Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 10  

I hope you enjoy the tenth installment of this Wonder Woman story. I look forward to your comments at drdominator9@live.com

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

Previously in Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer....

Her body was in revolt from everything she’d put it through. And now she was in a knife fight.

“I still have enough strength to deal with a lightweight like you, Pascal.”

“Big talk from a woman who can barely keep her teats covered up.”

They circle each other carefully, Pascal searching for thrusting opportunities, Wonder Woman trying to calculate her counterstrike options. When Pascal lunges forward with a hard jabbing thrust of his blade, Wonder Woman easily blocks it with her bracelet and swings her leg up to strike at his head. She’s too slow to connect and they continue to face off against each other. Another thrust by Pascal and another parry by Wonder Woman. But she is feeling queasy again as her energy reserves are almost all tapped out. When Pascal feints a third thrust, Wonder Woman throws a high kick at his wrist and shockingly he drops the knife completely and grabs her ankle, stepping into her and lifting her right leg up high. Off balance, the mighty Amazon takes a series of four short right jabs to her face from Pascal that snaps her head sideways, stops all thoughts, bloodies her nose, splits her lip and smashes into her eye. Dazed and defenseless, Wonder Woman sways in place, her arms hanging heavily at her sides, only held up by Pascal’s grip on her ankle and his hand on the front of her bustier. Once again, he yanks it down around her waist and Wonder Woman’s breasts are exposed.

“Are you not getting tired of losing to me, cherie?”

Her eyelids heavy, her expression dulled by pain and fatigue, the mighty Wonder Woman sags forward into Pascal’s hold. He smiles at her, bends down and picks up his knife from the storage room floor. Then he backs her up to a wall and pins her there.

“I think it is time to alter your costume, cherie. I don’t think you’re showing enough skin.”

Helpless, a dazed and beaten Wonder Woman, her face bruised and battered lifts one dreary eyebrow and mutters a dumbstruck “Whuhh?”

And now, the tale continues...

The mighty Amazon warrior slouches in the grip of the delighted French professor, her naked tit palmed firmly in his right hand as her booted ankle is held up high in his left. Balancing on one leg, her face bloodied, her lip split in two places, and her eyes blurry with fatigue, Wonder Woman is in very bad shape. She gives Pascal a trembling sneer but there’s nothing behind it to back up the contempt. She feels physically spent.

“I do not know whether to give you credit for your valor, Wonder Woman, or blame you for your incredible stupidity not to realize that you’ve been beaten.”

“...prefer...the credit...”

Pascal slowly squeezes the firm flesh of her heavy breast with a casual, possessive familiarity that fills Wonder Woman with shame. Her bloody lower lip drips onto her chin as her assailant’s fingertips dimple into her breast, creating white stress points as he works her bared chest with haughty impunity. Her left eye is half closed from the punches and her head circles heavily on her tired neck.

Pascal smiles at her in a way that conveys not a scintilla of warmth or concern. “But of course you would like me to think the best of you. Nevertheless, I think I am going to have to go with stupidity, cherie. I mean, a superheroine with her tit being fondled and her face a battered mess from her foe with no hope left in sight; what in heaven do you think will happen here that will save the day?”

“Your stupidity.”

The sudden power surge from Wonder Woman’s belt couldn’t come at a more opportune time. Her eyes brighten and her muscles fill with renewed vigor. Pascal sees it a fraction of a second too late. She twists violently in his grip, her breast yanking free of his right hand, her ankle pulling out of his left. She is free of him as her leg drops to the floor and she turns halfway to him. She jolts out her hip with a vicious thrust, knocking him back several steps.

Taking advantage of the distance, she snaps a stiff boot heel to her adversary’s chest and enjoys the sound of his harsh grunt as he falls backward onto his rear end, in wide-eyed shock and pain. A mule-like kick from an Amazon was no small thing. Even a depleted Amazon on her last reserve demanded respect and wariness and cunning responses. And Pascal would be sure to give her all that just as soon as he steadied himself. His palms spread against the floor, bolstering him as he slouches with the back of his head almost touching the floor as he tries to gather his senses and breath.

Wonder Woman watches her stunned adversary with great satisfaction as she pulls up her bustier with both hands, covering the bottom halves of her large breasts, and unrolling the frayed hem of it to cover as much of her deep cleavage as the tight material will allow.

Damn this bitch. I’ve been too easy on...

The left cross from Wonder Woman arcs down from overhead and slams into his cheek and drives Pascal flat to the floor. His eyes glaze over, his equilibrium gone with a wave of dizziness. All thoughts are nullified for the moment.

