By Dangerguy

Wizards Lair Supergirl and Batgirl Team-Up 2006 Contest

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 resold for profit. It is strictly a fantasy/parody, 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. Otherwise, carry on, and enjoy.


This story is set in the modern day (more or less) but utilizes the silver age Batgirl and Supergirl--you know, Batgirl is Commissioner Gordon's red-headed daughter Barbara (redheads... mmmmm...) and Supergirl is Superman's blonde cousin (blondes... mmmmm...). Aren't they everyone's favorite versions of the characters? More specifically, Babs is Congresswoman Gordon, hence the Washington, D.C. location, despite my not knowing the first thing about that town other than the fact that a lot of crooks live there (and some of them don't even work for the government--nyuk, nyuk, nyuk). Thank heavens for Wikipedia.

I should also mention that this story takes place in a different... er... "universe" than my previous stories involving these heroines (so generously hosted at The Wizard's wonderful web site), so don't go looking for continuity, 'cause there ain't any, kids. As for Supergirl's costume, don't get me started. Let's just assume that like most girls, she has a closet full of all manner of clothing, and after a half-hour or more of whining that she has nothing to wear, picks whatever least offends her tender sensibilities that day.

In another homage to those less politically-correct days of comics' silver age, my villain is a complete, unmitigated, unapologetic stereotype. I guess I could have done a bunch of research into voodoo and witchcraft; but since I'm lazy, I just made most of it up, à la Joss Whedon--so please don't go criticizing the inaccuracy of the magic rituals portrayed, the terms used, and so on. Of course, it's not like this is a politically-sensitive genre in the first place, so I don't know why I'm worried about offending anybody!


Prologue: The Ritual

In fire the world began, in fire the world shall end.

Kneeling before the small, neat pile of tinder, his arms stretched out wide, his shaved head tilted back in veneration, he spoke the words reverently in his native tongue.

I am one with the flame. I am one with the fire. I breathe. I feed. I burn. The world is mine to consume.

In the darkened room, illuminated by two small ceremonial candles of black wax, he was nearly invisible, his naked skin so dark it was almost impossible to tell where the darkness ended and his body began, or vice-versa. Anyone watching and understanding his words would have thought that he seemed more one with the darkness than with the flame. No one was watching, since the man was alone; he himself was aware of this dichotomy, though he did not consider it a contradiction. For he knew that light and dark were not opposites, but two sides of the same coin.

Fire, awaken. Walk with me, your brother, for a time. Reveal to me what is, and what is to be. Fire, AWAKEN!

As he spoke the last word of the incantation, he suddenly brought his hands together in a loud, single clap. Instantaneously, a flame erupted in the pile of tinder before him, brightening the room like a flare before quickly diminishing to a small blaze. Smoke rose from the burning wood and herbs, filling the room with the rich, pungent scents of patchouli, hashish, and deadly nightshade. The man's head tilted forward slowly. He raised his hands towards his face and spat twice, once into each palm. He rubbed his hands together and then held them over the open flame until steam rose from them. He then waved his hands towards himself so the steam and smoke entered his flared nostrils. His dark eyes rolled back into his head as the vision came to him.

His muscles twitched and he grunted and gasped as the vision took hold of him completely. Sweat ran in rivulets over his dark skin. In his mind's eye, images and sounds flickered as though he were viewing them from underwater. Years of training and discipline had taught him how to understand what was revealed to him, and to withstand the cosmic power flowing through him while preserving his sanity. More than one novice training with him had been driven mad by the divining ritual, but not him.

The vision ended, and with a coarse groan his eyes opened, their gaze fixed upon the flame which was now dying.

I give you thanks, my bright, burning brother, the man whispered reverently. He then took a deep breath and reflected upon what had been revealed to him.

Two women he had seen, warriors both; his enemies. One cloaked in darkness, the other bathed in light. His thick lips curled into a faint smile as he appreciated the irony of that cosmic balance. From those sources, darkness and light, each derived her power. Of course, all women possessed power, though many barely understood it. That crucial truth had been drilled into him from his first day as a novice, and he had learned the vital importance of not underestimating the divine power of the sacred female. But he had also learned how to channel that power... how to corrupt it, how to make it serve him and his fulfill needs. All his needs, including those most primal and male. He smiled wolfishly and felt a familiar, welcome stirring in his loins. Yes, there was much pleasure to be derived from overcoming a powerful female, as he had discovered and experienced several times before. But he had always been the hunter, the pursuer; this time, the women would come to him, thinking themselves the hunters, only to discover their mistake when it was far too late.

Still, he reminded himself not to be over-confident. He had to be prepared for their arrival, of which the vision had foretold. Rising from the dirt floor of the chamber, he brought the two ceremonial candles over to a large, dark trunk of weathered mahogany, which he knelt before and opened reverently. The top of the trunk lifted, raising several small shelves within it, linked to its lid by leather straps; he then pulled open two doors at the front of the trunk, revealing more shelves. Neatly organized within various open square boxes in the shelves were the tools of his trade--rare and powerful herbs and powders, ancient carved stones, fragments of metal and chips of wood, preserved animal parts, and those of humans as well, and some precious jewels he had recently acquired. He began to carefully select those items he would need in order to properly welcome his lovely guests.

Chapter 1: Lessons in Power

Barbara Gordon lay back upon the sheets of her bed and sighed contentedly, not for the first time that evening. Sweat was cooling her pale, naked skin, which still felt overheated from the exertion of love-making. Her long red hair was splayed decorously, if haphazardly, upon her pillow. She raised her arms above her head and stretched lazily, like a cat. She chuckled softly as the comparison entered her mind; it reminded her of her many battles with a certain feline-loving felon in her home city of Gotham.

Her soft laughter made the naked man laying beside her stir. He raised his head, his short brown hair still tousled from their tryst, and propped himself up on one elbow.

"What's so funny, gorgeous?" he asked in the smooth, warm tone a man reserved for use in a bedroom with a beautiful woman. Idly, his hand reached over to gently cup Barbara's right breast; his hand nearly encompassed the full, pert globe, but only just. "Mmm, more than a handful," he murmured, then began to trace a slow, lazy path down the middle of her torso with his fingertips.

"Nothing, handsome" Barbara replied, smiling impishly. "I'm just... content."

She turned her head to glance at him and her smile broadened. She had learned, since coming to Washington, to keep a mental scorecard of all the major players in town; thanks to her training as a librarian, it had proven a relatively easy skill to acquire. His vital statistics flashed through her mind. Samuel Lyman, aged thirty-two. Harvard educated. Former junior partner at one of the big firms in Metropolis, specializing in constitutional law. Now Deputy Director of Communications at the White House, meaning he essentially wrote almost every word the President said. Model-handsome. Divorced, no children. One of Washington's most eligible bachelors, and a damn fine catch.

"Content?" Sam asked. He leaned his head forward and placed his lips over the peak of her breast. Barbara gasped softly as he playfully flicked his tongue against her nipple, then moaned as his hand reached her pussy, which was still warm and wet from sex. "Too content to have another go?" he asked when he raised his mouth from her breast.

"I'm never that content," Barbara said with a laugh.

Her smile broadened as Sam began to rub her clit, and she cooed with pleasure. This was only their third session of love-making since they'd started dating, but Sam had already revealed himself to be remarkably virile for a man nearing the cusp of middle-age. Barbara herself, now in her late twenties, had spent far too many nights selflessly fighting crime rather than enjoying some of the simple pleasures in life. Thus, she relished these long, languid sessions with their multiple bouts of love-making; she felt as though she was making up for lost time.

"Hey, beautiful," Sam whispered into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin teasingly. "You wanna try something... different?"

Barbara smiled and glanced at him, her green eyes narrowed seductively. "Maybe..." she purred. "How 'different' are we talking?"

"Nothing painful," he assured her as he continued to gently rub her pussy, which was growing warmer and wetter by the second. "Just... a little bit kinky, I guess. Don't get me wrong, the sex has been great, just a little bit... vanilla, you know?"

"Vanilla?" Barbara said archly, one dark red eyebrow raised.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with vanilla," Sam said defensively, then bestowed a gentle nibble upon the peak of her breast, making her inhale sharply through her teeth. "It's one of my favorite flavors. But maybe it's time to try some chocolate, or pistachio, or... rocky road..." he said suggestively, his hand still working her clit artfully.

"Sounds... intriguing," Barbara breathed. "Why don't you... tell me what you have in mind?"

"It'll be easier to show you," Sam said, smiling broadly, his brown eyes reflecting his growing excitement.

His hands left her body, making her moan with disappointment. He winked at her in reassurance, then stood up and walked out of her bedroom. A moment later, he returned, his large patent leather briefcase held in front of his privates.

"Those aren't the briefs you were wearing when you came in here," Barbara joked.

"Ha ha," Sam said, rolling his eyes and smiling as he set his briefcase down on the surface of the bed. "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but we lawyers get pretty tired about jokes revolving around 'briefs'."

"Hey, I'm new in town, remember?" Barbara said as she propped herself up, her arms behind her, her back arched to thrust her breasts forward, her legs stretched out upon the bed before her.

"Damn," Sam said softly as he watched her displaying her shapely body for him. "You are so beautiful. And you will fill this out perfectly," he said with an anticipatory grin.

"Fill what out perfectly?" Barbara asked, still smiling as Sam laid his briefcase flat, undid its latches, and opened it.

"This!" he said, smiling broadly.

As he spoke, Sam lifted a long garment out of his briefcase. As soon as Barbara recognized it, her smile fled from her face and her blood ran cold.

The garment was predominantly dark grey and composed of tight-fitting lycra. There were several breaks in the dark grey color scheme, however. A dark purple cape hung from the costume's shoulders, its ends scalloped like the wings of a nocturnal creature. A cowl of the same color, a pointed ear on either side, hung limply over one of the shoulders. Around the waist hung a yellow belt; yellow gloves and boots were also present, attached to the costume's arms and legs by small clips. Across the chest of the outfit, which was shaped to accommodate the curve of a woman's breasts, was a stylized yellow symbol Barbara knew all too well.

"That's... that's..." she stammered.

"A Batgirl costume!" Sam said excitedly.

Barbara swallowed hard. She'd been so careful--surely Sam didn't know about her secret identity? Or was she fooling herself? Did the government know, did it have extensive files on her, to which Sam no doubt had access? She realized that she still didn't know him very well. Did he intend to blackmail her? She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. She felt naked and exposed; instinctively, she reached for the bed sheets and began to pull them over her nude body.

"Okay, look," Sam said, holding one hand up apologetically while the other continued to hold up the costume. "I know it's the adolescent in me, but... I have a thing for Batgirl. I'm sure I'm not the only guy on the planet who does. Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate and adore who you are, Babs--but when I first saw you, with that long red hair, and that incredible body, well... I started having this fantasy. And I've been hoping that you might be into, you know, playing it out. What do you say?"

Barbara breathed a small sigh of relief. Apparently Sam didn't know about her secret life; he just had a Batgirl fixation. Still, she couldn't recover so easily from the shock of being confronted with her other life, especially in such an intimate setting. She remained speechless.

"See, I've got another costume in here," Sam said, laying the imitation Batgirl costume down upon the bed and pulling another set of garments out of his large briefcase, these ones all black. "I'll be a robber," he said, holding up the black costume's dark mask. "You can catch me in the act. Maybe... tie me up or something, and... show me that crime doesn't pay, if you catch my drift." He raised one brow and leered at her suggestively.

Finally, Barbara recovered from the shock and found her voice. "I don't think so," she said coldly. She threw off the bed sheet she'd wrapped around herself, stood up, and turned away from Sam. She grabbed a long, red silk robe off of a nearby chair and quickly wrapped it around her body.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked in a crestfallen tone.

"I just don't like your fantasy, okay?" Barbara said curtly as she tied the robe's cord at her waist. She turned, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, and stared at him defiantly.

"Jesus," Sam remarked. "I should have checked the weather forecast. I didn't realize a cold front from Gotham was going to move into the capital tonight..." He threw the robber's costume upon the bed and picked up his boxer shorts from where he'd tossed them on the floor barely two hours before.

Shit, Barbara thought. "Look, I'm sorry, Sam. You just... caught me by surprise."

"Why the hell is it such a big deal?" he asked as he pulled his shorts on. "Christ, it's just a little role-play, it's not like I was asking you to... I dunno... have sex with another woman while I watched, or something like that!"

"Ewww," Barbara said, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Yeah, well, don't get any ideas in that regard, either," she added sharply.

"Oh, don't worry," Sam said as he pulled his pants on. "I'll be keeping my sick little fantasies to myself from now on."

"Sam..." Barbara started to say as she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She could feel a headache starting, right between her eyes...

"Why did it bother you so much?" he asked as he looked around impatiently for his shirt. "What, are you president of the Batgirl Fan Club or something?"

"No!" Barbara said, and frantically searched her mind for a reasonable explanation. Everything had been going so right, how had it suddenly turned out so wrong? "Look, you're not from Gotham, okay? We just... revere these people there."

As he pulled his shirt on over his torso, Sam paused and looked at her incredulously. "Uh, I grew up in Metropolis, hello-o-o-o-!" he said sarcastically. "But if you told me that I'd really turn you on if I dressed up as Superman..."

"Oh, Jesus, don't!" Barbara exclaimed, holding a hand up, her lovely features folding into a disgusted scowl. Superman was like a big brother she looked up to, so Sam's words had planted a very unsavory image in her mind.

"I had no idea you had such a weird hang-up about superheroes," he said as he briskly tucked his shirt into his pants.

"I have a hang-up?!?" Barbara replied angrily.

"Hey, it's just a little fantasy of mine, I can take it or leave it," Sam said. "But you..." He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then grabbed his suit jacket off the floor. As he pulled it on, his face grew serious. "I feel obliged to warn you that the White House will likely be pulling its support from Bill HR 35," he said flatly.

Barbara's mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in shock. "WHAT?!?" she exclaimed, but Sam just stood there, his hands in his pockets, eyeing her coldly. "You... you... you'd convince the President to... to... pull his support from my bill just because I didn't indulge your Batgirl fantasy?!?"

Sam shrugged. "It's the way this town works, baby. It's all about give and take."

Barbara shook her head in disbelief. "Jesus CHRIST!!" she shouted. "You mean you'd trade policy favors for SEX?!?"

Sam couldn't help laughing. "Boy, you really are new to Washington, aren't you?" he chided her. "Sex is one of the most common commodities on this town's trading floor, Babs. Kissinger said it best: power is the ultimate aphrodisiac."

Barbara could do nothing but stare at him, her lovely face still wearing an incredulous expression.

