Supergirl Captured by the Mob 65  

By Dr. Dominator

Supergirl Captured by the Mob

Part 65 - A Matter Of Honor

By Dr. Dominator

Note: The Supergirl character and name as well as Superman, Wonder Woman and Diana Prince are the property of DC Comics. Tony Bonano and his crew as well as Sergei Zhukovia and Don Lupenzo are properties of Dr. Dominator and cannot be used without permission. This story is simply meant as entertainment and should be read only by consenting adults of 18 years or older. Violence and rape are never an answer to any situation.

The scene in the penthouse suite in the Pleasure Dome for the remainder of that Tuesday evening was a loud, energetic and completely unrestrained demonstration of sexual debauchery. Don Silvio Corronado and his lieutenant Fabio Albanesewere treated to a wide range of carnal delights from the two famous female champions. There was no whining from either Wonder Woman or Supergirl: no complaining, no hesitancy or reluctance. The two paragons of justice did as they were told: sucking, fucking, teasing and pleasing in any way that they were asked.

Once the kryptonite collar had been turned down to a level that simply weakened Supergirl without making her sick and groggy, she promptly responded by trading partners with Wonder Woman as commanded by Silvio. She hoisted her athletic, graceful rubber-suited figure on the hard cock that Silvio had achieved from spooning with Diana and, after slowly, teasingly lowering herself onto the thick warm pole, dutifully rocked and bumped on his lap. Silvio simply lied on the couch and enjoyed watching the lithe blonde's tear-drop tits bounce vigorously up and down within the tight rubber catsuit while he held her haunches.

The blonde that the world had once idolized as its moral compass bumped up and down on his rod with a zesty willingness that surprised and pleased Silvio to no end. The sexy teen heroine, her hair swaying back and forth in blonde waves in rhythm with her nodding head and humping figure, proved to him that the DVD series of her was no fluke or slight of hand. When properly stimulated and directed, the wholesome, perfect Supergirl was quite the raunchy sex kitten.

She rocked and ground her pelvis against his own, Silvio's cock appearing and disappearing again and again within the warm, wet channel between Supergirl's heavenly thighs. Finally, helpless with pleasure, Don Corronado shot his load into the moaning teen with a howl of joy. He came and came within her, the spasms unrelenting and dizzying in their totality. Afterward, the one and only Supergirl obediently climbed off, put her head in his lap and licked his cock clean when told to do so.

He couldn't help spraying a burst of leftover joy in her surprised face as she licked him. But she simply looked up in surprise as a cum string drooped lazily off her eyebrow and onto her cheek before dropping down onto his naked pelvis. She just went back to work, cleaning him without a hint of protest. When asked by Silvio, "What do you say?" The cum-breathed blonde heroine simply murmured a hesitant but obedient "Thank you?"

Over on the other side of the living room in the meantime, Wonder Woman had been ordered to get on all fours by Fabio which she did. He eagerly thrust into her wet, promptly proffered pussy with glee. The young stud gave it to her doggy style, holding tightly onto Diana's wide blue rubber-clad buttocks with it's clear stars gleaming in the overhead track lighting. He thrust in and out of the rocking Amazon for a good ten minutes until she collapsed on her forearms in dazed delight.

Despite her cool reputation, with Fabio's hot, pulsing nine-inch wide tool driving in and out of her tight vagina with constant joyous friction, the black-haired Princess noisily howled with pleasure. Fabio savored the exquisite pleasure of hosing the Champion of All Women until she dripped with his cum. It oozed out from between her thighs, gathered around the edges of his throbbing cock and dripped like a slow, leaky faucet, falling to the carpet even as Wonder Woman's face was buried in the rug a couple of feet away, moaning with muffled delight after her total capitulation to her ecstacy. Her sweaty toes, encased in pale red rubber painted on boots, squirmed and wriggled reflexively in the nap of the sea foam-colored rug.

After that, there were combinations and permutations of the foursome in a wide array of positions. The two heroines were commanded to French kiss each other while they were held tightly by their rubber-sheathed breasts and taken from behind by the two Mafia hoods. The girls were evidently quite shy about the long bout of forced kissing while seemingly unperturbed whatsoever by the ten-minute long dual ass-reaming.

That's strange, Silvio pondered moments before he came for the fourth time that night to a chirping chorus of squeaking rubber, the mighty Wonder Woman held tightly in his arms. Supergirl's head nodded mindlessly, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure as Fabio clamped her body against his and hosed her butthole with hot jetting jizz.

At another point in the evening, following a round of drinks and caviar, Supergirl was ordered to get on all fours under a standing Fabio. She was challenged to try to lick his balls while the energetic mobster fucked Wonder Woman against the living room wall. The powerful hoodlum pinned the Amazon's wrists to the hard surface, his palms wrapped around the pale yellow painted-on bracelets, while his cock thrust in and out of her damp pussy even as the mighty Maid of Steel tried to capture his wildly swinging ball sack with her tongue and failing that, her mouth. Supergirl's attention was being heavily compromised at the time not only by the wildly swaying plastic crotch flap of Diana's rubber catsuit, but also by Silvio's eagerly pistoning prick driving back and forth within the depths of the Maid of Might's magnificent muff. In the end, everyone got off in loud groaning yells of long-cumming sexual release.

