didn’t know if all these drugs were used in his experiments. He couched his terms in heavy scientific jargon. She couldn’t be sure if they were regular parts of his experiments. Certainly psychoactive drugs must play a part in neural research. And Pascal had openly admitted to her on the phone himself that he used Elimanol.

Still, the drugs in this cocktail seemed much more than a coincidence. Dr. Pascal had some serious questions to answer and Diana was going to do that the moment she finished her stint at the Justice League watchtower satellite. She had today’s 3 pm to 11 pm shift. She wished she could go to Pascal’s house now and question him but she was already running late as it was. Getting off at 11 pm meant she’d have to wait until tomorrow morning, Sunday, to confront him with the hard facts she’d just learned. She’s wondering if she should do it as Diana Prince or Wonder Woman as she picks up her purse and heads home to change and be transported to the satellite.


* * *


When she hears a car pull up, Kasey sticks her head over the parapet to see it park at the curb. When the car door opens, she scrunches down lower. She didn’t want to use her xray vision since she really didn’t see colors as well or facial expressions or any number of things that could help her judge what was going on. She sees a tall, good looking man with a beard that’s going gray climb out of the car. He’s holding a small brown paper bag and when he stands up straight, he looks all around, even up toward her position on the roof. Was this guy psychic? Worse yet, had he seen her? She didn’t think so. She watches as he climbs the stoop to the front door, pulls out a key and opens the lock. It was either Pascal or someone he trusted very much. It was a gorgeous house. Destiny wondered how neural research paid so well. She’d gotten his background information from Frances about the courses he taught and when he was hired by Georgetown.

Now what?

Just to be on the safe side, she uses her xray vision instead of raising her head over the roof line. She sees the little dog rush toward the tall man and take a flying leap up. The man catches the little thing in his arms and there’s licking galore by the dog of the man’s proffered face. This had to be Pascal. Using her super hearing, Destiny catches the conversation that Pascal is having with the dog.

“Who’s the doggy that wants to get dusted? Is that you? Yes it is. Yes it is. Let’s get rid of those bad old fleas right now. Yes, right now. Nobody likes pests. Nobody.” Taking a container from the small brown paper bag, he shakes a powdery substance over the dog and it drifts down to his fur. The dog snorts suddenly, his head jerking down. And then he looks up and then he dances around in a circle several times, enjoying this new game.

“More powder? More?” The dog clears two feet from a standing jump and yips happily. Pascal shakes out another small snowfalls worth over the now circling dog and then kneels down and rubs it all throughout the animal’s fur. “Good boy, good Nodie. Let’s get you fed and then we’ll go for a nice long walk. Sound good?” The dog, looking up, yips.

Taking this opportunity, Kasey makes her way down to street level and hides in the foyer of the building awaiting Pascal’s exit from his home with the dog. Ten minutes later, he appears at the front door with the small tan and white Nodie. The leashed dog pulls his master happily down the stoop and off to the right toward a small park. With super vision, Kasey is able to let Pascal and the pooch get all the way to the park before she has to step out of the building. It’s one of the advantages of being a superheroine and having to tail someone: Long distance tails are a breeze.

The dog sniffs everything in sight in the park and does all its business, lifting its tiny leg and marking everything important. But Pascal doesn’t turn to head back home. Instead, he crosses through the park into a more industrialized area. Kasey thinks they’re in Bethesda at this point. After six minutes, Pascal comes to a small two-story warehouse with a tiny brass sign mounted beside a steel door. The sign simply reads “PR Storage.” Surprisingly, Pascal takes out his keys and unlocks the front door. Bending over, he picks up Nodie and goes inside the warehouse, letting the door close behind him.

“Hmmm,” Kasey says to herself. “This is an unexpected development.” She uses her xray vision to peer inside and is repelled immediately. There must be copper sheeting everywhere. She sees only dark gray square planes and nothing more.

She waits ten minutes and nothing happens. Frowning, Kasey decides its time to switch identities. She’s going to have to let Destiny do her thing. Smiling at this little touch of dual personality syndrome, the brunette ducks into the shadow between two buildings and comes out it seconds later as a blonde beauty clad in gold, orange and blue. The stunning heroine that the world is coming to recognize as Destiny is standing there with her hands on her hips and looking at the door of the warehouse for any sign of action. There’s nothing going on.

“Guess I’ll just have to go in and see if the good professor is in any kind of trouble,” she says aloud.

Flying over to the front door, she tries the doorknob and is surprised to discover it’s unlocked. She twists it and enters the building, walking confidently into the darkness. Everything is dark planes and right angles, she can’t see more than five feet in any direction before she has to turn a corner and look another five feet. She makes her way through this maze steadily without any hesitation.

“Doctor? Doctor Pascal? Are you here? There was a call that someone thought this building might be broken into. I’m Destiny. I’m here to help if you need it.”

The clatter of doggie toenails on cement suddenly rushes from out of the dark. Destiny sees little Nodie coming at her in a rush, yipping steadily. As the dog did with Pascal, he leaps up toward her and Destiny catches him in mid-air, giggling at the ecstatic little pooch. He wriggles delightedly in her arms and strains to lick her face. Granting this, she bows her head slightly and the dog is all tongue and wagging tail. Some of the flea powder clouds up from the fur in all the excitement, dusting Destiny’s face and costume with a fine whiteness.

“Where is your owner, little guy? And why does everything have copper facing all over it? I’m not liking this at all.”

Destiny puts down the dog who runs back off into the dark with a final excited yip. The blonde heroine follows the dog’s lead and heads after him, annoyed at this maze. The ceiling is surprisingly low for a warehouse, unless this is just the front offices. Nevertheless, Destiny is feeling just a tad claustrophobic with no way to see her way through anything and no way to get any perspective. It also feels a little warm and that takes her by surprise. She doesn’t feel temperatures, either hot or cold, even at the most extreme ends of the spectrum. Absolute zero or sun surface, it was all the same to her. She’s contemplating this strange development when a strange sound emanates from the center of the building. It vibrates the walls with a tremendous heavy bass note that sounds like drumming. And then a speaker comes to life off to her left.

“You coming to save the Doctor, Destiny? I hope so, I am so looking forward to taking you on again.”

“Battle Axe!” Destiny smiles. This she knew how to handle. Being a superheroine. Taking on evil. That’s what she was all about. “I wonder what Battle Axe wants from professor Pascal,” she says aloud. “Well, no time like the present to find out.”

But the present takes her longer than she’d like. It’s another six minutes of winding past corners and long hallways and even some dead ends before Destiny finally comes to a large open space. The final corridor opens up to a yawning blackness that her x-ray vision shows to be about 30 feet high. But Destiny is downright alarmed now. She is sweating and feels a little nauseous. This is a first for her in her life. Not something she wants to be feeling when she’s got Battle Axe to contend with.

What is happening?

Suddenly a spotlight from the distant ceiling pierces the darkness and Battle Axe stands on a wide, short square pedestal with his arms behind his back and all weapons ready at hand.

“Ready to tango, bitch?”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little under the weather,” Destiny says as her stomach flip flops and she sways slightly in place. “Maybe another time, BA. I’ve got to fly.” Leaping into the air Destiny soars all of three feet high before coming to a jarring crash landing on two sprawled out arms.

“What the hell...?” She says, shocked but not hurt. Then she looks up to see Battle Axe pounding across the cement floor, coming straight for her, his titanium axe raised up high over his right shoulder, ready to swing for the fences.

“OMG. This is not good!”

The swing is low, cutting upward. The woozy Destiny has only made it to her hands and knees when the blade of the titanium axe connects with her forehead.

THWOCK!

The blonde isn’t cut but she is a bit stunned as her body arches up and backward. A second later she lands on her back with her knees up and with her head hitting the concrete floor.

“UUNNHH!”

Battle Axe is kind of stunned himself. His axe is titanium and she doesn’t have a mark on her forehead. Not even a redness. He’d been told she’d be a patsy, a plaything. Didn’t seem that way. He watches as Destiny brings herself to her feet, scowling angrily at him. She looked like she liked to play rough.

She rushes at him and he holds his axe handle straight out, trying to slow her advance. Her cocked right arm unloads and her fist heads straight for his face but he’s able to dodge it. Seems her reflexes are compromised. Something to remember. But the doc said that would be later. Nevertheless, he turns his upper torso halfway around and brings the axe head down and across Destiny’s face with nasty downward chop.

“UUNNHH!” The teen heroine is driven down to one knee, her head low, her body crouched over. Battle Axe yanks the axe back up, guiding the flat head of it directly against his young prey’s jaw.

“AAGHH!” Destiny is knocked flat on her back again, this time with the toes of her boots pointing in opposite directions. It’s only momentary. Raising herself up on her elbows, the Most Awesome Teen looks at Battle Axe and pouts at him.

“Anybody ever tell you that you don’t play fair?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fine, your rules,” the blonde youngster says drawing herself up to her full height. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if I try something sneaky.”

“Sneaky’s left the building, bitch. All you got now is desperate.”

“We’ll see about that. The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

“What?”

“It’s a Mark Twain quote, numb-nuts. I didn’t expect you to get it anyway.” Once again, Destiny charges front on, right at Battle Axe.

“Yeah, well, get this, you chatty cunt.” Battle Axe raises his wrist and a sudden volley of ten 30-caliber bullets comes streaming at her face.

Thocka! Thocka! Thocka! Thocka! Thocka!

The fusillade slams into her forehead, cheek, nose, chin and eyelids. The force of it knocks Destiny’s head back, her legs slip out from under her and yet again the mighty blonde heroine has been beaten down so she’s on her back, looking up at the ceiling and fighting a wooziness that just won’t leave her. Raising herself on one arm and keeling sideways, the junior champion coughs loudly and then sneezes violently. She then collapses flat onto her back and moans. Not from the bullets but from whatever it is that is ravaging her system from within.

“Ohhh. What the hell did you to me?”

“The doc called it Zurick fever, I think,” Battle Axe says with a grin, seeing the girl suffering more and more now from its effects.

“Never heard of it.”

From a nearby speaker, a calm deep voice speaks out. “That’s Zhurigk Fever, Battle Axe, my friend. A nasty little space spore that is very toxic to girls like Destiny.”

“That one I’ve heard of,” says Destiny as once more she brings herself to a standing position. “But how was I exposed to it? I haven’t flown in space for weeks.”

“No, but you did get a nice reception by my cute little Pomeranian. So adorable. So irresistible. So covered in space spores that you contracted a very nasty dose,” the voice on the speaker sighs contentedly. Then continues, “After that, we just had to keep you busy for several minutes in our clever little maze and by the time you reached the end, you were deeply infected and here we are. Yes, this is a 24-hour bug that I’m afraid will prove fatal to you, mon cherie.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor Pascal,” says the plucky young heroine as she circles the also circling Battle Ax, “but you should have done your homework. Zhurigk Fever isn’t a terminal disease in Bylangians like me.”

“Oh it’s not the Zhurigk Fever that will be fatal, my dear,” says the speaker with a dry chuckle. “It’s the fact that it reduces those amazing power of yours by a whopping 90% that I’m counting on. I’ve come up with some very effective ways to take care of another 9%. I figure the famous Destiny at a mere one percent of her powers shouldn’t be too hard to eradicate. Let’s find out shall we?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not at 90% yet, Doctor. I think you made your play too early.”

“I don’t,” the speaker in the ceiling replies.

From out of Battle Axe’s vest shoots his deadly green optical stunning ray. The blazing green light strikes the slowed teen straight in the face, stunning her optic nerve as before.

“AAGGGHHH!!” She clutches her palms to her face and doubles over. Last time the effects only lasted about eight seconds, but at her reduced powers, Destiny has no idea how long she’ll be sightless.

And then her ear drums seem to explode in pain

“AAAIEEEEEYAAHHH!” The shrieking blonde heroine is now unable to hear anything thanks to Battle Axe’s sonic stun blast. Driven to her knees in pain, the blind and deaf heroine has no defense against the oncoming Battle Axe.

She certainly can’t see the huge smile he wears as he strides toward her with a vengeance.

Wavering in place, sick to her stomach with no way to protect herself, Destiny is scared to death for the first time in her short career.


End of Part 8


I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I look forward to your comments at [email protected] or right here in the forum.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 9


Wonder Woman keeps an eye on the wall-sized Justice League Global Watch monitor as she swivels back and forth in her high-backed command chair, feeling restless. She stops swiveling and takes a comforting sip of Tyraxian Juju Tea, which is supposed to be good for the nerves. She needs it. This case with Earth’s heroines under threat is gnawing away at her gut. And now, just when she feels she may be near a break in the case, this JL monitor shift rotation comes up. She frowns as she takes another sip. She’d already been on her shift
for four and a half hours and absolutely nothing of note had happened.

Diana yawned widely. Watch duty at the Justice League satellite really was the pits. Sure it was important, vital in fact, to be the one who coordinated all the heroes and heroines on call for threats capable of expanding to world-wide implications. But really, how often did that happen? Once every couple of months at the most. More often than not, very few incidents required more than one superhero at any one time, male or female.

Oh, there were super villains around and some very nasty non-super ones with access to materials that made keeping justice served a challenge. But all in all, most times, things could be handled without calling on the talents of a team of meta-humans. Therefore, most monitoring shifts were deadly dull. Some JLers read books or played computer games or practiced their powers in the gym, sending the link from the main panel to the monitor there with an audio feed and a emergency keyboard for sending commands at a second’s notice anywhere in the world or within a five planet radius in seconds. Well, minutes in the case of the outer planets like Jupiter. But few JLers hung out near that giant gas bag. It was more noxious than Lex Luthor.

DING

The alert bell went off and a message flashed on the wall screen.

Incoming contact from Superman

“Superman to JL satellite. Who’s on duty up there?”

“It’s Diana, Kal.”

“Why, hello beautiful! What’s going on?”

“Not a thing. The mice are throwing themselves out the airlock in fits of boredom.”

“We have mice on the satellite? How did that happen?”

“That would be a joke, Kal.” Sometimes the gorgeous hunk was just clueless.

“Oh, uh...yes. Very wry.”

“What’s going on, Kal? What do you need?”

“Just notifying JL command that I’m going off-planet for a few days. I’ve received a request from the Pyrraghorigan Council that they want me to mediate a meeting with the Ofalakahoosies on their sister planet. Some minor dispute about territorial space violations. No one else wants the job is my guess. They’re both very irritating species.”

“Are those the ones with all that attitude and all that mucous?”

“That’s them.” Superman’s sigh is audible through the speaker and Diana has her first grin in days.

“Better you than me, pal.”

“When I get back I’m going to want to detox? Want to hook up for dinner?”

“I’d like that, Kal.”

“Call you when I get back then, Diana.”

“Good luck. And don’t take any crap from either side. Those nasal-sucking creeps should have learned to get along by now. It’s been 280 years for Hera’s sake.”

“Some people are slow learners, Diana.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re stuck with the assignment, Kal. You’re way too nice.”

“Nice is what I do best,” says Superman.

“Wow. Hold on. I’m just ordering that in a T-shirt for you now.”

“Really?”

“NO!”

“Oh.”

“Bye Kal.”

“Bye, WuhWuh.”

“God, you know how much I hate that.”

“And your T-shirt with that in shocking hot pink is in the mail.”

“I see. And, if I wear it, will you Wuh-Wuh my ta-tas, Kal?”

She hears his gulp all the way from the orbit of Mars in crystal clear digital sound.

“Uh...got to fly, Di. Bye!”

That was the most fun Diana had on monitor duty in months. Sweet Kal-El. She did love teasing him. She sighed and took the final gulp of her tea and looked at the clock on the wall. It was set to Greenwich Mean Time. Doing the math, realized it was about 7:30 pm down in Washington, D.C. as the bright blue globe spun beneath her.

* * *

Destiny’s eyes are wide open but she cannot see. Her ears strain to catch the slightest sound but she cannot hear. On her knees, blind and deaf from Battle Axe’s crushing attack on her prime senses, the novice heroine fights the panic rising within her. Her chest expands and contracts rapidly and she lets out several harsh raspy barks of a cough.

“Khaughff...Khaughff....Khaughff...”

The Zhurigk Fever she’s been infected with continues to ravage her system and erode her strength with its array of nasty symptoms. The orange star burst emblem on her left breast with its vibrant blue swooping capital D rises and falls rapidly. The young teenager tries to calm herself down. She knows that she’s still virtually invulnerable so this game’s not over by a long shot, but she’s got to turn the situation to her advantage somehow, or at the very least, nullify his edge in some way.

She turns her head from side to side but can’t fathom where Battle Axe may be. Obviously he’s not saying anything to give his position away. Although she doubt she’d be able to hear him even if he were singing “Feelings” directly in her ear at the top of his lungs. She’s sweating heavily from the space fever and from her building fear. Within her deep open V-neck, her cleavage shines with the slow drips sliding down the curves of her large breasts. The dampness darkens her armpits and the undersides of her breasts within her golden top. Destiny wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and tries to reach out with whatever extra sensory perception she can muster to locate her foe.

Wait! She feels the vibration through the floor of his approach. A steady pace she can make out through her toes flexed in her boots. She puts down her right palm against the floor’s cool cement for a better sense of his whereabouts. Damn, she wished the floor was wood. That could help her sense the vibrations much more easily! She holds her other arm out with the elbow bent, a blocking pose to protect her face.

A ceiling camera records the moment, catching the blonde heroine’s magnificent body as it stretches and flexes within her bright costume in the brightly lit main area of the warehouse. She may be plunged into darkness with her sight traumatized by Battle Axe’s retina shock ray but her foes can clearly see her and prepare for her every move. Pascal watches her crouch low with a wide, expectant smile.

Wow! He feels so close! I’d better...

The whipping slash of Battle Axe’s heavy gauge steel chain snapping against her waist knocks the 118-pound teen sideways to her shoulder. She’s still powerful enough that it doesn’t hurt but the physics of the chain’s unforgiving momentum does render its toll. Falling onto her shoulder, Destiny rolls with the blow and comes up in a fast crouch, facing her foe and feeling through her feet where his weight is near her. Barefoot would be better but that has too many drawbacks. She decides against removing her boots.

She just has to keep moving and not give him a clean shot. But there are implements and benches and all sorts of hazards scattered about. Flying is out of the question. The Zhurigk Fever has rendered that power obsolete for the next 24 hours, she glumly acknowledges. It will also keep her weakened and somewhat queasy for that same amount of time. It’s a bad situation but if she keeps her head, she can get out of this in one piece despite the brash promise of the French doctor of her impending death.

Destiny keeps moving in a small circle, shifting and dodging her head and body, praying for her eyesight and hearing to return. Just then, overcome with a tickle and a catch in her throat, she sneezes three times in a row, her head rearing back with each sneeze. The Bylangian champion loses her concentration as her nose drips a thin line of blue-tinted snot. The constant dull headache that’s taken up residence in the back of her skull isn’t helping Destiny maintain her focus either. Sniffling and barking another cough, the miserable heroine stops circling and tries to reach out again to perceive where Battle Axe might be. Suddenly, a heavy vibration behind her has her leaping up and spinning in mid-air to face her foe. She lands hard yet on her toes ready to defend. She’s not totally helpless at least. But that leap wasn’t a good idea. She needs to keep contact with the floor at all times to have any...

The blunt end of the axe head comes crashing down on the back of Destiny’s skull driving her to one knee. She turns halfway and throws her arm up to block a second overhead blow but the whiplash of the chain swinging up from underneath and slamming into her jaw takes her completely by surprise. Her head snaps back and her body follows immediately, flying four feet through the air before she comes to a thumping, sliding stop against a table, her skirt hiked up, her golden panties showing, the toes of her boots pointing in opposite directions.

Hmmph!” the teen heroine snorts, angry at being knocked on her ass yet again. Feeling the skirt on her waist, she pushes it down with a flip of her hand. That huge vibration was a chair or something large that Battle Axe had thrown behind her to distract her. Score one for the muscle-bound henchman.

“You must be so proud of yourself beating up a blind and deaf girl,
Axehole!” Getting quickly to her feet, Destiny puts her hand on the tabletop behind her and glides along its length. When she gets to the corner she slides around it and puts the table between herself and Battle Axe. “What’s next, big man, drowning kittens? Crushing hamsters? Torturing slow-moving turtles? You’re not just going to have to answer to me; all the animal welfare groups are going to have your ass in a sling, too, I hope you realize.”

Destiny knows she’s babbling and thinks back to what Wonder Woman said about being too chatty. But this wasn’t needlessly drawing out a take-down, this was stalling for time to prevent her own. Seemed like as good a plan as any.

Either her foe is standing still or he’s walking very slowly and carefully because she can’t sense anything about where he is now. Her sight and hearing are still completely useless! She feels like a sitting duck. Her world is pitch black and overly warm. She’s feverish and slightly nauseous. She can feel her lungs drawing air but can’t hear the panting. Fighting to keep down her desperate sense of inadequacy, the blonde teen lowers down to one knee and puts her palm on the floor once more to try to gauge the direction that Battle Axe may be launching his next attack.

Nothing! Where is the bastard?

From out of nowhere, a chain drops from overhead and pulls tight around her throat. Destiny is yanked backward and upwards, her boot heels dragging along the floor until her body is pulled completely off her feet and she dangles in Battle Axe’s choke hold from the table behind her on which he sits.

“WRAALCGK!”

Her hands fly to her throat, fingers just about under the chain links and ready to pull the choking length of steel away so she can drop to the floor. Even at reduced strength, she’s more than a match for him. She can feel his hard-edged Kevlar vest pressed against her back through the soft material of her costume. She’s more than a little surprised he’s gotten this close. It’s exactly what she’s been hoping for in order to turn the tables on him. And that’s just what she’s going...

The pile driving blow to her stomach takes Destiny completely by surprise. It reflexively jerks her hands out from under the choke chain and down to her stomach. The follow-up blows are hard, fast and relentless, one after another after another, smashing in from every different angle and she can’t block one of them. She figures it has to be Doctor Pascal whaling away at her. He delivers eight, no nine hard thumping jolts in a row to her stomach with a pointed steel bar. The queasiness is nearly overwhelming. The combination of this onslaught and the queasiness from the space flu make Destiny wince and gasp a bit and fight back an urge to vomit. This concentrated and unrelenting attack on her stomach is starting to knock some of the wind out of her, especially with Battle Axe and his choke chain behind her garrotting her neck as he keeps her dangling feet half a foot off the floor so she can’t gain any decent leverage.

“Uhhh. I don’t remember....signing up for....jousting dummy...” she gasps out. Since she hasn’t effectively blocked a single blow from the bar, she raises her hands back to her throat to pry the chain away from her throat and take back some momentum. Before she can work her fingers underneath the chain again, the point of the steel pole drives hard directly between her legs, slamming into her lower pelvis just above her vagina.

“Ghuh!” Destiny grunts at that blow, then speaks with a slightly pained grimace, as she struggles to slide her fingers under the chain tightly gripped around her throat. She’s still too strong for it to be cutting off her airway but getting her fingertips under the chain isn’t easy with the steady drop-off in her powers and the abuse she’s taking. “You guys are all alike,” she pants, her breasts heaving as she struggles and kicks feebly in the air. “With your guns....(gasp)... and your sticks.... and all your dumb weapons. It’s all a sorry-ass jack-off substitute....(.wheeze)... for your dicks, guys. You know that, right?....UNGGH!”

A second slamming jolt to her pussy draws a loud grunt but the struggling blonde champion continues to talk, trying to distract Battle Axe’s attention as she nearly has her fingertips sliding under the chain clasped tightly to her throat. “I mean, hello, do I have to draw you a picture? This is basic psychol...OHHH!”

Destiny grunts with discomfort when the pointed bar slams back between her legs for a third time with ever more power. It jolts her fingers down and her effort to ease the choke hold fails. The Bylangian Dynamo is fed up with all of this. She kicks out her left leg and tries to score a field goal with Pascal’s nut sack. But there’s nothing there where she kicks out driving her leg up high.

“Damn, I was hoping for three poi....HEY!”

Her ankle is grabbed and held up high. And then she feels her assailant in front of her roughly pull aside the crotch of her panties exposing both her holes to the open air.

“What the hell! Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?” the Most Awesome Teen says. “Rape the poor blind deaf girl. Well, this girl’s not so helpless, guys.” Destiny has already started to pull down her leg but she’s off balance and weakened from the steady beat down and isn’t fast enough. From behind her, she feels two fingers separate her butt cheeks as a smooth slippery metal nozzle is forced up her anus.

“Boy, you guys just don’t qu....AARRRGGGHHH!” Destiny screams in shock and pain, her body arching like a bow as Battle Axe’s flame thrower shoots a stream of liquid fire up her ass. And then the steel bar smashes downward against her cheek, blasting her head to the side with the force of the blow. This is followed up by just as hard a shot with the bar to her other cheek, her head snapping in the other direction. And then a second blast of fire sears up into her body. And the chain doesn’t relent its secure grip around her throat as she dangles from it while her body is being battered and beaten without mercy. Her one leg is still raised high and the smashing blows to her face continue with fierce relentlessness. Over and over her cheek, her jaw and her forehead are clubbed back and forth in a devastating rhythm of hate and vengeance even as the flame thrower shoots fiery pain into the mighty teen’s rear.

WHACK! CRACK! HISSSSS! SIZZZLE! WHACK! CRACK! HISSSSS! SIZZZLE! WHACK! CRACK! HISSSSS! SIZZZLE!

And then, without notice, all the fury and the fire stop. Her leg is released and the nozzle is pulled out of her butt hole. A stream of thick, bright yellow flaming drops of gasoline drain out of the groaning blonde teenager’s ass like fiery shit. The firefall cascades between the black heels of the young girl’s trembling orange boots only to sputter and die on the cold non-flammable cement. The mighty heroine is watched very carefully and very nervously by her two assailants. But not even Destiny, powerful as she is, can withstand this level of abuse with her body critically weakened by the space bug circulating through her system.

“OHHHHHHH!” She moans loud and low, suspended only by her throat, chin on her chest, dangling limply with her arms hanging loose at her sides. She cannot focus, cannot recover right now as her body uses a heavy measure of its powers to heal her body at this point.

Smiling unseen behind her, Battle Axe grips the chain behind her head as Destiny succumbs to the wooziness, the heat and the dull pain in her face and ass.

It’s in this drifting daze that she feels her left breast lifted out from within the V-neck opening and rubbed and fondled with a smooth greasy glaze.

“Uuuhhhhhh....whuhhht...”

She weakly lifts her head and realizes she can actually make out a big gray blur in the middle of all the black. Her vision seems to be coming back. That is until the back of her head is smartly struck by Battle Axe’s titanium knife handle and her chin falls to her chest in numb confusion.

“Ohhh...” she groans, unable to focus on anything for the moment as her slippery tit is rubbed with one final swipe before being pushed back into the uniform. The novice heroine doesn’t realize it but her breast has been smeared with a gel containing a powerful chemical agent that will badly retard her brain’s ability to process electrical signals. To her, it feels like some dumb guy getting his jollies oiling up her tits.

After a momentary pause, the second breast is pulled out from the V-neck into the open air. This one too gets the full glazing: smooth hands rounding about her soft curves, squeezing, smearing, rubbing and coating the large round teat until every inch glimmers with the salve.

In the ceiling, the cameras capture the moment in vivid detail. Dr Pascal stands before the mighty Destiny, fondling her breast at will as she dangles by the neck helplessly before him. His hands shine with heavy dollops of yellowish gel inundated with the chemical neural inhibitor as he wantonly desecrates the famous champion’s fat fleshy mound with cradling strokes and fast flicking fingers to the swelling pink nipple.

Finally, the nodding blonde’s breast is roughly pushed back into place. As a final insult, both tits are pushed flat and rolled about her chest for several seconds, the greasy hands of the smiling Frenchman smearing the girl’s logo, her smooth golden fabric and the bright blue lapels with long, staining trails of slimy grease as the limp Destiny hangs in mid-air, defenseless in a fog of pain and fever.

After a long 30 seconds, Destiny murmurs into her chest, finally achieving a small measure of mental awareness. “...uuuughhh......ohhhhhh....damn...itz the same....all over....the universe.....guys...like to... squeeze.....tits...”

And then the chain releases. The smooth links are pulled away with a deft yank and the super heroine drops to the floor like a rock, landing in a heap with her forehead thumping loudly on the cement, her ass up, panties showing, and her face down as her cheek presses flat against the floor in bewildered weariness. “...ohhh...which end....is...up....?” Destiny mumbles, trying her best to focus. She’ll have to do better than this, she thinks, or she could be in real trouble. Then she sneezes abruptly and a misty spray of pale blue snot reflects off the cement floor and settles on the dazed blonde’s face.

Dr. Rene Pascal looks down at the mumbling, confused heroine on the floor at his feet and tries to gauge her status at the moment. He can’t be sure and it’s certainly not scientific but to him, the young blonde bitch looks to be at a fraction of her normal strength now; maybe around 20%. Good progress but still a long way to go. But that was okay because he had lots of fun surprises prepared for his little lab rat.

* * *

Wonder Woman is straining with all her might, the sweat beading on her forehead in huge drops as she slowly bench presses the resistance equivalent of 22 tons on the specialized weight training machine built for the Justice League satellite. It’s her 20th and final repetition and she presses through to the top, her arms shaking as she holds onto the bar and keeps it steady for a three count before resting it on the steel cradle. The second the bar touches both cradles on either side of Diana’s head, the gravity flux control zeroes out its resistance factor and the 10-pound bar and it’s 30-pound end weights are set back to their real weight instantaneously. The bench had settings from 60 pounds to 250 tons. Even Superman didn’t do that many reps at the highest setting. Only about 60 or 70 at a brisk pace.

Wonder Woman is lying on her back, her chest rising and falling in mighty swells as she cools down and lets her sweat be absorbed by the thick fluffy towel draped over the bench. She’s fretting over the range of clues in the Heroine Killer case and the lack of hard evidence available. The Elimanol hadn’t led anywhere solid but it did point to the Frenchman Pascal as did the drugs found in the knockout/aphrodisiac cocktail. The rubber pleasure suit had led nowhere, or at least not until the owner of the adult entertainment store came back from vacation. That neural chemical that was made exclusively in Europe had not been tracked down to any specific names yet. That wouldn’t happen until Interpol called her tomorrow morning at the earliest. And she yet to hear back about any leads that might be worthwhile from the beta chip found on the rubber suit. At the moment, the Frenchman was her best suspect but by no means a sure thing. At this point, certainly not enough for any kind of warrant.

Her ringing cell phone disturbs her train of thought and she wearily pulls herself up and walks over to where the phone is resting on the juice bar. Her generous ass wiggles and shifts in her tight blue briefs as she plods sulkily over to the phone. She sees the name and number on the screen and grimaces as she sits down on the high stool at the counter. Detective Abato calling. Even 23,000 miles in space, she still had to deal with this guy! Why did the JL satellite have to be linked into the world wide communications system? Oh sure, they had to have instant communication for planetary-wide threats of total devastation, but was that really worth it compared to being able to not have to take a call from this slime ball? She never should have given him the Wonder Woman cell phone number. Well, maybe he had a lead that would help. She’d try to keep this as short as possible.

“Hello, Detective Abato. I hope you’re making headway,” she says, taking the offensive.

“Hiya, toots. How’s tricks?”

The man was incorrigible! He showed her no respect at all!

“Do you have a report to make, Abato, or are you just wasting my time and public resources without anything to show for it?”

“Hey, don’t get your panties in a bunch, Wonder Woman. Besides, although you have legal access to this case and can serve as an officer of the court, I’m the fuckin’ lead detective in this matter under the jurisdiction of the District of Columbia, lady, so back the fuck off. Pleeaassse.” That last word is delivered with such smarmy insincerity that Diana is tempted to hang up on the irritating little tyrant.

Holding her temper, Diana asks, “Is there any good news, Detective? At all?” She crosses her fingers of the hand resting on her muscular thigh.

“I can’t be sure to be honest with you, Wonder Woman.” Diana hears actual regret in the man’s voice and a weariness. Certainly he had to be feeling immense pressure by this time. The case had generated headlines worldwide at this point. Two superheroines dead within the course of six days will do that. Recent news headlines and columnists had begun getting snide about the lack of results

“Scarlet Avenger Yet to be Avenged”

“Not Faster than a Speeding Bullet”

“No Flair for Justice. No Justice for Flare”

“Police Are Powerless, Too!”

Diana softens her tone. “Why did you call, Detective? What do you have?”

“We have a list from the company that made the chip found on the rubber suit the second victim was wearing. I’m forwarding it to you now. These are the names of all the companies and individuals that were sent the beta version of that chip for field tests. About two dozen names. I looked through them but nothing there rings a bell with me. In the meantime, I got extra men in the task force tracking down every name here for anything that looks fishy but, frankly, I’m kinda hopin’ maybe you can spot somethin’, Wonder Woman.”

He’s scared for his job. He’s trying to mend a fence here.

“Hey, I’m sorry I was out of line before,” he continues. “There’s a lot of pressure around here for results. You touched a nerve.”

“I accept your apology, Detective Abato, and I will get back to you if anything rings a bell with me, as you say.”

“Thanks, toots! Later.” He clicks off and Wonder Woman stares at her phone, simply stunned.

Is he trying to make my blood boil or is it just a natural gift he has?

Nearly growling, Wonder Woman opens the file Abato had forwarded and looks through all the names, searching the screen for the name Pascal with laser blue eyes. Hoping for a break.

It isn’t here!

Diana almost chokes with a teary “Aargghhh!” as she pounds the juice counter in frustration. Fortunately, this counter is made of much more durable materials than the one in Heavenly Desires Adult Emporium. After all, meta-humans convened around this bar and often slapped it in laughter or anguish, it had to be solidly built.

She scans every name and yet the results are the same. No Pascal Research LLC. Nothing even close. Just a lot of names both corporate and individuals that would have to be checked out one by one. For now another dead end. Diana rests her forehead on the counter and sighs heavily, her stomach feels like she’s grinding glass in there. It’s 9:30 pm in Washington, DC. Was this the night another heroine would be taken?


End of Part 9


Comments welcome below or at [email protected]

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 10

As she’s hoisted to her feet, a woozy Destiny can’t even keep her legs from buckling and Battle Axe has to wrap one hand around her waist while the other holds her wrist with the blonde’s limp arm pulled around his shoulder.

“...you...bastards....did some....number...on me...” she grumbles, her mind dulled by pain, the Zhurigk Fever and the neural inhibitors just kicking in. She feels as weak as a baby lamb and just as dangerous. On the plus side of things, her vision is finally coming back. She can see the toes of her orange boots as her head nods against her chest. They’re blurry but the focus is slowly returning. And she just catches the end of Battle Axe’s taunt of her.

“....easiest super cunt I’ve ever taken down.”

“...bet you say...that...to all the...girls...” she replies. Then realizes how stupid it was to give away the information she could hear again. “Can’t you...clowns...turn on the lights,” she says. “Iz pitch black in here. S’matter, doctor genius....forget to pay...your light bill?”

“Ah, but the lights are on, my dear Destiny,” the doctor says from a safe distance, watching the blonde with bright-eyed scientific empiricism. She’s heavily supported by Battle Axe and too weak to even fully raise her head. He’s very pleased with how well his plans have played out. They’ve handled this amazingly powerful female perfectly so far. “It’s just that’s nobody’s home in your retina right now. And may not be for some time I’m afraid, mon cherie.”

“Let go a me, you big lump,” Destiny whines, pulling at Battle Axe’s hand on her waist but unable to budge it right now. Or at least pretending not to be able to. She’s biding her time for a clear opening where she can gain the upper hand.

Dr. Pascal frowns at this. He didn’t think he’d knocked that much power out of the young bitch that she couldn’t break away from a mere human, even one as powerful as this towering specimen. The thing is, it was difficult to be exact when it came to a meta-humans and their abilities. What’s more, there wasn’t a huge amount of data about how the space spore affected specific species. The fellow researcher who Pascal had contacted via back channels of the scientific community for the spore sample had the barest minimum of records on the influence of Zhurigk Fever on Bylangian physiology.

The symptoms list was brief and only slightly helpful. It described a 24-hour cycle that included general weakness, loss of flight, nausea, flu-like symptoms and intermittent powerful headaches. The man supplying the spore readily accepted Pascal’s reason for needing a spore sample as a means to investigate neural pathways used by antigens. Pascal was well-known in scientific circles for his advanced work on brain function. It had been an honor for the young researcher to talk to the Frenchman. He was thrilled to provide the spore and gave explicit instructions for maximizing it’s growth regimen and the optimum cultures in which to do so.

Still, Dr. Pascal is wary of the blonde’s behavior. It didn’t feel consistent with what he expected. Plus, her verbal skills didn’t seem overly affected by the inhibitors yet as far as he could tell. With the punishment she’d just taken, he couldn’t be certain where her lethargy ended and the inhibitor’s effects began. But the verbal quality was higher than her displayed physical ineptitude.

Pascal thinks she could be faking and he gives a barely perceptible pre-arranged hand chop signal. Battle Ax continues to hold on to Destiny’s wrist on his shoulder while releasing her waist. She sags into him, her legs seemingly still failing to provide support.

“Please see that our guest is comfortable for the next few minutes, Axe. I must go check the control room and be sure the recording discs are not filled up. Naturalement, I do not want to lose a minute of this for my journal addendums.”

“Sure thing, doc. I’ll find her a comfy place to rest. She looks kinda tired and sweaty.”

The Frenchman walks out of the wide open warehouse space and heads into the low-ceiling hallway that led Destiny into her personal Hell on Earth.

“Let’s find you a nice place to lie down, Destitute,” Battle Axe jokes. “How about right here.”

“Whuh...?...where...?” Destiny mumbles..

Without warning, the huge muscular man pulls the titanium axe off his battle belt and rams the head of it full force into Destiny’s gut. Her eyes go wide and her puffed cheeks blow out every ounce of air in her lungs. Battle Axe releases her wrist and the Most Awesome Heroine collapses to her knees and keels over onto her side, wheezing and gasping loudly.

“HEEEZ! WHOOOOP! HEEEZ! .......ghuuuuuhhhh......”

“That comfortable enough for you, bitch? You had a fun time beating my ass the other day, didn’t you? Now it’s payback time, twat! That little love tap is just in case you’re getting any screwy ideas about whose in charge here, butter buns,” Battle Axe says, hauling up the gasping beauty by her collar.

“...clearly....not you...” she pants, her face scrunched up in a wince. “...such big muscles...such a small brain......”

Growling like a rapid dog, Battle Axe flings the teen across the open space with one arm like a discus. Her body spins in circle until her head smashes into a stack of wooden pallets that come crashing down on her.

“That could be my personal best in the heroine toss,” Battle Axe jokes as he stalks across to where a dizzy Destiny is struggling to get to her knees so she can defend herself. Like before, she puts one arm out in front of her, trying to protect herself as the other feels the floor for his vibration. But this time it’s a ruse. Nevertheless, Battle Axe plays the same game thinking what worked before will work again. He picks up a small metal step stool and hurls it behind the frowning blonde. The moment it crashes to the floor, he dashes up to her as she spins in place again, her back to him, poised to protect herself in her blindness. “This is too easy,” he thinks as he lifts his axe for another head smash. Just as his arm swings down with the blunt end of the axe nearing the halo of soft blonde curls, Destiny ducks sideways, spins back around and punches out with a straight arm directly at her shocked foe’s face. He turns his head just enough so that her fist connects with the protective side flap of his Kevlar helmet but the blow knocks the titan twelve feet through the air until he lands on his back and comes to a sliding stop, his body limp, boots pointed at the ceiling.

“And that could be MY personal best in the chump of the month knockout,” the blonde heroine says with her first real smile in an hour. Then she gets serious and stalks off to find Pascal. Suddenly, the teen champion stops and pivots in place. She quickly walks back to where Battle Axe lies unconscious. Getting down on one knee, Destiny reaches over and pinches the small green circle on Battle Axe’s vest where the optical stunner ray is generated. It crunches with a nice pleasant sound to her ears, as does the tiny pointed aerial that creates the sound wave that stunned her ears so badly.

“Oops, toysies go crackle,” she says and then rises and proceeds directly into the low hallway to find Pascal and end this.

Walking through the long low hallway again, Destiny feels even worse now than when she felt on the way in. She’s more flushed, more tired and even more nauseous than ever. At one point she puts her palm against the wall and bends over as a pounding headache and gut-twisting stomach ache have her on the very edge of puking. She fights the rising gorge down, willing herself to keep control and after a moment, she lifts her head and blows out a hot tepid blast of foul breath.

“Phew. This Zhurigk Fever is a bitch.” Feeling slightly better, she moves on down the hallway. There are no breaks in the walls or ceilings, no doors, no windows, no fans circulating the stale air.

Where did this guy go? Control room can’t be that far away? I hope I hit BA hard enough. Don’t want to have to fight him again. Don’t feel well. Where did this guy go anyway? Boy, they really beat me up a lot. And that fiery thing in my ass hurt so much. Really! So much! Darn it all! Why did I forget to break that fire weapon. That wasn’t smart Destiny. Super heroines aren’t s’posed to make mistakes like that. Girl could get killed or worse. Gosh, seems like I been walking a long time. Where’d what’s his name go anyway?

“Pastel? Yoo hoo. Coming to get you!” Destiny foolishly shouts out, eliminating all possibility of surprise. But the neural inhibitors have kicked in strongly and the novice heroine is now stupidly stumbling ahead to her doom, her reasoning badly compromised. A sudden racking series of coughs and multiple sneezes overwhelms her for a moment and she wavers in place, a bit dizzy from the attack. She wipes a trace of blue snot from her nose with the back of her hand and absentmindedly wipes it on her skirt.

Maybe I should just fly outtahere and come back later with Wonder Woman. She could be helping me. She’s a good person. A nice woman. Could be a friend. I’d like that. I should fly away and get her. Oh yeah, forgot. Flying’s not for me for a while. Stupid fever! Where the heck did this guy go?

Finally, Destiny comes to a door.

“Yipeee! At last! Destiny gets to kick bad guy butt,” she whispers loudly. She tries using her x-ray vision but that seems to be on the fritz for now.

Twisting the knob, she’s surprised to find it’s not locked. She pushes the door wide open and strikes her own special heroic pose facing a pitch black room. Her right fist is on her hip, her left arm is extended out, all fingers clutched together but for the forefinger which points outward defiantly.

“Jigs up, Pascky! Come on out! You’re goin’ to jail, mister. You can’t escape the long arm of justice!”

The lights flare on and Destiny is facing four separate 12-gauge double barreled shotguns mounted in racks pointed right at her. She blinks in complete surprise as they all fire at once directly at her.

KABBABOOM!

The blonde is thrown backward from the intense impact of all that firepower hitting her in the chest, face, arms and legs. She slams against the wall and collapses in a heap, stunned senseless but not riddled with countless holes from all the shot in eight shells of explosive death smashing against her. Amazingly, even though it’s badly compromised, her Bylangian physique has held up against a fusillade that would have reduced virtually any other being to a pulpy mess.

“.....uuuuuunnnnnhhhhhhhhh....” But Destiny is completely out of it. Her head tilts on her shoulder, her mouth slack as her arms hang loose, both hands palms up. The heroine’s muscular legs sprawl straight out, her skirt drapes between her thighs providing at least some modesty below, but both breasts have been knocked out of the badly skewed V-neck. There are no lasting black pockmarks or scorches on the naked breasts but the countless dimples from the shot are slowly disappearing back into smooth flesh as the slouching blonde champion sits with her back against the wall in a total stupor.

From down the hall comes the sound of someone heavy jogging toward the groggy teen but she’s far too stunned to do anything but sit there. Battle Axe rounds the corner just as Pascal comes out of the shotgun room. Together, they stand over the slumped beauty. Both are all smiles.

“That worked out just like you said it would, doc! Except for my headache,”he says, rubbing his cheek.

“Of course.”

“Look at them beautiful tits. My, what huge knockers you have, granny,” Battle Axe says, parodying Little Red Riding Hood. “Hey, mind if I give ‘em a squeeze, doc?”

“You can fondle her as much as you like, lad, as soon as you tie her to the chair as we discussed.”

“Oh, right! Sure. Be happy to. With nice tight knots. I don’t like you, bitch. You play too rough.”

After stating that, Battle Axe kicks Destiny in the kidney and she yelps out in pain as she tilts all the way over to her side. Reaching down, the huge henchman grabs a handful of hair, spins the barely conscious girl in the opposite direction and drags her into the shotgun room. When he comes to a steel folding chair, he hauls her seemingly boneless body onto it and begins tying her up with a coil of thin steel cable left next to the chair. He loops the cable around her waist twice and her shins twice, pinning her legs to the chair legs. He then ties a wrist to each thigh and proceeds to loop the steel cable between her naked breasts and over her shoulders in an X that pins her back to the steel chair back. Finally he passes the end behind her back and between her butt crack, pushing on the cable until the end pokes out from under her crotch. He pulls this up into the cleft of her womanhood and then winds the steel cord around her neck before looping it back down and tying it off in a square knot to the loops around her waist.

With the bondage completed, Battle Axe takes off his Kevlar gloves and fondles the teenage girl’s large bare breasts with slow, firm caresses. He enjoys himself immensely, going to town on the great big beautiful rack this babe offered. He squeezes hard, he mauls, he rubs her nipples and he even goes to suck on the nipples when Pascal puts a hand on him.

“I would not do that. I think she has absorbed all the neural inhibitors but I cannot guarantee it. I would also wash your hands after this. One never knows. You do not have an over-abundance of brain cells to waste, my friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, dumb henchman. I get it. But you wouldn’t have this bitch like this if not for me.”

“That is true and I do value your contribution. Nevertheless, you should go wash.”

The big guy walks out toward the bathroom leaving Pascal alone with the nodding blonde heroine. Through all of the rope work and the discussion between the men, Destiny has been too disoriented and weak to put up a shred of resistance. She’s barely been cognizant of her surroundings. From her nostrils, a thin trail of the palest blue snot hangs down in a springy thread that finally fixes to her upper lip. Pascal, comfortable now with the heroine securely trussed up like Christmas turkey, palms her chin and kneels down before the moaning blonde girl.

“So this is the darling heroine who everyone claims is the next Supergirl. So powerful. So indestructible. She does not have to worry about kryptonite. She is an unstoppable force for good. Well, you have been stopped for good here, haven’t you, cupcake? I warned you that this Zhurigk Fever could be fatal, did I not, my young champion?”

With her eyes blinking and fluttering, Destiny registers the voice and the sensation of the hand gripping her face. She looks up dully from under heavy lids and replies. “...not dead yet....Frenchy....”

“Ah, well, non, this is true. But the night is young yet. And I have even more fun planned for you.”

“...ever consider...being...a party planner...?” Destiny says thickly. “..got...the knack...”

Pascal releases the blonde’s face from his grip and paces away, then circles around her chair talking.

“Always having the quick comeback, yes? Even now. Well, I am extremely impressed, Destiny, that you are not a babbling cretin considering all that you have been subjected to, mon cherie. But this is no joking matter. Just as it was not when my dear Marie had her life snuffed out by a mighty heroine such as yourself. A paragon of justice and goodness who let my sweet sister choke to death and did nothing. Your kind disgusts me with your judge and jury attitude, deciding who lives and dies with a wave of your hand. Well, it is I who holds the gavel now, you haughty trollop. And I who shall bring it down on you with all the justice my dead sister demands!” Walking to a blue wall switch, Pascal turns toward the bound heroine and says, “Au revoir, mademoiselle,” then knocks the toggle switch down with slap of his palm.

The floor beneath Destiny suddenly gives way and the dumbstruck Bylangian teen finds herself tied tightly to a chair falling through the air for a full second and half before she is plunged into the coldest water she’s ever felt in her life.

SPLASH

The freezing temperature of the water almost makes the girl gasp and lose all the air she’d gulped the second the chair dropped into eternity. She doesn’t lose her air though and rather quickly she and the chair settle to the bottom of a very deep water tank. The chair lands on its side. She’s bound with a steel cable. She sick as a dog with Zhurigk Fever. She wonders if she had enough of her powers left to live through this. The shock of the water temperature does at least help her poorly functioning brain to focus.

The mighty Destiny strains against the cables, flexing the muscles in her arms, wrists and legs with all her strength. The steel does not snap like stale spaghetti as she was hoping. Instead they stretch just slightly like very thick rubber bands. She tries again, pushing both fists to the side with all her might as she stares at the riveted steel wall five feet away from her. The arm that’s pinned to the bottom of the tank underneath her as she rests on her side can do nothing except shift the chair slightly. The other arm is stretching the cable a bit more. Helplessly, Destiny releases a clump of bubbles as her measure of air diminishes. She strains against the taut steel loops again, trying to remain calm.

She’s not the all-powerful heroine now. She’s a fraction of it but she can’t think that way. Yet again she strains against the cables and she hears them complain with a low groan dampened by thousands of gallons of water. Heartened by this, she puts every ounce of her willpower to the test as well as everything she has left of her Bylangian might. She pushes outward with a fierceness in her face that is unlike anything she’s shown on magazine covers and charity posters throughout Washington. This is not the pretty young heroine who teenage boys fantasize about. This is a woman of extraordinary courage and spirit who is expending everything to fight through a challenge cruelly thrown down before her. She flexes and pushes out from the core of her being and finally the cables relent, twanging like broken bass fiddle strings. With her hands free, she is able to rip apart the cables around her legs and the rest of them immediately after that. Smiling with a deep sense of satisfaction, Destiny kicks off the bottom and swims to the surface, releasing another small cloud of bubbles as he does.

KLUUNK!

Her head hits a clear covering that stretches over the entire tank of water. Eyes bulging, Destiny gives the solid pane of DuraLast iron polymer a hard thump with her fist. It shakes but does not break. She thumps it again but she can’t get enough energy through the water’s resistance to make enough of an impact on the unyielding material. Another grouping of bubbles must be released and it’s Destiny’s last. She’s on borrowed time here. Swimming to the side of the tank, she spins so she’s upside down, her arms braced against the wall, her feet pressing against the polymer cover. She draws her feet about eight inches away from the underside of the cover and thrusts upward with both feet, her black boot heels jarring hard against the clear substance.

GATHUUMP! Nothing happens so she kicks again, this time making sure both heels hit simultaneously. THUMP! Again she kicks. THUMP! And again. THUMP! And again, now feeling faint, all her air gone. THUMP. Crick! That sounded like something positive. Giving it her all, bracing firmly with her arms, she kicks out with boots at the same spot where she’s been kicking before. THUMP! CRACK! THUMP! CRACK! CRUNCH! SPLASH! A piece of the cover drops into the tank beside her and lazily floats to the bottom. Desperately, Destiny swims for the hole she’s made and grabs the edges of the polymer cover and heaves her head out of the freezing cold water. And tastes sweet, sweet oxygen.

“WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!” She’s done it! Too weak to even tread water, Destiny hangs on to the polymer cover with both arms braced against it. She’s just drawing oxygen and trying to get the energy to pull herself up and out of the freezing water. After 40 seconds, the blonde heroine hauls her drenched and shivering body up onto the top surface of the cover and crawls on her hands and knees to the side of the tank. A steel deck surrounds the tank and when she gets there, she crawls onto it and collapses flat onto the cool steel. Her sodden uniform clings to her shape and reveals every curve, dimple, nipple and butt cheek with a shining slickness that leaves nothing to the imagination about the beautiful teenager’s every asset. But Destiny lies there unknowing, uncaring, just delighted to be alive. She’s persevered. She feels immense vindication. She’s earned her stripes and can face anything now.

And then the shivering starts and the moment of triumph is over. Deep, unrelenting chills suddenly sweep through the 18-year old’s feverish body like she’s being clubbed to death with huge icicles.

“Uh..huh...huh..huhhh. Oh...ohh..hohhhh...” She can’t prevent her teeth from clicking out the devil’s Morse code or her blue lips from shivering and twitching like worms on a hook. “Uh..huh...huh..huhhh. Oh...ohh..hohhhh...”

“Congratulations, mon amie,” calls Pascal from the overhead speaker. “Such fortitude. Such a show of strength and determination. Such inspiring pluck. Too bad it’s all for naught.”

Destiny wearily looks up toward the annoying, taunting French accent coming through a speaker overhead. And that’s when the wide-mouthed silver nozzle that points down at her from a ceiling-mounted swivel bracket releases its arching blue-white cascade of liquid nitrogen all over the palsied girl’s body. Her shocked upturned face is frozen in place, mouth gaping widely, eyes wide as she is covered in less than four seconds, the nozzle sweeping back and forth just once. It coats her figure with arctic destruction. Her breath is sucked out of her lungs like a vacuum as she is entombed in a frozen shell of white eternal death.


* * *

Wonder Woman signs out, initialing the log at the Justice League Watch Satellite with a looping WW and handing the pen to Flash who signs in.

“Wow, quiet shift, huh?” he says, reading the notes in the log. “There was no activity at all except Kal’s notification?”

“‘Fraid not. Maybe you’ll be lucky and a devastating typhoon will hit and you’ll have to coordinate a dozen leaguers dispatched under your brilliant command.”

“Yeah, or maybe I’ll be so bored I’ll throw myself out of the airlock.”

“The mice already beat you to that,” Diana smiles.

“We have mice? Since when?” Flash is dumbfounded.

“Does no one around here have a sense of humor beside me?”

“What do you mean? I have a great sense of humor. Two salesman come up to this farmer’s house needing a place to stay for the night. Now the farmer, he’s got a beautiful daughter, natch. So....”

“Good night, Flash. Hit the transporter command for me. It’s been a long shift.”

“You don’t want to hear the punch line?”

Diana looks at him and says in complete deadpan, “And the second salesman says, ‘If I’d known the sheep was that friendly, sir, your daughter wouldn’t be pregnant.’”

“Oh, you’ve heard it?”

“Only about 80 times. Hit the button, Flash.”

* * *

Destiny is frozen in an airless white world without sound, without breath, without heat. Her brain feels frozen. Thoughts drift through her mind, randomly turning in slow-motion circles of hovering need.

Cold.
Should move.
Can’t move.
Why?
Cold

Balloon ideas drift by without meaning or urgency. She is very still. She can hear her heartbeat. It too is slow. Very slow. Very slow.

* * *

When Diana gets back to her apartment after midnight she checks her home phone for messages. There’s only one and its from Detective Sal Abato. She plays it back.

“Hi, Ms Prince. This is Detective Sal Abato, DC Homicide. Steve Trevor gave me your number. I was wondering if you had any insights you might share with me about this heroine killer case I’m working. Major Trevor said you talked to a chemical supplier of Elimanol and I was wondering if you got a vibe from any of the names from his client list. The major says you’ve got good instincts and anything you think you might be able to offer to help catch this vermin would be greatly appreciated by everyone here at the station. Call me back when you get in. Anytime. Day or night. Detective Abato. Thanks. Uh, bye.”

The man was reaching out everywhere and was desperate. He had nothing. Diana feels sorry for him, something she didn’t think possible last week..

Maybe I should give him Pascal’s name.

She picks up the phone and dials his number off the machine’s readout screen.

* * *

Destiny feels vibrations through the whiteness, through the shell. They foster activity. They stimulate her brain. They give her something to focus on. They conduct hope.


Have to move.
Have to break the white.
White is bad.

The vibrations intensify. Very nearby. There is a vibration behind her. And now the vibration is on her rear end. Her cold stiff bumps. It is slow and steady. Circular. And then it moves to between her legs. More circles. Slow and steady. And then there is a slow warmth there, between her legs. There is a hissing. There is dripping. More heat, more dripping. All down there. All concentrated between her legs.

And part of the shell is broken now. It feels like a hatching. A possibility. Down there. Between her legs. More warmth comes in through the broken shell. A rush of it. She feels the dripping between her thighs. She can feel fabric touching her ass. She has an ass! SHE IS REAL! She has been imprisoned! She has to shake. SHE has to vibrate. She has to break the shell. Not let someone else do this for her. To her? It has to be her. She tries to shake. It is too hard. It is too much. She feels chilled to the bone and she shivers. And then she understands. This is a good thing, this shivering. This is salvation. She lets it happen. Lets it build. The shivers are good.

Down there something is happening though. Between her legs there are activities concentrated on her. Not all is right down there. She feels her flesh being warmed down there. She feels her inner thighs soaking up heat. Everywhere is ice and freezing shell but there. There her flesh has become pliable. A living entity almost not of her body yet very much part of it. The flesh is warmed even more and then between her legs where the warmth is she feels a new sensation, beyond warmth, beyond possibilities. It is excitement. It is pleasure.

Is that a finger?

She has to concentrate on the rest of her body. On the cold part. She has to let the cold shell surrounding almost all of her dictate her actions. The warm part, wonderful as it is, is wrong. It does not help her to shake. She needs to shake, to break the shell. She centers on the coldness and feels its shocking hardness. Its mercilessness. This works. She begins to shiver. She begins to shake. She is so cold. She is entombed in blue ice. From the inside, she imagines her shell on the outside. Forbidding. Unyielding. Hateful ice. Sheathing her body. Holding it rigid. Allowing no movement. No freedom. She shakes harder. Anger and sub-zero chill combine to help her shake and shake and shake. She feels small cracks forming. From the warm area, the shell is breaking down. She is birthing herself. She is coming back to the world. She is pleased. She is more than pleased. She is thrilled and joyful and ecstatic. But she has stopped shaking. Only her mind is shaking now. And her hips. There is something clutching her womanhood.

My clit? Something gripping my clit?

There is something there and it is fast and it is surrounding the core of her very sensuality. It is buzzing and turning and OH GOD! She’s only felt this sensation a few times. Alone. In her bed. Before sleep. Never like this! Never so intense! Never in public! She trembles with the surge of emotions. She shakes. Maybe this was a good thing after all. Maybe she needs the cold and the heat to break the shell. Certainly even this shell couldn’t resist such extremes without cracking. She tries to think of the cold and to shake but the sensations down there are so, so strong. She strains her stiff neck and feels a crack there. She twists her hips and feels a crack there. She is succeeding! She is breaking out of her...

OHH! The turning thing! Around her clit. The turning thing is driving her mad. She can’t think. She can’t plan which part of her to shake. She is awash in little trembles. Tiny insignificant shakes that, nevertheless, are rocking her world. She would love to be able to lie down but the shell holds her up. The shell keeps her head raised, her eyes open and her mouth open. If not for the tiniest opening where a hole in the shell on the roof of her mouth exists, she would be long dead. Suffocated in ice.

The turning has stopped. She concentrates on the cold shell and begins to shake once again. And more cracks occur. Her upper thighs, so close to the warmth have begun to crumble now. And apparently her large wobbling breasts are creating micro-fractures around her chest. This is all good again. She will break out. She will be free. She will...

...be damned! The clit-hugging turning thing is back to work and Destiny loses all concentration again. She shimmies in place. She feels the shell cracking but now does not care. The pleasure is beyond intense. The pleasure is everything. She shivers hard and suddenly, the shell is gone. It collapses to shards around her. And so does her psyche as the pleasure wave lifts her higher than ever, flooding her brain and cancelling out all thought but one.

Cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!

The surge drains her of everything now. Her personality, her hope, her possibility. Its all dissolved in the heat of her pleasure. It drains out from between her legs, the moisture trickling beneath her, joining with the drips, the melting shards of the cracked shell, the puddle in which she lies dormant and spent.

Destiny feels her loose, limp arms folded behind her back. She feels the steel circles fixed to both wrists. She feels her head lifted as a wide, hard orb is forced in her mouth and is buckled in place behind her head. She doesn’t care about any of it. The pleasure has drowned her brain in carelessness. In lethargy. In entropy.

She hears voices. Pascal she hears. He says, “Take her back to the main warehouse room. We will move her to the house as planned and finish her there. She will not give us any more serious trouble. She has so very little power left.”

Destiny hears this and wonders dully, Is he right?
For now, she’s too exhausted to care. Too damaged to know.

End of Part 10

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 11

“Miss Prince, I don’t know what to say,” Detective Sal Abato says over the phone after she lays out her concerns about Dr. Pascal to him, pleased to be able to share her doubts and suspicions about the man.

“I’m just fuckin’ shocked you didn’t try to contact me sooner about this Dr. Pascal suspect, Agent! If you ask me, it borders on the criminal that you didn’t! You’re withholding evidence in a capital crime, lady! I’m seriously thinking about bringing charges against you and recommending your termination from the IADC!”

“What!” Diana paces her apartment in circles wearing her Wonder Woman costume. All the shades are drawn so no prying eyes can see her in her alternate persona. Her irritation at Abato has turned to stunned disbelief at what she’s hearing from him.

“You heard me, Prince.”

“But...but...I thought you’d be...”

“Pleased? Happy as a clam that you finally decided to let me in on your little secret? Not by a long shot, sister. Goddammit, Prince, we’re supposed to be on the same team here. You’ve got heroines out there getting choked to death while being assfucked, in case you haven’t noticed, lady. And you, well you’re just out there freelancing like it’s all a nice skip, a hop, and a tiptoe through the fuckin’ tulips! That’s exactly why I don’t trust Wonder Woman. Won’t tell us what she’s doing, where she is, what she’s following up on. Nothing! Well, I may have to take it from that stuck up Champion of All Women but I don’t have to take it from you, Agent. So, if I find you’re sitting on leads in this case and not sharing information, I WILL have your badge, Miss Prince. You read me?”

“I didn’t...it wasn’t a sure...nothing I learned seemed to be concrete enough to...” Diana was sputtering and hesitant. This was the absolute last reaction she had expected from the man who sounded so desperate for a lead on her answering machine. She is flabbergasted and at a total loss for words.

“You seem to be having a hard time understanding my point, Agent. Let me be blunt and clear as I can be then,” Abato continues through the tiny speaker, his voice rising in pitch. “I’m the fucking lead investigator, Prince. All facts go through me. Every fucking fact you have. Every fucking tidbit of information. Every interesting little fucking nuance that strikes your razor sharp intellect. You deliver it. I receive it. I make the fucking judgement call on what’s pertinent and what isn’t. Not you. Fucking me! Now that isn’t too hard a concept for you to understand, is it, Agent Prince?”

“Look, Sal. I know you’re upset that things aren’t...”

“Fuck! Are you not hearing me? Are you exceptionally thick, Prince? Because I’m not hearing any ‘Yes sirs’ and ‘No sirs.’ I’m hearing evasions, stalls and justifications for unacceptable actions. Will you or will you not funnel every little fucking fact you have in this case through me or not?”

“Well, of course, Sal, but I think....”

“That’s Detective Abato to you, lady. I don’t know you from a rat that crawled out of a sewer. Don’t start getting all familiar with me now that you’re concerned about your own skin. And you’re fuckin’ right I’m upset. Why wouldn’t I be. More importantly, why aren’t you upset? I mean, this bastard’s out there killing super-powered heroines who give a shit about what happens in this world. Don’t you care about that, Agent? I mean, what have you done lately other than fuck up my investigation, Prince. Huh?”

“ME?! You have no idea what I’ve done to help this city,” says the raven-haired beauty standing in the middle of the room wearing the very costume that the city has honored her in dozens of times for her continuing service. This is surreal!

“Well then. Clue me in, Agent. Sounds like you think you’ve done something important? What might that be?”

Diana stops pacing in her apartment, standing rigid. She can’t tell him anything she’s done as Wonder Woman; nothing about all the crises she’s handled, the countless actions she’s taken to save the city from constant threats by villains, terrorists and disasters of all kinds. She tries desperately to think of what’s she done as an IADC agent but her mind is dulled by her outrage and she can only come up with a weak example.

“I..i...was instrumental in helping locate a sleeper cell of terrorists planning a gas attack on the L’Enfant Plaza Metro station.”

“Uh huh. Yeah I’m sure. What did you do, bring the other agents coffee? Look, lady, just put all your relevant information about this Pascal suspect in a file with your ‘professional analysis’...” This last phrase is spoken with clear sarcasm by Abato.“Then email it to me immediately. I’ll sort out what should be done with this guy and put my task force’s resources on it. As for you, well, you can spend the rest of the weekend fingering yourself for all I care. Goodbye, Agent Prince.”

Wonder Woman pulls the phone from her ear and looks at it in wide-eyed disbelief. The man was unbelievable! In both her personas now, he’s treated her with disdain bordering on actionable sexual harassment charges.

“Great Hera! I’ve seen bigger penises on the horses pulling Apollo’s chariot, but not by much!” She throws the phone onto the couch with enough force to bury it deep in the foam heart of the center cushion. That’ll be a hundred dollars to the upholsterer. The angry Amazon heads to the refrigerator for a glass of wine. She takes a hearty gulp of it then downs it completely, then sighs and puts the wine glass on the counter.

Reaching behind her back, Diana unzips her top. She stands glumly quiet in the middle of the room, thinking if she’s mishandled the Pascal information, doubting herself and her instincts. With the final pull on her zipper, her bustier releases, spreading open and letting her breasts fall free with a hefty bobble. She lets go of the red and gold top and it falls to the varnished floor with a soft plop. Grabbing the waistband of her costume briefs, Wonder Woman pushes down her blue panties and lifts one knee, her pink nether lips gleaming with a flash as she does. The white stars fold into themselves in soft creases until they disappear in a bunched clump as the panties are pushed all the way to her knees. Diana, slightly bent over, releases the briefs from her two tight fists and they fall to the floor as well. She leaves her uniform where it’s fallen and the quick rhythm of her heels sounds throughout the apartment as the long-legged Amazon strides nearly naked to the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, she removes her bracelets, tiara and boots, setting everything but the boots on the toilet tank. The boots are set down beside the scale in the corner. Then the bare-assed Wonder Woman leans into the glass stall and twists on the two knobs. When the water’s warm enough, she finally steps under the hot streaming needles of water and begins to soap up her breasts with vigorous, angry hands, hoping to wash away her endless, dismal day in a long, hot, very necessary shower.

* * *

Destiny feels her right temple bump against something hard. It doesn’t hurt but it disturbs her daze enough to realize she’s being carried like a sack of potatoes on Battle Axe’s shoulder. Her head has knocked against the axe handle poking out of its back-mounted holder. She moans softly, not because of her head but because her body is deeply enjoying the feel of something fat, warm and lively squirming around in her vagina while another long warm object is held stationary up her ass.

“...uuuuhhhhhmmmm...”

“Oh, so the mighty super chick likes being finger fucked in both holes,” she hears Battle Axe chuckle from behind her head in the foggy distance of her lethargy. She couldn’t argue the matter even if she didn’t have a ball gag crammed in her mouth. She feels a wide area of dampness on her inner thighs. It’s an obvious sign of her pleasure as her juices ooze steadily from between her legs. Her panties are soaking wet. She doesn’t know if its from the pool, the melted shell of liquid nitrogen or the deeply satisfying sensations glowing in her crotch. All she knows is that it feels wonderful and she’s too out of it to fight the feelings. Another energetic wiggle of a finger in her pussy elicits an even deeper, louder moan. Her mouth, held wide open by a very wide red plastic ball, drools long strands of silvery saliva onto the back of Battle Axe’s light gray Kevlar vest, and the passing concrete floor below, and onto his butt, and pretty much everywhere. As his body strides along in a steady bounce, it flings her drool about in thick drops like Hansel and Gretel leaving a trail of breadcrumbs through the forest. Except the dazed heroine has a brief bad feeling as she sees the dark drops on the cement that she won’t be coming back this way anytime soon.

But the bad feeling is quickly subverted as the long, fat-knuckled finger twists this way and that within her loins, sending shivers through her. It twists faster and faster and the other finger in her rear starts drawing in and out, in and out. Both hands work at her in a frenzy now, building her to a fever pitch. The madhouse of ceaseless stroking, sudden twisting and rapid circling movements in both of her sensitized channels is far too much for the weakened Destiny to resist.

“UUUUNNN...HUUUNGGHH! Destiny grunts loudly and her vision blurs and she darkens her bright orange panties further with a fresh rush of cum. It flows out of her, draining her energies, crumbling the dam of her will, flooding the loose gravelly surface of her battered ego. But, sadly, the only fingers in her dike are the tall man’s on whose shoulder she is weakly draped, and they control her womanly waters with absolute authority. On the long walk through the poorly-lit hallways, Destiny is stimulated continually by the humming henchman and she cums twice more on his bouncing frame. Her golden panties, drenched with her essence, reek with the pungent scent of complete sexual conquest. Her mumbling, groaning mouth continues to drool long thin ropes of silvery spit. Her eyelids are heavy blankets for her heavily-crossed vacant blue eyes.

When they finally reach the large open warehouse area, Battle Axe lays the wilted superheroine face-up on a long table, her cuffed hands underneath her back, knees bent with her orange boots dangling loosely over the table’s edge. Her head flops to the side, her cheek against the table, eyes barely open. The heroine is in a foggy state of bliss, exhaustion and slight neural impairment. Her drool forms a tiny puddle beneath her cheek already, sure to grow larger as the ball gag prevents any control of her saliva.

For a girl who was capable of grabbing the fuselage of a plummeting passenger jet and gently guiding the crippled silver bird and its full load of passengers onto the safety of an airport runway, Destiny now looks badly miscast in the part of an all-powerful heroine. At the moment, her drenched blonde hair clings to her forehead and face in dark messy strands and lays about her head like a dirty tangled mop. Her wet top, pulled all askew after the hike on Battle Axe’s shoulder and the harsh sudden unloading onto the table, reveals a much wider expanse of cleavage than is proper for a champion of the people. The soft globes of her generous swelling breasts spill forth to near full exposure, the wet dark blue lapels of her V-neck barely holding them in with a tantalizing wink at gravity as they rise and fall with each breath. But gravity will have its say and the wet golden fabric so clearly presses down on the shape of her highly-aroused pointed nipples that it takes no imagination whatsoever to know what those beautiful breasts look like when naked. In fact, the clinging fabric enhances her degradation. Any real heroine wouldn’t let herself be caught dead looking every bit the picture of a drowned hooker. But her erotic appeal is undeniable even to the casual glance of Pascal as he busily packs up for Destiny’s transport back to his lab.

The professor stops for a moment and appraises his captive as does Battle Axe from only a few feet away. In addition to the scandalous condition of her upper torso, her lower half is equally defiled. The champion’s short skirt is lewdly hiked up around her hips in a wet clump of dark orange fabric. Her sodden panties are completely exposed, their golden highlights now dulled to nothing. Completely soaked, the tight underwear clings to her figure like a second skin. The drenched golden material shows off every smooth mound and cleft of her feminine form, outlining her puffy excited labia like the softest dunes on the softest beach on earth. Whether it’s a belated aftershock of her previous orgasm or her dulled mind trying to reassert itself, the blonde teenager lets out a long slow sigh as her slackened face reveals an expression that’s noteworthy for its shocking lack of intelligence. Her dull eyes blink with no understanding of her condition. Her beautiful toned body is gorgeous to the two of them, all the more so for its limp capitulation to the traumas they have heaped upon it.

Moved by the scene of his conquest of this amazingly-powered girl, Pascal walks up to her limp figure and takes her jaw in his hand, angling her face upward a bit. Her eyes drift lazily in and out of focus, the blue irises sliding in opposite directions, untethered by any mental discipline at the moment. Pascal brings his other hand down and gives her cheek a sharp little whack.

