Important Note: The Supergirl character and all mentioned DC characters are properties of DC Comics. All are used herein exclusively for the purpose of parody. There are no claims of ownership of these characters and no profit will be seen from the publication of this work. All the other original characters in this story are the property of this author and any use of them requires permission from Dr. Dominator.
Chapter 1
Supergirl’s thoughts were a torrent of conflicting emotions: apprehension about the possible glitches that could happen during this crucial mission, excitement about the possibility of successfully rescuing 19 teenage girls from a sex slavery prison, a flush of embarrassment about having allowed three dildoes to be inserted into her mouth, vagina and rectum and a tinge of sexual pleasure at the thought of such devices within her. Clearly the actual dildoes were having no physical effect on her since she had all her super powers intact, but the mental thrill of every major orifice filled to capacity was giving her a slight buzz of interest.
Dressed in a tight-fitting yellow tube top and a chocolate brown miniskirt, yellow knee-high socks and low-heeled brown pumps, the attractive blonde lay completely still on her back within the foam-lined box in which she was tightly secured. With her hands at her sides, her wrists are tightly cinched with steel manacles that are clipped to the wide metal belt locked around her waist. Matching metal clamps surround her calves with a steel spreader bar keeping her legs a vulnerable two feet apart. Inside the large pine shipping box in which she’s been secured, Supergirl’s brown miniskirt is hiked up enough to reveal her bright yellow panties. The fabric is stretched out, highlighting with taut wrinkles the dildo buried between her thighs. Unseen beneath her, her panties bulge slightly in the back as well, the dildo there poking out two inches against the soft yellow fabric. Her mouth, too, is filled by short four-inch red rubber dildo that is strapped securely around the back of her head. A thin cylinder with a purple iced solution occasionally sends a pulse of cold liquid down the throat of the immobilized woman.
Standing over the seemingly unconscious beauty is a large cornfed middle-American male with muscles bulging through his tight black t-shirt. Black chinos and black sneakers complete his wardrobe. He sports brush-cut blond hair and a thick nose that had been broken somewhere in his past. Only in his mid-20s, the overall effect gives the young man roguish good looks that are a big help in his profession. He charms the ladies before he surprises them with his cruel abduction plans.
Looking down at his lovely prize with concern, Derek Gray pushes his hand into the tight area of foam pressed up against the blonde teen’s thigh, feeling around for something important that had gone missing. The other three captives had already been secured with their tops locked on the pine shipping boxes. Each of the three girls already had all their special inserts prepared and locked into each dildo’s crevice. These drug-infused inserts assured a trouble-free transit after his crew loaded the four containers on the plane for the short flight to the island prison to which these new “recruits” were headed.
“Well, what the hell happened to that third narco-pulse insert we had ready for you, Miss Chambers?”
“Forget about it, Derek, says the red-headed pilot nicknamed “Crash” Dolan. “Takeoff is scheduled in 10 minutes. You know this client is crazed about punctuality!”
“I know it’s only a two-hour flight, Crash,” the hulking blond laments, “but I sure would feel better if this bitch’s a-hole was filled with the same insert the rest of this girls have. Better to be safe than sorry, right?”
“Well, I’m going wheels up in 10 whether her butt’s got her druggy load or not!” Crash headed toward the cockpit to do his pre-flight check. Not finding the missing insert anywhere inside the box, Derek pulls out his hand, frowns and stalks off quickly toward the rear of the plane where the supply chest is located.
It won’t do you any good even if you find it, Derek. You’re dealing with Supergirl here…not some helpless coed. And when we get to the destination and I’m brought before the mastermind behind this enterprise, people are going to pay for all the brutality you’ve unleashed upon all those innocent girls!