“UUUNNGHH!”

“Underestimate me at your peril, Frenchman. You will find me no hothouse rose that needs special care and concern. I am a wild rose with sharp thorns that protect me from greedy fingers like yours. They’ll be no plucking of this beauty for you, Pascal!”

“...nasty cunt....will teach you manners yet...” gasps out Pascal, glaring up at her from under furled eyebrows, his blonde hair hanging in his eyes, disheveled and sweaty.

“It’s time for us to see the police, Pascal. You have three heroines to answer for and I mean to see you serve your time in a cage for the rest of your life.” Reaching down, Wonder Woman grabs the dazed and bleary scientist by the collar and hoists him to his feet, commanding him simultaneously, “Get up!”

“I swear to you, there will be no cage for me, Princess,” hisses Pascal as he is roughly straightened up in place despite his wobbling knees and uncertain stance.

“Were it not for my own code of honor, doctor, I’d just as soon guide your private tour through Hades’ realm and leave you to him in his eager hands, forever tortured. Stand up straight, you miserable cur. I am no leaning post!”

Slumping against Wonder Woman’s side, the slack Frenchman suddenly swings his elbow up, his right forearm fiercely driving upward. The knife he’d retrieved from the floor and hidden from her view with his body jolts harshly into the unwary beauty’s left side and she grunts in surprise and pain.

“GHUNNNHH!”

The wide-eyed heroine falters in place, stunned at the sudden turn of events, glancing down in disbelief. She sees the knife yanked out and, unreasoning and dazed, watches with other-worldly disengagement as it immediately plunges into her same side again, four inches to the side of the original wound, just over the top edge of her magic girdle.

“HUUNNHHH!”

And now it is Wonder Woman wavering weakly against a stronger, steadier Pascal. Her left hand releases the grip on his collar and falls down his back to hang loosely in place. Her body hangs against his briefly, her taller height heavy against him, her chin on his shoulder. Then he pushes her away from him and takes a step back. Wonder Woman’s knees give way completely and she pitches forward to the floor, badly wounded from two severe stab wounds.

"No bracelets fast enough to protect you from that serpent’s bite, eh, sweet thing?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh...." the long moan of pain from the prostrated heroine is muffled as her face is pressed against the cold concrete. And her sweat makes the coldness all the more real. The mighty Amazon is truly helpless at Pascal's feet now. There will be no more heroic comebacks from her. She is lost in a fog of pain, confusion and trembling, spastic fear.

Pascal kneels down beside the limp, groaning female warrior and turns her over. Her arms flop like a broken marionette. Her face glows with a sheen of beaded sweat as harsh lines in her grimacing face erase all beauty for now. Her face, framed with raven black hair, is taut with agony, her eyes wild with surprise and fear.

"Yes, Wonder Woman. No one cages me. But you, you will feel the full strength of unbreakable restraints that will bend this lovely body of yours to my every desire. I will open you like a flower, my pretty prize, and yes, pluck you exactly as I wish. This was ever so ordained and will be carried forth despite what you wish for, no matter how loudly you pray to your gods, whatever you plead, your voice might just as well be silent for you will not be heard. Will not be answered. Will not be spared. This is my vow to you. My Marie demands it!"

"Ohhhhhh," It is all the moaning Wonder Woman can manage as she is dragged to her feet and swung hard against the wall, her back thumping against it first and then her head. Her beautiful blue eyes are dull with pain and bereft of intelligence for now. At her side, the blood from two nasty knife wounds steadily drips down her hip and then falls to the cement floor, spotting it with tiny novas of exploding red suns. And each and every impact of those fiery red drops further drains the famous heroine of her strength, her will, her courage.

"So, I was just about to exercise a bit of fundamentally embarrassing costume redesign before we were so rudely interrupted. Let us get to that, shall we?"


When Sal and Jimmy finally arrive in the large open space of the warehouse, they see tables with leather straps, overturned benches, debris and other signs of conflict. Realizing the place is deserted, they holster their guns and look around at all the chaos around them.

“This looks like the place where Destiny and Battle Axe went at it,” says Abato. “She sure didn’t give up without a fight, that’s for sure. But I don’t see any blood around. And you don’t cut a guy in half without it being pretty fucking messy, so the question is, was anyone else here besides those two who cleaned up after the fact? Like the registered owner of this place, Rene Pascal?”

“It’s possible I guess,” Jimmy replies. “I’ll have a look around and see if there’s anything that proves he was here when it went down.”