Again, Sam shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's been fun, Babs. Well, up until tonight, anyway." He stuffed the costumes back into his briefcase with a disappointed sigh. He closed the case, grabbed its handle, and then strode towards the bedroom door. There, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. "Oh, and, uh, don't worry. I won't tell anyone about your... hang-up. That'll be our little secret," he said with a condescending wink.

"OOOOOHHHH!!" Babs growled as he turned and left. She picked up a pillow off the bed and threw it at his retreating back. A moment later, she heard the door to her apartment open and then slam shut.

Shit, she thought. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!!! She paced back and forth in her bedroom angrily. Everything had been going so well. The first bill that rookie Congresswoman Barbara Gordon had had a big hand in authoring had gained the support of the White House, she'd landed one of Washington's most desirable men--too bad he'd turned out to be such an asshole--and now it had all gone to hell. All because of her secret life.

And yet, as soon as she thought of it, the notion gave her solace, though it did not quell her anger. She walked briskly to her closet, slid aside the door, and angrily pushed her clothes out of the way. She slapped her hand against top left corner of the rear wall. The secret panel slid aside, revealing the dark grey and purple costume of the real Batgirl. Barbara's green eyes narrowed and she smiled with seething satisfaction. Oh yeah, she reflected. I really feel like going out and kicking some SERIOUS ass.

Chapter 2: Warrior of Darkness

A few minutes later, the caped figure of Batgirl was swinging at the end of a rope above the Washington skyline, her long red hair blowing in the wind behind her cowled head like a bright flame. Her dark grey costume clung to her shapely body like a second skin, and her dark purple cape flapped quietly in the breeze behind her. The Dark Night Demoiselle was not merely out looking for heads to bash, though that certainly would have satisfied the anger she still felt burning inside her. Batgirl considered herself not just a crime-fighter, but also a detective, just like her mentor, who had consented to train her in that discipline once she had proven herself useful to him. So she had a case she was working, and tonight, she regarded it as a welcome distraction.

Several recent thefts around the capital had baffled the local police. In each case, the thief or thieves had gotten away scot-free and undetected, despite the presence of locks, alarms, and security systems. The security measures hadn't been undermined in anyway; they simply... hadn't worked. It was as if the perpetrators were ghosts. Adding to the bizarre nature of the case was the strange variety of items that had been purloined. Two different jewelry stores had been robbed and several precious gems stolen. Ghoulishly, a cadaver had been removed from the morgue at Washington Hospital Center. In addition, the National Zoo had been hit, and some rare animals had been kidnapped. Even the revered National Museum of Natural History had been robbed of several unusual artifacts that were practically worthless to anyone but a most bizarre collector indeed. The strange list of stolen items made the police wonder if the cases were, in fact, connected.

For Batgirl, the eerily similar and unusual modus operandi of each robbery signified enough of a connection to pique her interest, and crooks who were pathologically fascinated by unusual items were not unfamiliar to someone who'd grown up in the same town as Two-Face and the Penguin. She suspected superhuman involvement of some type. At first, she had suspected someone with superpowers that allowed them to bypass each target's security measures, or perhaps one of the crooks who utilized advanced technology. However, when she researched the nature of the stolen items to look for a connection between them, she had discovered that they were commonly used in African witchcraft.

So someone fancies himself an African Witch Doctor, Batgirl mused as she threw her line around a flag pole on another building.

Operating on that assumption, she had been able to make an educated guess about the perpetrator's next target. The National Geographic Society, headquartered in Washington, had a large collection of African anthropological artifacts. Based upon her research and using a simple process of elimination, she had figured out which ones an African witch doctor would require to complete his collection of wares. She had affixed a microscopic homing device--a generous loan from Wayne Technologies--to an ancient Bantu spear point. As she'd hoped, the night before, the item had been one of several that had mysteriously gone missing from the National Geographic Society's headquarters.

Batgirl pulled the tracking device out of her utility belt. The compact wireless device contained a formidable computer, for which the dark-clad crime-fighter was very thankful. She was still relatively new to Washington and relied on maps to navigate some of the neighborhoods. Her lips tightened into a grim line when she saw the location indicated by the tracking device, however, as it was all too familiar to her.

"Ivy City," she said quietly. "It figures."

While much of Washington was undergoing gentrification and a reduction in its previously-high crime rates, the industrial area of Ivy City was decidedly residing on the tail-end of that welcome trend. The triangle-shaped district remained mired in the economic doldrums for the most part, dominated by rail yards, abandoned dwellings, and old, decrepit warehouses. Despite the concerted efforts of local Afro-American community leaders to improve the area, Ivy City seemed to be stubbornly resisting any form of urban renewal. It was the sort of area in any American city that may as well have had a "CRIMINALS WELCOME!!" sign in bright neon above it. Batgirl regularly patrolled the district, attempting to help and protect, in any way she could, the impoverished but honest local residents there.

As a result, the crime-fighter had mapped out a route across the rooftops to Ivy City almost on the first night she had set foot in Washington just a few months before, and she ably navigated this high-flying path now. Once she arrived in the middle of the district, she consulted the homing device again. She made her way across the roofs of several low-rise office blocks until she found herself looking down and across a dark side street at an abandoned, derelict factory.

Paint that had once proudly proclaimed the name of the company that owned the building was now faded and all but unreadable in the darkness. The many windows facing the street were dark, and several of those on the lower floors were broken. No one appeared to be present in such an uninviting place, but the homing beacon indicated that Batgirl's quarry could be found within its dark, forbidding environs. A wind arose and made a low, moaning sound that could just be heard above the ambient street noise.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Batgirl muttered ruefully, reflecting on how many sinister-looking old buildings she'd entered in her crime-fighting career.

The Dark Night Demoiselle suppressed a shiver that had begun at the base of her spine. The sound of the wind, the dark building, and especially the fact that she was tracking someone who was evidently attempting to practice black magic all gave her the creeps. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was a dedicated and proven crime-fighter; she also remembered the unpleasant incident between Sam and Barbara Gordon that had occurred previously that evening and felt some of her earlier anger refreshingly surge through her. She skillfully threw her batarang and line, then swung across the street to the roof of the factory.

A door on the roof led down into the building. Wary of alerting her quarry with a flashlight--assuming that they were, indeed, on the premises--Batgirl instead retrieved a pair of night-vision goggles from her utility belt, another generous gift from Wayne Technologies.

Thank you again, Bruce, she thought, and attempted to relieve some of her growing trepidation by silently reminding herself to include Bruce Wayne on her Christmas card list yet again. It didn't help much.

Each floor of the factory, as she descended, was more decrepit than the one above it. Roof tiles, mechanical equipment, and other garbage were strewn across the floor, some having fallen through large holes in each level. Batgirl proceeded slowly, attempting to avoid falling through any rotting floorboards, let alone stepping on one that would make a giveaway noise. Her night vision goggles revealed more than she wished to see: dust-ridden cobwebs, grime-covered rats scurrying away from her in the darkness, foul-smelling industrial waste... all of it made more unappealing by the sickly green hue the goggles bestowed upon everything. A bat fluttered in front of her suddenly, startling her, but she couldn't help smiling at her namesake's presence. Maybe that's a good sign, she told herself.

When Batgirl reached the ground floor, after having seen no sign of human habitation on the upper stories, she considered giving up her search and returning the tracking device to WayneTech with a customer complaint. But then something caught her attention. Her night vision goggles were also attuned to reveal the infrared spectrum, and a few yards away, on the floor, Batgirl could discern a tell-tale heat signature--a fading handprint. As she stealthily walked towards it, she could make out a sort of hatchway in the floor. It looked decidedly new and, therefore, completely out of place.

Bingo, Batgirl thought. She glanced around carefully, adjusting the magnification level of the goggles in order to detect any tripwires or other booby-traps. Seeing none, she carefully approached the door and grasped its handle.

Gingerly, she pulled the door upwards. Its hinges were well-oiled and, therefore, thankfully silent, but that only added to Batgirl's impression that the door was new and therefore suspicious. As the door opened, the rich scent of burnt, exotic herbs and woods filled Batgirl's nostrils. Again, this confirmed her suspicions, especially her deduction about the perpetrator, or perpetrators, indulging in witchcraft. It also made her more cautious. She reached into another pocket of her utility belt and pulled out three small, sharp batarangs, which she clutched between the knuckles of her right hand.

Slowly, Batgirl climbed down a ladder into the darkness. The heady aroma of the burnt herbs and wood permeated the dense, warm air. She reached the bottom step and then felt the bottom of her boot touch a dirt floor. Cautiously, she glanced around the space in which she found herself.

The night vision goggles revealed a room that was approximately thirty feet square. The walls of the room were decorated with the skins of various African animals--zebra, giraffe, lion, and several dun-colored hides of various antelope. On one side of the room was a lone cot, which supported the notion that there was a single perpetrator. Along the same wall was a large trunk of dark wood. Beside it were a few cages containing small, exotic birds and animals that were eyeing her fearfully, even in the dark. The animals stolen from the zoo, she thought. At least they're still alive, the poor things. In the middle of the room Batgirl could see what appeared to be a fire pit; cooling embers there glowed bright in the infrared spectrum revealed by her goggles. Along another wall, she saw a number of long wooden poles--quarterstaffs, apparently--and spears, as well as a display case containing several knives, some long, some short.

On the opposite side of the room, the dirt floor was covered by long, wide reed mats. Behind them, against the wall, Batgirl discerned something that made her blood run cold. A large wooden X was propped against the wall. At each of the four ends of the two large, heavy slats of wood comprising the X were thick leather straps. Batgirl realized it had to be some sort of rig used to bind a human, for what purpose she didn't want to fathom. Beside it was a large wooden bench, its legs angled like those of a workbench, also with heavy leather straps at the base of each leg.

Batgirl shuddered, then turned away from the horrific bondage rigs. She turned in a complete circle, confirming that no one else was present, and decided upon her next course of action. She'd found the stolen animals; the other purloined items, including the spear head she had tracked, had to be in the wooden trunk. She would examine the trunk, confirm the presence of the stolen goods, then leave--something she couldn't wait to do--and phone in an anonymous tip to the police. She would be more than content to allow Washington's finest to finish the job and take the credit; Batgirl was trying to keep a low profile in her new town anyway. Nodding in silent confirmation of her plan, the shapely crime-fighter took a step towards the trunk.

"Good evening, Batgirl," a deep, sonorous voice said from almost directly behind her.

Batgirl gasped and spun around. It was impossible, she had looked over the entire room, no one could possibly be there! Yet a man was there--instantly, she saw him: tall, muscular, dark-skinned, with a clean-shaven head and face, nearly naked save for a necklace of animal claws and a dark leather loin cloth. No stranger to ambushes, Batgirl raised her right arm, preparing to throw the sharp batarangs still clutched between her gloved knuckles.

She never got the chance. Before she could strike, the man quickly raised his right hand and opened it. A bright flash of light erupted from his palm, filling Batgirl's night vision goggles with magnified, dazzling light that not only blinded her--it hurt. The crime-fighter screamed and instinctively dropped her batarangs and pulled the goggles off of her cowled face. She stood in the pitch black room, her eyes blinking, tears streaming from them. Even so, she assumed a defensive aikido stance, expecting her assailant to attack her at any moment.

"Like your namesake, you hunt in the dark," she heard the man say.

He spoke with an accent that was both clipped and lilting, and strangely formal as well--definitely that of a well-educated African, though she couldn't place his origins precisely. She listened carefully, proving his statement correct by trying to use sound to locate her opponent. Strangely, his voice seemed to be coming from several places: from beside her one moment, from the far side of the room the next, then from behind her. Batgirl's head turned this way and that in confusion, trying to isolate his location. She could see nothing but bright spots that changed color from moment to moment, and beyond that, absolute darkness. Surely, she thought, her assailant had been rendered as blind as she was by the bright flash, as well as by the darkness surrounding them? Yet he spoke, and seemed to be moving around the room, with complete confidence.

"From the darkness you derive your power," he went on. Batgirl heard him grab something off the floor and toss it aside into a corner--her goggles, as if to confirm that he could see clearly in contrast to her sudden and utter blindness. "And yet you cling to the light, and that has proved your undoing."

His voice still seemed to be coming from a different part of the room with each word he spoke. Batgirl's heart began to thump in her chest. How could she fight an opponent she couldn't find? She struggled to calm herself, to remember how her sensei had trained her, years before, to fight blindfolded, to use her hearing to detect the slightest noise and find her enemy. But even each of the man's footfalls seemed to be coming from a totally different place! She ran through a mental checklist of the items in her utility belt, rejecting each one as being of no use to her. Flashlight? The bright flash had ensured that she would be blind for several minutes at least. Gas pellets? Where was she supposed to throw them? Ditto for the remaining batarangs...

"In this sacred space, I have made the darkness into my ally," he proclaimed, his voice still jumping around her. "Thus, I have stripped you of your power. As I shall soon strip you of everything else: your costume, your dignity, and, in the end, your will."

"Go to hell," Batgirl snarled at him, her hands raised and clenched into fists. She swallowed hard. She was blind and trying to fight an opponent she couldn't locate, and his threats had just chilled her to the bone. She struggled to remain calm, but that was growing more difficult with each passing second.

She heard the man laugh, a low, ominous sound. "An interesting concept, this 'hell' you whites invented. We each make our own hell, Batgirl. Except, in this case, I have constructed one especially for you."

Batgirl heard a wooden sound with a long, strange echo, and realized the man had retrieved one of those quarterstaffs--or, worse, maybe one of the spears--that she'd seen against one of the walls just a moment before. She struggled to remember where the weapons were relative to her current position, hoping to strike at him there, but she was too disoriented. She braced herself, expecting an attack at any moment.

She did not have long to wait. She heard a woosh and suddenly felt a quick, isolated breeze across her face. She gasped and instinctively stepped back, realizing that he had swung the pole mere inches from her face, if that. He was taunting her. Batgirl could feel the adrenaline surging through her body, making her hands start to shake. Or was it the sudden fear that gripped her heart? In any case, she gritted her teeth and resumed her defensive stance.

Again she heard the man's low, menacing laugh. "Yes, you are as blind as your namesake, are you not? Even more so, for the bat is not blind, and can use sound to find its prey. Which you are attempting to do, I have no doubt. Frustrating, is it not?" he said with a chuckle as his voice continued to dance around the room.

"Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie," Batgirl said through clenched teeth, self-consciously quoting one of her favorite movies to shore up her courage, "or are you gonna bite?"

"As you wish," the man said slowly, his voice low, his tone menacing.

Suddenly, the room was completely silent, except for the only sounds that filled Batgirl's straining ears: the rapid beating of her heart, and her labored breathing. It was as if the man had vanished.