Throughout the long night, Carlo Pastore dutifully captured every sexual escapade, every glazed look on the obedient young heroines, every stuttering moan of the ecstatic beauties, every leering grin between the two men as they had their way with the famous pair of thoroughly desecrated Champions of Right.

For the final indignity of the night, the two celebrated guardians of justice allowed themselves to be heavily dosed with their drugs of choice. Sergei had suggested over the speaker system that the girl's might want their drugs, it having been hours since their last hits. Nodding eagerly, both Supergirl and Wonder Woman immediately replied with a simultaneous "YES!"

But when Sergei brought out the drugs, he handed them to the men instead.

"What say we are letting the gentlemen have the pleasure of giving you your drugs this evening," the Russian suggested with cold affirmation that brooked no argument. And with that, he departed back through a locked door that led to the control room.

Played out to a bone-weary tiredness by all the sex, the two champions merely looked at each other, recalled their pact and shrugged. What was one more humiliation at this point?

Silvio heated up the heroin to a bubbling broth using a fancy lighter and a specially-designed metal platform with beautiful scroll-work around the edges. No bent spoon and matches for this expensive evening, Tony had thought of everything. Drawing the powerful potion of Istanbul Express into the syringe, Silvio then held it aloft, tapped it and squirted the merest hint of it out to ensure no bubbles. He saw the hunted eyes and moistened lips of the Amazon as she licked them eagerly, watching Silvio's every move.

"Tony's really got his hooks in you, Amazon, doesn't he?"

Meeting his eyes with the first honest look in the entire evening, Diana nodded and replied sullenly, "Yes, by Hera, I'd say he does. Now shoot me up, Silvio. I want to go away. I want to not care."

"My pleasure, Princess." Silvio pressed the point of the syringe into the crook of Wonder Woman's arm so avidly presented before him. It pierced the skin, the plunger was pushed forward and the debilitating potion was pressed slowly and steadily into the heroine's body. Rocketing with amazing speed through her blood, it was only seconds before the lush head of wavy black hair collapsed against the back of the couch and Wonder Woman's mouth slackened into dopey pleasure and her eyes drifted away into a world where nothing much mattered at all.

The resultant final harsh fucking by Silvio with her ankles held high, her back sunk into the couch and her body jolted back and forth barely even registered in the Amazon's clouded brain. Just another orgasm. Just another small humiliation. Just another violation to add to the list. Under the influence of the mind-numbing heroin, Wonder Woman could care less.

When Silvio finally walked away from the mighty Amazon warrior to take his shower, Diana was almost in the same position he found her when first entering the suite that evening. She was sprawled out on the couch with her legs spread wide open and her body wrapped in a humiliating rubber catsuit that made of mockery of her famous costume. Except now, Wonder Woman's rubber catsuit was misty with her sweat that pooled in a small reservoir of plastic under her ass and ran in rivulets along the creases of leather in the couch. Her crotch, blatantly exposed with the rubber suit's crotch flap hanging over the front edge of the couch, was thick with the shimmery white gel of Silvio's and Fabio's semen. It slowly oozed through her raw pink pussy lips as well as from her hidden sorely-stretched asshole. The Champion of All Women's mouth was slack with dopey incoherence from the powerful heroin blunting her brain. Oblivious to her complete degradation, the mighty Wonder Woman breathed slowly, her massive breasts rising and falling in slow, rhythm, her eyes rolled up under her lids in blissful stupidity.

For Supergirl it was much the same. Ordered to sit on her hands, she had been forced to inhale the potent gray smoke from the bright orange glass crack pipe held to her face by Fabio. Obediently, she leaned forward and clasped her lips on the mouth of the pipe and drew in long and hard, filling her lungs with the highly potent Vanilla Pudding. She released the cloud of crack heaven into the air with a dizzy smirk and seven seconds later, Supergirl, too, was slumped low in the cushy armchair. Her head nodded on her chest, her breasts slowly expanded within the cloudy rubber suit, dense with her own perspiration and heavy, musky scent.

Fabio took his cue from his boss and hoisted the Maid of Steel's legs high in the air, pulled her a bit forward and screwed her good. The thrusting hot pole felt amazing to the famous blonde champion as it drove into her gaping wet pussy again and again until she could stand no more. The teen champion squealed loudly with her final pleasure of the night as her honor, her dignity and her reputation were ground to pulp in the throes of her own blasting orgasm and from Fabio's dominating semen-spurting cock. The camera doesn't lie.

Supergirl was also left virtually as she was found, her legs draped over the arms of the chair, her genitals open to the breeze, her blonde hair plastered to her sweaty face. Like Wonder Woman, the Maid of Steel's pussy and ass dripped with thick, clumpy semen. It darkened the seat cushion as the mighty blonde hero sighed and drooled in a slack-jawed moronic daze. Used and abused to her lasting shame, Supergirl was far too high to understand the utmost depths of her dishonor.

Just before Silvio and Fabio left the apartment, Sergei handed them each a DVD.

"This is a record of your evening with us, gentlemen. I am hoping it was meeting with your approval?"