“Yeah, we got a circumstantial connection so far, but it is pretty strong. Of course, he could have just let Battle Axe use his place. That big guy is still our prime suspect in the killings. I don’t see some professor being able to take out three super-powered heroines. Let’s see what we find.”

“Sure thing. Meanwhile you can tell me who Wonder Woman really is.”

“Not going to happen, Jimmy,” scowls Sal. “Keep your eye on the ball and let’s solve this case, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” murmurs Glendennan who wanders over to the bondage table and scans it for remnants of fabric or hair. “We should probably have the lab guys come in here and go over this place with a fine tooth comb.”

“Absolutely, right after we see if there’s anything obvious to follow up on,” answers Sal who eyes the huge dent in the sidewall and shakes his head.

What the hell went down here? And who were the parties involved?


Wonder Woman sags inertly against the wall as Pascal grasps her hair in a clump with his left hand and holds her in place. Her palms hang listlessly at her sides as the whites of her eyes show prominently. Her blue irises have slid far up under her lids and the famous Amazon is slack jawed in confusion from the beating she’s been handed and the stabbing she’s suffered.

Pascal’s right hand wields a knife, it’s blade almost completely covered in his palm. Pushing his hand between the slippery sheen of her breasts, Wonder Woman’s leering foe slowly slides his fist into the ample cleavage of the slouching raven-haired heroine. When he reaches her sternum, Pascal then carefully works the blade forward, pressing it against the fabric from the inside. The razor-sharp blade easily pokes through the red satin and then, turning his wrist slightly, the smiling Frenchman slowly draws the knife upward toward the uncomprehending Wonder Woman’s face.

The glinting steel edge catches the light as it makes its way up toward the ragged top of the famous bustier. The fabric falls off to both sides, moving away from the blade as it rends the costume into a split and useless mess. Sliced down the middle, from her upper rib cage up, the garment is now completely incapable of supporting the large fleshy globes within. They bounce free and clear, bobbing and swaying in the open air. The full, wide waist of the bustier keeps the garment from falling off the statuesque body, but the fabric flaps wide open, draping off to both sides to reveal the amazon’s statuesque figure in all its glory. Pascal’s eyes gleam with delight.

“This tawdry costume is nothing but a sad remnant of your once glorious history, Wonder Woman. I have damaged it as badly as I have damaged you. It is only fitting that it should be treated as a pathetic scrap, a suit of rags that identifies you as the conquered champion you now are.”

“Uuughnnnnn... whazzat? Whut?” The Champion of All Woman feels even woozier from the wounds she’s sustained as well as the enema stick suffusing her body with a cornucopia of drugs that draws her strength out of her like a drain tube out of a boil. She sags lower against the wall and Pascal has to lift her up by the hair to keep her knees from touching the cement floor.

“Stand up, you pathetic slut. I know you have it in you somewhere. You are supposed to be a hero, right?”

“...thought....so....”

Pascal’s eyebrows lift instantly at this surprising admission from the beautiful woman sagging heavily in his grip. His eyes narrow, searching to see if she’s trying to trick him but the frowning mouth and the defeat in her pain-filled eyes tells him he’s reached the moment of his dream. Wonder Woman is defeated and in his grasp.

“Well, you obviously thought wrong, bitch.” He gives her a hard backhand slap that knocks her face sideways with a jerk. “Now stand up, you pathetic skank. I am going to teach you a long-deserved lesson in humility and you are damn well going to learn it for good!”

With her ass pressed against the wall to keep herself from sliding down its cool cement surface, Wonder Woman’s legs try to straighten out so she can rise up and reclaim some measure of dignity. Trembling calves strain and shake until she is able to slowly push herself up by her wobbling legs and straining palms so that her eyes at least even with Pascal’s. Though she’s taller than he is in her heels, she can’t push herself any higher and wearily looks straight into the smirking Frenchman’s face.

“You’ll be...caught...Pascal...” she says, her eyes heavy as the drugs and all the effort to stand steadily draw down her reserves.

“That very well may be. But not by you, Wonder Woman. You are going to join your little friends in the ‘I’m a Dead Ass-Fucked Heroine’ Club. No better off than them. No smarter. No less humiliated. Probably more humiliated, I would say since you have not put up nearly the fight I had expected from you. You are about to be shown to be nothing more than an over-rated cock jockey. I will be showing the world just how weak-willed and slutty you actually are, cherie. It will be quite a show!”

“Wh...what are you...planning, Pascal?”

Just a little private showing of the famous Champion of All Women taking a cock in each and every hole – one by one – and loving every minute of it. I would imagine just a few interested parties would be eager to see that, yes? Perhaps a few million paying for the right to view it via the Internet.”