But he had not. Batgirl didn't even hear the long, hard wooden pole move through the air; she only became aware of its location when one of its ends struck her forcefully in the stomach.

"OOOOOOFFFF!!!" Batgirl exclaimed as the blow drove the air violently from her lungs. She stumbled backwards, away from the blow, bent over, her hands clutching her mid-section, which felt like it was on fire. She gulped down breaths, loudly and painfully.

The next blow caught her under the chin, snapping her head back and making her reel backwards, her arms flailing uselessly, her feet stumbling on the dirt floor, until she slammed painfully into the wall and stood there weakly leaning against it. Stars danced in front of her eyes. Batgirl was dazed, incapable of thought, let alone any attempt at self-defense.

"N-no..." she muttered weakly.

This time, the man struck her in the stomach by swinging one end of the quarterstaff into her lengthwise. A loud SMACK reverberated in to room as the quarterstaff slapped against the thin fabric that provided no protection to her mid-section. The blow winded her again, and it also stung like hell. Batgirl's trembling hands clutched at her aching mid-section; tears formed in her closed eyes and rolled down her cheeks beneath her cowl.

Through the disorienting haze of pain, she heard the wooden quarterstaff drop to the floor.

"You disappoint me, Batgirl," she heard the man say.


Batgirl's head spun to one side, her cheek feeling like it would explode, as the big man suddenly struck her back-handed.


Her head spun to the other side as he struck her again.

"I expected more of a challenge from such a legendary American crime-fighter."



Batgirl's green eyes rolled upwards into her head; her jaw hung slack as she teetered on the verge of unconsciousness. Her gloved hands flailed helplessly against the bare dirt wall, looking for a hand-hold, finding none. She dropped to her knees, her head lolling from side to side. She could taste blood in her mouth.

"However, your beauty does not disappoint," the man said, his tone malevolent rather than complimentary. "I am sure the ritual of submission will prove most satisfying... for both of us."

Alone, helpless, and in terrible, dizzying pain in the darkness, Batgirl struggled to understand her assailant's words as if she heard them from the bottom of a deep, dark lake. Dazed as she was, the crime-fighter could not discern their meaning, only their tone, yet that alone filled her with foreboding.

Then the beautiful crime-fighter felt a large, strong hand against her head, shoving it brutally against the wall beside her, and the darkness that surrounded her claimed her completely.

Chapter 3: Darkness Falls

Consciousness came back slowly to Batgirl, and painfully. Her head and body ached, miserably so. The red-headed crime-fighter bobbed like a cork above and beneath the surface of awareness, until, finally and reluctantly, her long-lashed eyelids fluttered open and she took in her surroundings.

As she glanced around woozily, Batgirl gradually realized that she was in a dark chamber with dirt floors and hide-covered walls. Not completely dark--a half-dozen torches burned in various locations along the walls, their smoke rising through barely discernible holes in the ceiling. Aside from the torches, the room looked familiar. Eventually, Batgirl realized she had seen the room previously through the strange, greenish hue of night vision goggles, which is why it seemed both familiar and not at the same time. But as she looked around, she recognized the cot in the far corner, the trunk and the caged animals, the rack of African weaponry, the fire pit, and ominously above and beside her, two primitive wooden bondage rigs.

Though Batgirl was not fastened into either bondage rig--much to her relief--she quickly realized that she was nevertheless firmly and completely bound. Her forearms were folded over upon one another and bound by coarse hemp ropes behind her back, forcing her to arch her back and push her breasts upwards towards the ceiling. Her legs were also folded back upon themselves; coarse ropes around her thighs, calves, and ankles kept her lower limbs bent and immobile. In addition, a wooden bar was positioned between and bound to her bent knees by slender leather straps; it forced her legs apart at an uncomfortably wide angle and, most disconcertingly, made her crotch extremely vulnerable. This fact was emphasized by a crotch rope that was cinched up tight, separating and biting into her labia through the thin spandex of her costume.

At least, Batgirl considered, she was still wearing the costume, including her cape and the cowl that concealed her secret identity. Her utility belt, of course, had been removed. But then she remembered that her captor had threatened to strip her costume from her, and the comely crime-fighter could not suppress the shiver that ran through her shapely, bound frame. Batgirl pulled on her bonds, but could barely move a muscle, so secure and tight were the ropes that were binding and constricting her limbs.

"Ah, you have awakened," she heard a low, heavily accented voice say from nearby. "Excellent."

As before, the man seemed to have materialized out of thin air, making Batgirl gasp; she was sure she hadn't seen him when she'd glanced around the room a moment before. She closed her eyes and gave her head a shake; she rationalized that she must have still been woozy and thus had failed to notice him.

In the torchlight, looking up at where he loomed over her, she could see and study him more clearly and for longer than that fleeting glimpse she'd had via the night vision goggles. He was tall, as she remembered, at least six feet, and muscular too--she could detect barely an ounce of fat beneath the dark, hairless skin of his body; his minimal clothing--the animal claw necklace and leather loin cloth--left little to the imagination. His head and face were clean-shaven, his features--dark eyes, broad flat nose, thick lips--typically African, but no less handsome for that.

"Who are you?" she asked, the words forming more slowly than she had intended; her mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton, and she remembered how he had brutally backhanded her several times before she'd lost consciousness.

The man stood over her, his powerful arms crossed over his broad, naked chest, and said nothing for several moments.

"Names have power," he eventually said in his deep, accented voice, his phrasing strangely formal. "I will not tell you mine, Batgirl. Besides, I doubt you will yet tell me yours. No matter. Soon you shall surrender everything to me."

"Like hell," Batgirl said, her lovely lips curling into a defiant sneer.

"You wish to have a name, to address me with?" the man said, as though she herself had not spoken. "Very well. It is common, is it not, for those who count themselves among your enemies to have names that are colorful and descriptive? The Joker... Killer Moth... The Penguin. So. You may call me... The Witch Doctor."

"Seriously?" Batgirl said derisively, her eyebrows raised dubiously beneath her cowl.

The man shrugged his powerful shoulders. "It is a name, as good as any other false one. It is inaccurate, of course, but it plays to your western ignorance and fear of Africa's children."

"Is that was this is about?" Batgirl said. "Some sick revenge fantasy for everything whites have done to blacks?"

"Ah," the man said, still looming over her, a faint smile playing upon his thick lips. "You wish to discern my motives. Thus you hope to diminish me, perhaps even reason with me. My motives are my own, crime-fighter, like my name. You need not concern yourself with my motivation, only with my intent."

"Which is...?"

"The complete and utter subjugation of your will to mine."

"Never gonna happen," Batgirl muttered defiantly.

"As the vile Frenchmen who colonized my homeland for a time are fond of saying, 'au contraire'," the Witch Doctor said with a bemused grin.

He turned from Batgirl and walked over to the fire pit in the middle of the room, where a fire was now blazing. For the first time, Batgirl noticed that the room felt warm, stiflingly so. Sweat covered her body beneath the spandex of her costume, which was slowly becoming stained from her perspiration. It kept her feeling slightly dizzy and disoriented. No wonder the Witch Doctor was walking around practically naked in this makeshift sweat lodge.

As Batgirl watched silently, the Witch Doctor, his back to her, removed his necklace, hanging it on a simple wooden hook in the wall. He then removed his loin cloth, revealing firm, rounded buttocks. Batgirl could not deny that the man was every bit as good-looking as he was evil and vicious. Now naked, he bent down and grabbed the handle of a small pot that sat near the fire. He raised the pot above his head and emptied its contents upon himself. An amber-colored exotic oil splashed upon his clean-shaven head and flowed over the powerful muscles of his body. Heated by the fire, the oil's exotic fragrance--smelling of citrus, clove, and sandalwood--filled Batgirl's nostrils even from a distance. The Witch Doctor dropped the pot and began to slowly spread the oil over his body until every muscle gleamed in the torchlight. When he was finished, he spread his strong arms wide and uttered several words in a language Batgirl did not understand. Even captive as she was, Batgirl had to admit the display was decidedly erotic.

The man then made a quarter-turn and walked, his dark skin gleaming from the oil, towards the rack of weaponry. He glanced at the weapons reverently, taking his time and making his helpless captive more anxious with each passing moment. He then reached out and clasped a knife with a long, slightly curved blade and a handle carved from ivory. He turned and walked back towards the bound crime-fighter.

As he approached her, Batgirl's eyes were first drawn anxiously to the long knife the Witch Doctor held in his hands. Then her gaze traveled downwards and her green eyes opened even wider. His cock was huge! Even flaccid, as it was now, it appeared to be nearly a foot long, and almost two inches in diameter. Erect, it would be a monster. Batgirl swallowed hard as she deduced, from what he'd said, that the man intended--among other things--to rape her. That idea was bad enough, but to do so with that massive member... The crime-fighter forced herself to look away from the man's formidable loins and struggled to quell her growing trepidation.

In all her time as a crime-fighter, Batgirl had been captured more times than she cared to remember; she been chloroformed, bound, gagged, threatened, even placed in more than her fair share of death traps. But she'd never been raped. The idea frightened her more than she wanted to let on. She blinked away tears, then silently chided herself for her weakness. You're a crime-fighter, she reminded herself. You're a heroine--a super-heroine! You will NOT let this bastard know he's getting to you! When she she looked back at her naked captor, her green eyes were as cold and hard as steel.

Ah, she is more formidable than she first seemed, this one, the Witch Doctor thought with pleasure as he saw her steely gaze. She fell quickly in the fight, but her spirit is strong. All the better! he thought, delighted at the prospect of a real challenge worthy of his skills. He knelt down between her bound, bent, and spread legs. He grasped the ceremonial knife with his right hand, raising that arm across his torso, holding the blade over his left shoulder.

"You would do well to hold perfectly still, Batgirl," he told her sternly.

The razor-sharp blade of the knife glinted in the flickering torchlight. Batgirl's lovely green eyes opened wide in fear. He... he's not going to KILL me! Is he?!? she wondered anxiously, her bravado rapidly fading.

Suddenly, the Witch Doctor's right arm lashed out, downwards, towards her. Batgirl could not suppress a fearful gasp as the knife blade slashed across her torso from her right shoulder to her left hip. She looked down at her bound body, certain that the evil Witch Doctor had gutted her. Amazingly, almost miraculously, however, her pale skin of her chest was unmarred; this she could see because the man's skillful slash had somehow sliced open her costume without so much as scratching her skin. A long, perfect tear in the dark grey spandex gaped from her right shoulder to her left hip. Batgirl's eyes widened even more when she noticed that her captor's knife had sliced right through the strip of fabric that held the cups of her sports bra together.

Batgirl lifted her gaze back to her assailant when, in her peripheral vision, she saw him shift the knife to his left and and raise it, holding it across his body. The crimson-maned crime-fighter gasped nervously, clenched her eyes shut, held her breath, and tried to hold herself very still. The Witch Doctor's arm swung down and Batgirl felt the knife again slashing through her costume, from her left shoulder to her right hip, so that a large X had now been cut into the fabric that covered her shapely torso.

Then Batgirl had to fight to suppress a terrified scream as the Witch Doctor raised and slashed at her several times with the knife, over and over, each fall of the weapon slicing through another portion of her costume. He slashed at her upper arms, her shoulders, her hips, and her thighs, until her costume hung in tatters from her increasingly sweat-soaked flesh. He even sliced through the crotch rope, which fell away from her privates, though Batgirl barely noticed its absence. And yet, incredibly, none of the cuts had penetrated or even scratched her skin.

He set the knife on the reed mat beside her and then reached down. He took hold of the tips of the left and right hand-side triangles of fabric that rested upon her chest, which was now rising and falling rapidly as she breathed heavily, despite her best efforts to quell her fear and conceal her growing anxiety. Slowly, the Witch Doctor pulled the dark grey fabric aside, as though he were gently opening the petals of a flower. Batgirl closed her eyes as she felt the warm air of the room upon her sweat-soaked skin. She swallowed hard. Her throat was dry.

The Witch Doctor then clasped the cut fabric that had formerly held the cups of her black sports bra together. Batgirl bit her bottom lip as he peeled the cups away from her breasts, exposing the pale globes with their pale pink areola and dark pink nipples. He then reached down towards her waist, making her flinch involuntarily as his hand strayed close to her privates. She had not even noticed his knife cutting the waistband of her black panties, but she realized how effectively he had done so when he easily pulled the skimpy black briefs away from her loins, exposing her pussy and the neatly-trimmed tuft of dark red hair atop it. To her surprise, he did not take the opportunity to fondle her full, firm breasts, nor to molest her exposed, spread pussy. She opened her eyes and glared at him angrily.

"If you're going to rape me, just get it over with," she said with far less emotion than she actually felt.

"The ritual of submission is more than a mere rape, crime-fighter," the Witch Doctor said, holding her gaze. "There is little point in possessing your body if your mind and your soul remain your own. The ritual will ensure that your subjugation is quite complete. In other words," he said, a bemused grin playing briefly upon his thick, dark lips, "be patient."

"Gee, I'd love to, but I have a hair appointment in the morning. Maybe we could do this some other time?"

"You have spirit. This is good," the Witch Doctor said, showing not the least amount of amusement at Batgirl's joke. "For some time, I have longed to combat a true warrior such as you, one who would be a true test of my skills. Do resist, Batgirl. The end result will be the same, but the journey shall be much more... entertaining."

Before Batgirl could utter a witty rejoinder, the man suddenly rose and walked away from her. He went over to the low wooden chest, opened it, and retrieved several items. Batgirl turned her head and strained to see what he had in store for her next. He walked back towards her, his naked body still glistening from the ceremonial oil that covered his dark skin; his hands were cupped, reverently holding whatever he had obtained from his stores.

He knelt down beside the practically-naked heroine. Then, delicately and deliberately, he lifted a small green jewel from the palm of one hand, holding it between his thumb and forefinger so it caught and refracted the torchlight. Batgirl recognized it as an emerald he had stolen from one of the jewelry stores that had been robbed. He then carefully placed the jewel upon Batgirl's forehead, upon the part of her cowl right between her eyebrows. He pressed it there firmly for a moment, closed his eyes, and muttered an incantation in a mysterious, guttural tongue. He then raised his hand, leaving the jewel in place as he reached for another.

"Do not move," he said, just as Batgirl was about to give her head a shake and throw the jewel off. To her shock, she discovered that she could not move at all, just as he had ordered. Helplessly, she watched as he proceeded with his bizarre ritual.