“Focus, you pathetic half-wit. I want to explore your thoughts and reactions so I can fully document my experiment,” Pascals says as he leans forward over the dazed girl. He then turns his head and addresses the tall warrior smirking to his right. “Mr. Detherlink, would you please put those items in the van that I have marked for transport.”

“Boss!” Battle Axe nods urgently at the sprawled heroine. “Ixnay on the amenay! You’re not supposed to say that in front of the hostage. Pretty basic rule.”

“Oh, I am sorry Gerald. How do you Americans put it? My bad. Well, it is of no consequence since she will not be able to communicate that information to the authorities.”

“She won’t? How come?”

“She will be too dead to do so.”

“Oh, right. Does she know that?” Another nod of the big head at the heroine.

Turning to look at the frowning face of the heroine who is slowly coming around, Pascal assesses her eyes and says, “I would think she does now. But again, it is of no consequence.”

“Because....”

“She will be unable to affect the outcome.”

“Because...”

“Because my dear Battle Axe,” Pascal says with a wink, “you have done a splendid job of helping me reduce her to a helpless sack of merde!”

“Merde? Oh! You mean shit! Yeah, I guess I did.” Smiling broadly at the compliment, the brutish henchman trudges off to load the van with a tan leather vaulting horse complete with dangling bondage rings, a box full of sex toys, a coil of very thin silvery chain and more. He goes back and forth from van to supplies as Pascal talks at Destiny.

“So, mon cherie, you do not feel so well, eh? My little tactics and toys, they made you so very weak, n’est pas?” He loosens the buckle slightly on the ball gag and pulls the wide plastic ball out of her mouth until it rests low on her chin. He wants to hear her express her misery at her devastating defeat, to exult in her verbal acknowledgment of his brilliant victory over her pathetic brawn.

“...uuuuuhhhh....” Destiny is too disoriented and feeble to come up with any words yet.

“Yes, I figured this would be the case. But you have more power still in this lovely vessel yet to be siphoned away, my dear. A woman of your immense fortitude one cannot eradicate so easily I think.”

As he speaks, the French scientist takes a thin steel cord from his jacket pocket and wraps it around the befuddled 18-year old’s neck, snapping the ends closed with a loud click.

“The Zhurigk Fever did its job well, I have to admit. I shall have to thank Maurice, my fellow researcher from Belgium for his spores and his advice.” A second steel cord is produced and this he clips one end to the small ring on the collar around Destiny’s neck and the other end to a ring soldered to the end of the table on which she lies.

“Cancelling your power of flight and making you sickly, weak and listless was the all-important first step. And all the rest, the flamethrower and the beating, the shotguns, the water tank and the liquid nitrogen, even my friend Battle Axe with his hands in your pants as I instructed him, they all served their purpose to force you to expend your dwindling energies and reduce you to this limp and destitute figure I see before me.”

“...not out of tricks yet...Pascal...” murmurs the blonde as her wits begin to slowly gather.

“Nor am I, cherie.” He brings out a third cord and rolls the blonde champion onto her side with one hand as the cord is linked from her handcuffs to a ring set into the middle of the table’s side edge with his other. He lets her body go and she rolls onto her back, still dazed and lethargic from all her ordeals.

“But you must tell me, my vanquished dove, how do you feel now that you realize even you, a person of boundless physical capabilities, can be so thoroughly bested and humiliated by one man. Does it sour your soul and crush your will to know you were so easily manipulated into this pathetic condition of such absolute defeat and scandalously obvious sexual arousal? Talk to the cameras, mon cherie. Does it bring you to tears, Destiny, to be reduced to a mindless, inept cunt?”

“...not one...man.....took two....of you...to do...it...” Destiny says slowly, not realizing she’s conceding her status in her mumbled protest.

“Let’s say one architect then. One who looked upon your sad house of cards and pulled on its base in just such a clever way that your famous physical magnificence came tumbling down in ruin. A collapse of such epic failure that its telling will forever bring shame and dishonor to Bylangians everywhere.”

“...hey.....motor mouth...you haven’t finished me.....yet...” Destiny’s eyes focus on Pascal and she is able to glare at him now with purpose. He sees it but dismisses it as residual anger he can easily swat away and nothing more.

“Not quite yet, perhaps, but you are out of most of your strength, my pretty ingenue, and that is all I need before the next stage of my plan.” The final steel cord he takes from his jacket pocket, double the length of the others, is quickly wrapped around her boot ankles and fixed to the final ring at the foot of the table. “There, finis for now. Trussed and helpless while I finish packing up for your ultimate destruction and final grand humiliation.”

Destiny begins to try to break her bondage, to jerk her wrists in opposite directions behind her back, seeing if she’s strong enough to pull the cuffs apart. She is not. Her boots yank and strain as well, banging against the table. Her entire body shakes and writhes and Pascal looks at his prize heroine and frowns. Still too much power, too much danger.

“Excuse me! Battle Axe? Please come here quickly,” Pascal shouts, nervous to even be so near the struggling blonde dynamo. Had he miscalculated her powers? She was a truly remarkable specimen. “Where are you, Gerald?!”

Destiny speaks more steadily now, all too clearly for his liking. “I don’t think I need all my strength to handle a pompous old gas bag like you, Pascal. I think a fraction will be more than enough. And when I’m off this table, I’ll yank that beard off your face and cram it up your ass like a steel wool pad.”

He had definitely miscalculated the dosage on the neural inhibitors. Either that or the icy water and liquid nitrogen had helped her synapses to better conduct the electrical passageways of her brain. That was all too possible, he thinks to himself. Even the chemical inhibitor did not seem to be effecting much of a difference. He is shocked at her continued use of most of her faculties.

The sound of the cord behind her back snapping apart is like a firecracker to Pascal’s ears and he hops back from the table, horrified. This could not happen. His entire experiment had been carefully constructed and carried out precisely to plan so far. Yet here she was breaking the cord linking her bound feet to the table. This second loud pop causes the Frenchman’s head to rear back as if physically struck. Her ankles were still well twisted in the coiled steel but as she swings her boots counter clockwise it was only a matter of time before her legs would be free and she could strike at him with those boot heels with a nasty vengeance.

“You are truly amazing, Destiny,” he says with awe, the scientist overwhelming the villain in him. He watches her yanking her head in short, harsh pulls against the cord, trying to break the last line restraining her head to the table. When that is done the vixen will be able to get to her feet, probably break out of her handcuffs and beat him and his man to an inch of their lives. She seems to appreciate that, smiling at him with a gleam of spirit in her eye he thought he’d beaten out of her.

“You have no idea, Frenchy,” she says with a wide grin smile. And then the cord from her neck to the table finally snaps with her last straining jerk against it and she sits up quickly, completely freed now. “But you’re about to find out just how amazing I ...”

“Taser her!” Pascal barks.

End of Part 11


I'd really love to see some comments since it's been a while since anyone responded. Thanks.

[tmon]

It's a good interesting story thank you for sharing. I love WW fan=fiction but I hate to write.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 12

Thanks, Tmon for the nice words. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. And to others who are as well, I'd love to hear from you.

Now let's get on with the story.


A powerful hand grabs her collar from behind and just as Destiny turns her head halfway around, she feels two steel pins pressed to the midpoint of her shoulders.
GAAHHZAAAAAAAPPP!

“UNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH.....HUNNH! UNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH.....HUNNH! Destiny’s body arches and flails on the table in helpless, wildly uncontrollable spasms. The powerful voltage makes her figure dance and quake in place, every muscle tightly knitted even as her breasts shake completely loose of her top and bounce around on her chest like two dribbled beach balls. Stricken with a complete loss of muscle control, the jerking spastic teen falls off the table and lands face down on the floor, quivering and drooling, her eyes rolled up into her head.

Battle Axe calmly kneels down beside her and presses the square black taser to her neck.

GAAHHZAAAAAAAPPP!

“UNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH.....HUNNH! UNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH.....HUNNH!”

Destiny’s body arches harshly in place again, and she twists on her side, her body bowed backward in rigid agony. Her hands are still cuffed behind her back, wrists bent and hands twitching like giant spiders gone mad. Her exposed breasts shake and bounce heavily in place, their wide surface slick with sweat. Her legs are still somewhat ensnared by the loops of steel cord around her boots and the heels bang against the cement floor as the heroine arches and flops on the floor for half a minute. Finally, the violent spasms ultimately come to an end, leaving the drooling, mindless figure lying quiet on her side on the cold cement floor, her fingers throwing off final twitches from nerves firing in random complaint from within her steel enclosed hands.

Battle Axe finally lifts the dazed heroine back onto the table, more steel cord is fetched and Destiny is once more fixed in place with three new tethers. Once secured, Pascal immediately dons a pair of yellow rubber dishwashing gloves and pours out a wide clear puddle into his palm from a small vial. He then places his gloved hand over her already exposed right tit and smears a generous second application of his electrical neural inhibitor solution all over the smooth curved surface before him. The semi-conscious teen can only moan in quiet desperation as once again her body is assaulted against her will. The tit is squeezed and mauled and thoroughly manhandled by the stern-faced Frenchman as he ensures that the full surface of Destiny’s breast is treated with the chemical agent. After the left breast is given equal treatment with the chemical neural inhibitor solution, the fat gleaming breasts shine brightly under the overhead fluorescent fixtures. Not so the blonde beauty’s blue eyes which are now dull and lifeless with all that the teenage heroine has been subjected to. Pascal leaves the breasts exposed and studiously fits the wide ball gag back into her slack mouth until Destiny’s pink lips grip the round surface firmly. He tightens the buckle and then straightens up over the dizzy and defenseless champion. Battle Axe has been hovering nearby in case of emergency but the precaution is unnecessary it seems. Destiny is a slouched confused figure of helpless ineptitude.

“You have been an admirable opponent, my dear,” Pascal remarks, “but now I think we will see your mental abilities deteriorate to a more easily controllable level. That smart-ass attitude of yours ought to be dulled down to simple-minded acquiescence in no time I should think.”

If the renewed drooling and heavily-lidded expression displayed by the lethargic blonde stretched out on the table was any indication, Destiny was already on her way to a mental meltdown. And the fact that there’s not so much as a flinch or murmur out of the teen heroine when Pascal reaches under her orange skirt and palms her crotch, it’s clear that the Frenchman has completely regained his position of power over the unresponsive girl in his eager grip. She issues not a word or releases the softest sound, even when he shakes her crotch firmly and says, “And when we take you back to the lab, we will all then enjoy the pleasures of what this warm and inviting cunt of yours will eagerly offer.”

With that said, the two men continue to pack up the final materials and equipment assigned to be used for Destiny’s complete sexual subjugation. It takes a good eight minutes to get everything loaded, arranged and tied down in the van for the short 10-minute drive back to Pascal’s house with its basement laboratory. The men discuss the unloading procedure, how the heroine will be transferred into the house so she is not seen by curious neighbors and other details to be handled.

As Pascal and Battle Axe talk and lift and maneuver all the items into the vehicle, Destiny is able to slowly recover from the effects of the taser yet she feels very thick-headed. She can’t form thoughts or plans particularly well and she still feels very tired and drained. It could be the space spores’ effect, all the stress her body has had to deal with or something else but she can’t be sure what’s causing it. She thinks it would be a good idea to try and escape. That makes sense. She should try that. She pulls on the handcuffs pressed underneath her body, straining to yank her wrists apart. It’s no good. She can’t do it. She wonders if it’s a special metal of some kind. If it’s just steel handcuffs she really should be able to break out of them. She isn’t completely helpless yet. She can feel an amount of power still circulating inside her. She tries the cuffs again, squinting her eyes and trying real hard. That feels like the cuffs bending and warping a little. She keeps at it.

Come on Destiny. Let’s do this. Let’s escape. I am a Bylangian. We’re one of the strongest people in the universe for gosh sakes! Just keep pulling on your wrists!

Tink!

They break at last. Thirty seconds after that, Destiny is free yet again from the horrible bondage table. She reaches behind her head but can’t manage the buckle on her ball gag. It seems incredibly complex to her. Is that some kind of combination lock? She tries to rip the metal straps holding the ball in her mouth but surprisingly, she can’t break them. They must be some kind of metal that’s stronger than steel. Some reinforced special metal like adamintyum or whatever it was called. Frustrated, she does the only thing she can think of to loosen the ball gag, she bites down on the plastic sphere. Maybe by breaking it, it will loosen the tension of the straps so she can work it over her head. The first bite doesn’t do it but she thinks she feels it give a little. She bites down harder and she feels the plastic give way, crumbling into three pieces in her mouth. And suddenly her mouth and throat are filled with the flavor of rich chocolate that tastes unbelievably good. She swallows it, licks her lips and sucks her finger after wiping off the drool and chocolate-y essence off her chin. Yummy! A ball gag with a tasty inner center. What will they think of next? She is able to pull the face straps of the ball gag off and over the crown of her head. She tosses the broken gear off to the side, onto a tarp so it doesn’t create any noise.

Destiny looks down at the table she’s just gotten off of. She’s pretty sure they’re going to want to take this table back to the house for their fun and games. Maybe she should pound it to smithereens. But that would make noise and alert them. That probably wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. Gosh, if she could only fly away and be out of here. That would be the best thing. Maybe the flu’s worn off. That’s a possibility. How many hours did it last? Four hours. That might be right. She wasn’t sure but she knows she has to escape. She’s going to try it. Quietly placing her boots on the floor, she smoothes her skirt down and...

Oh my gosh, my tits are exposed! How did that happen?

Destiny works her boobs back within her tunic, straightens out the lapels a bit and looks down an aisle between tall stacks of wood pallets. That would be a good place to try to fly. She’d be hidden there. She tiptoes over to the aisle, takes a running start, her power giving her great speed now. She smiles as she nears the end of the aisle. She will launch off that one pallet at the end and soar away until she feels better. She hops onto the pallet and flings her self skyward, thrilled to be free and her old self....

CRASH! BANG! THUMP!

Destiny’s leap into infinity sends her arcing up in the air, gaining all of ten feet of height thanks to her amazing residual powers...only to come smashing down into the steel wall of the building’s broad side. Realizing at the top of her arc that she still does not have the ability to fly, she turns her head and hits the wall with her shoulder, denting it deeply but not breaking through the wall.

It feels like everyone in the city must have heard the noise of her contact. She stands up and brushes herself off and gets ready to face Pascal and Battle Axe who have come to the end of the aisle and are facing her with angry scowls.

“You broke out?” Pascal says, noticing the steel cord still clasped around her throat and the fact that the ball gag is missing. That could be a very bad thing or very good.

“Chuh...yeah!” Destiny replies. “Super strong, remember?”

“You’re not THAT super, bitch,” says Battle Axe who runs down the aisle of pallets at full speed, his axe hoisted high in the air. “Yaaaahhhh,” he screams loudly as his assault nears her shorter figure with a looming shadow that eclipses her. Destiny is prepared for him though. She’s battled him before and knows his tactics. When he comes within three feet of her, she suddenly ducks to the right and spins instantly in place, ready to grab his Kevlar vest from behind and toss him 20 feet or so into the air so he comes crashing down on Pascal while she can make her getaway. The duck to the right works but when she spins in place she suddenly realizes she didn’t spin all that quickly. In fact, the big lug had turned around before she had. This surprised her very much. And so did his heavy steel chain snapping hard into her nose.

“Owww!” She yelps, her face jerking back in pain. That chain had hurt a lot. She had to remember she wasn’t at full power any more. She takes two steps back to get a running start at Battle Axe only to feel herself suddenly pushed forward four stumbling steps toward him. Pascal had come up behind her and given her a hard shove. Her surprise at stumbling forward gracelessly at her opponent is supplanted by the shock of him swinging his axe from behind his back and burying its sharp titanium blade into the depths of her belly.

“GOOOONNFFFFFFFF!” Destiny goes down on one knee, breathless and gasping and very nauseous. The residual effect from the Zhurigk Fever coupled with the blow to her gut almost has her puking. She wavers in place, dizzy and weak, but successfully forcing down her gorge. That blow had hurt. Even more than the chain. She doesn’t feel well. She looks down at her costume and sees a large dent in her belt buckle. Battle Axe does not follow up his blow though, allowing her to rise. She balls her fists.

“I’m mad at you! You’re making me mad,” Destiny yells out at Battle Axe who looks surprised at this pronouncement.

“Suck it up, bitch. And try to fight better. You’re slow as molasses.”

“Am not!”

“Oh yes you are,” the soft voice of Pascal says behind her. She spins to punch him but her reflexes are so bad right now even he can dodge that blow. Off balance, Destiny is easily pushed back yet again toward Battle Axe. She stumbles backward three steps and awkwardly turns to face him. He’s swinging his chain upward toward her face again. This whiplash of hard steel links she is able to just barely avoid. Taking a side-step and then a step forward she launches her fist straight up at the tall enforcer’s face. He catches her fist in his huge palm easily and holds it there with a grin.

“Hey! No fair! How’d you get so fast. I don’t....don’t... unner ... stannn....whuht...” Destiny’s eyes suddenly roll up into her head, with nothing but whites showing. She collapses to her knees, her arm raised high in Battle Axe’s grip, her body slack as it falls against his legs and dangles there before him, suddenly unconscious.

The chocolate flavored center of the ball gag with its heavy dose of combination knockout/aphrodisiac serum has finally done its work. The mighty Destiny is out on her feet as Pascal looks at a very shocked Battle Axe and begins to laugh at the site of the famous blonde champion suspended by one arm helplessly before her foe with her face directly in his crotch, her slack mouth drooling on his suddenly stiffening dick.

“Perfect! Let us take her back to the lab. She seems ready to have some fun, wouldn’t you say, Gerald?”

“Sounds good to me, boss. Wow, her breath is really warm!”

* * *

Steve Trevor calls Diana Prince’s apartment but she doesn’t answer, her answering machine does.

“Hi, Diana. It’s Steve Trevor. It’s just after 11 pm, Saturday night. Sorry to be calling so late and on your personal time but I just heard from Interpol and they may have something on a suspect but they’re checking their sources and such. We should get a full report early in the morning so I’ll have them send the report to your home fax machine as well. Just a heads up so you know to keep an eye out for it, oh I’d say maybe 8 a.m. But if you’re out painting the town red, I can understand if you don’t get up that early.”

One can almost see her boss’ wink in Steve’s chuckle. Diana Prince doesn’t paint the town red. She probably turned in early. He hopes he didn’t disturb her sleep as he gently hangs up the phone. Diana is not home in bed slumbering fitfully at the voice filling the empty apartment. Diana is standing in a dark alley in a bad area of D.C. punching a defiant mugger in the face and causing him to drop his knife as the young couple who’d been enjoying a night of clubbing stand by and watch. Their faces are filled with relief and no small amount of satisfaction as the man who threatened to kill them crumbles to the alley cobblestones like a pile of old laundry.

Diana picks up the shapely woman’s sequined silver purse and hands it back to the brunette, eyeing her ridiculously beautiful body sheathed in tight matching silver.

“I’m glad I was here to prevent this from turning into a horrible memory for you two,” Diana says warmly. “But this isn’t the best area these days. You should think about going clubbing in a better area of the city.”

“You’re right, Wonder Woman,” replies the young man in the black jacket, slacks and T-shirt nodding at the end of the alley. “But Pugnacious there is the hottest club around these days.”

“Then I’ll talk to the manager about having his bouncers look down this alley regularly so his ilk,” Wonder Woman nods her head at the stunned thug she yanks to his feet, “don’t loiter around and disturb your right to a fun evening.”

“Thank you again, Wonder Woman,” The man says with a smile.

“Yes, You’re a life saver!” The silver spangled beauty leans forward and brushes her lips to Wonder Woman’s cheek and the Amazon gives her a wide smile.

“You’re welcome. Good night.” Diana enjoys the feeling of having done some good this evening – as well as the view of the girl’s shapely butt as it shimmers the sequins in its cute retreat. “Now let’s get you to the nearest police station for processing, creep.”

Around the corner the couple bend their heads together giggling with relief at their good fortune and their shared secrets. “You were SO checking out her ass, Danny,” the girl says to her escort. “I saw you.”

“Like you weren’t?” His right eyebrow arches up.

“Delicious, wasn’t it?” The beautiful brunette says. “When she bent over to pick up my handbag, I got a little wet.”

“Let’s go home and use that,” he grins.

* * *

As the van pulls up in front of Pascal's brick townhouse, Destiny is docilely lying on the cold steel floor of the vehicle, looking up the van's ceiling and trying to pull her thoughts together in some kind of mental focus. But she just can’t do it. She’d come back to a semblance of awareness on the short ride from the warehouse to his home but was too dizzy and weak to do anything but lie there and keep from drifting back into the hovering gray cloud that was drawing her in.

Her body is stuffed into a tan canvas sack with only her head uncovered. Her hands are bound behind her back with thin plastic zip ties. While nothing else is bound, she’s too out of it to be a threat. Her sweaty hair fans out against the steel floor of the van, the usual blonde highlights gone, the allure of it’s lively halo turned to straggly, twisted knots and unruly dark clumps.

When the brakes squeak and the van finally comes to a halt with a shake, Destiny moans dully. The little Pomeranian hears this and circles over to her, licking her lips and nose repeatedly with it’s small, pink tongue.

“Don’t you worry, fun bags,” Battle Axe says, turning his head in the passenger seat and glancing back at the befuddled blonde, “Nodie! Stop that,” Axe says, reaching back with a long arm and giving a brusque little shove to the tiny pooch that has it sliding across the bare metal floor with a surprised squeak. “We’ll have you comfortable in a few minutes. Just have to sneak you into the Doc’s lab.”

“And you as well, my large friend. Put on the overcoat, yes, so you do not call unnecessary attention to yourself,” Doctor Pascal eyes the gray, white and red-highlighted costume of his huge accomplice. “You are big enough as it is without having you stomping about in your battle gear. I will go on ahead and open up the house and unlock the basement access doors so we can proceed with her and your entry into the lab as quickly and efficiently as we discussed.”

Six minutes later, still dazed and limp, Destiny is held up by her wrinkled costume shirt inside the secluded confines of Pascal’s basement laboratory. Battle Axe’s fist clutches a wad of blue and gold material where her v-neck meets her cleavage. Her back is arched slightly, her jaw upraised, eyes lazy and unfocused. Axe’s other hand yanks down the canvas sack, uncovering the famous heroine’s sagging body. Her tits jiggle noticeably. When the sack falls to a loose pile around her bright orange boots, the six-foot six-inch villain grabs Destiny’s blue belt with his free hand and easily hoists the defenseless heroine in the air by those two points on her costume. He carries her toward the restraint table with it’s thin leather pad. The slack-jawed beauty hangs limp as she’s transported across the floor. Her arms with their zip-tied wrists dangle beneath her and her boots sway back and forth with every step the big man takes. Finally he lays Destiny on her back on the very table that helped usher two other clever, crafty and powerful heroines to their deaths. Just as helplessly dazed, just as naively unprepared for her fatal end, Destiny’s body settles against the leather pad, her face sideways, the toes of her boots pointed in opposite directions. She moans again.

“Oohhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Bustling around and readying everything for the evening’s festivities with his famous captive, Pascal is humming happily away and asks Battle Axe to help him move the leather vault horse from the van to the house.

“The bitch going to be okay alone here like that?”

“Did you clip her to the table’s side rings yet?”

“Doin’ that now, Doc,” the henchman nods, clipping a small chain around the zip ties that leads back to the soldered ring on the side of the table.

“Well then, it should not be an issue. She has taken a dosage of barbiturates that would make an elephant stumble. We can take a few minutes to get the equipment from the van. Buckle up your coat so your battle suit does not show, please, and we can go.”

After two minutes, the silent laboratory finds Destiny slowly coming around, fighting her way out of the gray, dull mindless drifting miasma brought on by her spore-weakened body embattled with brain-dulling drugs.

“...huuuhhhhhhhh....where am...I...” Her eyes focus on a white board mounted on the wall facing her dull stare. It’s filled with symbols of red and black chemical structures. “Pascal. said something about...his lab...must be...it...uuugghhhh...”

Head feels like it’s been tossed around a clothes dryer for an hour.

“..where is....everyone...?...” Straining on whatever it is binding her hands underneath her, Destiny breaks the bonds with a grunt and a soft pop of plastic. She rolls weakly to her side and starts to try to pull herself to a sitting position when she hears Pascal’s voice. Immediately she lies back down, with her knees flopped open and her cheek pressed against the leather pad. She closes her eyes and moans slightly. She has to buy time to recover but lying on her back so suddenly in her condition makes the room cycle around her for a bit and she’s sadly disoriented again.

“I’ll prep the spray bottles and you bolt the vault horse to the floor insets.”

“Sure thing, Doc. Hey, shit-for-brains. Miss us?” Battle Axe chuckles as he carries the heavy leather cylindrical sex bondage apparatus over to four recessed holes in the tile floor on the opposite side of the 40 x 25 foot lab. Off to the side, the tall French scientist begins carefully mixing plastic spray bottles with a combination of liquids from two different containers.

As the two men busy themselves with their tasks, Destiny’s strength slowly builds and her head clears a bit more but she’s still confused in her thinking.

Have to get out of here somehow. Big guy’s gotta go down first. First is important. Can handle Frenchy alone. I think. Think I can. Frenchy not as strong. But what to do? What to do with Axe? Something surprising. Something fast is good. Take him out quick. Quick is important. And he’s gotta be close. Too slow to chase him. Don’t think I’m fast enough to catch him the way I am. The way I feel. Don’t know what to do. Better think of something or he’s gonna rape me. Both gonna want to fuck me. Men and their dicks. I know both will want to stick them in me. My first men. That’s so sad. Don’t want my first man to be a mean man. To be a bad person. It’s so sad and bad. Gosh, what did that Pascal guy do to my brain? Can’t think strong...can’t think straight. But I have to. Have to so I don’t get raped. He’ll come up to me so close and put his cock in me. Bet that Axe is big. Very big penis. And thick. Why am I thinking about this and feeling like it would be good? That’s wrong. What’s wrong with me that I thought that? Don’t want him pushing his smelly big body between my legs....Do I?.... Do I?....Or do I?

After Battle Axe tightens the fourth and final bolt he gives the leather restraint apparatus a hard punch. It doesn’t move or quiver in the slightest and he smiles widely and turns around to face the blonde superheroine lying quietly on the restraint table.

“You and me are gonna have a lot of fun with you strapped down on this special equipment, babe,” Axe says, reaching back and slapping the top of the leather-wrapped cushion with a resounding smack. “A whole lot of fun, little Destiny. I’m gonna rock your world, cunt!” The tall blonde villain strides over to the restraint table and looks down on the slack-jawed girl. “You ready to have your world rocked, hero?”

Destiny’s knees shake and she tries to pull them together but they weakly flop apart again, her thighs slightly wider. The mighty heroine is too weak to protect her honor before the leering Battle Axe. He sees this and shows a wolfish smile.

“Look at the pathetic Most Awesome Teen. Too out of it to guard her precious pussy.” Battle Axe steps up to the table, grabs Destiny’s thighs from underneath and pulls her forward so her crotch slides up and bumps up against Axe’s groin. He grinds it against hers, the lump in his pants growing as his hands lift her pelvis and the silky golden fabric of her panties slides over the cloth of his pants.

“....uuuuhhhnnnnnn...dnn..stt...ckkmeh...wwthyr...bgfftdckk...” Destiny moans softly and murmurs something in a faint whisper. A plea that Battle Axe wants to savor. He’s pretty sure she’s begging and he wants to hear her whimpering words. He leans over her, his hands gliding from thighs to hips to stomach and up and around to enclose her soft, large breasts. He squeezes her full supple mounds with deep delight as his face lowers further, his face mere inches from her cheek as he whispers in her ear.

“Speak up, cupcake, I can’t hear your whimpering little prayer for mercy.”

“...yrdmasbg...ffcgngrcks...”

He gives her pliant bosom a harder squeeze and the fabric of her renowned logo peeks out between his knuckles as Battle Axe presses his lips against her ear as he taunts her softly. “Just a tiny bit louder, pillow tits. Still can’t quite understand your pitiful little squeaks.”

“....i....said....you’re dumb as a bag of fucking rocks....” the small blonde girl whispers a little more loudly now.

Destiny’s thighs clamp down around Battle Axe’s waist and her hands whip out from behind her back. Forming compact powerful fists, they smash into the side of Battle Axes’ head, slamming his ears flat and stunning him into a cross-eyed daze. Held in place by her legs’ scissor hold, the shocked and disoriented henchman can do nothing as Destiny pulls her arms wide apart and slams her fists together again.

WWHHUUUUNNNKKK!

“GGUUUHHNN!” Axe collapses inertly onto the blonde’s young body and she releases her leg hold and shoves him away. His huge torso arches away several feet and comes to rest with a loud thud on the floor, unmoving.

Pascal’s head has snapped up at the sound of a commotion on the other side of the room. Seeing the disastrous turn of events, he grabs a bottle from the set of four before him and rushes toward the restraint table as Destiny pulls herself into a sitting position and hears the clomping of footsteps off to her back right. Pascal is holding out a bottle only four feet from her turning face. He is pulling the trigger on the spray nozzle and a soft cone of purplish droplets spreads out toward Destiny’s eyes. She turns her head away and suddenly falls to the floor on her knees. The shimmering purple cone hangs in the air over her head but the superheroine has been fast enough to dodge whatever the Frenchman was trying to dose her with. She rolls sideways and lashes out with her arm at him. The back of her hand strikes the bottle, sending it spinning away out of Pascal’s grip to slap against the far wall and fall to the ground.

“Non!” The Frenchman cries out in alarm and spins to head back to the workbench and the three other bottles. He takes two steps when Destiny’s hand grasps his collar and yanks.

“Oui. You nasty prick!” Destiny pulls the tall man to her and brings her arm up to wrap it around his throat. If she’d just given him a hard quick shot she could have knocked him silly in a second. This poorly chosen tactic is one he can parry. His elbow snaps back and bangs into her nose, rocking the handicapped girl’s head back without really hurting her. His foot stomping on her instep doesn’t hurt that much either but his twisting upper torso launching into her unbalanced one is enough to have her back arch as the two of them fall to the hard white tile floor.

“UUGHHNN!” Having Pascal’s 195-pound frame land on her and force her body to cushion his own fall does draw a grunting gasp out of the momentarily winded teenager. As Destiny lies underneath his twisted body, she grabs Pascal’s shoulder, ready to fling him away and off her as soon as she has the breath to do so. From nowhere, his fist slams between her legs, punching her pussy and stalling the recovery of her breath. “WHUUUNNFF!”

Yanking himself away from her tentative grasp, Pascal clambers to his feet and grabs a metal stool. He picks it up and slams the furniture down on Destiny’s belly but the wide legs straddle her waist and merely serve to unexpectedly pin the teen to the floor. Hopping on the stool’s seat in a flash, Pascal out-thinks the embattled blonde and lashes out with the heel of his foot, catching her in the nose and knocking Destiny’s head hard against the floor.

“UGHH! Get off me, you French fuck!” Destiny barks and grabs the stool’s metal legs. She pulls hard. Pascal’s advantageous higher ground is lost as he falls off the stool and comes crashing to the floor on his side, his own head hitting the floor and causing him to roll onto his back and let out a loud groan of his own.

“UUGGHHNN! Sacre bleu! How can you be this strong still?”

Destiny rises to her feet awkwardly but with a true smile for the first time in a long while. She stands unsteadily, swaying slightly as she stands over her flabbergasted foe.

“You just keep underestimating me, doctor,” Destiny pants, her hand wiping her nose and coming away with a thread of blue snot. Despite turning the tables on him, the Bylangian champion knows she has to wrap this up quickly. She’s not in great shape. “A common mistake in men with huge egos. Come on, Pascal, get on your feet. I’m taking you in.”

“Everyone has an ego, my dear,” Pascal says, reaching his hand up for her to help pull him up. “It’s what separates us from the lower animals.”

Taking his hand, Destiny hauls the unsteady Frenchman to his knees. “That’s all okay if you don’t let it get too big.”

“Like you have?” Pascal says, swaying in place on his feet now and leaning dizzily against her. She steadies him quickly, herself thrown a tad off-balance by this large frame.

“Me? We were talking about you, Pasc...UUUNNNGGHH!”

Destiny’s head explodes in white hot pain and she collapses to her knees, stunned to blank incoherence, fighting with everything she has to stay conscious. The blunt head of Battle Axe’s namesake weapon has rendered the Bylangian champion completely defenseless. Only the tall henchman’s fisted grip on a sweaty clump of her dirty hair keeps Destiny from falling flat on her face. Her arms hang limp at her sides, her mouth drapes open in slack confusion. Her victory has turned yet again to crushing defeat. The neural inhibitors kept her intelligence from processing her vulnerability as Pascal kept her distracted. Battle Axe’s surprising stealth for a man his size did the rest.

Lifting her off her knees until her whole body hangs by her hair, her swinging boot toes eight inches off the ground, Battle Axe snarls at his stupefied blonde captive as her limp body twists around to face his now.

“You’re one sneaky cunt. And now you’re going to pay the price, Dest--royable!"

The tall blonde enforcer slams his titanium axe head into the girl’s belly dangling before him. Her legs fly up and outward, her body forming a u-shape as all her breath explodes out of hugely puffed cheeks. The axe head is withdrawn and the legs fall back to vertical, hands twitching as Destiny’s mouth screams wide in a soundless gape for air that will not come fast enough. He waits a moment until her screeching whine of air inhaled reaches his ears. Then he punches her in the gut again with his axe head and waits. And then again. After six blows, the girl’s abs turn to jelly and the axe head is buried deeper and deeper into her softened, unresistant gut.

And then he goes for her crotch with his blunt axe head. This creates a louder whining cry from the defenseless teen. By his fifth crunching jab to her crotch, Destiny is whimpering noticeably.

Battle Axe holds the blonde aloft and surveys his damage to her with a raised eyebrow. He feels he has softened her body very nicely. She is a twitching, haggard mess of flabby stomach muscles and quivering wobbly thighs. But perhaps her head and face are not sufficiently tenderized to dulled, unresponsive ineptitude. He will fix that. He goes to work pounding her cheek, jaw, forehead and nose with his tool of choice, slamming it repeatedly into the grunting defenseless champion, the face snapping back and forth with every brutal blow. Again and again he goes at her with the blunt edge of the titanium axe head until there’s the palest blue bruising about her eye, a tiny bleeding cut in her lip and a small bump on her jaw line.

Holding her limp body before him like before, he surveys the new damage, using the curved blade of the axe to direct her face back and forth. Nodding with gruff satisfaction, he takes the blade away from her face and it drops to her chest in silent defeat. Battle Axe replaces his axe into its back-mounted holder. He’s done enough to render this sneaky Bylangian cunt completely helpless now. He believes. He lets her body drop to the white tile floor with a sickening thump. Destiny curls up into a whimpering wheezing fetal ball.

In the meantime, Pascal has picked up the bottle Destiny had knocked from his hands and gone back to his workbench to complete his task of measuring out the contents of the four bottles. He is shaking his head in awe at the punishment this Bylangian bitch had been able to withstand and still respond with power and finesse. But she looked badly compromised at last. The big brute had beaten her with his axe with merciless vindictiveness. And that served Pascal well. Just a few more rounds of punishment and sexual overstimulation and the famous Destiny would be too weak to defend herself against his chain-driven choker and he would have his vengeance for his sister on one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

There was a lot he had to note in his journals for this experiment. The girl was far more of a challenge than he had anticipated. Mistakes were made. He would have to adjust his methodology significantly if he wanted to take on another heroine of this caliber. And he might. The Kryptonian perhaps? Far less of a challenge since she was so easily rendered helpless by that glowing green rock from her home world. Well, that was for another time. It was the Amazon he would need to concentrate on next. He could not afford to make mistakes with her and expect his luck to hold as it had so far. But even that was looking too far ahead. He had to break this Bylangian’s spirit once and for all, even before the pleasure suit. He needed her pliable, willing and too befuddled to be any kind of threat. He opens a drawer in the work bench and removes a pair of pliers with an electric cord attached to the end of one of the handles and eyes the menacing looking tool with a nasty smile. A very unscientific one.

Across the room, Battle Axe kneels down beside the vanquished teenager and pulls out his heavy titanium chain from the sack at his side. Leaning over, he easily tugs Destiny’s entangled arms away from clutching her midriff. He pulls her wrists behind her back and circles them with titanium links. Then he tugs the chain up and loops it twice around her throat and lets the end dangle down the middle of her back. Destiny is not going anywhere now that he doesn’t want her to go. And now, he wants her on her feet.

Glancing over at his boss, he asks, “You ready, Doc?”

“Yes, my friend. All is prepared.” He picks up the pliers and two plastic bottles and walks over toward Destiny who is held up by the chain around her neck, her body resting against Battle Axe’s front, knees bowed outward, her hands limply resting on her thighs.

“Can I nail her now?” The huge thug’s eyes are bright with lust.

“By all means, mon amie. She is yours below and mine on top.”
“Excellent. I’ve been waitin’ for this a long time, Destiny,” Battle Axe declares. Holding her sagging body up by the neck chain with one hand, the grinning thug reaches under the bright orange skirt of the dazed and beaten champion with his other hand and pulls down her golden panties until they droop in a clump around her bowed knees.

“...huhhh...whuuuhhh....sgoin’....on....”

“You’re gettin’ your pussy stuffed with long hot man meat, hero. That’s what’s going on.” Battle Axe holds his cock head against the soft petals of Destiny’s sacred flower and rubs it back and forth between the slightly parted pink lips.

“...uhhh...no...don’t....want...this....”

Holding Destiny’s jaw up, Pascal points the spray bottle marked “100%” at her droopy eyelids and sneers at the bewildered, overmatched heroine.

“You will, mon cherie. And very shortly.” He sprays her face and Destiny is enveloped in a pinkish cloud of misty pearlescent drops that cling to her skin and shine there before quickly drying and being absorbed into the flesh.

“Besides,” says Battle Axe, rubbing his cock head up and down the thin lips of Destiny’s sweaty pussy, “it’s not what you want that matters. It’s what we want. What the doc wants. And what I want. And right now I want to fuck you, hero.” Holding her aloft with one hand, the tall, vengeful thug pulls her thigh slightly to the right and thrusts the wide girth of his cock deep into Destiny’s vagina, tearing through her hymen with only the most momentary pause of resistance before burying himself to his balls in the highest recesses of her being.

“Owww....uuuughhhnn....ooohhhhhhhhhh....”

“Honey, I’m home!” Laughs Battle Axe with glee.

“...noooohhhhhhh....” Destiny weeps, her innocence violated, her body impaled upon the staff of her enemy, her mind stunted with befuddling drugs that sap her intelligence and blunt her will.

She’s never been so thoroughly bested as this. Never so totally humiliated and crushed in spirit as this very moment. And then Battle Axe slowly pulls his immense penis down and out of her channel until only the bulbous head remains inside her. Was her quick defeat over so soon? The instant deflowering and all was now ended? If so, the fuss she’d heard from girlfriends and tales she’d read in bawdy texts were all quite overblown. And then his one hand releases the neck chain and moves to her top, encompassing her breast, squeezing the soft golden material of her blouse. His other hand moves off her thigh and journeys slowly up her body to meet his other hand on her chest. Both hands then cross and move inside the V-neck and under the bright blue lapels. And the fingers begin to twist and pull on her nipples and the penis begins to make its way back up into her body, pressing against the walls of her feminine tunnel, pushing them open with its hot girth. And Destiny’s eyebrows go up. Very high. The sudden pleasure of this combination is a stunning revelation to her.

“Uuuhhnnnn!” She moans, eyelids fluttering, breath short, body tingling everywhere all of a sudden. Perhaps the girlfriends and the bawdy tales were not so overblown after all.


End of Part 12

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 13


Destiny feels completely helpless because she is.

Her wrists are bound behind her back with titanium chains. Her costume panties have been pulled down to her thighs and she’s resting on the standing Battle Axe’s pelvis, his dick thrust up deep inside her cunt. Slouching back against his chest, she feels extremely weak. She’s as fragile and exhausted as she’s ever been in her life. She can’t think very clearly and she is getting more aroused by the moment as her conquerer’s oversized prick stretches the walls of her newly-violated vagina to their limit. The pulsing heat of him in there makes her swoon, her tongue licking her lips, her body quivering despite herself. Pleasure clouds her thoughts.

The French professor has backed away from her and now merely stands there watching his henchman handle his assignment. And the young thug is doing it with gleeful spirit. Battle Axe’s hands clutch tightly around her breasts. He squeezes them roughly, his knuckles showing as prominent ridges under the smooth gold latex of her costume’s blouse as he lifts her up. And then, slowly, the large palms gently lower her body back down onto his hard hot penis. The width and the size of his cock throbs against the tight walls of her pussy as her own weight helps him defile her. The slow passage of him into her as gravity pulls her velvet sheath over his warm hard muscle is extremely erotic to the young blonde beauty.

He’s already broken through her hymen and although her nodding head and her drowsy, slitted eyes can’t see it, her trembling inner thigh glistens with the pinkish trail of her lost virginity. She has lost so much of her power. Now, not only could she be easily penetrated but her vagina muscles are not strong enough to crush this invader. Her attempt to do so moments ago had only drawn a happy gasp and a cheery “thanks, doll” from the huge blonde rapist who now possessed her.

“Feels a little wetter down there, champ. I guess you’re really starting to enjoy yourself, Guest-in-me,” chuckles the voice behind her ear. Her soft naked tush settles against his pelvis, his pubic hair tickling her butthole. Her pussy is stretched to its utmost by his girth and length and Destiny sighs heavily as the sensation of the large man filling her completely so befuddles the limp blonde teen that all she can muster is a husky murmur – a completely unbelievable, “..am....n...not...”

“Right. Well, guess I’d better try harder then, huh, sugar tits?”

“...doesn’t....matter...to...m...OHHH!” With Battle Axe suddenly hoisting her body up and down in short little jerks as he thrusts his cock in and out of her, the Bylangian heroine is introduced to a new level of pleasure. She’s never felt anything like this before in her life. As her tight slick pussy is repeatedly impaled, her head bounces up and down, her chin bobbing against her chest, her mouth open, her eyes closed to mere slits. Now she knows precisely what all the fuss was about when it came to sex.

This is incredible. This beats flying. This beats saving lives. This beats everything!

The 100% aphrodisiac spray that Pascal had dosed her with only two minutes ago has worked its way into her brain and the rush of this new undeniable need overwhelms the naive blonde.

“...f...f...faster...” she blurts out, then blushes with embarrassment. But Battle Axe is only too happy to comply. With his right hand cupping her left breast and twisting and rolling her nipple with his fingers, his left hand leaves her other breast and reaches up to grab her shirt collar. He pulls her up and down on his rod with more energetic strokes than ever. Her bare buttocks wobble and bounce wildly as her cunt takes his driving, throbbing prick again and again. The hard length of him spears into her repeatedly. The skin of her lower lips pucker and fold and shiver and grip. The pleasure in their glistening flaps builds along with the feel of his thick rod driving up and down into her pussy, inflaming her brain with absolute joy. The head of his cock bumps against her cervix with every sharp urgent thrust. The size of his shaft is undeniable. The virgin hero has never experienced anything close to this before. After two minutes of the thrusting muscle, Destiny is overcome by all the sensations

“Oh...Ohhh...OHHH....UGGHNNN....HHHHUUUGGHHNNN!”

Destiny’s pussy releases a slippery wash of her helpless ecstacy all over the fat prick dominating her every thought right now. Her body is rigid, her head back, mouth open, eyes clenched shut. There’s nothing but whiteness to see anyway in her orgasm.

Battle Axe stops all his motion and just savors the pulsing, clutching warm cunt wrapped around his cock like a velvet glove. The girl’s body then begins to relax, and starts to tremble and quake as she moans in his hold, limp and docile after her first vaginal climax.

“Seems like the sex does matter to you, Jizz-in-me!” His hand moves from her collar to her thigh, stroking her slowly as he increases her body’s delightful sensations enough to cause her whole figure to jerk slightly in happy reflex.

All Destiny can do is pant and shake and murmur a weak. “...unbelievable...”

“I cannot help but wonder if you will respond to pain as enthusiastically as you do to pleasure, mon cherie.” Pascal steps forward and pulls aside the right lapel with a quick tug. The right breast bounces out and wobbles momentarily before he takes hold of it.

The Frenchman fondles her tit slowly, dimpling it with his fingertips, squeezing its wide silky roundness in his palm, massaging the soft yielding breast steadily and thoroughly enough to pull a low, satisfied moan from the loose, drooping mouth of the nodding, dazed champion. And then he begins to work her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He rolls it, twists it and squeezes on it lightly until the aroused nipple is a long, stiff pink nub.

“..huuuhhhnnnn....feels.....n..nice...”

“I imagine it does. Try to recall that in the next few minutes,” Pascal says quietly as the jaws of the electric pliers surround the nipple and then close on it. He grips down on the black rubber handles with a harsh jerking squeeze. Destiny slowly raises her head and looks at him with a blissful smile.

“...mmmhh...ooooooh, cold steel feels greeaattt!”

“Oh, does it? Let me know how you enjoy it when the electricity amplifies the grip ten-fold. And do not be afraid to voice your opinion. We are all about feedback here at Pascal Research.” The French scientist presses a button on the fulcrum of the pliers and squeezes down again on the handles.

“...mmm...okay...Doctor Pasca....AAAIIEEEEEYYAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” Her body bucks and jolts and flails in an insane need to escape from the blinding pain but Battle Axe knew what to expect and, although she strains and jolts enough to raise a sweat on his forehead and to accent the veins in his forearm, his iron grip on her breast and her thigh do manage do hold the crazed girl in place. The rattling of the titanium chains around her wrists and suspended down her back can barely be heard under her screaming. As her struggles lessen with exhaustion, Destiny has only succeeded in giving the henchman an incredible rush of pleasure as her spasming, writhing body jerked up and down, stroking his cock with her pussy like a person possessed.

Pascal releases the handles of the pliers and moves the jaws away slightly. He then flicks his finger against the tortured white, bloodless nipple, the teeth marks from the pliers having formed tiny ridges there.

“OWW! Ohh....noohhhhh...uuuhhnn...don’t....don’t...” Destiny implores, her voice catching with raw pain. The nipple slowly regains its pink color as the blood returns. And then it blushes from pink to angry red, the ridges lessening a bit but still clearly defined.

“Oh, yes! That was most enthusiastic, mademoiselle. Excellent feedback, indeed. And now the other I think.”

“NO! NO! PLEASE...Please...don’t do that. PLEASE! DON’T! What do you want? What do you want me to do?”

“We shall get to that in a moment.”

“By Quylon’s scepter, don’t do this! I’m begging you...”

“So you would do anything I ask now?”

“Anything! Yes. Yes. But no tool...no tool!” Destiny’s panicked blue eyes bore into Pascal’s, hoping for mercy.

“Good, we will talk in a moment about what I shall ask. BA, if you please.”

Mercy is not in the cards.

Battle Axe takes his hand off Destiny’s thigh and wraps it around her waist. The other hand switches breasts, its sweaty palm pressing against the angry crushed nipple.

“OW!” She yelps. Then her eyes grow impossibly wide. “Oh no! You’re not going to... You promised!”

“I did no such thing, my dear.” The shiny silver jaws surround the fresh nipple.

“Oh no...no....no...” Destiny can’t look. She turns her head. Her thighs grow warm with the sudden drizzle of urine draining out past the penis blocking her hole. The evidence of her fear runs down her inner thighs and spills into and over and down the long surfaces of her thigh-high boots. It collects on the white tile between her swaying boots in a yellow glistening circle of piss. The puddle slowly grows and slides along the smooth tile and into the gray lines of grout between the squares: tiny dark channels of shame and defeat.

Destiny merely whimpers in abject fear.

Battle Axe’s eyebrow arches and his feet move slightly farther apart. Pascal looks down and then back at the rigid jaw and clenching cheek of the blonde teenager whose face is turned away from him in paralyzed terror. His only acknowledgment of this most unheroic act is a soft clucking of his tongue.

And then he closes the pliers with their electrical enhancement and her scream fills the room once more. It is filled with anguish and loss. It is long and steady. Again her body reacts like a rodeo bull trying to shake its rider but Battle Axe continues to restrain her until she arches her back and collapse in a funky sweat. The echoes of her scream hang in the air for an extra moment after the crushing jaws are pulled away from the flat white lifeless bit of flesh. Pascal takes one step back and crosses his arms to survey his subject. This portion of his experiment is proceeding very closely to how he had anticipated. The girl was not used to either pleasure or pain. She would be easily controlled from here on out, he surmised.

And the validation of his assessment comes very quickly. Destiny begins to weep and shake in Axe’s steady hold. Her limp body quivers from head to toe as her chin rests against her chest and she sobs noisily and wetly before her foes, uncaring. A line of snot hangs from her nose, a translucent blue thread, as the sobs increase to wracking heaves of anguish. Destiny is a beaten and crushed soul. Her heroic willpower has been as thoroughly flattened as her nipples.

When Pascal cups her chin and lifts her face up, the streaks of dark mascara sliding down her cheeks tell the tale clearly as anything. The twisted quivering lips and shifting, cowed eyes add the final period to the statement of her conquest. Pascal is very pleased at the view before him.

“So, you would do anything I ask, mon cherie?”

“...that was if you didn’t...” Destiny eyes shift away from Pascal, hesitant and nervous, and she doesn’t have the chance to finish her thought before Pascal interrupts her.

“The pliers are still in my hands, idiot. Do you think I am not willing to use them over and over?”

“Anything, yes,” Destiny instantly acquiesces. “Whatever you want. Anything. Just don’t...don’t...please....” Destiny’s eyes meet the Frenchman’s for just a flicker. “..you know...those...” The eyes shift to his hands and the tool that had wrenched the very spine from her body.

“Yes. Yes. I know. Very well then. You will suck my cock for starters and using your freed hands fondle and caress it and tease my balls. Understood? No resistence. Just compliance or the repercussions will be beyond unpleasant. Permanent disfigurement of your nipples will be the least of it. Perhaps your nose can be reshaped by my tool here. Are we clear, Most Awesome One?”

“Yes. Absolutely. S..ss..suck your cock and f..f..fondle your balls,” the teenage girl responds quickly, stuttering with fright..

Pascal raises the pliers before her face and Destiny’s eyes grow wide with horror.

“And be creative,” the Frenchman urges. “I want to cum in your throat like a fire hose,, yes?”

“Yes. I will be creative.”

“And loving....”

“And loving.”

“So I can....?”

“Come in my throat like a fire hose.” Destiny voice cracks on this and tears slide out of the corners of both eyes.

“Excellent. Let’s get to work then. Oh, but wait.”

“What? Oh no...I promised to.....what...what...?” Destiny voice chokes with fear as her arms and hands behind her back flex and strain in a reflexive effort to try to break out of the titanium chains wrapped around her wrists. She is trying to protect her face as the pliers are moved up close to her mouth. The vanquished heroine can do nothing though and impaled on a long hard cock, her shaking legs and wrenching arms only serve to shake her pussy around on the warm muscle helping to keep her in place. It distracts her with pleasure and brings a grin to the face of Battle Axe as he holds her tight for his boss. Pascal puts the pliers to the mouth of the trapped girl, forcing them slightly between her lips to torment the wild eyed blonde.

“I almost forgot. I want you to spray yourself in the face with my aphrodisiac. I’m afraid all your recent pain has dulled your pleasure center somewhat. That is not a problem for you, Destiny, is it?” The pliers press against her teeth through her trembling lips.

“No. Not at all. I will spray myself in the face. Whatever you say. Just....”

“Yes, I know. No more of this nasty tool.” Pascal pulls the pliers away from Destiny’s face and gives her one of his most charming smiles. “I am so pleased we are getting along, mon amie. Especially since we are going to be so intimate. BA, please remove the chains from around our young champion’s wrists so she can willingly use her hands to jerk me off and fondle my nutsack so I may jizz in her mouth, yes?”

“Sure thing, doc. And I still get to stay in her cunt, right?”

“Bien sur, mon frere. As you so wish. But I would have you pull out and soil her costume thoroughly, if you would be so kind.”

“What?” Battle Axe’s face drops, he stops unwinding the chains momentarily.

“What?” Destiny’s face drops as well.

“Was I not clear?” Pascal grins. “You both heard me, I am sure.”

“Yeah, yeah,” mumbles Axe. “You were clear. I’ll do it. Won’t like it but I’ll do it.”

“Merci,” smiles Pascal. “And you, my young champion, sadly, have no say whatsoever in this. Now let us get those chains off you so you can willingly anoint your face with my aphrodisiac and then you can show me how well you can tease the cum out of my penis with that pretty little mouth of yours, yes?”

“...y...yes...” Destiny answers quietly, her eyes shifted to the floor, her spirit shattered.


* * *

Diana is back in her apartment after dropping off the mugger with the police and giving her statement. It is 1:45 in the morning and she’s ready to hit the sack. Her day was very long and she’s beat. She spins out of her Wonder Woman costume in a flash of light and into her identity as Diana Prince. She undoes her bun and undresses, tossing her jacket, navy skirt and blue blouse in the laundry hamper.

She’s too tired to shower now and plans to do so when she awakes. Diana pulls out a royal blue silk camisole and matching tap shorts out of her dresser drawer. She dons the outfit and it clings to her body with an incredibly sensuous coolness that only silk can offer. It’s a pleasure that she allows herself. The soft blue silk beautifully accents every curve with small stretch lines that pull against her generous figure. The feel is heavenly as would be the sight to any male observer on the planet. The beautiful Amazon slides between the sheets and rests her head on the soft down pillow with a sigh. She drifts off to sleep in less than a minute, too tired to even dream about any of the problems she might face on the morrow.

* * *

The tiredness that Destiny feels is deep as well. Her chin bumps against her chest as her head bobs in a befuddled daze from the weariness and the potent drugs cycling through her bloodstream. Her untied hands now hang loosely at her side, her legs equally limp hang against Battle Axe’s thighs as he holds her breasts in his palms and savors the feel of her vaginal walls encompassing his hard cock. He loves how weakly she sags helplessly within in his grip. The heroine’s golden panties with their blue piping have slipped down to around her knees, stretched tightly across the width of her bowed legs. The toes of her bright orange boots sway gently off the ground as the groggy, defenseless teen heroine is steadily and brazenly sexually molested.

“....uuugghhh...”

“Bend her forward, if you please, monsieur,” Pascal says.

Lowering his hands and bending forward is all that Battle Axe has to do. Destiny’s dead weight has her upper torso bending low. Her breasts are still tightly clutched as her arms swing free, her hands dangling inches off the white tile floor. When Pascal takes a clump of her hair in his fist and pulls her head up, the sensation brings the blonde teenager back to herself a bit. Her eyes open to reveal dull blue irises with only moderate intelligence there. Pascal kneels down and pulls up one of Destiny’s dangling hands, placing a plastic bottle against her palm.

“Grip it, dear.”

She does, holding it just where he has left it.

“Good. Now hold the trigger grip. Excellent! A quick study for such a simple-minded twit.”

Destiny frowns at this but says nothing in return. Those days of spirited sass are over for her.

“Now turn it around and pull the trigger so the spray hits your face nice and full.”

The blonde reluctantly turns the bottle around until the nozzle faces directly at her. She closes her eyes and, with no way to avoid the inevitable, she squeezes the plastic trigger on the spray bottle. The cool mist rushes through the air, caressing her brow and cheeks and collecting on her nose and upper lip until it drips off in the tiniest bright pink drops.

“...iicckk!” Destiny says with a shake of her head, flinging the drops sideways. And then she feels her breasts squeezed hard and the hard, hot penis buried deep within her pulls out suddenly. A beat later, the huge tool is thrust hard back inside her channel, pushing deep through her warm walls and into her cervix. “Guugghhnn!” She grunts out. Her upturned face grimaces in the bright light from the large overhead fluorescent fixtures. The already drying mist permeates her skin, searching out her bloodstream, the pathway to her now all-too-vulnerable brain.

“Say, you didn’t forget about me did you, sugar thighs?” Behind her, Battle Axe gives her tits a harsh second squeeze and then stays put, his huge member packing her cavity to the utmost.

“...too hard to...forget...” she admits glumly, unintentionally acknowledging his steel-hard muscle filling her cavity as well as her thoughts.

“That’s the kind of compliment I can hear all day, tasty tits.”

“And now, if you please, my dear,” interrupts Pascal, taking the bottle from her and putting it aside on the floor, “it is time to suck the cream out of my rolled crepe.”

Destiny looks straight across at the face of the Frenchman kneeling before her. As she reaches over to his suit pants, Battle Axe lowers his hands even more and takes a half step forward. Now her upper torso is only three feet above the tile floor. Her body is angled down at the perfect position for what she has to do. Her one hand unzips his fly and her other pulls Pascal’s penis out past the waistband of his blue low-rise briefs. Though only slightly swollen, the warm member is a generously-sized snake in her soft young hands.

She holds the middle of his staff in her fist and looks at it in wonder. She’s only ever seen a penis this close once before and that was when she was only 15 years old. It was not an act of her own desire. She’d been forced into it under the grandstands at a raucous football game. Four tough young Bylangian thugs from her high school had intercepted her on her way back from a visit to the girls’ room. Two of the foursome had herded her suddenly under the stands and viciously twisted both arms up behind her back. They pulled up on them high enough to bend her over so far that her yellow panties showed brightly from under her short red pleated cheerleader skirt.

And before she knew it, the third member of quartet had unzipped his fly and pulled out his prick. The sudden sight of a fully engorged penis waving before her eyes shocked her and intrigued her. It was such a threatening thing yet fascinating at the same instant. The bulbous mushroom head, the pulsing veins, the startling length of this strangest of all manly muscles. And then her arms were twisted higher and she had yelped in pain. The penis rushed forward, plunging into her open mouth. She was instantly threatened with a broken arm if she even thought about biting down, but she couldn’t have bitten down if she’d wanted to. The head of the long warm tool had pushed against the back of her throat, gagging her. Her eyes watered as she tried to breathe but all her air was blocked by the thick, sweat-scented mushroom forced to the opening of her windpipe.

“AAWGHHKKK!”

“Aww, poor Kasey Draper. Too young to know how to suck cock,” taunts the older teen who had his dick stuffed in the choking cheerleader’s mouth. He then pulled out just long enough for her to take a breath before jamming himself back into her mouth, his hands holding matching clumps of her blonde hair on both sides of her head. The boy proceeded to face fuck the defenseless young coed at will. His penis ram-rodded into her face over and over, his hands holding her hair tight and not giving her any leeway. She was weeping at her helplessness.

On the other end, her cheerleader skirt had been pushed up so it laid against her back. Her feet were kicked wider apart and her yellow cheer panties were yanked down to her knees. The double curves of her comely teenage buttocks were bouncing lightly as her mouth was violated again and again by the constantly thrusting spittle-coated dick. Her rear end was just as tempting a target to the fourth boy as her mouth was to the third gang member.

Tyler Cademus, the fourth teen and the only one of the four that Kasey had recognized, spoke in a soft but haughty voice. “Look at you, hot little Kasey Draper. The prettiest cock teaser on the junior cheerleading squad bent over and ready to take my dick. I’ve been waiting a long time for this, you stuck up twat. Think I’ll sample this sweet, sweet ass of yours first since you love shaking it so much on the cheer line. I’ve watched you from the stands for two years now, sweet cheeks, and I’m finally going to stick my dick in a hole that’s been crying out for it since you hit puberty, slut.”

“..eehhnnhhh....nuhhhh...no...nugghhhh....uulgghh....no....awgk....no...haaahggg!”

There was the sound of a hawking spit behind her and she felt a wide wet spot on her ass. Immediately, a finger swiped there and then the tip roughly pushed against her balloon knot. It forced its way in, wet and short, swiping around in a circle before being quickly withdrawn. Then warm hands laid over the surface of her exposed rear and they pulled her butt cheeks apart. That was followed by a warm hard rod that bumped up against her anus.

“...ennn....naahh...nuh....dunt...aaauuwwwggkkk...” The relentless penis in her face wouldn’t let her breath for more than a second at a time much less talk. Kasey knew her protests were heard. The foursome just didn’t give a shit.

And then she was violated in the worst way she’d ever felt. Tyler’s penis rammed into her rear, plunging deep and hurting her profoundly.

“...Eeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhnn...” she squealed in torment past the dick clogging her raw throat.

The sodomy was brutal and seemingly endless. She was held in place unable to move by hands holding her wrists high up on her back, holding her hair tightly over her ears and holding tight to her tits protected only by the satiny yellow material of her cheerleader top. Her ass and mouth were violated over and over and over by the warm pistoning muscles. The feel of the hard long muscle pushing deep into her rear end again and again was the supreme horror of the young girl’s life. Nobody should have to feel this. This was a crime not just against her but against nature itself.

After an eternity, she felt the boy fucking her face suddenly stop and groan. Kasey had an idea what that meant but she still wasn’t prepared for the amount of thick, smelly fluid that jetted down her throat. She choked, she gagged, she swallowed and she almost heaved when the dick finally pulled out of her mouth. The white gummy overflow fell in a thick stream out of her mouth to the cement floor until it quickly thinned out to an almost translucent strand that hung from her quivering lower lip.

Behind her, just as her eyes were focusing on the cement floor and the glob of white spunk that was a small portion of what she’d just ingested, Tyler grunted loudly and Kasey felt the hot jet of his seed fill her rear.

“Eeemmmhhhh...” she whimpered as she felt Tyler lean over her, his body pressing against her back, his palms squeezing down on her breasts as he sighed in contentment, his cock spurting every last drop of his pleasure into her rear. She was a thing to be fucked by these boys. Nothing more. She understood that completely now. And she hated them for it. This violation was what drove young Kasey to become Destiny. Ultimately she turned her shame into courage, into willpower and into fearlessness in the face of all odds. This moment forged in fire was what infused Destiny with her need to help the weak and to pursue evil in all its forms.

When she was suddenly clubbed on the head by one of the foursome’s shoes, she was instantly released and fell to the ground in a heap. The foursome ran off laughing as the dazed and traumatized cheerleader laid there unmoving, cum draining out of her naked rear, her panties bunched around her trembling knees, her mouth oozing white globs of semen from the corners. She wasn’t unconscious though. No, Kasey Draper was aware, was awake, was horrified. But more than that, she was on her way to becoming Destiny.

* * *

But now the familiar scenario was happening all over again: the penis in her face, the complete helplessness, the humiliation, the defeat. She was being forced to relive the shame of rape and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had come full circle and for what? Worse yet, this time she was being forced to actively participate under the threat of torturous pain so awful she could not hope to tolerate it. It was suck on this man’s penis or go insane with pain. There was no other option here.

She had never given a blowjob before and didn’t have much of a clue how to do it. Snippets of unlikely suggestions from girls as naive as herself came into her thoughts, but she really didn’t know how to start or what to do after that.

Still, compelled by a terse “Well?” from the man looming overhead who was but an arm’s length away from those nipple-crushing, soul-pulverizing pliers, she grimaced and gave the smallest whimper of resignation. She took his penis in her two palms like she was holding a trophy and began to lick the top of Pascal’s dick like an ice cream cone. Sure, her hands were free this time. But this time her soul was locked up tight in Pascal’s prison: a dead moth in a black airless box.

Her pink tongue flattened against the head of the cock as she dragged it quickly and nervously all over the top and then around the sides of the purplish cap of the twitching member. It tasted a bit salty and her nostrils were filled with the scent of his sweat. She was surprised to discover that neither of these sensations were objectionable. If anything, it was somewhat exciting. She went around the penis’ split head again, this time more slowly.

“Loosen your grip. Softer hands, girl,” the deep voice guided, not angry – even patient in its tone. Surprised at this as much as the sensuousness of the taste and smell of Pascal’s dick, Destiny felt compelled to shift her eyes up and look at the smiling face gazing down at her. They were not angry eyes. They were very pretty actually. She was a sucker for a man with nice eyes.

“Ohtay,” with the champion as she swirled her tongue in a circle this time and loosened her hold on Pascal’s warm shaft.

End of Part 13


So what do we think? Are we enjoying this series? Let me know. Thanks.

[psiber8]

All I can say is awesome story and I truly hope to see Destiny's slide toward corruption and evil...maybe helping to trap other super heroines and aid in their demise, just to keep the doctor from hurting her more and to keep the pleasure coming...I loved the line better than saving lives...the corruption begins there...I hope!

[DrDominator9]

Thanks psiber8 for checking in. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Will Destiny follow her sister heroines down the same road to a tragic end or worse yet, become a pawn in Pascal's cruel plan to capture Wonder Woman? Or maybe a little of both? The answers are forthcoming shortly.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 14

The aphrodisiac worked its way into Destiny’s mind with the directness of a summer storm, drenching her thoughts with the purpose for which it was designed. Within six minutes of its application to her facial pores, the blonde Bylangian was deeply infatuated with Pascal’s penis. She couldn’t get enough of it. She lusted after every inch of its surface with her tongue, her fingertips, her eyelashes, her breath, her very being. She warmed it, spat on it, rubbed it and loved it like a pet. She cooed, laughed, kissed and sighed onto its stiff form for all she was worth. Even Pascal’s balls received concentrated attention with light tickling, gentle cupping, feathery squeezing, soft kissing, slippery tonguing and rapid twiddling in concert with the stroking and sucking of his rod.

And the teenage heroine was thrilled with every reaction she herself had generated. The stiffening was marvelous, the bobbing at her touch delightful, the jerking a joy. And to jerk the sliding skin up and down in rapid strokes and see the veins strain at her frenzied touch and the head of the cock swell and throb was nothing short of fantastic. She especially enjoyed the groans she coaxed from the body overhead. But the center of her universe was the seven-and-a-half-inch muscle before her. That and the feel of the even larger muscle stroking into her pussy from behind her. Held in place with large hands encompassing her breasts as she ministered her devotion to the eagerly receptive dick, Destiny was prodded into even greater heights of her lusty devotion to Pascal’s prick by the constant thrusting and withdrawal of Battle Axe’s own huge member. The chorus of groans from the trio at play grew as the speed of the licking, the thrusting, the jerking off and the pulsing of hands at her swollen aching breasts and pointed pink nipples built to a fever pitch.

“Sacre b..bleu, th..this is marvelous. Y....you...are a natural...”

“So fuckin’ tight. So fuckin’ great.” Battle Axe’s mouth is drawn to a harsh stretched grimace as he fights to hold off the inevitable rush of his rising semen for just another half-minute of heavenly bliss.

Destiny’s eyes are half open, her head bobbing now as she takes the top half of the cock into her mouth and down her throat over and over, gulping furiously.

“...ghulghhk ...ghulghhk ...ghulghhk ...ghulghhk ...ghulghhk ...ghulghhk...”

Her sweaty blonde hair flaps and jerks up and down as her mouth takes in the pole eagerly, her lips gripping tight on every withdrawal. One soft hand circles the bottom of his staff and gives loving short jerks on it as her other hand tickles the dangling fuzzy nutsack below.

“JE SUIS FINIS!” Pascal yells out and cums in Destiny’s mouth with a hot stream of thick warm semen. It fills her cheeks in a rush and she gulps it down like melted ice cream, dizzy with the flavor of it, heady with her deluded accomplishment of bringing a man to an orgasm with her mouth.

“Gulp...Ulp...mmmmmmmhh....” Destiny sighs before swallowing a second mouthful of sweet man-cream.

Sex is incredible! Everything about it is wonderf... “OHHH!”

Losing his control, Battle Axe furiously pumps his hips in a final flurry of action, his penis jerking in and out of Destiny’s pussy, driving into her and forcing a grunt from her.

“UUHHNN!” Her eyes blink at the sensation.

Her assailant’s left hand leaves her tit and grabs her collar as he pounds away at her. With her mouth still wrapped around Pascal’s cock, the teenage heroine’s eyes grip shut as she suddenly orgasms from all the sensation between her legs.

“...eeehhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmm!!” Nobody had told her about any of this.

“AT’S G..GRREEAATT!” Yells the big blond thug who, at the last moment, pulls his dick out of Destiny’s cunt. The heroine’s lower body drops to floor, her knees coming to a thumping rest against the white tile. Battle Axe pulls her skirt down with his right hand and then uses that same hand to quickly point his dick at the swath of bright orange material spread before him. He hoses his spurting white cum all over the mounds of Destiny’s butt, showering it down on her skirt-covered ass in fat damp circles and long splattering trails of semen that stain her costume with shame. Taking a swipe at a thick clump of cum with his palm, Battle Axe reaches under Destiny’s skirt and spreads the wetness all over the cleft of the dazed blonde teenager’s lower lips. His fingers push the greasy mess into her cavity and then two fingers beginning rapidly rubbing her clit back and forth.

The feel of Battle Axe’s fingers furiously working her clit blinds the sexually hypersensitive Destiny with a second rush of pleasure. Her hands squeeze and tremble with joy, pulsing around Pascal’s cock and fluttering his balls. This encourages a final spurt from the Frenchman’s cock into her slackening mouth. Too spent to swallow, the white cum drizzles heavily out of both sides of her mouth, dripping onto her chest.

Finally, Rene Pascal bends Destiny’s clutching fingers away from his cock and pulls it out of the blonde heroine’s mouth, tucking it back into his pants with a wide smile. Destiny’s dazed and vacant face falls forward onto his thighs, the cum dribbling down the leg of his suit pants.

“Incroyable! You are quite the slut-in-training. Rarely have I been so eagerly pleasured, my dear.”

Battle Axe quickly grabs Destiny by her breast and with his other hand on her collar, hoists her up and backward. He stands up straight and positions her so his shrinking cock is buried under her skirt, between the sweaty cleft of her buttocks. He holds her limp body in mid-air, her back against his chest as he savors the heat of her dripping pussy. Her head lolls on her shoulders, her eyes closed, her breath coming in quick pants.

“It is time to put her on the horse, I think, my friend,” directs Pascal. “But first...” Pascal takes Destiny’s jaw in his palm and faces her vacant expression to the front. “You enjoyed that, yes?” He forces the numb blonde’s head up and down playfully. “Well, you will have much more pleasure coming my dear. So very much more.”

Pascal releases her jaw and walks back to the bench to retrieve a bottle marked “100% KO” filled with bright blue liquid. He returns and, careful not to dose his crony, sprays Destiny in the face with a double pump of blue mist. Moments later, the Bylangian champion’s eyes roll up into her head and her chin collapses to her chest.

“Excellent. Let’s put her in the latex stimulation suit and then on the horse.”

Fifteen minutes later, after struggling with the limp body of the unconscious teenager, the two men have laid her latex-encased body on the leather vaulting horse. Her arms and legs are wrapped around the cylindrical leather shape and shackled to steel rings extending out from underneath the horse from both sides, short chains giving barely half a foot leeway to move any limb. Wheeled into position behind her is a table-mounted electric fucking machine. The dual-headed dildo penetrates both her holes, each head just penetrating an inch into her. The crotch flap of the clinging stimulation suit lies open against the top of the leather horse as Pascal stands by Destiny’s arm with a syringe and Battle Axe stands by the fucking machine’s on-off toggle switch.

“Time to awaken our guest so she can enjoy this portion of my experiment,” Pascal says. He injects the wake up solution into her upper arm then rolls down the rubber sleeve. Moments later, Destiny’s eyes flutter open and she lets out a long slow moan.