“No! You...you...can’t...wouldn’t....”

“Wouldn’t? You do not know me very well, mon cherie. But of course I would. You do realize that I have been planning this for years, no?”

“Devil’s spawn! You’ll not succ....EEEEYAAGGHH!”

Wonder Woman’s effort to surge forward and strike his face is stunted instantly by a set of jabbing fingertips to her knife wounds that have her doubled over and shrieking in agony. Her eyes tear up and drop salty diamonds onto the floor as she gasps and shakes, bent over in front of Pascal, both hands clutching her side.

“That was quite stupid of you, hero. Did you really think I would not anticipate your foolish bravado? And why would I not, especially since I so blatantly coaxed it from you? I am four chess moves ahead of you at every step, Wonder Woman. Do you not yet comprehend this simple fact?”

“...you.........egotistical...little....UUUNNGHH!”

The short hard jabbing fist to her sternum jolts the Amazon princess backward hard against the wall, butting her head there and stunning her into silence.

“Stand still, you dumb cunt. I am the one teaching you a lesson. The student does not talk while the lesson is in progress. The student learns by listening and obeying, yes?”

The knife suddenly at her jugular has the panting Wonder Woman wide-eyed and tensely obedient.

“Yes,” she replies softly.

“Good,” smiles Pascal. “Now I believe it is time to shred your dignity completely.”

Her eyes bulging, Wonder Woman watches in horror as the razor sharp point of the knife in Pascal’s hand moves slowly down her neck and through the wide passage of her sweaty cleavage until it passes across her midriff. It is there that the point catches against the remaining fabric of her bustier. His other hand gently pulls out the fabric as the knife edge easily slices the smooth, shiny red material asunder. The bustier is sliced all the way to her belly button, parting her tunic like Moses parted the Red Sea. Only the very thinnest band of tight red satin clings to her body. And Wonder Woman’s famous top now hangs from her torso like a frayed and tattered rag. The golden eagle is gone. The taut fabric is now crumpled in sagging disarray about her hips. It drapes loosely over her thighs, a mortifying symbol of her utter defeat. Her hands are fisted at her hips as the Amazon hangs her head in disgrace. Her panting breaths of fear and anguish create a fast rising and falling symphony of shame even as the mighty curves of her naked breasts quiver and tremble under Pascal’s self-satisfied stare.

“Now that is how an Amazon should be displayed. Teats showing, head hung low, the very picture of humiliation.”

“...so help me...” murmurs Wonder Woman.

The crack of his backhand against Diana’s face knocks her sideways and she falls down to one knee, her cheek blazing with the slap, her eyes widened by absolute shock as she looks up from her crouching stumble.

“Mind your tongue, whelp. I will tell you when you can speak to me.”

“I am no man’s whelp and will speak as I pl...UUNNNHH!”

The hilt of the knife cracking down on the crown of Wonder Woman’s head knocks her to all fours. She wobbles there before Pascal on the storeroom floor in a stunned daze from the blow, moaning softly and trying not to collapse further.

“A slow student indeed. What’s the expression? ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’ Well, I will not be accused of being too lenient in my teaching regimen.” With that, Pascal gives the tottering Amazon another harsh crack on the top of her head. The beauty collapses to her elbows with her wide rear end raised high in the air.

“....uuuuugghhhnnnnnnnnn...” Too foggy and confused to do anything but moan and keep from falling face forward into unconsciousness, the mighty Wonder Woman doesn’t even realize that Pascal is circling around behind her. She is certainly too out of it to prevent him from grasping her butt cheek, pulling away a generous stretch of blue spandex and slicing a neat crescent in her briefs that reveals the pink crease of her right butt cheek as the material snaps back in place. He casually repeats the maneuver with her other buttock and Wonder Woman is far too dazed to fend off the second rending of her famous white-starred briefs. Pascal surveys the effect and is most pleased with the ample half-moons exposed through the famous heroine’s costume panties. With those rents along with the ragged hole created by the acid, Pascal has an unimpeded view of every inch of Wonder Woman’s nether charms. From fatty labial lips to puckered anus, the Champion of All Women has no secrets left to hide before the triumphant Frenchman. It’s all his to survey at his pleasure and with the mighty Amazon wavering before him on her elbows, her mind stunned into incoherence, Pascal admires it all with a surging flow of satisfaction.

“My sweet Marie. See how I have reduced the famous Amazon to a helpless, teetering turtle, about to be turned on its shell. Your vengeance is very near, my sister. So very near.”