As Batgirl lay on the reed mat, naked, bound, and immobile, he continued to lay precious jewels upon her body. He placed a citrine upon her throat, a diamond upon her sternum, between her breasts, a sapphire in her navel, and a blazing ruby amidst her pubic hair. The crimson-maned crime-fighter watched, looking down her body as he decorated it perversely with the precious stones. Thus distracted, she did not notice as he raised his left hand and suddenly placed it over her nose and mouth. Taken by surprise, Batgirl inhaled a gasp. A rich, earthy smell filled her nostrils, mixed with the acrid scent of burnt herbs and spices. Almost instantly, her head began to swim; her eyelids fluttered and she grew woozy. Yet some part of her well-trained mind still functioned, and she held her breath to avoid inhaling any more of the intoxicating aroma.

"Breathe," the Witch Doctor ordered, and to Batgirl's surprise and chagrin, her body obeyed. She drew a deep breath, her naked chest rising erotically, her lungs filling with whatever strange narcotic the man had exposed her to. Her green eyes lost their focus and rolled upwards. Her lips parted as her jaw went slack. For the first time since she had awoken, her body relaxed. Unnoticed by her, the jewels upon her body glowed briefly and brightly as she fell under the Witch Doctor's insidious spell.

The muscular black man removed his hand from her face. A dazed look remained upon Batgirl's masked face, and she panted breaths between her parted lips. The Witch Doctor spread his right hand and held it a few inches over the emerald that lay upon Batgirl's forehead. It glowed bright green momentarily, then went dark as his hand slowly moved down over her body. The citrine at her throat glowed bright amber next, then the diamond, white-hot between her luscious breasts. Then his hand passed over the sapphire in her navel, and it briefly turned from dark azure to bright sky blue. When his hand passed over the ruby atop Batgirl's privates, it glowed fiercely red, and the crime-fighter moaned as if in the throes of ecstasy.

"You laid with a man earlier this evening," the Witch Doctor said. His hand, its fingers spread wide, now floated back and forth above Batgirl's helpless body, over her throat, her breasts, her quivering abdomen, her exposed pussy.

"Y-yes..." Batgirl admitted breathlessly. Deep inside her mind, some rational part of her still functioned and wondered how he could possibly have known that. But the strange drug--if that was what it was--that he had exposed her to held her in its thrall, and she could not muster the will to resist him.

"It gave you pleasure," the Witch Doctor said.

"Yessss," Batgirl replied, then moaned as a wave of exquisite pleasure ran through her nearly-naked body. It was like a reverberating echo of the ecstasy she had experienced earlier that night, and it held the promise of more to come.

"He angered you."

"Uhhh... y-yessss..." Batgirl groaned. Her body shuddered as the Witch Doctor's hand hovered over her, as though an invisible electrical current flowed from his fingertips to her erogenous zones.

"He made you feel... vulnerable and exposed."

"Y-yes," Batgirl admitted, her voice suddenly high-pitched, like a girl's. A tear formed in one of her eyes as she experienced the emotion anew, but without any ability to quell or conceal it.

"You feel this way now."


"It excites you."

Some part of Batgirl resisted the idea and she did not answer. Then the Witch Doctor's hand undulated above her naked pussy, and the crime-fighter felt her loins grow warm and wet until love honey gushed from between her swollen labia and flowed down, hot and sticky, to cover her anus.

"Ohhhhhhh yesssssssss..." Batgirl sighed. She could not deny it, even though she could not comprehend it. Her body positively ached for sexual release. Her back, already arched, bent upwards even further, her pale breasts rising towards the ceiling. Her muscles trembled in their bonds, aching for release. Yet the jewels remained affixed to her skin, and the Witch Doctor did not touch her, though she would now have welcomed it.

A moment later, he did touch her, though not in the way her body now craved. He ceased waving his hand over her exposed, undulating flesh and delicately picked the precious jewels from her skin. He placed them delicately in the palm of his left hand, then rose to return them to the trunk. He left Batgirl writhing and gasping for breath on the floor, her skin now beaded with sweat, ecstatic moans escaping her parted lips. Her dark pink nipples had hardened atop the peaks of her breasts, and her pussy continued to gush lubricant.

The Witch Doctor returned to her, though she barely noticed his presence. He knelt down between her spread legs once again and retrieved the knife he had left beside her upon the reed mat. As Batgirl moaned and quivered in dazed ecstasy, he cut the ropes that bound her legs and removed the spreader bar from her knees. He let the crime-fighter extend and stretch her shapely legs while he pulled the torn remnants of her costume from them, leaving only her high yellow boots covering her lower legs. He then turned her over onto her belly; Batgirl groaned as her breasts were crushed beneath her own weight. One of her nipples caught between a gap in the reed mat, and she gasped ecstatically as it was pinched. The Witch Doctor pushed her cape aside and cut away the ropes that bound Batgirl's arms. The dazed crime-fighter simply lay upon the mat, not resisting. The huge black man then tore the remnants of her costume from her back and buttocks, leaving her naked save for her cape, cowl, gloves, and boots.

"I leave you a vestige of your power," he said, "so that I might better corrupt it."

He reached down and took hold of Batgirl beneath her arms, then raised the woozy crime-fighter upwards as easily as if he were lifting a child's doll. Batgirl's head lolled upon her shoulders, her green eyes continuing to roll upwards beneath her fluttering eyebrows. The Witch Doctor then wrapped his powerful left arm around Batgirl's waist and carried her back a step, towards the large wooden X with the leather straps at the four ends of the two heavy posts of which it was comprised.

The Witch Doctor supported Batgirl's weight with the arm he held around her waist as he pressed her back against the bondage rig and raised her left arm. This he pressed into the leather strap at the top of the upper right post; he then deftly cinched tight the strap with one hand. He shifted Batgirl's weight to his right arm and fastened her other arm into the strap on the opposite side of the X. Batgirl felt the restraints tightening around her wrists, and through the haze of erotic pleasure, a note of panic arose. Woozily, she lifted her head and watched as her captor tightened the strap around her gloved wrist.

"N-no..." she breathed softly.

Had the Witch Doctor not had his ear next to her lips, he would not have heard her. But he did hear, and he turned to look at her with no small amount of surprise.

"You resist?" he said, obviously impressed. "You are strong-willed indeed, crime-fighter. All the other women I have subjected to the ritual have been begging me for release by this point."

The Witch Doctor let go of her waist; Batgirl groaned as her arms and shoulders took the full weight of her body. The Witch Doctor knelt down and pulled her right leg over to the bottom of one leg of the X, then began to fasten the leather straps around her ankles.

"St-stop..." she murmured. Some small amount of clarity was coming back to her; though her breasts and pussy still pulsed with pleasure, she remembered that she was about to be raped. She had to resist! Yet she had no strength, and now she was very nearly completely bound yet again.

"Impressive," the Witch Doctor said as he took hold of her left leg and fastened it into the leather straps. "Futile, of course. But impressive nonetheless."

Ironically, the binding of her legs offered Batgirl some relief, as it took some of the weight off of her arms and shoulders. But now her legs were spread wide, her pussy exposed and vulnerable. She was completely at the Witch Doctor's mercy; but as he rose slowly before her, she looked into his dark eyes and realized that he had none. Despairing, the flame-faired crime-fighter's head dropped forward and she closed her eyes. Whether it was based on drugs or truly supernatural, the man had already demonstrated the power he now had over her. Now, Batgirl knew, he would rape her. To her shame, she felt a rush of heat to her loins at the thought. If the mysterious narcotic he had administered to her could make her body desire its own violation, what would be the effect if she climaxed while under its influence? Would her will collapse? Would she, indeed, become his slave?

Batgirl opened her eyes and could not suppress a shocked gasp at what she saw. The Witch Doctor was erect, his dark cock as long and as thick as she had feared. She flinched in her bonds even as another gush of love honey moistened her pussy. Between the Witch Doctor's potent, mind-altering aphrodisiac and his monstrous member, Batgirl feared that he would, indeed, conquer her--body and soul.

"P-please..." Batgirl pleaded, her head shaking slowly. "D-don't..."

It was as if the Witch Doctor didn't hear her. He stepped forward. Batgirl's spread-eagled body trembled upon the bondage rig, her green eyes opened wide now, her mouth as dry as her body was wet with perspiration. Her lungs pumped air rapidly. He took another step towards her; she felt the tip of his huge cock against her stomach and trembled. She wanted it inside her, yet she feared it as well, and that only made it more exciting. The huge black man uttered a low, guttural incantation as he bent his knees. Batgirl felt the tip of his cock slide down her quivering abdomen, over her pubic hair, until it paused at the entrance to her pussy, pressing ever-so-lightly against her hot, swollen labia.

I... won't... be... his SLAVE!! Batgirl thought hazily but firmly. She ground her teeth and determined to hang on to some shred of herself, no matter how small and tattered.

The Witch Doctor began to slowly straighten his legs. The tip of his huge cock pressed into Batgirl's warm, welcoming folds. As he entered her, the crimson-maned crime-fighter's eyes opened wider still. Her mouth dropped open even as her breath caught in her throat. Lord, he was huge! Batgirl began to hyperventilate as his cock spread her pussy wider than it had ever been. Her hands clenched into fists; her muscles tightened and her limbs trembled in their bonds.

Deeper and deeper into her he pressed, with torturous slowness. Batgirl grunted in both pain and pleasure. Her eyes clenched shut; her lips peeled back from her teeth in a strained grimace. She tossed her head to one side, then to the other, her red hair flying in front of her masked face. And still the man's cock wasn't all the way inside her!

"You're... tearing me... apart!!" Batgirl screamed. Yet through the pain, she could feel her traitorous pussy gushing love honey onto his long, thick phallus. She could not contain a sharp squeal when the tip of his cock struck her cervix.

Then he began to slowly pull out of her, and it was nearly as devastating as when he'd entered. Batgirl's entire body shuddered as his own lowered. His hands were on her buttocks now, and he began to roughly squeeze and knead her sensitive cheeks. His head moved forward, and he licked her pale white cheek where it was exposed beneath her cowl. He lowered his head, searing her neck with his hot breath, then moved lower still, until his lips hovered over the tender peak of her right breast.

"No..." Batgirl begged, her head lowered to watch his mouth threatening to ravish her sensitive breast.

As if her pleading only urged him on, the Witch Doctor lowered his mouth to her tit, enclosing its upper half within his lips. His tongue found her erect nipple and swirled around it.

"OH GOD!!" Batgirl cried as the ecstatic sensations in her breast sent shock waves of pleasure through her body.

She groaned loudly as the Witch Doctor raised his head, only to lower it to her left breast. He suckled noisily on her tit, teased the hard bud at its peak with his tongue, and then bit down upon it, nearly hard enough to draw blood. He was rewarded with the sound of Batgirl screaming incoherently, her own dichotomous inner struggle between resistance and pleasure reflected in her anguished cries. Try as she might to remain stalwart, the sensitivity of her body had been heightened, her resistance had been lowered, and she could not avoid giving voice to her conflicting emotions.

Suddenly, the Witch Doctor drove his hips upwards, slamming his hard prick back inside her. Again she screamed; he pulled nearly all the way out of her and drove into her again, then repeated the action, and again, and again, until he was pumping in and out of the captive crime-fighter. Batgirl's screams changed to tortured grunts as her captor fucked her mercilessly. His own sweat began to mingle with the oil he had spread upon his magnificent body. His mouth danced between her breasts, first tormenting one sensitive peak, then the other.

Batgirl writhed and trembled in her bonds. She could feel her corrupted body rising towards orgasm; she both desired and feared the climax, unsure as to how it and the man's potent narcotic would affect her. The thought of losing herself utterly to this perverse man's will terrified her, and she steeled herself to resist it. But she could sense that she could not resist the rising orgasm, and in that moment of utter ecstasy, that moment of complete loss of self to pleasure, who knew what would happen to her mind and soul? She feared it. She wanted it. Tears ran down her face as she struggled with her inner conflict.

The Witch Doctor's head raised from Batgirl's naked chest. Even as he continued to thrust passionately into her, he studied her face, and could see her internal battle reflected in her lovely, masked features. She needed a final blow to remove her resistance. He raised his hands from her behind and grabbed her head, then pulled her face towards his. He forced her mouth open with his lips and then pressed his tongue into her mouth. His tongue found hers and danced around and across it even as she squealed in resistance. He coaxed and teased her tongue to respond, and with a resigned moan, she capitulated. The pleasure was too much for her; he felt her body slump against his, tension flowing from it as she gave in and accepted both the pleasure and the pain.

He broke the violating kiss and pulled his head back to watch her. Batgirl's cowled head fell against her right shoulder, rocking there with each powerful thrust of his cock into her body. Her green eyes stared glassily from behind her mask.

"UH... UH... UH... UH... UH..." Batgirl grunted with every devastating, pounding impact of his cock into her spread pussy.

The Witch Doctor reached down to grab her ass with his left hand, groping at each of her breasts in turn with his right. Batgirl moaned at the sensations, harsh as they were; every touch of his hands seemed to send an electrical current straight to her clit. Never in her life had she ever been exposed to such devastating pleasure. She felt as though she was drowning in a sea of ecstasy; all she had to do was stop struggling, surrender, let the waves sweep over her body and pull her under...

The crimson-maned crime-fighter's mouth fell open and a long, high-pitched moan escaped her lips.

Now, the Witch Doctor thought, and with one final, awesome thrust, he relinquished his own control. His back arched, his powerful muscles tensed, and a long, low groan of pleasure accompanied his climax as his seed filled the violated vigilante's womb.

The sensation of hot, wet warmth deep within her sent Batgirl over the edge. Her breath caught in her throat. Behind her mask, her beautiful face tightened, her brow furrowing, her eyes clenched shut, her mouth opened wide. A tremor ran through her body, making it quiver like a taut bowstring. Then she tossed her head back, red hair flying about her, and screamed her ecstasy.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Batgirl cried as she came. Her pussy discharged, soaking her tormentor's huge cock and balls with her feminine juices. Her body bucked helplessly as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her bound body. White light exploded in her mind, forcing out all rational thought, all sense of self. It was the moment she had feared, the moment when the Witch Doctor's black magic would overcome her completely, but she had been powerless to resist it. Tears streamed down her face, the only remaining sign of her inner turmoil.

Utterly sated, the Witch Doctor pulled his cock from Batgirl's sodden loins. It made a loud slurping noise, and the woman groaned softly as the member that had so thoroughly conquered her left her devastated body. Her head hung down between her shoulders, over her naked, sweat-soaked chest. The African put one hand beneath her chin and raised her head so as to look into the face of his latest conquest.

He frowned, mostly with curiosity, when he noticed that her lips were moving. She appeared to be muttering something to herself, over and over again. Intrigued, the Witch Doctor leaned forward and pressed one ear closer to her lips.