"Everything was perfect. Thank you, Sergei. And thank Tony for me."

"Ditto," Fabio echoed with a vigorous nod. The DVD was an unexpected bonus. He was thrilled.

"Here is a second DVD for you, Don Corronado. It is from your previous engagement with Wonder Woman. I apologize for the delay in delivery. We lost our previous editor and there were some scenes left unfinished."

"I'd heard about your loss. My sympathies, Sergei. To you and Tony."

"I know he is to be appreciating your condolences. I will to express them personally to him. Good night, gentlemen, and thank you for patronizing The Pleasure Dome."

"It couldn't be more aptly named, my friend," Silvio smiled and brushed his short-cropped hair wet from his shower in the suite's bathroom.

"Ditto," Fabio said to a small smile from Sergio. "What a night," he exclaimed as he pushed the elevator button and the doors slowly slid shut on their most memorable evening.

* * *

When Tony received a report from his accountant the next morning on just how much money the Wonder Woman DVD series was raking in, he promptly told the man to wire a deposit for $8 million to the Family General Fund. That would help keep the separate families on his side while further isolating Gino Lupenzo from his power base. Tony was all smiles for now.

* * *

A little later that morning, Carmine was shocked speechless in the middle of his discussion with Tony later when he looked down at his cell phone to see the name Gino Lupenzo come up on the screen.

Seeing his mentor go from a joking red face about the two girl's exploits upstairs to a pale white one in the space of five seconds, alarmed Tony considerably.

"Carmine, what the fuck is it?"

"It's Gino," the large mobster answered Tony after the second iteration of his new ring tone, Dean Martin singing the chorus of Amore.

"Well, answer it. He can't shoot you through the phone."

...like a big-a pizza pie, that's amore...

"Yes?" Carmine was surprisingly tentative in his tone which Tony felt was a mistake.

"Carmine? It's Gino."

Pulling his act together quickly, Carmine gruffed up quickly.

"Yes, Gino. I'm surprised to hear from you. What can I do for you?" Carmine shrugged at Tony as he talked.

"First of all, I wanted to express to you and to Tony my deepest appreciation for the extremely generous donation you guys made to the Family General Fund."

"You have excellent contacts as always Gino. That was made like, what Tony, 90 minutes ago?"

"I get an update on my cell when anything that substantial goes in. I am an officer in the bank, you know."

"Ah yes," smiles Carmine, relaxing somewhat. "Well, we've had a good month, turns out, so why not share the wealth, right, Gino? I mean, we're all in the same business, after all." Carmine winks at Tony at this.

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, Carmine. I think we forget that sometimes in our occasional foolish behavior caused by jealously or greed."

"Is that an apology, Gino?" Carmine presses.

"Apology? No! A cold understanding of the reality of life: Yes."

"What foolish behavior are we discussing, Don Lupenzo?"

"The matter of my headquarters. Of your associate being gunned down. These things are bad for business."

"Not to be too blunt, Gino, but are you suggesting we make peace?"

"I should think that would be in everyone's interest."

"What brings on this sudden appreciation for the cold reality of life?"

"My dear brother has gone missing and I am concerned for not only his welfare but those who may have been involved."

"Your brother? Frankie?"

"Yes, of course, you remember him, don't you, Gino? He used to tag along with us when we were lifting dirty magazines from Dunzo's corner store by stuffing them in our shirts?"

"I remember Frankie, of course, Gino. How long has he been gone?"

"Just since last night."

"You sure he didn't take off on a spree for Vegas. I remember how Frankie likes the Wheel."

"I don't believe this has anything to do with his passion for roulette. He would have let me know if he were going out of town. Actually, he was up in your neck of the woods, I believe, Carmine."

"Up here? In the Bronx? Why would he be up here, Gino? That seems...peculiar... especially considering the recent...indiscretions between our two families."

"Frankie doesn't always think things through, Carmine. You must recall that."

"Even for Frankie, that seems...ah... ill considered. You sure it was his idea?"

"Did you see him last night, Carmine?" The sudden coldness coming through the phone was palpable.

"I did not, Gino. But if I had I would have sent him home with a stern warning to stay out of dangerous territory. Until things are settled between you and Tony, it's pure stupidity to be out wandering so away from safe ground, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed. Which is why I want to sit down and talk with Tony face to face. Would you ask him what he thinks of that possibility, Carmine. He is there with you, I heard you say."

"Actually he had to deal with some commotion in the casino so we'll have to get back to you, Gino, on that issue."

"Please do it as soon as possible, Carmine. We need to settle things. It's a matter of honor. What's more, things could get even more dangerous out there," Gino threatens stonily and hangs up suddenly on Carmine who looks at his phone in shock. Gino is rarely that blunt. Or rude. Frankie's disappearance has unnerved him.

Carmine looks at Tony who's never left the room. Carmine simply wanted to give himself and Tony the chance to discuss the proposition calmly without Gino hanging by on the cell phone waiting for an answer.

Let the bastard stew a bit anyway, Carmine thinks. Sending his brother onto enemy turf like that. It was a dumb move by the usually level-headed Gino. Supergirl's destruction of his headquarters and Tony's subsequent extraction of her must have pissed off Gino to no end..