Jimmy Glendennan wanders over to a six-foot long workbench along a side wall. There are rings from bottles spotting the wood grain in many places along the length of the table. Some are stains from long ago while others seem still fairly recent. Jimmy bends down and sniffs the tabletop.

“These stains seem pretty new, Sal. It smells pretty strong all around here but I don’t have a clue as to what he was using.”

“We’ll have to leave that to the lab guys,” Abato replies, searching through the stacks of pallets 25 feet away for clues. “Maybe it’ll be a chemical that ties it into the deaths of one of those heroines. That’ll be another link in the evidence chain.”

Suddenly peering down at the cement floor of the huge warehouse, Abato sees a shining dark brown spot between his shoes. He kneels down and examines it closely. He dabs at it with his finger and brings it toward his face to sniff.

“Chocolate? And some kind of chemical after-scent. This case is getting stranger and... hello, what’s this?”

Pulling a piece of heavily folded paper from under the edge of a pallet, the big detective straightens out the paper and reads it slowly. After a moment, a smile forms on his face.

“It looks like our friend Battle Axe did have a helper,” Abato says, walking over toward Glendennan and waving the heavily-creased paper in the air. “But I don’t think it’s this guy Pascal at all. He may just be some dupe that Axe had under his thumb. Let’s get out of here, Jimmy. We’ve got to go down to Alexandria and see a Mr. Parsons.”

“Virginia? Jeez, Sal, even on a Sunday afternoon that could take us over an hour.”

“Even so, we gotta go. This guy could break the case wide open for us.”

“What have you got there?” Jimmy reaches for the paper that Sal hands over to him. His eyes scans the sheet and he looks up after reading and lets out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a hell of a thing. I guess we’re going to Alexandria,” the Irishman says, handing the paper back to his partner. “Should I call the lab guys in to scope this place?”

“Let’s move on this now. If this Parsons guy can’t give us the answers then we can spend the taxpayers dollars. For now, we’ll play it close to the vest,” Sal suggests.

“That works for me.” Jimmy looks around. “Boy, these super hero guys sure play rough.”

“And so do their enemies, it seems. Let’s roll, partner.”

The two detectives head out of the cavernous space and back through the maze until they reach the front door. Closing it with a hard shove so that the warped frame finally lets the metal door screech into place, Sal Abato then gets into the car across the street and the team drives away towards Alexandria at a brisk speed.


Wonder Woman is on her back on the floor of the storeroom in Rene Pascal’s basement. She is dazed and barely conscious as her gleaming breasts jut upward with gravity-defying firmness and shape. Pascal’s palms are smoothing the last few drops of the chemical neural inhibitor into her soft warm skin. The electrical inhibitor had already been liberally applied and he is now putting the finishing touch of his plan into action.

His carefully-gloved hands slide easily over the surface of the massive jugs, encompassing them in a greasy coating of mind-numbing toxins that will reduce the intelligence and reaction time of the famous heroine to near-moronic levels. The Frenchman hums his country’s national anthem as he gleefully squeezes, fondles and caresses the full rounded forms of the Amazon’s amazing figure with impunity, smearing her chest until it shines in the lights even as the light of her own courage and unique character is snuffed out in her bright blue eyes.

“.....ohhhhhhhh....” A long soft groan floats from the badly-compromised beauty, her eyes open slowly, heavy with the effort required. “...please...no...more...” she whimpers.

“Hush, my angel. I am nearly done here.”

Pascal gives Wonder Woman’s breasts one final sweeping pass and ends with a quick harsh compression of both her nipples so that her back arches up with a mewling squeak of pain.

“There. That takes care of those famous melons of yours, Wonder Woman. Now I just have a bit of special ointment to apply to your precious little pussy and then we can move on to the next stage of my experiment.”

“...doc...tor....pashcal....I...ask you....for common...deeshency...to stop....this....”

“Oh, you mean like the decency you never showed when my sister was dying right before you all those years ago.” Angered by his memories, he backhands Wonder Woman with his fisted right hand. The hard shot knocks her head against the floor and her eyes slide up into her head in a groggy faint.

Reaching around and under the prone heroine’s waist, Pascal takes hold of her body and hoists her up until her limp upper body hangs over his left shoulder. He is surprised that the six-foot Amazon is this light. With all her strength, he expected her to be more substantial.