Thinking of that, Supergirl calms herself with a quick meditative adjustment to enhance her feigned unconsciousness. For now, she simply needs to pretend to be Chrissy Chambers, lacrosse scholarship beauty from Stanhope College and the twentieth victim of a nasty sex trafficking ring. Slowing her heart rate, the young heroine feels intermittent pulses as the icy gelatin inserts in her mouth and vaginal dildoes are delivered into her body. Designed to incapacitate the girls in transit with a pulse of drug every three minutes, the cold toxic liquid has no effect on the Maid of Steel whatsoever. If anything, the cool liquid doses are a bit refreshing. Supergirl knows however that her three other boxed friends on this flight are completely out of it and the heroine thinks back to what brought her to this precarious circumstance in the first place….
Deborah Collins had been smart enough and lucky enough to escape the sex traffickers a month earlier. By then, she’d been missing for eight months, taken off the campus of Stanhope, Chicago’s upscale suburb that was home to a highly-respected small college of the same name. Four Chicago area colleges had suffered similar disappearances over the course of a year and a half with a total of 16 coeds gone missing. A task force had been organized by Chicago PD but despite a flurry of administrative activity, significant funding and police shoe leather, there hadn’t been any significant breaks in the case until Deborah Collins showed up back at Tipsters, a popular bar just south of the Maywood campus of Loyola University. Bedraggled and confused, she was helped by the bartender who took the lovely young woman to the campus clinic. They reported her arrival to the police and, since she was deemed one of the missing girls, the task force shepherded to their headquarters and proceeded to debrief her about the hellish nightmare of her existence since her disappearance eight months earlier.
It was a tale of horror that the distraught young woman had explained in detail. Or at least with as much detail as she could recall. The capture had been a stupid mistake on her part. She been in a nasty verbal confrontation with her boyfriend and subsequently had stormed out to Tipster’s bar and order several rounds of drinks. It was on a trip to the ladies’ room where she was accosted by good-looking guy with bad manners. They had barely got into a verbal altercation when she suddenly felt a sting to her hip and some other male stranger, clearly a cohort in retrospect, had one arm around her waist while his other arm circled her upper torso even as his hand was squeezing her tit. Deborah struggled valiantly but felt very faint all too quickly and passed out in the second man’s arms.
The next thing she knew she was bound in chains inside a foam-lined pine box with a dildo shoved into her mouth, her cooz and up her rear end. She barely regained consciousness before she went under again. When she awoke, she had been delivered to a humid locale in the middle of the ocean wearing nothing but a silver halter top, matching hot-pants and silver sandals. That was when the indoctrination began. The full debriefing had been taped by the task force. Deborah had even worked with a police artist to help create likenesses of the two men who abducted her in Tipsters but nobody recognized the drawn portraits and they came up blank on the national facial recognition database. After two weeks of frustration, the task force called in Supergirl. Could she act as bait and possibly stop these abductions by tracing the ring back to its leadership. There was a big risk here but so many girls had gone missing and the media finally put the stories together that the pressure to get results ramped up significantly. Supergirl agreed. Naturally, she didn’t like the idea of subjecting herself to such indignities as the dildoes described by Deborah Collins but if it meant breaking up this horrific ring, she would acquiesce to the humiliation if it meant being taken to the ring leaders.
They would be quite shocked to find who was the hunted and who the hunter.
Just as another pulse of icy drug spits down her throat and up into her vagina, the Maid of Steel hears the thug Derek walking back to her.
“Yes! Found an extra one. Lucky for me,” Derek declares. “Now we’ll have a truly quiet transit to Harmony Island with you drugged to the gills.” Derek grabs the spreader bar with one hand and lifts the limp beauty’s legs high in the air, exposing the full crotch of the maiden’s yellow panties, both bulges showing. “After that, you can get busy learning your new life as a high-end whore for the privileged elite upper crust. Only the finest looking girls will do for these one percenters!” Supergirl uses every ounce of willpower not to flinch or give away any semblance of consciousness. She feels the man’s hand pull aside the gullet of her panties, exposing both dildoes. She feels the plastic insert bump against the edge of the dildo before it is properly centered. The insert is then cleanly slid forward, nesting inside the dildo with a quiet affirmative click. The spreader bar is dropped and Supergirl’s legs flop back into the preformed foam area allotted to them.