“....ohhhhhhhhhhhh.... whaddya do...to me?”

“I’ve taken you from heroine to slut, mon cherie. And being a slut, I’m sure you will be greatly delighted with special pleasures I’ve arranged for you over the next three and a half hours.”

“...don’t...no. Please, you...win. I won’t bother you ever....again....”

“Of that I am certain, my dear. But hush now, and do not worry, you will be thrilled with what is to come.”

“No....no...don’t want...any...more pleasure...”

“Sadly, you have no choice. The wake up injection contains yet more of my aphrodisiac. Together with my machines and my stimulation suit, you will be experiencing whole new plateaus of pleasure such as few have ever experienced. And I will record it all for posterity and, naturellement, for science.”

Panicked, Destiny yanks violently on the chains binding her body to the leather horse, stretching them taut with every ounce of her strength. But, by now, the Bylangian champion is far too weak to break them or pull them out of the steel rings. Pascal smiles and merely nods at the tall blonde who flips the toggle switch. Immediately the double headed dildo begins to hum and vibrate and a second later, the drive mechanism kicks in and the dual dildo slides forward, pushing deeply into Destiny’s two orifices.

“HUUNNNGGHH!” The force of the greased rubber rods pulls a throaty grunt from the blonde teen draped over the leather apparatus. And then it withdraws and the flywheel circles, only to plunge deeply within both holes once again. After the fourth cycle, Destiny grimaces and asks, “..ohhh!....uughhh....what’s.....the....point...of this....?....”

“It is the same as the pool, the shotguns, the liquid nitrogen, all of it, Destiny, my stupid little dove. To draw down all your powers until you are not threat to me and I can dispose of you as I see fit.”

“...there will be.....Oh! ...mmmmhhhh...ohhhhh..uuuhhhh....others....that follow...me...” The blonde teen gasps between excited grunts as the machine now steadily thrusts away at her chained body.

“I would hope so. There is one in particular I would hope may come to seek vengeance.”

“....Wonder Woman...Ohhhhhhhh...you...want....her...” Destiny’s forehead breaks out in a sweat as her body now wriggles in place with the steady pleasure being forced upon her.

“Yes, I have a score to settle with her. But now let me turn on your suit to ensure you enjoy everything you have coming to you.” Pascal takes a small remote from his hand and keys in a three digit code. Immediately the sensors in the latex suit spring to life and Destiny feels waves of stimulating charges running up and down her legs, around her thighs and over her pelvis and then finally up her abdomen to her breasts where they circle both nipples like electric pinwheels. The sensation is unbelievable to her. She was delirious with delight. What’s more, the continuing stimulation of v-shaped pattern leading from her abdomen to her crotch works in tandem with the electric fucking machine to draw a loud gasp of helpless joy from Destiny.

“AAHHHH! OHHHHHHH!.. HNNHHHH! ...stop...it...STOP!”

“No,” is the simple reply from Pascal.

“Gerald, please increase the speed of that machine,” says Pascal. Battle Axe leans over and twists a dial to the third setting out of 8 clicks. The rods pick up their speed instantly and Destiny’s body arches on the horse with a squeal. It is only 40 seconds later that the friction proves too much for the young heroine.

“OHHHH! PLEASE...NO MORE....NO MUH.....UUUUUHHHHHNNNNNNNNNN!”

The blonde heroine freezes in place as her body releases a sudden flush of fluid from her crotch. A spray of six or seven drops slide down either side of the leather cylinder, leaving obvious trails of Destiny’s climax. Her chest rises and falls beneath her.

“Cumming at such a low setting. My, my,” taunts Pascal. “This is going to be quite an exciting evening for you. By the time we work up to the top setting, I would think you might go insane with the pleasure, my dear.”

“...won’t...get....Wonder.......Woman....too smart........for you........”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, little Bylangian, but your grief-stricken friend will blunder right into my trap. By this time tomorrow night her juices will run as freely as yours. Like you, I will baste her in them and then kill her as I will you.”

“....doubt....that...”

“Trust me, cunt, your friend will fall easier than you. She doesn’t have half your powers, just more experience. But I have a few ideas to counteract that. Now enough about her, it is time to push you up another level.” Pascal nods at Battle Axe who moves the dial setting to 4. The 15-strokes-per-minute cycle increases to 25-per-minute and Pascal nods to his compatriot. “That should be good for an hour, my friend. Let’s see if she can add 2 + 2 when we return, eh?”

“I’m not sure she’s smart enough to do it now,” chuckles Battle Axe.

The two men walk out of the lab and head upstairs to share a quick dinner. The cameras are all set and focused to record the procedure. The Bylangian heroine should not be a problem from here on out. But the camera feed to the dining room will let Pascal keep an eye on the chained blonde beauty if she is somehow able to escape.

With the stimulation suit gripping her every curve so tightly, the blonde teenager cannot help but feel the rushing flow of pleasure as it cycles around her tits and up and down her back and across her two holes. Combined with the double-headed dildo thrusting into her body, the mighty Destiny is overwhelmed with pleasure. Her body tenses in place and she climaxes again with a loud and lonely grunt. And once more the leather cylinder has long drip trails of Bylangian cum sliding down its sides.

When the two men return an hour later to violate Destiny’s body with their cocks, she is a mumbling, confused mess of sweat-soaked hair, matted stinking bush, dazed unseeing eyes and drooling, slack-mouthed incontinence. A pool of urine has gathered beneath the horse.

“Oh, good,” says Pascal. “Stage Three is complete.”


End of Part 14

[tallyho]

Great story.
This is expertly put together, the plotting is perfectly orchestrated and I love the counterpoint of Wonder Woman's attempts to trace Pascal and his plan to catch her slowly unfolding.
It's a treat.

[DrDominator9]

Thank you, Tallyho. I appreciate the support. Plenty more peril to come, with lots of it centering on WW from here on out.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 15

Pascal walks up to the rubber-clad blonde heroine sagging heavily over the stained leather cylinder made slick with her bodily fluids. After turning off the electric fucking machine which is between fucking cycles for the moment, Pascal unlocks the castors and wheels it away a few feet. The tall Frenchman stands there a moment surveying the Bylangian beauty, his arms crossed.

The clear rubber adhering to her body is misted throughout the suit. Her ass crack, tits, thighs and underarms show pearly drops of condensation through a thin white film thrown off by her body heat and trapped sweat. The over-strained seams of the suit’s crotch flap drips with condensation and urine. The suit wasn’t designed to withstand the stress of a superheroine writhing and twisting and jerking within its confines over the course of more than an hour. Nevertheless, it’s done its job. The stimulation pads matched with the fucking machine have reduced the mighty Destiny to a barely conscious quivering, pathetic wreck.

The mighty heroine’s face is pressed against the slick leather, her eyes closed, her mouth slack. Pascal steps closer and lifts her head up by her sweaty hair with one and while his other snaps his fingers in her face.

“Come on, mon cherie. Wake up. Get those few remaining gray cells going. Fire a synapse or two for Uncle Rene and show me how gifted and quirky and resilient you are.”

“...uuuuuhhhh.......

He slaps her face with a short backhand, bringing a redness to her cheek. “Hey! Destiny! Wake up.”

The blonde dynamo’s eyelids slide up a bit and her head tilts to the side somewhat.

“...ohhh....basd.....urd...nobbing...uca...discoe...nomo...passka.....”
Pascal turns his head toward Battle Ax. “Did you make sense of any of that?”

“Not much. She doesn’t look happy. Probably some dumb threat. She’ll see us in hell or sumthin’. That’s what they always say. Anyway, seems to me the bitch is runnin’ on empty.”

“Hmm. Let us be absolutely sure.” Taking the electric pliers from a nearby bench, he waves the tool in front of Destiny’s eyes. “I have your favorite pair of pliers here, little heroine. Do you think you’re ready for more fun with your nipples?”

“..eeehhnn...nnnhuuuhh....”

The wrists and ankles shake and strain at the shiny cuffs but can do nothing as Destiny’s rubber-clad figure writhes and jerks in place. Watching the red digital display, Pascal nods with satisfaction at the very low resistance numbers being recorded by the struggling teen against her restraints.

“Yes, her tank does seem almost fully drained. Excellent!” The smiling scientist puts the pliers back on the bench and says, “I think subjecting her to another whole body physical stress assault is indicated at this point. Shall we begin, my young friend?”

“I couldn’t be more ready,” Battle Axe replies as he unzips his pants and pulls out his already stiff cock. The view of this chained blonde heroine sagging naked and helpless before him in the doc’s clear rubber stimulation suit and knowing he’s got a free shot at her has him hard as an aluminum baseball bat.

Taking a step forward, the hulking man pinches Destiny’s jaw with his left hand and her mouth gapes open with a painful grunt.

“Waaullgkk!”

His right hand takes a shiny steel implement out of a pocket in his Kevlar vest. He fits this quickly into her mouth, fitting it over her bottom teeth until it snaps open wide and keeps her mouth gaping.

“Hawwwwhhh!”

Destiny’s eyes grow large as she tries to shimmy her body away from the long, thick smelly penis coming right at her face. The hand behind her head and the chains holding her arms around the fat leather vault keep her from moving back much even as the other hand guides Axe’s dick into her defenseless gaping mouth. All she can do is whine and plead. To no avail.

“Eeeeeehhnnnn! Ohh! Ohh! Ond’t! ‘Eease...AWWGGKK!”

Battle Axe’s penis slides over her tongue, it’s head clogging the back of the girl’s throat. He smiles as both hands now hold her head still and her face goes red from the choking shaft thrust so deeply into her mouth.

“GGUHHGGKKK!! HUULLGGKKK! AAAAAGKKK!”

“So, Destiny, you come here often?”

Battle Axe grins as he easily holds the heroine’s head in place despite her frantic struggles. He jabs a bit, back and forth with his cock and her face shades from bright red to purple before he finally pulls his dick out of her mouth to give her relief. The doc was very clear that he didn’t want Destiny to choke to death on Gerald’s dick.

Wheezing for oxygen, Destiny’s eyes fill with tears at her helpless state.

Unseen behind her, Pascal steps forward and pulls at the seals of the suit’s rear flap. He pulls it open and lets the rubber flap dangle over the back end of the leather horse. A yellowish rivulet of liquid drains out onto the floor. Immobilized by Battle Axe’s huge paws, Destiny can’t move her head to look back when she feels the cool air on her exposed ass cheeks but she trembles in fear, knowing she’s about to be violated. As tender as she is down there from an hour or so on the fucking machine, she knows it could be painful for her, even with all the wetness between her thighs.

But when she feels the warmth of Pascal’s hard muscle slide into her vagina, it’s not as bad as she expected. He fills her pussy with his firm member and holds it there, squeezing her ass with both hands as he remains still, simply sighing.

“Such a tight young treasure you are,” he says and then begins to slowly thrust himself back and forth within her loins. Surprisingly gentle but insistently firm, he drives and withdraws himself over and over into her wet velvet sheath. She moans a bit.

There’s far less compassion from the man in front of her.

“You’re a very hot piece, girlie,” smirks Battle Axe. “Tell me, what’s your sign? You seem like a Pisces, especially with that mouth of yours working like a fish out of water.” The dick is plunged back into the blonde teen’s mouth, the head of it bumping against her cheek and bulging it outward until the rod is centered and steered back into her throat.

“AWWWWGHKK!”

“That feels great, sweet cheeks. Thanks. Say, what kind of music do you like? You into heavy metal?” Battle Axe holds Destiny’s head in both hands and proceeds to force his dick in and out of her mouth in slow, steady thrusts even as he keeps up his ridiculous bar-room pick-up banter. Chained and powerless, the blonde beauty can only gag and breathe rapidly with each thrust.

“...auulgghh......auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh....”

“I like the old-school metal stuff. Sabbath’s Into the Void, Uriah Heep’s Lady in Black, Judas Priest’s Exciter. You into any of that?”

“...auulgghh......auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh....”

“Maybe I’ll make you a download set. Sound good to you?” Axe pulls his dick out of her mouth. The end of it shines and a long thread of sticky drool hangs between the head of his dick and Destiny’s lower lip until it thins out and breaks.

“Heeeeeeeeezz....Heeeeeeeeezzz....” The Bylangian beauty gasps and wheezes violently for air with the dick waving in her face. Her body is tense with anguish even as her pussy is building with excitement from Pascal’s steady thrusting. The confused and aroused teenager is unable to process the conflicting emotions and her head sags in Axe’s hold, her mind befuddled, all reason demolished.

Destiny suddenly feels a smooth nozzle pressed against her asshole and then a sudden thick spurt of cool gel.
“No sense not enjoying all your charms, mon cherie,” declares Pascal as she feels him spread her ass cheeks wide apart. The head of his penis butts solidly against her greased balloon knot and before she takes her next breath, he pushes his dick deeply into her rear, his warm rock-hard staff burying itself to her very depths.

“Huungghhhh!”

Hands slide up the length of the slick rubber suit and squeeze down on her breasts and the thrusting begins in and out of her rear end even as her head is held tight and Axe’s dick assaults her throat once more.

Chained to the leather vault horse, Destiny is helpless to resist this concentrated attack on her exhausted frame. She lies there limp and powerless, arms held around the wide leather apparatus as her mouth and rear are violated with steady constant thrusts from both ends.

“...aaauugghhllkk....aaauugghhllkk....UNGHH...UNGHH ...aaauugghhllkk.... aaauugghhllkk....UNGHH...UNGHH ...aaauugghhllkk....aaauugghhllkk....UNGHH...UNGHH!”

The rhythm is everything and with Battle Axe keeping the depth of his thrusts more reasonable, Destiny’s libido kicks into overdrive. The large brute has finally stopped his banter and is concentrating on getting the most pleasure out of her mouth as humanly possible.

Her body is rocked and prodded, fondled and caressed, held and dominated for minute after minute after minute. Pascal has begun to alternate between her holes now. First her pussy for a series of thrusts and then her ass. Back and forth, over and over. Pussy and ass, pussy and ass. Stuffed tight and restuffed to the stretched limit of her cavities time after time. Her mouth is filled again and again, only occasionally tickling the back of her throat to make her lips clench down on the fat rod. Her nipples are pinched and rolled, her breasts compressed, her thighs caressed. She is building to a violent crescendo as her limp body is played and played well by these master musicians of sex.

A low, keening whine of pleasure issues from the blonde heroine as the assailing duo humps away at her chained form. Finally, the thrusting, the friction, the manhandling and the sensations are too much for the blonde teenager to withstand. She yelps in joy as her neck arches, her pelvis rises a few inches and she cums magnificently in the grip of the two males who have bested her so thoroughly, her pussy issuing a heavy rush of her juices. Her jerking, battered body with it’s clenching sphincter and it’s lip-locked mouth set off both Pascal and Battle Axe and they grunt and freeze in place, their dicks filling Destiny’s ass and mouth with warm jets of thick semen. She swallows what she can and the rest surges out of the corners of her mouth. Her ass is filled like a creamy doughnut by a factory nozzle. Hands squeeze and caress her ass as spurt after spurt of Pascal’s pleasure jets into her rear.

Everyone maintains their dazed, sex-addled positions for a few moments. And when Pascal finally pulls his dick out of Destiny’s ass, a flush of white semen drains out of her and down the sides of the leather horse. Even as he packs his dick away into his pants, her butt continues to issue the residue of her violation, the thick clumpy clusters sliding down the leather, leaving dark trails against the light tan cowhide. From the front, the sliding trails from the champion’s slack mouth are equally humiliating.

“That was fuckin’ great. Thanks, Doc. I love face-fucking heroines. This twat was my third superheroine this year. Ain’t nothin’ else like it.”

“I am pleased you are pleased. Now if you would remove that mouth brace so she can breathe freely and replace the fucking machine inside her I believe another three hours or so will be satisfactory to reduce her to near or below human power levels, my friend. And then we shall have our final bit of fun, yes?”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely yes!”

* * *

The tiny bell tinkles over her head as Wonder Woman walks into the store. She sees row after row of boxes lined up before her. They are filled with magazines. Dark figures in raincoats lurk throughout the aisles, flipping through the boxes, paying her no attention even though she’s dressed in her full costume. Everywhere there are flashes of red and blue in her peripheral vision as the dark figures search for their treasures.

Walking up to the first table laden with wooden boxes filled with magazines she sees a picture of herself on the front cover. Her mouth is filled with a red ball gag, her wrists tied over her head, she hangs from the ceiling with her legs spread by a steel bar and Superman is using a large round-headed vibrator on her exposed crotch. Her head is thrown back in orgasm and a small trickle of gleaming silver trickles down her inner thigh. The magazine is titled “Super Team Ups” with a promotional banner reading “Superman gets Wonder Woman Loose and Juiced!”

Grimacing with anger, Diana flips past that magazine only to see the next one with her posed on all fours taking a large cock from behind by a black man. His penis is half buried in her vagina and yet again, her neck is arched in absolute pleasure. “WW Goes Ebony” is the title on that magazine.

Frowning she flips through magazine after magazine and everyone of them shows her in her famous red, blue and gold uniform in different positions being sexually abused or bound or tickled or urinated on or half stripped with her breasts exposed, often with nipple rings. Yet each and every magazine shows her face in a display of extreme erotic pleasure. She looks over at the other racks and sees every magazine in the place seems to have her image on the cover. Looking up at the wall, the store’s name is emblazoned in bold curly type: “Wonder Woman Whack-off World.” And under that is the bold slogan: Champion of All Porn!

A voice from the back of the room, one of the dark figures in a raincoat calls out through the store, “Hey, do you sell any Destiny magazines? I’m looking for “Destiny Defeated Vol 1, Number 1.”

The faceless clerk behind the register calls back. “Not here, fella. That’s next door at “Destiny Diddle Depot.”

“Oh. Thanks,” replies the figure. He walks toward the front of the store, and as he walks by Diana, the cool wind of his passing abruptly halts as his hand suddenly reaches down into her tunic and squeezes her left breast. She is too stunned to resist and the hand instantly withdraws and the cool breeze moves away, carrying the words in the departing wind. “Nice hooters, Diana, but I’m still a Destiny man at heart. Too bad there’s no Volume 2 though.”

Just then the loudspeaker kicks in and the voice overhead announces, “Gentlemen. Attention please. It’s my honor and privilege to announce to you that the famous Wonder Woman is here for her autograph session. Anybody who purchases any WW magazine today at any price will have it gratefully signed by the Amazon Princess herself. She will also probably be happy to fuck you silly!”

Horrified Diana runs out of the store crying and shaking her head back and forth...and she snaps upright in a sitting position just like that. Her dark bedroom is lit only by the moon as she shakes her head back and forth in reality. Then stops, breathes out heavily and collapses back onto her bed, her head bouncing in the soft pillow. She turns her head a moment to read her bedside clock before looking back up: 2:58 a.m.

“By Hera, what a dream,” she says, staring at the patch of moonlight flowing across her ceiling. “I am a wreck. I have to catch this killer. It’s driving me batty!” She turns on her side, punches the pillow and tries to settle back down to sleep. Her racing heart finally slows after tossing and turning for 10 minutes and then she slowly drifts back into her slumbers. She’s already forgotten the reference to Destiny in the dream.

End of Part 15

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 16

It is the middle of the night, just approaching 3:00 a.m. when Doctor Rene Pascal returns to his basement laboratory. Since 11:50 p.m. Destiny has been at the mercy of the stimulation catsuit and the electric fucking machine. She is completely out of it, reduced to a mindless, sex-addled sagging sack of flesh and bones. The puddle on the cement floor under the leather horse is wide and slick with the heroine’s dripping pleasure and her urine. Chained down for hours on end, she was forced to simply let go and pee after shouts for bathroom breaks, for mercy, for any response at all went totally unheeded.

The drifting, senseless teen has no clue about the number of orgasms she’d had. They kept coming in waves with the suit and the machine working in unison to drive her to peak after peak after peak until her snot ran free, her tears drained out, her every ounce of perspiration poured out of her pores and her mind went to hide in a corner.

After turning off the fucking machine and moving it away, Pascal stands next to the horse and looks down at the defeated and drained superheroine. He pinches her ass, the plastic squeaking in his fingers. No response so he pinches harder to extract only the slightest of grunts from the girl.

“I think I may have to wake you up with those pliers over there, Destiny,” Pascal threatens. “Do you want that?”

No words. No stirring at all from the teen. She might not be capable of processing language at this point. Or may be catatonic. Only one way to tell her true mental state for sure. He does retrieve the pliers and returns to her side. He slides his hand under her upper torso and lifts it up slightly, then slides the pliers over to the nipple encased in plastic mere inches away. He fits the teeth of the tool over the nipple and squeezes down with his own strength.

“Aaaghh!” Destiny yelps, brought to awareness by the sudden brutal pain. She yanks on her restraints. “Stop! Please, please. Nuh more... Begging you, please!”

Checking down at the readout, Pascal sees the red digital number and smiles.

“Perfect! Normal human resistance levels. We have arrived, mon amie, at the crossroads of your life at last. Your life is about to become forfeit. Another superheroine will pay for her arrogance with her life. And my sister will be avenged once more. All you supers will learn that no matter how powerful you may be, how arrogant you are, how blase about the needs and rights of us small weak individuals under your protection, that the hands of justice can reach out to even you and tear you apart, render your powers useless and crush your spirit and your haughty self-importance to dust.

“You have seen how it can be accomplished, you have felt how it can be done and now you will hear your sentence and how it will be carried out. Death to Destiny by strangulation without mercy for the crime of being a superheroine! How does it feel, champion of shit, to be reduced to a pathetic weeping husk of a woman. Savor your downfall well, little bitch, for it is well-earned. Like your friend Wonder Woman who let my sister die without lifting a hand, you too will die and not she nor any superhero will be here to lift a hand in your defense. Even you will not be able to lift your own hand to deter your death, super cunt! I have seen to that. My scientific method has defeated you along with all I have tested it against. There is no escape for you. My journals there describe the process. They detail my brilliance. They record all your types’ petty resistance and how easily it can be overcome. Those journals will be my legacy and my altar of genius. They will be a shining beacon of the truth of you hero types. You all can be bested. Your brains are putty in my hands. Your powers are but withering whispers in the gale of my brilliance. My sister gave her life so that I may reach my height and avenge her death. And you, dear Destiny, are merely the latest in what will be a very long line of bodies brought low by Dr. Pascal, destroyer of arrogant heroines everywhere.”

Destiny weakly lifts her head at the journals stacked high on the bench across from the leather horse on which she is shackled. She stares at the tower of paper edges before her, just two yards away. Concentrating with all her might, she attempts to use her heat vision to ignite the heinous pile of his research. She imagines them bursting into flame as she stares into the bound white paper of journal after journal piled there. Pascal sees the frown on the blonde teens face and follows her gaze. Then he laughs aloud, heartily and long.

“Oh, no. Surely you did not think you could actually harm my work with your famous heat vision, did you, Destiny? Do you still not realize that you have no super powers left, you dumb twat! I have stripped them all away from you. Every last power. Every last superhuman ability is forever lost to you, my dear. I have cancelled your membership in that club of elite freaks of nature just as I will cancel your membership among the living.”

“....bastard....” she mumbles, letting her head down so her cheek rests against the slick leather. She is exhausted. It seems he’s won. She can do nothing.

“Moronic blonde bimbo!” He responds. “All you’re good for now is fucking so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Once again, Destiny is violated. A triumphant Pascal, heedless of her tender sex organs, rams himself into her without gentleness, without concern and without any lubrication other that the half-dried cum in her pussy. He takes her like a conquering Roman soldier, stunning her breathless with his ramming tool. He pushes and pulls at her with his dick, holding her hips and fucking away with a snarl of lust and a wild eye. A dazed and agonized Destiny can only lie in place and be raped by this madman as the throes of his insanity crest in his mind. His hips pump back and forth, his hands slide to grasp her tits none too gently and he possesses the blonde heroine with brutal force until the friction ignites his loins and he ejaculates his victory into her limp, depleted form with hefty grunt of animal satisfaction. All the finesse of the man has left him for now and he savors the smell of fear and terror of his victim as he lies on top of her inert form, sighing like a beast and nothing more. After a half-minute, he pulls out, puts his penis away and simply walks off without a word, leaving Destiny to lie there in her murmuring tears as his seed dribbles out of her naked pussy and down the semen trails blazed earlier that evening on the side of the leather horse that has borne witness to her complete degradation.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Battle Axe enters the laboratory alone. He strides over to the leather cylinder where Destiny lies in a flaccid daze. The crotch flap is open, draped over the round end of the vault horse and her pussy is dripping with the last expulsions of Pascal’s semen. He surveys the scene with a leer.

“You’re one sorry fucked up hero now, ain’t you, Destiny? Too bad I don’t like sloppy seconds or else I’d do you once more for good luck myself. But doc says to get you onto the table for the big goodbye now, so that’s just what I’m gonna do” Reaching down, Battle Axe unlocks the handcuffs holding Destiny’s wrists to the steel bar attached to the underside of the vault horse. He slips them off and puts them in a pocket of his pants.

“He’ll be along in a minute to send you to that great big forever you so richly deserve, bitch. Don’t see you coppin’ an attitude now though, do we, Destiny? Knocked the fight right out of you for good, didn’t we, slut. Had you swallowin’ my cum like it was ice cream and takin’ it up your cooze like some slutty prom queen, didn’t I, champ?”

He undoes the ankle cuffs next and then slides the limp figure off the top of the leather apparatus and takes her up in his arms.

“.....uuuuhhhhnnnnnnnnnn....” The long, low moan surprises Battle Axe. Doctor Pascal had told him she probably wouldn’t even be conscious during the transfer. Still, he said she was weak as a kitten and that Axe would probably have no trouble handling her at all.

“Just take her from the horse to the restraint table,” says Battle Axe as he’s walking her over to it, her body slack in his arms, legs dangling loosely, head flopping back and her ass slung low between his arms as he cradles her under her knees and her back.

“What did you say,” asks Pascal as he enters the room and witnesses the transfer with satisfaction. He’s wearing his tight green silk shorts and top and making a note on a journal he’s placed on a bench.

“Oh, nuthin’. Just repeatin’ my instructions.”

When he gets to the table, Battle Axe lays the limp Destiny on her back with her head near the end of the table where the thin molybdenum steel chain dangles menacingly.

“Everything going as planned,” Pascal asks, jotting another note and not looking up.

“Pretty much. She moaned some.”

“What?!? Wait! Gerry be....”

As the big blonde thug leans low over Destiny to look into her face, before Pascal can even finish his sentence, the girl’s head comes up at him with incredible speed, her wide forehead smashing into his nose.

“UUUUGGHHNN! OWW! THOUGHT YOU SAID....”

The head retreats and smashes up again, this time more centered, driving the nose bone up into Battle Axe’s brain. His eyes widen and then the irises roll up under his lids and he’s gone, a dead weight that Destiny holds onto to help her rise up off the table. Her hands grasp his vest and his weight pulls her forward to a sitting position and then, with her fingers caught in his vest and all his momentum, it drags her off the table onto the floor with the dying villain. The two of them land on the floor almost simultaneously. Battle Axe’s back hits first and something goes flying off to the side just as Destiny lands on one knee and her awkwardly positioned ankle. Her vision dulls with flares of pain and she sways in her crouch, dazed and unthinking for a moment. When she gathers herself a moment later, she stands up and turns hurriedly to scan the room for Pascal. He’s right in front of her. He thrusts Battle Axe’s titanium knife hard into Destiny’s stomach.

“GHUNNHHH!” She exhales a burst of foul air and looks down at the blossoming red flower filling the clear rubber suit. “Uhhh. N...nohhhhh...” She falls to one knee as Pascal’s hand retreats leaving the knife sticking in her gut.

“Human level strength or less,” is all the Frenchman says, half in shock himself at this turn of events.

Destiny reaches down, in a flash of inspiration and grabs the first weapon she sees, Battle Axe’s mini flame thrower. She pulls it around and aims it at Pascal who ducks quicky and scurries away in fear.

Dazed and angry, Destiny looks around but sees nothing but the laboratory, the shelves of equipment, the stack of journals. THE JOURNALS! She points the nozzle at the stack and presses the button on the pistol grip. A stream of fire shoots in an arc through the air. Destiny stands up and directs the fire right at the stack. It catches on quickly and the whole pile, including plastic CDs and DVDs goes up in flames. From behind a bench, she hears a strangled scream of hatred and horror.

“NO!” Pascal tries to run to save his life’s work. “I have no copies! No copies yet!”

He only gets halfway there before Destiny aims the flame thrower his way, backing him down. He ducks low and disappears and she is suddenly very, very tired. She clicks off the flame and, looking down, sees her whole lower body drenched in blood, the suit holding most of the bright red liquid in with small streams of red arcing out of the strained seams.

“This isn’t good,” she murmurs, dropping the flame thrower in exhaustion. She collapses to all fours, horribly weak after her long, long night. She’s completely exhausted. Everything is shutting down. Pascal hears the flame thrower clatter to the ground and turns to see Destiny wobbling pathetically 8 feet away. Enraged he rushes over to her, hauls her up and throws her on the table. He yanks down the flap on her suit and the blood comes pouring out. He doesn’t even attempt to bind her at this point. He just wants to complete his experiment. To strangle her and cum inside her. To complete the moment. He tries stroking himself since he’s still soft.

On the table, her vision dark, her life floating away, Destiny murmurs her final words. “..s’matter...doc...’formance...issues....”

And then she’s gone and Pascal is horrified, enraged and vengeful. There will be no strangulation. No sodomy. No final victory with this one. He will have to enjoy his final victory with Wonder Woman then. It will be as he’s always wanted it anyway. And he will leave her a message to goad her into action.

* * *

When the phone rings at 7:30 in the morning, Diana has already dressed and showered. She’s ready to go out for her Sunday morning run. She strides over to the phone and picks it up.

“Hello, this is Diana Prince.”

“Miss Prince, this is Sal Abato. I have some bad news.”

Diana’s face goes still with the phone to her ear. And then, like a force of gravity it is pulled down to a frown and then seemingly collapses into itself completely. Her entire body goes with it. Her knees thump to the carpet and her head bows momentarily before she picks it up and screams. “NOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!” She tosses the phone away like it’s a diseased rat and collapses into a fetal position, weeping inconsolably.

Softly now, barely audibly, she cries into the carpet. “Not her too! Not Destiny!”

Diana lies on the carpeted floor of her apartment, clutching her knees to her chest as her body shakes intermittently from wracking sobs. She is devastated by this tragic news. Another heroine lost! And countless more lives to be lost that poor Destiny will never save. Oh, Destiny! Her life sacrificed to some madman. Her beautiful, courageous soul snuffed out decades before its time, paying the ultimate price that every heroine faces and that none expect to come due. The heart-breaking sorrow of it all grips Diana in her gut and drains her of all hope. It’s a long ten minutes curled on the rug weeping and sniffling before she is finally able to pull herself together and wearily stand up, a forlorn figure wavering absent-mindedly in the center of her living room, stunned and tear-streaked with her mascara ruined.

With a heavy sigh, she walks toward the bathroom to assess the damage to her face. On the way she bends down to pick up the portable house phone and presses the Off key. She sets it down on the bathroom sink and looks in the mirror. Her makeup is a disaster and has to be completely redone.

As she’s fixing her face, the phone rings and she jerks in startled fear at the device before reaching down, picking it up and seeing the readout display: IADC.

“Hello. This is Diana.”

“Diana, it’s Steve. I just heard we lost another superheroine: a fairly new girl called Destiny who’s made a name for herself only recently. Did you know her?”

“Not well, Steve. We just met the other day.”

“Really? How did that happen?”

Diana realizes she’s just slipped up. She’d met Destiny as Wonder Woman not as Diana Prince.

“Oh, uh, I was shopping downtown the other day when I looked up and saw her swoop down and pluck a two-ton billboard out of the sky that was about to fall on my head and that of a dozen onlookers.”

“My gosh, Diana, are you okay?”

“Oh, uh yes, sure, Steve. I would have had time to run away from it. It was 10 stories up at the time. I can be fast on my feet when I have to be.”

“All that IADC field training pays off.”

“I guess...yes....”

“Look, uh, Diana. How are you doing with all this?”

“I’m numb at the moment. Detective Abato called just before and let me know about Destiny. I... uh..I’m..er..going to go down to the scene I guess...where Destiny was found this morning. See if I can find anything out about her killer.”

“Okay. I’m waiting here in the office for the results of Interpol’s investigation. Anything valuable comes up, I’ll call your cell.”

“Fine, Steve. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Right, Di. If you need anything....”

Distracted and distraught, Diana clicks off Steve in the middle of his offer of help, unhearing and unaware of her slight to him.
She looks back in the mirror, her lip trembling and puts both hands on the edge of sink, then lowers her head and let the tears drip down her cheeks for another two minutes before she composes herself once again and starts over on her makeup.

* * *

NOTEBOOK ENTRY #276 - DTY

DICTATED SUMMARY:
That bitch Destiny succumbed to all my plans and preparations but destroyed all my scientific journals in the process. I am not sure why I am even recording this entry at this point. Pure habit and science marching on I suppose. Another unknown: I am simply not confident that I will be able to replicate the formula again for the two neural toxins. I have some left of course besides what I planted on Gerald’s corpse. But what a loss to humanity! What a super twat Destiny was! She fell for everything I planned of course: the dusting with the space spores, the application of the neural agents, almost all the tricks that Battle Axe played on her. Oh, she killed him by the way. Where was I? Oh yes, she followed me to the back room just as I knew she would and took the shotgun blast. But even that didn’t kill the bitch. I suspected it would not but was hoping it would leave holes in her. It did not. But it did put her out of commission for a while. She was just too weak and confused to stop from being tied to a chair and dropped in the cold pool. That worked well especially following it up with the liquid nitrogen and then bringing her to a climax, too. Everything I devised served to drain down her strength precisely the way I laid it out. Even with all her amazing Bylangian powers, she still could not prevent me from stripping them all away from her. It was as easy as...how do these Americans say it? Oh yes, taking candy from the baby. Well, maybe a very stubborn baby. But in the end, I pulled them all away from her. The stupid little bitch got everything she deserved and then some. The electric pliers I used had the famous heroine screaming and weeping and even pissing her panties in fear. That was the biggest surprise of the day. What a beautiful sight that was! The fear in her eyes, the urine draining out of her twitching snatch into her boots and onto the floor. And then the shame. Increable! After that, the stimulation suit and fucking machines had her screaming too, for a different reason - pleasure. In the end, they took her all the way down to zero superpowers. The digital readout proved that. But even with that mistakes were made. At only the normal strength of a teenage girl and a very exhausted one at that, it still wasn’t enough to stop the arrogant cunt from head-butting Battle Axe’s nose into his brain, the dumb fuck! I was forced to stab her before she could escape and never even got the chance to finish the final stage of choking her out with the titanium necklace. She died before I had the chance. I am ashamed to admit I beat on that cunt’s body for a few minutes in my frustration. Even turned her over and thought about ass-fucking her dead corpse. But I gained control finally and just gave her a final punch in the kidney. After that I bundled her up in a white canvas sack and ended up having to cut Battle Axe in half just so I could lift the huge lummox and bring him to my preselected body drop site. What a mess! Anyway, I’m now in the middle of preparing the house for Wonder Woman’s appearance. That bitch will suffer more than any of the heroines that I have captured. I will make certain of that. She does not let my sister die like that and get away with it, not on her life! End summary. And the end of Wonder Woman coming up. Hah!

* * *

A stiff autumn wind snaps at the lapels of Destiny’s top, pulling at them and seemingly trying to further expose the ample cleavage of her limp body to even more humiliation than it already suffers. The mighty Bylangian heroine is draped over the tail of a prototype of a twenty-foot long science survey rocket set at a skyward facing angle on a pedestal outside the west face of the National Air and Space Museum on the Mall in Washington, D.C. Her face points up at the sky that she will never soar through again. Her eyes stare sightlessly into the great forever.

Destiny’s back is slumped against the curved white plating of the rocket, her arms hang loosely down. The blonde beauty’s legs are draped obscenely apart, the shiny orange thigh-high boots straddling the long tube’s sides. Her hair has been knotted around the pointed fin to prevent the body from sliding off its precarious perch. The heroine’s skirt is missing and she wears only her gold panties with their orange piping. The panties are heavily soiled with yellowed stains of urine and her cum. Sticking out of her belly, the handle of a large knife shivers from side to side in the occasional wind. Off to her left, pictures are being taken of her disgraceful pose by a young crime scene technician. He’s been shooting a variety of angles for the last two minutes until a young man with a close-cropped neat black beard walks up to him, places his hands on the tech’s shoulder and speaks softly to him.

“I think you’ve got enough, Jeremy. Go take shots of the body parts in the bushes now please.”

“Sure, George.” The lad goes over to a trio of neatly-trimmed yews and begins snapping away at the body there of a big man in grey and white battle armor who’s been sliced into two halves. Death has visited the famous museum of flight in a tableau of true horror that had sent the first early tourists heaving their breakfasts onto the sidewalk and then dialing the D.C. police as fast as their thumbs could move.

With Murray Banks, the Medical Examiner, taking his typical Sunday off, the responsibility for the crime scene fell to his assistant, George Constantine, a young doctor of Greek heritage that Banks greatly respected and trusted. Even with a high-profile murder like this, Murray had told George to handle it himself when the assistant had called him from the morgue with the news of the bodies’ discovery. Banks told Constantine that he would be in tomorrow to conduct the autopsy. That was the only thing that Murray had held back from the young doctor. The upper echelon from the Police Commissioner to Mayor would expect nothing less. Other than that however, it was George’s show to run as he saw fit. Two detectives that George did not respect much were on the scene before he had arrived with the tech crew. Sal Abato and Jimmy Glendennan were now talking together near the body of the big man in the bushes. They were speaking with the tech crew who were staking out the body’s perimeter, taking notes and making harsh jokes to the two detectives. It was the sort of grisly humor that professionals sometimes adopted to keep the reality of the moment at bay.

“He’s not half the man he used to be.”

“No, he’s two halves of the man he used to be.”

“Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“How do you feel about capital punishment now, sir?”

“I’m pretty divided about that.”

A loud guffaw comes out of Abato just as Wonder Woman walks around the corner of the museum building and comes face to face with Destiny draped over the rocket. The Amazon princess’ face goes white as she freezes in place, staring at the horrific image before her.

“...oh...Hera....” she whispers, her fist at her mouth, her teeth clenching her knuckle, drawing blood. She’d been given no details by Abato or Trevor on the phone. She staggers to the side and sits down harshly on a nearby bench. Her head droops low, her knees shaking, her hand dripping blood onto the sidewalk. The assistant M.E. hurries toward her and sits beside her.

“I’m sorry, Wonder Woman. The police were supposed to cordon off the area....”

“I...i...asked....and....they let me through,” she stammers through deep breaths, staring at the fringe of grass between the sidewalk and the bench that was beneath her boots. “My own fault.”

“Well, we’re almost done here. I can send you my report if you don’t want to see anymore.”

“I can’t unsee that, doctor. Much as I might wish it,” Wonder Woman says, still looking at her boot tips and gathering herself. “No, I’ll stay. What have you got so far?”

“Judging by the lividity, both bodies were killed elsewhere and dropped here. I’m not sure if they battled each other....”

“Wait...both bodies?” Diana’s head snaps up. If possible, the Amazon’s face loses even more of it’s color. Was yet another heroine dead and left like trash on America’s doorstep? Diana wavers in place on the bench, her face filled with fear as her wide blue eyes search the young doctor’s eyes waiting for an explanation.

“Yes, a rather large man was found underneath those bushes over there,” George points at the group of techies and the two policemen. Diana notes Abato and Glendennan there with a scowl. “He’s wearing some sort of body armor. I think it’s the man that was in the news the other day but I forget his name.”

“Battle Axe? He’s the other body?”

“That was his name! I remember it now,” the assistant M.E. slaps his thigh.

Diana gives a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t another superheroine. “How did he die? How did Destiny die? What happened here?”

“Like I explained, they didn’t die here. They were moved here. If I had to guess, I’d say he died from a blow to his nose that drove the bone into his brain. Being bisected probably occurred after death.

“Bisected? Are you serious?”

“Why on earth would I joke about that?”

“I’m sorry, doctor, please proceed.” Wonder Woman shakes her head at the gruesome turn this case has taken. The violence seemed to be escalating.

“The woman victim appears to have sustained any number of injuries, most extremely brutal, but I would surmise that the stab wound in her stomach was the coup de grace.”

“But she’s...Destiny. Surely a stab wound couldn’t...”

“Her physical stamina was severely taxed would be my guess. There’s all sorts of wounds and marks and excretions that would indicate severe sustained traumas both violent and...well, sexual. The young lady, though she was super powered and had remarkable stamina and resistance to physical..ahh...abuse... did suffer repeated violent attacks on her person, Wonder Woman. I can’t be sure the time frame and duration of the attack but my guess is that she simply wore down over the course of her ordeal. That, and the fact that she was suffering from a cold or flu probably helped contribute to her overall demise.”

“The flu? What makes you think Destiny had the flu, doctor. She was Bylangian. She couldn’t get the flu if she sucked in all the air in the middle of an influenza ward during the great pandemic of 1918.”

“Well, she has an accumulation of mucus consistent with some sort of influenza-like pathogen. An autopsy will confirm it but I’d guess her lungs are congested and her sinuses inflamed.”

“None of this makes any sense. The flu and stabbed? That’s how you think she died?”

“The constant trauma to her body from untold attacks and the stab wound would be my initial judgement. I doubt the flu killed her. Possibly just weakened her system is all.”

“I don’t...don’t understand how this could happen to someone so strong, so vital,” Diana murmurs, more to herself than the M.E. assistant. “She rivaled Supergirl on all the power scales people use to measure these things.”

“Yes, well, Supergirl has kryptonite, so maybe Destiny had some mineral that was equally devastating to her. Or some sort of organic element that we don’t know about.”

“She never mentioned it in all her interviews.”

“Well, why would she admit to something like that in an interview? It’s not something you’d want the general public to know. I’m sure Supergirl would prefer the world didn’t know about her weakness. She’s lucky kryptonite is such a rare element or she’d be constantly under siege.”

“I’m not referring to media interviews, doctor. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

“George Constantine,” he said, shaking the hand that Diana proffered.

“I was referring to interviews with the Justice League and other similar organizations. Star Labs would have known if she had a weakness. They track such things. I will check with both of them later to see if she ever mentioned a weakness to them. I’m afraid I really didn’t know much about Destiny.” Diana looks at the limp figure draped over the rocket and sighs deeply. And she frowns as she sees Abato and Glendennan break off from the group of technicians and head over toward her. She and the doctor both rise as the two detectives walk up.

“Well, if it ain’t Ms. Busybody. Come here to gather more clues and keep them to yourself, toots?”

“Someone has to try to solve this case, Abato. You’re clearly incapable of it,” a fuming Wonder Woman snaps back at the police detective whose face goes from smirk to scowl in an instant. “Do you have any idea what went on here?”

“Nuthin’ went on here, lady. This was just a drop off point. But judging from what the doc here told me and my own observations...”

“Hah!” Wonder Woman interjected.

Abato stopped, gave the Amazon an icy stare then continued. “...Mr. Axe under the bushes there got his dead on when blondie there headbutted him but good.”

“So we don’t know if she was stabbed by Battle Axe before or after he was butted,” Wonder Woman mused aloud.

“Highly unlikely afterward,” answered Constantine. “Death would have been near instantaneous.”

“Of course, there had to be a third party involved,” Jimmy Glendennan chimed in. “Somebody had to cut the big guy in half and drop the bodies.”

“I can see why you made detective, Jimmy,” sniped Wonder Woman sarcastically. “That’s good solid police work. Now for a gold star, do you know who it was?”

“We’re getting real close, I assure you, Wondie,” Abato growled. “We’re checking out every possible lead.”

“And yet the bodies keep piling up, Detective!” Wonder Woman growls and walks off toward the rocket and Destiny’s limp figure.

Diana circles the body slowly, forcing herself to be as unfeeling as possible, to merely look at the physical evidence. It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done. She sees the white fingerprint powder on the knife handle and knows that any results there will be hours away from being known. The titanium knife is distinctive and George Constantine walks up behind Wonder Woman with a soft comment to her.

“The materials in the knife seem to be the same construction and design as the axe slung in the back holster on the body under the bushes. My guess is that the fingerprints on the knife will match the deceased’s over there but that’s not conclusive that he actually stabbed this poor soul here.”

“It would be hard to prove either way, I’d guess,” says Wonder Woman as she looks over the body and its many bruises on the wrists and ankles. “She was bound to something like the other victims it appears.”

“I’d say that was probable,” answers the Greek doctor. “The stains on her underwear appear to be urine, her’s would be my guess from the patterning there...”

“Oh, Zeus! The poor creature...”

“And the other ejaculate stains seem to be a combination of hers and her assailant’s, possibly the guy under the bush over there. We’ll know that by tomorrow or the next day. Oddly, there’s no semen on her body. A chemical cleansing agent was used...”

“Elimanol,” Wonder Woman said quietly.

Constantine’s face shows great surprise at this. “Murray said you were very smart.”

“I’ve smelled it before, doctor. On the other victims.”

“Yup, someone certainly had a good time with this little lady here,” Abato says, coming up beside the rocket and patting its side with a slap that reverberates with a loud, hollow metallic ring that jars the sensibility of all three people. Wonder Woman in particular recoils badly and falters back a step. Abato actually seems a bit embarrassed by his action and the assistant M.E. simply glares at the uncouth detective before walking off to talk to his techies.

“Oh...uh...sorry...I didn’t realize...sorry...” Abato starts to move off when Wonder Woman grabs his elbow and pulls him around to face her. “Aaghh!” He yelps at the pain in his arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Detective Abato. I guess I don’t know my own strength.” She releases his arm and he rubs it with an unmanly pout. “Do you have any theories at all about who might have done this to this poor girl?” Diana asks him. “Anything at all?”

“Well, I do have the two vials from Battle Axe’s pocket but that’ll take some time to get analyzed.”

“Yes, the chemicals in those vials might match those found on the earlier victims,” nods Wonder Woman.

Abato looks at Wonder Woman with a raised eyebrow and then nods in return. “Yes, well, Constantine told me he’d get on it as soon as he got back to the lab. Shouldn’t be too long. But I’m going to do some heavy background searching on Battle Axe in the meantime and see if he’s connected to any of the labs or chemical supply companies we’ve got lists on to see if there’s a match there.”

“Do you actually have an ID of him?”

“His wallet was in a secret pouch in his Kevlar vest. Name is Gerald uhh..Detherlink.” Abato say, checking his notebook with a flip. “With a name like that, I’d change it to something else too!”

“A wallet? Isn’t that a little too easy, Detective,” Wonder Woman declares.

“Not everyone is an Amazon princess with no need for pockets in her uniform for cash or keys to her mind-controlled invisible jet, your superiorness. Some of us have to work for a living. Anyway, poor old Gerry there is suspect numero uno! I’m hoping that he was the mastermind of all this and Destiny there had the ability to take him out before she died, and it was just his accomplices that sliced him in half and left him here before taking off. If we’re lucky maybe this killing spree has come to its end.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t think you should rely on luck, Detective. Please let me know when you get the results from Dr. Constantine. Wonder Woman gives Abato a business card from inside a pocket in her belt. It just has her name and a cell phone number in black type on a white card. “See, I do have pockets. You don’t know everything, Abato. In fact, you don’t know most things. You can contact me at that number.”

“I know more than you think, toots. A lot more. And where exactly are you going to run off to now, Wondie? I’d like the same courtesy from you. What leads are you planning to follow up?”

“Right now, I’m expected at a meeting of the Justice League, but I will be back on the case this afternoon. I have the same lists you do, and I’ll start from the bottom and work my way up while you start at the top. I’ll call you around 4 pm or so and we’ll see if either of us has made any progress, if that sounds alright to you, Detective?”

“Sounds peachy to me, sugar pie. Do give my regards to Superman and Batman and all the other JLers. As members of the good side versus evil, we have to stick together. Right, sweetheart?” Abato starts to give Wonder Woman a pat on the rear as she turns but the Amazon princess spins in place and grabs his hand before it reaches her blue and white starred rear end.

“Aaaiieeee!” The Italian police detective yelps with a high-pitched girlish whine as his wrist is held down and Wonder Woman’s icy blue eyes stare into his pain-filled brown pupils.

“Try to touch my body again and I might not be able to stop myself from breaking your wrist, Detective. Are we clear on that?”

“I could have you up on assault charges, bitch! I’m a goddamn police officer,” groans Abato as his wrist is released and he rubs it with a scowl.

“If you want to deal with the publicity and notoriety of a sexual harassment charge, Sal, be my guest. But when it comes to matching your rep against mine. I wouldn’t push it, detective.” Wonder Woman turns her back and saunters over toward the body of Battle Axe under the bushes.

Jimmy Glendennan walks up to Sal and smiles at his partner. “Told you she was too fast for you to get away with an ass pat, you rube. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape and you sure as hell don’t pat Wonder Woman’s ass! So, you owe me lunch. And what are you smiling at? From where I was standing she got the better of you every which way you could imagine.”

“Not every way, Jimmy my lad. Not the most important way possible. I think I now know something that will put Wonder Woman in her place but good!”

“What are you talking about, Sal?”

“See that beautiful ass of hers over there?” The two men stare at Wonder Woman’s wide butt as she squats down beside Battle Axe’s divided body to examine it more closely. “It’s mine now!” Abato’s eyes gleam as he nods with a deep satisfaction. “Now let’s get back to the office and dig up everything we can on Mr. Battle Axe there. Maybe we can put a bow on this case before the day’s over.”

“Really?” Jim says in surprise. He didn’t think they were that close to solving this thing. “What the hell did she say to you, Abato?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Sal replies.

After examining Battle Axe’s body as closely as she could from behind the crime scene tape, Wonder Woman shakes her head in frustration. No substantial new clues were to be found anywhere at this scene. That left her with only one suspect and it wasn’t Battle Axe. It was Professor Pascal and his Elimanol. She thought it was finally time to pay him a little visit.

End of Part 16

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 17

Dressed back in her street clothes after a flashing, spinning change in an empty ladies room in a sparsely populated Metro station on a Sunday morning, Diana Prince has made her way to Chevy Chase and stands just down the street from Dr. Rene Pascal’s handsome three-story brick townhouse. She surveys it carefully from the shadowed confines of an empty doorway of a locked office building. Without absolute solid proof against him, Wonder Woman can’t take the chance of being seen breaking and entering. It was bad enough if Diana Prince were caught at it, but she might be able to plead probable cause with all the evidence collected against Pascal. Wonder Woman however was held to a higher standard by the media and the courts. Diana would have to circle around the back. Even though the block was quiet and nobody was stirring on a Sunday morning, she didn’t want to increase the risk factors any more than she absolutely had to.

Leaving the shadowed doorway, she crosses the street in her short navy skirt, white blouse and tan pantyhose. She holds up a piece of scrap paper as if referring to an address. She goes to the front door and pretends to knock and wait for a moment. Her knuckles never touch the wood. Playacting frustration, she leaves the door and circles around the side of the brick house looking for open windows. It isn’t until she’s in the back yard with its high fence and small enclosed deck and glass sliding doors that she stops the ruse and heads directly to a ground floor window. It is locked tight as are all the ground floor windows. Just good basic security, but there doesn’t seem to be any silver wiring tape of an alarm system. That was one saving grace so far. Diana looks down and sees a basement window but it’s been blacked out and is clearly tightly sealed. She frowns until she looks up and sees a window open just a crack on the second floor. Paydirt!

Kicking off her high heeled shoes under a wooden lounge chair and hitching up her skirt, Diana stands on the chair, grabs the gutter of the deck enclosure and quickly pulls herself up onto the roof over the deck. She pads quietly over to the open window, staying to the side and quickly peering in through the opening of heavy drapes surrounding the window. There’s nobody in the room which appears to be some sort of study. Lifting up the storm window, Diana climbs into the room and shuts it behind her to precisely the level it was at before she entered. She didn’t want the breezy day to swirl into the room and disturb things. She’d have to chance the fact that she wouldn’t be needing to make a diving exit out of this place. She pulls the drapes a bit wider apart to let the late morning light in so she can see a bit better.

Looking around, Diana sees a laptop open with the Microsoft screen saver icon drifting over its black face. The professor had been away from this room a while but could be returning any moment. The brunette scans the room and the top of the wooden desk for anything incriminating. She didn’t expect any items of clothing or accessories from Scarlet, Flare or Destiny lying around but there might be something in this room to tie Pascal into the disappearances of three superheroines.

Spotting a light blue memory stick with a post-it note stuck to it with the phrase “Exprmnts: 212, 213, 214” Diana’s heart quickens a bit. Three experiments, three heroines. Could it be that easy? She picks up the disk in her fingertips, moves the mouse and waits for the screen to come back to life. It takes a few seconds before the dark screen and logo blink out and the screen desktop appears, a photo of the Eiffel Tower covered with application icons but no screen windows open. She plugs the memory stick into the side of the laptop and waits nervously, tapping her fingertips on the desktop until she realizes the noise it makes and stops that immediately. She’s getting very sloppy in her anxiety about this case, she knows. When this was all over, she decides she will take a week’s vacation on Paradise Island. She needs it badly.

The computer reads the memory stick and the light on the stick blinks a bright yellow and Diana puts her hand over it to keep the glare from spreading widely in the dark study.
After a few seconds an options screen pops up. She decides to simply click on Open Files for the moment to see what’s on the stick. Again the laptop takes a moment. It’s an older version apparently and doesn’t have the blazing speed of newer models. The blinking light flutters brightly under Diana’s hand as she rests her palm lightly against the stick to block all the light. Finally, the listing comes up of what’s on the disk. It’s a sequence of numbers, the latest of which, on the top of the list, are 214, 213 and 212. She clicks on the top number, the most recent experiment. Yet again it takes several moments before anything happens. If she had time, she would copy the three files to the desktop since the blinking light is a distraction and an annoyance, but the professor could be back in any moment. This slow-moving laptop is giving her fits!

Finally the file labeled “Experiment 214” opens and Diana is looking at a captured video frame, a slightly grainy picture of a naked Destiny...no, not naked, she’s wearing a rubber catsuit like the one found on Flare. The heroine is shackled to some sort of leather cylinder and having her mouth violated by Battle Axe. The large man’s face is beaming while Destiny’s eyes appear to be half-shut as her jaw dangles loosely. From the angle that the camera’s at, Destiny’s legs are out of the frame. There’s no sign of anyone else in the picture. It’s not damning against Pascal, except that she’s found it in his house. But no court in the world would allow this as evidence with how she’s come across it. If there were only a picture of Pascal assaulting Destiny, she could wrap this case up today. She clicks on number 213 and this one shows Flare in a rubber suit draped on a table looking completely exhausted. No one else is in the picture. It’s very frustrating to Diana. She didn’t have time to...

She hears whistling in another part of the house. It must be Pascal. And the sound is getting closer. Her only option is to quickly hide the memory stick where the professor won’t find it, get away and come back with a police team and a warrant to search the place. She pulls the memory stick out of the port in the laptop and scans the room with wide eyes. Nothing easy comes to mind. She spins to the bookcase behind her and sees a snow globe of Paris sitting on an upper shelf. Quickly sliding the memory stick under the four-pronged base, Diana hopes that will be enough of a hiding place until she returns with the police.

She rushes over toward the window but stubs her nylon-covered toe on the leg of the desk and gasps aloud despite herself.
“Aaah!”

Limping the final four feet to the window, Diana thrusts it wide open and has one leg out when Pascal flips on the light switch and sees a tall brunette in a blue skirt and white blouse with very attractive legs trying to dash out of his study window. He rushes over and just manages to grab her disappearing ankle before she can make her complete escape. He pulls it back into the room and her shapely, very muscled leg along with it.

“Let me go!” She shakes and pulls her leg but Pascal’s grip is tight and unyielding. Off balance, with one leg on the roof and the other inside the room, the young woman is unable to wrest herself free. She half turns and puts her hands on the bricks over the window to try to pull away with a good strong heave when light fingers dance and slide on the sole of her foot, tickling her mercilessly.

“No. Oh,.ho..no...ohhhh.. No... Stop! Stop.” Diana’s ankles twists and pulls and her toes flex and wiggle but she has no recourse against this unexpected attack. Another sudden harsh jerk on her leg pulls her body painfully against the house and causes the brunette’s head to knock against the unyielding brick, stunning her senseless. She falls on her back and lies on the roof in a daze. One long panty-hosed leg is inside the house and the rest of her body dangles limply outside with her other leg bent awkwardly beneath her. Pascal leans out the window, grabs Diana’s other leg around the calf and hauls the stunned woman back into his house and onto the beige carpet in a ungainly sprawl.

“Ohhhh.” The IADC agent moans dully as Pascal opens a drawer quickly and pulls out a small snub-nosed revolver. He turns and points it at the cross-eyed brunette and demands answers.

“Who are you? What were you doing in my house?”

A half-dazed Diana looks up to see the short barrel of a gun pointed at her face and lets out a very unladylike, “Oh shit!”

* * *

“YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING ME!” Jimmie’s eyes are wide open and his mouth is agape with wonder. Sal Abato merely nods at him as the Italian detective drives back to the station house.

“It’s true, I know Wonder Woman’s secret identity,” he replies. “And frankly I’m surprised I didn’t key into it sooner. But I never met her in her day-to-day persona.”

“Who is she? And how can you be so sure?”

“Who she is I’m 95% sure of. But I don’t think I should tell you. You’re not the best guy in the world with secrets, Jimbo, and this one’s a whopper. Much as I have problems with that stuck up heroine bitch, if word gets out about this, she could be too easily set up by any number of people who want her dead. I don’t wish her that kind of ending. A big fat slice of humble pie? Absolutely. And believe me, no one would love to be the one to feed it to her more than me. But dead? Nah, that’s going way too far.”

“You can’t not tell me, Sal. I’m your partner.”

“Yeah, well, watch me. I’m not spillin’ this. Not yet anyway.”

“You got some balls telling me and then not.”

“Don’t I just,” says Abato with a grin as they pull into the station house parking lot.

* * *

“I am not going to ask you again. Who are you?” The good-looking Frenchman with the salt and pepper beard waves the revolver at Diana. His face is not friendly but, in fact, rather menacing.

She put her palms on the floor and asked, “May I sit up?”

“Extremely slowly, si vous plait.”

Diana gingerly sits up so that her back is against the wall, underneath the window. Her mind is trying to work out what to tell this man but the knock against the brick must have stunned her more than she thought because she’s having trouble organizing her thoughts.

“I...i...I’m Diana Prince, IACD. You’re pointing a gun at an officer of a really important government agency.”

“I have never heard of them.”

“Inter-Agency Defense Command.”

“That would be IADC.”

“That’s what I said.”

“That is what you think you said.”

“In any case, you could be in big trouble if you shoot me.”

“Not as big as you. Being shot for breaking and entering is a most logical outcome from my perspective. I very much like my chances in court. What are you after?”

“I...uh...came to ask you some simple questions.” Diana is tense and upset that her mind won’t clear the cobwebs out. The knock to her head wasn’t that hard! She’d taken much worse hits in the past.

“Merde! I remember you now. You called me on the phone last night.”

“Did I? Oh, yes, yes I did. I came here to follow up on my question. About Elimanol.”

“And you came in the back window instead of the front door because...?”

“The front door was locked.”

“And being an officer of a really big government agency permits you to break into people’s houses now? America is not the country she thinks she is. Or I thought she was.”

“It’s not like that. I came around the back and ...and saw the window open. This is a matter of life and death, sir.” Diana is trying to bluster her way through this dilemma but her brain is not cooperating and she’s grasping at straws to save herself.

“Whose life? Whose death?” The French professor tilts his head and looks more bemused than concerned. The fact is, he’s stalling for time. He had expected Wonder Woman to handle the memory stick tainted with the electrical neural inhibitor, not this meddling government bitch. But stalling will increase her confusion and allow him to apply the chemical inhibitor in a little bit. After that he’ll have to stash her somewhere until Wonder Woman arrives. Maybe he could use this brainless twat as a hostage if things don’t go well with the heroine. It is always good to have a backup plan. Maybe this one’s arrival is fortuitous.

“The life of all the good people in Washington is at stake here. There’s a...a madman out there killing super heroines and...and I’m trying to stop him. If you care about what’s right, you can help me by clearing your name and...and help me by...by telling me... what you know about ...about Elimanol.”

“But I have already told you all this last night on the phone. Do you have further information about which I should know?”

“Yes...yes..” Diana looks down and tries to come up with some reason she should get up so she can spin into Wonder Woman and put this bad man away.

“And pray tell what would that information be?”

“Another heroine has been killed and she was....was cleaned with Elimanol. Like what you used...er...use....in your lab.”

“And you suspected what....?”

“We suspected you. At first, I mean. But...but not...not so much now. This is just ...just a loose end...and it’s important to tie them up. But I can come back...later...” Diana starts to stand up as if to leave like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She couldn’t be more surprised when Pascal’s foot kicks out and knocks out her left arm from underneath her as she starts to rise. She falls backward and bangs her head against the windowsill. Her eyes cross for a moment before centering back and she looks up.

“Do not be so foolish again, Miss Prince. I am more than prepared to shoot you and as we discussed, it is very much within my rights to do so. America’s better side, non? Now, who else knows of your suspicions about me?”

“Everybody on the team,” Diana lies. Abato knows but doesn’t believe her. Steve probably recalls Pascal’s name. But to all the other agents and police working the case, he’s just a name on a long, long list.

“Well then, I suppose it would be best if I could clear my name and solve all this confusion, yes?”

“How would you do that?” Diana looks up at the gun which is pointed at the carpet for the moment. Pascal’s vigilance has relaxed now that he so clearly has the upper hand. She needs to distract him.

“I am currently being blackmailed by a certain Gerald Detherlink who has my wife and child under guard and has threatened to kill them unless I provide assistance to his mad scheme to kill all the superheroines who have done him wrong in the past.”

“What? Really?” Diana has a hard time believing this statement. A really hard time. She thinks he’s throwing out a red halibut at her. No not halibut...red haddock! That’s not right either. Herring. He’s suggesting a red herring. And she’s not buying his tall tale. But she’s got one of her own to try.

“Yes, this is true,” the Frenchman moans. “I have been living with this unbearable situation for months now. I am so glad you are here. You can help me and my family at last.” Pascal is putting on a performance but it’s pretty hammy. More than anything, it’s a final stall for more time so the bimbo on the floor can’t think straight enough to be any kind of threat.

“I don’t know how much help I can be, but Wonder Woman there might be able to help,” says Diana nodding to the door behind the startled professor. He turns full around in panic. He’d been distracted by this bitch when the heroine was sneaking into his home from another entry point. What a catastrophe when he’d planned everything so... There was no one there.

When he turns around he sees the IADC agent spinning in place with her arms out and tilted somewhat awkwardly.

“What in the world....”

A blinding flash envelopes the room and Pascal turns his head away from it and squints painfully from the glaring light. The whoosh of air and loud popping sound is followed by a husky laugh that has no mirth in it whatsoever.

“Dr. Pascal, I think you’ve been wanting to see me. Well, here I am.”

Before him at last stands the very heroine who has been haunting his dreams and filling his days with hatred and vengeance. Wonder Woman stands before him, hands on her hips, her chest thrust out with its twin globes barely contained by her bustier. Her beautiful muscular legs, red boots, blue briefs with their white stars spangling them, her golden lasso hanging on her hip and shining tiara in her inky black hair all present the epitome of statuesque Amazonian might.

“Sacre bleu! It’s you!”

“Yes, it’s me. Now come along to the police so you can answer all their questions to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Pascal doesn’t move and inch but just looks askance at her with a concerned expression. “How do you feel?”

Wonder Woman’s eyebrows dip down and she stares at the professor with a mix of anger and confusion. “Feel? I.... I’m fine, doctor. Thank you for your concern but I’m afraid that your chemicals don’t have much effect on my Amazonian constitution.”

“Well, ‘much effect’ may be just enough then.” Pascal immediately empties all six shots in the revolver at the blue and red heroine standing before him, the blasting noise of the small recoiling gun fills the room as Diana’s wrists dart and dodge with uncanny speed blocking every bullet fired.

Except one. It grazes her waist, tears a slice out of her costume and leaves an angry red stripe in her side before burying itself in the bookcase behind her.

Diana sucks in a loud hissing breath. She’d never been shot before and it hurts. Fortunately it’s only a flesh wound. Whatever drug Pascal had dosed her with had slowed her just enough to give him the opening he needed. As Wonder Woman looks down at her side to see blood filling the shallow wound, Pascal turns and sprints out of the room and down the hallway as fast as he can.

“Oh no you don’t, you animal. You’re not getting away from me that easily.” Wonder Woman chases the fleeing man down the long hallway. She’s not as fast as she might be with the gunshot wound, but she’s almost fast enough to catch him. To her right, an oak railing overlooks a beautifully furnished living room one story below. There’s a big black burn mark in the rug that catches Diana’s eye but then she focuses ahead and sees the Frenchman fling the door open at the end of the hall and rush through it into the darkness before slamming it behind him. A mere three seconds behind him, the mentally compromised Wonder Woman grabs the doorknob and yanks it open. Faced by a pitch black room, the startled heroine freezes in place and still has enough smarts to take a step back. But it’s not far enough. From a ceiling-mounted device, the nozzle pointed at her sprays a thick clear stream of liquid at Wonder Woman’s face and chest. It drenches her face and drips down her chin in thick globs onto the golden fabric eagle topping her tunic. Fortunately she had closed her eyes the second the stream hit her forehead before sweeping downward.

The harsh burning sensation is immediate however and Wonder Woman stumbles backward out of range of the device with a series of agonized yelps. The stream shuts down but the damage has been done.

“Aaiiyyeeee! Aaaagghhh! Owwwww!” Bending at the waist, the howling Amazon princess frantically wipes away the thick corrosive liquid on her face. While she is able to quickly scrape away the majority of the burning acidic lotion, her hands throb with the pain of the liquid that she swipes off her cheeks, her forehead and her chin. She shakes off her hands with a wildly frantic flailing motion. The clear lotion splatters on the floor in the hallway and begins to wear away at the varnish. She foolishly wipes the acid on her hands against the sides of her blue briefs instead of the wall. It brings relief to her hands but the sides of the briefs will begin to thin and fray within minutes.

“Hera, what is this horrible gunk? Some sort of acid. I better not open my eyes. I need a towel or...” The desperate, handicapped mind of the Amazon beauty remembers the drapes in the study and she turns and heads back there. Bearing to her left now, she holds onto the railing as she rapidly but blindly makes her way down the wooden hallway, her red boots clicking loudly against the bare wood floor. Her face and hands burn and begin to redden slightly and the wound in her side stings her as she walks. When she reaches the door of the study, she feels her way over to the breeze in the window, passing through the room while holding onto sconces, picture frames, bookcase and finally the drapes. She wipes her hands on the back of the fabric while she buries her face thoroughly in the front of the fabric, cleaning herself as much as possible.

When she pulls her face out of the drapes, the Amazon princess takes a deep sigh and opens her eyes. She walks over to a framed diploma on the wall and uses the angled reflection of her face there to check out the damage. Most of clear gunk had been cleared off her face in the crucial few seconds after she’d been sprayed, but still very teeny patches of residue that she hadn’t gotten to remained on her skin for too long. These red dots are slowly turning to scaly white flakes on her face. Not many but enough to mar her remarkable beauty somewhat. Her hands are much worse, red with white scales all over her palms and on the front of all her fingers.

“Goodness,”sighs Diana. “I hope the healing ray back on Themyscira can take care of these spots on my face and all this damaged skin on my hands, too. But first I have to catch this monster and bring him to justice.” The electrical neural inhibitor has reached its maximum effect within Wonder Woman’s brain but the powers from her belt and inherent strength are enough to keep her from being impaired to raw stupidity. She’s just a bit off her game. And without the added effect of the chemical inhibitor, the Champion of All Women is intelligent enough to plan ahead for her adversary.

“This man is very clever. I’ll have to be extremely careful about more traps around the house. In fact...” She turns around and pulls hard on the drapes, even lifting herself off the floor until the brackets give way and the wooden rod and drapes clatter to the floor by her boots. Wonder Woman pulls the drapes off the rod. The wooden curtain rings click and chatter against the curtain rod and each other as she does.

Setting her jaw with a determined scowl, Diana proceeds once more out of the study but this time walking carefully, with the dark green drapes folded over her arm and all senses tuned. So when she walks up to the doorway of the room at the other end of the hall, then stands off to the side and lightly taps the doorknob checking for electrical stun charges, she is more than shocked to be knocked down the hallway by a very powerful spring-loaded battering ram the size of a baseball bat that comes blasting out of the fake wall next to the doorway. The thinly cushioned pad at the end of the thin steel ram had slammed into her side, just above her kidney, and had knocked every ounce of breath out of the Amazon’s body.

She tumbles, flops, flails and skids ten feet down the waxed hallway until her head bounces against the hard oak railing. The drapes in her arm now stretch from her fingertips to only a foot from the bottom of the door she’d just tried to enter.

“Uuuuunnnnhhh!” Wonder Woman moans softly, trying to catch her breath as she winces from the pain of the powerful ram slamming into her soft flesh. Her bullet wound has pulled open a little wider and the blood drips slowly down her hip and that doesn’t make her feel any better either. She lies there looking up at the ceiling, trying to gather her wind and wondering why she feels so foggy. She hears footsteps enter the hall from the room she’s been unable to breech yet and they stop in place. This is followed by the sound of clicking and quick scraping. Groggily, she lifts her heavy head to see what’s making the noise when a wide field of green cloth comes flying at her and covers her face. The neurally-compromised champion quickly pieces together that Pascal has thrown the drapes over her head, which is just enough time for him to jab the steel battering ram now in his hands into Wonder Woman’s muffled face.

THUUMP

“OWW!” Wonder Woman’s head recoils hard from the brutal blow. Inside the cloth her eyes cross and she flops backward, the crown of her head smacking against the wooden floor with a sickening thud. “OHHH!”

A mere second later, the ram finds the Amazon’s unprotected belly. Pascal drives the barely-cushioned knob of steel hard into her abdominal muscles, covered only by her soft costume bustier. All the wind is driven out of the unsuspecting heroine with a whooping blast of air into the drapery material as she folds into herself in breathless shock. If she’d been able to tense her muscles, she would have been able to withstand the attack. Now she can only whoop and wheeze for oxygen from under the drapes that she fitfully is now trying to cast off.

THOOOMP

The ram hits directly against Wonder Woman’s forehead and slams her head back against the floor for a second time.

“HHUUUNNGGHH!” Dizzy and bewildered, the Amazon warrior lies awkwardly sprawled on the hallway floor trying to recover from this brutal assault.

“This is a wonderful sport, Wonder Woman. I hope you are enjoying it as much as I. Maybe when it is your turn at bat, you will be just alive enough to take a pathetic swing at me. But first...” Pascal draws the ram back with both hands and goes to strike at the center of the drapes, aiming again for the exposed stomach of the limp figure on floor below him. He doesn’t get the chance to follow through. Wonder Woman’s leg flies upward and her boot knocks the ram right out of the Frenchman’s hands. It bangs against the wall, falls to the floor with a clang and rolls too far away from Pascal to reach it easily.

