The Domination of Night Strike and Heat Wave  

By Dangerguy

n/c

an unfinished superheroine story by Dangerguy

WARNING: This story is strictly fictional and is not intended to portray any real persons, living or dead, nor is it at all intended to encourage the type of activity portrayed here. It is not to be sold for profit. It is strictly a fantasy, intended for the personal enjoyment of those who appreciate the superheroine in bondage/peril/sexual situations genre. The story depicts graphic sexual situations, including bondage, violence, and non-consensual sex, among a number of other nasty things. It is NOT intended, nor is it at all suitable, for minors. If you are under the age of 18, or if this type of thing offends you, you shouldn’t be reading it.

This is a story with some borrowed elements. (So I'm not original; sue me.) I based the heroines on two videos DanO posted on his web site at Super Heroine Central; I hope he doesn't mind me borrowing his creations. Each video featured a heroine being surprised and captured at gun point, forced to strip, then knocked unconscious. Which was fine as far as it went, but the vids got me wondering about what happened next. So here's my version. Hope you like it.

Part One: Night Strike Stricken "NNNNNNUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Night Strike groaned, her head falling backwards, as yet another orgasm overcame her.

The blonde superheroine was bound and immobile in the middle of something that resembled a cross between a warehouse and a horror-movie laboratory: a large, dark room, with a concrete floor and walls, and huge banks of humming machinery and computers surrounding her. A massive metal X stood behind her, rising from a slightly elevated platform on the concrete floor. Her shapely, naked limbs were tightly bound to the bondage frame by shining metal straps at her wrists, elbows, waist, knees, and ankles, forcing her perfect female form into a humiliating spread-eagled position. She was completely naked--save for her thigh-high black leather boots--which only added to her vulnerability.

Several insidious devices protruded from the large, heavy bondage frame to perform a variety of stimulative tasks on her nude body. From the bottom center of the X, two large metal phalluses thrust between her legs. One penetrated her neatly-trimmed blonde pussy, the other her ripe, round ass. Both thrust and vibrated relentlessly, making the captive heroine's finely toned body tremble and quake in helpless sexual response.

But these were not the only devices inciting Night Strike's passions. Two transparent domes, connected to the top of the hi-tech bondage frame by inch-thick cables, completely encapsulated her large breasts, held in place by vacuum suction. The tender flesh inside the domes shook and undulated as though her breasts were being fondled by ghosts, but in fact ultra-sonic pulses were the true culprits.

"HUUUUNNHHH...HUUUUNNHHH...HUUUUNNHHH..." the crime-fighter groaned as wave after wave of forced pleasure racked her naked body.

Rivulets of sweat ran down her nude torso, between her breasts, over her taut abdomen, and along her thighs to combine with the feminine juices of her pussy and collect in her black high-heeled boots. Her long, lustrous blonde hair lay in sweat-soaked mats against her shoulders, upper chest, and lovely face.

"Ohhh Ggggooooddd..." the helpless heroine moaned huskily as the final tremor of her orgasm shook her over-stimulated body. She slowly rolled her head forward and to the side, resting it against one white, naked shoulder. Her blue eyes, relieved of their precious mask several hours before, stared glassily at her surroundings from beneath half-closed eyelids. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts jiggling in their transparent containers, as she gulped air into her tortured lungs.

"Uhhhh...puh...puh...please...n-no more...," she pleaded, gasping.

"Wrong, slut," a harsh, grating male voice corrected her. "A slut always wants more. Always. If ever she doesn't..." Night Strike lifted her head; her blue eyes widened and grew clearer as she stared, with growing trepidation, at the source of the voice. "...she gets punished. Severely," the man concluded, his tone as cold and unyielding as a glacier.

Night Strike slowly shook her head, unable to stop a sob from escaping her lips. "No...p-please...no..." she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper, as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Click.

Night Strike's eyes widened and her breath grew shallow as she fearfully braced herself. She could hear the machinery humming and whining around her. She knew what was coming, and though she had experienced it several times during her captivity, it seemed to get worse with each exposure.