“There, that’s the final fail-safe in place,” Derek beams. “Now everything’s tightly snug and doing it’s job, eh, girlie girl?”
As if, jerk! When we land at our destination, it won’t be long before…be..fore….whuh? Weak? Sleepy? How can…?...
Supergirl’s body jerks in place she tries to lift her upper body out of the tightly-constraining foam all around her but Derek’s right hand is pressing down hard on her chest, palming her left breast. His left palm grips hard on the spreader bar pushing downward with all his might.
“Uh, uh, Supergirl. That’s about nine doses by now of NarcoStun already delivered into your system, champ. Along with a special final dose of liquified kryptonite to ensure it all works perfectly!”
Faint, confused and far too weak from the toxic tranquillizing infusion in all three orifices, the powerful blonde beauty is overwhelmed by Derek’s leverage against her and the final surprise of the day.
“That’s nth metal for you, you moronic bitch. You ain’t getting out of these restraints. Man, you were just too easy!”
That’s the last thing Supergirl hears before she slides deep into a black of hole of despair and nothingness.
Chapter 2
Disoriented, exhausted and achy all over, Kara blearily raises her head with a quiet groan. Face down on a cushioned table, the once-mighty blonde heroine notices through half-lidded eyes that she is wearing her Supergirl costume and that her wrists are shackled to the top corners of the table.
…wasn’t in costume b’fore…how’d dat happen?
A fat pillow under her pelvis hikes her butt into the air as the familiar sensation of debilitating kryptonite radiation floods every muscle. Even the energy to raise her head drains her. Her forehead drops to the cushion with a noticeable thump.
“She’s conscious.”
“Already? Man, she’s got some constitution, this bitch! It’s too early. Dose her out again.”
Kara feels someone from behind her use a warm palm to pull wide her left ass cheek. Some sort of device is quickly screwed onto the exposed end of the anal dildo embedded deep in her cavity. She helplessly tries to wriggle away but the palm firmly squeezes her left buttock and pins her in place.
“No super powers, blondie. Don’t bother trying. You’re ours now!” The voice is unfamiliar to Kara but the menace comes through.
Suddenly, a tiny sting deep in her rear jerks the helpless beauty’s body forward with a rough grunt.
“That will shut you down for a few more hours, champ,” the menacing voice declares. “Try not to drool too much, eh,” he adds with a chuckle. He lets the red panties snap back in place over the specially designed butt plug and its attachment. The wireless device stretches out the silky fabric noticeably. A hand caresses the butt cheek and hikes the red skirt up a bit higher, showing off Supergirl’s very exposed crotch.
…perverts…too well prepared…fur me…gotta bide…my tiiiii…uuugghhnnn…
A hard wave of dizziness overwhelms the girl from the stars and her eyes flutter rapidly as she passes out cold from the drugged mini-dart shot up her butt.
In a room not far from where the heavily drugged Maid of Steel lies in a limp dreamless state, three men confer around a large dark walnut conference table. Paintings by world famous artists adorn the walls of the elegant room with an original garden pond artwork by Monet holding the prominent position behind a man with a mane of silver hair. His dark blue suit with its tiny burgundy pinstripes and matching pocket handkerchief costs almost as much as the table at which he sits. His face is uncharacteristically smiling at the other two men sharing the table with him.
“So, everything went exactly as we planned,” gloated Clayton Hughes. The billionaire shipping magnate nodded at his sole heir, Russell Hughes. Russ gestured at Derek Gray, the wet work expert who’d taken down Supergirl back at the storage facility near Stanhope College.
“Derek’s success rate with our sex worker procurement has been 100%, including Super Cunt herself!”
Gray’s blue eyes gleamed at the success but he carefully deferred the acclaim back to Hughes Senior.