"I'm Batgirl... I'm Batgirl... I'm Batgirl..."

The Witch Doctor's head shot back as though he'd been slapped. Amazing! he thought. The woman had gone through the submission ritual--but had not submitted! Uncannily, she retained some sense of self.

As if to prove this, the heroine opened her eyes, gazed straight into his, and spoke.

"I'm... Batgirl..." she said, and her green eyes flared with defiance.

The Witch Doctor took a step backwards, still staring at his captive. He took a deep breath. Then, slowly, he nodded his head.

"You amaze and surprise me, crime-fighter," he said, with no small amount of reverence in his voice. "You are a worthy foe indeed."

If she'd had the energy, Batgirl would have uttered a witty rejoinder. She would have settled for simply spitting in his face, but she could barely hold her head up, and knew that such an attempt would more likely result in unsightly dribble running down her chin, which would be a pathetic sight rather than a defiant one. So she settled for staring steadily into his eyes, and even that took an incredible amount of effort.

"Fortunately," the Witch Doctor said, a bemused grin playing upon his thick lips, "this phenomenon is not unprecedented. And the solution is simplicity itself."

Batgirl's heart sank at his words, but she did her best to steel herself and her resolve to resist whatever he had in store for her. She watched as he walked back to his chest of fiendish wares. He then walked back towards her, holding whatever he had retrieved behind his back. He walked right up to her and knelt down, setting what he had carried over upon the floor behind her, where she couldn't see it.

"Words have power, as you have just demonstrated," the Witch Doctor said as he straightened. "This will prevent you from uttering any."

Before Batgirl had time to react, he shoved a smooth wooden dowel between her lips and teeth. As Batgirl groaned an objection, he tied leather straps attached to either end of the dowel behind her head, beneath her mane of long, red hair.

"There. Now the only sounds you can make are the cries and moans of complete, unending ecstasy," he said confidently.

"HRRRMMPHH?" Batgirl groaned anxiously. The Witch Doctor once again bent down beside her to retrieve some other item from the floor.

"In the old days, I would have had to use a long, hollow gourd, filled with bees or wasps," he said as he rose, a bemused tone in his voice. "But your marvelous country has so many modern conveniences!"

Now Batgirl saw what he held in his hands, and her eyes went wide with horror. It was a huge latex dildo, as big as the Witch Doctor's own monstrous cock! At its base jutted a smaller phallus, obviously intended to stimulate and tease a woman's clitoris. The Witch Doctor smiled, his teeth gleaming malevolently white in his dark face, as he flicked a switch in the dildo's base. Batgirl gasped as the huge sex toy began to hum and vibrate violently.

"MMMMPHH!! MMMMPHH!!" Batgirl squealed as she shook her head wildly. In her weakened state, and still under the influence of the Witch Doctor's mysterious erotic concoction, the massive vibrator would surely drain her willpower, as the evil shaman clearly intended. She watched helplessly as he knelt down between her spread legs and positioned the huge phallus at the entrance to her pussy.

"HHHRRRMMM..." the heroine groaned, eyes squeezing shut in despair, as her tormentor pushed the vibrator inside her, a task made all the easier by a copious coating of her own sexual juices and her rapist's cum that clung to her sensitive inner folds. The vibrator, she could feel, was covered with insidious ridges that she rubbed against the sensitive walls of her love channel. She gasped when she felt the clitoral stimulator contact her tender, swollen nub. Batgirl gulped down several rasping breaths as she tried to steel herself for the sensual onslaught.

"HHRREEEEE!!!" she squealed as the Witch Doctor turned on the vibrator and all rational thought fled from her mind. The sensations radiated out from her pussy to the rest of her body, and to the core of her being. Her head tossed from side to side; her nude, shapely body writhed in her bonds, making her breasts bounce on her chest. But there was no escape from the sensation, from the pleasure that engulfed her.

She did not even notice the Witch Doctor securing the vibrator inside her with a set of leather straps that he bound tightly around her naked loins and curvaceous ass.

"In a few hours, my beautiful Batgirl," the Witch Doctor said, standing proud and naked before her, "you will be mine, body and soul." He reached out to fondle her right breast, and the hapless heroine groaned loudly in response, making the evil shaman laugh long and low. "Now I must prepare for my next guest..." With that, the man turned away from her. He donned his loin cloth and his animal claw necklace and climbed the ladder out of the earthen chamber, leaving Batgirl to writhe helplessly in ecstasy alone.

Through the haze of debilitating pleasure, his last words penetrated Batgirl's consciousness. She struggled to shut out the stimulation of the powerful vibrator so she could think. Who was this "next guest" he had referred to? Another heroine? Who could that be? A faint hope sprung within her fevered mind. Perhaps this other superheroine would overcome him... and rescue her! She might even be coming to rescue me! Batgirl thought eagerly. Who would notice I was missing...?

Then Batgirl gasped with sudden realization, followed by a moan as another wave of pleasure washed through her. She had suddenly remembered with whom Congresswoman Barbara Gordon had a lunch appointment the following day. Yes! She'll rescue me! He'll never capture her, she's... Then Batgirl's hopes were dashed. She gave a groan of despair, followed by a moan of ecstasy as she finally gave in to the seductive power of the vibrator thrumming in her loins. For she had remembered that her lunch companion, as powerful as she was, had only two weaknesses... and when she remembered also that her captor had proven himself to be a master of one of them, all hope within her died.

Chapter 4: Warrior of Light

"...I see. Thank you anyway."

Linda Danvers snapped her cell phone shut with a sigh of frustration.

This isn't like Barbara at all, she thought, not for the first time that afternoon. Her brows knit together in a concerned frown. Not only did Barbara Gordon never miss an appointment, she was never even late. As Supergirl, Linda--or Kara, as she preferred to be called by her friends in the superhero community--possessed incredible super-speed; but no matter how much she rushed, somehow, Barbara was always first to arrive at one of their periodic meetings--whether in civvies for a casual rendezvous of two friends, or in costume for a professional team-up of two dedicated crime-fighters.

Today was supposed to have been one of the former occasions, one that Linda had been looking forward to for two weeks; she hadn't had a chance to spend much time with Barbara since her friend had assumed public office. She was looking forward to hearing about Barbara's exciting new life and responsibilities. She'd also been very curious to hear how Barbara was coping with reconciling her new duties with her... ah... nocturnal public service. The topic was extremely relevant to Linda, who was would be finishing her degree that year and in the job market herself before too long, and would have to reconcile her secret identity's career with her own crime-fighting duties.

Linda had sat in the modest diner a few blocks from capitol hill and had begun to fidget nervously from the moment she arrived and had seen that Barbara wasn't there ahead of her. She'd waited a half hour before leaving. She'd called Barbara's home and had gotten her answering machine; she'd just got off the line with the the shared receptionist at her office--a junior representative like Congresswoman Gordon didn't rate a private secretary--and had gleaned no information there beyond the disturbing fact that the Congresswoman had missed all of her morning appointments, and without notice, the perturbed, obviously harried receptionist had told her.

"Not like Barbara at all..." Linda muttered as she strode down the street, reminding herself to do so at a normal, seemingly human pace, despite her growing anxiety for her friend.

Then, ahead on her right, through the crowd of civil servants milling about on their lunch hours, she spotted the opening of an alley. She made a bee-line for it, and with a furtive glance around her, stepped into it. She did a quick check of the few surrounding windows with her x-ray and telescopic vision to make sure no prying eyes were watching the alley, then stepped down into an empty stairwell leading to a basement doorway. Faster than the human eye could follow, drab civilian clothing and a short brown-haired wig were discarded. In place of Linda Danvers, plain-jane college student, now stood one of the most beautiful, desirable, powerful, and unattainable women on this or any other planet.

The blue tunic hugged her upper body's feminine curves, while its slightly-puffed sleeves were loose and comfortable; the neckline was a shallow scoop that revealed just a hint of the cleavage between her perky breasts. A yellow belt fastened a red miniskirt around her shapely hips; bare, long legs eventually found their way into knee-high red boots. A red cape hung from her shoulders, and across her bosom was the broad, familiar red-and-gold S worn proudly by Krypton's House of El, now that planet's sole survivors. Long, lustrous blonde hair spilled from her head, hanging over her shoulders and half-way down her back, and framing her lovely face, with its bright blue eyes, pert nose, and full, pouting lips.

"First stop, Gotham" Kara Zor-El, better known as Supergirl, said as she leapt into the sky.

Supergirl hovered over Washington D.C. and diligently studied the WayneTech tracking device to ensure she was on the correct bearing. Her best friend's life, after all, might depend upon it.

Don't think about that, she told herself. Find the perp Babs was tracking and go from there.

The Batman had made it sound so simple. Maybe it was to him; he certainly seemed to see the world in those terms--black and white, light and dark, good and evil. In a way, her cousin Kal was just on the other side of that same coin. But Kara had been raised Kryptonian, unlike Kal. She knew the universe was far more complicated. Within darkness lay a source of light; you only had to spend a few minutes with the Batman to know the truth of that statement, she reflected. Even within someone as good as Kal, Kara knew, lay a seed of darkness; to ignore it was folly, to deny it, dangerous.

The blip on the screen of the tracking device brought the Maid of Might out of her reverie. The homing beacon was directly below her, the device indicated. She looked down at the old, decrepit factory a hundred yards below her feet. Her blue eyes narrowed as she scanned the building with her x-ray vision.

"Huh," she muttered in mild surprise when so little was revealed to her.

Supergirl swooped down until she hovered in front of the building. On the crumbling brick facade, she could just discern the fading characters that had once proudly proclaimed the building's owners and its function. As she scanned it with her x-ray vision, remnants of the old lead paint practically made the characters leap out at her.


"Lead," she murmured. "That explains it..."

Her x-ray vision, of course, could not penetrate lead. But the signal of the homing device Batgirl had used did. It was beckoning from within this old factory, and it was Supergirl's only clue to the whereabouts of her friend and colleague. So despite the fact that having one of her super-senses diminished, even useless, made her nervous, Supergirl stiffened her resolve and flew to the roof of the building.

Start at the top, work your way down, Supergirl told herself, unknowingly following the same route Batgirl had taken into the factory the night before. Unlike Batgirl, however, Supergirl was better able to proceed silently, since she simply floated above the creaking floorboards rather than walking upon them.

Though it was mid-afternoon on a spring day outside, much of the light seemed to fade as Supergirl flew cautiously into the abandoned factory. She reassured herself that the yellow sunlight that provided her with so much of her powers penetrated deep into the earth, even through lead. Even so, the grimy, decaying interior of the old factory gave her the creeps. She wished that the Batman would have agreed to accompany her; she had practically begged him to. I'm needed in Gotham, he'd said in that low, rumbling voice of his. Whatever it is, I'm sure you and Batgirl can handle it. Realizing that was as close to a compliment as the man would ever come to giving her, Supergirl had left the cave and Gotham with the precious tracking device, and some measure of hope.

She had reached the ground floor without detecting any sign of Batgirl, let alone a living soul. Frustrated, she was nearly about to give up when she spotted something curious. The rest of the factory had varying amounts of lead strewn about that nonetheless played havok with her x-ray vision. On the floor in the distance, however, she spotted a large, flat slab of lead that could not have been placed there haphazardly. As she flew over to the slab, she could see that there was a hatch in the middle of it. And unlike everything else in the factory, the hatch looked brand-new.

Supergirl quelled her excitement; she knew she had to be cautious. Over-confidence had gotten more than one of the older superheroes she looked up to caught in no end of cunning traps. She couldn't see through the lead, but she could still hear through it. She cocked her head of blonde hair to the side and listened carefully, activating her super-hearing upon a thought. She heard nothing at first, then caught a low, rhythmic sound: thump THUMP, thump THUMP, thump THUMP... a heartbeat. As she listened, the heartbeat accelerated. Then she heard another sound--a soft moan, muffled, but definitely female and... in pain?!?

"BATGIRL!!" Supergirl exclaimed, her caution disappearing, displaced by her concern for her friend. She grabbed the handle of the latch and tore the entire door from its heavy hinges and flung it across the cavernous ground floor of the old factory; the blonde superheroine barely even noticed the noisy clatter the heavy door made as it hit the ground several yards away. She leapt down into the hole in the floor without a thought about her own safety.

She found herself within a room lit by torches; she would have found it stiflingly hot if such minor fluctuations in temperature could have affected her. The walls were covered with animal skins; the floor was dirt, with some reed mats laid out upon it, such as in front of the far wall, where there was a large wooden X to which a woman was bound, her body nearly naked except for a dark purpled cape and cowl, and yellow boots and gloves.

"GREAT RAO!" Supergirl exclaimed and flew across the room towards her friend. "Batgirl?!?" she said, but the red-headed heroine did not seem to even notice her presence.

A wooden dowel, about an inch in diameter and six inches wide, was inserted between Batgirl's teeth and secured there with a leather thong tied behind her head. Her naked, spread-eagled body was glowing with perspiration. Her green eyes were glassy beneath fluttering eyelids. She was moaning, as if in terrible pain, or in the throes of incredible ecstasy.

That last thought, and Batgirl's unclothed state, made Supergirl look down. The Maid of Might gasped when she saw the bottom end of a huge vibrator sticking out of Batgirl's vagina and secured there by several leather straps. Supergirl reached down, found the switch, and turned the vibrator off. Batgirl moaned, though Supergirl wasn't certain if it was in relief or disappointment. Supergirl then reached up and untied the leather thongs from behind Batgirl's head and pulled the dowel from her mouth.

"Batgirl? BATGIRL!!" Supergirl said. She impatiently blinked away a tear; she had no time to grieve for the horrifying violation of her best friend now. She had to ensure Batgirl was okay, then get her out of there, then get the scum that had done this to her. "Batgirl... Babs... talk to me!" Supergirl said, giving Batgirl a light slap on the cheek.

The red-haired crime-fighter's eyelids fluttered as she struggled to focus. "K...Kara..." Batgirl murmured weakly.

"Yes, it's me!" Supergirl said, a relieved smile appearing on her face even as more tears formed in her eyes. "It's all right, I'm going to get you out of here..." Supergirl reached for the straps binding Batgirl's arms to the large wooden cross.

"NO," Batgirl said, her green eyes widening in fear behind her mask as she stared in horror at her friend; Supergirl froze in surprise. "G-get out! D-don't... don't l-let him c-capture you..."

"No one's going to capture me, Batgirl," Supergirl said, reaching for her friend's restraints once again.

"On the contrary, Supergirl," a low, male voice spoke from behind the Maid of Might. "You are already caught. You simply have yet to realize it."