Wonder Woman flings the green drapes off her head and gets to her feet in a fast but inelegant fashion. As she stands up however, the severe damage that the acid has wrought on the golden eagle topping her bustier is too much for the now shredded emblem to bear. With the sudden movement of her rising, the golden fabric completely disintegrates and the mighty Amazon’s breast flop out of her torn and thread-bare top and wobble in the open air. The beauty stands there wavering in place with slightly rubbery legs from the beating she’s endured and the mild confusion from the electrical inhibitor slowing her brain. She only becomes aware of the chill after an immodest second or two.

“Tu es ravissant, mon cherie. Comme c’est...ahh..beautiful, yes? Nice tits, girlie! Oui?”

Pascal’s comment brings her humiliation home to her with a rush of shame and she covers herself up as her face flushes to a deep red. With nothing else she can do, the grimacing Amazon warrior stuffs her breasts back into her tunic and pulls it up so the large globes are once again contained. But by that time Pascal has spun on his heels and dashed off back into the dark room once more.

“Not again,” groans Diana. But she resolutely snatches up the drapes and runs after him. Her gait is off center as the bullet wound stabs at her side with an annoying vengeance. As she crosses the threshold, she dashes into the dark room, holding the drapes high while the ceiling mounted device rains a stream of acid on the thick, flapping green fabric. She runs to the left. There’s just enough gray light in the room’s interior from a window set high in the wall that Diana doesn’t bang into any walls or furniture as she crosses a dozen feet of space and then stops. The device is shooting an arc of deadly clear acid toward her but it lands harmlessly five feet away. After 10 seconds, the device in the ceiling shuts down, foiled by her cleverness. She turns to face the sprayer and backs up another two feet to be safe and avoid any splashing. Sighing, Wonder Woman drops the heavy drapes to the floor and backs up yet another couple of feet. Where the acid has pooled in the folds of the green fabric, the material is beginning to thin already. Diana looks down at the ruined drapes and frowns.

“Dangerous stuff. This guy is playing for keeps.” Just then, Diana feels a wet spot on her butt. It’s growing, dripping down the crack in her briefs and tingling. She turns her head and tries to see but just can’t. Stepping quickly over to the drapes, she crouches down and takes an un-spattered corner. She uses this to wipe her crack and then looks at the fabric. It’s more clear acid. It had probably dripped on her butt from the drapes as she ran underneath the sprayer. The damage is done and there’s nothing she can do now about it.

Nevertheless, Diana’s simple plan with the shielding drapes has brought her closer to capturing her target. She turns around to survey the large room. It’s a bedroom but little used. The bed has no sheets, merely a bare mattress. There is only a small night table and a single cushioned armchair beside the bed. A simple gooseneck reading lamp is the only furnishing in the room. The walls are bare. At the far end of the room there is a door. It’s the only place Pascal could have gone. She’s wondering if she should retrieve the drapes but they’re so doused with acid that she was in greater danger of it dripping more acid on her than it being any kind of protection. She decides to take the chance and move on without them. Wonder Woman approaches the door slowly, methodically looking for any possible danger. She looks for seams, for false walls, for anything suspicious. There’s nothing. She lightly taps the doorknob with her finger. No electrical current. She twists the knob, feels it’s not locked, drops to a crouch and pulls the door open swiftly. In front of her is another door made of steel. Diana has discovered an elevator.

* * *

Sal Abato has a computer file open on Gerald Detherlink, aka Battle Axe. It’s not a very extensive file. It contains a synopsis of his armaments, a photo of his Kevlar battle uniform, all known addresses, a short listing of his priors, a spotty employment record and a psychological profile. Sal is looking for any connection to the names on the lists open in another window on the computer, those suppliers of Elimanol. So far there’s no match-ups that he can spot. Jimmy Glendennan is calling the known addresses to see if Gerald had been seen in any of them lately. So far neither man is getting anywhere. But that’s what good police work takes: a dogged diligence in the face of long odds. The pair of detectives keep looking and calling.


End of Part 17

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 18

Wonder Woman is sitting on the top of the elevator cabin in the dark elevator shaft as the car moves slowly downward. She’d pushed the button for the basement and quickly climbed up through the service door in the cab’s roof, grimacing with the stinging pain from the bullet wound in her side.

This wasn’t much of a ruse, but it was all she could do for now. After a long minute’s descent, the cab comes to a halt and the steel door slides open. The Amazon listens fiercely for any sound of footsteps or ambush. She can hear nothing. Carefully, slowly, she climbs back down into the elevator cab and stops the sliding door just before it closes. It retreats back and Wonder Woman quickly spins out of the elevator to her left, scanning the room for danger. There’s no one around. She appears to be in some kind of storage room. It’s filled with shelves of beakers, oscilloscopes, Bunsen burners, empty petri dishes, centrifuges, bottles of all shapes and sizes and colors and more. On a nearby bottom shelf, she spots two gallon jugs of Elimanol. Circumstantial evidence that would help build a case against him, but the point seemed moot at the moment since Pascal had tried to kill or maim her at least three times since she entered his house.

While walking toward the Elimanol jugs, Wonder Woman scans the room in all directions, in front, behind her, through the steel shelving on both sides of her, constantly looking for an ambush. Where had this guy gone? Then she notices a door with a small inset window off twenty feet to her right. It looks to be a walk-in freezer based on the long, wide handle and the steel hinges.

As she stands in the center of the room considering what danger the freezer represented, the Champion of All Women frowns. Speaking of coldness, she feels a sudden draft between her ass cheeks. The acid has finally worn through the cloth of her briefs leaving a generous gap that reveals her butt hole. And once it continues to eat away at her costume, Wonder Woman’s most intimate parts will be exposed to anyone coming up from her rear. But it’s not her rear at the moment that’s most at risk.

From high overhead, the one place the Amazon hadn’t looked, a weighted nylon net swiftly drops down upon her from the 15-foot high ceiling. It fully encompasses the surprised beauty just as the freezer door is flung open and the French professor bull rushes the captive Amazon.

“You are just too easy, Wonder Woman,” declares a sprinting Pascal from a mere 10 feet away.

“As are you, professor,” replies the famous champion as she tears apart the nylon webbing like some flimsy paper napkin. When the shocked Frenchman stops and fires the tazer at his intended victim, it’s child’s play for her to block the flying pointed leads with her bracelets. They never get near to contacting her body.

“Merde!” Pascal turns and dashes back toward the freezer door in a panic now but Wonder Woman flings the netting away and closes the short distance between them with her god-given speed. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes hard. Pascal screams in pain as she flings him to the left with a snarl. He falls awkwardly to the floor and slides up against a row of steel shelving. He’s barely on his feet again before the enraged Amazon princess stands before him and grabs his left wrist to twist it up and behind his back. Before she can effect that maneuver, however, the Frenchman swings a big brown bottle from behind his back that he’d swiped off the shelf behind him while getting to his feet. Too late Diana sees a large brown shape come out of nowhere. It connects with her forehead and shatters, stunning the raven haired beauty badly.

The gray-bearded Frenchman takes a very adroit step back and then another, watching the Amazon waver in place as her head drips with the contents of the big bottle. Her system is inundated, her costume saturated, her physical acumen eliminated – all by a massive dosing of pungent, sweet-smelling, debilitating chloroform.

“...whhuuuuuhhhh....?....” Diana is bewildered and alarmed at how the tables had been turned against her so suddenly. She had been winning just moments ago. Now she was confused and dizzy. She sees Pascal walk over to some black thing on the floor and bend down and pick it up, then turn back toward her. He’s a mere five feet away from her. He points his arm at her. And she puts up a palm to fend off whatever he’s going to use to attack her. This time though, she’s too dazed to stop the tazer and it hits home in her hip and thigh, sinking into her skin and shorting out her body’s ability to function. She spasms, twists and falls to the cement floor, her body gyrating and bucking in the helpless hold of Pascal’s weapon. She grimaces in a rictus of pain from the prison cell of electrical force that completely negates all her Amazon prowess. Diana jerks and froths and shudders on the floor at Pascal’s feet until the charge is finished and her tits have bounced out again out of her ruined uniform. Her body refuses to obey a single command now as her fingers twitch, her eyes blink and her legs jerk and skitter to some unheard tune on the Devil’s own flute. And her breasts: they jiggle and wiggle and offer bobbing invitations to the smiling Frenchman standing over her that he may caress them and fondle them and oil them up with his own devil’s mixture: his chemical neural inhibitor.

And so he takes up their invitations. Donning a pair of clear rubber gloves from his pants pocket, the beaming Frenchman squats down and pulls a vial of his chemical neural neutralizing agent from a leather holder on his belt. He uncaps the rubber stopper and pours a small puddle of the toxic agent into his palm. And then he lowers that palm and places it on a helpless Wonder Woman’s right breast and smears the thin gel all over and around the large fleshy globe. He coats the tit completely, smoothing the cool liquid in small circles against the pale exposed flesh, rubbing it over the nipple, and sliding it along the bottom of the heavy milk sack until the breast gleams with the devastating concoction in the overhead fluorescent light.

And the mighty Wonder Woman can do nothing to prevent it. She can merely quake and quiver in place, her body betraying her screaming mind as it can only lie in place and be subjected to such mortifying affronts as Pascal takes his liberties with her to his heart’s desire. He then proceeds to empty the rest of the vial into his palm again and coat her left breast with the witches brew he has developed. He is no less thorough with this breast, his hand a wide warming tool that cups, squeezes, rolls and smears away at her fat, weighty orb with total impunity. Wonder Woman’s eyes are glazed with anger, fear and confusion as her breasts are man-handled at will while she can do nothing but twitch.

“You thought you were so powerful, so indestructible, so unbeatable, did you not, Wonder Woman? You super heroines always start out that way. But you all end up like this, bitch. At my mercy, unable to defend yourself. Available for easy sexual domination. But let us be sure everything is done properly and completely, yes?”

Uncapping the rubber stopper from the second vial in his leather belt holder, the smiling Frenchman pours a dollop of this new mixture into his palm and then lowers his hand and cups Wonder Woman’s exposed crotch. Her body jerks in angry reaction but it’s an uncontrollable spasm that is easily countered by Pascal who simply grabs a clump of his captive’s hair and leans over to look directly in the horrified heroine’s eyes as he squeezes her sex, fingers it and rubs his vile solution all over, in and around the whimpering champion’s privates.

Indeed, the acid has worn away the fabric completely and it’s an easy matter for Pascal to firmly caress and stroke and tickle and pat the rubbery nether lips of the Amazon beauty with a generous application of his electrical neural inhibitor. It’s a simple matter to slide his finger into her undefended pussy and circle it slowly in her channel of love. And she can do nothing but lie on the floor in his firm grasp, look into his eyes mere inches away from hers and see the reflection of her defeat.

“I do not know why you play the coquette so, mon cherie,” Pascal taunts, his warm breath caressing her lips like a lovers. “You must know what I have done with the others I will do ten-fold to you. This lovely tunnel of passion here will be entertaining me and my toys for hour upon hour, Wonder Woman.” He squeezes her crotch and gives it a gentle shake and then a long lingering caress. “How could you even think it would be otherwise? To tell you the truth, I thought you might be more of a challenge, but it turns out, you are little better than the others. In fact, when it comes to your fighting acumen, you seem to come in dead last!”

With the spasming heroine’s pussy now well-lubricated by a second application of the electrical inhibitor and her breasts shining in the open air with the chemical version, the mighty Amazon princess of Theymiscira begins to feel the effects of the tazer slowly wearing off. In a few minutes, if Pascal isn’t totally vigilant, Wonder Woman thinks she’ll be able to surprise him, turn the tables on him and...and...and...

And what? Suddenly, she can’t think of what she had been planning just seconds ago. All she can think is that she’s in some kind of big trouble. And this man was the reason. And she didn’t think she’d be able to stop him. Even though she was Wonder Woman. How strange!

Confused, Wonder Woman lies on her right side in a small empty area of Dr. Rene Pascal’s storage room. Her exposed left breast sags into her right which is pressed up against the cold cement floor. She feels funny. Not a good funny. A bad funny. And her naked breasts feel all tingly; not from the cold cement but from something else. They’re all slimy and a bit numb. And she can’t stop herself from jerking and twitching which makes her tits shimmy and jiggle but she can’t help it. And she thinks she bit her tongue. Then she feels a tug as two pointy things are pulled from her body.

What hit me? Tazzle? Tuzor? No...not right. Taser! That’s it.

The Amazon’s thoughts are extremely muddled and her body is still not hers to command. She lies inertly, trying to think of what had been on her mind mere moments before. She can’t fetch it back now.

Befuddled and lethargic, the beautiful Themysciran’s plans for retaliation against her foe have been blown away by the neural inhibitors that have been smeared all over her breasts and fingered into her pussy. Like a vaporous cloud of mist in a stiff wind, her thoughts have been blown completely away.

And then the torpid, defenseless heroine feels Pascal’s hand slide under her left buttock. The smooth surface of the clear rubber glove rubs into her ass crack as he gently lifts up the cheek. Wonder Woman’s eyes widen as a cool rounded device of some kind is pressed against her anus. With a hole in her starred briefs where the acid ate away at them, there’s no shiny blue fabric at her crotch to foil his assault.

“...nuh...nnuuuuhhh...nnnnugghhh...” Diana groans in complaint but to no avail, her muscles are still useless to her. One calf flails to the side, the boot clumping dully against the floor. Her neck angles to the side. She can do nothing as a 5-inch-long waxy tube with rounded ends is slowly, forcibly pushed up into her rectum. It moves deeply through her rear passage, pressed high up into her ass. The pressure is only slightly uncomfortable for a moment as she feel’s Pascal’s gloved finger push it into place. Then she feels the warm digit withdrawing from her tight ass until her rectum expels it with a small involuntary contraction.

No thicker than a crayon, the cool stick is deftly lodged securely within her. His other hand releases her buttock and her cheeks slap together with gentle tremors. The beautiful Amazon’s eyes glare up at the face leaning over her but her body is still completely unresponsive, a limp mass of confusion and anger.

“There. That special enema enfeebling stick should do the trick. My own design, of course. Even your amazing Amazon strength will not be able to cope with my special cocktail of depressants and nerve agents, Wonder Woman.”

“...d...di...dom...d..damn...you...p..p...pasclarl...” Diana is barely able to voice a small, garbled measure of her frustration. Her free arm jerks to the side in helpless spasm, incoherently signaled from Wonder Woman’s shocked system. The fingers of the arm pinned under her right side twitch and tap against the floor. Unrestrained by the damaged bustier pulled down around her ribs, the beauty’s generous breasts jiggle and bounce with her tremors. The nipple of her left breast dances in the open air and the suddenly noticed red nub draws a raised, appreciative eyebrow from Pascal and a quick, circling finger.

“...D...Dond...du dat!”

“Ahh, a modicum of your verbal skill is returning. Not so your gross muscle coordination though. Not just yet. So let me take this opportunity while it lasts.” Pascal spits a bit of saliva on his clear, gloved forefinger, the one that hadn’t just been shoved up the Wonder Woman’s ass. He idly circles the slippery spit over and around the nipple causing it to firm up and extend slightly. Much to his delight.

“...br..bl..b...b...beast....S..s..stoppet....”

“But your teat is so responsive. Look!” His finger circles even more and then he brings his thumb together with the forefinger and squeezes the firm nipple within the latex-clad digits. The bud lengthens and firms up even more. Pascal’s fingers pull and stretch out the nipple, and then pulls it slowly outward, unrelentingly stretching the breast, forming a large cone of it before letting it snap back. Then he grabs and pinches the nipple and twists it cruelly. Wonder Woman’s back jerks and she almost succeeds at pulling away from him. The Frenchman’s other hand snatches out and grabs the roll of fabric under his prey’s breasts and holds her body in check.

“Ah, ah, cherie. You are still mine to play with yet.” His hand, protected from his oily neural inhibitors by the clear latex, encircles her tit and mauls it slowly, squeezing it and plying its firm fleshy mass while the other hand keeps her figure held in place.

“...eehhnnhh...nuh..n..n..no....NO..!...” Diana is angry and frustrated and sad that she can’t fight back, that her body isn’t doing what she wants it to. Why not?

“These breasts are such a source of pride for you, Wonder Woman. So large and round. So beautifully shaped. So firm and perfect. And yet here you are, unable to protect them from my intimate caresses, my hard painful squeezing....”

“Aagghh!” Diana’s back arches from his sudden pincer-like grip, her eyes tearing with the sudden sharp torment.

“...and my playful game of peekaboo.” Pascal releases her tit and pulls up the upper edge of her bustier with both hands until the fabric unrolls and covers her breasts midway. His hands then grasp both breasts, his roaming palms fondling them and shaking them and compressing their fullness into misshapen fleshy rolls while the helpless Amazon can only lie there before her kneeling tormentor and do nothing. Finally Pascal pulls down her top again to show off just the top of both areolae. “Peakaboo,” he says in falsetto. And then, at last, he covers them up again, leaving the top there, covering up her nakedness for the moment.

Diana’s blue eyes look at him, angry and hurt and depressed in sequence. Her breasts had been played with like party balloons and she couldn’t stop it. That wasn’t nice. That wasn’t fair.

“...you...th..th...thug...”

“You incompetent fat-assed has-been. There, now we have exchanged insults. Feel better? No? Ah well, you are right, this is not the time for such games. I shall conduct more experiments on your sensitivity later. And play more games. You know, it is so very astute of you, my compromised friend, to realize this is not the proper moment for such trifles. Quite astute, in fact, considering that even now the considerable heat of your unique Amazon physiology is working against you. Your anal cavity is already activating the quick-dissolving paraffin compound. It is releasing the stick’s chemicals into your bloodstream as we speak. And as that enema enfeebling stick combines with my neural inhibitors, you will go from Champion of All Women to Champion of All Addle-Brained Wobbly-Kneed Bimbos! It is inevitable, mon cherie.”

“...w...will get...you some...h...how...”

“That is very doubtful, mon amie. Now let us get you to your feet.” He pulls up on Wonder Woman’s arm, lifting the ungainly beauty to her knees where she sways in place one hand holding onto a nearby steel shelf to keep her up. She manages to grasp it with her fingers, their clasp almost clawlike as the nerves slowly relearn the proper electrical circuits from brain to body. Slowly, Wonder Woman pulls herself to a very shaky standing position as Pascal takes a step back. She is holding onto the shelving and swaying back and forth, eyes looking at Pascal but still a bit glazed. The tall bearded Frenchman stands before her in his neat suit pants, matching jacket, a white dress shirt open at the collar and no tie. His hands are held out before him with fingers spread and palms up in a gesture of openness.

“Why not try to show me how the mighty Amazon princess can defend herself against a simple French scientist with no super strength, no amazing fighting skills. Nothing but my limited understanding of boxing, eh?”

“..t..turn you into...hambur...ger...meat...”

“And I would be delighted to see you make this effort, you dumb cow,” Pascal leans into her face with a grin. “To tell you the truth, my penis grows stiff with the thought of you trying.”

Diana swings her free fist upward from her waist, aiming to get in a good surprise punch on her tormentor’s chin as his face looms a mere foot and a half in front of her own with its cold mocking leer. He sees it coming a mile away from her clearly telegraphed expression and jerky upswing. He pulls his head back quickly and Wonder Woman’s fist flies right past his face until her arm is upraised above the man’s head. He instantly pins the raised arm against the vertical support bar of the metal shelf and gut punches the unwary heroine.

“GHUNFFF!” Klank!

Her head bangs against the shelf near her waist as she lurches downward with a harsh explosion of breath. She hadn’t been expecting his punch, his uncanny strength, his lightning reflexes. Or was she the one who was slow and weak and...and...not herself.

The punch had doubled her up but as she quickly gets her breath back, she realizes she still has her belt on and that punch surprised more than hurt. In fact, the belt seems to be transferring an extra surge of power to her, trying to compensate for all the drugs in her system. She feels herself regaining even more control of her muscles. She might be able to give this hooligan more than he bargained for. She lets go of the shelving structure that had been keeping her and straightens up and then backs up a step.

I will have to be fast and smart and sneaky. Should try and plan my punches in some good order so I can... What is that he’s got?

Pascal has reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a shiny brass object.

Brass knuckles? Oh great!

The Frenchman slips them on his right hand, steps back into an open space in the storage room and takes a fighting stance, arms out, fists up, a cold smile on his face. The brass around his knuckles gleam under the pale fluorescent light.

“So now, let me see how you will make me into the hamburger meat, Wonder Woman. I am eager to know your recipe.”

* * *

The fax machine at the IADC office beeped once with a long, clear tone indicating a message received. Out slid the paper into the carrier tray. From Interpol’s Brussels office, it noted the four companies that produced the unique chemical capable of affecting the neural pathways, the very one that had been found by Murray Banks and noted in his toxicology report. There was also a short list of thirteen companies around the world that purchased the rare chemical in the past year in any quantity. Pascal Research LLC was the ninth company on the list. Unfortunately, Colonel Trevor was indisposed in the bathroom far down the hall reading his favorite newspaper’s sports section in a stall. He did not hear the fax beep. By the time he discovers the fax’s appearance, it will be far too late to be of any worth to Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, Detective Abato, Detective Glendennan, either of the D.C. Medical Examiners or anybody of any importance whatsoever.

* * *

Wonder Woman circles slowly to her left, eyeing her bearded six-foot opponent warily. Though she is instinctively falling back on her Amazon warrior training and using the space to measure her distance and the striking range between her and Pascal, her thoughts are fuzzy and her steps are halting scuffles. She almost trips twice simply moving to the side. The Frenchman sees this and smiles at her missteps.

“Having a bit of trouble, cherie?”

“No. I am not.”

“You seemed to have faltered there.”

“You’re wrong. The floor...it’s...umm....uneven.”

“It is perfectly flat. It’s your nerves and skill that are faulty.”

“No. They’re not. I’m fine. Just fine.” Wonder Woman does a basic head feint and sudden fist jerk to test her foe’s reaction. Pascal badly jerks his head back in recoil and throws his left arm up to protect his face before putting his fists back up and circling. It’s Diana’s turn to smile now.

“You’re not good at this, are you, Doctor Pascal? You flinched badly there.”

“It was a ruse.”

“Didn’t look like it. Looked more like a...like a..panicky thing.”

“I do not fear you in the least, you big-nippled cow. I am just thinking how your teats make such excellent targets. Large, easy-to-hit punching bags.” Wonder Woman glances down at her breasts and sees that her nipples are clearly accentuated there, two prominent points beneath the red fabric of her damaged bustier. She blushes slightly. They have not retracted much from Pascal’s earlier stimulation of them. She tries to put her aroused assets out of her mind and pay attention to her foe.

The two contestants circle each other awkwardly as they move into a wider expanse of open floor in the huge storage area. Pascal is unfamiliar with physical confrontations. Wonder Woman is inundated by the neural inhibitors coating her breasts and the enema enfeebling stick slowly melting in her ass and delivering a toxic numbing stew of debilitating nerve agents and mind-numbing drugs. If not for her power belt, she would be on her hands and knees drooling in helpless confusion and total physical exhaustion. As it is, she can’t concentrate or manage her physical capabilities nearly well enough to be much of a threat. She feels this but tries to put up a brave front to her adversary.

“You’re the one who’s going to be the punching bag, Pascal. You should give up now before you embarrass yourself.”

“I’ll take my chances in a fair fight with the famous Wonder Woman.”

“Fair? You think everything you’ve done to me...my body...to my..my chest...is fair? You’re nothing but a..a..creep, Pascal. That’s what you are and I...I’m going to bring you to...to..um..jail...to take you in and...and show you what justice is....justice...for my friends.”

“That is quite a speech for someone whose mental agility is limited even at the best of times, my dear. You should be very proud that you got it all out as coherently as you did, Wonder Woman. You’re not quite the slow, dim-witted stooge I expected you would be. And, as for your friends, were you referring to those three pitiful brain-dead skanks that I fucked like cheap whores and then killed on a whim? Oh, gosh, were they friends of yours? I did not realize.”

Pascal’s eyes shine with malicious intent. He’s enjoying his taunting of the Amazon immensely. Her face is tense now, rigid with horror and concentration as she stares at him and stops circling for a moment, transfixed in her shock.

“Because, you know, cherie, when I was forcing my cock down their superheroine throats, they failed to mention that. But I should have known it since they were so pitifully inept at fighting. So easy to defeat and humiliate. So simple to fill their mouths, asses and cunts to dripping excess with my cum loads. Did you help train them, Wonder Woman? I would hope not.”

“You...You animal! You filthy....disgusting...perverted...bad...bad....man.....” Wonder Woman’s body is a tense coiled spring, ready to strike out in rage. But she just stands there, quivering with outrage.

“Are you going to throw an actual punch or just continue your childish verbal sparring, you drippy cunt?” Pascal sees Wonder Woman’s eyelids flicker and droop slightly as the steady influx of toxins in her system assaults her senses. He goads her further with a nasty leer. “Come on, you overrated moronic twat, just try to avenge the sweet, lingering ass-plowing I delivered to your three bungling heroine girlfriends! I don’t think you can do it.”

Wonder Woman lunges forward, her dulled mind flooded with rage and hate at the words of this callous monster. She aims to beat him to a pulp. But the French scientist has baited the mentally-impaired Amazon beautifully. As she rushes at him with her fists clenched tightly and arms swinging wildly at his head, her Amazon training all but negated by his drugs and his taunts, he lowers his left shoulder and turns it to her, ducks his head and drives his arm like a karate punch with all his force into her solar plexus just as he’d practiced with Battle Axe for hours. He might not have been able to train out the bad flinching that he suffered but his fist strike had definitely been well-honed.

The hard brass knuckles and ramrod fist slam with incredibly focused force into Wonder Woman’s mid-section with a resounding thump of metal striking vulnerable flesh.

“GHHUUUNNNFFFFF!” Wonder Woman bends in half, falling backward onto her rear end, with her legs flying up and her back flopping back in awkward gasping pain. Even as her feminine treasures blink with a flashing gleam of pink in her ungainly sprawl, her head strikes against the hard concrete floor. All the air has been driven right out of her lungs and she lies in place with her eyes bulging, her arms curled over her belly and a high whistling wheeze filling the air. A normal person would have been completely disabled by such a crushing blow. Dazed by the knock to her head and recovering from the punch, Amazon warrior sucks in air and gathers her minimal wits and raises her head to look at Pascal dancing on his toes back and forth, beaming with delight and eyeing Wonder Woman’s exposed pussy

“Yes, I put you on your back with one punch, bitch. How do you like that, you sanctimonious cow?” Pascal stops his dancing and puts his hands on his hips, imitating her power pose.

“I’m just so pretty!” Pascal tosses out a passable Mohammed Ali impression and stands there glowing with satisfaction.

“...eeeeezz....hoooooooop....eeeeeezz....” After about 20 seconds of wheezing, a debilitated Wonder Woman finally gets her breath back and raspily gives her answer as she sits up. “...l...luck....lucky punch...you...cheater.....”

“Hardly lucky, you fat sow. I have been training for you, Not-So-Wonderful Woman. You can’t touch me, cherie.”

Diana pulls herself to her knees and then to a wobbling uneasy stance before Pascal who’s back to dancing on his toes again, bobbing left to right, showing off. Her left hand massages circles on her stomach before she finally gets into an attack position, presenting the least body target possible, standing with her side to Pascal, arms cocked, fingers pointed forward into hard spades, ready to jab outward. It would be an imposing sight if the Amazon weren’t wavering awkwardly, her eyes dull, her hair in disarray, her nipples once again showing over the sagging fabric of her badly-damaged bustier and her tongue overlapping her lower lip with a dopey expression on her face.

“...ya...won’t...catch me like that...like that.again...F....F..,Frenchy...” she stammers. She feels the draft on her nipples and pulls the fabric up to cover them. Then to counteract that embarrassment, she tries for a daunting effect and jabs her left hand out and withdraws it quickly. In doing so, she ineptly pokes herself in the ribs with her own elbow.

“..ughh...” she grunts and frowns. Pascal puts on a fake pout and steps back.

“I can see that I am going to have to be at my very best to meet such a challenge as yours, my dear. Tres formidable!” He concludes in sarcastic French. “Very well, come teach me my manners.”

“No, I don’t think so, fuzz-face.”

That’s not a good insult at all! I used to be so much better at this. Why can’t I get it together here?

“No, Pascal, you...uh...you come to me...if you dare challenge the....the might... yes, the might...of an Amazon.”

“But that would be madness!” Pascal’s eyes twinkle. “Still, I cannot resist a challenge so boldly stated by one so clearly ravished. No, sorry, so ravishing!” More twinkling mirth in his eyes creates a frown on the befuddled face of the dulled beauty before him. But before she can figure out that she is the butt of his sarcasm and taunts, Pascal speaks again and takes what appears to be a hesitant step forward. “That is all there is to it, then. I shall attempt to breech your defenses and strike you down, harlot.”

Wonder Woman feels her belt sending another small jolt of strength through her. It’s not like her old self at full power but it’s a welcome flush of confidence. She straightens up slightly, wavering less, waiting to repel any attack he may launch, thinking of her options.

Have to hit him back hard. Maybe in his stomach. See how he likes it, the big bully.

Pascal steps forward again and then suddenly spins off to his left and goes for a hard left cross to Wonder Woman’s jaw, his arm lashing out directly at her face. She blocks this with an upraised right arm, her feminum bracelet flashing under the overhead light as his blow is brushed aside, passing behind her head as he lunges awkwardly in his effort to connect. Diana smiles. She’s not so defenseless after all.

The right uppercut that he launches from in close she doesn’t expect, doesn’t see, and is far too late to parry. The left had been a diversion. The crunching right fist, circled in brass, connects with Wonder Woman’s jaw and her head snaps back with the force. Her pupils roll in toward the center of her face before sliding up under her lids a bit even as her body succumbs to gravity. The Amazon princess drops to her knees with her butt resting on her calves. One palm is flat against the cement floor barely holding her up and the other is flexed around her jaw.

“.....ohhhhhhh....Hera.....uuuuuuggghhhhhh....whadda...punch....” Wonder Woman works her jaw back and forth. If not for her belt, it would be shattered and she flat on her back. As it is, she’s too woozy to even get back onto her feet for the moment.

“It appears that the might of the Amazon just might not be all that mighty, eh, cherie?”

“...huh..?...what...?...” Wonder Woman’s heavily-lidded eyes look up at Pascal filled with confusion.

“I am reciting poetry to a baboon. No matter. Back on your feet, Princess. You have to teach me the folly of challenging your astounding warrior prowess, remember?”

Rising again to her feet, Diana swivels her neck, straightens her back and gets back into her fighting stance. “I do remember and so...so shall you, you..uhh..insolent little...pipsqueak.”

Still weak, but better, Di!

Pascal smirks as he puts his fists back up and takes a step forward to jab at Wonder Woman’s head. It falls far short but it wasn’t meant to really connect. He’s just working on distracting and disorienting the addled heroine. Another jab forward makes her step back and she moves to her right. The sparring pair has moved into tighter confines of the basement room. Large, three-foot high blue plastic storage bins line the floor. Five of the six-foot long bins are lined up end-to-end. Wonder Woman backs up against the middle one, the back of her thighs pressing against the cool plastic surface. Surprised, she turns her head slightly to glance down at the object and Pascal sees his chance. The first punch, a driving left jab goes right at her pelvis. With the flash of a bracelet-clad wrist, it is parried to the side by a speedy downward movement. As before the first punch is a diversion for the second, a nasty right cross aimed directly at the inviting target of the Amazon’s left breast. The brass knuckles are aimed directly at her nipple, Pascal’s arm rocketing forward at full power. But the Amazon’s quick reaction time, while not anywhere near bullet-deflecting speed, is still enough to block Pascal’s hurtling fist. Brass meets feminum at full force.

KLAAAAAANNNGGGG! The hellish bell-ish sound reverberates loudly in the room but Wonder Woman is grinning at her small victory here.

“You’re out of your depth, doctor.” She easily blocks his sudden ambushing left uppercut, her eyes boring into his with a gleam of obvious satisfaction as he backs off.

“Am I? We shall see,” he replies coldly. Then, stepping forward again, Pascal launches a formidable attack at her, his jaw set with clear determination. The tall Frenchman throws a steady barrage of combinations at her, a variety of menacing punches with deadly intent. A right jab, a left cross, a right uppercut, a left jab. He is relentless. The punches rain down but each thrusting attempt is swiftly parried. Each one is instantly nullified. Each one is more frantically and wildly launched than the one before. Pascal is wailing away at his raven-haired adversary and he can do no harm. His frustration level is through the roof and he’s panting with the effort. The Champion of All Women is all smiles as her arms move up and down, side to side, blocking all his effort with grace and style. Wonder Woman’s belt has filled her with surging strength. Her instincts are sharp though her mind is still somewhat slowed. When Pascal takes a step back, his face flushed and angry, his chest heaving, Diana senses a shift in the momentum of their struggle. She feels a sense of relief as well having weathered his stormy onslaught. And it’s not just this squall of fists she’s thinking about but everything she’s endured since she climbed through his window. For the first time, she doesn’t feel like she’s on the defensive now. Even though she’s been doing nothing but defending herself for the last minute of his barrage of fist, she feels ready to launch an offensive of her own.

However, Pascal still seems intent on trying to batter through her guard. His breath regained, he swipes his sweaty arm with his forearm. Sweat circles ring his underarms, the dress shirt damp and clingy. His suit jacket and pants are a bit rumpled from all the physical effort, but the professor’s eyes only bespeak a hint of tiredness to Diana. There’s still a fiery hate burning there.

“What have I done to you to make you hate me so?”

“You exist, bitch.”

With that, Pascal charges forward, launching a huge left hook at her face. Her right hand snaps up and catches his fist in her hand with a smacking noise that sounds like someone suddenly breaking a large stick over their knee.

“Aren’t you getting tired of this, Pascal?” The proud blue eyes challenge him boldly as his fist shakes and quivers in her grip. When he attempts a violent right hook at her chest, Wonder Woman intercepts that neatly as well, this time grabbing his wrist and freezing it in place before the brass knuckles get within six inches from her thrusting chest.

The adversaries stand together under the overhead fluorescent lights, locked in combat. Pascal is struggling mightily to break the grip that the powerful Amazon has on both his arms. He can’t do it. He’s thinking it might have been a mistake to take her on in hand-in-to-hand combat: might have been if not for his brilliance at brain science. This woman’s instincts might still be sharp but her mind was still compromised. He uses that against her.

“Looks like a standoff, Princess. Care to make a deal? You let my hands go and I don’t blow a hole in this nation’s capital with my little nuclear dirty bomb in that storage bin just under that shapely ass of yours?” He nods at the bin behind her.

Diana’s victory smile fades to a grim glare at Pascal then brightens back into a smirk.

“Hard to set off a bomb with your hands previously engaged, you foolish man.” She tightens her grip on him to be sure and he grimaces from the added pressure.

“Not with a timer set to go off in under 10 minutes, cherie. Hands free device. It goes boom no matter what. I had it all prepared in case you proved to be harder to handle than I expected. You can check the readout for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

End of Part 18

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 19

When Wonder Woman takes a quick glance down behind her, Pascal plays his ace in the hole. His hard, bony knee cap drives up into her crotch with all the force he has inside him.

“HUUUUNNGGGHHHH!” Wonder Woman’s eyes bulge in their sockets and she helplessly releases him and staggers off to the side in agony. She bends forward and clutches at her groin, both hands cupped over her crotch. “Owwww! Aaaghhhh...Ohhhhhh.

Pascal moves in, not giving his quarry any opportunity to counter him. A left cross she doesn’t see knocks her head to the side and splits her lip, blood and spit flying from her mouth in an arc through the air. Stunned, Wonder Woman pulls one hand from her crotch and extends out her right arm in a quaky defensive gesture to try to block whatever else might come in that direction. Sadly, for her, her mind is not functioning well. She should be blocking her other side instead because the right uppercut coming in for her has nothing in its way whatsoever. Her turning head sees her mistake in horror but Diana is too stunned to react in any way to the inevitable destruction that gleaming fist holds for her. The brass knuckles drive deep into the underside of the helpless Amazon’s left breast, burying within the depths of the fleshy, distorted mass of flesh and forcing it upward.

“HOONFFF!” Pascal’s follow-through sends the massive mound up into Wonder Woman’s chin, blunting against it and burying the lower half of her face in tit flesh. Gravity and time have their due and the heavy mass of her bosom descends downward and bounces and shakes in place while Wonder Woman tries to understand what just happened.

Before she can begin to assess her predicament, Pascal pounds his left fist straight into her right tit, a heat-seeking bomb that implodes in her 44D chest with breathtaking results.

“HHUUUUUUHHHHH!”

Staggered to the core by his two thunderous shots to her chest, Wonder Woman is barely able to stand up, her knees touching, calves splayed out, head down and hands clutching now at her chest instead of her groin. Both tits have been knocked free of the bustier and only the woman’s slowly massaging hands hiding her nipples offer any modesty whatsoever. The hole in her panties displays her snatch to perfection. The Champion of All Women is a mess.

“Two can play at that ‘ooh, look what’s behind you’ game, you arrogant twat. Not so funny or clever from the other side is it, Wonder Woman.”

The heroine’s eyes look down at herself and sees her disgraceful condition. She pulls up on the ragged, acid-eaten top of her bustier and tucks her breasts back inside as best she can. It barely keeps them covered. There’s nothing she can do about her female parts being on display.

“I told you those teats of yours were excellent targets, cherie,” taunts Pascal. “Do they hurt as much as I suspect?”

“...you bastard...” Diana rubs her split lip with the back of her hand, wishing she had long sleeves to blot up the blood and saliva there. Her hand merely smears it away slightly. She frowns down at the bloody smear on her hand.

“Back to the insults. I have to teach you better manners, knockers. You clearly have not been properly disciplined for far too long.”

With a sudden rush forward, Pascal closes the four steps between himself and the half bent, half-aware Wonder Woman in a flash.

“NO!” Still dazed and with the power belt offering her nothing at the moment, the shocked heroine throws her arm up in panicked defense as he looms over her. His brass-knuckled fist comes down hard against her left temple and stars explode in her sight.

Diana finds herself on her knees with several seconds lost to her. Pascal is holding her hair in his hand as she lifts her heavy head from her chest and stares up with dazed confusion.

How’d I get in this position?

Her single thought is driven out of her head as he suddenly bends down toward her and jerks his arm back and forth three times. Three successive brass-assisted kidney punches in her side with all the force Pascal can summon explode within her body and mind with brain-searing suddenness.

“AAGGHHH!”

Wonder Woman collapses to the floor, only her head held aloft by her hair, the skull tilted back as her faces wrenches into an ugly spasm of agony.

“OWWWW!”

When her hair is released, Diana tries to crawl off, away from the punishment, away from the danger. Yet another hard knock to her skull from Pascal’s relentless right hand stuns the muscular heroine into inert confusion, driving her head down against the concrete floor and forcing the champion to curl up in an near fetal position to achieve whatever protection that may provide. She cowers there defenselessly with her knees tucked against her chest and both arms covering her head. She feels sick and disoriented from the pain of his brutal attack. Trembling and disoriented, she thickly awaits his onslaught. For the moment, it is a verbal one.

“Consider your defenses breeched, Wonder Woman. And speaking of breeches and compromised, your underpants there are a tattered mess, mon cherie. I can see all your womanly charms glistening pink and bright in the light.” On her side, with her legs pulled up tight against her body, the mighty heroine’s tattered briefs cling to her rounded, flexed buttocks but the ragged hole in them allows a clear view of the folds of Wonder Woman’s vagina, the dark hint of her anus and the lower area of her neatly trimmed bush. “Goodness,” continues Pascal. “I can even spot a patch of your curly black pubic hair. I do think I should take a souvenir. In fact, I will.”

The Frenchman saunters over to the groggy heroine and circles around her. She’s lying on her left side, legs drawn up to her chest, her orifices exposed to Pascal’s bright, eager eyes. He goes down to one knee in front of her, his brass knuckled right fist not four inches from her face, cocked and ready to strike.

“Don’t move, bitch!” His left hand reaches down between Wonder Woman’s legs and without warning, suddenly plucks a pubic hair out of her trimmed thatch.

“Ow!”

She winces, her heavily lidded eyes slide up to look at Pascal only to see a fist ringed in brass staring her in the face.

“...uuhhnn....w...whattaya doi...UUUHHNN!” She had flinched again and started to kick out with her right calf when Pascal’s fist collided with her eyebrow, knocking the Amazon’s head down against the cold cement floor with a hard thump. He gives her a second shot to her temple and Wonder Woman sags in place, unable to think or react for now.

“...ohhhhhhhhhhhh....” She moans deeply, dazed and hurt and a bit sick to her stomach.

A third hair is suddenly yanked from her bush and the Champion of All Women’s eyes blink with a tear or two from the utter embarrassment of her situation.

“Agh! ...stop doing...that. You’re being so....nasty.” With her belt, Wonder Woman’s body heals quickly and Diana’s head is starting to clear up already from the painful beating.

“And you’re being such a pathetic wimp.”

“Yeah?” Wonder Woman’s ire stirs her even futher. “Well, I’ll show you who’s a wimp, you bas...UUNNHH!”

Stupidly announcing her intentions, the drugged Wonder Woman takes a quick punch to her forehead that knocks her head back and releases her arms from around her knees so that she sprawls on her back in a confused stupor. Yet again. Then, as she lies there, inert and trying to gather her senses once more, she feels Pascal’s hand wandering slowly all around her crotch, his fingers tickling through her thatch. The hand then slides down to the crease between her crotch. He fingers her vagina briefly as she groans with a wooziness that keeps her flat on her back and helpless. The roaming hand then moves, the fingers freely and slowly circling through her bush..

“Ouch!”

A fourth and final hair is plucked and Pascal rises from his one knee stance. He tucks the four hairs into the pocket of his dress shirt.

“There. That’ll do for now,” he says and then takes two steps back.

Wonder Woman groans in pain and coughs. A sudden spittle of blood-tainted saliva pops out, the reddish translucent drop dangling on her lower lip as she lies sprawled out before her enemy in a woozy daze. Her kidneys may have been damaged in her beating.

“...ohhh....this...this...just....sucks...” Wonder Woman complains from her lowly position. “I hate you...you...old....pig....” Her lower lip is quivering slightly as she looks up at her nemesis.

“Of course you do, you incompetent street trash. That’s because I had you beaten before you even snuck in my window. Thanks to my ingenuity and planning. You never had a chance!” Pascal steps back, sweeps his arm out and bows from the waist “Never!”

“We’ll see about that,” the raven-haired heroine says, stalling for time to gather her strength and wits. What’s left of them. “Many a man has underestimated me and lived to regret it,” she adds.

Wonder Woman’s strength is a fraction of its normal quota and she is bruised and embarrassed but the Amazon’s willpower is not nearly crushed yet. Pascal sees this in her eyes. He knows he must proceed with the plans to break her down.

“Very well then, I shall give you another chance to defeat me in battle. To show yourself the champion by rising up and facing me with greater skill than mine. Stand up, Wonder Woman and show me how Amazons face their fear.”

Drawing the back of her hand against her mouth and seeing the blood, Diana frowns. The pain is significant but she can endure it. She is from Themyscira. Her soul understands that her kind do not relent, do not retreat, do not stop until the enemy is vanquished. So she rolls over onto her belly, and then pushes herself up onto her hands and knees with a grimace. She suppresses the moan from the pain that sparks into her sides from her damaged kidneys on one side and the broken scab of the now leaking bullet wound on the other.

Diana, Princess of the Amazons, rises very slowly and then finally stands before Pascal, tilted slightly, and in some pain but unbowed. The Frenchman’s eyebrows arch. He had not expected his taunts to generate this. He thought she might get to her feet. He certainly didn’t expect to still see the fire in her eyes. He expected fear, trepidation and reluctance, not the icy staring challenge in those glaring blue irises and the jaw so sternly set. He is startled and impressed by the will of this woman. It will be enjoyable to break it.


* * *

Jimmy Glendennan thanks the person on the other end of the phone and hangs up with a smile. He turns to his partner Sal who’s reading through a file with his feet up on a worn steel office desk that wasn’t new in the 70s but had been built to be nearly indestructible and was proving the manufacturer’s claims to be true. This piece of furniture would survive through a Cormac McCarthy novel without a scratch.

“Okay, I’ve got a neighbor of Gerald Detherlink who saw him just two days ago in his back yard which is next to hers. She saw him practicing sword fight moves she says.”

“Yeah, so? We know he’s Battle Axe. I’m sure the nutjob had to practice sometime. His rap sheet says he was damn good with his weapons. What’s your point, Jimbo?”

“She says he was talking to some guy with a beard who was sitting in a chair watching Gerry practice. I got to thinkin’ who do we know with a beard, but I got nuthin’ yet. I was thinkin’ it might pay for us to go up and show her pictures of our best prospects.”

“And who would those be, Jimmy?”

“Everyone who had a beef with this Destiny babe. We got these five guys here...” he waves his hand, indicating an envelope containing 4" x 6" photos on his desk. “....that have all publicly threatened her recently. Let’s run their pix by her and see if we get lucky. Two of them have beards.”

“That’s pretty thin. Besides I get the feeling this guy working with Gerry wasn’t the type to be in our books. I think he’d have to be a super villain to take down both Destiny and Battle Axe.”

“Unless those two took down each other and our unknown perp just stood by and then offed Gerry after he killed the superbabe with his titanium knife.”

“That’s one way it could’a gone down,” Sal nods. “Doesn’t get us any closer though. I still think the key that unlocks this case is through the chemicals. All three of the super babes got their vags swiped baby fresh and new by that Elimanol stuff. Plus, two of them had a very specific chemical in their system that’s only found in Europe and my guess is the third vic did too. That guy Trevor was supposed to get word from Interpol about any cross matches. When he knows he said he’d call me ASAP. When he does, we may have our guy. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to pass some photos past the neighbor while we wait. Where was Axe living again?”

“Over in Bethesda.”

“Really?” Sal frowns as he pulls his feet off the desk and stands up, putting on his suit jacket from the back of the chair. “Who said crime doesn’t pay? Pretty pricey neighborhood. And I’m guessin’ titanium weapons don’t come cheap either.”

“True,” Jimmy replies, swiping up the envelope of suspect photos, jamming them in his inside suit pocket, and turning to walk to toward the elevator. “And the cost of making you look good for your own funeral after you’ve been cut in half probably costs a pretty penny.”

“Unless the funeral home gives his estate a deal. Half off!”
“That’s not even funny.”

“It’s half funny,” Sal says, pushing the down button on the elevator call pad.

“I don’t agree,” answers Jimmy shaking his head. “It’s a split decision.”

Sal turns his head toward Jimmy and smiles at that. “Hey, that was good. You’re getting better.”

“By your standards. And those are pretty low.” Jimmy just looks up at the numbers over the door indicating their descent. The light changes from 12 to 11 and continues to slowly count down. The building isn’t as old as Sal’s desk but the elevator does tend to take its time. Jimmy does have a bit of a self-satisfied smirk on his Irish mug for two floors worth of transit.

Just then, Sal Abato’s cell phone rings. He looks at the screen but it’s not a number he recognizes.

“Abato. Who’s this?”

“Detective Abato, my name is Kathy Hommetz. I work for the marketing department at CyberTech Solutions. We got a request from your office regarding a chip of ours.”

“Chip? I’m sorry, why are you calling?”

“Well, we were asked to provide you with a list of all our beta testers of the CT6500 series microchip.”

“Oh, right. Do you have the list? And can you send it to my email. I can check it on my phone and see if any of your testers match up with who I’m looking for.”

“Yes, well, that’s the thing, Mr. Abato....”

“Detective Abato, Miss Hommetz.”

“Sorry, yes of course. Detective Abato. Anyway the thing is we pulled that chip off the market two years ago, just about three months after it went into beta. Too many complaints about it. They were all returned to us as requested.”

“So how did your chip end up in my police evidence locker?”

“There was only one chip not returned. I guess that client didn’t have complaints about it. Or maybe he just modified around the circuitry flaws that bothered our other clients. That happens sometimes.”

“Who was that client who never returned the chip? Do you have a name?”

“Yes, our records are quite complete in this regard. CyberTech is very meticulous in this regard. Our clients appreciate our...”

“I hate to interrupt your marketing pitch, Miss Hommetz but I’m trying to solve a murder case here. What was that name of the person who didn’t return the chip?”

“It’s not a who, Detective. It’s a company name. It is ........” Just then a hiss of static broke in and his caller’s voice dropped out to silence.

“Hello? Hello?” Abato looked at his phone’s screen and frowned. The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors finally slide open. The two detectives step out into the old marbled lobby.

“....a company that had only purchased one of two chips of ours over the past five years,” the voice is concluding. “So if there’s nothing else, Detective.”

“Wait! Miss Hommetz. I’m sorry but I was in an elevator and missed that company’s name. Could you repeat it for me?”

“Yes, that was Pascal Research LLC, Detective.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sal murmurs to himself. The little minx was right.”

“I’m sorry. Now I’m the one who didn’t hear you, Detective.”

“Nothing, I’m sorry, I was talking to...someone else...”

“Would you like the address for that company?”

“By all means, Miss Hommetz.”

“It’s 11313 Rockville Pike, North Bethesda, Maryland.”

“Thank you so much for your help, Miss. It could be instrumental in helping me solve my case.”

“I’m glad I could help, Detective Abato. Goodbye.”

Sal terminated the call and looked at Jimmy’s alert brown eyes under expectantly raised eyebrows.

“Change of plans. We’re blowing off the neighbor and going to North Bethesda. We’ve got a real, live A#1 genuine suspect.”

“Who?”

“A guy named Pascal. Some French professor that that frumpy broad Prince from IADC thought might have somethin’ to with it. Seemed pretty circumstantial to me at the time but I came down hard and heavy on her for withholdin’ key evidence blah, blah, blah, at the time. Gotta make the Feds sure they know where your territory’s marked nice and clear. I basically pissed on her during that phone as I recall. Backed her off but now it looks like she might’a been right.”

“What’s a guy who teaches French got to do with killing super babes?”

“Not a guy who teaches French. A guy who is French. Anyway, that’s what we’re going to find out, partner. We’re going to visit his place of business right now.”

“Good. We could use a break,” Glendennan nods. “Last I heard, the mayor was pretty steamed about this case still hangin’ when some news bitch asked him about it when she ambushed him outside a fundraiser at the National Gallery.”

“Shit! I didn’t see that. Hope this lead does pay off. I don’t fancy walking a beat at my age.”

* * *

“So, the great Amazon warrior deigns to stand up and confront her foe,” Pascal says, carefully eyeing Wonder Woman even as she eyes him. “Despite the fact that she is a pale shadow of herself. Even though she is weak and confused and frightened, she bravely yet stupidly takes up the challenge, knowing she cannot win.”

“I know no such thing, worm. But I do know a frightened man when I see one. You thought me done and finished, Pascal. Admit it. You did not expect me to present a challenge that you are unprepared to face.”

“Unprepared? Hardly, Princess.” Pascal reaches over to a nearby drawer in a built-in storage unit and pulls out a short metal rod with a rounded knob on the end. Though only 10" or so in length, the black brushed metal rod is still an imposing little implement. He beats the knob into his left palm with a smack but Wonder Woman just gives him a sad shake of the head. After that, Pascal pulls a knife out of his pants pocket and flicks it open with a snap of his left wrist. Again, the blade is not overly long, a mere five inches with a handle of the same black brushed metal, but it too garners a head shake from the tall black-haired beauty. Pascal balances both weapons in his raised arms, waving them with studied menace.

“All your toys will not save you from my wrath, Frenchman. Your day of reckoning has arrived.”

“I am more inclined to believe it is your reckoning day, mon cherie. Shall we dance?”

“If you insist, Professor. But try to keep up,” says the Amazon with a bravado she doesn’t quite feel. Yet again, they circle each other looking for openings. And to gain his edge again, Pascal begins to verbally taunt Wonder Woman, hoping to goad her into brash action like before.

“You know what I did not expect from your three loser so-called super heroine friends? I did not expect them to enjoy having their fresh young twats cock-jammed against their wishes as much as they all seemed to. Greasy and tight, each one of them with her own special squeal of delight as she came and wept and came and came until her thighs were slick with her juices. Well, it sent me over the edge, I will admit. Each time.”

Wonder Woman scowls but does not rise to the lure. She just doggedly eyes her quarry, looking for an opening. The tall Frenchman keeps both weapons waving in menacing little spirals though as he continues to move to his right, watching out for any peculiar moves out of the Amazon.

“I’m surprised you could even maintain an erection, professor. You seem like...umm..you need Viagra or something...like that.”

“That is your big snappy comeback, Wonder Woman? This is like trading insults with a chimp. What is next, are you going to throw your feces at me? Ooooghh...ooooghh!” Pascal makes chimp sounds and makes long-armed chimp-like motions. That is when Wonder Woman lunges forward and then kicks up high with her right leg, the toe of her boot coming up and knocking the knife out of the left hand of a very surprised Pascal. The weapon spins into the air and off toward a shelving unit filled with empty petri dishes where it lands with a tinkle of shattering glass.

“Oops! Knifey go bye bye,” grins Wonder Woman and she backs up a step before Pascal’s swiping right hand can land the steel rod against the side of her head. She feels very pleased with herself for disarming the Frenchman of his knife and being fast enough to dodge his retaliatory swipe at her. She goes for broke and grabs his extended wrist with both hands as she brings it down toward her upraised knee. “Heee...yaahh,” she shouts in an effort to concentrate her focus and power.

Once again, by telegraphing her move with her shout and obvious movements, Pascal is able to counter her tactic, this time by punching his now empty left fist directly into the site of her bullet wound.

“AAEEYAAAGGHH!”

All the Amazon’s focus and power are completely disrupted by this maneuver and the screeching heroine cannot prevent the man from pulling his arm out of her grip as she bends over with a rush of nausea sweeping through her from the shocking pain. The club which he still holds in his freed right hand rises up swiftly and comes down hard on Wonder Woman’s right shoulder.

“OWWW!”

Diana’s left hand comes up to squeeze and try to relieve the pain in her shoulder. Her entire right arm hands limp and numb at her side, fuzzy tingling shaking her fingertips like spastic worms.

Pascal raises the club high again and swings it down the grimacing heroine’s fingers as they try to bring blood and feeling back into her useless appendage. She is able to catch his wrist on the downswing and give it a good twist. Pascal yelps and drops the steel club. The resonating clang of the steel hitting the cement floor pierces the air between the heavily breathing combatants. Wonder Woman quickly bends over to retrieve the steel club when Pascal grabs the sides of her head and yanks his knee up so it crashes fiercely into the stunned Amazon’s face.

“Uuuughhhnnn!” She recoils from this, her back straightening as her neck snaps up and she’s looking directly at Pascal. Her eyes roll together toward the bridge of her nose and the Mighty Champion of All Women wavers in place trying not to fall over in her dizzy bewilderment. She is half hunched over and teetering badly.

“...uuuuuhhhhnnnn....” She can’t put together her thoughts as she puts both hands on her knees to steady herself. The right hand, still numb, slips off the knee but Wonder Woman compensates and is able to maintain her balance if not her dignity. She lowers her head and shakes it slightly to try to clear it. That’s when she sees Pascal reaching down and calmly picking the steel bar off the floor in his right hand before he rises up and stands over the wobbling, befuddled Wonder Woman.

Oh no!

He doesn’t telegraph his intent. He simply slams the knob end of the steel rod onto the middle of Diana’s upper back driving her to both knees like an avid religious zealot eager to speak with her deity. In fact, in a mumbled prayer, she appeals aloud, “Oww! Oh...Hera...help me... be strong.”

With a deadened right arm, Wonder Woman can’t block the follow up swing that snaps sharply against the crown of her head.

“HUUUGGHHNN!” The famous raven-haired heroine’s blue eyes roll high up under her lids and she topples over like a load of bricks onto her hands and knees. But with a deadened right arm, she can’t even maintain that position and falls down onto her face, a shapely but inert figure stretched out in the sudden silence, her right arm pinned beneath her, her left arm cast outward, her long legs stretched out in a long v, her round prominent buttocks still shaking slightly from her fall, all her feminine assets showing pink in the lights through the hole in her torn and battered starred pants.

“Well, thank you for that delightful dance, Amazon. But why don’t you sit this one out. You look particularly beat!”

The beauty says nothing. She merely lies there, face down on the cement floor, drooling and limp, a conquered warrior laid asunder battle, and then she slips into a deep dark pool of nothingness. With a sigh, Pascal sees her body settle and goes off to try to find his knife.

* * *

Sal and Jimmy pull up to the small two-story warehouse in North Bethesda. On an early Sunday afternoon, there’s no activity in this area of mostly industrial buildings. They look over the address. There’s the number 11313 over the door in free-standing black iron numerals.

“This is the place,” says Sal. “Quiet. Doesn’t look like anything’s cooking.”

“You realize we don’t have jurisdiction here, right, Sal? This is Maryland we’re in here.”

“It’s a capital crime we’re working on, Jimbo. I think our Bethesda brethren will cut us some slack. If we even find anything.”

“And we don’t have a warrant.”

“Well, then, me lad, let’s go find us some probably cause, shall we.”

“You know that Irish accent still sucks, right?” Jimmy raises an eyebrow at his partner.

“I’m doin’ me very best, laddie.”

“Still sucks.”

They exit the car and Sal goes to trunk, opens it and takes out a tire iron. The pair then head up to the front door. Standing at the brass sign, the two detectives read it over and look at the door. A simple knob lock on a steel door. Dumb security.

Nodding at the sign, Jimmy says, “Guy likes to keep a low profile, I’ll say that for him.”

“Mmhh, yup.” Sal scans the neighborhood but there’s no one in sight. “Oh, look at that, someone tried to force entry here.” And raising high the tire iron with both hands, Sal gives the knob a hard downward driving shot which breaks it off. Reaching into the hole, Sal pops the latch and the heavy door swings open. “We better go inside and check around. Someone could be in trouble.”

The pair walks inside the darkness and Sal feels for a light switch on the wall to his left. He finds it and flips it up. The entryway is small with a wall facing them. Sal squats down and quietly places the tire iron on the linoleum tiled floor and as he rises, takes the gun out of his shoulder holster, holding the muzzle up. Jimmy pulls his gun and the two begin to investigate the warehouse, covering each other at every corner they come to. There are many of them and it feels like a maze to the wary cops.

“This ain’t like any fuckin’ warehouse I’ve ever been in,” says Sal.

“Copy that,” answers Jimmy, his palms beginning to sweat.

* * *

Wonder Woman comes to her senses slowly and realizes she is cold and stiff. Her half naked breasts are pressed against the cold cement floor...

How many times has that happened today?

There’s the sound of dragging and scraping and cursing off to her far right. It’s Pascal.

The Amazon princess wearily gets to her feet, pulling herself up slowly by using the shelving to her left.

“...uughh...this man is a pain in my butt,” she murmurs softly to herself. “Keeps out-thinking me. What did he say about neutralizers? And some kind of ass sticks.. Hey..maybe...” Wonder Woman bends over, reaches down, pulls her ass cheek aside with one hand and pokes her forefinger of the other up into her ass to find the stick. She moves it up and down and around desperately trying to locate it.

It’s not there!

“Must have fallen out...” she says.

“It melted already,” says Pascal from six feet away. “Done its work.”

Wonder Woman looks up from finger-fucking her own ass to see Pascal looking at her with untold delight. Her cleavage within her damaged bustier is a gaping valley revealing her generous chest in a most unladylike way.

“Oh, god!” She wails and pulls out her finger and then straightens up. Her face and chest are flushed a deep red with her undying shame. She surreptitiously wipes her finger on her butt cheek behind her as stands there with wide eyes and no idea what to do next.

“But please, do not let me stop you from having your fun, champ. Would you want some butter or something?”

“...you...you...cretin...”

“Hah! Of the two people in this room, I believe most observers would point to you, Wonder Woman, at this moment as the one of vastly subnormal intelligence. Rather obvious actually.”

“Really,” says Wonder Woman pulling herself to her full height and placing her hands on her hips as her belt delivers another little surge of power back to her. She has an idea. “I’m not sure its so obvious, Pascal. Especially when you’re the one who’s so easily....tricked!”

With that, Wonder Woman’s hand, which had been on her hip, flips with a lightning quickness of the wrist. Her lasso sails out over the short distance between herself and the tall Frenchman, the always-readied loop descending over his head...

Until his hand reaches up and catches the circled rope in his palm.

“No!” Diana cries out in frustration.

Pascal’s other hand extends out with a deft quickness of his own and snatches at the slip knot, undoing it with twisting fingers until the loop is gone and Pascal has the end of his rope in both hands and is pulling on it.

The dismayed Amazon can’t believe this man had been a step ahead of her yet again. She despondently pulls back on the rope and sets her boot heels in a line for a tug of war and a battle of wills that is unlike anything she’s ever faced in her life.

“You thought to make me your weak-minded slave, princess, but it is you who will be the one to succumb here.”

Diana, no stranger to having powerful minds in her thrall, is surprised at the power of this one, the raging will at the other end of her charmed rope.

She exerts her will though. As always, she is the stronger one when it comes to tests like this. “That is not going to happen, Pascal. You know already that you cannot ...will not be able to fight the power of truth that infuses this rope.” She tugs hard, hoping to pull him off his feet but he has set himself and the heroine, though belted, is still too weak from the drugs in her system to unbalance him.

“And you know that truth is a shifting construct, cherie. One based solely in the human mind. Your truth is not my truth. Certainly not in this case.”

“You may try to confuse and...and distract me, villain, but it will not work.”

“Confuse? Not at all, Wonder Woman. I am simply sharing my truth with you as you wish it. Hear my truth, if you dare. My truth is this: the concepts you espouse such as truth and justice and the love for one’s fellow man, if you will; concepts that you so drearily profess in your endless sermons at the United Nations; well, they are nothing but effervescent shimmering phantoms in the light. The truth, my truth is simply this: What is real and provable and undeniable is science and nature and Darwin’s evolution. This is a truth that has been proven for millions of years, child.” It’s Pascal’s turn to give the rope a hard sudden yank but Wonder Woman’s heels are firmly set on the concrete below her boots. She does not relent.

“I’m no child, Pascal. You underestimate me.”

“You overestimate yourself, Wonder Woman. This surprises me because I have proven to you over and over today that I am your superior in every way. Even you cannot deny that truth, woman!”

“You may have damaged my body and twisted my thoughts with your cruel chemicals and toys and schemes, Pascal, but never during this day have you damaged my will. I have continued to pursue you through it all. Deny the truth of that, villain!”

“Your will to pursue is merely based on the tempting bait I have set before you to draw you into my web, Wonder Woman. Everything I have done over the years has been of a mind to bring you to this time and place for your reckoning. The so-called truth of your pursuit, of your will as you say, is merely the many cheeses I have placed in your rat maze on your way to me. Your compatriot heroines, dead and abused in such a horrible manner? How could you resist your need to capture me. What is so delightful to me is that your hubris at their ineffectual, tragic endings has already been proven to be equally successful against you, my dear.”

“You have not succeeded yet, you monster.”

“A matter of time, trollop.”

Both yank at the same time and neither gives ground.

“I am here to avenge their deaths as justice demands,” Wonder Woman glares at Pascal. “Your twisted debating skills hold no truth against that.”

“You are here because I led you by the nose to be here, foolish bitch. All the clues were ones that I placed to lead you to the open window, to the tainted memory stick and your first big step on the way to your ultimate failure, you contemptible cow. My science and superior intellect and my male dominance over a mere woman is what proved to be your undoing. That is the only truth you need to know.”

“...tainted....stick? You planned that? You wanted me here?”

“Is not the dawn pretty when it finally comes up. Yes, you naive cunt. Of course I wanted you here.”

“B...but why...why do you hate me so? You never said when I asked you earlier.”

“More truth. If you desire to know it, I suggest you get on your knees.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Then you clearly do not wish to pursue the truth you claim to need.”

“I don’t...you won’t...that won’t accomplish anything.” Diana’s confidence wavers for a moment.

I do wish to know the truth. I do not fear it. Or him.

“Yes it will. It will accomplish this: It will be a sign to me that you are open to the truth. It will make me feel more at ease so I may tell you about my sister.”

“Your sister? What does she have to do with...”

“ON YOUR KNEES, WONDER WOMAN!”

“Aghh!” Distracted by the newly introduced confusion of Pascal’s sister and strained to the limit by their constant match of wills, the raven-haired heroine rocks her head back in a jolt of a sudden headache. And a severe case of indecision.

“To know the truth, you should be on your knees, Diana.”

“It’s n..not...r...required...”

“Of course it is. You know that as Wonder Woman and as Diana Prince, do you not, my pretty toy.”

“Who? How did you know..? Oh...right...I changed....in front...of you.”

“Yes, you revealed that truth to me in the deepest trust. Now I want to reveal my deepest secret to you in trust. But I cannot do that unless you take a leap of faith and get down on your knees.”

“...i..don’t...have....to...”

Pascal yanks the rope suddenly and a faltering Wonder Woman is pulled forward hard. She falls to one knee despite herself.

“You are halfway there, my dear. Do you not you think it would be a good idea to settle down to both knees and hear the full truth from me? What would be the harm in that, really?”

The mighty champion tries to stand but Pascal’s words are mesmerizing in their simplicity. She wavers there on one knee thinking hard. Her head hurt.

To hear the truth of all this horrible matter, the reason behind all the deaths, I simply have to be on both knees. What would be the harm in that?

“I...i...sup...pose...it...it would be...okay...” She murmurs.

“Of course it would, my cherie. As soon as you lower yourself down to both knees, I will tell you everything you want to know about this whole nasty affair.” Pascal’s voice is a slow, smoothly cool monotone now. Wonder Woman’s questioning blue eyes look deeply into his brown irises, deeply trying to see the truth there. She sees that he will tell her the truth when she does what he wants. He really will. And she needs to know it. Her mind has but one final thought to pose.

“...are...you...sure...this is right...?”

“It is right. It is what I want. And by extension, it is what you want. Is it not?”

“...i...uh...uhhmmm...yes...it’s what...what I....want...too.”

“Then I suggest you set down that other knee and await the truth you need to hear, cherie.”

“...uh...uh..okay...”

Wonder Woman lowers herself to both knees finally as Pascal walks forward, coiling the lasso in one hand as he does while firmly gripping the other. He sends his will down it’s length to the kneeling heroine before him. She looks up at him with eager eyes, desperately needing to hear his words. Her bustier sags badly and her exposed breasts hang gloriously in view, their nipples now revealed. Her starred panties are a ragged, damaged sight as well, with the famous Amazon’s snatch in plain sight.

With the lasso still held in her hands, Wonder Woman kneels before Pascal as he looks down at her open, anxious face.

“The first truth, the very first truth you should hear, my eager young beauty....” he says as he squats down before the lovely Amazon and plays with the coiled rope in his hands “...is that your will is not your own anymore.

“...no...?...” she whispers, almost in awe.

“No, cherie, it is mine.” Pascal quickly tosses the golden rope over Wonder Woman’s head. Once again, it has been formed into a loop. Pascal gives it a sharp pull and it cinches around her throat in a tightly constricting noose. He then quickly stands up and yanks her forward until she’s on all fours. A mere moment after that, his leg has been swung around behind her, and then he is behind her back and pulling up hard on the lasso so that Wonder Woman’s neck is severely choked and she dangles in gasping retching helplessness, on her knees with his hand caressing her cheek.

“...wrrrrggggkkkk...”

“And the next truth is, my dear, that you would love to have me fondle your breasts as I tell you the truth you long to hear. Is not that what you want, Wonder Woman?”

“...hhllcccckkkkk!”

“Oh, sorry, let me loosen that for you a bit.” He does so and Diana gasps for several breaths before she answers Pascal.

“...yes...having you fondle my breasts....that is what you want...so that is what I want.”

“Excellent. Bend back a bit, mon cherie, if you would.”

Wonder Woman arches her back a bit and bends over backward to Pascal’s powerful will as he slips his right hand over her right breast and begins to slowly feel up the Champion of All Woman. She allows it without a murmur of complaint.

“Now, let me tell you the story of my sister, Marie, and how I came to hate you, Wonder Woman.” The hand caresses and squeezes and fondles the ample flesh in his palm This victory delights Pascal completely and, by extension through the golden rope, delights Diana as well. Because it’s the way things should be. His needs are just more important than hers. She realizes that now.

End of Part 19

A brief note to my readers:
I'm glad to see so many readers are finding this series worth their time. The number keeps climbing so I must be doing something right. Still, I would love to get some feedback if you can spare a few moments to tell me what you particularly like or don't like about the work. I look forward to your responses. It's really the only "pay" writers receive and it is greatly appreciated I assure you. Thanks.

[tallyho]

I'd fallen behind in reading these so I'm catching up today.
Glad to see the wholesome family entertainment continues unabated!


I like this story a lot, both in content and how you're delivering it, which considering I prefer my heroines triumphant is a testimony to how well you've put the whole thing together.
It's well conceived, well structured , well written. But above all it's INTERESTING!!

Very nice job.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 20

The tall Frenchman gets down on one knee behind his Amazon captive so he can control her body from behind more easily, more completely. He grips the end of the lasso in his left hand keeping the cord taut and pulling Wonder Woman backward against his broad chest as his palm continues to slide around under the sagging red cloth of her ruined bustier. The shape of his fingers can be clearly seen roaming beneath the fabric as he slowly feels up his prize. His long fingers caress her soft skin, enfold her shape and squeeze with slow steady pulses as Wonder Woman’s eyes glaze over.

“Do you remember that night, bitch? How you let my sister, my beautiful Marie die?”

“I...don’t know. Not sure... my mind’s so fuzzy...so confused...”

“Let me help you recall then, cunt,” Pascal says, roughly compressing his hand around the soft flesh and drawing a harsh gasp from the pained heroine as her tit bulges slightly through the gap between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s obvious her death meant so little to you that you cannot even place her among your scattered wispy thoughts.”

“I...don’t...can’t...sorry...I... Help me, I want to help you know the truth. We both want that. I can feel your need. It burns me! Tell me please! Start me off. Remind me. Owwww! Your thoughts are soooo strong. So fierce!”

“That is my love for Marie you are feeling, you unworthy skank,” Pascal’s anger at her is so intense, his spit sprays against the back of her right ear. “You would not know about such purity. All you probably know is base lust. All you understand is the silky feeling of your Amazon sisters’ thighs clamped around your head as you paint their oily cunts with your tongue.”

“No, I...I...love them when I do that!”

“I know you love IT when you do that. But I truly doubt you understand the difference, whore, between what you call love and my true love for Marie.” Pascal is virtually snarling in the stiff-backed Amazon’s ear. “It is a purity beyond you!”

“No, it is not. My sisters are my life. My love for them matches that of yours for your own sister. I tell you....Aaagghhh!”

Pascal’s hand, having drifted over to Wonder Woman’s left breast now squeezes fiercely down on it. Her eyes tear up and the warm drops spill down her cheeks as her flesh is roughly compacted in the man’s powerful palm.

“Liar!”