The first jolt of bio-electricity, delivered by the same phallus that had given her such pleasure moments before, hit her sensitive pussy lips with a loud buzzing and crackling sound. She threw her head back, sweat spraying in droplets from her blonde hair, opened her ruby lips wide, and screamed in agony.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Suddenly, the pain stopped, only to find another target. This time, the bio-electric charge traveled through the cables to the peak of one of the plastic domes coving the heroine's tender breasts. Inside the transparent dome, a miniature arc of lightning connected with her right nipple.

"GUUUUUHHHHH!!!" the helpless heroine exclaimed through clenched teeth.

The electric shocks accelerated their tempo, striking rapidly in turn at her left breast, then her ass, her pussy, her left breast again, her right, her ass; Night Strike's voluptuous body twitched and her female flesh shook in its bondage, seeking escape from the painful shocks but finding none. The painful jolts struck faster and faster until they appeared to be hitting all her erogenous zone simultaneously. Night Strike's mouth opened wide; her eyes also opened to their limit. Her body shook spasmodically, the flesh of her breasts, ass, and thighs quivering as the electricity stung her relentlessly. Her blonde hair tossed around her face and spittle flew from her mouth as her head twitched violently in response to the pain.

"AH! HAH! HUNH! UNH! NUHH!" she grunted as each new shock struck at her naked body.

As suddenly as it had begun, the electric shocks stopped. Night Strike's head fell forward over her chest, her blonde hair hanging limply between her large breasts. She panted raggedly, her breaths painful and shallow. A moment later, a strong, gnarled hand took hold of her jaw and lifted her head. The heroine stared emptily ahead from half-closed eyes. To her shame, she couldn't stop trembling. A stream of saliva escaped from her gaping lips, dripping from her chin onto her captor's hand.

"What are you?" the man asked, his voice like ice.

The heroine did not answer.

"What are you?" he demanded more harshly, giving the captive woman's jaw a squeeze and a shake.

Night Strike grimaced at the rough treatment. She had resisted answering the question as he wanted her to for...hours? days? She'd lost all track of time. And all her resistance had earned her was more mind-numbing pleasure and more mind-blowing pain.

That insidious cycle of sensation had been her captor's strategy. It had seemed ridiculous at first, pathetic even, his attempts to stimulate her sexually. She'd mocked him for it; she'd derided his middle-aged bondage fantasies, suggested he get a prescription for Viagra. All this as she stood unmasked, bound, naked, and helpless in his lair. If she'd been aware that this same arrogance had been responsible for landing her in this predicament, she hadn't shown it.

Then the pain had come--Lord, such pain! Pain such as she had never known, not in more than several hundred battles with as many different criminals. Pain that left her gasping for breath, unable to think, willing to do anything just to make it stop. And her body, which she had honed and trained to be the perfect weapon, had eventually betrayed her. She'd denied her own sexuality for years, thinking it could only get in the way of her war on crime; now she paid the price for repressing her desires. She had begun to give in to the pleasurable stimulations, unfamiliar and humiliating as they were to her, so she could endure the sessions of tremendous pain. Her mockery of her torturer had, of course, ended several hours ago.

Yet still Night Strike, the Duchess of the Dark, had resisted--as any superheroine of her caliber would have done in her place. Even in the throes of agony or ecstasy inflicted by her captor, she managed some small gesture--a word, a look--of defiance. But these had dwindled, both in their number and in their venom. The small measure of self-satisfaction her resistance gave her had all but dissipated. Which was why she now, in despair and resignation, lowered her gaze to the laboratory's cold gray floor and uttered the distasteful words that acknowledged her complete and utter defeat at this villain's hands.

"I...I'm..." she said in a barely audible whisper, "I'm...a s-slut." The last word accompanied a soft sob that escaped her thick, luscious lips.

"Louder," her tormentor ordered. "Louder, Christine..." he hissed. The use of her real name, of her long-cherished, now-revealed secret identity, hit her like a slap, reminding her that she was completely in his power.

"I'm a slut, a s-slut," she repeated, choking back another sob and blinking away tears.

"And what do sluts want? Eh?"

"Sluts...w-want sex," she answered obediently; but she couldn't help meeting the man's harsh gaze with a defiant look.

In response, her captor leaned closer to her, his face mere inches from her own. His strong, powerful hand squeezed her jaw harder until she thought it would snap like a wishbone. Night Strike heard herself whimper, and felt her face flush in response to her disgrace.