“Well, it was your plan that deserves the kudos, Mr. Hughes. It was a trap masterfully set by your use of Deborah Collins. They bought her story lock, stock and barrel, from her terrifying escape story right down to the use of three dildoes to ensure that Supergirl would have to subject herself to that for the undercover operation to work.
“I was pretty proud of that,” Clayton smiles. “We’d never used it before but I wanted some sort of failsafe for our special guest."
“It worked like a charm, Dad,” Russell Hughes noted. “Derek said he couldn’t believe it worked so fast.”
“It’s true,” Derek affirmed. “Once we planted those in her, adding the kryptonite NarcoStun serum to her butt plug sealed the deal. She went out almost immediately. And she was fine during transit to the island as well.”
“If it was that effective with not just her but the other three girls shipped with her, we should consider expanding the procedure on an international scale.”
“I’m all over that,” Russ declares. “Consider it done.”
“Good,” Hughes Sr. said. “And where do we stand now with our special guest and the rest of the shipment? Since she’s undercover, she must have some way to communicate back to her team once she takes us out…” Clayton’s self-satisfied smirk is too obvious to ignore and the two other men chuckle along at the concept and Supergirl’s surprise failure. “Have you found her device she’ll use once she rescues all 20 sex workers on our little island here.” The sarcasm is obvious.
Russ fields this question since he’s second in command for all the island’s operations. “As far as the three other students we took from the Stanhope area, they’re all about to awake in their training cells, very disoriented and very confused, as per usual.”
“Yes, yes, and Supergirl’s communication device?” Clayton asks impatiently.
“We’ve ransacked the heroine’s purse that she took with her to the storage facility but we haven’t quite found the communication device yet,” Russell admits to the frowning face of his father. “We found her full costume and boots as we all anticipated. It was in a false bottom of the purse. We dressed her in her full costume, Dad.”
“Why would you do that? It’s going to give her a sense of power and emotional support. I don’t like it!”
“Hear me out, please,” Russell says with a cool serenity he doesn’t quite feel. “We have subdued this supposed champion completely. What’s more, we have in our means the ability to continually maintain her in a state of helplessness. By that, I mean severely handicapped both physically and mentally. Derek and I thought it would be a powerful emotional jolt of reality for all our sex workers to see the famous Supergirl so badly abused right before they’re eyes. If she can’t defeat us, what hope will they have. They’ll all be kept in line much more easily, we believe.”
“Hmmm,” the silver-maned scion taps his fingertips together, considering the risks. After a moment, he breaks into a smile. “I like it! Good thinking, gentlemen! Also, it will be an even more effective demotivator when we beat the answer out of her of where that communication device is and crush it right in front of everyone.
“Yes, that would be a very effective teachable moment, I’d say,” smirks Derek Gray.
“Indeed,” Russell smiles back. “Of course, I’m thinking Bruno should put his enforcer skills to this task.
“Who better?” Clayton smile is broad but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “When can we get this underway?”
“We have a few minor details to attend to, but I’d say a few hours should work. About 2 pm.”
“Excellent! Let’s have lunch now then,” Clayton suggests. “I’ve had chef prepare a special meal as a celebration of our successful endeavor so far.”
It’s only 75 minutes after being darted that a dazed Supergirl struggles into a very weak state of consciousness. A puddle of drool caught in a cushion seam lingers in a shimmying circle beneath her slack lips.
…whuhh….where’m i…wuz hap’nin’…?...
She barely registers being awake before the sensor lead stuck to her temple signals to a biorhythm monitor that a specified level of brain activity has been reached. This activates its programming which results in a coding subroutine that triggers the anal dildo targeting program. Consequently, Supergirl anus receives a second mini-dart of NarcoStun.
“Guunnhh!” Supergirl grunts and jerks in place. The tenuous consciousness which she struggled to attain is drenched in a thick wave of unavoidable exhaustion and confusion. The powerful heroine’s brain and body are forcibly submerged into a drugged darkness of untold depth yet again.