“I cannot lie. The lasso will not have it...Owww! Please, Pascal, stop squeezing my breast that way. It hurts!”

“Like I care, cunt!”

Wonder Woman is aghast to hear herself plead like this. But her magical belt is giving her nothing now and she feels weak and disoriented. The enema stick’s poisons are circulating through her. That must be what’s causing this sensation of confusion and tiredness and helplessness. It’s too much to fight. She sags forward slightly, as she feels Pascal loosen his grip on her left breast, despite his protestations to the contrary. He goes back to caressing the smooth fully-rounded skin, the palm brushing her nipple. For Diana, there’s no sexual pleasure in his slow-moving hands. It merely feels like she is a piece of sculpture in his hold, something he owns that he likes to fondle, to revel in his possession of her. The princess of Themyscira supposes it is a natural thing for a man to feel that way. Women have been men’s possessions throughout time. It’s the way of the world, isn’t it?

The raven-haired beauty shakes her head back and forth slightly, her body reacting instinctively against such a foreign thought in a confused brain.

“What are you feeling, hero?” Pascal leans forward and now softly whispers into Wonder Woman’s ear, “Is it regret over your heinous crime against my Marie? Or perhaps despair at your pathetic struggles against my overwhelming assault on your body and mind?”

“...i...i...am..feeling bad about...being your plaything.” Wonder Woman frowns as the truth blurts out from her lips like a sudden cough she cannot repress.

“Well, I regret to inform you, Wonder Woman, that you being my sex toy has just barely begun.” Pascal nibbles at her ear now, teasing her lobe with his smooth white teeth. “In fact, while we continue to discuss my sainted sister, I am going to allow you to stroke and fondle my cock with your hands. That would please me greatly. Would it please you, Champion of All Women, to give me a handjob? Would you enjoy feathering your dainty fingertips up and down my warm penis in the service of my pleasure? Would it please you to rub my foreskin back and forth and all around until I spew my pleasure in the air like the fountains of Versailles?”

“...p...please me...? I...no...it would not...truly...b...but...” Wonder Woman feels Pascal’s will flowing through the rope, circling her neck and spreading through her thoughts. “...but if that is what you wish, I...i...see no reason...why I should not...give you what you wish. Y..your... needs are...important...to me. They should be...satisfied...completely,” she whispers softly.

“Yes. They should.” Pascal’s whispered reply sparks a clutching spasm of despair through Wonder Woman’s heart almost like a physical blow to her. She blinks rapidly and then sighs low and long while Pascal stands and casually walks around to face her. Even as her bearded foe settles down a mere foot in front of her, he keeps the lasso taut between them to ensure there is no lessening of his will flowing into her. Finally, he extends both feet to either side of the kneeling heroine.

“Why not sit cross-legged in a more comfortable position, mon cherie. You want to be as comfortable as possible when you jerk me off, Wonder Woman, non?”

“..y...yes...that is...kind of you,” the Amazon dully replies, switching to the sitting cross-legged position suggested by the Frenchman.

“Well, that is just my gentlemanly way, my dear. You may now unzip my fly and do what a woman should do for her man.” He nods at her slowly and she parrots back the nod, dazed by everything and too weary to contest the issue. Why should she anyway. He’s not wrong about how a woman should please a man. Diana shakes her head again. She doesn’t like what she’s thinking. But it takes too much effort to do anything but nod once more at the smiling Pascal a mere foot and a half from her face.

“Oh, and perhaps you would also like to pull down that top of yours a bit and free those lovely breasts of yours from their unnatural confinement?” Pascal gives her a nod of the head.

“I...no...they....they’re fine...uhhh....thank you...anyway....”

“Are they? Are they really...?” Pascal raises an eyebrow and thinks how lovely the heroine’s breasts would be if exposed. The golden lasso does the rest.

“..uh....well...uuhhmm...they could be a...a little more....comfortable...I guess...” Wonder Woman pulls down gently on her bustier. It doesn’t take much effort before the worn, loose fabric releases her heavy globes and they bounce and jiggle before the highly-satisfied Frenchman.

“There now. Are we not both more pleased with your naked teats hanging here in the open as is only natural?”

“...i...am...pleased if...you are...” the heavy-lidded beauty answers, her eyes looking up at Pascal for confirmation of his satisfaction.

“Oh, I am very pleased. And now....” Pascal’s eyes move from Wonder Woman’s dulled blue irises to his crotch and back, twice, giving her stunted brain the cue for what he wants, but he reinforces that with his command. “Put your lovely hands to work fondling my cock, cherie.”

She looks down at his fly and focuses on what she must do. Her raven hair frames her face, the lush locks falling forward slightly as she leans into him slightly while her hand reaches down to the tiny plastic tab of his zipper. The bare-breasted Wonder Woman, sitting dumbly before the smiling Frenchman, her costume in tatters and her body and mind badly battered, pulls his zipper down. Her eyes are half-lidded, her tongue protruding slightly. Her concentration on her sexual task at hand narrows down, her eyes looking at the generous bulge in his lap. Pascal wants her to stroke his penis. There’s no reason whatsoever not to give this man what he wants. It’s her place.

* * *

Sal Abato and Jimmy Glendennan cautiously make their way through the maze of hallways in the warehouse occupied by Pascal Research LLC. Corner after corner they cover each with guns drawn but there’s no sound of movement anywhere. At one point, they turn a corner and come across a dented steel wall with indentations in a pattern encompassing the large dent.

“Don’t those look like something a set of shotguns would produce, Sal?”

“They do indeed, Jimbo. Whoever was standing here took a hell of a lot of punishment. I’m surprised the wall’s not painted in blood. Call me crazy but I’m thinking our lady victim, Destiny, might have taken quite a salvo here. Probably from whoever was standing behind that door there,” Abato says, nodding at the closed door. He walks over and tries the doorknob. It’s unlocked. Gingerly he twists the knob, pushes the door open and stands back, his pistol pointed at the steadily growing gap as the door swings inward. Nothing happens. Both men put their backs to the wall on either side of the door. Jimmy produces a small keychain LCD light and holds it in one hand while his other holds his gun tightly, muzzle pointed up. On a mutual nod, the two detectives then pivot and rush into the room. It is empty; completely bare of any furniture. Four blank walls of an 8 x 10 room of unpainted sheet rock face them. The two men shrug.

“Let’s keep looking,” Abato says. “This whole place seems cleaned out but you never know what we’ll find.”

“Yeah, maybe a clue as to what the hell went on here,” Jimmy replies.

“Right. A clue, something that lets us know if it was this Pascal guy or his pal Battle Axe that put down that Destiny babe.”

“Maybe it was both,” suggests Jimmy.

“Could be.” Abato walks out of the empty room and heads down the long hallway, his gun still drawn. “Hell of a strange way to lay out a warehouse,” the Italian detective muses.

* * *

Wonder Woman’s hands have pulled down the zipper of Pascal’s suit slacks and she is fishing his fleshy snake out of the fly in his pale blue boxers. Her hand gently grips his member under its head and tugs it out of its fabric cave with exaggerated care.

“Excellent! I knew that you would be good at this,” the French professor says enthusiastically as the Amazon’s warm palm encompasses his shaft as she holds it out in the open, her painted red fingernails gleaming in the light of the storeroom fluorescent overhead. Her eyes look at the penis, appraising its slightly above-average size with wide pupils and shallow breaths. “Squeeze me very softly, Wonder Woman. Get to know the feel of my penis, my dear. It is everything your amazing body was created for.”

Wonder Woman frowns at this but she does slowly pulse her palm around his prick as directed. It’s her duty. “Your pussy may even be moistening already in anticipation of accommodating the length of my junk. Just holding a cock is probably an unusual experience for you, cherie. Is that the case, my lovely? Are you getting damp from the anticipation?”

“I...am not,” Diana murmurs in a quiet sulk. If anything, she was feeling shame at the moment; not eagerness. The warmth of his member in her hand as she pulsed her fist around his length felt like some kind of violation to her.

“But, cherie,” Pascal’s lower lip curls down thickly as he pouts at his raven-haired prize, “I am already getting excited by the simple ministrations you are performing. You can see how I am enlarging and stiffening in your grip. That is your own soft caressing touch that’s doing that to me. Imagine that! Such pleasures that you are providing to me surely must be making you feel a little excited, too, n’est ce pas?” Pascal’s eyebrows arch up and his willpower feeds down through the length of the lasso loosely cinched around Wonder Woman’s throat.

“I...i...i...do....nuh....n...nnnuuhhh...” Wonder Woman’s body is shaking as her willpower and desire to say the word “not” is slowly overridden by Pascal’s iron will. She can’t fight him. Nor can she hold back her sudden blush of fever as her loins suddenly quiver with unexpected erotic pleasure. She feels her vagina tingling and it sends a small shiver through her body. Her voice quavers a bit as she continues, the word “not” being converted despite herself, “...nuh ..notice... that...yes...now that you muh...muh...mention it...I am.. am..am...getting a little...wet...” The Amazon’s warrior feels her face grow hot as she admits this. It’s all so confusing to her.

Pascal’s hand reaches over and he palms Wonder Woman’s exposed crotch through the hole in her blue satin briefs.“Yes, you do feel a tiny bit damp. I thought you might be.” He smiles a lecherous grin at her blushing embarrassment. He’s also deeply pleased she’s made no effort whatsoever to prevent him from cupping her sex. She is losing her will to him more and more. “I am glad it gives you such pleasure to get me hard, Wonder Woman,” Pascal lauds her smugly. “Is it not delightful that with the simple caress of your delicate hands I am stiff as an iron pipe?”

“..t..tuh...truly...s...s...stiff....”

“Thank you, my dear. It is all your doing. And now I think you should begin stroking me firmly, don’t you?”

“..i..uh...yes...stroking...yes...”

Wonder Woman’s hand begins sliding up and down Pascal’s cock, her palm moving his skin quickly as she rubs him as commanded.

“Cup my balls, hero, with your other hand. Do it right, Wonder Woman.”

“Yes, Pascal.” The Champion of All Women gently fondles the Frenchman’s balls as she briskly strokes his cock. It’s not something she’s proud of but this is what he wants and she feels it’s only right that she complies.

“You’re really getting off on the feel of my warm, hard rod in your hand, aren’t you, Wonder Woman? It feels very natural for you to do this for me, doesn’t it?” Pascal nods his head as he thinks how excited a woman should be to make him hard and happy.

“...any...woman would be...guh...gr...grateful...” Wonder Woman’s eyes drift a bit as her will is subordinated to Pascal’s base desires. “...tuh...t...to be given....the chance..to..p.. please... you, d..doctor...”

“I am so glad we are both on the same page, Wonder Woman.” To reinforce his dominance, Pascal extends his arm and palms the Amazon’s exposed breast, squeezing it firmly. “I imagine you are getting aroused by being so naughty in the way I so dearly love.”

“...a...a...aroused....?” Wonder Woman blinks stupidly as her breast is fondled. Her mind is flooded with the idea of getting hot enjoying a man’s rock hard penis. Pascal’s ideas are now her own. The palm of his other hand rubs firmly now against her lower lips, drawing a pelvic shudder and a moan from the beautiful woman as she numbly continues her handjob. The bearded man’s eyes shine with sexual delight and the thrill of power even as his fingers spread Wonder Woman’s labia with easy familiarity. Slowly, his middle finger slides up moist soft lips and come to rest firmly against her clit. The Amazon jerks a bit as her pleasure expands ten-fold with everything she’s being subjected to.

“Yes, you’re getting off on all this sex play, aren’t you, champ?”

“I..i..uhh..yes...” Wonder Woman pants, unable to resist his physical and mental manipulations of her. Her eyelids droop as her pleasure swells within her. Her stroking of Pascal has not let up one bit. She has continued it for several minutes now. If anything, it’s gotten more practiced, more inventive and more light-fingered and effective with every minute under his spell.

“Bend over, Wonder Woman, and let your drool cover the head of my dick. It’s something we’ll both enjoy.”

“...ohh..okay...” the vapid beauty agrees.

A mere moment later the famous Amazonian Princess lets a large drop of saliva drain out of her mouth, hang in the air and then drip down onto the head of the cock she holds firmly in her hand. Still cupping his nuts, Wonder Woman obediently rubs the clear spit over the head of Pascal’s cock with her palm as directed by Pascal. His next order is only to be expected.

“Good, now suck my cock, Wonder Woman. It will be such an erotic sensation for you, mon cherie, that it is distinctly possible we will both cum. Won’t that be fun for us?” Pascal fingers her clit as he envisions her immense satisfaction of the oral stimulation she’ll gain from giving him head.

“...OHH!” Diana gasps out roughly, inundated with the feelings of her body and mind, keenly tuned to Pascal’s wavelength and his handwork. “Uuunnhhh!....” she moans loudly. “..f.. f..fun...yes...yes...”

She bends low before Pascal, taking his long, hard pole into her mouth, sealing her lips around his cock, sucking firmly on his penis and then pulling her head back slowly. Despite everything she stands for, everything she believes in, the famous feminist heroine, the mighty Wonder Woman savors the feel of his cock sliding out of her tight, gripping lips, just as he had told her she would. She does it again with more fervor now. It does give her pleasure to have this fat warm muscle in her mouth; to suck on it’s unique salty flavor and to know her pleasure is adding to his. She sucks harder and gently massages his balls drawing a long, low groan from the man who’s cock she’s gulping. And even though Pascal withdraws his fingers from her sopping wet pussy, and his other fingers only dimple and caress her breast lightly, smoothing over the wide curved surface and stimulating her passions, the raven haired beauty obediently begins bobbing her head up and down, sucking off the Frenchman with the eagerness of a nymphomaniac after a dry spell.

“..uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....”

Pascal hands move now to hold the heroine’s head lightly in his palms as she gives him the incredible blowjob he’d always imagined. Her lips are tight against him, a hot ring of friction as her mouth engulfs him over and over.

“Mmmmmhhh...mmmmhhh...” The heroine moans with deep, throaty satisfaction. And wants even more. So does Pascal. He thinks of the joy he’d know and she’d feel if the head of his cock would brush up against the back of her throat again and again. And so it happens just as he pictured it. Merely by holding one end of the golden lasso, his desires transfers to the beautiful creature’s brain in his lap and Wonder Woman’s throat sucks on the head of his cock, gripping and re-gripping it with ever downward motion of her bobbing head. Her mane of black hair jerks back and forth as she gives him the best head he’s ever known.

“..uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....”

Wonder Woman is insatiable. Put on autopilot by her own body now and Pascal’s looping pleasure of his constant will to be satisfied, the once-proud Champion of All Woman is a head-bobbing, cock-sucking woman without dignity. Ignited by his willpower flowing through her lasso that circles her neck, Diana is a woman possessed. All she wants or knows in this time and space is her need to suckle and excite this man until he cannot contain himself any longer. She moans and slurps and grunts and whimpers in her desire to fulfill him.

With her head held firmly in his hands, she jerks up and down in Pascal’s lap, Hunched over like a fawning mindless toady, Wonder Woman sucks and licks and deep throats him again and again, her fist rising and falling the length of his shaft in loving concert with her mouthwork. She is relentless and ruthless in her work. The pink muscle gleams in the light whenever she pulls back before diving down again to swallow him whole and hold him in place with her throat as her eyes hang at half mast with the her own pleasure.

“..uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....uuhhllgkk....”

Finally, the friction of her mouth and throat surrounding his shining staff is beyond his ability to control and Wonder Woman brings the Frenchman to his perfect climax. His load blows in a jet down her throat and she automatically swallows it. Once, twice and then a third splurge of his seed pulses down her gullet and fills her tummy. She breathes through her nose and shockingly, can’t disgorge him when his final shot is done. He is holding her head down and not letting her up. Her eyes roll up in shock and fright as his huge engorged cock blocks her throat. She tries to jerk her head up but has no leverage.

“I want to thank you for a wonderful handjob and blowjob, Wonder Woman. It was a true delight for you, the Champion of All Women, to debase yourself like that. I am certain that the cameras have caught it all for posterity.”

“..Aaauwwggk! Gaaaggckkkk! Hepppp! Hepppp!”

The purple-faced warrior is too weak to fight the Frenchman’s unrelenting grip. Her body shakes and jerks in place, her head in his lap, her crossed legs pinned beneath her, her final breaths wheezing through the choking gag of his thick, slimy dick.

“And as an extra special indignity, Wonder Woman, you get the opportunity to gag on your master’s cock until I agree to let you up.”

“Hhhrruuggkkk! Eggccckkkk! Heeeeeeezzz!”

“How does it feel to be so pathetically helpless in such a mortifying sexual position, you moronic cunt? To be so easily bested in every aspect of your mind and body?”

“Heppppp! Auuuwwggghhh! Ppplllleezzzz? Pllzzzzzzzz!”

Wonder Woman’s hands stop flapping uselessly in the air and her body goes limp in place, her arms flopping to the floor, her knuckles knocking there in spiritless defeat. Only after that does Pascal release her beaten, hunched-over body and pull her head off his softening cock. He pushes her off to the side and she collapses in a heap. The mighty Wonder Woman, once a role model for women across the globe, is wheezing and tearing up and panting for dear life. Her mouth drains out a clotted stream of white cum as she lies on her side on the storeroom floor in helpless confusion and despair. The Amazon warrior in her badly ruined costume with her tits hanging out and her body heaving and gasping to recover has been cruelly recast as the classic role model of defeat and sexual conquest.

After cumming like a fire hose in Wonder Woman’s mouth, Renee Pascal sits for a moment on the floor with his hands spread out behind him, his palms flat against the white tile propping him up. He watches the gasping woman before him. He is thrilled with his victory. He slides his foot to the right and nudges the shapely rear of the beaten woman with his shoe.

“That was really quite something, was it not, Wonder Woman?” His gloating smile stretches across his face with ridiculous mirth and he chuckles as he shakes his head in amazement. “You were magnificent, cherie. This was not your first time at ze’ rodeo as you Americans like to say, non? The way you sucked my cock, I am thinking you have done this professionally for many years?”

From under her eyebrows the slouching Amazon looks up with a cold glare but says nothing. She is waiting for her magic belt to give her a surge of strength before she tries anything against this French bastard. She can’t afford a single mistake at this point. He’s been ahead of her every single step of the way since ...well, according to him, for months, at the very least.

“Answer me, Wonder Throat!” He kicks hard at her rear end with the heel of his shoe, driving it between her cheeks and shoving the shocked beauty a full foot across the floor. “How many men’s cocks have you sucked to get that good? 10? 18? 30? Tell me the truth, cocksucker! The lasso compels you, yes?”

“I don’t know. Twenty maybe. Or twenty-five. I...i...ls.trk.”

“What was that? I could not hear that. Speak up, bitch.”

“Maybe 25 or more. I lost track.” Wonder Woman gives out her answer rapidly and with horror, like she’s spitting out a piece of moldy meat. And then she lowers her eyes from the twinkling look that Pascal offers.

“Is that a fact? Sucking the cocks of so many men that you’re not even sure of the number. That is rich! For the Champion of All Women, you certainly drop to your knees often enough. Seems like Champion of All Fallen Women is more like it.” Pascal stands up and looms over the weary and mortified Amazon, his face dark, backlit by the overhead fluorescent light.

“What do you want from me, Pascal?” She looks up, holding her hand over her eyes to try to shield the glare. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve shamed the great Wonder Woman and have it on camera. Haven’t you reached your goal at last?”

“Not even close, knockers! Stand up, I have got something I have to do.”

“What now, Pascal?”

“Attitude? You’re giving me attitude?”

“I’m tired. And weak. I can’t think straight. Whatever you put in that enema stick has left me shaky and dizzy.”

“Marvelous! It is working up to my exacting specifications then. Get on your feet, cow. This is something I want and since you are under my thrall thanks to this golden rope of yours, you have to do what I say.”

“Okay, okay,” says Diana as she rolls over, pushes onto all fours and slowly gets to her feet. “I’m doing it.” She is hunched over and wavering badly on her feet, almost too spent to stand.

“More attitude?” Pascal is annoyed that the rope doesn’t quite seem to be the forceful weapon he thought it would be. True, she sucked his cock but she’d been badly weakened and scared and powerfully stimulated as well. She might have done it even without the lasso’s influence. He wasn’t sure and didn’t know that much about it. Truth be told, he feared it. It seemed an uncertainty in his world and he demanded order in all things. But there were steps he could and would take to bring his full final plan to fruition. And he was about to do just...

Her mighty uppercut came out of nowhere. Launched from her crouching position that he’d thought was a stance close to exhaustion, it had been a ruse. Her balled fist connected with his gut in a stunning blow that knocked him backward three steps, bent over and gasping for air. And then the end of the lasso was out of his hand, yanked from his grip like a new toy by the school bully. It wasn’t the first time that had happened in his life. It was why he sought control in adulthood. He had become the bully he’d once feared to offset the shame of the four-eyed, pocket-protector-wearing prey he’d been throughout his early years.

But now his toy was gone and Wonder Woman was tossing it his way. She’d already made a loop and it was soaring through the air right at him. And he was too out of breath and stunned to do anything. The lasso fell over his shoulders and she snared him in it tightly.
“Straighten up and then stand still!” She commands loudly, drawing herself up to her full height, pulling up the remains of her bustier to cover her breasts and walking boldly up to her adversary with a gleam of triumph in her eyes at last. It had been a long time coming. Thank goodness her belt had finally surged enough to act.

End of Part 20

[kingles]

This is really great writing. I actually read most of this at one sitting, because I couldn't stop reading it...but then I had to get some sleep because it was 6am. Now that I've completely caught up I figured I make a comment on it.

Some of this has been slightly more graphic than I'd prefer, but nothing major. If anything it's your complete attention to detail that is responsible for that. Since it is also that same attention to detail that has helped make this so good, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. There is literally not a single thing in this entire story that doesn't make sense or isn't explained. Most important, as Tallyho said above...it's INTERESTING. Anyway, it looks like Pascal has run into a bit of difficulty. Will WW triumph...or at least escape? Or will she end up like her fellow heroines? I don't know...but I look forward to finding out!

[DrDominator9]

Thank you Tallyho and Kingles for your most effusive praise. It's my pleasure to write and when I get such positive feedback, it certainly motivates me to write more.

Anyway, I'm busy working on the next chapter and hope to have this full story finished up by the end of April, possibly sooner if I can.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 21

Standing in front of the Frenchman, Wonder Woman vents her anger and frustration at him. He merely stands there watching her mouth move in a violent snarl.

“You are a despicable human being, Pascal. Perverting the value of science for your own gains. Killing innocent young women. Destroying anything of value that comes into your sphere. How do you live with yourself?”

“I let my hatred of you and my need for revenge keep me warm at night, Wonder Woman. The injustice you visited upon my sister evens all scores in my book.”

“Well it doesn’t in mine, Frenchy! Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“As you wish.”

Pascal turns so rapidly and so unexpectedly that Wonder Woman is completely surprised. His hands, behind his back, as she commanded strike her hard, his balled fists smashing like two cannonballs into her breasts from both sides.

“GUUUUNHHH!”

Wonder Woman arches backward in agony, dropping her end of the lasso and reeling away, off to the side, clutching her breasts with both hands and groaning in pain. The belt hadn’t given her nearly as much energy as she had thought and she’d used up too much of it by yanking the lasso away from Pascal and then ensnaring him and venting at him with her all too precious energy reserves. With no mind at the end of the rope to command him, Pascal easily slips the golden lasso over his head and tosses it aside onto a low storage shelf, out of the way for now.

He shudders as he looks at the coiled golden circle lying there.

“I really do hate that nasty thing.” Even being subjected to its effects for a short time, he realized he’d been wrong about it’s effectiveness. His willpower through the magic lasso definitely had Wonder Woman sucking his cock. Even for the moments it was around him, he felt that whatever she had said should be followed. It was important to do what the holder of the rope wanted. Critical. The fact that Wonder Woman hadn’t been specific about how quickly he could turn and how savagely he could thrust his hands behind him had been a terrible oversight for the Amazon. One would think so many years of using that despicable magic rope would have taught her a thing or two about being more specific in her commands. Maybe everything he’d subjected her to throughout the evening had thrown her off her game.

All his conjecture took place in mere seconds and as he looked over at Wonder Woman, he saw her leaning against a metal shelf of gallon-sized chemical containers. She was rubbing her breasts, her head bent forward and seemingly fighting nausea. She was gulping spastically, trying to fight the rising gorge it seemed.

But Rene was wary of her. She was very tricky and you couldn’t take anything for granted about her actions. He respected her for that. It was one of the only character traits she had that he did respect. In fact, she was still way too tricky for his liking. He would have to dose her heavily again with his neural inhibitors. They seemed to have worn off for the most part. Thank goodness the drugs in the enema stick were good for another six hours or more.

Guardedly, Pascal walks near her, pulling his small knife from the pocket of his suit jacket. He flips it open and it locks in place: a 5" blade.

“Let us tango, cunt. You no longer have your precious lasso and I am guessing you have used up a lot of your strength for now.”

Wonder Woman looks up at Pascal with a mix of anger and frustration. She’d had him dead to rights and she had made a grievous tactical error. Now they were back to physical confrontation and mind games. And with her system inundated with chemicals, she was at a definite disadvantage. Still, she’d fought longer odds before and prevailed. She had to be careful, somehow take him out quickly. If it weren’t for the nausea, she’d even feel like she had a decent chance. But all the physical abuse she’d sustained since she’d arrived had taken its toll. Along with the chemicals surging through her system, she was fighting lightheadedness and a queasiness from over-extending herself for so long. Her body was in revolt for everything she’d put it through. And now she was in a knife fight.

“I still have enough strength to deal with a lightweight like you, Pascal.”

“Big talk from a woman who can barely keep her teats covered up.”

They circle each other carefully, Pascal searching for thrusting opportunities, Wonder Woman trying to calculate her counterstrike options. When Pascal lunges forward with a hard jabbing thrust of his blade, Wonder Woman easily blocks it with her bracelet and swings her leg up to strike at his head. She’s too slow to connect and they continue to face off against each other. Another thrust by Pascal and another parry by Wonder Woman. But she is feeling queasy again as her energy reserves are almost all tapped out. When Pascal feints a third thrust, Wonder Woman throws a high kick at his wrist and shockingly he drops the knife completely and grabs her ankle, stepping into her and lifting her right leg up high. Off balance, the mighty Amazon takes a series of four short right jabs to her face from Pascal that snaps her head sideways, stops all thoughts, bloodies her nose, splits her lip and smashes into her eye. Dazed and defenseless, Wonder Woman sways in place, her arms hanging heavily at her sides, only held up by Pascal’s grip on her ankle and his hand on the front of her bustier. Once again it has been pulled down around her waist and Wonder Woman’s breasts are exposed.

“Are you not getting tired of losing to me, cherie?”

Her eyelids heavy, her expression dulled by pain and fatigue, the mighty Wonder Woman sags in Pascal’s hold. He smiles at her, bends down and picks up his knife from the storage room floor. Then he backs her up to a wall and pins her there.

“I think it is time to alter your costume, cherie. I don’t think you’re showing enough skin.”

Helpless, a dazed and beaten Wonder Woman, her face bruised and battered lifts one dreary eyebrow and mutters a dumbstruck “Whuhh?”

The mighty Amazon warrior slouches in the grip of the delighted French professor, her naked tit palmed firmly in his right hand as her booted ankle is held up high in his left. Balancing on one leg, her face bloodied, her lip split in two places, and her eyes blurry with fatigue, Wonder Woman is in very bad shape. She gives Pascal a trembling sneer but there’s nothing behind it to back up the contempt. She feels physically spent.

“I do not know whether to give you credit for your valor, Wonder Woman, or blame you for your incredible stupidity not to realize that you’ve been beaten.”

“...prefer...the credit...”

Pascal slowly squeezes the firm flesh of her heavy breast with a casual, possessive familiarity that fills Wonder Woman with shame. Her bloody lower lip drips onto her chin as her assailant’s fingertips dimple into her breast, creating white stress points as he works her bared chest with haughty impunity. Her left eye is half closed from the punches and her head circles heavily on her tired neck.

Pascal smiles at her in a way that conveys not a scintilla of warmth or concern. “But of course you would like me to think the best of you. Nevertheless, I think I am going to have to go with stupidity, cherie. I mean, a superheroine with her tit being fondled and her face a battered mess from her foe with no hope left in sight; what in heaven do you think will happen here that will save the day?”

“Your stupidity.”

The sudden power surge from Wonder Woman’s belt couldn’t come at a more opportune time. Her eyes brighten and her muscles fill with renewed vigor. Pascal sees it a fraction of a second too late. She twists violently in his grip, her breast yanking free of his right hand, her ankle pulling out of his left. She is free of him as her leg drops to the floor and she turns halfway to him. She jolts out her hip with a vicious thrust, knocking him back several steps.

Taking advantage of the distance, she snaps a stiff boot heel to her adversary’s chest and enjoys the sound of his harsh grunt as he falls backward onto his rear end, in wide-eyed shock and pain. A mule-like kick from an Amazon was no small thing. Even a depleted Amazon on her last reserve demanded respect and wariness and cunning responses. And Pascal would be sure to give her all that just as soon as he steadied himself. His palms spread against the floor, bolstering him as he slouches with the back of his head almost touching the floor as he tries to gather his senses and breath.

Wonder Woman watches her stunned adversary with great satisfaction as she pulls up her bustier with both hands, covering the bottom halves of her large breasts, and unrolling the frayed hem of it to cover as much of her deep cleavage as the tight material will allow.

Damn this bitch. I’ve been too easy on...

The left cross from Wonder Woman arcs down from overhead and slams into his cheek and drives Pascal flat to the floor. His eyes glaze over, his equilibrium gone with a wave of dizziness. All thoughts are nullified for the moment.

“UUUNNGHH!”

“Underestimate me at your peril, Frenchman. You will find me no hothouse rose that needs special care and concern. I am a wild rose with sharp thorns that protect me from greedy fingers like yours. They’ll be no plucking of this beauty for you, Pascal!”

“...nasty cunt....will teach you manners yet...” gasps out Pascal, glaring up at her from under furled eyebrows, his blonde hair hanging in his eyes, disheveled and sweaty.

“It’s time for us to see the police, Pascal. You have three heroines to answer for and I mean to see you serve your time in a cage for the rest of your life.” Reaching down, Wonder Woman grabs the dazed and bleary scientist by the collar and hoists him to his feet, commanding him simultaneously, “Get up!”

“I swear to you, there will be no cage for me, Princess,” hisses Pascal as he is roughly straightened up in place despite his wobbling knees and uncertain stance.

“Were it not for my own code of honor, doctor, I’d just as soon guide your private tour through Hades’ realm and leave you to him in his eager hands, forever tortured. Stand up straight, you miserable cur. I am no leaning post!”

Slumping against Wonder Woman’s side, the slack Frenchman suddenly swings his elbow up, his right forearm fiercely driving upward. The knife he’d retrieved from the floor and hidden from her view with his body jolts harshly into the unwary beauty’s left side and she grunts in surprise and pain.

“GHUNNNHH!”

The wide-eyed heroine falters in place, stunned at the sudden turn of events, glancing down in disbelief. She sees the knife yanked out and, unreasoning and dazed, watches with other-worldly disengagement as it immediately plunges into her same side again, four inches to the side of the original wound, just over the top edge of her magic girdle.

“HUUNNHHH!”

And now it is Wonder Woman wavering weakly against a stronger, steadier Pascal. Her left hand releases the grip on his collar and falls down his back to hang loosely in place. Her body hangs against his briefly, her taller height heavy against him, her chin on his shoulder. Then he pushes her away from him and takes a step back. Wonder Woman’s knees give way completely and she pitches forward to the floor, badly wounded from two severe stab wounds.

"No bracelets fast enough to protect you from that serpent’s bite, eh, sweet thing?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh...." the long moan of pain from the prostrated heroine is muffled as her face is pressed against the cold concrete. And her sweat makes the coldness all the more real. The mighty Amazon is truly helpless at Pascal's feet now. There will be no more heroic comebacks from her. She is lost in a fog of pain, confusion and trembling, spastic fear.

Pascal kneels down beside the limp, groaning female warrior and turns her over. Her arms flop like a broken marionette. Her face glows with a sheen of beaded sweat as harsh lines in her grimacing face erase all beauty for now. Her face, framed with raven black hair, is taut with agony, her eyes wild with surprise and fear.

"Yes, Wonder Woman. No one cages me. But you, you will feel the full strength of unbreakable restraints that will bend this lovely body of yours to my every desire. I will open you like a flower, my pretty prize, and yes, pluck you exactly as I wish. This was ever so ordained and will be carried forth despite what you wish for, no matter how loudly you pray to your gods, whatever you plead, your voice might just as well be silent for you will not be heard. Will not be answered. Will not be spared. This is my vow to you. My Marie demands it!"

"Ohhhhhh," It is all the moaning Wonder Woman can manage as she is dragged to her feet and swung hard against the wall, her back thumping against it first and then her head. Her beautiful blue eyes are dull with pain and bereft of intelligence for now. At her side, the blood from two nasty knife wounds steadily drips down her hip and then falls to the cement floor, spotting it with tiny novas of exploding red suns. And each and every impact of those fiery red drops further drains the famous heroine of her strength, her will, her courage.

"So, I was just about to exercise a bit of fundamentally embarrassing costume redesign before we were so rudely interrupted. Let us get to that, shall we?"


* * *

When Sal and Jimmy finally arrive in the large open space of the warehouse, they see tables with leather straps, overturned benches, debris and other signs of conflict. Realizing the place is deserted, they holster their guns and look around at all the chaos around them.

“This looks like the place where Destiny and Battle Axe went at it,” says Abato. “She sure didn’t give up without a fight, that’s for sure. But I don’t see any blood around. And you don’t cut a guy in half without it being pretty fucking messy, so the question is, was anyone else here besides those two who cleaned up after the fact? Like the registered owner of this place, Rene Pascal?”

“It’s possible I guess,” Jimmy replies. “I’ll have a look around and see if there’s anything that proves he was here when it went down.”

“Yeah, we got a circumstantial connection so far, but it is pretty strong. Of course, he could have just let Battle Axe use his place. That big guy is still our prime suspect in the killings. I don’t see some professor being able to take out three super-powered heroines. Let’s see what we find.”

“Sure thing. Meanwhile you can tell me who Wonder Woman really is.”

“Not going to happen, Jimmy,” scowls Sal. “Keep your eye on the ball and let’s solve this case, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” murmurs Glendennan who wanders over to the bondage table and scans it for remnants of fabric or hair. “We should probably have the lab guys come in here and go over this place with a fine tooth comb.”

“Absolutely, right after we see if there’s anything obvious to follow up on,” answers Sal who eyes the huge dent in the sidewall and shakes his head.
What the hell went down here? And who were the parties involved?

End of Part 21

[Void]

I enjoyed this. I'm normally not a huge fan of stories in the present tense, but I think it works really well here and it actually makes me reconsider staying away from it. The sense that the heroines' captures are happening right now makes each scene more exciting and uncomfortable (in a good way) - I think because we're following it as it happens, moment by moment. I like that the story has layers to it and seems to be following an overarching plan, and it drew me in more as I read it. Its intense, committed stuff, and I think you did it well - I really enjoyed each defeat and the dark, seemingly inevitable end to each heroine. Don't normally go in for full-on defeat where the heroine struggles in futility right to her death, but I like the way you did/do it. Overall it reads very well - it didn't make me feel like I was reading, which makes any story infinitely more immersive for me.

Also quite like Pascal; he's a nasty piece of work and he is very well realised throughout the story. I'm quite good at reading the meta in a story and predicting where the narrative will go, but I honestly don't know if you plan for Pascal to ultimately win or ultimately lose... Looking forward to finding out, though!

[DrDominator9]

I want to thank everyone who has written a response to this story. Your feedback is very helpful and most gratifying.

Void and Tallyho, particularly, your recently voiced opinions mean a lot, inasmuch as I respect both of you and your work so much.

I encourage all who read this and enjoy it to drop me a quick note and let me know if there are positive or negative attributes that particularly affect you. I know this story is too dark for some but I'm trying not to make the violence gratuitous, merely the result of an obsessed mind. (Oh that would be Pascal's mind, not mine. I ...er...don't think so, anyway. )



Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 22

Wonder Woman sags inertly against the wall as Pascal grasps her hair in a clump with his left hand and holds her in place. Her palms hang listlessly at her sides as the whites of her eyes show prominently. Her blue irises have slid far up under her lids and the famous Amazon is slack jawed in confusion from the beating she’s been handed and the stabbing she’s suffered.

Pascal’s right hand wields a knife, it’s blade almost completely covered in his palm. Pushing his hand between the slippery sheen of her breasts, Wonder Woman’s leering foe slowly slides his fist into the ample cleavage of the slouching raven-haired heroine. When he reaches her sternum, Pascal then carefully works the blade forward, pressing it against the fabric from the inside. The razor-sharp blade easily pokes through the red satin and then, turning his wrist slightly, the smiling Frenchman slowly draws the knife upward toward the uncomprehending Wonder Woman’s face.

The glinting steel edge catches the light as it makes its way up toward the ragged top of the famous bustier. The fabric falls off to both sides, moving away from the blade as it rends the costume into a split and useless mess. Sliced down the middle, from her upper rib cage up, the garment is now completely incapable of supporting the large fleshy globes within. They bounce free and clear, bobbing and swaying in the open air. The full, wide waist of the bustier keeps the garment from falling off the statuesque body, but the fabric flaps wide open, draping off to both sides to reveal the amazon’s statuesque figure in all its glory. Pascal’s eyes gleam with delight.

“This tawdry costume is nothing but a sad remnant of your once glorious history, Wonder Woman. I have damaged it as badly as I have damaged you. It is only fitting that it should be treated as a pathetic scrap, a suit of rags that identifies you as the conquered champion you now are.”

“Uuughnnnnn... whazzat? Whut?” The Champion of All Woman feels even woozier from the wounds she’s sustained as well as the enema stick suffusing her body with a cornucopia of drugs that draws her strength out of her like a drain tube out of a boil. She sags lower against the wall and Pascal has to lift her up by the hair to keep her knees from touching the cement floor.

“Stand up, you pathetic slut. I know you have it in you somewhere. You are supposed to be a hero, right?”

“...thought....so....”

Pascal’s eyebrows lift instantly at this surprising admission from the beautiful woman sagging heavily in his grip. His eyes narrow, searching to see if she’s trying to trick him but the frowning mouth and the defeat in her pain-filled eyes tells him he’s reached the moment of his dream. Wonder Woman is defeated and in his grasp.

“Well, you obviously thought wrong, bitch.” He gives her a hard backhand slap that knocks her face sideways with a jerk. “Now stand up, you pathetic skank. I am going to teach you a long-deserved lesson in humility and you are damn well going to learn it for good!”

With her ass pressed against the wall to keep herself from sliding down its cool cement surface, Wonder Woman’s legs try to straighten out so she can rise up and reclaim some measure of dignity. Trembling calves strain and shake until she is able to slowly push herself up by her wobbling legs and straining palms so that her eyes at least even with Pascal’s. Though she’s taller than he is in her heels, she can’t push herself any higher and wearily looks straight into the smirking Frenchman’s face.

“You’ll be...caught...Pascal...” she says, her eyes heavy as the drugs and all the effort to stand steadily draw down her reserves.

“That very well may be. But not by you, Wonder Woman. You are going to join your little friends in the ‘I’m a Dead Ass-Fucked Heroine’ Club. No better off than them. No smarter. No less humiliated. Probably more humiliated, I would say since you have not put up nearly the fight I had expected from you. You are about to be shown to be nothing more than an over-rated cock jockey. I will be showing the world just how weak-willed and slutty you actually are, cherie. It will be quite a show!”

“Wh...what are you...planning, Pascal?”

Just a little private showing of the famous Champion of All Women taking a cock in each and every hole – one by one – and loving every minute of it. I would imagine just a few interested parties would be eager to see that, yes? Perhaps a few million paying for the right to view it via the Internet.”

“No! You...you...can’t...wouldn’t....”

“Wouldn’t? You do not know me very well, mon cherie. But of course I would. You do realize that I have been planning this for years, no?”

“Devil’s spawn! You’ll not succ....EEEEYAAGGHH!”

Wonder Woman’s effort to surge forward and strike his face is stunted instantly by a set of jabbing fingertips to her knife wounds that have her doubled over and shrieking in agony. Her eyes tear up and drop salty diamonds onto the floor as she gasps and shakes, bent over in front of Pascal, both hands clutching her side.

“That was quite stupid of you, hero. Did you really think I would not anticipate your foolish bravado? And why would I not, especially since I so blatantly coaxed it from you? I am four chess moves ahead of you at every step, Wonder Woman. Do you not yet comprehend this simple fact?”

“...you.........egotistical...little....UUUNNGHH!”

The short hard jabbing fist to her sternum jolts the Amazon princess backward hard against the wall, butting her head there and stunning her into silence.

“Stand still, you dumb cunt. I am the one teaching you a lesson. The student does not talk while the lesson is in progress. The student learns by listening and obeying, yes?”

The knife suddenly at her jugular has the panting Wonder Woman wide-eyed and tensely obedient.

“Yes,” she replies softly.

“Good,” smiles Pascal. “Now I believe it is time to shred your dignity completely.”

Her eyes bulging, Wonder Woman watches in horror as the razor sharp point of the knife in Pascal’s hand moves slowly down her neck and through the wide passage of her sweaty cleavage until it passes across her midriff. It is there that the point catches against the remaining fabric of her bustier. His other hand gently pulls out the fabric as the knife edge easily slices the smooth, shiny red material asunder. The bustier is sliced all the way to her belly button, parting her tunic like Moses parted the Red Sea. Only the very thinnest band of tight red satin clings to her body. And Wonder Woman’s famous top now hangs from her torso like a frayed and tattered rag. The golden eagle is gone. The taut fabric is now crumpled in sagging disarray about her hips. It drapes loosely over her thighs, a mortifying symbol of her utter defeat. Her hands are fisted at her hips as the Amazon hangs her head in disgrace. Her panting breaths of fear and anguish create a fast rising and falling symphony of shame even as the mighty curves of her naked breasts quiver and tremble under Pascal’s self-satisfied stare.

“Now that is how an Amazon should be displayed. Teats showing, head hung low, the very picture of humiliation.”

“...so help me...” murmurs Wonder Woman.

The crack of his backhand against Diana’s face knocks her sideways and she falls down to one knee, her cheek blazing with the slap, her eyes widened by absolute shock as she looks up from her crouching stumble.

“Mind your tongue, whelp. I will tell you when you can speak to me.”

“I am no man’s whelp and will speak as I pl...UUNNNHH!”

The hilt of the knife cracking down on the crown of Wonder Woman’s head knocks her to all fours. She wobbles there before Pascal on the storeroom floor in a stunned daze from the blow, moaning softly and trying not to collapse further.

“A slow student indeed. What’s the expression? ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’ Well, I will not be accused of being too lenient in my teaching regimen.” With that, Pascal gives the tottering Amazon another harsh crack on the top of her head. The beauty collapses to her elbows with her wide rear end raised high in the air.

“....uuuuugghhhnnnnnnnnn...” Too foggy and confused to do anything but moan and keep from falling face forward into unconsciousness, the mighty Wonder Woman doesn’t even realize that Pascal is circling around behind her. She is certainly too out of it to prevent him from grasping her butt cheek, pulling away a generous stretch of blue spandex and slicing a neat crescent in her briefs that reveals the pink crease of her right butt cheek as the material snaps back in place. He casually repeats the maneuver with her other buttock and Wonder Woman is far too dazed to fend off the second rending of her famous white-starred briefs. Pascal surveys the effect and is most pleased with the ample half-moons exposed through the famous heroine’s costume panties. With those rents along with the ragged hole created by the acid, Pascal has an unimpeded view of every inch of Wonder Woman’s nether charms. From fatty labial lips to puckered anus, the Champion of All Women has no secrets left to hide before the triumphant Frenchman. It’s all his to survey at his pleasure and with the mighty Amazon wavering before him on her elbows, her mind stunned into incoherence, Pascal admires it all with a surging flow of satisfaction.

“My sweet Marie. See how I have reduced the famous Amazon to a helpless, teetering turtle, about to be turned on its shell. Your vengeance is very near, my sister. So very near.”

* * *

Jimmy Glendennan wanders over to a six-foot long workbench along a side wall. There are rings from bottles spotting the wood grain in many places along the length of the table. Some are stains from long ago while others seem still fairly recent. Jimmy bends down and sniffs the tabletop.

“These stains seem pretty new, Sal. It smells pretty strong all around here but I don’t have a clue as to what he was using.”

“We’ll have to leave that to the lab guys,” Abato replies, searching through the stacks of pallets 25 feet away for clues. “Maybe it’ll be a chemical that ties it into the deaths of one of those heroines. That’ll be another link in the evidence chain.”

Suddenly peering down at the cement floor of the huge warehouse, Abato sees a shining dark brown spot between his shoes. He kneels down and examines it closely. He dabs at it with his finger and brings it toward his face to sniff.

“Chocolate? And some kind of chemical after-scent. This case is getting stranger and... hello, what’s this?”

Pulling a piece of heavily folded paper from under the edge of a pallet, the big detective straightens out the paper and reads it slowly. After a moment, a smile forms on his face.

“It looks like our friend Battle Axe did have a helper,” Abato says, walking over toward Glendennan and waving the heavily-creased paper in the air. “But I don’t think it’s this guy Pascal at all. He may just be some dupe that Axe had under his thumb. Let’s get out of here, Jimmy. We’ve got to go down to Alexandria and see a Mr. Parsons.”

“Virginia? Jeez, Sal, even on a Sunday afternoon that could take us over an hour.”

“Even so, we gotta go. This guy could break the case wide open for us.”

“What have you got there?” Jimmy reaches for the paper that Sal hands over to him. His eyes scans the sheet and he looks up after reading and lets out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a hell of a thing. I guess we’re going to Alexandria,” the Irishman says, handing the paper back to his partner. “Should I call the lab guys in to scope this place?”

“Let’s move on this now. If this Parsons guy can’t give us the answers then we can spend the taxpayers dollars. For now, we’ll play it close to the vest,” Sal suggests.

“That works for me.” Jimmy looks around. “Boy, these super hero guys sure play rough.”

“And so do their enemies, it seems. Let’s roll, partner.”

The two detectives head out of the cavernous space and back through the maze until they reach the front door. Closing it with a hard shove so that the warped frame finally lets the metal door screech into place, Sal Abato then gets into the car across the street and the team drives away towards Alexandria at a brisk speed.

* * *

Wonder Woman is on her back on the floor of the storeroom in Rene Pascal’s basement. She is dazed and barely conscious as her gleaming breasts jut upward with gravity-defying firmness and shape. Pascal’s palms are smoothing the last few drops of the chemical neural inhibitor into her soft warm skin. The electrical inhibitor had already been liberally applied and he is now putting the finishing touch of his plan into action.

His carefully-gloved hands slide easily over the surface of the massive jugs, encompassing them in a greasy coating of mind-numbing toxins that will reduce the intelligence and reaction time of the famous heroine to near-moronic levels. The Frenchman hums his country’s national anthem as he gleefully squeezes, fondles and caresses the full rounded forms of the Amazon’s amazing figure with impunity, smearing her chest until it shines in the lights even as the light of her own courage and unique character is snuffed out in her bright blue eyes.

“.....ohhhhhhhh....” A long soft groan floats from the badly-compromised beauty, her eyes open slowly, heavy with the effort required. “...please...no...more...” she whimpers.

“Hush, my angel. I am nearly done here.”

Pascal gives Wonder Woman’s breasts one final sweeping pass and ends with a quick harsh compression of both her nipples so that her back arches up with a mewling squeak of pain.

“There. That takes care of those famous melons of yours, Wonder Woman. Now I just have a bit of special ointment to apply to your precious little pussy and then we can move on to the next stage of my experiment.”

“...doc...tor....pashcal....I...ask you....for common...deeshency...to stop....this....”

“Oh, you mean like the decency you never showed when my sister was dying right before you all those years ago.” Angered by his memories, he backhands Wonder Woman with his fisted right hand. The hard shot knocks her head against the floor and her eyes slide up into her head in a groggy faint.

Reaching around and under the prone heroine’s waist, Pascal takes hold of her body and hoists her up until her limp upper body hangs over his left shoulder. He is surprised that the six-foot Amazon is this light. With all her strength, he expected her to be more substantial.

Carrying her backward several feet, Pascal sets down the dazed and depleted heroine against a steel shelving unit. The raven-haired head falls forward, chin to her chest while Pascal maneuvers her figure into place even as she sags against his tall muscular physique in helpless fatigue. The French scientist lifts up Wonder Woman’s limp arms and efficiently wraps her two upraised wrists to the shelves’ support rod. Screeching bands of silvery duct tape are circled around the steel support rod, the limp wrists and the wide Feminum bracelets until Pascal is sure there is enough tape to keep her secure.

“Decency? You would talk to me of decency, cunt, when you showed none to my Marie?”

“...never met your sister...” she mutters dully.

Pascal’s left fist grabs a clump of Wonder Woman’s hair, pulling her face up so her eyes look into his. He then delivers a stinging slap to her cheek that brings a spark of pain to the Amazon’s eyes even as it snaps her awareness back into focus.

“Bitch!” He screams at his captive. “That is a lie. I was there that night. I saw everything. But you didn’t know that did you? You thought you got away with murder. But you didn’t, Amazon. I saw everything. And I vowed to make you pay dearly for your inaction. You and every superheroine who claims to fight for the helpless. You are all hypocrites and I am here to tell you that you don’t fool me with your holier-than-thou act. I have seen through it. Yours and all the rest. And tonight the world will come to know as I do just what a fraud you and your types are.”

The tightly bound wrists of the mighty Wonder Woman writhe and twist within the confining bands of silver tape but she is too weakened and there are far too many coils of the heavy tape keeping her arms pinned above her. As she feebly strains and pulls in frustration, Pascal reaches down with both hands and pulls her thighs apart. The hole in her star-spangled briefs displays all her feminine assets to him. He pulls a small atomizer from his pocket but before he can spray her crotch, Wonder Woman has closed her thighs and now squeezes them tightly together.

“...you will not...defile me...Frenchman....”

“I most certainly will, you stupid slut. And you will come to love it and beg for it.”

“...never...”

“Right now actually.”

Pascal’s left hand stretches out and his palm, covered in clear tight latex, caresses the crusted stab wounds on her right side. He begins to squeeze them and the heroine gasps with pain as the scabbed skin twists in his palms and fresh blood oozes out under his hand.

“Aghhh!”

“Open your legs, Wonder Woman.”

“...please....” she whimpers, her head tilted back, her eyes pleading at his cool gaze. There’s no humanity to be seen there.

“Open them up, Amazon,” he says icily.

Fresh tears well up and the clenched teeth and panting breaths do nothing against this pain. So slowly, helplessly, Wonder Woman spreads her thighs for her foe. She is unable to resist his cruel measures. She plants her feet apart on the cement floor, her face hanging low, her eyes closed in shame.

“Keep them open or suffer so much more, mon cherie,” he adds, bending to whisper in her ear. Then he sprays her crotch three times with the aphrodisiac-imbued lubricant. She cringes away even as his hand smears and caresses her pussy, rubbing the slippery oil all over and around her rubbery lips and into her thick black pubic bush.

When his gloved fingers caress the inner folds of her labia and stay to press against her there, the Amazon lets out a breathy gasp and turns her head even further away from the smirking face close to hers.

“Feeling less than heroic, Wonder Woman? Perhaps a surging rush of shame at how easily I have bested you?”

“...just my body...”

“And what a body it is for me to play with, mademoiselle.” His hands caress all through her privates as he speaks to her, the smooth latex-clad fingertips loitering about her folds, slipping into her hole, tickling her clit and finally fingering her anus. “One of the most sought after and cherished bodies in the world, I would have to say. The pride of the Amazons. The great Princess Diana. The greatest of all women in the world!”

“...never claimed that...” She looks him in the eye even as his fingers twiddle between her legs.

“Perhaps not, Princess, but you did claim a royal heritage and all the honors and entitlements that come with it. So in my humble opinion, I believe it is only right that I take that royal aura you flaunt and reduce it to ashes in your mouth.”

“...you know... nothing of honor...Pascal...”

“I know that you will have absolutely none left when I am finished with you.” Pascal peels off the gloves he’s been wearing to protect him from the potent chemicals with which he’s doused Wonder Woman’s body. He tosses them over the edge of garbage barrel. “And to start, I believe this symbol of your honor will serve my purpose nicely.”

Wonder Woman’s eyes go wide with alarm when Pascal’s hands rise up to reach for her face, only to pass above it and take hold of her tiara.

“No!” She gasps even as the curved metal headpiece is pulled from her hair with a sudden tug.

“I would have this for myself for a bit, Wonder Woman. But don’t worry. I will return with it shortly and present it back to you in a new and wonderful form.”

“...what...no...my tiara....wait...do not....do this.....”

Pascal rises and turns and strides off out of the room, leaving the distraught Amazon to yank and pull and curse at the silver tape binding her arms above her head, securing them tightly to the shelving unit. She twists and pulls and whines in sheer desperation until her hair is a wild tangle, her eyes are moist with desperate tears and her naked oily breasts bounce and jiggle and heave with the anguished cries of a heroine in peril.


* * *

Steve Trevor paces his office, distressed and confused. What was going on with Diana? The last time he spoke with her it was to inform her about Destiny’s death. She seemed quite upset about it but Diana hadn’t lost her professional edge. She even said she’d be going down to the scene where Destiny was found to look around. That was hours ago though. Steve thought back to their conversation. He recalled he said he’d give her a call when Interpol contacted him. That hadn’t happened yet. Glancing over at the fax machine, Steve is surprised to see a paper lying in the “Out” tray. He walks over and picks up the fax. It’s from Interpol!

“When the hell did this come in?” He looks at the time stamp on the top edge of the sheet. Almost two hours ago! “Where the hell was I?” Remembering his bran muffin, the young IADC agent’s face reddens. “Oh, hell. I’d better call Diana about this.”

Scanning the names on the list, Trevor doesn’t recognize any familiar names. Diana would know though if something popped out. He dials her cell phone number but it goes directly to her voice mail. That happens when her phone is stuck in an alternate reality with her Diana Prince clothing.

“Hi Diana, it’s Steve. I hope everything is okay. You seemed upset when we talked about Destiny. Anyway, I finally got that list from Interpol we were waiting for. I don’t recognize any names there but you’re a lot closer to this case than I am. Call me back when you get this and we’ll go over it. I will also send a fax over to the D.C. police to those two detectives. Keep your chin up, Diana, I know you’ll solve this case. You always do, champ. Call me back.”

Feeding the sheet face down back into the fax, Steve checks the Frequently Called List taped to the wall and sends the fax from Interpol to the DC police number. It is one of a rare few faxes that collects in the machine’s ‘Out’ tray on a Sunday at the DC headquarters. It will be reviewed and sent to the proper department according to the procedure manual every three hours according to the Sunday rules stipulation. Since the case detectives are on their way to Alexandria, they won’t be alerted to Pascal Research LLC being on the list until it’s far too late to be of value.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Steve Trevor, Diana Prince has solved the case and knows the exact identity of the superheroine serial killer. She has tracked him down on this quiet Sunday afternoon and confronted him as Wonder Woman. And she has suffered terribly for her over-confidence. Even now, Rene Pascal has reduced the mighty Amazon heroine to a lethargic, befuddled shell of herself. Dripping blood from two painful stab wounds that have only scabbed over due to her magic belt providing a small semblance of healing power, the Champion of All Women is leaning heavily against a steel shelf helpless to protect her body in any way. Her knees drape awkwardly apart, the toes of her boots pointed in opposite directions. Her modesty is now only protected by the draping sliced fabric of her ruined bustier. But the heroine is barely aware of that. For now, her eyes flutter underneath twitching lids.

An incredibly potent enema stick has filled her circulatory system with a powerful mixture of drugs that weaken her muscles, drain her energies and sap her will. In addition to the now-dissolved anal suppository rendering her impotent, Wonder Woman’s breasts glimmer from the sheen of her foe’s ingenious neural inhibitors. Applied by roaming gloved hands all over and around her renowned, bountiful breasts, the electrical and chemical agents even now have sped to the heroine’s synapses in her brain and have begun slowing the signals that jump from neuron to neuron. Wonder Woman’s uncanny powers and intelligence have been severely stunted by the Frenchman’s brilliant plan. She is now too drained, too slow, too disoriented to defend herself against her coldly methodical foe.

Even now, as her belt sends a new surge of strength through her statuesque figure, Wonder Woman’s brain has been too infused with the inhibitors to be cognizant of how to apply that strength in a concerted effort to break out of the countless bands of duct tape binding her arms to the shelving unit overhead. Her uncoordinated jerks and twists along with her befuddled kicking and straining of her boots on the cement floor fail to produce anything more than a frustrated whine of despair from the raven-haired beauty. Her wounds close up more and stop dripping but that is about all that is accomplished by the latest surge from the god-given belt.

“...by Zeus’ thingy....this man has....bested me.......a...lot...” Wonder Woman mumbles and sags against the shelf as the belt’s surge dims to a memory and her weakness returns all too quickly. “...I’m not....better than....any of those....other girls...Pas..cal...he’s....right.... I...am.... the ...same....or.....worse....” A long heavy moan of despair pours out of Wonder Woman as the truth settles in her brain as clearly as if she were bound by her lasso.

“Oh, I would say worse, mon cherie,” Pascal says heartily as he reenters the large basement storeroom. “Much worse. True, you showed some good spirit at points throughout our little experiment here, but in terms of strategy and inventiveness, you were a disappointing failure. Your other fuck toy friends showed me much more interesting moves.”

“Wha...izzat...behind...yur back....?”

“This old thing? Oh it is nothing really. Just a little trinket symbolizing your former glory.” Pascal takes the item held behind him and thrusts it before the dull-eyed Wonder Woman’s face. The eyes open up, growing wider and wider by the second as the horror of what he’s done fills Diana’s mind. Her own tiara, the very crown of her Themysciran birthright, wavers before her eyes in the hands of her enemy, bent in half with it’s red jewel jutting outward from the crumpled metal setting.

“...my...tiara...bent it...but....but....how...that’s...impossible? How....how...did...you...do this....?”

“It was not easy, I admit. This is a very strong metal,” Pascal says shaking the damaged crown in Wonder Woman’s face with begrudging respect for the item even as he taunts her. “My power vise almost blew it’s motor in the process, but once the metal fatigue reached the max point, that was pretty much it. Your symbol of Amazon power finally gave out with a shriek and folded in half at that point. Much like yourself, champion!”

Pascal chuckles and waves the ruined tiara in his adversary’s face and she turns her head away, her eyes brimming with tears. Several slide down her cheeks at the very idea of her ruined crown.

“...can’t...be...” gurgles Wonder Woman, her throat catching as her horror and her tears combine to fill her heart with despair.

“Look at me, Wonder Woman,” commands Pascal. “I want to see your defeat in those pretty blue eyes of yours.”

“...no...” she whimpers. It is too soon, too harsh a punishment to bear. Her tiara. Her body. Her strength. All crushed.

His palm suddenly under her jaw twists her head sharply to face him, and he tilts her head up and looks into her eyes. She is weeping before him, the tracks of her tears crisscrossing her cheeks. She is devastated and the fear and loss in her eyes fills the Frenchman with a rushing sense of righteous pleasure.

“Yes! I have pierced your soul today I see, Wonder Woman. I have cut a new hole in your Amazon heart that will not mend easily, if ever. The princess with her crown abused, the woman without her pretty accessory destroyed. The hero with her famous emblem reduced to scrap. Oh, I have hurt you, cherie. I have hurt you deeply.”

“...no...it’s...no....you have not....just a....just...a...thing...just a... thing....a ...a...a...bit... of old....metal...not...not...impor....tant....” She looks directly at Pascal and feigns a strength she does not feel.

“Oh, you cannot lie to me, champion. I see differently in your sad, lost and dripping eyes. Your cheeks are damp with all those tears of heartbreak. I can feel the anguish filling your chest to bursting. I know exactly what I have done to you here and I intend to do more.”

Wonder Woman tries to turn her face away but the firm grip on her jaw prevents that.

“Do you know what I mean when I say I will do more, cherie? Can you guess?”

“...something...bad...” breathes the distraught beauty, knowing she is right but not knowing what he plans.

“Bad? Who can say. It depends on one’s perspective, non? But let me not tease you, since it is wasted on you now that the intelligence in those eyes is dimming quickly. I will tell you what I am planning, cherie. I am going to cut a strip of your bustier, like so...” Pascal produces his small knife and easily cuts a generous length of the draping red material from the heroines ruined top. Her famous starred panties and her exposed genitalia are revealed again as he holds up the length of shiny red satin. “And now I’m going to wrap the two bent ends of your tiara inside this scrap of your costume until it is nicely enclosed in a cylinder of satin.” He does so swiftly with a broad smile. “We don’t want the sharp edges of you tortured tiara to slice and scrape your sensitive pussy now, do we, hero?”

“...whad’ju.....say.....what...?” Wonder Woman jaw drops as she looks up aghast at the grinning face of the tall Frenchman standing before her.

“What, didn’t you know? I’m going to fuck you with your own precious little princess crown, Wonder Woman. And with that aphrodisiac spray coating your pussy, you’re going to enjoy it very much, despite how much it sears your soul.”

“No! Please...don’t...I’m begging you...don’t do this...please....” The frantic heroine is shaking her head back and forth in desperate panic. Her hands twist and pull frantically within the restraining bands of tape overhead. Her knees clamp tightly together. Her eyes focus at last, brightened by cloying terror, on the circle of red cloth clasped in the hands of her adversary.

“My guess is that this lovely multi-faceted regal jewel of yours is going to do wonders for your clit, Wonder Woman.”

“..oh..Hera....help...me..........you can’t.....you just.....can’t....” she whimpers in cringing fear.

“Watch me, beautiful. It is happening.”

* * *

Sitting in heavy traffic on the beltway circling the nation’s capital, Sal Abato curses man and machine with equal vehemence. They would be exiting the beltway onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway in less than a mile, but until then, the traffic was barely moving.

“Too many fucking people in too many fucking cars! Look at this guy in front of us. Why does this dipshit need a huge damn Hummer, Jimmy? I ask you, does a prick like this need a goddamn Hummer to pick up a carton of milk and a jizz magazine?”

“Can’t be too careful, Sal,” Jimmy replies with an barely-contained smirk.” Don’t want to endanger your jizz mag. You gotta protect what’s yours.”

“Assholes. Both of you,” he snaps, giving his partner a cold look at the humor attempt. “I’m done with this. I’m hitting the siren. Put the bubble on, let’s get moving, we’ve got a homicide to solve.”

Reaching under the seat, Jimmy takes out the magnetic police light and sets it on the roof of the beige sedan then plugs in the wires to the specially-modified jack installed in Sal’s dashboard.

With a loud whoop of the installed siren and several flashing spins of the rooftop bubble, Sal is able to maneuver his Buick through the cars edging sideways out of his way. Getting to the shoulder of the road, the car is able to bypass some of the traffic but even with that the cars using the shoulder have to meld back onto the main road under penalty of getting a ticket from the shouting cop leaning out of his window and cursing each and every car blocking his way.

* * *

With her body pinned to the shelving unit by yards of unforgiving duct tape, Wonder Woman watches the tall Frenchman step up close to her and lean in. His hand goes immediately to her waist and gently caresses over her two wounds.

“You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, cherie?” The tall blond’s cold and quiet intimidation is daunting and Wonder Woman holds her breath as she shakes her head slowly back and forth.

It didn’t pay to challenge this man anymore. He had been two steps ahead of her at every stage of their struggle – even before she felt this fuzzy cotton ball of confusion filling her head and making her dopey and slow. Not doing what he told her to do at this point would be a bad thing.

“...nuhh...I’m not. I’m not.....gonna...do....that...”

“Excellent. You are capable of learning your place. I appreciate that quality in a woman. It makes things so much easier for us men. Now then, open your legs for me, Wonder Woman.” The scorn in Pascal’s voice when he says her name is striking and the heroine’s mouth scowls in a crease of dismay and anger that simmers in her stunted brain. Despite her feelings, she obeys.

“...uuuhhmm...okay...”

“Nice and wide, hero. I want complete and easy access to that soft, precious twat of yours.”

The beaten and demoralized Amazon warrior spreads her legs apart for her foe, taking a wide stance and making her downy bush and gleaming genitals completely available for his pleasure. The shame of having to comply to his demands along with the fear for her very life and the disorienting confusion of why she can’t think clearly anymore wears heavily on the proud Amazon and she begins to tremble and whimper openly.

“...d..d..don...don’t hurt...me....please...i....don’t want to be hurt... please...it’s not fair...”

“Hurt you? You misunderstand me completely, you stupid cow. Stop embarrassing yourself with that pathetic simpering and listen to me. I am here to give you pleasure. Pleasure beyond your control.”

“...but...i...don’t....want that...” sniffs Wonder Woman.

“Why on earth would you suppose that what you want matters in the least to me, cherie? Oh, you foolish little piglet. Now then, try to convince me that this does not feel good, eh?”

Placing his left hand on her thigh and taking his thumb to her outer labia, he pulls her flower open, showing its pink inner walls in the light. His right hand guides the protruding red jewel into the gleaming folds and slides it up and down the tiny crevices there with slow, gentle passes.

The sensation is a startling surprise to her and Wonder Woman shudders then gasps softly, her thighs involuntarily twitching at the touch of the cool hard stone’s surface rubbing into her sensitized folds.

“Do not move away, my dove. I do not wish to hurt you.” The cool voice is more than enough to control the trembling beauty. Diana stays her ground reluctantly and then gasps again as the jewel pushes cooly against her womanly furrows

“...haahh!” The large ruby pushes her lips apart as it glides against her. Pascal’s hand maneuvers his tool of delight this way and that, up and down and in slow circular motions until Wonder Woman’s eyes begin to fog. The aphrodisiac has drifted into her brain even as its dewey drops within her petals create shimmering bands of joy between her thighs.

“You see what you receive when you obey me, hero? You feel what I can give you?”
“Ohhhhhhhhhh....” the raven-haired beauty moans out in a long low pull of sensuous thrill. Her breath catching at the end in a swoon of pleasure.

“I will take that delighted bovine mooing as a ‘yes,’ mon ami. You see? No pain at all. Nothing but the thrill of the many keen edges of this marvelous ruby seeking out the sensitive juicy folds of your quivering pussy, yes? You feel them, non? The caressing touch of those countless glorious smooth faces riding among the waves of feminine treasures. This must bring you great delight. I am correct in this, yes?”

The round jewel pushing up and down between her thighs under Pascal’s steady strokes, with all its facets rubbing against her tingling nether lips, is filling Wonder Woman’s thoughts with pulsing waves of joy.

“...I...uh...ohhh....yes....yes...” she nods dully. “..ohhhhh...yez....feelz...wunder....ful...”

Indeed, the wave of excitement from what Pascal is doing to the outer edges of her vagina is carrying the dulled beauty along like a log flume ride; helplessly propelled along a course over which she has no control. Just like he said it would be. This makes her angry until the jewel of the tiara is pressed firmly up into the very apex of her crotch, grinding gently there and sending her heart into faster beatings and turning her mind into mush.

“...uuugghhnnn.....agghhhhhhh......ohhhhhhhh....ahhhhhhh...” The groans and gasps of the Amazon warrior in the throes of intense pleasure brings a beaming leer from Pascal as he presses his advantage and rotates the jewel back and forth deep within Wonder Woman’s snatch. The surface of the brilliant jewel is slick with the juices of Diana’s excitement and the residue of the aphrodisiac as the faceted face of her family’s precious jewel rubs into the very core of her womanhood.

“UUUHHHNNNNNN!....wait....wait!....this is.....too much...i..can’t...can’t...ohhhh...”

“Come on, princess. It is time for you to let go. Feel the pleasure overwhelm you completely.”

“...i...don’t...i...can’t...not...how...i...should.....aaaahh!....act....ohhhhhhhhhh....”

“Oh, I would not concern myself with decorum at this stage, Wonder Woman. I am discovering exactly what a hopeless harlot you are. Feel free to let yourself go completely.”

“....shouldn’t...” she pants.

After slowly rubbing the jeweled face of the folded tiara down Wonder Woman’s greasy channel, Pascal then positions the shining jewel at the opening of her vagina and begins to press the fair-sized ruby against the spread lips with a firm and inexorable pressure. The glowing jewel suddenly disappears within the widely-spread thighs of the Champion of All Women, popping into her with a slurping thump.

“OHH! OHH! H...H..Hera!...tha...that’s...wrong....so....so...wrong....”

The hand that suddenly appears at her lower back keeps her pelvis arched forward as the satin-wrapped tiara is gradually and relentlessly forced deep into Wonder Woman’s passage.

“Who is to say what is wrong, cherie?”

Pascal twists the soft satin cylinder and pulls it out two inches before pushing it back inside the wet and yielding tunnel. Then he begins to stroke the damp tool in and out and in and out of Wonder Woman’s body, slowly and first and then picking up the pace. The Amazon warrior bites her lower lip and tries not to yelp with joy. But she can’t stop the burbling moans and gasps she emits.

“...uh...gud....ohhh....ahhhh...ahhhhh...ooooohhhh...s...ss..sooooo....so gooood....”

Pascal’s hand moves up Wonder Woman’s back, gliding along the obvious spinal column until he passes over her neck and takes firm hold of her hair. He pulls the woman’s head back and, with a gleam of satisfaction, begins thrusting the satin cylinder in and out of the dazed heroine’s crotch with one hand while his other holds her head up so she is forced to look him directly in the eyes.

“Did you think it would be any other way than this between us, Wonder Woman?”

The hand with the tiara continues to batter the beautiful woman’s channel with rolling, thunderous waves of pleasure. The hand in her hair keeps her blue eyes pinned to his own.

The blues irises are foggy and lost, the comprehension there is barely enough to understand the taunt. Barely. The capitulation he does find there, the flickering doubt followed by wounded acceptance of her status is more than enough to make Pascal’s heart soar in triumph. The murmured grunt of acknowledgment from the panting female is pure icing on the cake.

“...n...no...”

“Nor did I. Now cum for me, Wonder Woman.”

The sopping cylinder of cloth is withdrawn almost completely and then the jewel face is rotated back and forth against the overstimulated, throbbing clit of the Champion of All Women. She falls hard into ecstacy as commanded.

“UUUUGGGHHHHNNNNNNNN!”

Rapid, constant jerks shake her thighs while her eyes to disappear into her head. A copious flow of her liquid ecstacy floods from between her legs, draining down her thighs until a plentitude of rivulets disappear into her knocking, spastic boots.

“This is the heroine who would have you believe she is above us all in wisdom and truth and honor. Quiver and cry again, female. Share with us the wisdom of your cunt.”

The wrapped tiara is shoved deep into Wonder Woman’s crotch once again and thrust and withdrawn over and over, more than a dozen times until she cries out in helpless pleasure.

“AAAYEEAAAGHHH!”

Her wide pelvis rocks back and forth and more cum flushes out from between the legs of the frenzied, lost and broken Amazon. She puddles the cement floor under her scraped and marred red and white boots with her helplessly siphoned lust.