Supergirl spun around and found herself looking at a tall, nearly-naked man of African descent. His head was clean-shaven, as was his lean, muscular body--which she could tell because he wore nothing but a necklace of animal claws and a long, leather loin cloth. His powerful arms were crossed over his broad chest, and he stared at Supergirl confidently--as though, Supergirl reflected with a shiver, he owned her.

"Are you the bastard that did this to her?" Supergirl asked angrily. Her arms were akimbo, her fists upon her hips, her legs straight, her feet shoulder-width apart--her power stance. She was sorely tempted to blast a hole through that arrogant, muscle-bound chest with her heat vision. But I made a promise...

"Indeed," he said, his thick lips curling into a smug grin that only infuriated Supergirl all the more. "And what is more, I am also the... 'bastard'... who is going to do something similar to you."

Supergirl's blue eyes opened wide with shock and fury. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she snarled.

"You may call me... the Witch Doctor."

"Get prepared to heal thyself, Doc," Supergirl said with a sneer. She bent her knees, preparing to fly across the room and knock the man into the wall behind him.

Just at that moment, the Witch Doctor raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, all the torches in the room erupted in bright flares of reddish-orange light, then died back down to their normal intensity.

The light show only distracted Supergirl for a moment. "Cute," she muttered, then launched herself into the air. She hurtled forwards towards the Witch Doctor, anticipating the satisfaction she'd feel when his body struck the wall. She threw her right arm out in front of herself, fist clenched, forearm towards her foe...

...and then suddenly and ignobly fell flat upon her face.

"UNGFF!!" Supergirl grunted as she hit the dirt floor of the chamber. She then inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. Rao, that HURT!! she thought, then gasped as the full implications of that fact struck her. Pain...?!? she wondered, alarmed.

If she had any doubts about her sudden vulnerability, the Witch Doctor quickly put them to rest. As she raised her head from the dirt floor, the man's foot caught her beneath the chin. Supergirl's head spun, and her body followed, her arms flailing helplessly as the blow threw her onto her back.

"KARA!!" Batgirl, still bound to the X-frame, cried out. "Kara, get OUT OF HERE!!" she screamed.

Her friend's voice penetrated Supergirl's dazed mind as she rolled over onto her hands and knees. "W-won't... abandon..." she murmured, then paused when she had to spit blood out of her mouth. She stared at the drops of blood and spittle in the dirt, mystified. How...? she wondered. Then her blue eyes widened in sudden horror. Witch Doctor. He's a Witch Doctor. He practices... "...magic..." she breathed, the word sending a tremor of fear through her agonized frame.

Supergirl's ruminations were suddenly and violently cut off by a sudden, swift kick to her ribs. There was nothing magical about it, but it was no less effective for that. The Maid of Might cried out in agony and rolled across the floor, clutching her aching side. Rao, the PAIN!! she thought. She hardly ever felt it, she wasn't used to it, she could barely stand it. Tears welled up in her eyes. She opened them and saw Batgirl, naked and bound to the bondage frame, staring at her in horror.

Have to fight, Supergirl told herself. Have to... for Barbara's sake... Rao, for my OWN!!

She looked up and, as if watching in slow motion, could see the Witch Doctor pulling his leg back to kick her once again. Supergirl ordered her body to move; however, she felt as though she was immersed in molten lead. She had intended to catch the man's foot and throw him while he was off-balance, but in a split-second, abandoned that tactic. Instead, she settled for pushing herself and rolling away from his attack, which she barely succeeded in doing.

Supergirl rolled into the wall and struck some sort of display case; several long wooden poles fell down, striking the beleaguered Kryptonian's body and head. Looking at them, she recognized them as weapons. She grabbed one and feebly held it before her as she pushed herself slowly back upon her feet.

"Oh ho ho!" the Witch Doctor laughed as he saw the beaten blonde heroine grab one of his spears and hold its point towards him. "So you have some fight in you after all, alien girl!"

"You come... one step closer..." Supergirl said, breathing heavily, her blonde hair hanging in front of her face, "and I'll... stick you like a pig..."

The Witch Doctor smiled broadly. "I think not."

With stunning confidence, he took several steps forward, until the point of the spear Supergirl held wavered a mere inch from his chest, directly over his heart.

"Go ahead," he said. "Plunge the spear point in. You will never get a better chance."

Supergirl just stood there, her body in pain and trembling, holding the spear before her. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed heavily.

"I have taken your power, warrior of light," the Witch Doctor said. He waved at the torches. "The light of a red sun, such as the one under which you were raised. All you have left," he went on, "is that spear. Use it. Or you will suffer the same fate as that of your dear friend and colleague," he added, nodding his head in Batgirl's direction.

Still Supergirl made no move. She simply kept the spear pointing at his chest and labored to breathe.

You must never kill, Kara. Even now, his words came back to haunt her.

Why not, father? If a man is evil, if he deserves death...

Is it for you to decide who lives and who dies? Are you a god, Kara?

No, of course not... but I don't understand WHY? Why this one rule, above all others?

Because it is wrong, Kara. Because it is too easy. Especially for you, where you are going. Because you must set an example for them. And because... because it matters to me. I do not have much time left...

Father, don't...

No, hear me out. I do not have much time left. No one here does. Except for you. And I do not want to die with the thought that my daughter will one day be a murderer. Promise me, Kara. Promise me...

"Ah, but you have a code against killing, do you not?" the Witch Doctor said, smiling broadly. "You and your illustrious cousin. How very noble. How very fortunate. For me."

With that, he contemptuously swatted the spear away, knocking it from her hands. It fell to the dirt floor with a dull clatter. Shakily, Supergirl raised her arms, fists clenched, into a weak approximation of a Torquasm-Vo defensive posture, employed by Kryptonians for millennia. This, too, the Witch Doctor swatted aside. Supergirl desperately threw a punch at the man; he caught her fist and squeezed. Supergirl groaned as he crushed her captured hand. Her eyes clenched shut, so she did not see him pull back his free arm, did not see the punch coming, only felt it when it struck her mid-section and threw her back against the wall.

"WUUUUFFFF!!" Supergirl gasped as the blow knocked the wind from her lungs. She stood--barely--doubled over, her shapely behind pressed against the wall, her one free hand pressed over her stomach.

"Kara..." Batgirl breathed, watching helplessly as her friend endured a cruel, horrible beating. And worse, she knew, was still to come.

The Witch Doctor clutched a handful of Supergirl's long blonde hair in his left hand; he used it to pull the helpless heroine upright. Supergirl grimaced at the pain in her scalp, which only added to the agony in her badly-beaten body. Her hands flailed weakly at the strong arm which held her in such a powerful, painful grip. Then the big man threw his left arm forward, forcing Supergirl's head sharply away from him until the back of her head slammed against the wall with a dull THUD.

Supergirl's arms dropped. Her eyes opened wide, staring emptily ahead. Again the Witch Doctor threw her head against the wall. Her blue eyes rolled up into her head, behind her fluttering lashes. Her mouth dropped open. Her knees buckled; if the Witch Doctor had not been holding her hair, she would have collapsed at his feet. He slammed her head against the wall one more time, and then let go of her. Supergirl fell to the floor, her eyes closed, thoroughly beaten as she never had been before. Unconsciousness was, in many ways, a relief.

Across the room, helpless upon the bondage frame, Batgirl wept quietly as she witnessed her young friend's defeat--and as she thought, with dread, of what their evil captor no doubt had in store for her.

Chapter 5: Light Fades


Supergirl moaned softly as she gradually regained consciousness. Her lovely features slowly folded into a pained wince; her body entire body ached. Tears formed in her crystal blue eyes. Such pain! She wasn't used to it, which only made it worse. She opened her eyes and found herself looking straight up at a dark ceiling, barely illuminated by flickering, reddish torch light. She instinctively tried to move her limbs. That was when she first noticed the restraints.

The Maid of Might turned her head, and even that slight movement made pain stab through her skull like a white-hot knife. She winced yet again, her eyes clenched shut, then through sheer will-power alone shut out the pain and continued analyzing her situation.

It wasn't good. She was lying on her back, supported by some sort of long, slender bench, much like a workbench. Her limbs were pulled down and out beside her; her wrists and ankles were enclosed by thick leather straps that were in turn fastened to the legs of the bench. She still wore her uniform, but her nearly-bare legs were held apart, her loins suspended at one end of the bench, her privates utterly accessible and vulnerable. Supergirl's anxiety at being bound in this suggestive position rose when she recalled what the man who called himself the Witch Doctor had done to Batgirl.

Suddenly Supergirl remembered how she had ended up in this predicament, remembered who she had been attempting to rescue. Her heroic concern for another displaced her anxiety over her own safety, and her head turned quickly as she looked around for her colleague and friend.

She didn't have to look far. Batgirl was beside her, still helpless and bound to the large X-shaped bondage frame, her body still nude, the huge vibrator still violating her womanhood, though it was turned off. Supergirl looked up into Batgirl's eyes. The red-headed heroine held her gaze for a moment, then looked away in shame.

"I'm sorry, Kara," Batgirl said softly. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this position."

"It's not... your fault," Supergirl said, the words coming slowly as she tried to shake off the pain and dizziness that still afflicted her. "And I won't... be in this position... for long." Supergirl yanked at her restraints, expecting them to snap apart as though they were made out of paper. But they held, and she sighed dejectedly. "I stand corrected," she said solemnly.

A low, malevolent laugh captured her attention, and made a shiver run down her spine.

"A curious expression," the Witch Doctor said in his deep, thickly-accented voice as he strolled back towards his captives from his medicine chest. "You lie corrected would be more accurate, would it not?"

"You bastard," Supergirl muttered, acting braver than she actually felt. "When I get out of this..."

"But you will not," the Witch Doctor said. He was standing beside her now, his tall, muscular body, smooth and hairless, looming above her. "You are well restrained. I have robbed you of your formidable powers, and you have no more strength than an ordinary human woman."

Supergirl frowned as she remembered how the main claimed to have negated her powers with magic, by creating the light of a red sun within this dark chamber.

"Yes, you have no more power than your friend here," the Witch Doctor said. He walked past Supergirl towards the helpless, suspended form of Batgirl. He reached out with one of his large hands and cupped Batgirl's right breast, making her inhale sharply. He brushed his thumb over her nipple, teasing it to erection, while his fingers kneaded her tit. Batgirl's mouth dropped open and she gulped down a breath. "Yes, the mbundu still burns in your body, does it not? As it shall for several hours more." He pinched Batgirl's erect nipple between the thumb and forefinger of his hand, eliciting a groan from the captive heroine. "Plenty of time for you to be converted--for your will to be broken and for you to become my slave." He reached down between her legs and flicked the switch for the vibrator; it came back to life with a loud buzz, making Batgirl's naked body arch erotically, her pert breasts thrusting towards her captor as if she were offering herself to him.

"NOOOOOOOOOO..." Batgirl moaned as she felt the huge vibrator thrumming deep within her pussy. She began to pant heavily as she felt the horrid device pulling her, however reluctantly, towards orgasm yet again, the latest of many she had endured during her hours of captivity. Sheer willpower alone had prevented her from submitting to the man's spell, and that was fading with every shattering climax she experienced.

"Yes, your subjugation will not be long in coming, I think," the Witch Doctor said confidently. "The pun was fully intended," he added with a smug smile.

"You fiend!" Supergirl said angrily as she watched the perverse scene play out. "Leave her alone!"

The Witch Doctor turned away from the moaning, writhing Batgirl and looked down at Supergirl. His smile never faded.

"Do not be jealous, my dear," he taunted her. "While Batgirl begins her final descent into complete submission, I will focus my attention upon you."

His words struck fear into Supergirl's heart, but she did her best not to show it. Again she pulled at her restraints, but uselessly. It was as he'd said: she was helpless, and completely at his mercy, and apparently the man had none. Supergirl could feel her heart starting to pound in her chest--did he mean to strip and sexually violate her, as he had done to Batgirl? Would they both become his sexual slaves? She ground her teeth and resolved to resist him, no matter what he did, and despite her steadily-mounting trepidations.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she said, glaring at him.

"Oh, I shall be touching you, Supergirl," the Witch Doctor said. "By the end, you shall be begging me to touch you, and in the most intimate of places."


"We shall see," the huge black man said.

He knelt down beside her and plucked one item from the palm of his left hand, then held it over her face. Supergirl gasped instinctively when she saw that he held a green crystal between his thumb and forefinger, but relaxed--though only slightly--when she did not feel the familiar stab of debilitating pain that kryptonite would have caused. It was simply an emerald that the man held and then placed deliberately upon Supergirl's fair brow, just above the bridge of her nose. He held it there firmly and muttered some words in an African native tongue which Supergirl did not understand. He withdrew his hand, leaving the jewel upon her brow.

"Do not move," he commanded.

Supergirl instinctively tried to disobey by turning her head so the jewel would fall from her brow, but found she could not. She gasped softly. "What... have you done to me?" she demanded.

"I have taken the first step towards ensuring your complete compliance," he said. "Here is the next."

With that, he raised his right hand. In it, he held a knife with a handle of ivory and a long, curving blade. Supergirl's blue eyes opened wide and she gasped as the knife plunged down towards her. No! I'm vulnerable! she thought in a panic, but the blade did not touch her. Its path changed to an arc that plunged beneath her chin and into the valley of cleavage between her breasts. Supergirl heard a sharp ripping sound and felt her torso suddenly become exposed as the knife sliced her costume open, the blade traveling precisely down its middle, between the red S and through the yellow belt until her tunic and her miniskirt fell aside. Only a white sports bra now concealed her luscious breasts, and only bright red panties covered her privates.

"NO!" Supergirl cried, her bravado starting to dissipate as she realized she would soon be sharing Batgirl's fate--or worse.

The Witch Doctor deftly used his knife, slicing through the strap that held the bra's cups together. Supergirl could only watch helplessly as he used the blade to flick aside the cups, exposing her pale perky breasts and the pale pink nipple and areola at their peaks. Supergirl's tender breast flesh quivered with each tremulous breath she took. He then quickly cut through the waist strap of her panties twice, once over each hip, and contemptuously pulled the meager covering from Supergirls' crotch. His actions exposed a neatly-trimmed tuft of dark blonde pubic hair and the dark pink pussy beneath it.

"Rao, no..." Supergirl murmured, blinking tears from her eyes as she was exposed to this evil man's hungry gaze.

"Yes, you are exactly the sort of white woman that your kind think a black man such as I should never enjoy," the Witch Doctor said as he set the knife down and gave Supergirl's exposed breasts an anticipatory squeeze. "It will make taking you all the sweeter."