"Gino wants to set up a meet," Carmine tells Tony. He's learned Frankie's gone missing and he even went so far as to admit his brother was up here, you must have deduced from my end."

"Yup," Tony says. "Gino wants to kill me. At the meeting. And I want to kill him. But we don't have to rush into this right now. Stall him. Tell him we're considering it and will let him know next week. I want to plan everything so it goes right."

"You want me to call back now?"

"Not at all. Let him simmer in his own juices. Call him tomorrow at the earliest. Meanwhile, we've just topped $57 million in one weekend from the Wonder Woman DVDs. We're celebrating tonight. Get everybody together, including the new kid, Carlo. From what I saw on the early cuts he sent down this morning, the kid's a natural. Stevie sure knew what he was doing when he recommended him."

Tony had stood up and gone over to the drop-down bar and poured himself a glass of Heineken. Now, hoisting it high he says, "To Stevie," and downs a large gulp in the dead man's honor.

* * *

Before Carmine even had the chance to call Gino back to stall him, the old Mafia don had shown his impatience with Tony by shooting one of his enforcers in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn. The heavy-set man had gone into a local gym to collect the weekly protection money when two men in gray suits walked out from the white-faced manager's office and emptied a shotgun round each into Tony's man from a mere three feet away.

Flying backwards, the bloody carcass ended up draped over a large Nautilus machine with his blood and guts scattered over five other machines in the area, not to mention several horrified, screaming patrons in gym shorts, leotards and, ultimately, puke. Tony found out about it on the evening news and retaliated later that evening by having one of Gino's crew chiefs in Staten Island get his throat cut open during the 9:15 showing of the latest Jason Statham action film. The man was found with a bucketful of soggy, bloody popcorn in his lap when the lights came up. The feud between Tony and Gino had intensified, to say the least.

And it escalated with two more killings on each side by the end of the week. A hanging button man of Gino's was discovered by joggers on Thursday morning in Prospect Park. Tony's top manager of all the whorehouses in the area of the Grand Concourse in the Bronx was pushed in front of the #3 Uptown local during Thursday evening's rush hour. The disgruntled passengers were none too happy about the delay in service.

On late Friday morning, another of Tony's men, a mid-level drug dealer was found overdosed in a crack house just off the Moshulu Parkway. It was obviously a gangland shooting by the amount of bills stuffed into the man's pockets and his tongue being removed. The other residents had to tell the cops about the money being there since it was long gone by the time they were called on the scene. The mumbling residents told the cops about the money but no one took credit for taking any of it. They just said others and wandered over and picked him clean. But, the cops were assured, it certainly was there at first, bulging out of this pockets in fat wads.

Friday evening concluded with a shooting in front of an expensive midtown Manhattan steakhouse where one of Gino's lieutenants had just concluded his $500 meal of delicious steak au poivre and an exquisite beaujolais nouveau with a brutal knifing in the men's room. A shocked 78-year old attendant dropped his cloth towels and "beat shoe leather" as they say while the dying man breathed his last phrase, "...and it was such a great meal.." to no one but the silent urinals.

His date, a lovely escort who'd been engaged for a full evening complete with sex in the Waldorf Astoria later on was forced to pay the tab and was most sincerely grumpy about the inconvenience.

* * *

That very night Tony took a call on his cell phone from New York City Police Captain Ryan O'Donnell who was argumentative and surly, an attitude he had rarely shown to the mob don over the years of their friendship.

"Dammit, Tony, things have gotten way out of hand, don't you know," the angry cop barked in his thick Irish brogue. "First we had ourselves a crime wave when Supergirl stopped patrolling the city and changed careers to be Super Slut. Then faith and begorrah if Wonder Woman herself doesn't follow the ditzy blonde's example of swallowing poles in every darlin' orifice she can manage. And now, my saintly mother forgive my language, you fuckin' mob guys are littering the streets with bodies left and right. People from City Hall to Albany to Washington are screaming in my ear and the Commissioner's, too, for the last three days. It's enough to try the patience of a saint, I tell you. And if you guys don't settle your hash, they'll be havin' my job and then where will ye be without my protection?"

"Settle down, you dumb mick. This thing will..."

"Don't you be tellin' me to be settlin' down, you greasy wop. I knew you when you were in knee pants. You're no better 'n me!"

"I'm just saying, Ryan, that this thing will be over in less than a week."

"And how would you be knowin' that, my dear Tony?"

"Because I'm going to end it."

"By killing Gino Lupenzo I'd be thinkin,' yes?"

"Nothing that drastic. We're just going to meet and try to come to an agreement."

"Sure 'n I know how that's likely to end," scoffs O'Donnell. "With bullets flyin' and more bodies."

"Not if I can help it," Tony replies.

"A week is a long time with people screaming in me ear, Tony. Can you do no better?"

"I'll try Ryan. And I'll hold my people off from their over-zealous behavior with Supergirl and Wonder Woman off the streets. Your crime wave won't be surging from my end of things."

"Well, that'll be a start. There were fifteen store robberies this week alone. And two dozen muggings. And the hookers are so thick on the streets you have to turn sideways just to get through 'em without catchin' the clap!"