"What do you want, slut?" he asked, his voice a raspy, harsh whisper.

"I...I want..." Night Strike swallowed hard. Her throat felt like someone had sandpapered it.

"Yes?" he asked expectantly.

To kill you, Night Strike thought. To rip your balls off and stomp them into jelly, you bastard... But she choked back every defiant response that came to her mind. Those would only earn her more pain, more exposure to the madman's bio-electric torture devices. And she couldn't take that again. No, not that, not anymore. She took a quivering breath and gave him the answer he wanted to hear.

"I w-want to have sex. I want to...to be fucked. F-fuck me," she said, her voice an empty whisper, as she capitulated to her tormentor's twisted wishes. "P-please. Fuck me. F-fuck your slut..." The once proud Night Strike closed her eyes in shame. Surely now he'd give her some rest, some respite?

But her answer didn't appear to please him at all. His thin lips remained pressed into a grim line.

"You say it, but you don't mean it," he declared clinically, then turned and walked back to his control panels. "But soon, you will. I'll break you. It's inevitable, my dear. All it will take is about a dozen more sessions, maybe less."

The villain studied readouts on the various computer displays as Night Strike's blue eyes went wide in shock; then her blonde head drooped forward in despair. She trembled in her metallic bonds and suppressed her sobs of despair. A dozen more sessions of pleasure and pain?...Oh, God, the pain! She wanted to wail, to cry her eyes out, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not yet, at least...

Just then, the villain's cell phone rang.

"Damn these interruptions!" Night Strike's captor snarled as he grabbed the device off a nearby table. Night Strike sagged further in her bonds, trying to use whatever time she had to rest, to regain some small amount of strength. "What!" her torturer barked into the phone.

"This LaMorte?" a male voice queried from the other end of the connection.

"Yes, this is Doctor LaMorte," he growled impatiently.

"It's Spike," the voice at the other end of the line declared. Unhelpfully.

"Who? Look, I'm right in the middle of something, and..."

"Y'know, Spike!" the caller interrupted, growing more insistent and, apparently, more confident. "The one who sold you that, uh, tasty bit of merchandise yesterday."

"Ah," the Doctor responded, remembering.

Spike ran a small-scale white slavery racket on the South side. A couple of nights back, Night Strike had discovered the location of Spike's main hideout by strong-arming several underworld stoolies and low-lifes. One of them had sent word to her prey, warning him of her intentions. When Night Strike arrogantly strode into his HQ, without backup, expecting to mop the floor with his henchmen, Spike and one of his lieutenants had surprised her at gunpoint. That's when the humiliation of the heroine had begun; they'd forced her to strip and unmask, then knocked her unconscious.

Spike, rather than trying to sell the superheroine to his usual buyers-- who could never afford the price a real superheroine would fetch--had contacted LaMorte instead. Spike considered superheroines to be a bit out of his league, and LaMorte correctly, if arrogantly, knew Spike was correct. So Doctor LaMorte had obtained a superheroine to turn into a sex slave, and Spike had a tidy profit for his troubles--as would LaMorte, once he sold Night Strike in a more exclusive white slavery market than Spike had ever dreamed existed. Even her secret identity--local newscaster Christy Johnson--would fetch a tidy sum from one of her enemies.

"What do you want?" Doctor LaMorte asked his bargain-basement counterpart. "Our business is finished."

"Well, you're not gonna believe this," Spike continued, a bemused tone in his voice, "but I got another one for you. If you're interested."

"Another one?!?" Doctor LaMorte said incredulously. "What, are they falling out of the sky into your lap, man?"

Spike chuckled at the other end of the line and took a drag on a cigarette. "Just about, Doc. My lucky week, I guess. So you interested or not?"

"Is the...ah...merchandise in the same condition as the one you delivered yesterday?" Doctor LaMorte enquired discretely. Never trust an open connection...

"You bet, Doc. The Spikester knows how to gift-wrap, don't he?" Spike had delivered Night Strike naked and securely bound and gagged--unconscious, as well, with a chloroform rag over her nose and mouth, accompanied by the uniform she'd been forced to remove. LaMorte assumed this other heroine would be delivered in a similar state.