Carrying her backward several feet, Pascal sets down the dazed and depleted heroine against a steel shelving unit. The raven-haired head falls forward, chin to her chest while Pascal maneuvers her figure into place even as she sags against his tall muscular physique in helpless fatigue. The French scientist lifts up Wonder Woman’s limp arms and efficiently wraps her two upraised wrists to the shelves’ support rod. Screeching bands of silvery duct tape are circled around the steel support rod, the limp wrists and the wide Feminum bracelets until Pascal is sure there is enough tape to keep her secure.

“Decency? You would talk to me of decency, cunt, when you showed none to my Marie?”

“...never met your sister...” she mutters dully.

Pascal’s left fist grabs a clump of Wonder Woman’s hair, pulling her face up so her eyes look into his. He then delivers a stinging slap to her cheek that brings a spark of pain to the Amazon’s eyes even as it snaps her awareness back into focus.

“Bitch!” He screams at his captive. “That is a lie. I was there that night. I saw everything. But you didn’t know that did you? You thought you got away with murder. But you didn’t, Amazon. I saw everything. And I vowed to make you pay dearly for your inaction. You and every superheroine who claims to fight for the helpless. You are all hypocrites and I am here to tell you that you don’t fool me with your holier-than-thou act. I have seen through it. Yours and all the rest. And tonight the world will come to know as I do just what a fraud you and your types are.”

The tightly bound wrists of the mighty Wonder Woman writhe and twist within the confining bands of silver tape but she is too weakened and there are far too many coils of the heavy tape keeping her arms pinned above her. As she feebly strains and pulls in frustration, Pascal reaches down with both hands and pulls her thighs apart. The hole in her star-spangled briefs displays all her feminine assets to him. He pulls a small atomizer from his pocket but before he can spray her crotch, Wonder Woman has closed her thighs and now squeezes them tightly together.

“...you will not...defile me...Frenchman....”

“I most certainly will, you stupid slut. And you will come to love it and beg for it.”

“...never...”

“Right now actually.”

Pascal’s left hand stretches out and his palm, covered in clear tight latex, caresses the crusted stab wounds on her right side. He begins to squeeze them and the heroine gasps with pain as the scabbed skin twists in his palms and fresh blood oozes out under his hand.

“Aghhh!”

“Open your legs, Wonder Woman.”

“...please....” she whimpers, her head tilted back, her eyes pleading at his cool gaze. There’s no humanity to be seen there.

“Open them up, Amazon,” he says icily.

Fresh tears well up and the clenched teeth and panting breaths do nothing against this pain. So slowly, helplessly, Wonder Woman spreads her thighs for her foe. She is unable to resist his cruel measures. She plants her feet apart on the cement floor, her face hanging low, her eyes closed in shame.

“Keep them open or suffer so much more, mon cherie,” he adds, bending to whisper in her ear. Then he sprays her crotch three times with the aphrodisiac-imbued lubricant. She cringes away even as his hand smears and caresses her pussy, rubbing the slippery oil all over and around her rubbery lips and into her thick black pubic bush.

When his gloved fingers caress the inner folds of her labia and stay to press against her there, the Amazon lets out a breathy gasp and turns her head even further away from the smirking face close to hers.

“Feeling less than heroic, Wonder Woman? Perhaps a surging rush of shame at how easily I have bested you?”

“...just my body...”

“And what a body it is for me to play with, mademoiselle.” His hands caress all through her privates as he speaks to her, the smooth latex-clad fingertips loitering about her folds, slipping into her hole, tickling her clit and finally fingering her anus. “One of the most sought after and cherished bodies in the world, I would have to say. The pride of the Amazons. The great Princess Diana. The greatest of all women in the world!”

“...never claimed that...” She looks him in the eye even as his fingers twiddle between her legs.

“Perhaps not, Princess, but you did claim a royal heritage and all the honors and entitlements that come with it. So in my humble opinion, I believe it is only right that I take that royal aura you flaunt and reduce it to ashes in your mouth.”

“...you know... nothing of honor...Pascal...”

“I know that you will have absolutely none left when I am finished with you.” Pascal peels off the gloves he’s been wearing to protect him from the potent chemicals with which he’s doused Wonder Woman’s body. He tosses them over the edge of garbage barrel. “And to start, I believe this symbol of your honor will serve my purpose nicely.”

Wonder Woman’s eyes go wide with alarm when Pascal’s hands rise up to reach for her face, only to pass above it and take hold of her tiara.

“No!” She gasps even as the curved metal headpiece is pulled from her hair with a sudden tug.

“I would have this for myself for a bit, Wonder Woman. But don’t worry. I will return with it shortly and present it back to you in a new and wonderful form.”

“...what...no...my tiara....wait...do not....do this.....”