"Do they even have clap anymore?" Tony tries to joke his boyhood friend out of his foul humor. "I thought it was high-grade STDs these days."

"Hey, there's nothin' wrong with a respectable case of the clap. Don't be looking down on the classics, me boy," the police captain replies, lightening up a bit.

"Hold the fort the best you can, Ryan. Stall the reporters and Albany and the mayor. This thing will be over soon. Create a fuckin' task force or something. Make it look like your making headway."

"I don't think I need you to be tellin' me how to be conductin' me business, laddie," growls O'Donnell. "Just get your end of things settled fast before I'm forced to make a move I don't want to make."

"That sounds very close to a threat, Ry."

"If you and your pal Gino don't stop killing your business associates, it'll be out of me hands, Tony. That's not a threat. That's a fact. And you be knowin' it better than I do, for sure."

"Fine, Ryan. I'll handle it ASAP."

"Thank you, Tony. And thanks for the donation to the Widows and Orphans fund."

"Both chapters?"

"Aye, both chapters received their checks. I've got to go now. The mayor of Gotham is in a snit about Batman or some other such shite! What a creepy hero that crazy bastard is, eh?"

"I'm glad he doesn't call New York his home. I hear he's incorruptible."

"Poor Mayor Gordon, the old fart!"

"Later, Ry," Tony says snapping his phone shut.

* * *

"This is Big Bryce Cannon on Sirius Channel 115: Hot Talk Radio. Tonight's topic is all about the lovely ladies who've gone from heroines to harlots. That's right folks, we're talking Supergirl and Wonder Woman. From bouncing bullets to bouncing boobies. From jailing thugs to inhaling drugs. From the topmost ranks to the lowest skanks. What's the story with these gals, huh? Call me at 1-800-HTR-7777 and let's talk trash about these heroic pieces of ass. Yvonne, you're up first on line one. Talk to me girl."

"Well Bryce I think it's just disgusting how these two cows have behaved over the years. I mean, I put up with their low-cut costumes and camel-toe nonsense up til now because, you know, they were doing some good for us regular folks. But now, with all the sex scenes and immoral behavior, I don't understand why they're not in jail. I mean, they block out the screen when it's on the news but you know damn well what those girls are doing! It's low behavior. That's what it is."

"The lowest, Yvonne. Hey, can I ask you, have you ever seen one of these heroines in person?"

"Not really. Just what I've seen on you know, the news and YouTube and such."

"Anybody who's actually seen one of these babes in the flesh, call in and let me know if they're really as sizzlin' as they look on the video. Smokin' hot bodies gone bad. You gotta love it. Chester, you're up. Speak your mind, guy."

"Yo, Bryce. Love the show."

"Thank you man. We try to provide. Make your point."

"Yeah, well, I ain't seen them up close either like, but I saw Supergirl flying way overhead one time, leavin' like one of them jet trail thingies. Does that affect, like, you know, the ozone? Can she be arrested for that maybe?"

"Yeah, I think that's just water vapor condensing from her speed I but I'm not sure. However, I wonder if, when she breaks the sound barrier, whether she might be also breaking some noise ordinances. That's something the cops can follow up on, if you boys in blue are listening out there. Trouble is, folks, nobody knows where these girls are being held, where they're shooting these videos. Nothin'. The cops are stumped. FBI. CIA. NSA. Nobody knows shit. Or maybe they do and just like it the way things are. Sick but possible. Riley, on line 4. What's the good word?"

"As a woman, I have to take issue with you, Bryce, about how you objectify women."

"Ah, Riley is a lady. My producer did not note that fact on my screen. Thanks for that, Lonnie. We'll talk after the show. Well, Riley, it seems to me the ladies have turned themselves into the hottest sex objects since Marilyn Monroe and Bridgett Bardo were strutting around in the 50s. Or Bo Derek and Terri Hatcher in the 80s or Angelina Jolie and Britney Spears...well, she's a bad example, but you get my drift. Women have been objectifying themselves forever because, shock of shocks, sex sells, sweetheart. These heroines knew it before they hit the skids. Just look at their costumes. You can't tell me they're designed that way simply for aerodynamic efficiency. Hold my balls and squeeze, Riley, because IT'S TRUTH TELLIN' TIME!"

In the studio, Big Bryce Cannon rings his gong to his famous catch phrase and the phones flicker in excited response. With the number four show in the overnight time segment he's pulling great numbers in a crowded market. And heading higher, especially when he trashes celebrities.

"But Bryce, these women have been abducted and forced to do these things beyond their will. I think we..."

"Riley, darlin' have you seen the footage of what these ladies are doin'?"

"..should give them the benefit of...."

"Have you seen their act, Riley? Yes or no?"

"...the doubt until their side of...."

"RILEY! THEIR ACT...HAVE YOU SEEN IT?

"But if they're under the influence of drugs and torture...."

"RILEY! SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE AND LISTEN!"

"..then they're really not acting in their right minds."

"RILEY! IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR TRAP, I'M CUTTING YOU OFF THE AIR."

"...is all I'm saying."

"Are you done?"

"For now."

"Have you actually seen the footage, Riley? The real footage on the Internet, not the blacked-out vanilla shit on the network news."