“There is the sum total of your truth and honor, whore. A greasy wet spot on my floor. You are no hero. The very symbol of your truth and honor has tapped your sopping cunt like a spigot in a whiskey barrel. Champion of All Women? I think not, slut. You will be no one’s champion anymore.”

“....i...i’m...please...i...i....want....to....go...now....” Heaving pants issue from the woman whose massive breasts are rising and falling like a mighty bellows. Her head, released now by Pascal, has flopped forward, her chin on her chest.

“Go? Go where, cherie?”

“...a....away....i...want...to..go away...from you....” she murmurs softly.

“No doubt, my little dove. But there is so much more to do. For example, we have not even explored how you will enjoy having your ass fingered while this ruined crown repeatedly fills your pussy.

“...no....NO!...you can’t.....i...can’t take...anymore....”

“We have discussed this, cherie. I can do what I want. What you want does not matter.”

The waves of pleasure forced from a delirious Wonder Woman by her bent and ruined tiara were beyond her counting before the next hour was measured out by the black hands on the white round face of the clock on the storeroom wall. Pascal’s control of the damp red cylinder of lust was masterful and continuous. His hands were everywhere, forcing the tool into her slippery yawning vagina again and again and again while busy fingers reamed her ass, turning and twisting and probing her most sensitive inner realms of rectal pleasure until the mighty champion heaved and wept and came in his palms, over her thighs, and into her jittering, jerking boots over and over. Other times, the cum-coated jewel circled her nipples in dizzying unending spirals while frantic pumping fingers in her rear joined in to tear shrieking screams of ecstacy from Wonder Woman’s raw throat.

By the time Dr. Rene Pascal finished this stage of his experiment in the sublimation, humiliation and devastation of Wonder Woman, he had the mighty Amazon warrior sucking on the moist red satin cylinder like a docile youngster dumbly sucking her thumb in the schoolyard sandbox: sad, alone and in tears.

He held the sticky tube up to her face and watched with unabashed delight as she licked the jewel clean and then sucked it whole in her mouth until he told her to stop.

“Good girl. Now does this jewel and this tiara mean anything to you anymore?”

“No,” she replied dutifully.

The backhand came out of nowhere and knocked her face sideways. Her eyes took a moment to settle before she turned her face back to him in stupid confusion.

“WRONG! It is still very much a symbol to you. Only now it represents not the aura of royalty but the never-ending stigma of shame. You understand that now?”

“Yes,” Wonder Woman nodded dully.

The second backhand hurt more than the first.

“NO! You don’t. Not until you are fucked one last time by it. Except this time using it by yourself.”

“...me...?...” she mumbled, turning her bright slapped cheek and looking straight at him with defeated eyes.

“Problem?”

“No....n...none...at.....all.”

So Wonder Woman fucked herself with her own tiara. Her heart was heavy and it took a long time for her to bring herself to a climax. She kept thinking about how she’d used the tiara as a boomerang to save herself in battles, and how it had been bestowed upon her by her mother in a crowning ceremony on Theymiscira that was a wonderful and cherished memory. With all those blurry memories creeping in, the weeping, distraught heroine rubbed herself raw before she was finally able to disengage her mind enough to feel the flush of pleasure finally crest in her brain. There was not nearly as much cum dripping from her satiny, red folds in that final climax. She’d expended so much it was a sad little tinkle between her legs, barely more than the tears she was shedding down her blazing, shamed, slapped and reddened cheeks.

When the needle came from behind her and stuck her in her rump, Wonder Woman almost sighed in relief to be carried away by the knockout drug. It had been a hellish, devastating defeat for the proud heroine. She slouched in place against the steel shelving, a heavy weight, with a lost world on her shoulders as she slipped into blackness.


End of Part 22

[psiber8]

Great story! You have created intrigue by letting us know of some perceived wrong that Wonder Woman has done and that turns the tables around a bit and actually makes Pascal a form of anti-hero. We want to see what will happen next and don't wish to see him stopped, as that would end the story without us knowing the truth of what happened.
Using her tiara as a dildo was genius, btw. I am not a Wonder Woman fan fic "fan" at all, but your story is awesome and I look forward to more of Dr. Pascal and perhaps WW's eventual confession to the crime she is to have committed...that could mess her up psychologically much more than what Pascal is now doing, which isn't bad to read at all.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman in severe bondage.

WW bondage pic for USHF.JPG (89.97 KiB) Viewed 72026 times

Thanks Psiber8 for your feedback and kind words. This chapter will reveal some of what Pascal perceives as WW's crime against him. But there's two sides to every story, yes? Anyway, he will be extracting vengeance from her severely restrained body. Enjoy.

I also want to thank my friend Testcase for doing such an accomplished job of making the attached visual to my exacting specifications.



Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 23

The blackness eased away from her like a fog slowly lifting. Diana’s muscles hurt all over and her mind still felt like it was swaddled in cotton. Her left eye hurt, her lip was wet with a coppery taste coating it, and her body felt tightly constrained. She’d been beaten and beaten badly by...uhhh...what was his name again....Pascal. Rene Pascal. She’d confronted him and he’d beaten the crap out of her in every way possible. He even had abused her with her own tiara she now remembered. And had she actually abused herself with it? Everything was so jumbled up in her mind. And why couldn’t she move?

Finally opening her eyes, Wonder Woman quickly understands why she can’t move. Sluggish and dull as she is, she understands she’s been securely bound in a set of black reinforced steel bars. She’s been bent in half with her legs shackled behind her head. A long steel bar is braced across her chest and pins down the back of her knees. Both wrists have been shackled off to either side of her to a large cement block. She’s like a turtle turned upside down and held there in stasis. There will be no getting out of this bondage set up.

To make matters worse, her breasts have painful alligator clips pinching her nipples and pulling them out and away from her breasts. The clips are fixed by screws to the bar that pins her legs over her head. She’s not only not going anywhere, but the rip in her famous spandex briefs point her pussy and rectum invitingly to the sky. She is fucked. Or very soon will be. Even as thick and stunted as she now is by the drugs flowing through her, not even Wonder Woman can escape the fact that she’s in the worst trouble of her life.

She begins to cry, great heaving sobs wrenching from her. She has no pride anymore. She has nothing but fear and doubt and self-pity. It is a bitter feeling. There’s no hope in her heart whatsoever.

With a soul as cold and bleak as a winter’s day, Wonder Woman yanks and strains miserably against the iron bars that hold her on her back with her ankles crossed behind her head. The futility of her struggles is beyond obvious but she can’t help herself. With roaring cries of anguish she shakes and pulls like a trapped wildcat, expending precious energy she can’t spare. Flailing fingers, straining calf muscles, wrenching wrists and rocking head: they all yank and pull for precious freedom. It’s all for naught. Her famous strength has been siphoned away by powerful drugs and repeated lost battles at the hands of the vile Frenchman. When her storm of desperation finally blows itself out in a frustrated screech of anger, the mighty Amazon lies there panting and shivering and broken. Moments later, that screech turns to quiet anguished crying. All she has done is wasted her resources, scraped her nipples held by the sharp teeth of the alligator clips and bruised her chin by battering it against the heavy black bar pressed against her chest. Her cheeks are wet with her tears.

“There is no escaping me, cherie.”

Wonder Woman’s heart seizes in alarm. Pascal was behind her. He had seen her pitiful display of frustration and rage. He’d heard her crying. He is, right now, feeding on her despair. Her shame is absolute before this monster. But, even so, she can’t help herself.

“..why are you...doin’... this...tuh me..?...” the shattered heroine bawls, her words thick and slurred. “ I never hurt you...nevah met you...befaw.....”

“You are so wrong, you stupid, stupid cow.” Pascal closes the space between them and reaches past Wonder Woman’s head. From behind her, he grabs the tops of her breasts in his large hands. She lets out an involuntary hiss as he begins squeezing and rolling the fat spheres with calm deliberate motions. Bound like a Christmas turkey, the famous Champion of All Women can do nothing at all as he takes full advantage of her. Pascal’s steady, unvarying palms caress and pinch and heft and squeeze the weighty breasts of the helpless Amazon with patient, unending attention that infuriates the miserable beauty. The rubbing and fondling pulls and gnaws at her nipples within the pinching clips, more gently than when she’d been struggling before but this time Diana winces and frowns with the humiliation and the pain of it.

For a good six minutes, Pascal squeezes and mauls the naked tits of his captive. He looks down at her face as he does so and the helpless, mentally-compromised beauty merely looks up at him with heavy eyes, dazed and overwhelmed. She whimpers steadily, only broken by the occasional stuttered groan of absolute futility as his fingers dance along the wide bare surface of her breasts, pinching, prodding and cupping her flesh like a masseuse searching for muscle tightness. Finally, Pascal speaks.

“So you really do not remember the night we first met, Wonder Woman?”

“No! I don’t,” she squawks miserably.

“Then let me refresh your memory, hero. You had just finished roughing up a gang of teenagers in my sister Marie’s neighborhood, breaking the bones of lads barely out of high school without a thought for their civil rights, as usual...”

Anger and a surge of power from her belt brings about an extra measure of clarity to Wonder Woman and she chooses not to struggle but to get her foe talking so she can try to figure out what’s behind his murderous attacks on her and her super sisters in justice.

“They’re usually not...innocent in such cases. Usually they have knives....and chains and bats and not...nice kids out...for...ice cream sodas. When..... was this...?..”

“Eleven years, two months, 18 days.”

Wonder Woman looks up at the grimacing man looming above her with his hands mauling her tits and mumbles, “...at least you’re...not...obsessed....about it...”

“What? What was that?”

“You must be...very distressed...about it. Tell me what happened.”

“I screamed for help from the open window in the apartment we shared. I had come home just a few minutes before and knocked on her bedroom door to check on her. It was midnight and I’d just returned from a late night at the lab.”

Pascal finally removes his hands from Wonder Woman’s breasts and shifts around to her side. Her eyes follow his and widen as his hands reach between her thighs and begin to rub their inner sides, slowly caressing up and down their silky lengths. His gentle touch feels much too good. It electrifies the skin on her legs and she frowns at him, deeply distressed at the pleasure she can’t ignore. He begins recounting the story again as he slowly and methodically strokes her legs and rubs them all over with his wide smoothing palms. Her eyes begin to glaze as he talks.

“There was no answer from my sister so I pushed the bedroom door open and saw Marie fallen off to the side of the bed, choked by rope tied to her headboard. That rope was taught as a hunter’s bowstring. I screamed out in alarm for help, and then dashed to the window. Her bedroom faced the alley and I rushed to the sill and looked down. You were there, wiping your hands together after finishing off that last teenager and looked up at me. You were surrounded by a circle of groaning, miserable boys. I remember being shocked at the time but it was only for an instant. ‘My sister! She needs help!’ I was yelling at the top of my voice, I was so scared. We were only a year apart in age and so close. I was devastated at the very idea of losing her. I was beside myself with terror!”

Pascal’s hands clutch hard at the powerful thighs in his grip, the memory drawing sharp emotions that make him squeeze down with a harshness he doesn’t realize.

“Aaghhh!” Wonder Woman yelps in pain.

“Oh, did I hurt the mighty champion. So sorry. How could I be so callous?” He lightens his grip and moves the massage around to her generous buttocks, cupping his palms and squeezing the ample wads of flesh before moving on and caressing them in wide, ever-growing spirals. Diana grits her teeth and accepts his unwanted attentions with silent rage. After two minutes of silence, and despite her bitterness, the steadily squeezing and caressing hands smooth the edge off her anger until, once again, her eyes dim in their fierceness as the pleasure of his attentions.

Diana recalls the evening he was recounting. It’s a dim memory she can barely access due to the drugs flowing through her. It seemed somewhat familiar but very jumbled. She can’t fix it clearly in her mind and the warm hands continuously sliding over her rear end aren’t helping her concentration.

“And you,” Pascal continues, “you dashed down the alley and moments later you were in the bedroom with me. So fast I could not believe it! You looked at my sister and then walked out of the bedroom. I was shocked. Why were you not helping her? You began to search the apartment, for a perpetrator as you later said.. ‘My sister!’ I yelled at you. ‘Save her. She’s choking. You have to save her.’ I pulled on your arm to try to drag you back in the room so you could tend to her. You swivelled your head back in a flash and gave me such an arrogant look that fairly screamed ‘How dare you touch me,’ but without a word spoken. I was beside myself with panic and you were upset that I touched your royal person. That was the first anger I felt toward you. The very first. Even in my terror, your haughty attitude cut through the fear and I saw you for what you are. A spoiled princess who goes slumming to help us poor unfortunate humans as a way to gain glory and fame. It struck me like an arrow at the time to learn that. To see it so clearly. I will never forget it.”

“Your sister. She was...was already dead. It was obvi...uh...apparent to me.”

“You couldn’t know. Not for sure. You never checked for her pulse. You gave her a glance and just walked out of the room.”

“Had you even checked for a pulse?” Diana replies hastily.

Pascal’s bright blue eyes darken with an arctic chill in them. Diana realizes all too clearly that she has overstepped herself here.

“I....I...I’m sorry. That was unthink....AAAGGHHHHH!” Her scream fills the room as Pascal’s hands stretch her buttocks apart with a violent yank. Her anus is on fire with the pain as the muscles in her ass cheeks and butthole are strained to the limit. Her rectum gapes open, a yawning orifice of darkness rimmed in pale pink.

“OWWW! STOP! AAIEEYAAGHH!” A sharp sudden stinging slap to her pussy lips draws a shocked shriek even as the palms return to her ass cheeks and pull hard on them again.

Tears flood her eyes as Wonder Woman’s mind is overrun with agony. She is jerking and rocking in the bondage frame as Pascal’s fury breaks her body with unrelenting power.

“DID I CHECK HER PULSE?!!!! FUCK YOU, AMAZON!”

Hard heavy slaps to her ass cheeks from the flat of Pascal’s hands suddenly fill the air. He rains them down on her exposed rear end with wild-eyed fury, spanking her hard with each powerful downward stroke of his swift-moving arm. At the same time, he is brutally pinching her pussy lips, squeezing them between his thumb and forefinger with one hand while the other delivers the punishing spanking of a lifetime to the defenseless heroine. After more than a dozen sharp, stinging whacks to her buttocks, Wonder Woman is a crying, jabbering mess.

“OWWW!.....Owwww...owwww! Please....no more....I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry...stop.... stop....pleeeeeeeeeeze......” Wonder Woman’s head is bumping against the cement block as the pain of his relentless smacking hand and vise-like fingers drive her to wailing and begging that she’s never even uttered before. When Pascal stops spanking her cheeks, her head sags back against her crossed ankles and she is weeping inconsolably. Her bottom is a rosy red that shines with her punishment. Her breasts rise and fall in halting gasps. The Frenchman, too, is gasping with his efforts. He takes 15 seconds before he begins to quietly speak.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should have checked her pulse the moment I walked in the room to see my blue-faced sister hanging off the bed.” The sudden shift to calmness and objectivity in Pascal’s voice is more frightening to Wonder Woman than any other single peril she’s faced on this long day. It chills her blood and puts an immediate end to her wailing. She freezes in place, looking up at her adversary with unabashed fear. This man is capable of anything. Pascal sees this expression on his captive’s face and a glimmer of a smirk flashes across his own.

“No, you’re right, Wonder Woman. I probably should have followed procedure. I am a doctor, after all. What WAS I thinking?”

“...please....Pascal...I..i..don’t know...that just....came out....it was me...i...i..was wrong.” Diana’s lower lip trembles noticeably, widening Pascal’s smirk to a nasty smile.

“No, no, Amazon. You make a valid point. I certainly should have checked her neck, felt for her carotid artery, seen if there was any semblance of life in poor old sis. Just like this!”

Taking his right hand, Pascal places his thumb on Wonder Woman’s neck and presses against the pulsing artery there. The worried Amazon’s eyes search the eyes of her foe and see a shark’s gleam there, certainly no compassion. She gulps loudly.

“I should have felt for a pulse and seen for myself, non? To feel for the pumping of her frantic heart as yours is right now. But you say she was dead so I would not have felt a thing I suppose. But then, to be sure, maybe I would have felt on the other side of her neck for her other carotid...just here. I would have been desperate and nervous, of course. And checking on both, pressing hard against both arteries like so, in my panic, would have been wrong. Drastically, horribly wrong for a woman in her condition. Possibly not yet dead, I could have choked the final bit of life right out of her, n’est ce pas?”

The eyes of the Champion of All Women begin to bulge as the madly-grinning Frenchman’s fingertips hold down firmly on both her arteries. The steady pressure of his palm against her throat and his rigid fingers cuts off her air and blood supply in one malicious squeeze.

“HAAAUGHHKKK!”

“So, doing this would have been a very bad mistake in my frantic state at that time, would you not agree, cherie.”

“....aaaccggkk....y....yhez....yhez....” rasps the defenseless beauty in a gargled whisper.

“So then you agree that checking for her pulse might have been a calamity. So I was prudent in how I handled myself. Unless of course, she were already dead. Then I suppose I could have squeezed as hard as I liked, maybe even this roughly....”

“AAAWWWGGGKK!!!” Wonder woman’s face goes from red to an alarming purple for lack of oxygen. Pascal calmly holds her throat in a steel grip and watches her turn color. The beautiful blue eyes shift from panic to bulging confusion and quickly lose all focus. They begin to slide up into her head. Her body shivers and shakes in spastic reaction. The longer he holds her tight, the wilder and more violently Wonder Woman’s body rocks and shakes and strains within the black steel bondage frame. And still there is no escape for Wonder Woman. Her vision goes gray at the edges and her tongue slides weakly out of her mouth hanging limply to the side. Finally, Pascal releases his hold on the throat. Red marks begin to come up against the pale white skin and the dizzy heroine’s body goes limp in place. Her tongue retracts in her mouth and only her loud, painful wheezing filling the room with whistling and hissing.

“...and my poor sister would have felt nothing. Her already being a corpse and all. But what if you were wrong, Wonder Woman. What if there had been a pulse you hadn’t checked for. A pulse you wouldn’t have cut off in panic since you were so calm and reasoned that night. Suppose, for the sake of argument that you let my sister die without lifting a hand to her throat to check. Do you think that I might have a small, insignificant little bit of anger due to me? The teeniest little measure of disappointment in you? What do you think, bitch. Do I have a case?”

With the surge from her power belt long gone now, the drugs reclaim their dominance over Wonder Woman’s brain. Her ability to process thoughts and feelings and emotions is once more badly compromised.

“...uhhhhnnnnn......” She can only moan in reply.

Pascal walks calmly around to face the up-ended beauty from the front. He kneels down to place his cool right palm on her exposed warm pussy. He lets it rest there a moment, feeling the warmth of her fill his palm. He smiles at his complete domination of the famous Champion of All Women. She is a quivering shell of herself all due to his genius and persistence. Victory was a sweet, sweet delight.

Pascal slowly slides his long middle finger into the heroine’s sweaty channel. She can only let out a pained raspy whimper as he slowly rotates his finger inside her. Her eyes leak tears of terror as her legs begin to cramp in the bondage frame now. The pain of it is growing as she feels him abuse her body at will. She doesn’t know what will happen next. Her wide, bare tits rise and fall with frantic gasping heaves for precious oxygen. Her eyes widen in fear. Her gorgeous body trembles helplessly within the unyielding bondage apparatus. Her thoughts slowly form one clear thought in her addled mind.

This man is going to kill me. Dear Hera, I am going to end up like the others.

* * *

When Sal Abato finally pulls into the parking lot of the strip mall in Alexandria, he is so angry and frustrated about the traffic he’d had to fight that his face matches the color of the oversized strawberries that make up the summer fruit pattern on his gaudy tie. He’s lucky he’s not matching the blueberries at this point.

“Hey, calm down, Sal. You’re gonna have a damn stroke,” Jimmy says as he just avoids getting whiplash from the crazed parking maneuver by his partner.

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbles Abato. “A fucking hour to get here! This better be worth it!”

He gives the car key a vicious twist to turn it off, yanks it out of the ignition and almost blasts out of the car. Jimmy runs to catch up as the pair of them head into “Cliff’s House of Rods” shop. The script lettering on the glass front window is hand painted and not very well.

Inside the barely air conditioned store, the shelves along all three walls display a wide variety of rifles, handguns, fishing rods, expensive chrome reels and even some archery equipment. A tall skinny man with a circular fringe of white hair and coke bottle eyeglasses smiles at them from behind the counter to their left.

“Can I help you gentlemen? You two look like gun enthusiasts.”

“What makes you say that,” Jimmy asks.

“Well, the drape of your sports jacket there tells me you’re packing for one thing. And the cold looks in both of your eyes screams ‘officers of the law.’

“I guess those thick glasses work after all. Glad to see it,” Sal says. He takes out his wallet and flashes his badge as confirmation. “What’s your name?”

The tall man behind the counter barely glances at the badges the two cops dangle before his eyes. He’s been through this routine plenty of times and has had more than his fair share of badges flipped out before him.

“Name’s Cliff Parsons.”

“So you’re the owner,” Sal states, unfolding the note from his pocket as he awaits the reply.

“Owner, manager, salesman, stock clerk and janitor. Which one of those hats I wear might you be interested in?”

“Whichever one can answer my questions.” He hands the paper to the gun shop owner. “What can you tell me about this note?”

Scrutinizing the paper, the owner nods his head slowly. “Oh yeah, Mr. Detherlink. I remember him. Big guy. Came in two months back. I sold him three shotguns like the paper says. I sent him that note telling him when the shipment came in, just like he asked me to. He came in just two days after I mailed the note, I recall. Paid cash. I’ve got the receipt if you care to see it?”

“I would,” Sal nods.

Turning around to the counter behind him, Parsons bends down and pulls out a thick receipt book. He circles around again and drops the heavy book on the glass counter with a loud thud and flips open the large cover. After 10 seconds of flipping through the yellow and white forms, he pokes at the page he’s found for the two detectives. There’s your man right there.”

Sal and Jimmy both lean over and study the receipt for a bit then straighten up.

“All legal and above board,” the shop owner says with a nod of affirmation.

“Uh huh,” Sal brushes the comment aside and bores in a bit. “Did Mr. Detherlink indicate why he would need three shotguns? That’s damn unusual, isn’t it?”

“Tis, indeed. He told me without me asking. Said it was for a hunting party he was planning. Shooting game birds with friends for some reunion or something out by Front Royal near the Blue Ridge Mountains out west of here.”

“Did he name any of these friends.”

“He did not and I didn’t press him. Not any of my business. Customers in this shop get their privacy and like it. It’s why they come back.”

“Did your friend Gerry explain that, in fact, he had intentions of killing the superheroine Destiny with these shotguns,” Sal leans forward and eyeballs the clerk who leans back slightly in dismay. “Did he warn you that selling them to him would put you and your shop in the crosshairs of a murder investigation?”

“He did not.” Cliff Parson’s back stiffened and he stepped back from Sal and pointed his finger at him. “I did nothing illegal here. He cleared the background check. I sold him the guns fair and square. You’ve got no call to threaten me! This isn’t even your jurisdiction.”

“True. All true, Cliffie boy. I’m just pointing out some hard facts. Facts like this investigation could take some time. It’s made all the papers. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Publicity like that for a gun shop tends to scare off all those fidgety customers who don’t like purchasing their guns when cops are taking pictures of everyone who enters your store.”

“That’s not fair,” Parsons frowns deeply.

“Let’s talk fair then, Cliffie. What can you tell me that will help my investigation. What else did Gerry say. Anything that I learn can help me close this case so the Alexandria police don’t camp on the doorstep of your charming establishment here.”

“He did ask me if I knew any one who could provide him with a knockout drug for a tranquilizer gun he had. He said he wanted to use it on that same hunting party with his friends.”

“Why in hell would you imagine he’d want a tranquilizer gun on a game shoot? Did that make any sense at all to you, meatball?”

“....my customers...privacy...” mumbles the man, his head down now.

“Yeah, repeat customers, I know. And did you give him a name, Cliff? Think real carefully now. Your business’ bottom line could be at stake here.”

“I...uh...told him I knew someone who might handle such drugs....”

“Don’t make me wait, Cliffie.”

“There’s this guy, he lives in Anacostia. We used to play poker together but he started hanging with a bad crowd over there. I don’t see him so much anymore.”

“How often don’t you see him anymore?” Jimmy chimes in.

“Once a year. He’s dating someone my younger sister knows. Annual barbecue type thing. Guy’s gone downhill. Usually shows up drunk to the thing.”

“The name, Cliff. Give me the damn name!” Sal’s temper is barely held in check apparently.

“Ziggy Rolls.”

“Got an address?”

“No.”

“Got a phone number?”

“I don’t know if he uses it anymore. I haven’t tried it in years.”

“Give it to me anyway.”

Flipping to the back inside cover of the receipt book, Parsons reads off a number from a list taped there. The paper is yellowed and curled and the ink faded. “555-607-4826"

“Try that number, Jimmy,” Sal nods at his partner. 30 seconds later, Jimmy hangs up as the answering message on Ziggy’s phone concludes. The detective doesn’t leave his name.

Sal smiles and takes his own cell phone out of his pocket. In less than two minutes time and some flirting with his female contact at the phone company, Sal has the confirmed address for the owner of the cell phone number. It is indeed in Anacostia.

“Okay, Cliff. You done good. I’m going to visit your old poker buddy. Now if I find out you warned him before I get there, I’m coming back and making my unpleasantness felt in your shop here. In a big way. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes. Yes sir.”

You have a good day then, Sal. And keep your nose clean. I’ll be checking on you.”

“I sell guns. You guys are always checking on me. Law says I can run this business. I don’t see how I have to put up with....”

The detectives don’t hear the end of the store owner’s rant as they’re out the door before he’s finished talking. They get back into their vehicle and point their car toward Anacostia.

“At least this trip will only take twenty minutes or so, instead of 55 minutes,” Sal declares as he maneuvers his way past a slow-moving taxi.

Back at Cliff’s House of Rods, the owner is on a throw-away cell phone. “Yes, Mr. Pascal, two police detectives were just here as you said. A Lieutenant Abato and a Sergeant Glendennan. Yes, exactly as you requested. Right, the receipt book and that phone number you gave me. It sure seemed like they bought it. No, I made sure the evidence was convincing as you stipulated, faded inks and all that. Yes, they just left here now. Thank you, I’m glad I could help. You have the account number from before so when I can expect the second half of that three grand? No, that’s great. 30 minutes is fine. You’re very generous and very prompt. I hope we can do business again. Yes, this phone will be destroyed the minute we...hello? Mr. Pascal? Hello?”

After looking at the phone with surprise, Cliff Parsons then shrugs. He drops the phone on the floor and smashes it with his heel. He brings his heavy work shoe down on the phone several times until the case is shattered to fragments and the green circuit board is a mangled mess. Walking over to a nearby closet, he takes out a broom and dustpan and cleans up the pile of debris. Smiling with satisfaction, he opens the back door of the shop and tosses the contents of the dustpan into the dumpster. Whoever this Mr. Pascal was, he had certainly made Cliff’s day very profitable. And he’d never even sold those three shotguns. He wished he had a dozen customers like Pascal.

* * *

Wonder Woman groans suddenly as the muscle in her left calf seizes up into a sharp cramp. She flexes it as best she can and it alleviates most of the tension and the pain for now. She’s not even sure how long she’s been bound into this unforgiving, humiliating position but she is incapable of doing the mental gymnastics it would take to figure out the math. The neural inhibitors that glaze her bare breasts with their sheen of stupidity have drawn off far too much of her intelligence.

With Pascal kneeling down before her, wiggling his finger inside her fully exposed pussy, even if she had more of her wits about her, she’d be too distracted to concentrate. The circling, caressing, clit-rubbing digit is playing within her feminine treasures with the consistency of a metronome. Despite the occasional cramping and her mortification at her lewd position, Wonder Woman’s body is responding to the steady manipulations of the grinning Frenchman. Her pussy is getting wetter by the moment now at his touch. Her thick slickness coats his finger as it plays and frolics within her. Her groan becomes a moan as her buttocks wiggle in helpless delight at the steadily increasing pleasure he’s wringing from her body.

“If you think that this feels good, mon cherie, you are going to love what comes next.”

“Whaya gonna do...ta...me...?”

“What do you think, Amazon. I am going to fuck you.”

“...no...you...can’t...s’not....right...can’t....”

“Can’t? Are you serious, Wonder Woman? You’re so slippery down here, it will be simplicity itself to slide myself into you.”

“...whaddayou....want?...What do I have....to do...for...you...?”

“Do? Nothing at all. Lie there with your greasy holes shining up at me and simply let me fill you up with cock. Of course, you could compliment me on my technique if you like while I fuck you.”

“....please...don’t...I don’t want you to...I’m a princess...you can’t...you just can’t...I’m a princess...Amazon royalty...Amazon princesses....they don’t get..f...f.. fucked....” Wonder Woman is in tears again and whimpering pathetically as she wriggles helplessly in the bondage frame.

“This one does! And right now!” Rising up from his knees to stand before her, Pascal suddenly leans over his captive prize and grabs the ragged, acid-worn edges of Wonder Woman’s famous starred briefs in his two fists. Her eyes go wide with fear as she feels his hard knuckles press down on either side of her vagina.

“NO!” The raven-haired beauty’s frightened shriek of protest combines with the tortured sound of rending latex as the Frenchman rips Wonder Woman’s damaged panties apart with a violent yank. “Great Hera! Don’t....don’t....” is all the shocked beauty says. Then, in less than twenty frenzied seconds of Pascal’s fevered attack, the deep blue fabric, the bright white stars, the twisted thread-gnarled gathers of the leg holes, and the snapped waistband of the mighty heroine’s costume briefs lie strewn across the floor around the concrete block on which Wonder Woman is tightly secured. Worn down by the acid, the garment never stood a chance against the Frenchman’s rage and determination. The ragged bustier barely hangs onto Wonder Woman’s upper torso. Her boots, bracelets and belt remain to accentuate the fact that this is the most famous of all Amazon warriors who is trussed up in steel bondage and completely defenseless before her foe.

“Now that is how a heroine’s costume should be removed,” snarls Pascal. “Not with finesse and charm but with brutal suddenness and complete disrespect.”

“...I...can’t.....believe you....did that...you...hateful...man....”

“That is the least of the indignities you will be suffering under my hands, you pompous cunt! And here is one that I have been planning for and dreaming about for years.” Pascal’s eyes glow with fierce lust and hate as he pulls his penis out of his pants. It is a stiff fleshy rod of generous length that bobs and sways in the air before a horrified Wonder Woman. Without hesitation, he places his hot pulsing palms on the heroine’s inner thighs. “Here, champion, is but the first of a generous measure of the revenge I will visit upon you for what you did to my sister!”

Leaning forward, Pascal’s rigid cock readily hones in on the velvety curled lips of his famous prize and the tall Frenchman plunges himself into the very core of Wonder Woman’s pussy.

“HUUUGGHHNN!! The blasting grunt from Diana fills the deep silence of the room and hangs there for a moment. The shock to the mighty heroine cuts her to the deepest recesses of her heart and soul. Time resumes when the monster begins pumping away at her and Wonder Woman begins to wail and cry and whimper in a repeating cycle of frustration, horror and shame. All the while the hard prick drives into her body over and over. Above her, Pascal's drooling mouth drips silver strings down onto her clenched, terrorized face.

Her wrists strain and pull at the heavy steel bars clamping her wrists to the concrete block. Her breasts shake and wobble in wild swings of untethered momentum, only held in check by the alligator clips pinned to her sore nipples. Her famous face, sporting a large purple bruise around her left eye and a bleeding lip, tightens into an ugly grimace. The mighty champion struggles and shakes and weeps to no avail. The rock hard dick continues to piston in and out of her tight wet channel with total impunity. The dark blue suit pants covering Pascal’s rear end jerk up and down in a focused rhythm as he plunges himself into the heavenly treasure of Wonder Woman’s silky vise again and again. Forced by her shackled ankles behind her head to watch her own defilement up close without relief, the Amazon feels the sweat of their mixed exertions fly everywhere from the backs of her knees, to the undersides of her breasts to her jutting chin. She has to take it; to endure; to feel the hard heat of him battering away at the heart of her womanhood with no recourse whatsoever.

“You are just as tight and hot and wet as I fantasized you’d be, Wonder Woman. But this is even better because I did not expect those bright blue eyes of yours to be so dulled by fear and shame and despair. You are learning your place, Amazon. How do you like it? Is the stimulation all you fantasized about?”

“....monster...leave me....be.....”

“Not a chance, Princess. Let us see if I can make you climax. How demeaning would that be for you, hero? Very, I would suppose, cherie. To lose all control of your body at the hands of your enemy. Could you even live with such shame? Let us try, eh?”

“...don’t...please.....no....let me go...please... .I....I...am...begging.... I...i....won’t ever bother......you..again....promise....I promise.....promise...i...promise....” A clear bubble inflates in Wonder Woman’s left nostril then pops as she pleads for mercy in blubbering, pathetic vain.

Even as he continues to fuck away at his helpless victim, Pascal grabs a clump of hair at the top of Diana’s head and smiles. Then he stops his jerking hips for a moment and leans down close to her, his mouth blowing puffs of ripe breath into her face as he speaks. “You are being infantile here, Wonder Woman. Should I diaper you and shove a pacifier into your mouth? Are you no better than a howling helpless baby, hero? I am talking about pleasure here, not pain. Why should you resist? Why should you care? I have so clearly beaten you, there cannot be an ounce of pride left in you. Accept your fate and enjoy it while it lasts. You are but a woman. Learn to accept the divine gift of a man’s penetration like all of your gender must.”

Slowly, Pascal starts up his thrusting once more, except this time, he adds his finger into the action, pressing it to the apex of Wonder Woman’s loins and rubbing circles against her enlarged clit with the tip of his forefinger.

“Aaahhh! Ohhhhhh!” The gasping heroine cannot stop the deep sensual pleasure of his combined finger and penis stroking inside her. Her eyes clamp shut and her mouth circles in an oval of absolute joy.

“Ooohhhh.....sw...sweet...Hera....i....i....can’t..can’t...handle....uhhnn....”

She can feel the tension building within her. The wave of pleasure deep down. Unstoppable. Irrevocable.

She closes her eyes and tries desperately to shut away the sensations, to focus on the pale glimmer of hope buried in the ashes of her plight. Consequently, she is stunned and confused when she feels her anus penetrated by a tiny hard cone. Her eyes immediately spring open with shock and widen even further as Wonder Woman feels a spurt of something cool forced into her rear.

“Anal-Eze, mon cherie. To heighten my experience and to diminish your pain.”

“...y....you...w...w...wouldn’t...!..”

“For a woman with centuries of experience, you are quite naive, Wonder Woman. Of course I’m going to fuck your ass! It is simply what you deserve. I will teach you the cost of your haughty ways, you lousy bitch. Leave my sister for dead, will you? The price is steep, mademoiselle. And years in the calculation. Now you will pay it.”

Withdrawing his stiff cock from her slippery pussy, Pascal pushes its tip into Wonder Woman’s tightly clenched butthole. He shoves and grinds his dick into her crevice, smearing the greasy salve all around and coating his glans with the slippery substance.

Silently praying to her protector goddess, Wonder Woman’s lips move in subtle twitches and quivers of uttered pleas. Yet again, it is all for nothing. The steely-hard man muscle drives into her ass with a rushing thump.

“AAAARGGHH!” The heat and width of his rod fills her rear and after but a moment, the Champion of All Woman is sobbing loudly. Her body shakes as she wallows in the misery of her complete failure. Penetrated to the hilt of his member in her very rear, Wonder Woman is a dazed and broken soul. “....ruined...i...am ruined....there’s nothing....left...” She wails and cries openly as Pascal gets busy ramrodding the heroine’s ass. Again and again, he plunges his cock into the greasy vise-like back channel of the world’s most famous feminist while she melts down into puddle of helpless wet-cheeked whimpering defeat. She’d never been so thoroughly bested, so completely out-maneuvered, so totally defeated as right here and now.

Rendered virtually naked by her foe, Wonder Woman is now suffering the ultimate indignity of having both lower orifices violated in succession. Her buttocks quiver with the force of Pascal bumping back and forth against her. Her flesh crawls with the sensation of his balls slapping against her skin. Posed in the most defenseless posture possible, the famous Amazon’s ass is pounded repeatedly, only to have her tormentor withdraw it from the back hole and shove it into her front. He drives into her fully. Over and over he fills both channels, first the vagina, then the ass. Back to the pussy. Back to the butt. Both holes are so well-greased there is no stopping the incessant driving rod from finding its sheath. Again and again Wonder Woman is filled as she gasps and weeps and moans. And to make matters even worse, Pascal withdraws a small lipstick-sized vibrator from his pocket and holds it against the engorged clitoris of his trembling, blubbering captive. She bucks and jerks at the sensation but where can she go? What can she do? Nothing. The building wave from within is now rushing to the surface, sliding against the ocean bed of her psyche and rushing to the shore.

“...ah....ahh....ooooohhhh......ohhhhhhhhh.....” Gasping, Wonder Woman feels herself drowning in the sensations forced upon her. The plunging rod and tiny vibrator engulf her limited senses with nothing but pleasure now. Trapped by heavy steel pipes, battered by nothing but joy and sensitivity and friction, the mighty heroine can do nothing but yield. The rod in her ass rubs the length of the tight greasy cavity, fully swollen with need, with lust, with vengeance. She is overwhelmed by it all and falls into bright white nothingness with a long gasping groan.

“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!” .

Pascal feels his cock bathed in a rushing torrent of warmth and this sends him over the edge as well. He squeezes down on the hefty thighs dimpled white by his fingers and lets go in his own rushing flow of pure joy. His seed pumps into Wonder Woman’s ass in jetting streams that topple her over to a secondary rushing climax quickly on the heels of her first. More groans flutter from her wavy lips. Pascal’s face is tight and drawn as his generous load continues to spurt into the Amazon’s ass. He fills her rear with cream and her ears with sighs.

The pleasure, gratification and reward are everything he had hoped they would be. And there was still so much more to come.

Draped over the gasping, moaning form trussed below him, Pascal rests in a cloud of drifting pleasure and contentment. Minutes go by before the Frenchman finally speaks.

“That, Wonder Woman, is simply the down payment of my revenge. The full amount will be paid out as this day progresses into evening.” Pascal pulls his now deflated dick out of Wonder Woman’s rear and tucks it back in his pants. Having pulled the stopper on her, he sees the white clumpy load of his ejaculation begin to drip down the indentation of the broken heroine’s coccyx and onto the concrete block. The small white puddle grows as Pascal’s cum continues to drain out of the Champion of All Women. He is extremely satisfied at the view. For now.

Wonder Woman however is treated to the irony of a sudden fresh awareness of her destruction as her belt rushes power to her body. Sadly for her, it is a body too tightly surrounded by steel and too exhausted and confused by the throes of sexual bliss to do anything at all about it but to begin sobbing anew.

End of Part 23

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 24

“Come on, Sal, you can tell me Wonder Woman’s secret identity. I swear on my dear departed mother’s grave I won’t tell a soul,” Jimmy pleads.

Sal snorts as he turns his head a moment to look at Jimmy as he guides the car toward Anacostia. “Your mom lives in Sarasota and has buried two loser husbands, Jimmy. She’s as close to the grave as you or me. I ain’t telling you squat! I just don’t think I can trust you to keep this secret.”

“Uh huh. And what suddenly makes you Mr.-Take-This-to-My-Grave?”

“Professionalism, guts and honor.”

“That would be a first!”

“Fuck you, dickwad,” Sal declares.

“Back at you, brain cheese.”

The two smile at each other as Sal cuts off a Mercedes with particular glee. Jimmy, meanwhile, considers other methods of wringing the information from his partner.

* * *


Wonder Woman tries to gather her breath and her wits and her nerve about her. Secreted away in the laboratory of Rene Pascal’s house, she feels the coolness of the basement cement surrounding her, prickling the hairs of her body as she helplessly lies on her back with her ankles crossed behind her head. Bound by steel restraints that are unbreakable in her current condition, the mighty Amazon heroine is wracked by yet another painful cramp shooting through her left calf. Fifteen minutes earlier it had been her right calf. She sees no way out of her dilemma, she is exhausted, dazed and at the end of her rope physically and mentally. She had been ruthlessly violated in her vagina and ass and despite all her feminist teachings and high-minded ideals, she had climaxed loudly and repeatedly to her absolute horror. Distraught beyond measure, the once-brave Amazon warrior begins to cry openly at all she has lost, at the wasted and befuddled woman she has become.

“Ohh....hoooh....ohhhhh....my...gods...they’ve....abandoned me.....ohhhhh....hoooh...”

“Well, well, well...the illustrious Wonder Woman is crying like a little skinned-knee school girl yet again,” Pascal observes as he walks back into the room after cleaning himself up from his strenuous and sweaty rape of the famous heroine. He stands over the whimpering beauty and declares, “I have not heard this much pathetic mewling since I overdosed that brainless coed back in Paris with my electrical neural inhibitor. She couldn’t speak a coherent word for two hours. I finally had to put her out of her misery with a length of piano wire. That sweet sound of perfect silence after all that dreadful noise was a pure delight, I must tell you, Princess. So, is that how I should handle this? Choke you to death to stop your hideous unprofessional caterwauling?”

“..n...no...no...I...i..can...control myself...” Wonder Woman stifles her whimpering and blinks and shakes her head to shake off the tears.

“See that you do, bitch. I expected far better from you. Hell, most of my practice cunts held up better than you, you overrated cow.”

“...practice...cunts...?...” A weary Wonder Woman doesn’t even censor herself as she looks up at Pascal with confusion.

“You did not expect me to take on super heroines without honing my craft, did you, cherie? I calculate that I must have worked my way through several busloads of coeds over the years of all nationalities. Of course not all of them were killed. I am not a monster, after all...”

“Are too,” the dazed and mentally-compromised Wonder Woman murmurs back like some four-year-old.

“Am not!” Pascal grins down at her before slapping her across the face with his palm.

SMACK!

“Well, maybe I am,” he chuckles, “as far as you are concerned. You tend to press my buttons, Princess.”

Pascal squats down beside Wonder Woman and whispers in her ear as he begins to caress her severely restrained naked body all over with his wide roaming palms.

“In any case,” the Frenchman sniffs, “most of them were tested with or without their knowledge using one or both of my electrical and chemical inhibitors as each experiment dictated.” His left hand slides down to rub between her thighs, his hand drawing slowly back and forth over her exposed labia as his right hand tenderly smooths the sweaty strand of hair off her forehead. Wonder Woman’s body is all knotted muscles and fatigue. She quivers at his touch and doesn’t know if it’s rage or repulsion.

“These experiments....they were people.... you...you...cold-blooded reptile!”

“Hmm, what?” Distracted by the lovely pleasure of being able to nibble her ear at will, Pascal’s voice is nonchalant. “Oh, I suppose. In any case, only a dozen or so did I actually take through the final stage of the experiment to be sure everything worked to schedule.”

“...final stage...?”

“Choked out, mon amie,” he whispers like a lover saying sweet nothings in her ear. “Strangled to death. Then disposed of once the experiment was concluded.” He slides his tongue into her ear, she cringes away and he smiles. His fingertips caress circles in her pubic bush that has the helpless Amazon’s abdominal muscles twitching. The grimace on her face melts away to open-mouthed shock as she suddenly realizes the full extent of his crimes.

“...y...y...you....killed a....a....dozen...people..?....” Wonder Woman casts a horrified sideways glance at him. The next second her eyes blink and fill again with tears at the thought of all the innocent lives taken.

“College age women, yes. To simulate the average age of a normal superheroine. Well, maybe a dozen young coeds and three or four more mature subjects just to round out the results to be sure I could handle you as I needed. You are, after all, much more mature than the average brainless spandex-clad bimbo. But, my little Amazon squeeze toy...” he clasps her right breast in his left hand and the soft flesh yields like firm dough in his firm grip, “you really have not performed up to spec. You advertise yourself as the Champion of All Women, yet I dare say even the most insipid blondes have outperformed you in some ways. You are going to have to pick up your game, Wonder Woman. I’m almost ready to finish you off out of sheer boredom.”

“I am not here to entertain you, Pascal,” Wonder Woman blurts, her anger rising.

“Of course you are, you pathetic skank. Or to obey me. Or suck my dick. Or recite your Justice League pledge of allegiance or do whatever the fuck I tell you.”

“I will die first,” the Amazon declares, her spirit riled now.

“You will die, cunt, but not first. You will die last! Only after I have taken my full pleasure from you. Only after I have humiliated you in ways that make your nightmares seem like daydreams. Only after I have drained you of every ounce of strength, pride and vanity. And then, finally, only after I have made you pay for every day I have had to bear the loss of my sweet, sweet sister.”

“Your sister’s death doesn’t give you the right to kill a dozen innocents, you crazy prick!”

With her magic belt suddenly feeding strength to her rage, Wonder Woman’s hands wrestle within the steel bars pinning them to the concrete block on which she is mounted. Her body writhes and twists and her face sets in a fierce scowl of determination as she expends tremendous force against her steel bondage frame. Pascal sees this and is amazed she still has the will and strength to achieve this display of power with all she’s been through. His eyebrows arch and he takes a quick single step back. This draws a glimmer of satisfaction from Diana but despite her best efforts she cannot bend the steel bars that trap her on her back in this defenseless, awkward and humiliating position. Finally, she relents to the inevitable truth of the hardened steel surrounding her and stops her futile wrenching struggles. She sighs audibly and grimaces straight ahead, not even looking over at Pascal’s dancing blue eyes.

“Well, that at least was entertaining, mon amie. I was beginning to lose heart that you were nothing but a trumped up gym rat with big tits and big attitude. But no, THIS is the Wonder Woman I expected to show up. Magnifique!”

“You perverted French maniac! Face me unbound and see how brave you are, you soulless creep!”

“Been there. Fucked that. Or are you so besotted with sexual bliss that you don’t remember how many times I have bested you this day, you foolish cunt. Shall I count them off for you on my fingers? I think I would run out of them before the total was reached.”

“...didn’t play fair...” Diana murmurs.

“I simply evened the playing field, you sanctimonious cunt. You would not have been playing fair with me with all your Amazon strength and god-given tools. But why should we quibble? Just let the facts make my case, Wonder Woman. At this very moment your precious twat and royal rectum glow with the satisfying after-effects of the cock stretching I have perpetrated upon them. Certainly that must be more than enough evidence for you, my arrogant friend, that you are simply no match for me! The very scent and feeling of the slow drip of my cum out of your roughly violated ass should at least remind you that my bravery has nothing to do with it. My intelligence and your lack of it is what has put you in your place, this place, Princess of Themyscira!”

Pascal spreads his arms wide and laughs at Wonder Woman and she dies a little inside at the truth of what he’s said.

Smiling at his sulking prey, the Frenchman is, however, still pleased to see she wasn’t the complete dishrag she’d seemed to be after the first regimen of physical depletions he’d subjected her to. “But since you still have the energy to tango, I do believe it is time for the next step of my sexual depletion regimen.”

Wonder Woman stops struggling and looks over at Pascal as he walks over to a bench and pulls something out of a drawer. Her eyes go wide as he walks back toward her saying, “I am sure you are going to like this.”

* * *

When the two detectives pull up to the eight-story apartment house in Anacostia, the first thing they notice are the gang tags all over the first floor brick wall. Colorful graffiti splashes of red and black, blue and white, yellow and brown all boldly and proudly declare the names and affiliations of the neighborhood punks.

“Jeez, looks like someone puked up a case of Krylon paint on this dump,” Sal snarls.

“We’re looking for apartment 818.”

Sal looks up and counts the floors. “Top floor. Yet somehow, I don’t think this place features a penthouse. Let’s go talk to Mr. Ziggy Rolls and see what he has to say for himself.”

The OUT OF ORDER sign on the elevator turns Sal’s dour mood into one of pure seething anger.

“You have to be fuckin’ kidding me! Out of order?! I can’t believe this shit!”

“This is bullshit in a can!” Jimmy is no less disgusted at the events at hand.

“A huge Costco warehouse-sized oil drum of canned bullshit,” Sal replies as he stares what would be burn holes into the sign taped onto the stainless steel elevator doors if he had the power to do so. “We have to walk it.”

“Eight stories? Crap on a cracker. I hate this job sometimes,” Jimmy barks. Growling and stomping, the two men pull open the stairwell door and proceed to climb the stairs, landing after landing.

“So, what is it? Crap on a cracker or bullshit in a can? Can’t be both,” Sal says as they take a breather on the sixth floor landing.

“It’s bullshit on toast if you want to know the truth,” Jimmy answers. “At least that was my dad’s expression. Guess I switched it out to be original.”

“Don’t know why you’d change it. Your dad’s is better.”

“I’m my own man.”

“You’re a walking turd.”

“You’re a galloping pile of horseshit.”

“Come on,” Sal says. “Only two more floors, then we can take out our anger on Ziggy.”

“What happened to professionalism and all that?” Jimmy smirks as he holds onto the bannister and pulls himself along.

“Oh, I left that on the fourth floor landing,”

“Good thing. It was weighing you down anyway,” Jimmy grins widely.

By the time they knock on the door of apartment 818, the two detectives have got their wind back from their climb. Both wear angry scowls however and Sal ignores the bell and bangs on the door with heavy thumps. The puke green walls with their flaking paint does nothing for the cops moods as they wait for an answer from within. After a resentful 30 seconds and more pounding, Sal finally hears someone moving inside.

“What? Who is it?” The deep voice says from the other side of the door. “I was sleepin’, dammit!”

“It’s the DC police,” Sal replies. “Are you Ziggy Rolls.”

“What if I am?”

“Could you open the door before your neighbors hear all your business, sir?” Jimmy is politeness incarnate. He’s taking his usual good cop role.

“How many of you are there out there, for chrissake?” Without a peephole, there’s no way for him to know. The landlord and building contractor were too cheap to even install them.

“Just two...for now, Ziggy. But I can have plenty more if you’re choosing not to cooperate,” Sal growls.

“I ain’t not cooperating. Hold your damn water. I got seventy-dozen locks on this thing.”

When he finally opens the door, the detectives are faced with a hugely fat white man wearing neon blue spandex shorts and a bright purple mesh t-shirt that shows off a generous pair of man-boobs. It’s a fashion risk that almost has both detectives taking a step back. The man sports the palest blonde hair short of white done up in long dreadlocks. His face is cherubic. His glower is not.

Jimmy speaks first. “Would you be kind enough to allow us in, sir? Like I said, this conversation would best be conducted in the privacy of your domain.” As the Irish detective talks, both cops flip out their badges for inspection.

Ziggy barely looks. He can smell cop from 100 yards. “My domain, huh? What’s this all about?”

“Drugs, Mr. Rolls,” Sal says with cold quiet menace, putting away his badge. “Now do you want to talk about this in the hall so everyone knows what terrific sales you offer on Meth or can we take it inside?”

“Inside,” the heavy man says urgently. Moving more quickly than Jimmy would have believed possible, Ziggy looks up and down the hall and ushers the two cops in and closes the door in less than five seconds. Locking just one of the locks he says, “I don’t run sales on Meth. Weed maybe.” He turns and grins at Sal whose face is about as lively as Mt. Rushmore. “Hey, it’s a little joke. Lighten up, pal.”

Sal says nothing and just glares at Ziggy.

“You guys care to take a seat?” He motions to a beat up brown and yellow plaid couch and takes a seat on the Lazyboy recliner across from it. The big man doesn’t lean back though. He perches on the front edge of the cushion which squeaks loudly in complaint. The two detectives sit down much more quietly on the worn couch.

“Mr. Rolls, do you know the establishment Cliff’s House of Rods in Alexandria?” Jimmy studies the wide fleshy face across from him for a reaction. It’s not hard to miss. The fat man’s eyebrows go up and yet Ziggy ponders the question like it’s the final question on Jeopardy.

“Hmmm. Cliff’s House of Rods. That a gay strip joint?”

“You know fucking well it isn’t, Ziggy. And you’re starting to try my patience,” Sal says with another extra portion of stone face. “It’s a gun store owned by your barbecue friend Cliff Parsons. Sound familiar now?”

“Oh, that place, sure I remember now.”

“How about the name Gerald Detherlink, Mr Rolls,” Jimmy interjects. “Do you recognize that name?”

“Oh that guy! Sure you don’t forget a handle like that. Or a guy that size. What I lack in height he more than made up for it. I’d guess we were about the same weight though.”

“Yeah, but yours is so much more appealingly arranged,” Sal says with thick sarcasm, his eyebrow raised at the purple mesh shirt.

“Ya think so?” Ziggy pats his pulled in stomach but can’t maintain it and the heavy rolls of flesh sag over the waistband of the spandex.

“No I don’t.” Sal’s comeback is instantaneous, and then he shifts gears. “So, Zig, you care to enlighten us about what Gerry wanted in the way of drugs that Cliff said you could provide?”

“Guy wanted specialty stuff,” Ziggy says, scratching his knee. “Tranqs in serum. High end item.”

“What made Mr. Parson’s think you could handle that kind of thing?”

Ziggy looks at Jimmy who posed the question. “I mighta bragged about being able to provide anybody anything given enough time. We see each other at that barbecue thing. I s’pose I was trying to impress him to get in with his sisters friend. A hot little Latin number, petite and sassy, just how I like ‘em.”

“You’d crush her like a doughnut, Ziggy,” Sal states matter-of-factly. “Back to Detherlink. Did you supply him with the tranqs or not?”

“You guys aren’t looking to run me in on this if I tell you, are you?” Ziggy is nervously flipping a coaster in his hands as he looks back and forth between the two cops. They nod at each other at the same time and Jimmy “the good cop” answers.

“You’re out of our jurisdiction, Mr. Rolls. Besides, we’re following this lead within the scope of a murder investigation. If you play ball and tell us what we want to know, there’s no reason to book you.”

“Good. Great. Okay. The answer is no though. I really don’t handle that kind of thing no matter what I said to Cliff. I had to pass the big guy on to another...uh...associate of mine.”

“Jeezus f’ing.....” Sal bolts up out of the couch and begins to pace angrily. “We’re chasing our fucking tails here like a pair of stupid fucking dogs!”

“Don’t mind, Sal, Ziggy,” Jimmy says, “He’s just irate because he doesn’t like letting a murderer slip through our fingers. Be a nice fellow and write down the name of your associate and his phone number on a piece of paper for us now, won’t you?”

“What? No, hell no. That kind of thing isn’t good for business or my health. This guy is trouble.”

Sal spins in place and grabs Ziggy by his mesh shirt and pulls him forward, leaning into him so he’s face to face with the fat puss of the wide-eyed drug pusher.

“You know who’s trouble, Ziggy? I am. I’m big trouble. You don’t want the kind of trouble I can bring, I guarantee you that!”

Ziggy Rolls face gets all pinched and nervous at this. He swivels over to look at Jimmy hopefully. All he gets is a shrug of the shoulders from Glendennan and a “What can I do, this is how he gets sometimes” look.

“So either I get the man’s name who supplied Gerry with his tranquilizer in serum or you will get the chance to visit our jail for an up close and personal tour. I just hope you don’t slip and hurt yourself on one of the eight fucking landings I had to climb to reach you, you piece of shit!”

“Hey, you can’t do that. He can’t do that, can he?” Again, Ziggy looks at Jimmy with imploring eyes for mercy.

“Things happen. That’s all I can say, Ziggy. If I were you, I’d give him the name,” Jimmy says softly with a sincere nod.

“Okay, okay. Sure, sure thing. I’ll give it to you. But you gotta promise me you won’t tell him who you got it from.”

“No promises but I won’t bring your name up if I don’t have to,” sneers Sal.

“Fuck, that’s the best you can give me? You could be looking at a dead man here if this guy finds out it’s me.”

“A guy can die falling down a flight of stairs too, Ziggy,” Sal says coldly, letting the fat man go so he can get a pad of paper and a pencil. The drug pusher looks at Jimmy one final time for reassurance but there’s nothing there for him.

“He’s right,” Jimmy nods solemnly. “Accidents happen all the time, Mr. Rolls.”

The two detectives leave Ziggy’s place with the folded note in Sal’s hand and smiles on their faces. In the stairwell, on the sixth floor and heading down, they’re cracking up at the routine they ran on the huge drug pusher.

“You shocked the hell out of me when you bolted out of the couch like that,” Jimmy says. “And pacing around like a madman. Hell, I would’ve given you a name if he hadn’t.”

“And you,” Sal laughs loudly so it reverberates in the stairwell, “so quiet and solemn... ‘Accidents happen all the time, Mr. Rolls.’ Like we toss people down the stairs on a daily basis. Priceless!”

“So where does this moke live again?”

Sal recites it from memory. “John Quigley. 3804 Connecticut Avenue NW.”

“Back in DC. Mama, we’re comin’ home!” Jimmy pumps his fist in the air as they continue down the stairs.

“This better be the last fuckin’ stop,” Sal growls. “If Detherlink used these tranqs, we’ll need a tox screen verification from the ME on that stiff Destiny. If he bought them from Quigley, we got him pegged for the murder and maybe we can go back and see if the same tranqs were used on the previous vics. That would put a nice bow on it and close this case.”

“Let’s hope so. It’s already 4:30. But being Sunday at least we don’t have to worry about rush hour traffic,” Jimmy notes.

“Small favors,” murmurs Sal.

Back at Ziggy’s apartment, the nervous man is quaffing a beer straight out of the can, with some of the golden liquid escaping to run in rivulets down his chin onto his mesh shirt. He doesn’t mind the cold since he’s sweating bullets. He’s just hoping he did everything he was supposed to, just the way Mr. Pascal had wanted. When his cell phone rings 10 minutes later, he picks it up almost gingerly but by the time the phone call ends, he’s smiling at being three grand richer for only 22 minutes of work.

* * *

“You see what this is, Wonder Woman, is a sexual aid of remarkable ingenuity.” Pascal holds the device up to display it to the Amazon beauty. It is a round pale pink plastic disk about eight inches wide and two inches deep. Its circular face is divided in half with two facing arcs showing green and red markings on the disk’s front. Dangling from the disc are all sorts of smooth yellowish rubber tubing and straps, some with bulbous ends, one with a small three-pronged clip. Four coiled wires hang from the four sides of the disk. “I tell you, cherie, I would have designed this myself if it were not already available through a sex toys site on the Internet. Great minds think alike I suppose.”

“...w...w..what...does it..d...do...?”

“Do? It is a sexual device, you stupid cow. It brings you to a rip-roaring climax. I’ve seen it in action. Even you, with your remarkable physical stamina will not be able to withstand this little toy, Wonder Woman. You will be creaming your panties with pleasure before you know it. Well, you would if you were wearing any.”

“...but...why...? Why would you...give me pleasure instead of pain. It...it...doesn’t make...sense.”

Once again, with the belt’s effects having drifted off and with Wonder Woman’s mighty exertions now spent, the stalwart heroine’s mind begins to dull and her strength to dissipate to a fraction of her normal self. Her eyes glaze over slightly as Pascal speaks.

“Because you super hero types are so used to braving it out against pain. Your mental makeup seems to be stronger against pain. But pleasure...ah...well, we French know all about the seductive power of pleasure. We know how it can drive you to do things that pain would never achieve. But enough talk, let me give you a personal demonstration.”

“...no...don’t...not...necessary...”

“Oh but it is, mon cherie. I have you slotted in for this, and you will be happy to know that we are right on schedule.” Laying the disk on her stomach, Pascal proceeds to fit the device to the defenseless champion. The first thing he does is uncoil the four wires. Two of them have a small flat sensor at the end. One sensor he attaches by its tiny rubber suction cup to Wonder Woman’s forehead, the other Pascal presses firmly against the underside of her right breast.

“...don’t...care about your....dumb...schedule...” mumbles the fading champion.

“Hah! As if that matters in the least.” The two second wires feature tiny copper clips at their ends. Pascal removes the larger steel alligator clips pinching Wonder Woman’s nipples and she sighs slightly as the pain from the clips is relieved. The small copper clips take their place but they are not painful at all. If anything, they tickle slightly against the raw skin of the pointing, aggravated nipples. Wonder Woman’s body shimmies a bit as they are attached.

“You see, you are nothing but a lab rat, Wonder Woman. A feisty and beautiful lab rat, that is true but still, after all is said and done, nothing but a slightly clever rat whom I have been running through a maze for weeks on end now. And we are now getting so close to the cheese at the end. Oh, not me, of course. I am not the cheese, though you thought I was. No, instead the cheese is something so delightful that you will be absolutely thrilled when you finally arrive at your appointed destination.”

With the nipple teasers in place, Pascal then takes a rubber strap and reaches under Wonder Woman to pass it beneath her, not without some effort since she’s so tightly bound against the cement block. Finally, he gets it done and fastens the strap with a simple loop buckle so the disk doesn’t shift off her belly. The two additional rubber straps attached to the sides of the disk Pascal circles around Wonder Woman’s widely spread thighs. He buckles them in place, and now the sex toy can’t be dislodged by any bucking and twisting and shaking the device is designed to generate.

“....some....one’s...gonna...save me. Y...y...you...just...wait...Pascal...”

“I have no idea who you think that might be, Wonder Woman, but if you think it is going to be your two detective friends, I would not hold my breath. They are being dealt with, I assure you.”

“..A...A...Abato...?”

“Yes, I do believe that is the dick’s name. He and Detective Glendennan will not arrive like the cavalry I am afraid.”

Without warning, Pascal sticks his finger into the apex of her labia and quickly rubs her clitoris in brisk circles. Wonder Woman’s body jerks and bucks helplessly at this invasion.

“HAAAAGHHHH!” Quickly stimulated by 20 seconds of intense manipulation, the engorged clitoris is fitted with a small three-pronged copper clip that surrounds it’s pink shape with tiny gripping ridges. “....p...p..please...don’t....”

“Oh, so sorry, you dumb skank, but you will be handled and dealt with any way I choose. And my experiment will be long over before your friends show up. If they ever do. Besides, are not you the one who should be saving herself, Princess? The powerful Amazon warrior is too weak and defenseless to even protect herself, much less the world. Where is all that haughty superiority now, hero? Curdled like spoiled milk left on a hot porch I would say. Tch, tch, tch, cherie, I think you have begun to give up on yourself.”

“...you’re...so...sick....it...it sickens...me...” the dulled beauty murmurs.

“Sorry, I do carry on when an experiment proves successful. It is the young boy in me. Some women find it charming.”

“...some...women...are...stupid....”

“Well, that is certainly the pot calling the kettle black. I have faced very many bright, resourceful and clever women in my experiments through the years, Wonder Woman. You are not one of them.”

Pascal then walks off to a nearby bench and returns with a small jar of petroleum jelly.

“Wait! No! Stop....stop....stop....”

Ignoring her pleas, Pascal brusquely rubs the yellowish salve all over Wonder Woman’s pussy, slicking up her labia and fingering her cunt so the greasy ointment coats several inches within her tight passage. The struggling, whining Amazon can’t help herself from carrying on like some green, fresh-off-the-farm heroine. She’s frantic and frustrated and angry at herself for letting all this happen to her. Then, as a final insult, Pascal takes a generous dollop of petroleum jelly on the tip of his forefinger and shoves it into Wonder Woman’s butthole.

“Uuuhnn!”

He twists it right and left to coat that channel with more of the slippery salve. When he flutters his fingers back and forth deep in her butt, the Amazon warrior whimpers softly. Then he withdraws the offending digit and wipes it on her cheek.

“There. All buttered up and ready to be cooked in her own juices.” Pascal grins as he kneels closer to the panting, panicked beauty with the purple shiner, the split lip and the lost blue eyes, wide with fear and confusion. He is holding a sagging flesh colored bladder in each hand. Then he reaches out and presses a small button on the face of the disk mounted on Wonder Woman’s stomach. A soft whirring sound spins out of it and the bladders the Frenchman holds before her eyes begin to quickly inflate. In less than 15 seconds, two large rubber dildos are being waved in the frowning heroine’s face. One is fat and 8 inches long. The other is thinner and a little bit shorter.

“These, my dear, are for you. But I can see you knew that.”

With her hands pinned to her sides by steel braces and her thighs equally pinned so her legs cross behind her head, there is nothing that Wonder Woman can do but shift minutely here and there to try to make it harder for Pascal to insert the now-stiff rubber dildos into her gleaming, heavily-greased love holes. He smiles across from her, kneeling beside her struggling figure and palming her breast. The thinner dildo he’s rested on the concrete block for now, the fatter longer one he uses to tickle and grind at the opening of her snatch.

“...you...bastard....you...disgusting...perverted..bast...UUUGHHNNN!” Her words have cut his playfulness short and the dildo plunges deep within her cavity, filling it completely and coming to a stop where it’s tip rubs her cervix.

“Do not suppose that because I admire your spirit, hero, that I won’t try to break it with every resource at my command. That is part of my pleasure, you see.”

“...s..s..still...a...bas..tard...” grunts the angry woman.

Pascals throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, mon ami, you are being quite delightful.”

Suddenly the naked beauty feels the dildo begin to ripple within her. Special air baffles built within the rubber phallus direct the powerful stream of air through the rod so that it vibrates all along its generous surface.

“Aaaahhhhh....ooohhhhh....whuh...ohhhhh....”

“Feels magnificent, does it not, mon cherie? Something to write home about, yes?”

“...n...n....n....no...NO!”

“Ah, ah, ah. I think yes.”

“....h...h...how....is...this...huuunnnnhh....s...s...so..s..strong....”

“Well, it has quite a powerful motor. One full horsepower in such a tiny space. It will, of course, completely devastate you. But here, you simply must enjoy the full effect of this toy.” Pascal’s eyes shine brightly as he slowly forces the second thinner dildo into Wonder Woman’s ass. Weakened as she is and as well-lubricated as possible, her anus is incapable of preventing entry. The sphincter muscles tighten as she bears down with fierce determination, but the specially-designed anal probe easily pushes past her resistance and slides high up into her rear.

“Ghhuuughhhh!”

“Do not fuss so, my dear. It is just a fuck pole shoved up your ass. The world is a harsh place. Even Wonder Woman has to learn to take a butt fucking now and then. It serves to even the score. Just take your medicine and like it, bitch”

“...uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....” The length and width of the anal dildo completely fills Wonder Woman’s ass, pressing against the walls of her cavity and lodged firmly in place. Her head wobbles and nods from the sensations filling her holes.

“If you think that feels nice, wait til the stimulation really starts up.”

When the air baffles in the anal dildo kick in to augment the wavering sensations in her cunt, Wonder Woman’s eyes flutter and her head sags against her ankles.

“Oh...ho..hohhhhhhhhhhhh......h.....h....hera....help...me...”

“I have to say that it seems your goddess has completely forsaken you, cherie. So sad, no?”

“Aaah..ha...haaaaahh...so...strong....sooooo fast......i..c...c..can’t....han..handle...this...”

“Of course not. No one can. That is the point of the toy. To have your head spinning with pure ecstacy. Give in, slut. Let its wonderful sensations turn you into a shuddering, mindless cum-dripping idiot. Oh, I almost forgot to engage the nipple stimulators. In fact, let me put this on full automatic mode. It is to die for, cherie.”

He pushes one of the three buttons on the unit twice and a tiny red light glows on the unit’s face. And then the gauge needles on the top half of the face and the bottom half begin to twitch. Pascal notes that they spike into the red immediately.

“It will take a moment to get the readings from the sensors on your forehead and breast, then it will stabilize. This little wonder measures galvanic skin response and responds accordingly. It learns your pleasure levels, so to speak, and when you begin to lag and your skin is a bit lax, it sends an automatic signal to the dildos and nipple stims and that delightful little clit gripper to get your blood rushing again. Pretty neat, huh?”

“Haaaaahhhh.....oh.ho...hohhhhhh...eeeeyhh.....huunhh...” Wonder Woman is panting and moaning and writhing in pure pleasure now, her breasts rising and falling in rapid little bursts.
“Huhh...huhh....huhh...huhh....huhh...huhh....huhh...huhh....huhh...huhh....huhh...”

“According to the manual, it will take about a minute before it learns the user’s response profile. First-timers may experience climax very quickly until regular practice with the unit permits more control.”

Wonder Woman’s nipples suddenly light up with mouth-dropping pleasure as a gentle fuzzy current surges through them.

“Oh....oh....oh....oh....aahhhh....OHH!....”

“Whoa! Look at those nipples pop. The little lady likes her sensitive breast tips played with I see. I shall make a note in my log.”

“....p...pl....please...m..make it....s..s...stop....”

“Now I know you don’t really mean that, cherie,” Pascal says, brushing more hair off of the shuddering beauty’s face.

And then the fuzzy feeling surrounds her clit and Wonder Woman screeches in pure joy.

“AAIIEEEYYAAAAAAHHH!”

“Oh, did the clit clip just start up?”

Pascal’s eyes shine with ferocious pleasure of his own as he watches the famous Champion of All Women writhe and buck and jerk and fling her sweat in all directions as her body is inundated with absolute pleasure from every major erotic spot on her body.

“OHH!...OHH!...UUUHHH....HERA....HELP.....SOME...ONE..........ANY...ONE....!..”

“There is no one, Wonder Woman. No one but me. I believe you are going to cum for me now, are you not?”

“...I...C..C..CAN’T....F.....F....F....FFFF.....FIGHT...IT.....FIGHT YOU.....” The anguish and ecstacy fill the Amazon’s face. Her trembling lips, her clenched eyes, her shaky voice grown raw with helplessness all signal her complete subjugation to the sex toy dominating her every thought. Both cavities are packed to the walls and throbbing with the rippling motions of the bladder dildos at work. Her nipples are on fire from the buzzing thrill dancing across their pulsing surfaces. And her firmly held clit is thickly swollen and vibrating right in tune with the nipple pulses. Her juices dribble out of her pussy like basting broth. Her scent fills the air. Her bright blue eyes go blank, both irises slowly sliding upward; all thoughts banished.

“Of course you can’t, cherie. You have not been able to truly best me since you arrived here today. Now cum for Pascal, heroine. Cum now, si vous plait.”

“...AAHHH.....OOHHHHHHHH....N..N...NUUUUUUUUGGHHHHHNNN!!!”

A spraying mist of sparkling cum droplets arc from between a stiffly frozen Wonder Woman’s thighs. She’s never done that before. But she’s too blasted by pleasure to even realize it. It scatters like raindrops on the cool white cement block and some on the floor before her. Her eyes show only white and her tongue lolls lazily out of her mouth, slack and dripping with drool. And then the release builds and a second bright silver trickle of delight drains out of Wonder Woman’s pussy. After that, quiet mewing and sighing emanates from the limp Amazon for several minutes as the sex toy shuts down based on her readings.

“Excellent. This toy is functioning perfectly. You will continue to enjoy its charms for 45 minutes. I will be back.” Pascal quickly leaves the room to prepare for what is to come.

“....huh....whuh....huhh...?...” The bleary raven-haired beauty is satiated with warmth, pleasure and cloudy confusion. She slips back into milky pleasure, lying there on her back with her mind blank and her breathing calming down for six slow lazy minutes. And then the device boots up its program and begins again.

End of Part 24

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 25

It is nearly 5:00 p.m. and Steve Trevor sits at his desk in IADC headquarters on a Sunday afternoon fretting about his aide Diana Prince and worrying about Wonder Woman. Since late this morning, neither has made contact with him. On top of that, his calls to Sal Abato’s phone number have also gone unreturned.