Pascal rises and turns and strides off out of the room, leaving the distraught Amazon to yank and pull and curse at the silver tape binding her arms above her head, securing them tightly to the shelving unit. She twists and pulls and whines in sheer desperation until her hair is a wild tangle, her eyes are moist with desperate tears and her naked oily breasts bounce and jiggle and heave with the anguished cries of a heroine in peril.


Steve Trevor paces his office, distressed and confused. What was going on with Diana? The last time he spoke with her it was to inform her about Destiny’s death. She seemed quite upset about it but Diana hadn’t lost her professional edge. She even said she’d be going down to the scene where Destiny was found to look around. That was hours ago though. Steve thought back to their conversation. He recalled he said he’d give her a call when Interpol contacted him. That hadn’t happened yet. Glancing over at the fax machine, Steve is surprised to see a paper lying in the “Out” tray. He walks over and picks up the fax. It’s from Interpol!

“When the hell did this come in?” He looks at the time stamp on the top edge of the sheet. Almost two hours ago! “Where the hell was I?” Remembering his bran muffin, the young IADC agent’s face reddens. “Oh, hell. I’d better call Diana about this.”

Scanning the names on the list, Trevor doesn’t recognize any familiar names. Diana would know though if something popped out. He dials her cell phone number but it goes directly to her voice mail. That happens when her phone is stuck in an alternate reality with her Diana Prince clothing.

“Hi Diana, it’s Steve. I hope everything is okay. You seemed upset when we talked about Destiny. Anyway, I finally got that list from Interpol we were waiting for. I don’t recognize any names there but you’re a lot closer to this case than I am. Call me back when you get this and we’ll go over it. I will also send a fax over to the D.C. police to those two detectives. Keep your chin up, Diana, I know you’ll solve this case. You always do, champ. Call me back.”

Feeding the sheet face down back into the fax, Steve checks the Frequently Called List taped to the wall and sends the fax from Interpol to the DC police number. It is one of a rare few faxes that collects in the machine’s ‘Out’ tray on a Sunday at the DC headquarters. It will be reviewed and sent to the proper department according to the procedure manual every three hours according to the Sunday rules stipulation. Since the case detectives are on their way to Alexandria, they won’t be alerted to Pascal Research LLC being on the list until it’s far too late to be of value.


Unbeknownst to Steve Trevor, Diana Prince has solved the case and knows the exact identity of the superheroine serial killer. She has tracked him down on this quiet Sunday afternoon and confronted him as Wonder Woman. And she has suffered terribly for her over-confidence. Even now, Rene Pascal has reduced the mighty Amazon heroine to a lethargic, befuddled shell of herself. Dripping blood from two painful stab wounds that have only scabbed over due to her magic belt providing a small semblance of healing power, the Champion of All Women is leaning heavily against a steel shelf helpless to protect her body in any way. Her knees drape awkwardly apart, the toes of her boots pointed in opposite directions. Her modesty is now only protected by the draping sliced fabric of her ruined bustier. But the heroine is barely aware of that. For now, her eyes flutter underneath twitching lids.

An incredibly potent enema stick has filled her circulatory system with a powerful mixture of drugs that weaken her muscles, drain her energies and sap her will. In addition to the now-dissolved anal suppository rendering her impotent, Wonder Woman’s breasts glimmer from the sheen of her foe’s ingenious neural inhibitors. Applied by roaming gloved hands all over and around her renowned, bountiful breasts, the electrical and chemical agents even now have sped to the heroine’s synapses in her brain and have begun slowing the signals that jump from neuron to neuron. Wonder Woman’s uncanny powers and intelligence have been severely stunted by the Frenchman’s brilliant plan. She is now too drained, too slow, too disoriented to defend herself against her coldly methodical foe.

Even now, as her belt sends a new surge of strength through her statuesque figure, Wonder Woman’s brain has been too infused with the inhibitors to be cognizant of how to apply that strength in a concerted effort to break out of the countless bands of duct tape binding her arms to the shelving unit overhead. Her uncoordinated jerks and twists along with her befuddled kicking and straining of her boots on the cement floor fail to produce anything more than a frustrated whine of despair from the raven-haired beauty. Her wounds close up more and stop dripping but that is about all that is accomplished by the latest surge from the god-given belt.

“...by Zeus’ thingy....this man has....bested me.......a...lot...” Wonder Woman mumbles and sags against the shelf as the belt’s surge dims to a memory and her weakness returns all too quickly. “...I’m not....better than....any of those....other girls...Pas..cal...he’s....right.... I...am.... the ...same....or.....worse....” A long heavy moan of despair pours out of Wonder Woman as the truth settles in her brain as clearly as if she were bound by her lasso.