"Well, no. I haven't but..."

"I have seen it, Riley. I have. In fact, I've bought almost the whole Supergirl series and the first three Wonder Woman releases. So yes, I've seen them. In all their stop-motion, slow-motion, HD, close up and personal as a curly pussy hair glory, Riley. And let me tell you, nobody does what those ladies do without wanting to do it. Deep inside their heroic natures, these girls want to do some of these things, some of these things real bad."

"But if they were tortured..."

"REAL BAD, Riley. REAL BAD."

"We all have a sexual nature, Bryce. It's programmed into us through evolution. You can't fight that but..."

"I don't see them fighting it much at all, Riley dear. Not so effing much at all!"

"But under the drugs, too, you know..."

"Under the drugs, over the drugs, you know what I see, Riley?"

"You see what you want, Bryce."

"I see what they want, Riley. What they want! And you know what that is? It's BJs and Humpings and Anal, oh my! BJs and Humpings and Anal, oh my!"

"I'm just saying they probably were left no options..."

"Maybe not. Maybe so. But I see them exercising their options in all sorts of nasty ways and there's no other way to see it when you see it up close, sweetheart. IT'S TRUTH TELLIN' TIME! (Gong!) Thanks for calling in, Riley. Jeremy in Jersey, what's your take on all this?"

* * *

On Saturday morning, Supergirl is staring in the mirror. Her tired, vacant blue eyes are staring back at her. There's nobody there. Just someone going through the motions. Her limp hair dangles low, framing her face. Her mouth is filled with green foam, spilling out all over her lips in a froth of madness. Then she spits out the toothpaste and rinses, her head low over the sink. Her moment of reflection over.

Behind her, the faucet squeaks shut and Diana pulls open the shower curtain and steps out of the blue porcelain tub, her naked body glistening wet, shiny and pink from the hot water. The sighing Amazon reaches for a thick, huge white bath towel and begins rubbing off the excess drops covering her smooth flanks, her tight abs, her large wobbling breasts.

"You okay, Kara, sweetie? You look kind of down."

"Don't know why that would be," mutters the blonde as she steps back from Diana and pulls the teal silk teddy she'd been sleeping in over her head with crossed arms. She drops it off to the side behind the door, sidles by her suite mate, steps into the bathtub and turns on only the hot faucet. The water floods out, circling her pink polished toes with steaming hot waves. Kara pulls up the shower knob and the water halts its flood for a pause and then shoots it out from overhead, drenching the young blonde in scalding water. With her powers at their full measure, she doesn't even notice the heat, but the 110-degree water that splashes onto Diana's rump before Kara can draw the shower curtain pulls a yelp from the bent over Wonder Woman.

"Hey! Watch that! We're not all Kryptonians in this bathroom!"

"Oh, sorry, Di."

"What's the matter, Kar?"

"I just feel blue," the blonde answers through the curtain as she soaps up all over. "I know we agreed to not resist and everything. But we've been with, what, eight guys each over the past four days. I'm just sad about the whole thing." Rubbing her hand between her legs, Kara works the foamy lather into her crotch, swiping it all over her lower lips, through her pubic hair and around her inner thighs. "Just 'cause we agreed to do it, doesn't mean I have to like it."

"You think I like it?"

"No, of course not," Kara answers, standing under the rinsing spray now. "But you are a bit of a screamer when things get going."

Smiling as she works the towel through her toes, Diana replies, "Hey bitch, I'm not the one who keeps calling out, "Deeper, faster, oh yes, oh yes!"

A shy smile flickers on Kara's face now. "Well, we have to keep them happy. Make them think they're god's gift to women, don't we?"

"That's the plan," answers the raven-haired beauty as she wraps the towel around her lush locks and stands before the mirror in all her naked glory, inspecting the goods. Now that the beatings have stopped and she's been a good girl, her body is back to its magnificent self. She can feel the Amazonian power coiled in her thighs and arms. Turning halfway, she notes the taut ripples in her flexing glutes. But the power is also hidden by her curves, her grace and her bearing. And all this feminine beauty and strength has been used for nothing more than hard grinding sex for the last few days. What a waste!

What she wouldn't give to be sparring in the training grounds of Themyscira. Maybe she and Kara should start some sparring sessions so she doesn't lose her fighting edge. Of course they'd wreck the suite in ten minutes, so they'd have to find another place to do it. She'd ask Tony next time he came in.

Diana had to fight the wave of thoughtful sadness that her friend had generated. Maybe they'd get out of here someday, somehow. But it sure didn't seem like anybody was trying that hard to rescue them. She'd heard the whining cameras and seen the smirks on Sergei's and Carmine's faces after a session with one of the johns that had come through over the past few days. Kara had said that everything was being recorded and sold. Wonder Woman seethed suddenly at that thought. Her reputation was probably shattered for good. You couldn't be the Champion of All Women with the things she'd been doing with these men. Her mother may have already stripped her of the title if she knew.

Now it was Diana's turn to look in the mirror and see the wear and tear of their choice in those blue eyes. Once so proud, now they seemed flat and flawed, cowed with fear from the training by Sergei. The thought of him makes the Amazon's whole body shudder and she shakes her head to dispel the memories of the pain and humiliation.