Doctor LaMorte exhaled harshly, irritated but intrigued. No, he couldn't turn down the opportunity to obtain another superheroine. Especially when things were progressing so well with the first.

"All right, bring her over," he finally said in a commanding tone.

But Spike wasn't through. "Same price as the other one, right?"

The Doctor's lined face wrinkled in disgust, not that his business associate could see it. "We'll discuss price on delivery, once I see exactly what you're offering," LaMorte shot back.

Spike's voice became as hard-edged as that of the older man. "No deal, Doc. Same price as before, or I go shoppin' 'er around. You know there's no shortage of interested customers. Hell, I might just keep this one for myself..."

"All right!" the Doctor interrupted him suddenly. "Same price as the other. But it had better be worth it, young man."

Spike chuckled again at the other end of the line. "Oh, trust me, Doc, she is. See ya in two hours."

Doctor LaMorte grumbled a good-bye and ended the call. He stared at the phone, lost in thought, for several moments. Then he nodded and turned back to his control console. After studying the readings, he again nodded, approvingly. Then looked at Night Strike and smiled, his decision made. His grin, under-lit by the harsh glare of the computer monitors, emphasized the gradually spreading lines of late middle age on his face. His eyes glowed as if lit from within by an unholy fire. Night Strike felt the villain's harsh, perverted glare on her perfect body and lifted her head to look back at her tormentor.

"Well," the Doctor remarked, still smiling malevolently, "it looks like one of your friends will be joining you. What's that old saying? Misery loves company?" Doctor LaMorte adjusted a setting on the touch-sensitive computer screen. The machinery hummed and came to life again. Night Strike felt the phalluses stirring in her pussy and anus once again and groaned, her voice mingling equal amounts of pleasure and despair.

The Doctor laughed softly as the hi-tech dildos began to vibrate in Night Strike's nether regions. "Like that, do you? There's more where it came from. Plenty more. More than enough for you and your friend. Heh." LaMorte touched another control on the screen. "But her impending arrival changes our schedule, my dear. We'll have to accelerate things for you. Drastically."

Night Strike caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Two slender arms extended from the middle of bondage rack, one on either side of the heroine. At their ends sat two identical hypodermic needles, which pointed forward, past the crime-fighter, until they moved level to her breasts. Then they rotated inwards with a click to point directly towards the exposed skin at the base of her mammaries. The heroine glanced from one needle to the other nervously, her breath and heart rate accelerating.

"W-what...what are you doing?" she asked the scientist, her betraying more fear than she'd intended. She swallowed hard and tried to slow her rapid breathing.

"The hypodermics," Doctor LaMorte proudly explained, "contain a mix of hormones, hallucinogens, and amphetamines, in just the right amounts and combination, which heighten female arousal, reduce inhibitions, and increase tactile sensitivity. In other words, they'll make you high and horny. Assuming they don't kill you, of course."

Night Strike stared at him incredulously. "Kill me?"

"The compound is still in its experimental phase," the scientist explained with a taut smile; he clearly enjoyed the heroine's apprehension, like a gourmet savoring a fine wine. "You're the first human female I've tried it on."

"I'm...I'm no good to you dead, LaMorte," Night Strike said, desperate to avoid becoming a guinea pig--let alone a casualty--for this madman's experiments.

"True," LaMorte admitted flatly. "But I have a backup on the way now. And someone has to be first. It might as well be you, my dear. Now, this will hurt just a bit...but then it will feel better...much better. Heh." LaMorte pressed a control on the touch-sensitive screen, and the sharp tips of the hypodermics began to move closer to their targets.

The heroine watched helplessly as the needles slowly closed in on her breasts. "No...no...please no..." she begged, her blue eyes wide as her head shook in nervous denial. She pulled at the metal bands that held her arms firmly in place above her head, but they held, as they had for hours. She twisted and arched her naked torso as much as she could, trying desperately to avoid the slowly approaching needles.

"Hold still, whore!" LaMorte commanded. "They have to penetrate your breasts--if one goes into your side, it'll penetrate all the way to your lung. And then you'll die, I guarantee--horribly."