"D-don't... touch me!" Supergirl said as the Witch Doctor's big hands kneaded her tender breasts.

"Very well," the Witch Doctor said, and withdrew his hands. Surprised that he had obeyed her, Supergirl glanced at him in shock. But the broad smile he wore told her that he was only playing with her. The sorcerer reached down and retrieved more of the precious stones from the ground where he'd laid them. He set them upon Supergirl's body as he had upon Batgirl's: a golden citrine on her throat, a diamond between her breasts, a blue sapphire in her navel, and a dark red ruby just above her sex. Supergirl watched, feeling entranced, mystified, and horrified by the man's strange actions. But she knew he was working magic, and her vulnerability to that mysterious force made her nervous. Thus distracted, she barely noticed as his hand suddenly covered her face. She gasped and inhaled the pungent fumes of some magical concoction; it entered her lungs and quickly worked its way through her body.

"OH!" Supergirl exclaimed as a sensation of sudden heat overwhelmed her, especially focused as it was at her erogenous zones--her breasts, her thighs, her lips, her ass, and, of course, her pussy. Her blue eyes rolled upwards as a dizzying sensation of intense pleasure followed the heat. Her pussy grew warm; her labia began to swell, and love honey seeped from her pussy lips.

The Witch Doctor passed his hand over her body, starting at her head and moving downwards. He did not touch her physically, but his hand nevertheless made the Maid of Might's skin feel as though it was aflame. She could not repress a moan that escaped her parted lips. Her pale breasts rose and fell as her breathing became labored. The precious stones glowed, each in turn, as his hand passed over them.

"You are a virgin," the Witch Doctor said, one dark brow raised in mild surprise, as his hand passed over her pussy.

"I... am...," Supergirl murmured softly between deep, heavy breaths.

"You fear having a man inside you, as it requires you to become vulnerable," he observed.


"Yet you desire it. You long to surrender yourself, to know the pleasures of the flesh, to feel a man's cock deep inside you, taking you, possessing you, owning you completely."

"I... I..." Supergirl stammered, her fair brow creased into a frown as she warred with herself. Then the Witch Doctor's hand passed over her breasts, the diamond between them glowed white-hot, her back arched, and she gasped. "YES!!" she exclaimed, the fires raging in her body too powerful to be denied. "Yes, I want it... I w-want to know what it's l-like..."

"I shall grant your wish," the Witch Doctor said, smiling lustily as he began to pick the precious jewels off of Supergirl's naked body.

"N-no... NO... " Supergirl breathed as the absence of the stones seemed to return some self-control to her. She shook her head as she watched her captor warily. "N-not with y-you!"

"Why not me?" the Witch Doctor said as he stood up beside her. Supergirl's blue eyes opened wide when she saw that his cock was erect--and that it was huge! "If not I, some other super-villain will no doubt... what is the expression Americans use? Ah, yes... 'pop your cherry'." He laughed, a deep, malevolent sound. "Yes," he said, reaching down to stroke the silky skin of her inner thighs with the backs of his fingers, "I shall enjoy being able to claim that I took the virginity of the once-mighty Supergirl. Almost as much as I shall enjoy making you my concubine... forever!"

"NO!" Supergirl pleaded as the big man knelt down between her bound, naked legs. Once upon his knees, his huge cock was at the perfect height to penetrate her. Again, the nearly-naked superheroine pulled at her bonds, more frantically this time, but to no avail.

"D-don't you... touch her!" Batgirl said from her helpless position upon the bondage cross. Her own naked body was trembling, sweat running down her pale skin in rivulets as she resisted the overpowering urge to orgasm with all the willpower she had left. "You have... me. Let her go..." Batgirl said.

"How very noble!" the Witch Doctor said, then laughed loudly. "But why should I settle for one bird when I may have two?"

"Don't... t-touch her!" Batgirl repeated, glaring at her captor.

"Or you will do what?" the man said contemptuously. "Come upon my cock when it enters your pussy again, as you did not a few hours ago? Are you not close to orgasm now? Can you not feel the urge burning within your loins?"

"N-NO!" Batgirl cried as his words reminded her of the insidious vibrator that was buzzing madly inside her tortured pussy. She grimaced and tossed her head to each side, her red hair flying about her cowled face.

"You cannot resist much longer, Batgirl!" the Witch Doctor told her confidently. "Give in. Climax, and be my slave forever!"

"NOOOOOOOOO!!" Batgirl wailed, but his words struck true. She could feel her body rising towards orgasm, despite her best efforts to resist. She closed her eyes, unable to concern herself with Supergirl's fate as her own was now in doubt.

"Be strong, Batgirl!" Supergirl said from her supine position upon the low bondage frame. "Resist! I know you can do it!"

"Hrmph," the Witch Doctor snorted derisively, "Do not trouble yourself with your friend's fate; it is too late for her. And as for you--it is time you experienced the fate of all women, and knew the feeling of a man's cock possessing you!"

He positioned the tip of his huge phallus so it pressed against Supergirl's pussy lips. The blonde heroine gasped when she felt his huge, hot member pressing against her most intimate area. She raised her head and watched in wide-eyed horror as he began to push his huge cock inside her.

"AAAAARRRGGHHH!!" Supergirl screamed, her head tossed back, as his massive phallus forced her pussy to open wide. "STOP!! IT'S... IT'S TOO BIG!! IT... HURTS!!"

But the big black man did not stop. He only laughed malevolently and pressed his cock inside her, his big, dark hands gripping her slender, pale thighs. He stopped when he felt resistance. Supergirl felt it too, and inhaled sharply as the tip of his cock pressed against her intact hymen. She began to hyperventilate, her blue eyes darting about in terror. A single tear ran from her left eye. She had wanted to know the intimacy of a man's touch, but not like this, not violated by a malevolent supervillain!

"No please no please stop stop..." Supergirl pleaded softly.

"And so, Supergirl... long shall you remember this day, when you were taken by a man for the first time, and submitted your will to his completely!" With that, he drove his hips forward, grunting loudly as his massive cock breaking Supergirl's hymen with one powerful thrust.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" Supergirl cried as her virginity was taken and the pain deep within her loins shattered what little self-control she had left. Her back arched, her muscles tensed, and she pulled frantically at her bonds for the umpteenth time. But it all came to naught; she was helpless, vulnerable, and impaled upon her cruel captor's massive cock.

"KARAAAAA!!! NOOOOOO!!!" Batgirl cried, watching helplessly as her young friend and colleague was ruthlessly violated. Tears spilled from her eyes. But then her sorrow was pierced by pleasure as an ecstatic tremor--the latest of several--shook her naked body to the core. Despairing, the Dark Night Demoiselle realized that resistance was futile. Her nude body slumped upon the bondage rig and quivered as her next orgasm rose within her loins.

"UH! UH! UH! UH!" the Witch Doctor grunted as he pounded Supergirl's tight pussy with his massive cock. Despite her agony, the potion he had administered to her ensured that the pain would turn to pleasure soon enough. Already, he could feel her pussy gushing with lubricant, though some of that was also blood, of course. The thought made him chuckle for a moment, until he returned to fucking the blonde heroine mercilessly.

"AH! AH! AH! AH!" Supergirl gasped, tears streaming down her face as the muscular black man's cock moved inside her like a huge, hot piston. Her firm breasts shook upon her chest with each thrust, drawing the man's attention; his hands left her thighs and reached forward to clasp her quivering breasts. Supergirl gave a cry when she felt her tender tits being groped, and inhaled sharply when he pinched each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. She could feel her ass rubbing against her cape, which was now sodden with her feminine juices and her own blood. Suddenly, a wave of pleasure took her by surprise, and she moaned loudly.

"Yes... you begin to ENJOY it now... do you NOT?!?" the Witch Doctor taunted her. He gave her breasts another rough squeeze, and Supergirl responded by groaning ecstatically.

"No... I... WON'T!" the Maid of Might panted, her face contorting into a determined frown as she tried to fight off the powerful pleasure that the man's black magic had induced in her violated body.

"You... have... no.. CHOICE!" the Witch Doctor said, slamming his hips against Supergirl's loins for emphasis. He raised his right hand from her breast and held it over her chest, fingers spread wide. "Now I shall come, Supergirl... and when I come, so shall you! I COMMAND IT!!"

"UUUUUHHHHHH!!" the blonde superheroine groaned as a powerful spasm of pleasure rocked her nubile frame. All thought of resistance, or any thought for that matter, fled from her mind. She was completely at the Witch Doctor's mercy. Despite the painful violation of her virgin body, she now rose towards orgasm. Her nipples hardened, her breathing quickened, her heart pounded within her chest, and her pussy gushed lubricant upon the man's big cock.

"HUNH!! HUNH!! HUNH!! HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNH!!" the Witch Doctor bellowed as his back arched, his shaved head fell back, and his cock erupted with hot, wet spunk deep inside Supergirl's body.

"OH!! GREAT RAO!! I'M GOING TO... AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" Supergirl screamed as she felt her captor's hot seed burst into her womb and her own orgasm claimed her.

Helpless upon the bondage frame, Batgirl surrendered to the vibrator's insidious power and began her own slide towards orgasm. Just before she came, she noticed something strange: the torches in the chamber flickered, changing their color from reddish-orange to bright yellow, just for a moment. What...? Batgirl thought, then thought no more as a powerful climax rocked her bound, exhausted body.

"OH GOD!! OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" the red-headed heroine cried as the orgasm claimed her, body and soul. When she finished cumming, she slumped in her bonds, her head hanging over her chest, her long red hair, soaked with sweat, hanging between her naked breasts.

"Ahhhhhh..." the Witch Doctor sighed as he pulled his cock from Supergirl's pussy while the blonde heroine wept pathetically. "What is it men say in this country again? Ah yes... 'Was it good for you too?'" he asked, patting Supergirl's naked thigh in a most condescending manner.

"D-don't... touch me," Supergirl said tremulously. Her face was wet with tears, but her blue eyes glared at her rapist angrily.

"Impressive!" the Witch Doctor said as he rose to his feet. He placed his hands upon his hips and gazed down upon Supergirl's bound, naked body in triumph. "Like Batgirl, you resist the ritual of submission... at first. But you will succumb, as will your friend. Speaking of whom..."

The Witch Doctor walked from where he stood between Supergirl's spread legs and strode back towards Batgirl. He reached out with one hand, clasped her chin, and raised her head. The crime-fighter stared back at him glassily.

"What say you, Batgirl?" he inquired.

"M-master..." she murmured weakly.

Chapter 6: Darkness Triumphant

A triumphant smile tugged at the corners of the Witch Doctor's thick lips. "What did you call me?"

"M-Master," Batgirl repeated, then a weary but ecstatic smile appeared upon her lips. "Y-you're... my master..."

"Excellent," the Witch Doctor said, smiling broadly.

"B-Batgirl... NO!" Supergirl said from where she lay bound, her voice ridden with anguish.

"Do not despair, Supergirl," the Witch Doctor said. "Your compatriot has completed the ritual. She is mine now. You shall soon join her, and when you do, you will be tormented by these pointless feelings no longer."

"NOOOOOOO..." Supergirl wailed as she watched her friend staring at their captor and rapist with undisguised admiration and lust.

"Will you fuck her again, master?" Batgirl asked the Witch Doctor, her voice heavy with rapture at the prospect.

"Indeed I shall," he replied, smiling.

"And will you fuck me?" Batgirl asked eagerly. "Please? Oh, will you please fuck your slave over and over and over?"

The Witch Doctor laughed. "You tire of this artificial cock inside you and long for mine, do you, slave?" He reached down and switched the vibrator off, then undid the straps that fastened it inside her. He pulled the huge vibrator out of Batgirl's pussy with a wet slurping noise; the heroine groaned in response.

"Oh, YES, master!" Batgirl said, her luscious lips forming a girlish pout as she writhed erotically in her bonds. "I want to feel your big cock inside my pussy, fucking me... then I want to watch you fuck Super-slut," she said, with a sneering glance at Supergirl, who could only sob in shocked response.

The big man laughed and reached for Batgirl's wrist restraints. "Soon enough, my pet, soon enough," he said as he freed Batgirl's arms.

Batgirl moaned and rubbed her aching wrists as her captor, now her master, knelt down and released her ankles from their restrains as well. Batgirl slid down the large X until she found herself standing shakily upon solid ground. The Witch Doctor rose, and her gaze roamed hungrily up and down his naked frame. She then pressed her own naked body against his. The Witch Doctor reached behind her head and grabbed a handful of her scarlet locks; he then lowered his face to hers. Their lips met, and opened. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and her tongue responded, dancing languidly around his. All the while, Supergirl watched the erotic scene in growing horror and despair.

The Witch Doctor broke the kiss and gazed upon Batgirl triumphantly. "You are mine now, all mine, forever!"

"YES!" Batgirl responded ecstatically. Her gloved hand caressed his muscular chest while she pressed her naked body against his. "Master...?" Batgirl said.

"Yes, my slave?" the Witch Doctor said, gazing down at her proudly.

"You're a prick."

The Witch Doctor's eyes suddenly bulged and his breath caught in his throat as something akin to a freight train slammed into his groin. Before he could drop to his knees in utter agony, Batgirl suddenly stepped back and struck him on the chin with a right cross, and the big man spun backwards away from her, slamming against the wall of the underground chamber.

Oh God, Batgirl thought, that took nearly everything I had! She glanced at the torches in the room, and saw them flickering from reddish to yellowish light again while the sorcerer moaned in agony. I hope I'm right about this, Batgirl said to herself. The hours on that rig, and those orgasms--they took all my strength! I can't go toe to to with this guy for long! Come on, Kara!

Then the Witch Doctor shakily pushed himself upright, his back pressed against the wall for support, one hand cupped over his aching balls. The torches flickered back their previous reddish hue, and he glared at Batgirl angrily. He then unleashed a string of curses at her in his native tongue.

"I shall kill you for that, you filthy white whore!" he spat at her.

"Sticks and stones, big guy," Batgirl said with more bravado than strength as she assumed a defensive stance. Damn, back to red again... she thought. Have to shatter his concentration... I just pray I have the strength!

The Witch Doctor stepped towards her shakily, and Batgirl leaned back and lashed out at his face with a roundhouse kick. But her fatigue made her slow, and the man caught her ankle. He raised and rushed her leg, making Batgirl fall back awkwardly onto the ground. She dropped and rolled and ducked just in time to avoid a vicious kick from the big man, who was also slowed by the terrible pain that still throbbed in his loins. Batgirl pushed herself back to her feet. She staggered back away from him, resuming her defensive aikido stance. As the Witch Doctor advanced upon her, she feinted a jab with her right, then caught him on the chin with a left cross. His head snapped to his left and the torches flickered again.