"You think we should start having sparring sessions, to keep our edges up?"

"What's the point," Kara answers sullenly, twisting the faucet shut with a squeak. She had to control herself. She'd almost ripped the threads from the faucet in her flash of despair. She'd already done it once and had been cautioned by Sergei that "the collar" might have to be put on her full time if she couldn't control herself. The thought of 24/7 kryptonite radiation makes her shimmy with fear even now.

Kara draws the shower curtain open and the two naked women unexpectedly meet with their eyes, staring into each other's pained, frightened souls. Drawn together in misery, Kara steps out of the tub and Diana steps forward and the two naked champions press close together in a hug of mutual support. The water from Supergirl's body sluices down Wonder Woman's chest and thighs and slides down onto the tile floor, puddling there as the two women silently add to the moisture on their bodies with their tears.

* * *

Sergei stands somewhat tiredly at the check out counter in the CVS pharmacy on 161st Avenue, just off the Grand Concourse in the Bronx. At 7:30 in the morning he's one of only two patrons in the place. He's there to pick the NY Post and his carton of Kool menthol cigarettes. Outside, a steady rain grays the day, and streams down the front windows, fogged by the heat of the store. Behind him, a young mother in a bright green slicker kneels over the stroller her one-year old daughter is fussing in, having dropped her pacifier down next to her chubby thigh. Looking around, Sergei notes the attentive mom handing the baby back her pacifier then spots a tall bouquet of Slim Jims in a metal display stand off to the left. He reaches past her with a polite "Excuse me," plucks the long beef stick out of the arrangement and tosses it on the counter with his other stuff.

"Will that be all today, Sergei?" The Russian clerk has gotten to know his countrymen over the several months the mafia strongman has been coming into the store. Turns out they grew up in villages only 30 miles apart in the mother country. The clerk even knows about the man's reputation as "The Mad Russian Bear." That was from other Russians he lived with out in Canarsie. Nasty stuff, although the guy seemed quite calm actually all the times Arkadi had served him. Even last week, waiting in line behind some woman taking her sweet time with her lottery numbers, the Russian mobster had stood quietly by without a flinch of exasperation. Maybe the guy had slowed down over the years. Living on past glory.

"Dah, Arkadi. That will do." Sergei is looking at the back page of the newspaper. Derek Jeter is there, shown in his classic mid-leap throw to first base for a game-saving play that ended last night's contest and notched another win for the Yankees. The captain certainly was back to his old self. His hitting had come back and this back-handed stab at a ball that everyone thought was going to spike past him for a single was remarkable. It would have won the game for the Texas Rangers but Jeter's play was like a step back in time six years when the beloved Yankee could range right or left at shortstop and gather everything in with amazing grace.

"That was something to see," Arkadi says, seeing Sergei's eyes scanning the page. "Did you catch the game?"

"Nyet, I was busy with..."

The automatic doors slide open at the front of the store with a loud hiss and Sergei's eyes shift automatically over toward the sound. Two men in long black raincoats walk in, their hands low, hidden inside the flapping depths of their coats. But both men's hands are in motion and then so is Sergei. He takes an immediate step backwards and then another, putting the young mother and her baby between himself and the two men in black coats. The flash of gray steel emerges from the coats as the men raise their matching pistols.

Glocks. Gen4 22s. 17 in the clip. Nice hardware. Sergei bends slightly, reaches down and grasps the collar of the mother's bright green slicker in his left hand, hoisting the suddenly wide-eyed woman to her feet. His right hand is already behind his back, pulling out his Baretta PX4 Compact from the waistband. With a clip of 13 bullets, he's ready for anything, even if he has less in his clip and it's two against one.

Hesitant, the two shooters face Sergei with guns now level at their waists, pointed dead at him, through the woman of course.

"Noo! Not in my store!" Arkadi gasps.

"Ohgodno!" The mother blurts out, staring down in horror at her giggling brown-haired baby who's smiling up at her around her pacifier.

"Be calm to live, my dear," Sergei says, pulling on the straining woman's slicker, drawing her closer to him to block the oncoming fusillade.

"My baby..." The woman's arms reach down in supplication at her nearby infant and in total fright, the young mother helplessly wets herself. The sound of splashing liquid on pale blue vinyl flooring is the only noise in the place for a moment. Then one of the shooters speaks.

"Be a man and let her go, Sergei." The one on the left says this calmly as he pulls his gun higher and sights at eye height with two hands on his piece, aiming directly at Sergei's head.

"Dah, Sergei. Please," Arkadi urges over the sound of the whimpering woman, his hand motioning with an away gesture at the woman, "let her go." When Arkadi's other hand pulls up from behind the counter with a gun of his own, a cheap Saturday night special, Sergei flicks his wrist sideways and shoots the clerk in the heart. If the man hadn't said anything and just pulled his gun, he'd still be alive and Sergei might be the dead one.

The 40-caliber round jerks a loud grunt from the clerk and knocks him backward, smashing into the cigarette display behind the counter and scattering brightly-colored packs of cancerous death all over the place. Before the dead man hits the floor, Sergei's gun is aimed back at the two shooters.