Night Strike stopped her struggling and pressed her back against the cold metal of the bondage frame. She did her best to remain motionless as the malevolent needles closed in on the exposed flesh at the base of her breasts. She couldn't stop her trembling, however, not completely. She watched in horror as a drop of creamy fluid fell from the needle on her right.

The hypodermics reached their contact point. Night Strike pressed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as she felt the needles pierce her skin, then penetrate deep within her breasts. The hypodermics slowly released their contents into her tits, and Night Strike felt a burning sensation in her mammaries, which then spread throughout her body as her bloodstream carried the insidious chemicals throughout her trembling female form. Finally, the needles withdrew, but Night Strike barely noticed, for their payload was already beginning to take effect.

"Hunh-hunh-hunh..." Night strike moaned as she exhaled. The chemicals worked, it seemed, and quickly. Her breasts grew taut, her nipples pointed and erect. Her breath deepened and her heart rate increased. Her skin became aware of every slight change in room temperature, every caress from the air flow produced by the machinery's cooling fans. She could feel her pussy growing warmer as it lubricated. Her vagina and anus relaxed and expanded slightly to more easily accept the two huge phalluses that vibrated within them. Then the dildos began to slowly withdraw and thrust into her, exciting her traitorous nether regions further, and Night Strike moaned in pleasure and despair. She clenched her fists and felt her fingernails bite into her palms, but that sensation could not compete with the growing stimulation of her privates.

"Ohhhh....Ggggoddd..." the helpless, horny heroine moaned as the Doctor's elixir took effect. Never had she know such intense, overwhelming pleasure. Every nerve in her body seemed electrified, on fire, alive with sensation. She licked her lips and began to gently move her hips in response to the vibrators inside her.

A malevolent chuckle escaped Doctor LaMorte's thin, cruel lips. "The formidable Night Strike, reduced to a sex toy," he declared triumphantly. "Just imagine what seeing you like this will do to this other super-slut." LaMorte pressed a control, and the dildos increased their tempo, thrusting in and out of the bound heroine slightly faster; their vibrations also grew in intensity.

LaMorte's words penetrated the heroine's ecstatic trance. "It's...ahhhhh...m-me you want...unnhhh...l-let the other...ooohhhh Godddd...other heroine g-go, oh, ohhhhhhh..." Night Strike pleaded raggedly as the stimulation of her body increased. The thought of one of her fellow heroines stuck in her predicament filled the crime-fighter with horror; she had to do all she could to spare her sister, whoever she was, her own ignoble fate--even if it meant sacrificing herself to this man's vile desires.

"How noble," Doctor LaMorte spat contemptuously. "For all the good it will do you, and your friend. Unfortunately, I have only one conversion rack and two heroines. That's why I'm accelerating your training, Night Slut. I need you converted before your compatriot arrives. So..." The Doctor adjusted another setting. The transparent devices covering Night Strike's high, firm breasts renewed their work, fondling and teasing her tits as if by magic. Her nipples, now highly sensitized, hardened quickly from the stimulus.

"Huuunnnnnhhh..." Night Strike groaned as she slowly rocked her head from side to side, her lanky blonde locks shifting over her sweat-stained face. The ultra-sonics that invisibly fondled her tits had felt like a lover's hand before; now they felt like hundreds of tiny needles, all penetrating her vulnerable breasts. Meanwhile, the phalluses inside her began to thrust in and out of her body with greater and greater speed. The dildos pumped her in an alternating rhythm. As the member in her pussy withdrew, its partner plunged into her ass. Then it pulled out, and the other one thrust into her pussy, spraying female lubricant from her penetrated vagina.

"Unhh...ahh...unhh...ahh..." Night Strike grunted in response to the increasing tempo of the double penetration. She dropped her head forward. Beneath her breasts, which undulated in response to the ultra-sonics within the plastic domes, a wide metal band held her narrow waist firmly against the bondage frame. Beneath that, her hips thrust backwards and forwards in response to the dildos pumping her pussy and ass. The sight of her body willfully succumbing to its violation horrified her, yet also--because of her exhaustion and the chemicals in her body--it turned her on as well. Night Strike licked her lips and moaned, unable to pull her eyes away from the sight of her magnificent body being mechanically raped.