Steve is deciding whether to call the DC precinct that Abato works out of when Etta Candy knocks on his open office door and strides in boldly. The hefty blonde fills her dark blue uniform with more than her fair share of body fat. Her fight to stay below the weight limit for IADC officers is constant. The stress makes her eat her favorite chocolate bars compulsively and the vicious cycle has not been broken in years. The woman’s heavy thighs stretch the material of her skirt to the limit of the fabric’s construction. Her instep swells around the straps of her shoes in prominent ridges.

Still, her face is beaming as she enters to ask Steve a question but collapses quickly when she sees how fidgety and nervous Steve is. He’s opening and closing his stapler and looking off into the middle distance.

“Steve? Are you okay? You look awfully stressed,” Etta declares, holding her papers to her chest and tilting her head slightly. She has a crush on Steve and doesn’t like to see him out of sorts.

“Oh, yeah, sorry Etta I’m just concerned about Diana. She hasn’t checked in all day, not since I talked to her about the death of Destiny early this morning. Seems like ages ago.”

“Does Diana usually check in that much on a Sunday? I know I wouldn’t be if I weren’t here on my rotation.”

“Yes, well, Diana’s responsibilities are a bit more dangerous than yours, but no, she doesn’t check in that often on a Sunday.”

Etta frowns at Steve’s caustic remark about her relative importance to the unit compared to Diana’s. Golly, Diana was her friend and all but that didn’t make her a gosh-darned princess, did it? Etta does her fair share of helping the unit function. Paperwork flowed smoothly through her office. And she’d even been in the field once or twice and had received a commendation for it. That was four years ago. Maybe she should put in for an outside assignment. But that might require running somebody down through an alley or something. Etta was not the best runner.

“I’m sure she’s fine, Steve. Is she on some kind of dangerous assignment?”

“Well, she’s following up leads on the heroine murders but not much has come of it. Maybe she just took the day off to collect her thoughts. I just hope she didn’t try to track down one of those leads and got into trouble. And with all that’s happened to the superheroines around DC, I’m concerned about Wonder Woman’s welfare as well. I don’t know, maybe I’m just being a worry wort.”

“Steve, come on! You’re worried about Wonder Woman? She can knock out a rhino with those fists of hers. I’m sure she’s in no trouble.

“You’re probably right, Etta.”

“I’m sure I am. And as for Diana, what really could happen there? She’s a smart girl. She knows how to land on her feet.”

* * *

Diana lies on her back, trussed up in steel and virtually naked. Only the tattered remains of her shredded bustier hang off her shoulders in twin rumpled heaps at her sides. Her worn and acid-splattered boots sport minor holes here and there. Her golden belt and bracelets have lost their luster from the dusty storeroom and the heavy fighting throughout the day. Dazed and dreamy, the satiated champion’s eyes flicker heavily from the orgasm she’d enjoyed just six minutes before.

The sex toy’s electronics have sensed her relaxation and it begins to rev up its systems. With Wonder Woman’s mighty fists pinned down to the cement block by solid black bars and her ankles clasped behind her head, the mighty Amazon is not going anywhere. Except perhaps on a trip to paradise thanks to Pascal’s insidious orgasm generator.

The deflated dildos inside Wonder Woman quickly expand to fill both cavities once again. The air baffles send ripples through the fat pussy packer and the thinner yet equally effective ass ram.

“Not again...oh no..” The desperate beauty squirms and groans in frustration and anger until the nipple and clitoris clips begin to buzz. The groans turn to moans and Wonder Woman once more begins to pant. “Not...good. I...have...to....take control....”

She makes a concentrated effort to slow her breathing and now her massive bare breasts rise and fall in a slower, steadier rhythm. “It’s j..j..just electricity. I can handle a damn little electric buzz on my sensitive p..parts,” Diana murmurs. “Like the bastard said, just takes a luh...lih...l..little practice.”

She opens her eyes and looks at the disk fastened to her belly. The needles are fluttering in the green zone, steadily hanging in there. She concentrates on that. Making her existence nothing but keeping the needles in the green. The device responds by filling the dildos even more and increasing the flutter rate of the baffles against the walls of her pussy and ass. She’s never felt so filled before. Every square inch of her is pressed by the warm latex. The rhythms of the greased fluttering rods buried within her holes is so enticing, so wonderful.

“Uummmmhhh!” The needle for the pussy gauge swings high up into the red range. “Uhh..huuuuhhn....” It is followed into the red by the ass gauge. “Ohh....godddd..!..OHH!”

“Come on....come on...back to green...back to green...” Wonder Woman focuses on the needles again, even as sweat beads pop on her forehead. The needles do settle down though and twitch and shake within the green zone once more. “Good....good....okay...okay...that’s better.”

When the nipple clips begin buzzing more insistently, Wonder Woman lets out a quiet little squeak from the back of her throat. Her breasts feel fuller, her nipples ready to explode.

“Green,” she prays softly. There is no gauge for nipple stimulators or the clit clip, so the Amazon princess imagines a pair of them in her head. She concentrates fiercely on bringing the mental nipple gauge into the green and, with a sudden surge from her power belt, she does it. She calms her heart and lets herself feel a twinge of confidence. She’s controlling her reactions now and can....

The clit clip suddenly fires up with a vengeance. It’s surrounding her sensitive nub with upward strokes from the base of the clit to its tip. “BY OLYMPUS’ MIGHTY MOUNT! WHAT THE HELL!!! OH MY DEAR SWEET GODS.....NOOOOO!” The endless zipping electric strokes up and down, up and down the length of her clit blow all of Wonder Woman’s circuits in less than 8 seconds. Both dildos ripple like snakes swallowing mice within her. Her nipples feel like those same snakes are fluttering their forked tongues all over their surface. Her jerking, bucking body is out of her control.

“Oh..no..no..c...can’t maintain. Uuuuuhhhhnnnnn! I .c..can’t..muh...m.. MAINTAIN!” Her eyes see double and all the gauges in her vision and in her mind blast right into the upper most edge of the red zone. She whines like a puppy that’s had its tail stepped on and her face is scrunched tightly in utter agony it would seem. But it’s not agony. It’s the ultimate pleasure surging through her body, possessing her mind, breaking her spirit, making her cum. Her body freezes in place. The oncoming wave drowns the maiden’s tortured mind.

“Aaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Yet again, due to her efforts to suppress it no doubt, the orgasm, unable to be contained, sprays her cum in a glittering rainbow from between her legs. The arc fails and then regains as surge after surge of pleasure creates pulses of joy in the air. The bladders pulse against her cavity walls and ripple steadily, creating small tsunamis of ecstacy that sweep all thoughts out of Wonder Woman’s mind. Her body begins to bump and shiver within the restraints for a minute or more before she goes completely limp and a long low moan falls out of her soul like a wind through a cracked window. And with that, and with the dildos deflating quickly within her, the final remaining measure of cum drips out of her hot, liquid pussy, slides down her body and pools beneath her hips. The device has given her two orgasms already. She still has 30 minutes before Pascal returns but the spent, drooling, heavy-lidded Amazon is too blasted to know it.

* * *

Sal sits across the street from the magnificent Georgian mansion on Connecticut Ave in Northwest Washington, D.C. and looks at it with considerable trepidation. This is a very nice neighborhood and it seems highly unlikely that the man who lives in this house would remotely have anything to do with Ziggy Rolls. He sighs and looks at Jimmy who he knows is thinking along the same lines. The last thing that Sal wants to do is to return to Anacostia, walk up eight fucking flights of stairs again and beat the living crap out of Ziggy to prove the point that you don’t screw over Sal Abato or a DC cop and get away with it. But he might just have to do that. Maybe tomorrow he might have to do it. He looks at his watch and sees he’s already past the end of his shift. But since when did a shift end mean much to a homicide dick with no wife and no real hobbies?

“What do you think?”

“What the fuck do I know?” Jimmy shrugs. “The place sure looks nice and pricey and everything but this Quigley wouldn’t be the first drug seller to buy into respectability, or at least to make a show of it. Maybe he moved up and is wholesaling to local pushers. Sure isn’t going to have stoners and horse heads coming to his door here to snag a bag of weed or a hit of H though.”

“If one did,” Sal responds, “he’d have his head blown off by a 12-gauge or get his throat ripped out by some Doberman named Fritz in less time than it would take to shout “Heel boy!”

“Only way to know for sure is to knock. If he’s even home,” Jimmy says. “He’ll deny knowing Ziggy though and where does that leave us?”

“Get your head out of your ass, Jimmy. We’re not here to connect him to Ziggy. We don’t even mention Ziggy if we can avoid it. We’re here to connect him with Gerry or as BattleAxe in some way. We do that, this case is as good as closed.”

“Right, of course, I wasn’t thinking. Still, you know he won’t be the type to fall for our vaudeville act.”

Sal ponders the dilemma. “No, that’s for sure. He won’t shake easy like Ziggy or Parsons.”

“Nope. We need some kind of leverage,” Jimmy nods, thinking.

“We could play it all sincere and heavy about the murders. A final tidying up thing. No biggie,” Sal suggests.

“I still doubt he’d cop to knowing Gerry.”

“Hmmm. What about this: we go in telling him we’re lawyers and he’s got a bequest from a deceased Mr. Detherlink,” Sal builds the idea as he speaks. “He has to sign something that affirms he knows him.”

“Then what?”

“Then we ask him about the tranqs and see where we go from there, but at least we got affirmation he knows Gerry. If he’s got a rap sheet, we can squeeze him good tomorrow. Put some real pressure on with real leverage.”

Well, it’s a plan,” Jimmy says with a frown. “But we don’t have anything for him to sign.”

“If he says he knows him, we can delay that and say the whole legal thing can be done tomorrow in our offices or some such shit,” Sal offers breezily. “We’re just trying to get our foot in the door here.”

“Okay then, you ready to be a lawyer?” Jimmy opens the car door.

“I don’t know if I can get that sleazy that fast.”

“I have full confidence.”

“Dickhead,” Sal says, getting out of the sedan.

“Lawyer,” Jimmy smiles.

“Ouch. Now you’re getting personal.”

The maid that comes to the door of the grand home is a pretty young black girl in a full black and white maid’s uniform that’s filled out nicely by a set of remarkable knockers. The outfit offers the traditional frilled white apron, short black skirt with matching white frills, a white crowning hair piece. The young beauty is provocatively holding an actual feather duster in her small tight fist. The black pumps she’s wearing make her long slim legs look amazing. The porn video is already running in Sal’s head and he tries hard to keep a poker face. Nevertheless, the maid catches his appraising look and frowns.

“Yes?”

“We’re here to see a Mr. John Quigley,” Jimmy says, drawing her attention. He’s been less obvious in his appraisal than Sal “Is this his residence?”

“Yes.”

“Is Mr. Quigley here at present?”

“Yes.”

“May we see him?”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

“We’re lawyers,” Sal speaks up. “For the estate of Gerald Detherlink.”

“So?” The maid’s irritation at Sal’s demeanor is more than evident.

“So, there’s a bequest to Mr. Quigley that the estate would like to settle,” Sal reveals, hopefully.

“Say what now?”

“There’s money Mr Quigley has coming from the ex-Mr. Detherlink,” Jimmy explains.

“Well why didn’t he say so,” the maid looks at Jimmy and cocks her head brusquely at Sal.

“I will be clearer in the future,” Sal offers.

“You don’t have to be no clearer about what you want. I know what you want.” The maid looks him up and down with a disparaging shake of her head.

“Would you be so kind to ask Mr Quigley to spare us a moment of his time?” Jimmy interjects politely.

Still looking at Sal, the maid declares, “This uniform ain’t no green light for you, Mr. Big Eyes.” She turns to Jimmy with a much sweeter smile. “What all’s your names?”

They give them to her and she stares at the two of them for a moment, considering their fate.

“Wait here, please,” she says, getting back to her official tone, and shuts the door in their face.

“This is going well so far,” Jimmy says, giving Sal a sideways glance and a smirk.

“I can’t help it! Did you see those legs!”

“Prime cut.”

“What I wouldn’t give....”

“We’re lawyers. Some decorum is required, Sal.”

“I’ll be fine with him,” Abato states, “as long as she doesn’t hang around.”

When the door opens again, the maid has been replaced by a middle-age man with short-cropped black hair going gray at the temples. He’s wearing a long-sleeved red-striped Ralph Lauren polo shirt with white slacks and looks like he just stepped out of a clothing catalog.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Freezia tells me you have business to conduct with me.” He sounds smooth enough to be conducting an estate auction at Buckingham palace, complete with the genteel British accent.

“Yes sir,” Jimmy extends his hand to shake and the man does so with a firm grip. “How do you do. I am James Glendennan, this is my associate Salvatore Abato. Are you John Quigley?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Mr. Quigley,” James continues, “we represent the estate of a Mr. Gerald Detherlink. Are you familiar with that name, sir?”

“Detherlink? That does seem to ring a bell. Hmm. Gerry Detherlink....”

“A rather large man,” Sal offers up.

“Oh, you mean BattleAxe!”

The two detectives stand there stunned at this statement.

“Yes, I do know him. Freezia tells me that he left me some money or some such thing?”

“Uhh...uhhhmm...” Sal is speechless. Jimmy is no better.

Seeing their stunned expressions, Quigley breaks into a grand smile that would sell a million tubes of toothpaste. “Come in, gentlemen.” His long arm claps Sal on the back as he ushers them into his home. “Let’s talk in the parlor.”

* * *


Ten minutes after her last orgasm, Wonder Woman’s heart rate has finally returned to normal and her dreamy eyes open slowly as she comes out of a deep, dozing cat nap. She’s looking up at a black air conditioning outlet in the ceiling. She has no thoughts about that. In fact she has remarkably few thoughts at all.

“..ohh...feel sticky...” she murmurs. “...what time izzit...”

It’s time, according to the automated program in the sex toy reading her skin response measurements, for another round of stimulation. When the dildos buried within her pussy and ass begin inflating once more, when the sensation of the firm latex starting to crowd her cavities breaks through to her consciousness, the inevitability of what is about to happen to her yet again starts Wonder Woman weeping.

“...why’s he doin’..this....why....why....?...” She takes a deep breath but can’t stop the tears from spilling out of her eyes. “I...didn’t kill....his...sister...not my....fault. It isn’t.”

The two dildos quickly swell up to their full size and a bit beyond. Wonder Woman closes her eyes, calms herself and imagines the gauges again, seeing the needles quiver low in the green area. She can handle this feeling. She’s simply filled up with a couple of rubber dongs. Overfilled in fact. She’s even on the verge of being uncomfortable or at least she tries to convince herself it’s so. No, there’s nothing sexy about being uncomfortably bloated by invasive dildos. She makes an effort to feel the dried cum on the pussy packer and to sense an unpleasant scratchiness against her walls down there. Anything that helps her fight off the hard-to-resist sensation of being so completely filled can’t hurt, she thinks. But despite what’s she’s trying to convince herself of, the feeling of every square inch of her cavities being stuffed to their limits by warm, bulging rubber rods is delightfully erotic.

“...no..no..I....c..can’t think like that....must pretend it’s... like having his... nasty...evil... diseased prick.... filling me...why would...i.. w...want...something so horrible... inside me...?...must keep it negative...sensations are degrading...is this thing scratching me to ribbons inside...? There’s n..nothing pleasurable...ab..b..bout..that... ” Wonder Woman is beginning to regain her control with such negative thoughts about what might be happening inside her.

But then it all goes bad! When the sudden irresistible fluttering of the two dildo’s inner baffles kick in, Wonder Woman realizes she’s made a huge mistake by concentrating so intensely on what she’s feeling within her pussy. And now, the intense rippling sensations all up and down the full length of her vaginal walls and thickly-dammed ass draws a hard grunt and a violent reflexive shake from her whole body.

“WHUUUHH!!....uuuhhnnn....wrong....dammit...wrong...! Huunnhhh!....That...wuz... s...s..so..so..wrong. Oooooh!..... shouldn’t have...focused...so deliberately on....on...the sensations inside my pussy....why did I do...that...!... Ohhhhhhhhhh... my...that...that...bubbly rubbing...it... feels.....incredible..!..”
She can’t see it but the needle in the top gauge on sex toy bounces way over to the red zone and stays there for an endless 15 seconds. The rippling surface of the pussy packer rubs all up and down the inner length of her heavenly channel, the vibration making her body shiver and quake helplessly. When the dildo in her ass begins to quiver and bump at an even higher speed, Wonder Woman’s mouth drops open and her eyes flutter madly. Her body is drenched in sweat as she fights the high tide she knows is coming for her.

And then the ripples inside the dildos suddenly stop and they both begin to deflate. The Amazon’s panting and shivering slows for a few precious seconds. It’s enough to let her catch her breath and regain a bit of control.

“...ohhhhh......maybe....i...i..b..b...broke it...”

The moaning beauty has but a brief interlude of peace however. The ripples are replaced by a the sensation of both dildos suddenly inflating back to their generous proportions. And then they go beyond that to become as thick and bulging as anything Wonder Woman has ever felt inside her. The size of them is overwhelming her.

“...ohhhhh...too much....too fat....c..can’t believe this.....is happening...”

And then the ripples within the rubber rods start up again. But now, since the dildos have expanded to the maximum girth, the rippling sensations against the walls of her orifices is even more intense than ever before. And with the pace of these ripple cycles being faster than ever as well, Wonder Woman’s head is deluged within a maelstrom of pure ecstacy. The effect drives her to panting helplessness. A storm’s worth of waves smashes against her psyche. The troughs and peaks of incessant pleasure wash through her and shake her body from head to toe. When the nipple and clit clips suddenly start their fuzzy stimulation routine, the Amazon loses all pretense of control and simply goes blind with absolute pleasure.

“HERA! OHHHH! GODDESS OF GRACE! STOP IT! S...Stop this...pleeeeeassse.. PLEASE! Ohhhhhhhhhh! I...can’t....I...can’t....Uhh...huh....huh... HUUUGHHNNNNNN!”

Wonder Woman’s eyes clench shut, her mouth opens to a wide oval of ecstacy, and her world shuts down to nothing but a white nova of her mind-stunning orgasm. Pinned on her back in bondage with both arms restrained in steel, the Amazon is helpless to prevent the humiliating scene of her pussy erupting like a volcano, with a shower of juicy cum that sprays up like Krakatoa followed quickly by a flow of more cum pouring out of her snatch like lava flooding down the smooth slopes of her ass on one side and through the lush black thickets of her pubic bush on the other.

The powerful sex toy has done everything that Pascal hoped it would. Indeed, Wonder Woman is completely devastated by this third orgasm. After a minute of mindless drooling and the shakes, the exhausted female begins to sob openly. She’s been reduced to the level of a frightened child.

“...i...don’t want to be here...wanna go home to Themyscira....see my mommy...be protected by...H...Hippolyta in the palace...forget the world of men...let me go...I’ll be good...I promise...i..will..just let me go. Please...please....pleasssssseeeeeeeee....” After three minutes of bawling, Wonder Woman finally drifts into a semi-conscious haze and goes slack in her bondage, a very lost soul.

* * *

“So, gentlemen, may I see your badges, please?”

John Quigley has led the two detectives into his parlor, which probably had been featured in a spread in Architectural Digest magazine entitled “Plush Retreats of the Fabulously Rich.” It’s a large room with two conversation areas featuring matching white leather couches, glass coffee tables, colorful contrasting throw pillows, and brilliant sunlight streaming through white linen window treatments that cost more than the two detectives monthly salaries combined.

“Excuse me,” Abato responds.

“Come, come, gentlemen. I am being forthcoming with you. I would hope you would afford me the same respect. You’re obviously police officers and not lawyers despite what you told Freezia. Even she saw through your poor charade.”

The two detectives abashedly display their badges for review.

“At least you used your real names,” Quigley says after inspecting the badges. “Won’t you have a seat,” he motions to one of the couches and the detectives sit down while Quigley takes the matching armchair across from them. “Can I get you a drink, something non-alcoholic as you’re on duty? I’ve had some peach and ginger iced tea made. It’s no trouble.”

“Thank you, I’d like that,” Jimmy says before Sal can decline for the two of them.

“Excellent,” Quigley rings a small glass bell from one of the end tables and the lovely young black maid comes into the room. “Would you bring us three iced teas, Freezia.”

“Yessir,” she actually curtsies, but manages to give Sal a baleful glare before she exits.

Quigley chuckles, having seen her look. “You managed to get on my girl’s bad side rather quickly it seems, Detective Abato. But it’s not hard to do. She tends to be easily combative but came with excellent references.”

“I..uh..am sorry if I came on too strong in our desire to see you, sir.”

“I don’t believe it was your interest in seeing me that had her piqued but rather your interest in her. She is fetching, I’ll give you that.”

When Abato goes red, Jimmy intercedes, “We appreciate your directness and honesty, Mr. Quigley...regarding your association with Mr. Detherlink. BattleAxe. How did you come to know him, if I may ask?”

“I’ve supplied him with some of his weapons in the past and most recently some powerful tranquilizers.”

“You admit that?” Sal leans forward, startled.

“Certainly, why not,” replies Quigley who leans back in his chair, draping his arm over its wide back with complete nonchalance. “I supply many people with hard-to-get items in my business. The other day I was able to provide a wrist unit that fires blinding little flash beads for a superheroine by the name of Dazzle. She was most appreciative. I supply both sides in the battle between good and evil, gentlemen. For profit of course. I can’t be held responsible any more than Lockheed is for how its fighter planes are used.

“Uh huh,” Sal says, taken aback by the boldness of the admission. The man probably kept a team of lawyers busy on retainer just to keep his ass out of jail. But he did have style. Looking around, Sal adds, “Seems like business has been good.”

“I make a decent living at it, I’m not ashamed to say. The continuing clash of wills between those who would sunder our society and those who protect it requires my specialized attention to detail that everyone seems to appreciate...and for which they pay generously.”

“And if people should, say, die by the use of your...toys, Mr. Quigley, it’s their hard luck?” Sal gives the arms dealer a dose of his own harsh honesty. “You sleep like a baby, do you?”

“Ahh, here’s our tea.”

When Freezia offers the silver tray with its crystal tumblers of glinting tea to Sal, he takes it from her and gives her a nod, a smile and a thank you that draws a minutely lifted lip and a sarcastic “My pleasure” from the maid. She gives Jimmy a genuine smile when he takes his glass from the tray.

As Quigley takes his own tea from Freezia she bends low and nods to him. This maneuver puts her ass directly in front of Sal’s face, allowing a full view of her black silk panties under the frilly costume skirt. The tightly-stretched fabric not two feet from Sal’s face provides the wide-eyed detective with a lingering glimpse of heaven’s cleft. And then the smell of her silent fart hits as Freezia straightens up.

“Hope you enjoy that......tea, Mr. Abato,” the girl says with false civility and departs.

Quigley gives an amused snort as he sips his drink. It’s not his first introduction to the use of chemical warfare or Freezia’s tactic. He’s just glad he’s far enough away that the smell he knows must be irritating the Italian cop across from him.

Even Jimmy gets a waft from it and settles back on the couch away from it. He presses on with a briefly wrinkled nose, “Would you have any sort of receipt for this sale of the tranquilizer to Battle Axe. It would clear up our files and help us settle this case once and for all.”

“I believe I do. My records are meticulous. One doesn’t want disputes over billing errors with people armed with such advanced technological weaponry. The outcome could be unpleasant. I will retrieve it if you will wait here.”

While he’s out of the room, Sal and Jimmy whisper with heads together.

“Well, this worked out much better than I expected,” Jimmy says. He then drains the majority of his glass in a satisfied gulp. “Mmm, that is good tea. Could have done without the extra spice from Freezia, though.”

“Little bitch! But it was worth it to get a look up that skirt,” Sal says with a sigh before taking a long pull on his own tea. “If the tox screen shows the tranqs in any or all of the heroines, we’ve pretty much closed this case against BattleAxe.”

“Just good plodding police work,” Jimmy replies. He finishes his tea and then rises as Quigley returns with a paper in hand.

“I made you a copy you may retain for your investigation. You’ll see the invoice includes a chemical breakdown of the tranquilizer. I’d imagine your medical examiner will appreciate my thoroughness.”

“No doubt,” says Sal as he puts down his glass on the coffee table. “Thanks for your time, Quigley,” his voice is cool as he looks around. “I hope I don’t have to come back here and bust you some day. That would be bad for your business.”

“I doubt I’ll lose much sleep over it detective. In fact, I do sleep like a baby. I pay my lawyers so I can.”

“The price of success, Quigley.”

“Take care, Detective. Danger lurks out there in many forms.”

“You should know since you provide so many of them.”

“Quite so. Gentlemen, let me see you to the door.”

Settling back in the car, as Sal puts it into gear, Jimmy declares with a shake of his head, “Smooth operator.”

Sal just grunts. He’s thinking of black silk heaven.

* * *

“Rise and shine, sleepy head. You are letting your life drift by, lazy bones. Oh wait, you cannot rise. You are heavily restrained. Silly me.”

“...whu...?...whatju say...? huh?...” Wonder Woman hears the voice but takes a moment to register what’s going on. After twenty seconds she’s able to focus more. “...Pascal..is that ...you....?...”

“But of course, cherie. Who else would it be?”

“..whuz...goen...on..? Where....are you..?”

“I am in another room. Phone calls to make, plans to refine. I have been attending to the details while you had that magnificent third climax. I am so pleased you are enjoying my toy.”

“...saw...that...? You SAW me!”

“But of course, my dear. I have planted pinhole cameras throughout the house. Your long pitiful decline at my hands has all been thoroughly documented. Along with your change from Diana Prince to Wonder Woman. I have been too busy to watch it in its entirety but I scanned the feeds from the upstairs, the storeroom and the laboratory in which you currently reside. The resolution is quite remarkable.”

“....you....you....you....” Too stunned by the news and far too weary to even build a sentence, Wonder Woman just stutters, dumbfounded and heart sick.

“Me, me, me.” Pascal’s chuckles can be heard clearly through the speaker in the ceiling. He has paid a small fortune for the complete security package but it will certainly pay for itself in DVD sales in the near future. Who would think that revenge could be so profitable? “Well, I do believe my 45 minutes will be up shortly. I’ll return then, after your next orgasm, mon amie.”

“...can’t...be..true....” Wonder Woman groans. “This...this is a..nuh...n...nightmare...”

When the fuzzy feeling in her nipples starts up, the captive Amazon is jolted into reality by the intense pleasure in her breasts. She realizes all too clearly that this nightmare is very real. And that it is endless. And the fact that it hasn’t come to an end may be the bright spot in her day.

End of Part 25

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 26

For the fourth time in an hour, the world-famous Amazon beauty feels the rubber bladders inside her vagina and anal passage shudder and shimmy as they slowly inflate. The smooth latex sides of the sex toy’s two dildos gently begin to crowd the walls of her pussy and her ass, expanding against them, filling her, their sudden firmness packing her tightly, insinuating themselves into her psyche as they flutter within her and urge her into a heated yearning she can’t ignore.

“Oh no..no....ohhhhhhhhh....” The whimpering heroine moans and frets as the distracting ripples under the skin of the bladders begin to stoke the heat of her blood. “..dear Hera...n..not ag..g..gain...”

Helplessly splayed on her back and bound by unresistant steel for just over three hours now, Wonder Woman’s body is filled with aching tremors as painful cramps run through the muscles in her legs, arms and neck. Held immovable by steel bondage bars with her legs tucked behind her head and her crotch on display, the mighty Champion of All Women looks like anything but a champion. Her face glistens with sweat. Her once lustrous black hair is limp and bedraggled against her bare shoulders with strands of it pasted to her forehead. Her huge breasts, naked and swollen from three titanic orgasms, now rise and fall at a quickened pace from the pleasure rising within her. Her thighs and ass bear the slick sheen of her own cum that had burst forth from her with volcanic delight. Far from heroic, the mewling female bound and helpless on the large concrete block in Rene Pascal’s basement is Wonder Woman in name only. There is nothing wondrous about her whatsoever.

The sex toy fixed to her body registers only moderate levels of excitement in her and its programming initiates more stimulation through the two nipple clamps and the single clit clip, buzzing them gently but suddenly. The effect has Wonder Woman jerking in place and her eyelids fluttering. The cramps are forgotten, overwhelmed by the pleasure she is receiving.

“...uhh.hhhuhhh..huuhhhhhhh...” Her extended moans fill the air as her body quivers with cascading aftershocks through her every nerve. “...d..damn..him..damn him...to...H...H..Hades!”

Her nipples are on fire with pleasure as the lazy electric current teases them to agonized heights of tingling desire. Wonder Woman shakes her upper torso with a heavy jerk, trying to knock the clamps off her tortured nipples but it’s completely useless. She knew it would be. They remain in place tickling and humming and creating madness in the fevered heroine’s mind.

“PASCAL...STOP!!!...STOP THIS...PLEEEEEAASSSSE!!! PASCAL... PLEASSSE..”

“No.” A single word out of the ceiling speaker and nothing more.

The clit clip increases the electric current to a higher level and the pink nub held in its three prongs is filled with a stroking surge of pleasure that once again jolts Wonder Woman’s entire body in place within the cold black steel bars that trap her.

“UNNGHH! OH...OH..OH....NO....OHHHHHHHHHH!”

The prongs send waves of tickling electric pleasure up and down the length of her clit in a mind-numbing sequence that feels like fingertips gently twisting at her nub to the left and right, over and over. The sensation destroys any will that Wonder Woman might have had in reserve. And when the bladders in the two dildos begin an even more rapid fluttering, pulsing and rippling against the very tightly-packed walls of her pussy and ass, the haughty Princess of Themyscira is brought low, turned into a helpless head-nodding, drooling, eye-fluttering creature of unbridled lust. There are no green arcs of restraint in her mind, no careful calming breaths, no control of any kind. There are simply white waves of pleasure that sweep over her, through her, and within her very being as she cries out in a howling climax of absolute pleasure. Eyes clenched, body shaking, hips jerking back and forth, Wonder Woman sprays the air with her rainbow of cum droplets.

“AAIEEEYYYYYAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The air smells of Wonder Woman’s pleasure. She has sprayed her scent and now drowns in a fog of silky comfort. Her tongue lolls out from between her bruised and chapped lips and the satiated heroine is left dull and incoherent by her fourth orgasm in an hour’s time. When her breathing slows, when the massive tits rise and fall like gentle tidal pools, Pascal returns, striding toward his subject. He sniffs the air and his eyebrows rise as he smirks down at his prize. The dazed Amazon’s head tilts slightly to the side, her heavy eyelids showing only slivers of white with her eyes rolled up high underneath. Silvery trickles of her cum are draining out of her crotch with the thin dildo hoses leading to her pussy and ass now flat and limp.

With her expression of stupefied satisfaction, the mighty Wonder Woman looks like nothing more than a moronic satiated cum slut, played out and worthless on the set of some porn movie that’s wrapped for the day. And nobody told the used over-the hill porn star to wake up and go home.. A figure without dignity, the famous heroine is trussed up in helpless bondage before her conqueror with no more sense than a gurgling infant. Pascal leans down and checks the device that measures her strength reading against the steel bars. Her power levels have dropped significantly over the hour and the scientist is greatly pleased. Wonder Woman softly mumbles in her dazed state. “...niiiiice....”

“Yes, pain you learned to master, Wonder Woman, but pleasure, well, what can I say; once a cunt, always a cunt. Now let me see, what I else I can do to disgrace this pathetic costume of yours, cherie. I am feeling most artistic.”

* * *

In the car on the way back into Washington, D.C., Sal and Jimmy are finally in a good mood. Both men are smiling around large Angus burgers they bought through the fast-food drive-through. After taking a generous sip of Coke, Jimmy turn his head and addresses Sal.

“I didn’t think we’d clear this today but we did it, partner. It was BattleAxe in the conservatory with a shotgun,” Jimmy jokes, alluding to the board game Clue.

“And a flamethrower. And a garrotte. But yeah, we closed it,” Sal answers, popping three fries into his mouth from the bag nestled in his lap below the steering wheel.

“We’re on the wrong side of the law though, if you ask me,” Jimmy pouts as he sucks more soda through his straw. “Did you see how that bastard Quigley lives! Fuckin’ mansion, servants, probably insane wheels in his garage...”

“Sure pays to straddle the line the way he does,” Sal says. “Typical arms dealer middleman bullshit but because he supplies heroes as well as villains, he gets a free pass. Well, he gets no free pass from me. I catch him stepping over the line I’ll drag him downtown and toss him in the holding tank for a day just to give him a taste of a cage.”

“With his lawyers, he’d be out before the door slammed.”

“Maybe, maybe not. There are ways to stall.”

“If you’re anxious for a civil suit, have a party, Sal. Just leave me out of it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get back and finish up this paperwork and close this damn case.”

“I hear that.”

* * *

Wonder Woman can’t focus her thoughts. Her breasts still gleam with Pascal’s neural inhibitor salves and she’s befuddled and dazed by all the energy she’s expended from four massive orgasms. So when Pascal swiftly releases the wrist bar pinning her left hand to the cement block and swings it aside, she’s too confused to realize the opportunity to struggle.

Her eyes drift dully over to his face looming over her as he grabs her left hand, twists it so the back of her hand is flat against the concrete and with his other hand jerks her thumb up and in against the inside of her palm. She shrieks, her vision swimming in waves of sudden wrenching pain as her thumb is dislocated. She tries to pull her hand away and, knowing she would, his left hand shifts like lighting, grips the Feminum bracelet and Wonder Woman herself pulls her own arm back, leaving the bracelet in the grasp of her foe, her wrist bare. Before she can muster the awareness of this event, Pascal uses both hands to press Wonder Woman’s hand back against the wrist plate and swings the wrist bar back in place with a loud click.

“...whaahthav......you....duhnn...tah...mee...?....”

“I disarmed you, Princess, so to speak. I suspect the other wrist might be more of a challenge now that you know my tricks, but I mean to have that other bracelet of yours. What to do? What to do?”

“...ow....my thumb....my thumb...hurtz....”

“Oh, that. Let me fix that since you’ll need it later.” A quick jerk by the French doctor relocates the thumb in an instant. A slow circling of it by the wet-eyed Amazon shows no long-term damage done. She’d had to do it to herself on one or two rare occasions. It was never pleasant when she did.

Pascal walks over to his workbench opens a drawer and returns with a syringe and a tiny bottle. He fills the syringe from the bottle as a gawking, shaking Wonder Woman pulls and strains against the wide black steel bars pinning her down.

“...no...what’s that...don’t...no...please...don’t inject me....please...don’t...”

“Oh, hush now, hero. You are being a big baby.. This is just a muscle relaxant. We do not want you to hurt yourself do we?”

“...you...inhuman creep....I...hate you. I HATE YOU!!! GET AWAY! STAY AWAY FROM ME..STAY AW...OWW! Owwww! You...you BASTARD! You sadistic little toad! If I ever..ever... uuuhhhnn...oh....dizzeee...”

“Sorry I had to jab your arm so roughly, Wonder Woman, but you were most uncooperative. But you’ll rest now for a bit. Do you a world of good. Oh, and the muscle relaxant is combined with a bit of a sleep drug. I fibbed a bit. I have to prepare you for the next stage of my experiment after all and cannot have you disturbing my procedures.”

With practiced ease, Pascal unbuckles the sex toy’s straps, squeezes open the pinching clips gripping Wonder Woman’s nipples and clit, strips off the sensors and pulls the device away from her body. He carries it over to his workbench and replaces it in a steel drawer before returning to face the dully nodding heroine.

“Now let me get that other bracelet of yours off you.” Pascal repeats the procedure as before, unlocking the wrist bar and pinning Wonder Woman’s hand in place against the concrete block. With her brain dulled to mush, her limp arm gives no real resistance.

“...don’t want you...to...bracelet is mine...given to me......by gods..” the heroine mumbles.

“Never mind that. I need it and that is all there is to it.”

“AARGH! Owwww....my thumb....my thumb...”

Pascal slides the second bracelet off the limp arm and then quickly relocates the sore digit into it’s joint and re-locks her wrist in place.

“There, not so horrible, eh? Now rest easy, Wonder Woman while I tend to these bracelets.”

“...why...what.re..you...gonna do...”

“I am going to turn them into much more ingenious jewelry. No more blocking bullets with these, cherie.”

“..can’t...damage them.....it’s...it’s...Feminum...too strong....”

“So was your tiara, you brainless cow, and that ended up stuffed up your twat if you recall. Not to fear, Wonder Woman. I am sure I can manage. You just rest, cherie, while I make wondrous art of these trinkets of yours, yes?” He wags the bracelets back and forth in the air in triumph as he turns and heads out of the room.

Pascal is in mid-stride, moving toward the heavy steel door leading to the stairs up to the first floor when he hears his captive growl behind him, a sound so raw and deep that for a moment he thinks a genuine animal has gotten loose somehow in the house. He spins on his heels, startled and wary. Then he sees Wonder Woman’s eyes and the cold light of complete madness in them.

She presses her head back against her ankles and suddenly screams at the top of her lungs, “VENGEANCE........IS.......MINE.......IT’S..MINE!!!!”

And that’s when her arms pull up and rip the 6" bolts straight out of the heart of the concrete block. Both sides of the wrist clamps fly upward, the scraping screech of crying metal filling the room. The heavy steel bars still clasped around Wonder Woman’s wrists swing through the air in dangerous dark gray blurs of motion. Pascal looks on in total shock as Wonder Woman slams the clamps down onto the concrete. The steel bars warp and twist away, falling off her wrists in broken segments, while large chunks of the concrete block on which the heroine is pinned shatter to dust on both sides of the wild-eyed beauty.

The little-known, terrible berserker rage that fills Wonder Woman when both bracelets are removed has begun. And when the mighty Amazon’s hands reach back and pry out the upright steel stanchions that hold the crossbar pinning her legs to the concrete block, she is enveloped by a grainy beige cloud of gritty concrete dust.

Horrified and fearing for his life, Pascal turns and runs out of the room at a gallop. Twisting out of her tormented position, Wonder Woman rolls off the heavily damaged cement block and lands on her feet, anxious to follow Pascal and throttle the very life out of him. But after three hours of being pinned in one position, her body falters and she falls heavily to her knees from the spasms running through her, an intense muscle fatigue incapacitating her for the moment. The Frenchman wrests with the heavy steel door, his face panicked as he looks back at the kneeling Wonder Woman. When he finally opens the door wide enough he slips through and dashes up the stairs, letting the door swing shut behind him.

After only fifteen seconds, filled with rage, the mighty Amazon beauty is able to rise to her full height, her balance restored even as her cursed madness gives icy sparkles to her arctic blue eyes. Her massive breasts sway and wobble in the cold fluorescent light. Her wild thatch of pubic hair glints with inky beauty as Wonder Woman’s fists clench and release as she stands there while she regains full use of her muscles. On the floor beside her feet, her tattered bustier has ripped completely at the waist with the strain of her escape from bondage. It now lies in a fallen heap of bright red and gold fabric. The enraged Amazon, however, is oblivious of her near total nakedness. Only her shiny red and white-striped boots and her golden belt around her waist remain of her famous costume.

She heads toward the same heavy steel door through which Pascal had fled. She is on the blood scent and she will not be denied. When she comes up to the door she grabs the handle and yanks hard, pulling the door off its hinges. She tosses it aside and heads up the stairs toward her quarry.

“PASCAL! NO ESCAPE FOR YOU! TIME IS UP!” The bellowing woman takes the stairs three at a time, stretching out her limbs and mindlessly exulting in the freedom from the black steel bars she’d been held in for far too long. “COMING PASCAL. FEAR ME! FEAR MY WRATH!!”

Wonder Woman is at the landing and turning for the second flight of stairs when two gas grenades in rapid succession explode at her feet. Although she leaps backward in thoughtless alarm, the raven-haired heroine is suddenly engulfed by streaming thick yellow plumes of acrid, stinging knockout gas that burns her lungs and fills her eyes with blinding tears. Mindlessly, she suddenly charges forward up the stairs at Pascal who is dropping two grenade launchers from his hands and is reaching for a bright chrome weapon tucked behind the belt holding up his suit pants.

Coughing and choking the berserk beauty is fixated on nothing but revenge and mayhem as she clambers up the steps toward the nervous Pascal.

“WILL (COUGH) HURT YOU (WHEEZE) BAD, PASCAL!! (HAGGCK, HAGGCK)”

She is just three steps away from her target, her arms extended and her hands forming claws of terrible menace as she reaches out to grab his shirt and beat him to a bloody pulp when the first dart jabs into her right breast.

“UUNGH!”

The second dart pierces her belly and stings badly.

“ARGHH!”

The third and fourth darts stab into her left and then her right thigh

“OW! OHH!” All four darts dangle from their embedded wounds in the naked heroine’s body, all of the tiny sharp missiles releasing their potent fast-acting tranquilizer in serum into her bloodstream with noticeable effect. Pascal takes two rapid steps back and watches the stunning Amazon with anxious eyes. She stumbles forward, her clutching hands now splayed wide and slapping hard against the wood floor as she sprawls in an ungainly flop at Pascal’s feet. And even with the gas grenades causing rasping gasps from her tortured lungs and four massive doses of tranquilizers in her bloodstream filling her with a helpless lassitude she can’t escape, still Wonder Woman manages to pull on Pascal’s ankles and yank him off his feet, sending him flailing backward until his back slams against the hard wood floor in a heavy, breath-stealing thump.

“HUUUNNHH!”

“...get you....yet....” She mumbles and crawls onto him as he lies on his back, dazed and scared to death. She rears up, pulls her arm back and sends her fist straight at Pascal’s face in a merciless jab, expecting to crush his nose and exact retribution for his heinous ways. He turns his head and shifts it to the right at the last moment and her blow scrapes against his ear and slips off his head so her knuckles crack against the hard floor and split in several places.

“Oww!” Pascal yelps with pain

“Aaaieeee!” Wonder Woman screeches in agony. Still, with her berserker mind set, the vengeful warrior rears back for a second, more telling blow when the full effect of the tranquilizers finally take complete hold of her system. Her arm falters and goes limp, her eyes roll up under her lids, with only the whites showing and the famous Wonder Woman collapses senselessly on top of Pascal. Her naked body is splayed over his, her breasts crushing against the sides of his face, smothering him in her sweaty cleavage. Her warm crotch is pressed against his belly, her legs interleaved with his as she breathes heavily in an unconscious stupor on top of him.

After an awkward moment, Pascal is able to wrench out his arms from underneath the heavy dead weight of the naked Amazon and push her off him in a rolling thumping of her lifeless arms.

“Get off of me, you mindless cunt,” he groans and finally sits up, gasping and sweaty but throughly relieved. That was far too close for comfort for the fastidious scientist. His ear is bloody and is ringing in his head and he cups it gingerly. He’d have to tend to this immediately.

Where had all her strength come from? Why had she been so crazed? He looks at Wonder Woman prone before him, her eyes closed and her mouth gaping open. Drool slides down her cheek. Her belt still clinches at her waist, her pubic hair glimmers with her sweat and her cum. With her legs slightly splayed, the toes of her boots point in opposite directions. The Amzaon’s huge breasts rise and fall in the slow rhythmic pace of a completely zoned-out druggie. Thank goodness for that.

He’d never heard anything about this kind of berserk behavior before. He was lucky he’d been prepared for a counter attack that he had expected to come much earlier in the proceedings. If the acid attack had missed or any of a half-dozen other scenarios had failed to play out, the gas grenades and automatic stun pistol had been made ready. He was grateful he’d thought of such fail-safes but he certainly had never expected to need them this far into the staging of his experiment with the Amazon. She was truly a wonder of nature. A worthy opponent that he was glad to have fought and defeated.

The darts should certainly hold her for quite some time while he got everything ready for her next humiliation. At least he damned well hoped they would. But with this bitch, who knew for sure? She seemed fully capable of rising from the dead if that were needed. But he thought, ultimately even Wonder Woman couldn’t do that.

Pascal stands up and goes to pour himself a stiff drink of scotch. He’d earned it.

“I will deal with you shortly, cherie.” He winces as he feels his ear and heads for the bathroom to perform some quick stitching. “You are just full of surprises, my dear.”

* * *

Major Steve Trevor types away at his keyboard in the late afternoon light coming through his office window. He is just finishing up an email directed to Detective Salvatore Abato. In the email Steve notes that he’d been trying to reach Sal throughout the day without success so he’s now trying email. He requests that Abato check his list of U.S. purchasers of Elimanol with the names from Interpol using the highly specialized nerve agent purchases for any matches and to get back to him ASAP. He hits “Send” just as Etta knocks on his door again.

“Any word from Diana or Wonder Woman, Steve?”

“Not a thing and I’m very concerned.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Etta bats her eyelashes at Steve as she thrusts her chest out a bit. He stares through her like a window.

“Hmmm? Oh, no, I don’t think so, Etta. No wait, yes, there is!”

“Oooh, what?” Her heart flutters with anticipation, hanging on his every word.

“Get me the file on the superheroine murders, I need to check something for myself.”

“Oh, sure, of course.” Etta’s whole demeanor collapses into horrible posture as she turns to retrieve the file.

“Time to take the bull by the horns myself, I think,” Steve says with conviction. “Time I went into the field again. Long overdue, in fact. This desk jockey crap is for the birds! Etta! Move your big butt!”

“STEVE!” The voice shouting from the other room doesn’t sound as outraged as pleased that he noticed her butt.

* * *


Wonder Woman is flat on her back and completely unconscious from the combination of all her exertions during her berserker episode and the knockout drugs coursing through her system. So, the famous Amazon warrior shows no flicker of eyelids, no awareness, nothing but the slow rise and fall of her big bare breasts. Pascal lifts up her knees until they bend with her boots pointed down, pulls them apart and lays them to either side against the flat table in his laboratory. This is the same table on which the Scarlet Avenger, Flare and Destiny met their tragic fates and which Wonder Woman herself will meet hers once Pascal was done humiliating her for his revenge of his sister’s death.

Still shaken by both anger and fear from his close call with this formidable bitch, Pascal’s hands tremble slightly as he nervously fingers his bandaged ear. Three stitches had been enough and the bandage was a simple wide fabric BandAid wrapped around the front edge of the ear just near his temple. Taking a deep breath and he takes hold of a can of shaving cream from the table and shakes up the can vigorously.

“I will show this bitch who she is dealing with,” he growls as he lowers the can between Wonder Woman’s legs and sprays a generous hissing heap of foam onto her thick mound of pubic hair. He sets down the can and smears the white foam all over and through the silky black tangled curls, swirling it slowly. He relaxes, takes another deep breath and lets himself grow calmer until his hands no longer quiver as they circle and press the shaving cream around the insensible beauty’s pubis on his table. There’s not even a moan from the famous heroine as Pascal takes up his old-fashioned double edged razor, bends down and lowers his face between the woman’s thighs for mint-scented close up view of his work at hand.

“Okay, Wonder Woman, time to go ultimate commando.”

Holding his left hand on her left thigh for balance, Pascal slowly and carefully scrapes the rectangular razor head through the left side of the foamy mound. Like smooth sandpaper on soft wood, the sound of Wonder Woman’s hair being scraped away in a slow steady stroke is music to Pascal’s ears. He’d heard or read somewhere that an Amazon’s pubic bush was a sign of her strength and courage and dominance. If that were true then his shaving of this thick and bushy carpet of hers was just one more demeaning step on the stairway to her own personal hell.

He pulls another stroke on the left side of her pussy and scrapes away a generous amount of foam and hair leaving a pale fleshy swath of completely naked skin between the piled foam ridges on either side. The mighty Wonder Woman’s pussy was going to be as naked and pink as a pre-pubescent girl’s by the time he was done with her. Every inch of skin around her heavenly portal of pleasure was going to be capable of feeling absolute joy without the protection of any hair to dull her senses from the next device he was going to use on her. He wanted to be guaranteed she’d have no way to prevent the experience from overwhelming her completely.

Smiling now, he scrapes a stripe of foam away on the right side of her cunt, carrying off all the tangled tiny inky black ringlets embedded in the thick white foam. He knocks them off the razor against the edge of a waiting ceramic bowl. Nothing is left where he shaved that area but a naked stripe of pale beautiful skin. Humming softly, Pascal gently and continuously scrapes away all of the mighty Amazon’s bush. Pass after pass, the razor circles and strokes and spins and curves over the gentle waves of flesh around her naked crotch. Carefully, methodically and oh so slowly, the Frenchman removes every bit of hair, every vestige of her adulthood until nothing is left but pink and beige lips of her labia staring out from Wonder Woman’s completely bald cunt.

Wiping away the remnants of the shaving cream with a pass of a small towel, Pascal smiles lecherously at his handiwork. He then passes his palm over the area, feeling the incredible smoothness of her naked pussy, the heat of it, the defenselessness of her. He cups her sex and just holds his hand there with a pleased sigh. He has shorn the mighty Amazon warrior of her regal bush and now she lies before him: a helpless, defenseless captive. To see her lying there on the table before him, her eyes closed, mouth slack, knees spread wide, breasts bare, bald pussy filling his hand, it fills him with a calmness somehow for the moment. All life’s work come to fruition.

Removing his palm, he then enjoys the long, luxurious strokes he takes on her powerfully muscled inner thighs. Up and down his hands glide, squeezing the flesh there and filling himself with his own sense of power at his complete domination of one of the most powerful and revered heroines on the planet. And still there is no moaning, no sound issuing from the senseless form on the table before him. He hadn’t even had to bind her with all the potent drugs and knockout gas he’d used on her. But he would bind her now. And with her very own lasso.

* * *

Steve Trevor and Etta Candy are poring over the list of purchasers of Elimanol and the list of purchasers of a highly-specialized nerve agent that Steve had received via fax from Interpol earlier that day. Etta is reading off names from her shorter Interpol list and Steve is checking them against his much longer six-page list from the U.S. purchasers of Elimanol. It’s a tedious job that could have been instantly completed by computer if budget-cutting hadn’t taken away yet another aide from the IADC team and left them short-handed. No one had entered the list and the damn scanner was broken. On a quiet Sunday, all they could do was cross-check the list manually between the two of them. Steve was flipping back and forth between the pages with increasing frustration. The damn list wasn’t even arranged alphabetically but instead was a chronological list in order of date purchased. Not helpful at all. His face reddens as Etta reads the next name from her Interpol list.

“Reardon Pharmaceuticals,” she says calmly, trying to impose her calmness on Steve, which only seems to agitate him more. Lives could be in the balance here!

He flips through the pages searching with desperate eyes. He had a bad feeling about this. Very bad.

“Yes. I do have a Reardon here! That’s it!” He shouts triumphantly and starts to rise, heading for his uniform jacket on the coat tree in the corner of his office.

“But wait Steve. We have to do the whole list. There may be more than one matching customer.”

“But there’s no time....” His arms splay out to the sides, waving in urgent circles.

“You don’t know that. You’re just worried about Diana. We have to be thorough or otherwise we could be going off on a wild goose chase with the wrong name. Let’s continue until I’m done with my list completely.”

“...but...but...”

“You know I’m right.”

Glumly, Steve walks back to his desk and sits down again and picks up the sheaf of pages. He looks up at Etta sitting across from him who is waiting patiently for him until he nods stiffly.

“Andover Medical,” Etta says softly, her chocolate brown eyes watching Steve’s beautiful blue ones as they scan the pages with frantic despair, the flipping sheets of paper noisy in his busy, angry hands.

* * *

Wonder Woman is fighting desperately against a thick white fog that encompasses all her senses. Her head feels like it’s wrapped in layers of cotton. She can’t focus her thoughts at all. She feels a dull chill over almost her whole body and her weight is on her forearms. Her forehead is pressed against something soft. Smells like dirt. She sluggishly opens her eyes. Dark brown earth fills her vision. She’s bent forward on her knees with her crotch resting on something smooth and hard. What’s more, she’s entangled in some kind of rope, around her neck, her wrists, and draped against the crack in her ass.

“...uuuuuhhhhhhnnnn....” she moans as she tries to fight the confusion and dull ache throughout every muscle it seemed. What happened....to me.....?

“Oh, what seems to be the problem, Wonder Woman? Not feeling in top form?”

“...whuutt....?....” With great effort the disoriented heroine lifts her head up and bricks swim into view. A curved wall of them. Where....am.....I...?...

“I understand that it is not particularly fair play for me to have handicapped you with a drug patch on your arm there, especially after subjecting you to two knockout gas grenades and four doses of tranquilizers but you were being unreasonable and violent. I had to take precautions.”

“...p...paa....pas...cal...?....”

“Yes, that is correct. Very good, my little idiot.”

“...whud’jhu...doo..?...” Wonder Woman raises herself up slowly, exhausted and bewildered. Her right forearm is buried in the dirt floor, her left hand slides over body, mindlessly searching herself for clothing. There so little there. Some tattered thing draped around her torso, barely there, entangled in the rope. Can’t focus...Why can’t I... think good..?...

“I defeated you, Wonder Woman. Yet again. Still, it never seems to get dull for me. Turning your aggressive warrior nature against you. Beating you down. Teaching you your place. You deserve this treatment for what you did to my sister.”

“....m...mary....”

“MARIE! IT’S MARIE, YOU CUNT!!!”

The screaming man frightens the confused Amazon beauty and she turns her head in shock, looking back at his enraged, red face, his balled fists, his shaking body as he stands over her just four feet away, seething with violence. She is afraid for her life.

“Don’t hurt me....don’t....please...” She lowers her head and cowers there, her body settling down as she makes herself small. She quivers in place and feels her crotch press against some smooth bump that pushes into the cleft between her thighs. She can’t figure what it is and doesn’t ever remember feeling anything quite like it. Feels comforting though. Fits nicely into her slit. Like it belongs.

“I want to hurt you, Wonder Woman. A lot. But I choose not to right now. In fact, for now, I will be making you feel what it is like to lose control, bitch. To lose control so much, it will seem like you never had it.”

“...don’t...don’t....get you... I don’t....understand....”

“It does not matter. You do not have to understand. You just have to suffer the indignity of it all.”

“...huh...whut.....I don’t ....why...?...why...?....”

“Because you need to be put in your place at long last, Amazon. Because someone had to stand up to you and show you that you cannot play with people’s lives and not face the consequences. I am your consequence, bitch, for how you handled my sister so many years ago. I am here to reap sweet revenge on her behalf for how you thoughtlessly let her die without lifting a finger.”

“...I didn’t...do that...did I... that isn’t me... i...i...c..c..care...about...people....” Wonder Woman shakes her head, in denial and to try to clear the cobwebs but she can’t. She’s fuzzy and bewildered and weak and cold and scared.

“You do not care about others, you lying cunt!” Pascal is spitting with venomous anger. “You put yourself above everybody. You are an imperious bitch who just lives for herself, for her own glory and fame and fortune. I see through you to your soul, Wonder Woman.”

“...not true...i..i...i...am...nice.....nice....”

“No. You are a cold-hearted selfish cunt who does not give a shit about others except for how it can make you feel important and beloved and adored.”

“..noohhh....am not...not like that...i..i..am..good...”.

“Good at fooling everybody. But you do not pull the wool over my eyes, you pathetic skank. I see you for the self-aggrandizing bitch you are. And all that false virtue and feminist crap you spout, it is pure bullshit. Just let someone or even something get you hot, you chubby cow, and you cream your panties like any other cunt I have ever known. More than most if you want the truth. All that repressed sexuality comes spurting out of you like a geyser when you get intimately excited, hero! I have that all on the video record, Wonder Woman. You cum real loud, slut, like any cheap back-alley whore and you cannot deny it.”

“....let me...go...you...are...sooo mean... stop taunting me....leave me....alone...” When Wonder Woman tries to pull herself together and get to her feet a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea sweeps through her. It is so strong that it knocks her back down, her forearms buried in the dirt again with her rump high in the air. “...ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh....” she moans weakly.

“Oh, that is not happening, Wonder Woman. Leaving you alone? Not likely. Fact is, we are moving right along into the next phase of your ultimate humiliation.”


End of Part 26

[flirty_but_nice]

Oh drat, I was hoping to finish reading this to its conclusion today, but alas, now I must try to be patient.

Btw, Dr. Dominator, I L-O-V-E-D the whole torture of Destiny, like it pressed all my buttons! Sadly, though, I actually found myself cheering for her and hoping she could escape.

I guess, if I had to share any criticism, the only thing I might say is that I felt as though there were just too many times where Destiny recaptured her advantage, only to once again lose it. The first few times, it was terrific, as I found myself half expecting that the nearly indestructible heroine would actually make her escape, but with each progressive time, imho it just kind of grew to be a little bit needlessly drawn out.

Don't get me wrong, though, as this story is one of the finest super heroine / peril stories I have read. Granted, I am pretty much brand new to this forum.

I do look forward to reading more of WW's plight, but somehow, with her being not as impervious as destiny, the whole scene with WW is a little bit comparatively anticlimactic. The great thing about the Destiny chapters is that Destiny seemed as though she were a far more powerful, in destructible heroine, which made the capture and torture of her, her whole peril, that much more enticing!

Again, though, don't misinterpret this to my not enjoying your story, for I really am, a LOT! I hope your next installment is released soon!

[DrDominator9]

Dear Flirty-but-Nice

Thanks for taking the time to share your comments, it's very appreciated. I've received some private emails from others as well noting that there's a bit too much back and forth in this series with the heroine gaining an advantage only to lose it. I will definitely keep that in mind for future stories.

My Destiny character was very popular with so many readers and that is so gratifying to me. She's based somewhat on Supergirl except that I gave Destiny a lot more grit than what SG usually shows, and I gave her much more sass than SG ever puts out. Dumb move to kill her off, huh? Live and learn I guess.

I hope you and everyone else enjoys the next chapter. Posting it very shortly.

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 27

Pascal strides the few paces between himself and the heroine posed on the rounded leather hump before him. Gathering up the end of the golden lasso loosely draped around her body with one hand, the determined Frenchman grabs the raven locks of the dazed beauty slumped forward on her knees and pulls her up sharply. “But first...” he snarls, then he pushes her face deep into the dirt floor in the unfinished corner of his laboratory. He twists the head to the right and left a few times while the flailing heroine’s arms wave wildly in the air and her muffled squeals emanate from the dirt pile. Finally Pascal pulls her face up out of the clumpy brown heap. Her face is masked in dry dark powdered grit, only her eyes showing a brightness as they open wide in panic. With a harsh quickness, the man hoists the dazed heroine’s body up with a sharp jerk and then shoves her downward until Wonder Woman straddles a small leather horse that’s only 18 inches high. Both knees on either side of the small leather horse press into the soft dirt while Wonder Woman’s pussy is lodged firmly on top of the hard rubber bump saddled there.

“...ohh!” The startling pressure of her vagina forced roughly against the unyielding rubber bump draws an involuntary gasp from the man-handled beauty.

Pascal quickly kneels behind Wonder Woman, wrapping her neck three times with circles of her lasso and pulling her nearly naked body against his broad chest. His breath feathers lightly in her ear as he holds the drugged Amazon in place. She can feel the heat of his body through his dress shirt even as he tightens the rope a fraction around her neck. Too dazed to fight, Diana’s head droops backward onto Pascal’s shoulder as he whispers to her.

“I know you are a novice to the world of sex toys, Wonder Woman, so I will explain to you that the device you are currently riding is called a sybian.”

“...a....wha...?...”

“A sybian, cherie. He pulls back on the lasso and releases it so that Wonder Woman’s body tilts backward a couple of inches before leaning heavily forward again. Her pussy slides over the rubber bump, drawing a hissing breath from the Amazon. “They come with a variety of attachments including dildos of every size and shape you can imagine. Fun but also sometimes a bit chafing for the female. What you are mounted on is a clitoral and vaginal stimulator though. It vibrates for extra pleasure. Or so the manual says.”

Another jerk and release of the lasso forces the heroine’s body once more to move roughly over the rubber hump. It flickers Wonder Woman’s eyelids as she sags on the device with her arms entangled behind her in the loose loops of golden rope.

“...don’t...” The helpless Champion of All Women is easily controlled by Pascal, her weakness, confusion and energy levels prevent her from retaliating in any way. Pascal has completely incapacitated her here. Can’t fight him. Where’s.... the energy from my belt. Still feel it....around my waist. Whutz happening...?

“By the way, Wonder Woman, I do not know if you realize it but I made absolutely sure you can feel every tiny ripple of pleasure from the special rubber bump on this sybian. Pascal nestles up closer to the slouching female and thrusts his hips back and forth against Wonder Woman’s naked ass causing her pussy to rock against the hard rubber bump.

“...uuhhnn...” Trembling with a surge of pleasure from the movement, a confused Wonder Woman blurts out softly, “....whut...I don’t.....get it....get what you mean...”

“I shaved off your bush, Wonder Woman. You are as naked down there as the day you were born.”

“What!? N...N...NO! You...you didn’t....you couldn’t...wouldn’t.......”

“Take a look for yourself, baldy.” Grabbing her hair in his hand, Pascal forces the defenseless heroine forward so she’s bent over with her face less than a foot away from her crotch.

There’s no hair!

There’s no hair on her pubic mound at all, Wonder Woman sees. Her eyes wide, shocked, begin to fill with tears. Her chest and face turn a deep red in complete embarrassment. Pascal jerks the heroine back up and her gaping mouth and horrified anguished look he sees from the side fill him with untold delight.

“Oh, does that upset you, Wonder Woman?” Clinching the rope tight and pulling the teary-eyed beauty close to him, Pascal slowly licks his captive beauty’s ear. “Are you thoroughly humiliated to lose that royal bush of yours?”

“..i...i.....never....” The mortified and bewildered champion can’t even express her horror. She bursts into tears and weeps in a slouching despair as Pascal grabs her jaw and tilts her face upward and to the right.

“Show the camera how you feel, Wonder Woman. Show the world your shame!”

Wailing loudly, the Amazon beauty cannot control herself. She blubbers and shakes in a unquenchable fit of self-pity. Her cheeks glisten with salty tears, clear snot drips from her nose, her head is held firmly in place to allow the cameras to record her abject misery.

“This is what the famous Wonder Woman is reduced to. A pathetic mewling moron. No honor. No heroics. Nothing but a pitiful weeping vision of inept disgrace. There’s your Champion of All Women. A classic case study of what absolute defeat looks like. I even replaced your shoddy rag of a bustier so you look even more the part of a vanquished Amazon warrior. Look and learn, world. This is what your precious hero can be reduced to.”

Held firmly in place, with her jaw uplifted in Pascal’s right while his left fondles her naked tit, Wonder Woman is a red-faced, weeping, shaking mess. All she’s endured both physically and psychologically is written in her frantic, uncertain and tear-filled eyes. The drug patch on her arm denies her any dignity, prevents any hope of escape. And the sadistic French scientist heaps on even more misery with the cold demeanor of a boy pulling the wings off a fly.

“Oh, but wait, I almost forgot. I have two special adornments to accent this famous champion’s complete fall from grace.”

Releasing her jaw, Pascal reaches behind him to lift something off the floor, tucked behind the sybian. He brings them forward, two shiny long metal tubes. They have been bent and shaped into wavy 8-inch-long folded ornaments with large alligator clips on their upper ends. Wonder Woman’s famous feminum bracelets have been crushed and formed into hideous, dangling nipple wear. The sluggish Amazon sees the obscene jewelry and even feels the first one clamped securely onto her right breast but it doesn’t immediately register with her what they are and what they represent. Only after the second dangling ornament is fastened onto her left nipple and pulls her breasts lower by two inches does Pascal announce the new horror to his slouching, confused captive.

“It may be hard to recognize them since they’re so badly disfigured, cherie, but these lovely nipple decorations are nothing less than your famous Feminum bracelets.

“....my...bracelets...i...don’t...that...can’t be....

Coiling the lasso more tightly around her limp wrists behind Wonder Woman’s back, Pascal smiles as his cheek presses against hers, his mouth drawing wider and wider in glee.

“I warned you I was going to work your bracelets into something artsy, my dear. You’re so forgetful though, you silly bubblehead. Anyway, how do you like them?”

Yanking back on Wonder Woman’s shoulders, Pascal forces the Amazon’s chest to thrust forward. The massive mammaries shake roughly from side to side and the nipple ornaments sway from side to side, their bottom ends softly clanking against each other.

“Are they not the very definition of disgrace, hero?” Reaching around with both hands, Pascal tugs on both dangling metal decorations until the bottom of Wonder Woman’s breasts strain and shake against her belly. “The only way these bracelets will be blocking bullets is if someone decides to take target practice at your titanic titties, cherie.”

“...i..i...you...this is....not...how.....i.. can’t...take this...”

“What is it, Champion of All Women? You ladies are supposed to adore jewelry, especially custom-made pieces designed exclusively for you. What’s more appropriate than your own famous bracelets being turned into shooting gallery targets swaying tantalizingly in front of these famous naked tits of yours, my helpless dove?” He pulls on the crumpled bracelets, fingering the very tips of the nipples poking through the clamps, and then hefts the heavy weight of both breasts in turn, fondling the stunned and nodding heroine with complete impunity.

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Wonder Woman breaks out in tears, weeping and blubbering mindlessly as she is overcome with the despair of her plight.

“..this...so...wrong...so...cruel...i...i...never....felt...so....so...so....used...!...”

“So you do not like my gift? I am deeply hurt, Wonder Woman. After I went to so much trouble to make something so unique for such a famous beauty as yourself. Let me show them off again to their best advantage.”

Wrenching hard on the rope coiled around her neck and her hands, Pascal gives the defenseless woman his hardest shake yet and the Amazon’s massive breasts flop and shimmy with the ruined bracelets clinking dully against each other like some sort of obscene wind chimes.

“...stop...it....no more...i...can’t...no...don’t...not...again....”

“I shaped your illustrious bracelets into degrading nipple clamps to make the point that even Wonder Woman’s costume is nothing more than a new and interesting way to demean her status as a woman and a hero.”

“...my....my....bracelets...gone...ruined......l...l...like....m..m...meeeeee...” Wonder Woman howls in torment.

“Gosh, if only your belt could deliver a massive surge of power so you could overcome all the drugs, break away and punish me for such impudence, eh, Wonder Woman? But that is not happening. Do you want to know why?”

“...please...no...more...leave me....alone...”

“Not a very cogent answer to my question, my groggy little fuck-bucket, but I will tell you regardless of that. It’s because I used the very coarse edges of the bracelets before I folded them inward a final time. I took those razor sharp Feminum edges to that famous belt of yours and trashed it completely. Scraped it, cut it, tore at it and gashed it until it is little more than a flimsy, insubstantial band of thoroughly-ruined gold garbage around your waste, hardly worth its weight in memorabilia now, I am sorry to inform you.”

“...this..tuh..too..?...” Wonder Woman mumbles thickly, her head slumped back on Pascal’s shoulder, her red, weepy eyes half-lidded, all hope drained from their dull flat blue irises. “..it...d..d..doesn’t... end...”

“Not until I say so, cherie. And that is not for some time yet. Now would you like to feel how this sybian works when that delicious rubber bump on that saddle starts vibrating? I am guessing you will find it simply irresistible. Say, was that a song from some years back?”

At first, the loud buzzing that emanates from the sybian when Pascal clicks on the remote control surprises the terrorized heroine but as the shaking device thrust into Wonder Woman’s heavenly cleft continues to shimmy and slide back and forth, the famous beauty’s neck goes even more slack. Her head nods and bobs on her shoulders as Pascal loosely holds onto the end of her lasso while kneeling behind the now-moaning champion. Stunned and completely out of control, Wonder Woman’s pussy begins to moisten thickly with pleasure. She sags against Pascal’s body, feeling the hardness of his erect penis bounce and tap against her ass crack even as her pussy quivers with rising waves of pleasure.

“Ohhhhhhh....” The once-mighty heroine moans helplessly as she is held in place from behind by Pascal’s grip on the lasso around her neck and hands while her pussy is vibrated and slid against and agitated by the sybian’s powerful motor.

“Never felt anything quite like that, have you, champ?” Pascal keeps his hold on her lasso around her wrists as his hand moves around her waist to reach up and massage her right
tit.

“...uuuhhhh......ohhhhh ...no...never....never....” As long as Pascal has been holding her lasso, even without trying hard to impose his will on Wonder Woman, she still is succumbing to the magic rope’s effects. She admits her feelings to the Frenchman despite her reticence. In fact, the panting of the heavily stimulated Amazon is loud but is drowned out by the sybian’s throaty rumble as it slides back and forth over and over beneath her throbbing cunt while vibrating away directly on her sweet spot.

“This thing would make you dizzy and stupid if you weren’t already there, Wonder Woman. How does it feel to have your bald pussy rubbed and stroked by this wonderful machine, cherie?”

“...it’s...it’s...zilerating....” she murmurs through a wave of pleasure.

“Excellent. You are getting very excited, very hot, n’est ce pas, cherie? How you say it, uhhm, oh yes: Randy?”

“...oooh...ohhhh...ahhh..y..yeh...yes...yessss.....r..randy...!..”

“Tres bien! Tres bien. So now it is natural, yes, with so much pleasure tingling between your legs for you to pleasure me, yes?”

“...whut...whad’ju....mean...” The lusty full-figured heroine’s head is bobbing up and down in dizzy out-of-control pleasure as the sybian stimulates her pussy to new heights of ecstacy. Her breasts jiggle and bump, the bracelet ornaments sway, her tongue sweeps across her lips and her blue eyes lose their focus before the smiling Frenchman. The rubber saddle is dripping with the joy seeping out of Wonder Woman’s heavenly slit.

Pascal walks around to face Wonder Woman from the front, still firmly holding onto the lasso. “I mean to say that I think you would be happy to suck my cock right about now, mon amie. Would you not?”

Pascal visualizes the scene of this famous heroine leaning forward and taking him into her mouth and the world-renowned beauty nods up at him, her mind befuddled with joy and confusion, the loss of her inhibitions due to his willpower and finally, the sudden sight of his tasty cock waving right in her face. She leans forward and makes Pascal’s wishes her own. Her mouth opens wide and she engulfs the large swollen penis in a firm warm lip lock that sucks the flesh of his rod tight against her cheeks.. Her eyes roll up slightly in delight as Wonder Woman groans in true joy at giving this man the pleasure he wants, the pleasure it is her duty to provide.

She sucks hard at him, savoring the salty tang of his member filling her mouth. Unable to use her lassoed hands behind her back, she puts all her effort into her lips and her saliva. She coats the long fleshy rod with her spit and draws on it eagerly back and forth, back and forth with her head nodding into his crotch again and again. Saliva drips from her mouth, from the underside of his dick, from the tops of her breasts as she moves the tight circle of her plump lips up and down the length of his cock until its tip slides far to the back of her throat. Again and again Wonder Woman’s head dips and withdraws in the service of the Frenchman. Over and over the lust-crazed beauty fills her throat with him as the sybian drives her higher and higher into the stratosphere of lust.

“...auwghk...auwghk...auwghk...auwghk...auwghk...auwghk...auwghk...auwghk..”