But Batgirl's blow was weak; after a second, the torches burned red yet again. The Witch Doctor contemptuously swatted aside her next blow. Then, with alarming speed, his right hand shot forward and grabbed her around the throat. As Batgirl's green eyes went wide, he pushed her a few steps backwards until her back slammed against the wall. Still gripping her throat and choking her, he raised her body up off the ground as her hands instinctively but uselessly gripped his wrist. As Batgirl struggled and failed to breathe, she could see the Witch Doctor's dark eyes regarding her with undisguised fury.

"Never has a mere woman so violated my person!" the Witch Doctor snarled, and the irony of the statement was lost on the choking Batgirl. "If you will not be my slave, then you shall die! I will kill you and fuck your corpse and hack you into pieces when I am done!" he snarled, spittle flying from his lips, so furious was he. "I shall grind your bones into powder and use them in my potions, you vile, stinking WHORE!!!"

Batgirl struggled but could not draw a breath, nor did she have the strength left to break the man's powerful grip. Her legs, naked save for her yellow boots, flailed weakly and uselessly. As her green eyes rolled up into her head, she noticed that the torches had once again changed color to a bright yellow flame. As consciousness--and, with it, life--slipped away, she thought wryly that her fighting prowess had not distracted the man, but his anger had apparently done the trick. But was it too little, too late? Kara... please... she thought as her vision began to fade.

Suddenly, the hand was gone from her throat and Batgirl found herself standing upon her own feet again; her knees, already quite weak, buckled and she dropped to the floor. As if in a dream, she watched as the Witch Doctor's naked, muscular body sailed across the room, slamming into the opposite wall. As Batgirl forced a painful, wheezing breath down her aching throat, she watched as a red, blue, and yellow blur leapt across the room towards her captor.

As Supergirl stood over the man who had violated her, she reflected, briefly, that Batgirl's gambit had worked. She had evidently distracted the Witch Doctor enough so that his concentration, which seemed necessary to maintain the red sun radiation spell, lapsed. Supergirl had immediately felt the incredible strength return to her limbs and had broken free of her bonds. Strangely, however, the pain of her broken hymen lingered, reminding her of the precious virginity that this vile man had taken from her. Anger boiled inside her. She knelt down over the sorcerer, who lay limply upon the ground, his back propped against the wall, his head lolling over his broad shoulders as he struggled to remain conscious. She pulled her arm back, her teeth grinding, her blue eyes blazing as she prepared to unleash a blow of such awesome strength that it could punch a hole in the side of a battleship.

Promise me, Kara.

"Father..." Supergirl whispered as she heard his voice in her head as though he was there beside her in the room.

Promise me...

Blinking away tears, Supergirl dropped her fist. She glared at the Witch Doctor; then she reached out and angrily flicked her forefinger against his chin. Even that slight blow, coming from a Kryptonian, was enough to make the man's head spin around and slam against the wall. The Witch Doctor's body slumped as consciousness left him.

Supergirl felt a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. Slowly, she straightened, though she still glared at her unconscious enemy. It took all her willpower to keep herself from immolating him with a blast of her heat vision. Her hands were clenched into fists, and they trembled at her sides. She hadn't been the one the Witch Doctor had choked, but she was struggling to breathe, gulping down breaths.

"Kara," Batgirl said softly, "it's over..."

Supergirl turned to face her friend and colleague. Batgirl raised one hand and pulled her cowl from her face, letting it and her cape fall to the floor behind her, instinctively knowing that her young friend needed to be in the steady, slightly older, reassuring presence of Barbara Gordon now.

"Oh Great Rao... Barbara..." Supergirl said as her blue eyes shimmered with tears. She threw her arms around her friend and felt Barbara's arms embracing her in turn. Supergirl's head rested against Barbara's naked shoulder and anguished sobs racked her frame.

Tears spilled from Barbara's eyes as well, and she drew as much reassurance from the embrace as Supergirl did. "I know," she said as she held her friend tightly. "I know..."

Several minutes passed while the two heroines vented their pain and anguish and comforted one another as best they could. Eventually, Supergirl took a deep breath and raised her head. She gazed into Barbara's eyes and smiled wanly, her lips trembling.

"Well," Barbara said, grinning slightly. "This is a sight that would fulfill a lot of male fantasies, wouldn't it?"

Supergirl blinked, then gazed down and gasped as she suddenly realized they were both still naked, though the torn remnants of her own costume clung to her shoulders. She then looked back at her friend and couldn't help laughing. Barbara laughed as well and wiped away her tears. The two friends bashfully ended their embrace and instinctively glanced around for something to wear.

"I, uh, guess we could wrap ourselves in animal skins..." Supergirl suggested.

Barbara retrieved her cape and cowl and donned them once again; though they did little to hide her nakedness, she found their presence comforting.

"Me Batgirl, you Jane," the red-headed heroine joked, earning another laugh from Supergirl.

"It's good, isn't it?" Supergirl said. "Y'know, being able to laugh... after..."

"It's a defense mechanism, Kara," Batgirl said seriously. "I think... we're both going to need some help... you know, to deal with this."

"Yeah, I guess," Supergirl said quietly, not wanting to dwell on the ordeal she'd just been through, and what she'd lost. "That was clever of you, by the way," she said, eager to change the subject. "Figuring out that he needed to concentrate to maintain that spell. And how you fooled him into thinking you'd succumbed."

Batgirl shrugged as she pulled a zebra skin from the wall and wrapped it around her body. "Well, you know how it is with men," she said. "Sometimes you just have to give into their sick little fantasies in order to get what you want." She glanced at a surprised Supergirl and winked, eliciting another amused giggle from the Maid of Might.

Epilogue: Lessons Learned

"Hey, Babs!"

"Linda!" Congresswoman Barbara Gordon said as she rose from her seat, clasping her friend's hand affectionately.

After a week's postponement, Barbara and Linda Danvers were finally having the lunch date they'd planned at a restaurant in Washington, D.C. After everything they'd been through, it felt wonderfully... normal.

"So," Barbara said quietly once they'd ordered their meal, "how are you doing?" Her green eyes shone with concern for her young friend.

"I'm... managing," Linda said, absent-mindedly brushing a few stray strands of her shoulder-length brown hair--a wig, of course--out of her face. "How about you?"

"The same," Barbara said with a world-weary nod. "That... support group of Diana's is helping, don't you find?"

"Yeah," Linda said, her brows raising, as she recalled meeting with the small group of superheroines who had been through experiences similar to their own. Supergirl had been surprised by the many colleagues she knew who had also been raped. Their warmth and understanding had been most welcome, though. "I mean, Rao... I thought we had it bad, but poor Diana... those Nazis, during the war..."

"Well, I understand why that didn't make it into the history books," Barbara said. She shook her head sadly and tried to think of something more to say, but failed.

After a moment's silence, Linda said, "So... do you think we did the right thing? Taking up Diana on her offer like that? With, you know..."

"The Witch Doctor?" Barbara said, leaning forward and speaking under her breath. She couldn't help but notice that the name made her friend shudder involuntarily. "I'm sleeping like a baby every night, Kara," she said flatly. "As you should be. I'm proud of you, you know. You never violated your code, though no woman alive would have faulted you for doing so."

"Thanks," Linda said, her lips curling into a smile. Then a thoughtful expression stole across her lovely face. "That's true, isn't it? I kept my promise after all." She glanced out the window of the restaurant. It was a beautiful spring day outside; the sun was shining and people were bustling along the street, going about their business. A cherry tree just outside the window was covered with soft white blossoms. Linda smiled serenely. "You're right, Babs. I think I'm going to sleep very soundly tonight."

Barbara Gordon pulled her keys from her purse as she walked from the elevator towards her apartment. She stopped at her door, and her gaze was drawn downward by something on the floor. A single red rose was there, accompanied by a single sheet of paper.

I'M SORRY. - S. the note read.

One of Barbara's brows rose. She retrieved the flower and note from the floor and opened the door to her apartment. "A single rose, Sam?" she muttered. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that..."

Barbara walked into her apartment, tossed her purse onto a table, laid the rose and note beside it, then looked up. And gasped.

The apartment was filled with flowers, all of them roses, all of them red. Dozens, no, hundreds of them, on every table, on shelves, laid upon chairs. Taped to the ceiling above her living room was a large banner.

I'M REALLY SORRY, the banner read, in big, bright red letters.

Barbara couldn't help smiling. She pulled off and hung up her coat, then walked towards her bedroom.

"All right, better," she murmured. "Good for you I didn't get a chance to insist you give my key back. If you call, I just might not hang up..."

She entered the bedroom and gasped again. It, too, was filled to overflowing with red roses; their sweet scent filled her nostrils. Above her bed was yet another banner.


Upon the bed was another single red rose, accompanied by another note. PLEASE CALL ME, it said.

Barbara held the note in her hand and stared at it for a long time. She pursed her lips and sighed; then her lips curled into a smile. She walked back into her living room and grabbed the phone, then dialed a number she had memorized.

"Sam Lyman," a male voice on the other end said.

"Mister Lyman, this is Congresswoman Gordon," Barbara said dryly.

"BARBARA!!" Sam exclaimed at the other end of the line. "Oh, thank GOD! You, uh, you got, you know... my apology?"

"A little excessive, don't you think?" Barbara said icily. Oh, yes, I'm going to enjoy this, she thought sadistically.

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "Uh... does that mean... you didn't like it? Or that I didn't need to apologize that much?"

"What do you think?"

Another pause. "Going by your tone of voice, obviously more groveling is in order. Fortunately, I'm a divorced man, so I have a lot of experience with that. Okay. I'm really, really, really, REALLY sorry for what happened, and what I said to you. Like I told you, it was an adolescent fantasy of mine, and when you reacted the way you did.... well, I reacted--like an adolescent. Angrily. Sullenly. Immaturely. STUPIDLY. You're just... you're an amazing woman, Barbara. And that was the first time you... disappointed me, I guess. And you had every right to do it, I hasten to add!"

Sam paused a moment, waiting for a reaction. He couldn't see that Barbara was smiling broadly at the other end of the line, of course.

"Look, I spoke to the President," Sam went on, "and he is one-hundred and ten percent behind your bill. We're lining up support for it as I speak."

"That's good to hear, Mister Lyman," Barbara said, struggling to maintain a neutral tone, just to torture Sam a little longer. "Bill HR 35 is a good measure, and it deserves the support of the current administration. Furthermore..."

"Oh, God, Barbara, PLEASE!" Sam pleaded. "Don't go all official on me, and for God's sake, stop calling me 'Mister Lyman'. You make me feel like I'm your high school civics teacher or something. Look, I was a jerk and an idiot and I'm sorry and I just want a chance to make it up to you. Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight? Please?"

Barbara took a deep breath while Sam waited. "Dinner?" she asked.

"Yes. Andelucci's? I'll buy, of course."

"I don't think so," Barbara said, and nearly burst out laughing when she heard him gasp. "I'll order take out instead," she added hurriedly, "and you can come over and, ah... have some... on one condition."

"Anything," Sam said, the relief in his voice once again making Barbara suppress her laughter. Yes, she thought, this is what I need, after what I've been through--to be IN CONTROL again.

"You have to break in," she said.

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. "Uh... pardon?" Sam said.

"You heard me," Barbara said. "Break in. Like you're going to rob the place. Oh," she added, dropping her voice an octave so it was the vocal equivalent of warm, dark honey. "and don't worry... I have my own costume..."

The man called the Witch Doctor awoke. He felt as though he had been asleep for a very long time. Yet, strangely, he did not awake feeling refreshed, but was instead extremely weary.

The first thing he noticed upon awaking was that he was restrained. His naked body was strapped to a large wooden X-frame, his wrists and ankles bound by thick leather straps at each end of the two posts that comprised the frame. He glanced about and saw that he was in a dark, underground chamber, lit only by flickering torch lights. Before him was a firepit, where coals burned and several metal pokers were resting, their points glowing with heat. It seemed familiar... but no, it was different. No animal skins decorated the walls, and his sleeping cot and his trunk were not present.

The Witch Doctor gasped when he suddenly noticed a man standing in front of him; it seemed as though the man had appeared out of thin air. The man was African, like himself, but older; his short curly beard and hair were grizzled with grey and white hairs. Yet he seemed to have the muscular body of a younger man, over which he wore a black, flowing robe.

"Who are you?" the Witch Doctor demanded. "Where am I?" He tugged at his restraints. "Why am I bound like this? What..."

The old African held up one hand to silence the Witch Doctor. "Questions, questions, questions," he said wearily. "Always they awake with questions. In the end, however... there are no more questions. But no answers either."

"I do not understand," the Witch Doctor said.

"You shall," the African told him. The man moved towards the fire pit and stirred the hot coals with a poker while the Witch Doctor watched, his trepidation mounting steadily. "Ah, fire. We kept debating whether we should give it to you, and while we argued... well. I suppose it was inevitable. But unfortunate. The world will end in fire one day, your kind will see to that. But you know that, do you not?"

"Who are you?" the Witch Doctor asked again.

"Do you not know me? Look closer..."

The Witch Doctor stared at the older man, his brow knit in a puzzled frown. Then, though he did not know how, realization dawned on him; his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

"Ogbunabali!" the Witch Doctor exclaimed.

The older man nodded. "That is one of my names. I have others. Elsewhere in Africa, I was called Osiris..."

As the Witch Doctor watched, entranced, the man's appearance changed. His head changed to that of an Osprey, and his skin grew lighter in tone. His robe disappeared; instead, he wore a long, pleated kilt about his mid-section.

"In ancient Rome, they called me Pluto." His appearance changed again, to that of a white man with white hair and a long beard, and he wore a long white toga. "But I think I prefer the name the Greeks gave me: Hades." Once again his appearance changed, his hair darkening, his beard disappearing. His long, flowing black robe had returned. "I have other names as well. Names have power, do they not, Onwuka Kalu?"

"Yes," the Witch Doctor said solemnly as he heard his real name spoken by the god of the underworld. His head hung over his chest in despair.

Hades shook his head. "You should have known better," he said. "We gods are not known to be forgiving types--even a demi-goddess, not when you harm her friends."

"So they took their revenge," he murmured dejectedly, "and now I am dead."

"Actually--surprisingly--you are not. But," Hades said as he lifted a long poker, its tip glowing white-hot in the dark chamber, "you will soon wish that you were." Hades smiled. It was not a reassuring sight.

The man's screams rang throughout Hades' realm, but the god of the underworld did not mind. It was a good thing, every now and then, to remind the shades who was in charge--and what could happen if they got out of line.