"Uuunnhh...uuunnhh...uuunnhh..." the beautiful crime-fighter whimpered as she watched the phalluses continue their work. The thought that she should resist the sensations overwhelming her body passed briefly through her mind, then vanished. Resisting had achieved nothing. She began to give in; her long-lashed eyelids closed as she felt her next orgasm building within her loins.

"GAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!" she suddenly screamed as a sharp stab of pain radiated from her left nipple. She opened her eyes and looked at her breast within its plastic dome. She gasped at the sight: a small clamp, metal with jagged teeth, had emerged from the cable at the dome's peak and had latched on to her left nipple. Once it had a firm grip, the clamp retracted, pulling the sensitive nub, and the rest of her breast, towards the top of the plastic dome. Night Strike's back arched as she tried, instinctively but in vain, to press her breast in the direction it was being pulled. The heroine grimaced, and her elegantly arched brows knit together, as she sought respite from the pressure on her nipple. The chemicals churning in her blood only intensified the powerful sensation. Night Strike could not tell where pain ended and pleasure began--which was exactly LaMorte's intent.

She glanced at her right breast, and whimpered as she saw a second clamp slowly extending towards her as-yet untouched right nipple. Desperately, she shook her chest as much as she could within her bonds, trying to shake the left clamp loose while preventing the right from capturing its target. Her right breast bounced inside the plastic dome, as did her left in its container. But her movements only heightened the delightful agony experienced by her firm, sensitive breasts.

"HUUUUUNNNGGG!!!" Night Strike exclaimed through tightly clenched teeth when the clamp suddenly seized her right nipple and squeezed the tender nub. Her bright blue eyes flew wide open in response to the severe sensation of pleasure and pain that the two clamps produced. They began to push and pull her nipples with an alternating rhythm that matched the tempo of the dildos pumping away in her pussy and ass. The ultra-sonics continued to massage her breasts as the clamps yanked and pushed them within their plastic enclosures.

"Ohhhh...ohhhh mmmmyyy Gaaaawwwddd..." Night Strike muttered as the assault on her senses began to overwhelm her, driving all rational thought from her brain. Her body began to buck within its bonds as the clamps and dildos increased the pace of their ministrations. Her breath came heavily but rapidly as she verged on hyperventilating.

"Uh, uh, uh...oh...ah...Ahhh...AHHHH...AHHHH..." she cried, her whimpers amplifying into moans as her body went into sexual overload. "OH!! GOD!! UNH!! UNH!! UNH!!" the heroine screamed as the dildos pumped and throbbed inside her mercilessly, faster with each passing second. Her blue eyes rolled up into her head. In her boots, her toes curled. She could feel the crest of the wave rising within her, could sense it forming, about to break and crash over her, sweeping her away...

When suddenly everything stopped.

"Whu...wha...???" Night Strike asked, looking around her, confused, her breathing heavy and labored. Her eyes, glassy with unfulfilled pleasure, fastened on Doctor LaMorte' cold gray ones. "W-why? Why did you stop?"

Doctor LaMorte regarded her with mock surprise. "Don't you want it to stop?" he asked.

Night Strike gazed around the room, confused. "I...n-no...no," she answered, clearly in a daze of chemically-induced pleasure. The clamps remained on her nipples, and the dildos stayed in her pussy and anus, but none of them moved.

LaMorte savored every moment of the heroine's slide into slutdom. "I'm quite certain you asked me to stop a few minutes ago, my dear..." he said condescendingly. It was risky, attempting this tactic so early, he knew; it might not work. But the chemicals had done their job as he'd hoped, and so he had decided to push things even further.

"No! Don't stop! Please..." Night Strike began to thrust her hips, as much as she could within her bonds, vainly trying to coax some stimulation from the inert dildos in her pussy and anus.

"Why do you want me to start the pleasure again, Night Strike?" LaMorte asked her, his voice like ice grating against rock.

"Be-because...," the heroine answered, pouting slightly, still pushing her hips against the dildos. "Because I w-want..."

"Yes? What do you want?"

"I want...I want to cum," Night Strike declared, and the declaration felt like an orgasm in and of itself. "IwannacumIwannacumIwannacum!!!" she continued, thrusting her hips in time to the words because it felt like the words themselves could make it happen.