The heroine is frenzied in her need to gratify her oral fixation, to pleasure the man to whom she is mindlessly devoted and to bring herself off. Her hips counter the action of the vibrating, sliding sybian rubber saddle that delves back and forth into the opening of her vagina, the tiny knob on the vaginal stimulation bump brushing against her swollen clit again and again. They buck in wild humping thrusts as her brain goes virtually simian in its base desire for pure sexual climax. She is drowning in her need for the ultimate conclusion of the life force that moves all men and women. There is nothing else driving her but her need to orgasm. When Pascal wraps his fingers around the back of Wonder Woman’s head and grasps her hair while continuing to hold the golden rope, she thrills to the pressure of his palms, delights in the thrust of his hips, shudders at the depth of his cock at the back of her throat and cums in torrents in a simultaneous explosion of their combined orgasms. His hot seed fills her throat. Her extasy drenches the rubber knob on the sybian and together they swoon in place, rigid in a tableau of inexorable, incalculable pleasure.

Their moans, their gasps, their fluids, their numbness, their conclusions mingle as one, a breathy, needful thing that envelops the two of them in a glowing aura of absolute bliss. And when they are aware again, when Pascal’s limp hand drops the end of the lasso and he falls to a happy cross-legged squat before the naked, dazed and cum-drooling Wonder Woman, she comes to her senses and begins a keening wail of anguish at the deepest depths of shame that she has let herself be taken.

After five minutes of sitting cross-legged on the floor just floating in the foggy pleasure of his intense orgasm from Wonder Woman's enthusiastic blowjob, Pascal slowly gets to his feet and looks down. Slouched forward before him, the famous heroine is very woozy herself. She has come to rest with her forearms in the dirt floor, her knees straddling the now-quiet sybian. Her naked pussy can't be seen from where Pascal is standing but he knows it is neatly cleaved by the rubber bump, the rounded white mound pressed deep into her cleft. Smiling down, Pascal tucks his cock back into his pants and zips up. He's pleased with the view before him.

The Amazon's head hangs low with her raven black hair hanging like curtains on either side of her face and several strands covering her eyes. The two nipple adornments that had been the famous Feminum bracelets now dangle beneath the slouched Champion of All Women, stretching out her tits and pulling her nipples downward. Their wavy accordion ends brush the dirt floor as the massive tits sway beneath the heavily doped female. From behind, Pascal notes how high Wonder Woman's naked ass points in the air, her wide buttocks shivering as the once-mighty champion blubbers softly. She is not tied down by the lasso in any way. It merely hangs from her limp prostrated body in loose coils and untethered ends. One loop around her neck is all that keeps the magic rope from pooling in limp tangles on the floor. The drug patch affixed to Wonder Woman's upper arm continues to deliver its potent blend of mind-numbing narcotics and strong aphrodisiac.

With a bellyful of cum from his big dick hosing her throat earlier and thin white trickles of it still sliding out of the corners of Wonder Woman's mouth, the helpless beauty wavers stupidly in place before the conquering Frenchman. The cum drains down in thin lines to a tiny puddle in the dark brown dirt just inches under the nodding heroine's chin.

"Well, if that is not the defining image of your ignominious defeat, Wonder Woman, I do not know what else it could be."

Bewildered by her exhaustion, Diana's whimpering comes to an end finally, as she tries to gather herself. Perhaps her belt will send her a rush of strength momentarily so she can try to fight this devil in shiny suit pants. Her throat is suddenly constricted and she gags up a choking clog of semen, spitting the white phlegmmy clump into the dirt, next to the puddle below her face. Then, slowly, Wonder Woman raises her head, her heavily-lidded eyes trying to focus on the face of the tall man standing over her.

"Are you ready for your next session of abuse, hero?"

"...i...uh...uuuhmmm...whuh...huuughhh..." The very act of speaking causes Wonder Woman to belch loudly. The stink of Pascal's cum wafting on the gust of breath from her gaping mouth horrifies the Amazon princess, grinding her face in the reality of what she had just done moments before. "...Hera....help me...what have....i..become...?..."

"You are mumbling, cherie. Speak up for the cameras and the microphones."

The horror on Wonder Woman's face as she suddenly recalls through her confusion and despair that all her actions and abuse are continuing to be captured for posterity is nothing less than poetry to Pascal's point of view. Her widening eyes, the mouth dropping open, the flush of red speeding across the cheeks: it is a sweet, sweet joy for the scientist to behold. A moment to treasure.

"You...Will....Pay...." Wonder Woman's eyes narrow, her voice goes into a low growl at this vow as she collects her wits as much as possible. Rearing up on her haunches, the beauty swipes at her golden rope looped around her neck and hanging over her body. She gathers it up in her right hand, the golden loops dangling from her clenched fist. With her other hand she fumbles at the rope, trying to make a lasso to throw at Pascal. But having reared up, her body weight shifts and her pussy is virtually impaled by the smooth rubber hump of the sybian beneath her. A grunting exhale of unexpected pleasure from the heroine and the soft clang of her new nipple jewelry banging together draws a smirk from Pascal. Calmly, he watches the Amazon beauty awkwardly trying to make a circle of her magic rope while her brain is so thoroughly befuddled by the drugs in her system. Amused, the Frenchman touches a button on the remote in his pocket and the sybian's rubber hump begins to vibrate.

"NO!"

"Concentrate, cherie. I am sure you can do this. After all, you have captured hundreds before with your golden lasso. It should be second nature. Muscle memory, non?"

"...i...uuhhh....just a....minute...." Wonder Woman's fingers are like unwieldy fat sausages to her and the loop is beyond her ability as she continues to try to work the rope she's used forever. Below, her pussy is continuously stimulated, stealing her breath and tightening her stomach with pleasure.

"Certainement, mon amie." Pascal winks. "Take your time. Do not rush."

After two bad attempts, Wonder Woman finally has her loop slip-knotted. Awkwardly raising it over her head and swinging her arms, the heroine barely weaves a wavering circle in the air above her. She looks at Pascal, judging the distance as best she can, distracted by the vibrating rubber bump doing exquisite things to her labia and the now-warm walls at the entrance of her pussy. She is about to fling the golden lasso at her nemesis when he presses the remote in his pocket and the vibrating rubber mound slides forward six inches and then back even as the vibrations kick into a much more frenzied blur.

"OH MY...OHHH.....hoooohhhhh..."

The lasso falls pitifully short of its mark, a glowing figure eight in the dark dirt two feet away from the toes of Pascal's shiny black shoes. Wonder Woman has lurched forward in an ungainly sprawl, both palms deep into the dirt, her head down and shoulders shaking as the sliding rubber hump between her thighs robs her of all dignity. It slides back and forth every three seconds even as the humming vibrations from the sybian's powerful motor send the confused beauty into sexual overdrive. She is moaning and grunting as her body is teased toward the throes of a sudden climax. Her ass jerks and bumps and grinds in the air as the sexual toy churns her insides to mush. Her huge swaying breasts make her ruined bracelets clink and clank against each other like metal castanets.

Pascal steps forward and blithely bends to pick up the end of the golden lasso inches from the bent, scraping fingers of the Amazon as she clutches the dirt in a delirium of helpless ecstasy.

"Tch, tch. You were not even close, my dear, to roping me." He drapes the loop casually over Wonder Woman's nodding head as she begins to pant and writhe in ever wilder motions. Cinching the magic cord loosely about her straining neck, Pascal smiles down at his captive as she lifts her head up, her eyes clenched shut as she tries desperately to fight the orgasm building inside her.

"...mustn't....release...." she whispers hoarsely.

"Oh, but I think you should, Wonder Woman" Pascal squats down beside the bucking female and whispers into her ear. "I do so love to see beautiful women lose themselves in orgasm. Do it for me now, si vous plait."

Holding the rope in one hand and a clump of raven hair in the other, Pascal turns Wonder Woman's head slightly toward him and watches with cold satisfaction as the Amazon warrior's mouth gapes wide, her lower lip quivering, her eyes welded shut as all her constraints melt under the force of the sybian, the aphrodisiac and Pascal's will flowing through the rope into her fevered brain. She never had a chance against such overwhelming odds.

"UUNHH...HHHUUUUHHHH....HUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNGGGHHHH!"

"There you go."

Wonder Woman's palms in the dirt freeze in place, the heels of them dug in deep as all ten fingers splay out like quivering fans. The scent of her climax fills the air as heavy silvery rivulets of Amazon cum leak over the sides of the black leather mound on which she kneels. The toes of her red and white boots stutter in the dust and the dangling Feminum nipple tubes rattle against each other as the dulled mind of the Champion of All Women floats in a velvet cloud of blissful sexual excess.

"Again I think."

Pascal's whispered command is easy enough to follow with all the vibrations continuing on while the sliding white rubber mound plows Wonder Woman's fertile juicy crevice with a mechanical constancy that obliterates all thought.

"AHH...AHH...AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

More flowing streams, more quivering thighs, more wobbling buttocks. The Amazon is a shaking, helplessly gasping fish out of water. Her mouth works to try to pull in air. All this pleasure has robbed her of her natural reflexes, her survival instincts, her reality.

It takes several minutes for Wonder Woman to recover her breath and find her way back to the scattered thoughts that pass for her mind under the boot of Pascal's narcotic arm patch. In that interval, Pascal has circled behind her and now straddles the sybian as well. His fly is down and his penis is out. Nestled firmly between the firm wide cheeks of the Amazon's shapely ass, the fleshy muscle is fully erect, looking all the world like a knockwurst in an oversized bun.

"Now I think we shall be fucking your ass, cherie. This is what you desire, yes?"

It is the lasso that pulls the slow, hesitating words out of a dazed Wonder Woman's mouth.

"...i....i....yes....your desires....are m...m...mine...."

"That is not what I asked. You truly want to take my cock deep into your rear, do you not, Wonder Woman. Not because of what I want but because of what you secretly yearn for, something you genuinely enjoy, yes?"

"...y...yuh....y...yessss....." Barely audible, the truth slips from the Amazon's trembling ruby lips. The hung head hides the flushing face of the mortified heroine.

"Magnifique! Let us begin..."

End of Part 27

[flirty_but_nice]

?...

My Destiny character was very popular with so many readers and that is so gratifying to me. She's based somewhat on Supergirl except that I gave Destiny a lot more grit than what SG usually shows, and I gave her much more sass than SG ever puts out. Dumb move to kill her off, huh? Live and learn I guess.

I hope you and everyone else enjoys the next chapter. Posting it very shortly.

Well, being that you very well described Destiny's alien being / origin, methinks that the appearance on Earth of Destiny's twin sister might be in order! This new super heroine, Retribution (perhaps), is more bent on avenging her sister's death than with actual justice, taking out her vengeance on the villains of Earth. Of course, though, somehow Pascals notes on Destiny are disseminated so that Retribution's weakness to the alien virus is known, thus leaving Retribution vulnerable to her own perils!

Not sure what your intensions are in this current story, but maybe the hapless Wonder Woman is ultimately saved by the detectives on her trail. Yes, to their satisfaction, WW is put in her place by being saved by a couple of mere mortal cops, thus exposing WW as weakly mortal. In her saving, though, Pascal escapes. Then, onto the scene arrives Retribution to track Pascal down, only to fall into her own peril against Pascal and his new band of formidable henchmen! I will leave you with that food for thought. ;-)

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 28

The lights have been dimmed in the main autopsy room for now. George Constantine, the Assistant Medical Examiner, is ready to go for the day. It’s almost 7 p.m. and his Sunday shift is done. His autopsy of BattleAxe is complete. The cause of death was a massive trauma to the back of his head from an unknown blunt instrument. It might have been caused in a fall, since a bad back bruise indicated that possibility. There was no telling for sure since he hadn’t been to the scene where BattleAxe had died. The severe blow to the bridge of his nose had caused sudden unconsciousness but not death. It might have caused the fall.

George had culled a tissue sample from the wound in Destiny’s belly and had sent that off to a different department for a toxicology report asking them to put a rush on it. That was all he could do for today.

George pulls open the large steel drawer and rolls out the deceased blonde for a final look. Tomorrow she will be cut up, analyzed, pored over and then be sewn back together. George has no idea how this will happen. He takes a pinch of the skin on the body's arm and squeezes it with all his might. Of course there wouldn't be any bruising with a dead body but the texture of the skin is like rolled steel. It hurts his own fingers to pinch it. There's not even a depression where he bears down.

Would a skull saw even cut through this skin?

Taking a small clamp from a nearby drawer, he fits it on the same patch where he pinched with his fingers and screws it down as much as he can, with all his might. The skin does not even dent yet. He removes the clamp and walks over to put it in the container for sterilization.

Coming back and standing over the body, the young Greek doctor shakes his head sadly. Such an incredible beauty lying here before him was such a tragic waste. Not just her life but those she could have saved over the years. He'd seen news clips of her in action of course. She'd been on the scene for about a year and had made a name for herself. It was such a pointless loss. Of course, every body that came through here had its own tragic tale to tell. And his job was to make sure every ounce of information that a body could give up would be catalogued by him and others before it got sent on its way for burial or cremation. He was good at his job and actually liked it. Patient medicine wasn't his thing. But he knew he had a quick mind and excellent skills and that Dr. Banks was very pleased with his work. Still, he didn't envy the man his chore tomorrow. He might even come in on his own time to see how Murray handled the autopsy.

Sliding the door shut, he then slowly makes his way out to the front desk, sighing as he comes out of the autopsy room. The night shift M.E., John Jaspers who everyone calls JJ, is out in the lobby, manning the front desk for now. The only other body for now that needs an autopsy is Destiny and that will be handled by Murray Banks the head M.E. It's quiet on this early Sunday evening. JJ is texting his girlfriend, checking the sports scores on his Iphone and not getting to the filing just yet. There's plenty of time.

The young doctor has his long dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he's bowed over his Iphone. He's finger-waving his way through his sport scores still, sighing at some results, fist pumping at others as Constantine approaches.

"Good night, JJ. Have a quiet shift," George says with a wave.

"Quiet's too dull," the young doctor looks up smiling. "You early guys get all the good stiffs."

"Wish we didn't get this new one, Destiny."

"Yeah, dude. Tragic. Prime people she was. I hope they find the guy who did her and roast his nuts."

"Well, we may have him already. And somebody did better than that. He was cut in half," George replies. "I finished his autopsy this afternoon."

"I would've minced him, the prick."

"You're quite the liberal, JJ."

"Hard to be understanding about people with what comes across our "desks, Georgie."

"That's true. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Why, you have off, don't you?"

"I want to see how Banks handles the alien's autopsy. Her skin's like steel."

"Lasers?"

"Maybe. See you later."

JJ goes back to his screen. "Oh, man! The Redskins lost!"

* * *

“Well, cherie. By all means then, if you desire that I sodomize you then you should have no problem reaching back and spreading your ample cheeks for me, yes?”

Pascal shifts his hips forward and back a couple of times, rubbing the length of his cock up and down the deep crease of the splayed beauty’s ass, its tip pressing against her anus with eager insistence.

“...don’t....”

“Don’t...what, Wonder Woman?”

“..d...d...don’t...ask me.....to do...that...” Her murmured plea is barely audible.

“Oh, my dear, I did not realize it was such an imposition. Perhaps we should just finish you off with a rusty knife to your throat and be done with all this. No more worries for you about fighting justice. No more tedious moments for me so easily out-thinking you. Yes, you are right. I will go retrieve that old knife and be done with it.” Pascal shifts back as if to rise when Wonder Woman speaks.

“...you won’t kill me...”

“My dear Miss Prince, you continue to amaze me with how badly you judge my capabilities. Of course I will kill you.”

“...not with a knife...not that way...” With her hands still pressed into the dirt floor before her, Wonder Woman turns her head and looks back at the Frenchman whose warm cock is lodged between her buttocks. Her blue eyes, though made heavy with drugs still are able to focus on his brown ones for the moment. “It’s....it’s not enough..fun...for you that way...”

Pascal is both delighted and worried. Even with the drug patch on her arm this Amazon still has enough pride and intelligence to not only accurately appraise him and the moment but to distinctly convey her thoughts to him and challenge him. She is an amazing prize. All he had hoped for in all his years of planning. Still, he wonders if the dosage in the patch is strong enough. He’d doubled it from his experiments with his college teens. Perhaps he should have tripled it. He takes a grip on the lasso and pulls the cord against the skin of Wonder Woman’s throat and bends forward to whisper in her ear.

“I applaud you, cherie. You know me better than I thought. Still, you do cherish the sensation of my fat hard penis plunging through your back door, so what is the harm in making it a bit gentler on yourself, eh?”

“...i...will not...debase myself...so....”

“I think you will. Because I want it and I know you want it,” Pascal replies, his voice still soft but with a cold edge to it. “So do it.”

Impelled by the lasso, the narcotic and the aphrodisiac, Wonder Woman cannot truly resist the command. Pascal succeeds at forcing his captive to rear up and reach back with both arms and pull her cheeks apart with her shaking hands. However, he loses the round in the fight between them because the heroine is not truly spreading her rear for him willingly. In either case, the result, though less satisfying for the frowning scientist, is the same. Wonder Woman exposes her balloon-knot to Pascal and makes it easy for him to swipe a generous palmful of her slippery cum off her inner thighs and apply it to her anus. He rubs her silky liquid all over and around her crack and even pokes his finger into her, coating the inner walls of her rectum with a circling pass. The heroine merely looks straight ahead at the curved brick wall now and sighs deeply.

“Do not be impatient, Wonder Woman. My cock will be buried in your ass soon enough.”

“...i...know that...” she whimpers, stung by the truth, agonized by the quivering desire she feels despite herself.

Reaching forward, Pascal takes her wide, firm breasts in his hands and spreads his fingers past the brown nipples clamped with her dangling ruined bracelets. Smiling the tall bearded villain grips Wonder Woman to him and pushes his penis hard against her greased asshole. The bulbous end of him urgently pries at her, nudging and striving through the greasy film coating the small hole, making it wider and wider as it moves forward until the head surges forward and finds her inner cave.

“..uuhhnn..” A tiny grunt from the dully nodding heroine pleases Pascal.

“Keep those cheeks spread for me, cherie. There is much more to come.”

“...not...that...much..more...”

Defiance? Pascal can hardly believe she has just insulted him. It amuses him at the very moment it shocks him. His mouth and eyes both open wide for a moment. And then he lets out a snorting laugh.

“Oh, mon amie, you are too precocious for words! Tell you what, let me fill your ass with my cock and you can better calculate the actual size and we can debate its merits as I ream you out. Sound like a plan, as you Americans like to say?”

The sudden thrust of him, the full shocking sensation of her back cavity being so thoroughly stretched and packed full by his hot cock in a mere second draws a loud gasping grunt from Wonder Woman.

“HUUUHHHHH!” Her face is bowed down with her forehead pressed into the dirt but the Amazon continues to hold her buttocks apart. She draws a second slower rasping breath.

“Not so small that it goes without notice, is it, my dear?” Pascal pulls his dick out for half its length and then thrusts it back in, his hands grasping firmly on Wonder Woman’s tits as he fills her rear with his muscular shaft. The mass of her cheeks not being held in her splayed fingers wobbles and shakes with heavy recoils at the force of the thrust.

“...are...you....in...?...” she says, her head ground into the dirt.

“Is your ass so heavily used, bitch, that your gaping sphincter can no longer sense the presence of a man’s dick buried to the hilt in you?” Pascal grinds his hips against her, squeezes her breasts and fingers her nipples as he savors the pleasure of her warm, virtually naked body enfolded within his arms.

“...p....puh...perhaps....a...real...man...”

“A real man? What a whore you must be in order to be so jaded, Wonder Woman. Nothing less than a tree limb’s girth satisfies you, eh?” Pascal growls as he rotates his hips. And without any warning, he takes the bitch’s breath away with a stunning thumping pile-driving thrust against her.

“GHUUNNHH! ...OH...ptui...blaaarghhh...” While in the process of trying to lift her head, the sudden slam against her body drives Wonder Woman’s face into the dirt, filling her mouth with loose brown earth that she spits out in disgust.

“Oh, goodness, did that thrust push your face into the floor, cherie. How thoughtless of me. Here, let me lift you up so that doesn’t happen again.”

Pascal lets go of one tit and swiftly whips the end of Wonder Woman’s golden lasso around her wrists three times even as she continues to hold her butt cheeks apart. He pulls it tight, yanking her hands off her ass and cinching them together tightly behind her back. Pulling up on the rope loops in one hand and her breast in the other, the Frenchman hoists the helpless beauty up to a vertical position and lets her settle down on his rock hard cock with a sudden thump.

“Huunghh!”

With her knees spread apart over the sybian, her ass deeply impaled by Pascal’s prick, the mighty Champion of All Women gasps out yet another grunt. And before she knows it, Pascal wraps her own lasso around her neck and yanks it tight. The raven-haired beauty’s eyes go wide as her breath is stolen away.

“Now, cherie. I think we should talk about why you didn’t save my sister. Why you hated her so much. Why you let her die.”

“Urgghkk!....didn’t...i...didn’t...let her die..”gasps the heroine, her face going red as Pascal lessens the grip on the golden rope around the Amazon’s neck. “...was...you.. “ She says in a raspy whisper. “You killed her....Pascal....it..was you....”

The lasso of truth around her hands and neck, there’s no way Wonder Woman can lie. Pascal’s eyes widen in surprise and a touch of fear.

“What? What did you say?”

Wheezing and weary, Wonder Woman swoons in the grip of Rene Pascal. Her hands are bound behind her back by her own lasso and there’s a loop of the golden cord around her neck as well. Her body weight slouches forward which makes the magic rope strain against her throat. Her eyes flutter as the famous heroine tries to gather her thoughts.

On the floor, Wonder Woman sees her torn and tattered bustier. It had fallen off her sometime during all the abuse she’d been subjected to in the last half hour. It saddens her deeply to see a part of her famous costume so callously treated but her head jerks as she tries to focus on the moment. Pascal had asked her about that night. What had happened that night so long ago. The drugs in her system and Pascal’s hard hot cock throbbing in her ass make it very hard for Wonder Woman to concentrate but she tries. Slowly, her memory surfaces...a remnant of that fateful evening returns and she speaks of it.

“..s..s’true...” she mumbles, as the scene floats to the forefront of her mind. “...when I knocked ...no, banged...on the door to your apartment, no one answered...at first. Banged harder. From the street below, I’d heard a cry. A cry for help.”

“Yes, that was me.”

“No....don’t think so. Voice was higher. Female.”

“That’s impossible!” The Frenchman jerks the lasso around her throat and around her hands at the same time pulling Wonder Woman up against his body in angry denial.

“Awwrkk! I’m.... telling you.... what I heard...” Wonder Woman shifts in place, dazed and flustered. The smooth bump of the sybian presses firmly against her naked pussy. Since she has been shaved to baby smoothness, Diana can feel every millimeter of the wide rubber surface of the sybian’s knob pressing firmly not just into her cleft but slightly above and below the opening, grazing her pubis mons with undeniable pleasure. The hard penis that impales her rear and immobilizes her for the moment is equally exciting. Together, the combination feels much too good to the chaste beauty. A soft moan escapes her frowning mouth.

“...ooohhhh....”

Pascal frowns as well. She can’t lie to him. Not like this. Not with this infernal rope sucking the truth out of her.

“Go on then, bitch,” Pascal hisses his seething hot anger into her ear. “Tell me what you think happened.”

Yanked back from the pleasure by the harsh command of her captor, Wonder Woman continues. “I broke the door down. And went inside. Nobody in the entryway...nor the living room. I heard noises...toward the back of the apartment. Rasping, choking sounds.”

“My sister dying.”

“Yes.”

“So you arrived sooner than I thought. She was still conscious. Clearly you could have saved her. More than enough reason for me to hate you, cunt!”

“Listen to me!! Through the doorway I saw her, she was sitting on the bed... facing me.” Wonder Woman licks her lips as the memory clarifies in her mind. “Her eyes bulging wide... filled with terror. Her throat cinched tight by a silver chain.”

“It was a rope,” Pascal corrects her. He lets go of the lasso binding her hands and reaches around to cup her naked breast in his palm, squeezing it and holding Wonder Woman in place. “I am certain that she’d choked herself with a rope, hero. Do not try to confuse me. I will wring this tit right off!” Pascal squeezes hard on her breast, twisting it and drawing a gasp from the mighty Amazon.

“Aaghh. I...I’m not....trying to confuse you...It...it was a chain. I remember it shining”

“I do not....that is not what I remember,” Pascal tries to bring the memory back but it’s foggy for him. The night always had been. He’d pieced together what happened over the years. It had been hard work but important for him to remember. He had reconstructed everything down to the last detail.

“You...you were behind her on the bed. Sitting behind her. Just as close to her then as you now are to me.”

“Well, yes, certainly. I was trying to loosen the rope...to ease the pressure.” Eased by the memory of his heroic attempt to save his sister, Pascal puts his face into the Amazon’s long smooth neck and nuzzles it as he moves his hips forward. His dick is now fully hilted inside Wonder Woman’s ass. He savors the incredible tightness of her back channel, how it grips him so, a warm all-encompassing velvet vise. He rotates his pelvis, grinding himself within her. She feels the heat of his stiff rod buried in her....distracting her. Filling her cavity as the tip of his cock rubs against her sensitive walls. Stimulating her. Raising goosebumps on her arms. Her head nods heavily on her rubbery neck but the memory is too clear to ignore and she tells him the truth of what she sees.

“No. It was you....you holding the chain ends, pulling on them. So tight. The chain was digging into her throat.”

“You lying cunt! You are wrong!” Pascal’s body freezes in place, no longer grinding his dick within her rear. He sits behind her, stunned and in horrified denial.

“And...and your legs...they were wrapped around her own legs, pinning her in place. She couldn’t move well. Her hands....were fists, flailing here and there. Trying to grab the chain. Trying to hit your face. Bad angle for her. I ran forward.”

“It’s not true. It can’t be true!” Pascal squeezes Wonder Woman’s tit with a steely grip that pulls a gasp out of her. It’s a short raspy inhale that the lasso cuts off as Pascal’s emotions get the better of him. His face is red with rage and confusion. Wonder Woman’s is red with lack of oxygen.

“...hllgkkk....stup....don’t.....puhleez.....leggo....let...go....”

Pascal gets hold of himself and lessens the tension on the choking lasso around Wonder Woman’s neck and she sags forward, relieved but deeply frightened. She gasps and wheezes for thirty seconds, working at getting her wind back.

“You ran forward....and what? Choked my sister to death?”.

“..no...of course not...why would I...No. I hit you....hard....from the side. Knocked my fist into your left temple. You released the chain and fell over. Your sister fell face forward on the bed.”

“You made me jerk and choke her too hard with a super-powered punch, didn’t you? You killed her.” Pascal’s spit flecks into Wonder Woman’s ear. He pushes her forward so her face is just two feet off the floor as he pumps his hips in anger; once, twice, several times more. For half a minute the enraged Frenchman’s cock thrusts in and out between the Amazon’s wide pink buttocks as he takes a hard measure of revenge. Wonder Woman’s head bobs up and down on her shoulder’s as she is ruthlessly sodomized by Pascal. With stroke after stroke, the bent and deformed Feminum bracelets hanging from her tits clank and clink against each other in a steady swaying rhythm worthy of the devil’s own metronome.

“...uuuhhnnnn.....ohhhh....aaaghhh....nohhh...nohhhhh...oooooohhhh,,,,,”

The once-mighty heroine is moaning and whimpering in a mindless mixture of incredible pleasure and some minor pain. The shaft driving in and out of her now slippery butthole sparks one of the most intense moments of Wonder Woman’s life. The friction of the hard muscle plunging and withdrawing, plunging and withdrawing between her butt cheeks drives the overwhelmed heroine to a massive climax.

“OHH.....OHHHH.....UUHHHUUUUUGGHHNNNNN!!!!!”

Her neck arches and her mouth spreads in a wide grimace of untold pleasure as her cum flushes over both sides of the rounded sybian. Thin rivulets of slippery moisture cascade down the black leather to form puddles on the floor. The mighty Wonder Woman goes slack in the arms of her captor, a long satisfied moan floating out of her.

“...whoaaah....ohhhh.....Hera...help me....that wuz....that wuz....ohhhhhhhhhh....”

Pascal pulls her straight up by her tits, letting his dick keep her in place. It is a warm hard stationary spike that allows little movement. Wonder Woman’s head sags back, coming to rest on Pascal’s shoulder. Drool slides out of the corner or the raven-haired heroine’s mouth. Her eyes roll back into her head.

Pascal gives his charge a very hard shake to bring her back to her senses. His anger has prevented his own climax. “Tell me she died then and there, Wonder Woman. Tell me how you killed her yourself with your desperate attack on me!”

“...c..can’t....can’t...think....” The befuddled, floaty beauty mumbles incoherently in Pascal’s arms. Her own arms remain limp, her huge swollen breasts heaving up and down, her toes and fingers twitching with tiny spasms of residual pleasure.

“Tell me, cunt!” Pascal shakes the wilted form hard once more and Wonder Woman’s senses slowly come back to her.

After ten seconds more, she murmurs softly, “....n...n...no.....not dead. She wasn’t dead. She was gasping....gasping for air. She was alive at that point.”

“What!? No. This is all wrong. She was dead.”

“Not yet. Not then.”

“This is madness!”

“This is what happened. This is what you did,” the dazed Champion of All Woman declares loudly as she finally comes back from her orgasm. She’s coherent but still quite addled by the drug patch on her arm.

“You have some trick with this fucking rope. A way to over-ride it. I never did this. Not any of it!!”

“You did all of it, Rene. You killed Marie.” The truth from the lasso is searing from the Amazon’s lips but Pascal will still not believe.

“There. You are lying. Right there. You said she was alive. Gasping for air you said. I knew it! I knew you had some trick, some way to by-pass this cursed golden leash of yours.”

“There’s more yet.........I pulled her to her feet, off the bed....Away from you. Walked her out of the room, to the kitchen. She was gasping for air and asking for water. So that’s where we went while you were out cold on the bed. Clocked you good.”

“This is all some fabrication. I don’t remember anything like this. None of it. I loved my sister. She was my life.” Pascal grips Wonder Woman’s breast roughly and shakes her angrily. The Feminum bracelets sway and click against each other even as the heroine’s head snaps back and forth violently two times.

When her eyes are able to focus and her head stops swimming and the nausea passes, Wonder Woman answers. “You two were arguing, she said. It was very heated.....lots of shouting. Something about ethics.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, slut. Perhaps a second orgasm will knock some sense into you. You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself here. Are you not?” Pascal pulls her body toward him and cinches the rope around her neck, pouring his will into her. “Tell me what you feel.”

Wonder Woman licks her lips and murmurs too softly to hear. “Yurgud.”

“Louder and clearer. Declare yourself to me, Wonder Woman!”

“You are big. You are hard. You feel good.”

“How good?” His whispered query softly brushes her earlobe.

“...tuh...too...too good. I c...cannot...control myself...”

“Your best ever, hero? Your best ass rape?”

“Almost,” Wonder Woman replies, hanging her head on her chest and breathing slowly through her nostrils as she fights a new round of rising pleasure from the penis now wriggling within her ass as Pascal rotates his hips against her.

“Explain that, bitch.”

“There was one other. Only one.”

“Who was this illustrious cocksman?” Pascal’s hand fingers the nipple on Wonder Woman’s right breast, the firm nub sending quivers through her body.

“Not a man. A...a...i...i....cannot say...it is too....too shameful...”

“You will say. You will announce it.”

The demanding will floods through the lasso and Wonder Woman cannot help herself. She calls out the answer loudly. Every microphone in the room catches it clearly. Every camera records her anguish.

“It was a minotaur!”

“Describe it, whore!”

“His weight on me,” Wonder Woman declares aloud, “the immense size of him stroking into my stretched anus, his hot breath snorting against the back of my neck, the tips of his smooth horns rubbing against the backs of my forearms as I lay helpless beneath his heaving broad chest. I was his. Completely.”

“So,” the haughty Frenchman leers at the back of Wonder Woman’s head, thrilled at his psychological and physical domination of this stupid female, “I am second best to a rampaging steer. I guess I will have to be satisfied with that,” Pascal says with mock solemnity, then laughs loudly, long and hard, in the princess’ ear as he once again begins to stroke at her ass with his thick hard dick.. “With a whore like you, how can I believe anything you say? It is all lies. Lies I say!” His anger and frustration rising again, Pascal drives his hips against the nearly naked figure slouched before him. Only her belt circles her waist. Only her boots adorn her feet.

Thrust after thrust, he takes his vengeance out once more on the Amazon’s body. Each thrust is accompanied by a word and an exclamation of pleasure or denial from the famous heroine being ravaged unmercifully.

“You”
“Are”
“Nothing”
“But”
“A”
“Stupid”
“Lying”
“Cunt.”

The black halo of hair around the Champion of All Women’s head is a tangled mess. Her blue eyes are dulled but suddenly she screeches out loudly.

“NOOO! YOU KNOW I AM NOT!” Then, softly she speaks slowly and clearly. “The lasso forbids it!”

“A trick. A ploy.”

“Not possible, Pascal. You know this!” A dizzy and winded Wonder Woman then slowly begins to explain herself to her tormentor even as he holds her tight, his prick hilted within her, both hands now clutching at her breasts. “Marie said there were girls on campus who were disappearing. She couldn’t talk much with her sore throat. Told me you were her own brother who she loved but you were off the rails as she put it.”

“I was? I was practicing perfect science!”

“You were blinded by ambition, she said. And you took her completely by surprise.... when you went into the bedroom... to apologize she thought. But then...without warning there was a chain around her neck. You tried to kill her. Why, Pascal? Why?”

“I never....never did.”

“Of course you did. You understand how my lasso works. I can’t lie under its rule. And I saw you...saw you choking her. You were crying. Tears as big as lemon seeds. But you were choking her anyway.”

Finally, at long last, Pascal admits his intent. “...she...she said she’d tell the university.... about the coeds....brain damage...dying...all of it. I could not....just could not let her....do that...to me.”

“You’d lose everything.”

“I was too close. The answers, all of them, were right there. It would be an incredible breakthrough. Slowing down the synaptic flow. The applications of my work were innumerable. Prevention of seizures perhaps. Who knows. It was a huge door being thrown wide open. And if I could slow the process down, I could very possibly speed it up. Prime the receptors. Make people smarter. Millions in revenue. It was all there in front of me. And she wanted to stop it all. I couldn’t let that happen just because of a few stumbling blocks along the way.”

“You mean the brain-damaged coeds you had killed and hidden. Those stumbling blocks?”

“Science is never easy. Never fair. Sacrifices must be made.”

“People’s lives were ruined. They had no knowledge. No say in it. She called you a monster.”

“She was upset. She would have come around eventually to see my way was worthy. The benefits to mankind....”

“You didn’t really believe she would have come around though, did you?”

“No.”

“In the kitchen of your apartment. She was reaching for the phone. Her hand was shaking. I remember admiring her courage. She was ruining her own life , her reputation with her decision. But she made that decision. She was going to do it. And then she looked horrified. You came up behind me and hit me with something hard....”

“A golf club. An 8-iron. You fell off your chair and onto the floor like a clumsy drunk. I was back in control. I....i....took care of things from that point on.”

“That’s it. That’s all I remember. Until I woke up and your sister was dead hanging off the edge of her bed. Her face blue. She’d soiled herself. You came running into the room, horrified and screaming. I’d let your sister die you screamed. It was all my fault. I couldn’t remember what had happened. But I know now, finally now, that it was you who killed her. Not my negligence.”

“Yes, you’re right. I remember it now. I don’t know why I forgot it. Maybe when I used your lasso on you to make you forget everything...I think your hand might have been holding my balls at the time.”

“...W...WHAT?”

“Well, you were sucking my cock at the time.”

“You vile filth! I ought to...Wwrrullggkk!”

“Hush now, Wonder Woman,” Pascal says, yanking the lasso tight and drawing the Amazon’s body close to him as he thrusts his penis an inch deeper into her rear. “I am holding all the cards here. Besides, you seemed to know your way around a cock very well.”

Wonder Woman’s eyes shift wildly unable to see anything behind her as the rope squeezes her down on her throat, stopping her oxygen. Her face goes pink. She is so weak and so desperate. She can do nothing but listen to his taunts.

“You licked me, sucked me, everything but fucked me. And then you swallowed my cum. A big healthy hosing of it. I remember now how it blew out your cheeks and ran like white glue out of the corners of your mouth. And those bedroom eyes of yours showing such pleasure at it all.

“You’re lying.”

“Now who is the one who cannot face the truth, cherie?”

Wonder Woman’s face darkens with anger and shame. She’d been known to enjoy many a bj in her day.

“I wish there would have been time to stick my cock all shiny from your spit into your snatch, champ, but I was afraid of some neighbor intruding. So while you were finishing up giving me a world-class blow job, I gave you instructions to forget everything about the evening. I guess I should have waited until your soft eager fingers had stopped fondling my ballsack, huh, Champion of All Women?”

“Pig!” The heroine spits out her venom and gets another hard yank on the lasso around her throat and another withdrawal and thrust of Pascal’s prick in her ass for her insolence. She grunts loudly at this even as the pleasure of the friction in her ass singes her heart with forbidden joy.

“Whore!” He snarls. “I am sorry that your minotaur is not here service you properly, mon amie. I suppose you’ll just have to settle for second best at this point in time.” For this, Pascal unbuckles his pants and lets them fall against the top of the sybian. He then grasps both of the Amazon’s hefty, heavy tits and begins to maul them as his hips begin to rock back and forth against her exposed bottom.

“No! Don’t! No more! No more,” pleads Wonder Woman, knowing her words are in vain. She simultaneously dreads and yearns for the punishment he will deliver. This knowledge sears her dignity like napalm.

Once again the famous heroine is bent over and roughly sodomized. Once again the cameras capture the scene if crystal clear detail. The pumping hips, the arched neck of the Amazon, the wide grin of the French scientist as he bumps his hips over and over and over against Wonder Woman’s jiggling expansive buttocks. The microphones pick up every resonant slap of flesh on flesh, every throaty grunt from both of them, all the clinking and clacking of the dangling bracelets being knocked about in every direction as Pascal takes his full pleasure from the dazed and defenseless Wonder Woman.

Ten minutes into it and both participants are right at the crest of the wave of pure sensual delight. Wonder Woman’s mind is numb, tuned in solely to the sensations assaulting her now. The hot constant friction of Pascal’s cock rubbing the cavity walls of her ass makes her brain stupid with delight. The mad delirium of her nipples sore with teasing as his fingers rub them and work them to a stiffness as hard as pebbles is indefensible. The confusion and loss of self is thoroughly debilitating as the drug patch robs her of all reason, forcing her to focus on nothing but her nerve endings. The repetition, the unending repetition of the movement, of the friction, it is beyond tolerable: from his cock and from the sybian’s vibrating rubber bump sliding back and forth in her slippery furrow. Her insides are glowing with a tenseness and a swelling wave she cannot ignore.

Pascal feels it too from his side. The hot compression of her rear as his dick pushes through the tight canal again and again and again. The smell of her sweat as he dominates her completely. The sound of her whimpering cries of pleasure as he draws out their mutual agony to the very precise point of pure ecstacy. Neither of them can withstand another second of it. They crash together. A hard curling wave on an unforgiving beach.

“AAIEEYAAAHHHHHH!” Wonder Woman shrieks, her mouth a perfect oval. Her eyes clenched, her body frozen over the ever-active sybian.

“G...G...GHOOOAAAA....UUUNNHHHH!” Pascal bellows like a minotaur himself as everything releases inside him. He holds on for dear life and spews a thick ropy stream of cum up Wonder Woman’s ass. He spurts again and again with jerking pleasure, filling her with his steaming semen, helplessly holding on to her sweaty figure as he gladly relinquishes all control to his cock.

The sensation of him hosing her rear with spastic jerking jets throws the over-sensitized Amazon into a sinkhole of pleasure she did not anticipate. She falls hard. Crying and weeping tears of absolute joy, her cum gushes from her pussy and wets the floor with a slippery silver spray.

“OHHHH! HERA! SUCH ECSTACY! I NEVER....NEVER...EVER FELT...”

Six minutes later, the two bodies are still slumped forward together on the sybian. Both panting, slower now at last. Their brains have finally regained some function. Pascal raises himself up wearily and looks down at the naked heroine sprawled like a carcass before him. He smiles like at no other time in his life. His dream has been achieved. Virtually all of it. Now there was just some final cleaning up to do. A heroine to finish off and dispose of. A paper to write. Grants to apply for. Money, huge container ships of it, waiting for him to sign for. Life was good. For him. Not for the sloppy, bewildered beauty lying before him. Her life was not going to be good ever again.

“Get up, bitch. Time to get you into your playsuit,” Pascal barks as he pulls his slimy dick out of Wonder Woman’s ass. A thick white stream of his cum drains out of the stupefied heroine, draining over the soiled black leather and puddling on the floor. “We are almost done here. You have become a definite liability I’m afraid. You now have knowledge that I simply cannot abide.”

The befuddled Wonder Woman groggily shakes her head, barely comprehending what Pascal is droning on about. She frowns deeply. Her belt she realizes hasn’t given her any surge of power in hours it seemed. She could not believe it. With no resources, no way to think clearly, no chance of escape, the mighty Amazon warrior realizes with desperate clarity that this could be her last day alive on earth.

“Stand up I said, bitch!”

Achy and unsteady, Wonder Woman finally gets to her feet. She wavers there awkwardly. Standing up for the first time since her berserker rage. Her muscles feel like jelly. She leans against Pascal who takes her elbow and puts a hand on her waist. As if reading her mind, he says to her.

“Whatever are we to do with this worthless belt of yours? And those tacky boots? Hmmm. Got any ideas, Wonder Woman?”


End of Part 28

[tmon]

Fun!! Excellent work!

[DrDominator9]

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Pt. 29

Standing there in the Frenchman’s basement storeroom with trails of her own cum as well as Pascal’s thick white streaks running down her thighs, the Champion of All Women teeters erratically in place, her arms limp at her sides. Weak and confused, completely naked except for her ruined magic belt and red and white boots, Wonder Woman slouches against the six-foot tall bearded scientist as his palm slides down from hold her waist to cupping her ass.

“...i...i...don’t........wh...what...?...”

Her bald pussy is pink and puffy with use over the past several hours. And the coming ones don’t promise any relief. Her ass cheeks wobble under Pascal’s roaming hand as she shivers in the cold.

“Never mind. Just move in that direction,” Pascal says, pushing her butt with one hand and pointing with the other. “We are going to go into my lab and see what mischief I can get up to with the rest of your costume.”

“...no...no costume....left...” Diana whimpers.

“Actually, just enough, cherie, to be interesting: the final remnants of the famous Wonder Woman’s uniform: your glorious power belt and those awesome fuck me boots!”

Pascal pushes the Amazon beauty forward and she stumbles a bit before regaining her balance with a grabbing palm holding onto a steel shelf. She moves forward as Pascal follows behind her, bending down to snatch up the coils of golden rope that the lethargic heroine fails to notice in her dazed condition. When his head comes up, his face is unexpectedly inches from Wonder Woman’s ass crack since the raven-haired goddess has stopped suddenly in place, unsure whether to turn left or right at the t-shaped intersection.

“Merde, but you are a stupid cow. Turn right, bossie,” Pascal says. For emphasis he swats at the left ass cheek with the end of the lasso and Wonder Woman jerks with a yelp and turns right.

Pascal loops the rope into tighter coils, both hands mindlessly busy as he watches the buttocks of the naked lumbering beauty wiggle and sway as she walks. Even in her stupefied state, the gorgeous creature’s rear end is an arousing sight to behold. Muscled glutes, flexing with each step and the slightest twitching of the underside of those buttocks makes for a mesmerizing view.

Pascal swats gently at that glorious wide posterior once again as they make their way between the high shelving units on either side.

“Come on, Wonder Woman, move that fat ass. Time is of the essence now. I suspect even your insipid police friends may have figured things out by now. They may even be coming here so we have to move things along. Get things ready for you and them. Lots to do. Heroines to degrade. Traps to set.”

Another snapping of the lasso’s end, this one much more vicious, draws an actual red welt up on Wonder Woman’s left butt cheek.

“Owww!” Her body jolts and her cheeks quiver in sensuous waves. On top, her mighty breasts bump and shimmy in a dramatic clash of flesh against flesh, spheres bouncing against each other in oscillating ecstacy. The clinking and tinkling of her crushed feminum bracelets dangling from her nipples resounds between the rows of shelving. Pascal smiles broadly at the bedlam of flesh and noise he’s generated.

Wonder Woman moves her left hand behind her, literally trying to protect her flank. Pascal simply snaps the end of the lasso at her exposed right cheek, raising a cry from the heroine as well as a second welt. More violent shimmies of slapping flesh and swinging, tinkling nipple ornaments follows. Too late the Amazon’s hand moves over to shield her other cheek but, failing that, circles it gingerly with her palm, whimpering as she does.

“Keep it moving, cherie. All those naked jiggly parts of yours have places to be,” announces the Frenchman with a twinkle in his eye. “We are almost at the door to the lab.”

“...ah...i...i’m moving...d...d...don’t hit me....please....not again...”

Taking careful steps, Wonder Woman makes her way down the shelving aisle, fighting confusion and weariness as she tries to pull herself together. She’s failing badly though as new lighter pink stripes are added to her sore cheeks with stinging applications of her own lasso.

SNAP! WHAP! THWIT! WHIP!

“OHH! Owww....puh...please...stop that....it hurts...really hurts....”

“Duh! Supposed to, dumbass!”

“OWW!”

“Or should I say Tiger Ass with all those stripes.” Pascal chuckles to himself as he leans forward to twist open the doorknob. That’s when Wonder Woman jabs her elbow to his head, knocking the over-confident scientist to one knee. She disappears quickly through the door, a startling study in bouncing breasts and bobbing buttocks, as Pascal shakes his head trying to clear the cobwebs.

“Oh, you will pay for that,” he intones quietly, still down on one knee and fighting to collect his wits. After a few moments he stands up fully, coldly intent on recapturing his fleeing prize.

Dashing across a large open room brightly lit by fluorescent light fixtures suspended on thin steel posts from a 15-foot ceiling. Wonder Woman takes note of heavy built-in oak shelves and oak workbenches along two walls as she passes a massive steel table with thin tan leather cushioning. A dark sweat stain covers the middle of the table and leather restraint buckles dangle off of all four corners. Her eyes go wide in fright, registering briefly but instantly the horror those restraints represent. Not to mention the stain and it’s nasty implications. She tries not to let it eat at her confidence but her mind flashes on the broken bodies of Scarlet Avenger, of Flare, of Destiny. An organic whimper issues from her despite herself.

Coming to a steel door in the corner of the laboratory, the Amazon princess yanks on the oversized handle.

Locked! Of course, my luck. Have to fight him here. With what?

Desperately pulling open the doors of a wall-mounted cabinet, she searches for any kind of weapon. She’s past the point of thinking she can take this man on with just her fists and feet and her wits. She hasn’t bested him in a fight in hours. She sees something on the top shelf and reaches up for it, hoping it will be enough.

The door leading to the storeroom squeaks open and Pascal walks in slowly, cautiously looking around. He sees the sleek arched back and beautiful tush of the six-foot tall beauty as she stretches over her head for something from the top shelf. There’s also the briefest glimmer of pink pussy lips as she goes on her toes to get whatever she’s after.

That is one fine piece of ass!

Hearing the door open, a panicked Wonder Woman pulls down her only possible weapon of choice: a large, tall glass beaker. Her hand wraps around its base and she spins in place like a ballerina on point. Settling down off her toes, she suddenly takes four long strides to the cushioned table and smashes the beaker against a metal leg. The broken glass left at the beaker’s new jagged rim gleams like slashing snake fangs as the raven-haired wonder slices the air with her desperate weapon.

“Come on, Frenchy, let’s dance. You think it’s fun to whip and humiliate an Amazon warrior. Now you can taste her rage!”

Diana’s not sure if it’s her adrenaline or a very sparse surge from her ruined power belt but she suddenly feels more energized and focused than she has in hours. She’s eager for payback against this vicious prick.

Pascal looks at the wild-eyed beauty on the far side of the restraint table waving her crude weapon around in wide arcs. Wearing only her golden belt and her red and white boots, Wonder Woman is oblivious to her naked swaying breasts, the clinking bracelets dangling from her nipples, and her bald, shaved pussy. Pascal is shocked the Amazon is so fearful of him that she feels she needs a weapon against him, a normal human male. He’s really gotten to her and he smiles broadly at the notion.

Wonder Woman doesn’t like the smile he’s showing and flashes another show of over-the-top bravado at him. “Come on, come at me,” she says, waving him on. She faces off against him, obviously charged up and ready to tango, thinking which direction around the table he’s most likely to take to challenge her.

“Yeah, no. I don’t think so,” Pascal says. He takes a small black device out of his pocket and pushes a button on it.

“Oww!” Wonder Woman feels a sharp pinpoint of pain in the arm patch circling her biceps and grimaces at the traitorous thing. “Why you bast....uugghhhhnnnnnn.” The whites of her eyes show clearly in the few seconds before the stacked beauty collapses to the tiled floor in an ungainly heap of twisted arms and legs.

Pascal walks around the table and crouches beside the pile of naked flesh that is Wonder Woman. He pulls her head up by the hair with one hand and pulls her eyelid back with the other. No one’s home. He lets her head drop back unceremoniously and it thumps hard against the white tile floor.

“Dumb cunt.”

Still crouched beside her, Pascal reaches down to the conveniently presented back of the famous Amazon’s belt and undoes the complicated clasp. He pulls hard on the belt and it finally comes away from the fleshy bulk of the unconscious Amazon. After that he takes hold of her calves and removes her boots, pulling down the zippers that separate butter-soft red leather into limp flaps. He pulls them away from her surprisingly dainty feet with their painted lavender toenails.

“Hunnh,” Pascal’s eyebrows arch.“The lady actually does have a feminine side.”

Glancing at his watch, the French scientist sees it’s now 6:25 p.m. “Well, it is time to get to work. I think your cavalry must have caught on to the wild goose chase I have sent them on. Your boys in blue so to speak could arrive here within the next couple of hours. Maybe less. That gives me just enough time to set things up for my big show. And with that powerful dose of sedative keeping you quiet, I have got just enough time to have some fun with these last remnants of your famous costume, cherie.”

* * *

By the time Sal and Jimmy pull up to the precinct house, the setting sun is throwing a spectacular display of orange and red streaks across an endless pale blue background. The undersides of clouds are edged in pink and the capitol building’s western facade seems to glow.

“Nice sunset, huh?” Jimmy nods at the sky as he gets out of the passenger side of Sal’s car.

“Yeah,” Sal replies barely noticing. Now that he’s parked, Sal’s got his cell phone out and is frowning at it.

Jimmy starts to wax philosophical. “You got to take these moments and enjoy....Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh, I got a reminder here I forgot about. I was supposed to call Wonder Woman around four this afternoon to check in with her. I’d put the damn thing on mute while we were in that warehouse and never took it off, never even set it to vibrate. You go in and start the wrap-up report on BattleAxe for the murder of Destiny while I try to contact the Amazon.”

“Okay. See you inside,” Jimmy says, taking one final look at the magnificent sky before heading up the front stairs of the police building.

Sal keys in the phone number from the business card Wonder Woman had handed him. He lets it ring until it goes to voice mail.

“Hi, Wonder Woman. It’s Sal Abato calling around seven pm. I couldn’t get to you until now because Jimmy and I were busy gift-wrapping BattleAxe for the murder of that Destiny stiff. Oh, uh, sorry. Anyway, that’s Washington PD one and Amazon super heroine zero. Call me back and I’ll fill you in on how real police work is handled. See ya’ round, toots.” Chuckling to himself, Sal heads into his headquarters and is directly confronted by the yelling voice of the large desk sergeant.

“Sal, you lazy fuck, where you been? I got a Fed dick from IADC, a Major..uh..Trevor...” He consults the pink message slips piled beside him. “Yeah, Steve Trevor who’s got a hard on to talk to you since I got on shift. He’s left seven messages to call him, three voicemails and your email in-box has something from him, too. You know, if you’re going gay on me, Abato, you’re shakin’ up my world view.”

“Suck my dick, Delancy, and we’ll see what happens after that.”

“Gosh, won’t Jimmy be upset?”

“He’s had his shot. It’s been six years.

“...since you washed?”

“Since I had your mother!”

“Call that Fed. Now, Abato. He’s breakin’ everyone’s balls!” Delancy calls after Sal as he goes through the doors to head upstairs to the squad room.

“Everyone who has them, Frank, which leaves you out!” Abato grins at his parting shot at the desk sergeant as he climbs the stairs.

“Did Frank...” Jimmy begins when Sal comes in the squad room.

“Yeah, he did. I’m callin’ Trevor now to see why he’s got a hair up his ass.” Sal picks up his desk phone and punches in the voice mail access number and waits.

“He’s a Fed, Sal. You should show some respect,” Jimmy deadpans then breaks into a grin, unable to help himself.

“Hey, they put their pants on one leg at a time. Thing is...”

“...they put them on their arms. Yeah, I know Sal, it’s not new. Hasn’t been since, well, forever.”

Sal listens to his voice mail. An increasingly concerned Trevor is climbing the ladder to hysteria through the day about his agent Prince gone missing and no word from Wonder Woman either. Well that only stands to reason since they’re the same friggin’ person!

“But I wonder where the bitch went to,” Sal muses aloud.

“Who’s that you mean,” Jimmy asks.

“Trevor’s saying that he’s missing his agent. She hasn’t called in all day. He’s afraid she’s gone off following a lead and has gotten in trouble.”

“Can’t be anything that big. The guy we’d be worried about is BattleAxe and he’s cut in half like a meat sandwich.”

“Yeah, well, Trevor doesn’t know that we’ve got him sewn up as the killer. I’ll call him and tell him that. Hell, the bitch probably went out for a pedicure and couldn’t be bothered to call him back on her downtime. It’s freakin’ Sunday for godsake. Not everyone’s as dedicated as us cops.”

“Damn straight. You tell ‘em, Sal.”

“IADC. Major Steve Trevor speaking.”

“Trevor, it’s Sal Abato. Sorry I didn’t get back before now. I was on your case all day, that superheroine serial killer guy.

“You got him? That’s great news. My aide and I were just going out to the suspect’s place now.”

“For what reason? The guy’s dead.”

“Dead? You shot him? Was Wonder Woman there? How about Diana Prince?” Trevor’s questions are rapid fire.

“Hold on a minute, Major. Nobody got shot. I don’t know where your agent is and I haven’t seen Wonder Woman since this morning when we met over the perp’s body who was cut in half.”

“Rene Pascal was cut in half? Let me put you on speakerphone. I’ve got my aide here, Etta Candy. We’ve been working on this for hours this afternoon. She’s pretty much up to speed.”

“Hello Detective Abato.”

“Hello, Miss Candy.”

“It’s Sergeant Candy.”

Well, Sergeant Candy, this guy Pascal, he’s the one your agent Prince was concerned about, but he’s not the guy. It’s BattleAxe, a one Gerald Detherlink who was killing all the supers.”

“What? No that can’t be,” Steve says. “Are you sure, Detective Abato?”

“I spent all day making sure, Major. From here to hell and back again. BattleAxe is your guy. Maybe he was working for this Pascal character but all the leads point to the big guy that Destiny ended up killing before getting killed herself.”

“But surely this Pascal, this head of Pascal Research must be an accessory at least. His name is the one that Diana mentioned and that cross checks with our list from Interpol. If you read my fax, you’ll see...”

“What fax, Major? There’s no fax. I’ve been out of the office all day and I don’t see anything on my....oh wait, here it is under the new duty roster in my inbox. Yeah, okay, so I see three possible names on a cross check. Axelrod Industrial, Reardon and Pascal Research. Yeah, Prince did think she thought something was funky with Pascal. But can a science geek take out three superheroines, Major? Really? I mean, how likely is that? No, BattleAxe is our guy, I’m sure, but I can have this guy picked up tomorrow and sweat him in a box and see what he says.”

“What about our missing agent, Detective,” Etta adds. “She’s not the type to fall off the face of the earth like this. She’s very reliable.”

“It’s Sunday, people! Don’t you Feds get time off?”

“You don’t know Diana,” Steve says. “She’s very dedicated. If she thought something was fishy I know she’d have tried to check it out no matter what day it was, Abato. And we’ve also yet to hear from....”

“....Wonder Woman,” Abato completes Trevor’s thought. “You’re right there, Major. My call went to voice mail when I just tried.”

“My calls have been going there all day. If you’re not going to go there tonight, Abato, I’m going to do it myself.”

“The hell you will, Major. I’m primary on this case. You stick your nose in it and gum up my prosecution and I’ll have you brought up on charges.”

“My agent’s disappearance gives me the right to be there, Detective,” Steve says, his face red with anger, his fist shaking the phone at his ear. “And if you’re so sure it’s Battle Axe, your prosecution is moot, isn’t it? Sounds to me like you think this Pascal is more than just some front for BattleAxe.”

“Okay, Major Trevor. You’ve convinced me. I’m going to go out to his home residence tonight with my partner. We already checked his warehouse and that’s what led us to confirming BattleAxe was the serial killer.”

“What confirmed that exactly for you, Detective?”

“You know, it’s too lengthy to go into right now, Major. Let me get out to this guy’s home and if I need help, I’ll call Washington PD for backup, not you! We clear on this? If your agent’s there, I’ll pull her out safely. You stay by the phone and I’ll get word to you ASAP.”

“I don’t like it, Detective.”

“Look, Major, there are two other names that cross check on the list. What about them? You think your agent could have gone to those places to follow up?”

“It’s possible,” Steve nods at the same time Etta does. She sits down at the computer and starts to search for contact information of the other two matching names to check out.

“Then you should try to confirm if there’s anything hinky about those other two leads. Maybe they’ve seen your Agent Prince today. Work the phones and get back to me. Let’s use our resources smartly, Major.”

“Okay, Abato. Let me know the moment you get there what’s going on.”

“I will, Major.” Abato hangs up and looks straight at Jimmy who’s been standing there throughout the phone call trying to understand what’s going on.

“Fuck!” Abato’s shout has the other two detectives in the lightly-manned room looking up with sudden alertness.

“What’s the matter, Sal? Your bookie doin’ your sister again?”

“No, Rosewater, he’s too busy putting it to your wife. Front door and back! Jimmy, we gotta go back to Chevy Chase to this Pascal’s home address. I don’t like what I’m feeling here.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ll fill you in on the way. And I might just have to share my secret.”

“About....”

“Yeah, her.”

* * *

Wonder Woman had only been unconscious for about 15 minutes but she wakes up feeling as if someone is trying to drive the final ceremonial spike for the Transcontinental Railroad into her head.

“Ohhhh..Owww! Holy Hera...that hurts....” Lying face down, the beautiful heroine opens her eyes to see a wide expanse of white tile floor stretched out before her. She doesn’t even try to move yet, just breathing and waiting for the man with the mallet to stop that pounding.

“I truly regret the pain, mon cherie, but a knockout drug with a six-second efficiency factor has its drawbacks, you understand.”

That voice, his voice, causes her to jerk her head up to see a fuzzy double image of Pascal looming over her trying to coalesce. She instantly regrets the sudden move and retches slightly, her mouth gaping open as she will herself not to puke.

“..ogkkk...ohhhhhhhhhhhhh....”

“I would not recommend such abrupt movements, mon amie. Your balance is severely compromised as is your mental agility until your head clears, which could be a while, I am afraid. And, of course, you see the physical distress it causes.”

“...i’ll....manage...pascal...”

“I suspect you will not manage well, cow,” Pascal replies.

Wonder Woman pulls her two limp arms together from opposite directions, arranges her tangled legs into something close to parallel and puts her palms flat against the tile floor. She pushes herself up about a foot when her elbows fail to lock and her arms splay out to both sides and she falls face down onto the hard tile with a hard thump. The man with the mallet is joined by a gentleman with pliers clamping down mercilessly on the bridge of her nose and another one with a rusty hacksaw who’s sawing at her tits.

“....agghhhhhhhhhhhh...Owwwwwwww..... Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.....”

Falling hard on the nipple ornaments made from her own feminum bracelets has knocked the wind out of Wonder Woman and it takes a full minute for the heroine to recover her breath and her senses before she can roll to her side and let the indentation in her soft tits made by the dangling metal to fade from harsh dents to soft red welts.

“I warned you, mademoiselle,” the Frenchman remarks cheerfully.

“...told you so... told you so... Bit childish, no, Pascal?”

Wonder Woman pulls her body back into a straight line, collects herself and pushes off the floor with one bent arm to roll herself onto her back. Taking a breath, she then bends her knees and does a slow sit-up, pulling on those knees to get herself to a sitting position. She’s sitting on her butt with her knees pulled up and considers this a big accomplishment. This is definitely not her day.

Her head hangs down and not looking at anything but the floor beneath her, the weary Champion of All Women softly asks, “What the hell more do you want from me, Pascal?” When she finally, slowly lifts her head to meet his eyes, hers are brimming with tears. And they begin to drip down her sallow cheeks.

“Oh, cherie. Thank you. Your tears. That is an excellent start.”

It is only then that Wonder Woman registers the fact that the Frenchman is holding a compact video camera in his hands that is aimed at her bleary, forlorn face.

“I wish to make you the star of my little internet documentary. I am calling it ‘Wonder Woman: Devastation, Defeat and Death-A 3D-Movie in Two Dimensions.’ Catchy, no?”

“I didn’t kill your sister, Pascal.......for the record,” Wonder Woman firmly yet softly murmurs as she nods at the camera that Pascal now holds up to his left eye, its red eye blinking in record mode. “....you did. I am simply here to bring you to justice for your crime.”

Pascal is pushing a small button on the top of the camera as he replies, “Oh, I am so sorry, did I miss your meaningful straight-in-the-lens drama queen moment, Wonder Woman. I was just so focused on getting those huge beautiful tits of yours and your bald snatch in a full frame shot”

The dazed heroine looks down in startled horror, suddenly reminded of her complete nakedness. She blushes heavily as she covers her breasts with one hand while the other dives between her thighs to shield her snatch from the camera’s lens.

“Pig! Scum! Douche!” Wonder Woman snaps waspishly and dazedly begins to try to get to her feet.

“That is what you are going with? Douche? Hardly superheroine-quality banter, Wonder Woman. But then this whole documentary is going to reveal just how far away you are from achieving anything remotely superheroine. For example...” He jabs his long arm forward and pushes hard on Wonder Woman’s chest before she can gather herself enough to rise and she awkwardly tumbles over backward onto her shoulder before slowly rolling over onto her forearms with her ass in the air showing her pussy and balloon knot to the camera lens for an unforgettable close-up.

The website that Pascal has created for this presentation is slowly beginning to gain visitors thanks to an eye-catching variety of banner ads placed on fan-boy and heroine peril sites across the Internet. With the stunning, jaw-dropping display of Wonder Woman’s naked crotch pointed at the camera in full color, countless messages shoot across the globe at the speed of light with the site’s link offered to help share the phenomenon occurring.

In her foggy and sluggish state, Wonder Woman is not fully aware just how badly her modesty is compromised.

“...vile filth...” is just one of the several epithets the Amazon beauty mumbles as she pushes off the floor and finally balances on her hands and knees facing away from Pascal. She sways there unsteadily for a moment, with the potent drug still keeping her too confused to fully appreciate her predicament. Meanwhile, Pascal continues to record the shapely rear end of his wobbly captive to the unrestrained joy and amazement of a growing base of fans connected to his dot com site: WW_Screwed!

“Smile for the camera, Amazon,” Pascal says brightly. He clicks a button on the control for the house video system and puts the handheld camera down. The scene going out to the Internet now is the feed from the prime ceiling-mounted camera in Pascal’s lab.

Wonder Woman is on her feet finally, but stands clumsily. She turns around to face her foe but something is wrong with her boots. Still, the very idea of Pascal filming her in her nakedness enrages the raven-haired heroine. She rushes forward to grab at the tall man just five feet away from her and she stumbles and falls hard onto all fours. She has twisted her left ankle slightly and wrenched her right knee just a bit.

“Ow! What in the...what have you done, Pascal?”

“Nothing too fancy. I simply cut your boot heels in half, Wonder Woman. Leaving just the right half of the heel on your right boot and the front half of the heel on your left boot. Makes it just a bit cumbersome to walk and running forward like that as you see, well, challenging, non?”

“Is there no end to your...UUUNNGGHH!” Pascal’s own boot heel suddenly swings up from the floor and catches the drugged heroine in the chin, knocking her onto her back. Her eyes glaze over as Pascal steps forward and kneels down near the dazed Amazon. He cuts a small circle of yarn around the top edge of Wonder Woman’s left boot and then the right one. The boot fabric, no longer held in place flops out in limp strips, unfolding like a flower blooming, the famous boots cut to ribbons. The once illustrious red and white footwear has been reduced to something resembling the footwear of a silly court jester. Pascal rises up and takes a step back.

After shaking her head to clear it, Wonder Woman wearily rolls over yet again and struggles to her feet, her palms on the floor first and then placed around the legs of the restraint table as she pulls herself up to her knees and finally to her full height. The camera from the back of the room is now trained on her, capturing in clear detail the heavy, swaying breasts, the bent tubular bracelets dangling from her nipples and the very posture of defeat as the renowned heroine slowly, painfully works herself up to a standing position. The messages fly back and forth worldwide in delighted response to the incredible scene being podcast from WW_Screwed!

Wonder Woman turns around once again to face her adversary and wavers stupidly in place, glowering at Pascal. The heels and the drugs both put her at a disadvantage and she totters with her arms out and waving for balance like she’s a first day learner on a surfboard.

“..you...haven’t...played fair with me....this whole....day...you miserable cur....”

“But of course not, cherie. Your strength is legendary. Your grace...” he smiles widely at this, “is renowned and your reflexes are without equal. Everyone knows this. So I have to make the playing field less even to give myself a fighting chance, you see?”

“I see a coward who’s about to....NOOOHH!!!!” Knowing her heels have been badly compromised, the canny Wonder Woman leaps forward on her toes to try to grab Pascal’s lapels and give him a solid right cross to the face. She hadn’t noticed how badly her boots had been sliced from calves to ankles and trips forward on one of the leather strips that catches under her sole. She lands face first directly onto Pascal’s upraised fist, easily positioned since the confused heroine telegraphed her move so blatantly.

“UUNNGH!” The famous Amazon beauty jerks backward and falls onto her side in a stunned daze.

“You might decide to remove those boots of yours, mon ami. They seem to be cramping your style at this point, yes? I mean, a naked woman flailing stupidly about with her tits bouncing and her pussy on parade is fine with me but you do have a reputation to protect, cherie. Have some class, Wonder Woman.”

As the befuddled heroine tries to recover her senses from the hard punch to her face, she rolls over onto her back yet again, first raising and then spreading her knees apart for balance as the room reels around her in dizzying cycles. Pascal quickly snatches up the video camera and cycles the remote so it feeds the signal from the handheld to the Internet site. The view between Wonder Woman’s spreadeagled thighs of her clearly exposed snatch goes out to the world wide web in all its glistening detail.

“Oh, this is marvelous, just marvelous, my dear,” beams Pascal, zooming in for the money shot of the world famous Amazon’s bald pussy, the hairless pubis mons, the curly labia lips gleaming with sweat, the pinkish hue of her inner lips barely visible. The full glory of Wonder Woman’s snatch is broadcast to shocked and delighted viewers now numbering in the thousands. Pascal slowly pulls out of the zoom to capture the face of the beauty as her head nods heavily on her neck, her flat blue pupils trying to focus as the confusion slowly begins to clear away.

“What are you....NO!...y...you....bastard...!”

Without warning, Wonder Woman crabwalks forward toward the camera, scuttling more rapidly than Pascal would have imagined possible. One kicking boot toe catches the camera lens and knocks it up sharply, giving viewers a blinding view of an overhead fluorescent before the scene switches to a wide shot.

The second boot catches Pascal on the chin just as he’s leaning backward. He takes a nasty tumble on his rear and Wonder Woman immediately stands up, her adrenaline providing a rush of energy and focus now. She pulls off first one useless boot and then the other. Dashing forward on bare feet that give her solid footing she can finally rely on, the cagey Amazon reaches Pascal in two bounds and she pounds her fist into his gut, the nearest biggest target.

“GUHHNN!” He doubles up in grunting pain, disabled and wheezing. In a flash of insight, Wonder Woman searches his jacket pockets and then his pants pockets for his keys. She finds them deep in his right pants pocket next to the bulge of his deflating penis. Though tempted to angrily squeeze the accessible muscle into a painful new shape of soft clay, the scowling heroine resists due to worry and timing. She rushes toward the big steel door in the corner of the room with keys in hand. It leads to upstairs and the very real possibility of escape for the frightened and desperate beauty. And then she suddenly stops and veers to her left. On a wall hook is a small dangling orange draped piece of fabric.

Wonder Woman snatches the colorful object off the hook and realizes with sudden brutal clarity that this is Destiny’s skirt. This is the clearest evidence possible in her hands that Pascal was indeed the killer who had defeated Scarlet Avenger, Flare and Destiny. He was the one who humiliated and killed three superheroines. She’d known it all day of course. She’d felt it deeply in her bones, but this, this skirt made it all sink in with horrific lucidity. He’d bested them completely and he’d been ahead of her every step of the way today.

Focused in her anger, Wonder Woman looks back at a stunned Pascal lying barely conscious on his back and she growls like she-wolf. After she quickly steps into the very short skirt, the angry beauty yanks off the patch surrounding her arm, ensuring there would be no more surprise injections from that quarter. After that, she squeezes the alligator clips and pulls the long dangling bracelets off her nipples with a loud sigh of relief. She drops them in place, despairing of their ruin but determined in her focus. This could be her only chance to escape.

She gives the stirring Pascal a glance. Hera only knows what other secret traps he has on his person. She rushes over to the steel door. The third key turns the lock and Wonder Woman gives out a short cry of victory and pulls the heavy door open. There’s a set of steep stone stairs leading up into the darkness. She has no means to light it but she doesn’t care, she rushes up into the yawning dark, fleeing for her life. Heading for hope.

Back in the laboratory. Pascal gets to his feet and stands up straight, facing the prime ceiling camera that he made the live feed just as he saw Wonder Woman’s toe come flying up at the lens of the handheld camera.

“Well, people, it appears we have a chase on our hands. How lucky for you, eh? Tell your friends. Text everyone. This is an event you do not want to miss, n’est ce pas?”

* * *

“You’re fucking kidding me. Wonder Woman is this Agent Prince?” Jimmy’s jaw has dropped open as he stares at Sal with shock as the Italian detective steers the car toward Chevy Chase. “How do you know this?”

“She let something slip, something that got told to Prince that Wonder Woman couldn’t have known. I put two and two together and came up with blue starred underwear! And now they’re both missing. I think our friend Wonder Woman paid this Pascal guy a visit and he gave her more than she could handle.”

“Come on, Sal. We’re talking about Wonder Woman. There’s no way she can’t handle...”

“Tell that to those other three skirts that got offed.”

“But BattleAxe...”

“Was a red herring I’m starting to think.”

“This is something I gotta see for myself,” Jimmy says shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope we’re not too late. She’s been missing for hours.”

“You don’t think Wonder Woman can handle herself?”

“Yesterday, I would have liked the odds. Today? Not so much.”

End of Part 28