The man with the bead at his head fires just as Sergei ducks sideways. The young mother hears the bullet whine past her ear but is astonishingly unharmed. But then the second shooter reaches his arm way out to the side and tries to shoot around her into Sergei's torso. The Russian yanks the woman sideways, closer to him and she takes the second shooter's bullet in the hip, spinning a quarter turn as she screams out in pain.

The baby reacts to this and starts crying even as Sergei puts a bullet into the shooter on the right who'd hit his human shield. The man yells out"Arghhh!" With his aim compromised by the weight of the woman in his grasp twisting his body, Sergei's bullet has gone slightly astray and his target's shoulder sports a blood-pumping bullet hole instead of his chest. Also, with her body starting to slump, the woman's effectiveness as a human shield is now compromised. Sergei propels her forward with a shove and the woman sprawls onto the floor before the two shooters. The inside of her green slicker is folded out showing a spray of blood from her hip wound but the woman just lies there, in shock for the moment but alive. Sergei uses the momentary distraction of this on the two shooters to physically lift the stroller, baby and all, and heave it sidearm at them with all his strength. The sight of the navy blue stroller flying straight at them scatters the two shooters, each off to his own side. One is hidden by a magazine rack, the other by the snack chip display.

The baby in the stroller is screaming bloody murder now as she lies trapped on her side in front of automatic doors that are opening and closing repeatedly with the weight of the baby stroller on the activation mat. With lungs like that, she's clearly not severely injured. To add insult to injury, rain is being blown into the miserable infant's face. Not that Sergei cares as he retreats backward until he squats down behind a shelf filled with toilet paper, napkins and tissues. A bullet passes through a four-pack of Charmin not five inches from him.

Not enough cover. Have to find canned goods. Crab-walking backwards to another aisle, Sergei comes to rest behind a shelf stacked deeply with canned fruit and vegetables. Better.

The woman on the floor is faint with loss of blood now and is weakly trying to get to her feet and reach the stroller five feet away from her. Just as she stands, Sergei pokes his head around the corner of his aisle and, for his effort, gets a bullet winging past his ear from the shooter behind the magazine rack. The one behind the snack chip aims as well, enjoying a clear shot at the head of the ducking Russian. Just as he fires the rising woman intercepts the bullet with her head and is flung backward onto the floor, bleeding profusely from a scalp wound through her thick brunette locks.

"Ooohhhhhh....nooooo....chrissie....my chrissie..." the woman moans, thinking herself to be dead in moments and weeping for her daughter's loss more than her own. The baby continues to scream as the rain pelts intermittently through the opening and closing doors.

In the parking lot outside, people are hearing shots inside the CVS and are calling 911 on their cell phones. Sergei knows he can't have much time to get away from this before cops start swarming the place. One of his assailants is wounded but neither is out of commission. Not good. Perhaps there is a back door.

Crab-walking backwards again, Sergei starts toward the rear of the building to make a judicious escape. Just then the sound of a can falling to the floor off to his left freezes the Russian.

A flanking maneuver, eh?

He repositions himself on his hands and knees and creeps stealthily toward the sound, going against good tactics in a two-man advantage. If the other man is flanking, which he probably is, he could be pinned in a cross-fire. Unless he moves quickly. Suddenly, crouching and rushing forward, Sergei dashes around the corner of the aisle and slides three feet to the side just as the shooter looks up into his eyes in shock. The deep knowledge of his own death is obvious in his eyes as Sergei shoots him point blank in the face then drops instantly to all fours and crawls back towards the rear of the building again.

He's at a pair of swinging double doors marked "Employees only" when a young kid in a red and white CVS apron comes walking out of them with a pair of headphones on, his head bopping to the music of his Ipod. Sergei stands up straight to draw fire now. And the second shooter stands up as well, two aisles away in the Cold Remedy section. The man fires just as Sergei spins behind the young man who is the Russian's third human shield in three minutes. The poor kid takes a bullet in the side of his neck with a surprised, "What the fuck! OWWW!"

Sergei backs into the rear storage area and sees an open bay door and a driver walking toward him from a CVS trailer he'd just backed in.

"Hey buddy, you the one who signs this?" The driver holds out an aluminum clipboard.

A police siren screams from nearby and the man turns his head in that direction. Sergei brings his hidden gun up from behind his leg and knocks the driver senseless. He dashes over to the still-running CVS truck, climbs in the cab, releases the brake and pulls away from the store just when four cops out front are spreading through the store and training their weapons on the second shooter who's raising his arms painfully and dropping his Glock to the blue linoleum. What a fucked up hit!

Two other cops are attending to the wounded woman and her screaming baby while another deals with the profusely bleeding employee in the rear. "We're gonna lose him if we don't get an ambulance here in four minutes," the cop wails applying as much pressure as he can to the neck.

Sergei pulls the tractor trailer onto the Grand Concourse heading north. He will ditch the rig in about two minutes and then call Tony with the bad news. No doubt the security camera caught everything. The Mad Russian Bear will have to disappear for a while.

End of Chapter 65

If you like this series or have feedback that you'd like to share, you can contact the author at drdominator9@live.com

Supergirl Captured by the Mob part 65