LaMorte laughed, delighted in his triumph. "And why do you want to cum, my dear?"

Through the haze of pleasure and drugs, Night Strike smiled wantonly. "Because...I'm a slut," she breathed in a husky, lusty voice. "I'm such a slut, Doc. God, I'maslutImawhoreIwannacumwannafuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!!!"

"All right, Night Slut. Are you ready?" Doctor LaMorte' hands hovered over the controls.

"Yeah...I'm ready..." Night Strike whined, her lips pouting. "Fuck me, Doc. Fuck me hard..."

Doctor LaMorte's fingers danced over the controls, and the machines hummed and whined back to life. The dildos in Night Strike's pussy and anus began to vibrate. The clamps on her nipples gently tightened and loosened their grip on her nipples. The ultra-sonic manipulation of her breasts started to build.

"Ohhhhhh....yeahhhhhh..." the defeated heroine moaned in response to the stimulation of her erogenous zones. A big, lusty smile came to her lips as she rolled her head back. "Ffffuuuuuck mmmmeeee..." she groaned.

"You asked for it, bitch," the Doctor snarled, and touched the controls again.

Suddenly, the devices truly sprang to life, and Night Strike was taken, like a sports car, from zero to sixty in mere seconds. The first dildo expanded in length and girth and drove into her pussy; the tip of the phallus touched her cervix, and Night Strike bucked in her bonds as love juice gushed from her vagina.

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!!!!" the heroine exclaimed as she was penetrated deeply. Her blue eyes opened wide and stared blankly at the dark ceiling.

The clamps in the transparent domes over her breasts tightened their grip on her nipples and began pulling and pushing like pistons in an engine. Night Strike could hear her breast flesh slapping against her rib cage and against the plastic covers over them. Her back arched and straightened spasmodically in response. She inhaled and exhaled sharply over clenched teeth as the harsh stimulation of her breasts continued.

"Oooh! Ooooooo...oh yeah...grab my tits, pull 'em haaaaarrrrddd..." the heroine pleaded as she sank into a sea of sexual stimulation. Just a few minutes before, her behavior would have shamed her; she might have even preferred death to this degrading fate. But now, she now longer cared. All she could think of, all she wanted, was hard, hot sexual pleasure.

Meanwhile, the dildos began pumping furiously out of her pussy and ass. Her hips fell and rose with the push and pull of the metallic members, her hip bones pushing against the metal strap around her waist with each upward thrust. Her head fell forward as the dildos picked up the pace. Then her head tossed ecstatically from side to side, back and forth, her blonde hair whipping against her bound arms and white shoulders.

"Yeah! Yeah! YEAH! UH! UH! UH! FUCK! ME! FUCK! ME!" The heroine yelled with each thrust, lost in sexual ecstasy, willing the climax to take her. She had reluctantly allowed herself to orgasm previously; now, thanks to the Doctor's carnal cocktail, she welcomed the pleasure with all her heart and soul.

Suddenly, her entire body tensed. Her head stopped moving; her eyes opened wide, pupils dilated, as she stared straight ahead. Her mouth opened wide; her lush lower lip swayed up and down as the orgasm swiftly reached its peak within her.

"Ahh...ahh...ahhh...AHHH...AHHHHH...AHHHHHH!!!" Night Strike groaned louder and louder as the sexual symphony within her body reached its crescendo. A warm, hot explosion suddenly burst in her loins and spread over her entire body.

"GGGAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" she screamed as she came. Every muscle--her toned abs, her strong but shapely legs and arms, her arched back--tensed. Her head fell backwards, her eyes shut tight. Warm, sticky love honey covered the dildos--still diligently pumping away--as she discharged copiously. The ultra-sonic dishes and nipple clamps continued to do their work; the mechanical stimulation of her nude body did not cease.

"OHHHHH...OHHHHH....ohhhhh...ohh Ggawwd..." Her head rolled forward, her blonde locks covering her beautiful face, as the crest of the wave passed. "Oh God...Oh God...OH GOD...OH GOD!!!" she yelled, the volume of her voice rising again as she felt another orgasm overtake her. "GGGUUUUUUNNNNHHHHH!!!!" she groaned as yet again, teeth clenched, her body tensed in a climax even greater than the one before.

Night Strike's crystal blue eyes stared wide, unfocussed, in delight and disbelief. She had heard of women experiencing multiple orgasms, but had never had the...pleasure...herself. It overwhelmed her, shattered her mind like glass, and rent her body like cloth. It was agony. It was ecstasy. She loved it. She never wanted it to end.

"Hunnnhhh...hunnnhhh...HUNNNHHH...HUNNNHHH!!!" the heroine moaned, luscious red lips quivering, as her trembling body approached yet another climax. "AHHHHHahhhhAHHHHahhhhAAAAAAaaaaahhhh!!!!" she yelled, her body bucking in its bonds as she came. Each orgasm shook her more than the ones before it, like waves that rode one another to greater and greater heights. She bobbed along on top of those waves, a helpless castaway in a sea of desire.

"What are you?!?" Doctor LaMorte' harsh, cold voice cut into her trance of ecstasy.

"Nuhhh...nuhhh...nuhhh..." the heroine whimpered as the machines coaxed her to yet another orgasm.

"WHAT ARE YOU?!?" the Doctor's voice, amplified by loudspeakers, demanded.

"I'm...a...slut..." Night Strike grunted as the dildos pumped furiously inside her.

"AGAIN!!!"

"I'M...A...SLUT...!" she replied. "I'MASLUT I'MASLUT ASLUTSLUTSLUT!!!" Calling herself by that pejorative word would have insulted her hours ago; now it just drove her to greater heights of ecstasy than she'd ever dreamed existed.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, SLUT!?!"

"IWANNACUM IWANNACUM OH GOD IWANNACUMCUMCUMCUM MAKEMECUUUUUUUM!!!"

Now comes the true, final test, LaMorte thought to himself as he pressed a control on the computer screen. The machinery around the heroine whirred as it built up a bio-electric charge. In her sexual daze, Night Strike didn't notice until the electric jolt hit her pussy, anus, and nipples simultaneously.

She should have screamed in pain and indignation. She should have wanted to rip the torture devices from her naked body to relieve the agony. But she didn't. The pain of the bio-electric charges crashed over her in waves, like the pleasure induced by the dildos and the domes over her breasts, until she couldn't tell the two apart. Her body, tensed for another orgasm, accepted the pain as more sexual stimulation. It drove her over the edge. Night Strike climaxed as few women on this earth have ever climaxed.

"WWWAAaaaAAAaaaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" the heroine cried as she came, came long and hard, as the pleasure and pain continued to stimulate her helpless body. Honey gushed from her pussy. Sweat sprayed from her pores. Saliva flew from her mouth. Her blonde hair whipped around her face like an angry yellow cloud. Her body bucked, twitched, and spasmed in its bonds, threatening to tear apart her restraints or her limbs. Incredibly, both held.

Suddenly, her body ceased all movement and tensed. Her eyes and mouth opened wide as the last tremor of the mother of all orgasms pulled her under. "UHHH...HHH...HHH...hhh..." she croaked, then her blue eyes rolled back, her head fell forward to her chest, and her entire body sagged on the bondage frame as consciousness left her.

Doctor LaMorte could barely contain his glee as he set the machines to cease their stimulation and torture of the exhausted heroine. He stomped his right foot and clapped his hands once, and laughed out loud.

"HA! Night Strike is now NIGHT SLUT!!!" he shouted at the heroine's unhearing form. "I'm Incredible! Just incredible!" he congratulated himself as he thrust his arms upwards in triumph. "Everything worked! The drugs, the machines...I'm a fucking GENIUS!!!"

The Doctor calmed himself and chortled. "Well, I already knew that. Heh." He looked malevolently at the oblivious, naked crime-fighter he had tamed so completely. "Oh, my dear, you are going to be such a good little helper when your fellow super-slut arrives. And I'll get such a good price for you both," he snarled, "especially now that pleasure and pain are as one to you. Heh. Heh! HEH HEH HEH!!"

The Doctor took a deep breath and looked contentedly around his secret laboratory. "You know," he muttered to himself matter-of-factly, "I really love my job."