“Oh, I would say worse, mon cherie,” Pascal says heartily as he reenters the large basement storeroom. “Much worse. True, you showed some good spirit at points throughout our little experiment here, but in terms of strategy and inventiveness, you were a disappointing failure. Your other fuck toy friends showed me much more interesting moves.”

“Wha...izzat...behind...yur back....?”

“This old thing? Oh it is nothing really. Just a little trinket symbolizing your former glory.” Pascal takes the item held behind him and thrusts it before the dull-eyed Wonder Woman’s face. The eyes open up, growing wider and wider by the second as the horror of what he’s done fills Diana’s mind. Her own tiara, the very crown of her Themysciran birthright, wavers before her eyes in the hands of her enemy, bent in half with it’s red jewel jutting outward from the crumpled metal setting.

“...my...tiara...bent it...but....but....how...that’s...impossible? How....how...did...you...do this....?”

“It was not easy, I admit. This is a very strong metal,” Pascal says shaking the damaged crown in Wonder Woman’s face with begrudging respect for the item even as he taunts her. “My power vise almost blew it’s motor in the process, but once the metal fatigue reached the max point, that was pretty much it. Your symbol of Amazon power finally gave out with a shriek and folded in half at that point. Much like yourself, champion!”

Pascal chuckles and waves the ruined tiara in his adversary’s face and she turns her head away, her eyes brimming with tears. Several slide down her cheeks at the very idea of her ruined crown.

“...can’t...be...” gurgles Wonder Woman, her throat catching as her horror and her tears combine to fill her heart with despair.

“Look at me, Wonder Woman,” commands Pascal. “I want to see your defeat in those pretty blue eyes of yours.”

“...no...” she whimpers. It is too soon, too harsh a punishment to bear. Her tiara. Her body. Her strength. All crushed.

His palm suddenly under her jaw twists her head sharply to face him, and he tilts her head up and looks into her eyes. She is weeping before him, the tracks of her tears crisscrossing her cheeks. She is devastated and the fear and loss in her eyes fills the Frenchman with a rushing sense of righteous pleasure.

“Yes! I have pierced your soul today I see, Wonder Woman. I have cut a new hole in your Amazon heart that will not mend easily, if ever. The princess with her crown abused, the woman without her pretty accessory destroyed. The hero with her famous emblem reduced to scrap. Oh, I have hurt you, cherie. I have hurt you deeply.”

“...no...it’s...no....you have not....just a....just...a...thing...just a... thing....a ...a...a...bit... of old....metal...not...not...impor....tant....” She looks directly at Pascal and feigns a strength she does not feel.

“Oh, you cannot lie to me, champion. I see differently in your sad, lost and dripping eyes. Your cheeks are damp with all those tears of heartbreak. I can feel the anguish filling your chest to bursting. I know exactly what I have done to you here and I intend to do more.”

Wonder Woman tries to turn her face away but the firm grip on her jaw prevents that.

“Do you know what I mean when I say I will do more, cherie? Can you guess?”

“...something...bad...” breathes the distraught beauty, knowing she is right but not knowing what he plans.

“Bad? Who can say. It depends on one’s perspective, non? But let me not tease you, since it is wasted on you now that the intelligence in those eyes is dimming quickly. I will tell you what I am planning, cherie. I am going to cut a strip of your bustier, like so...” Pascal produces his small knife and easily cuts a generous length of the draping red material from the heroines ruined top. Her famous starred panties and her exposed genitalia are revealed again as he holds up the length of shiny red satin. “And now I’m going to wrap the two bent ends of your tiara inside this scrap of your costume until it is nicely enclosed in a cylinder of satin.” He does so swiftly with a broad smile. “We don’t want the sharp edges of you tortured tiara to slice and scrape your sensitive pussy now, do we, hero?”

“...whad’ju.....say.....what...?” Wonder Woman jaw drops as she looks up aghast at the grinning face of the tall Frenchman standing before her.

“What, didn’t you know? I’m going to fuck you with your own precious little princess crown, Wonder Woman. And with that aphrodisiac spray coating your pussy, you’re going to enjoy it very much, despite how much it sears your soul.”

“No! Please...don’t...I’m begging you...don’t do this...please....” The frantic heroine is shaking her head back and forth in desperate panic. Her hands twist and pull frantically within the restraining bands of tape overhead. Her knees clamp tightly together. Her eyes focus at last, brightened by cloying terror, on the circle of red cloth clasped in the hands of her adversary.

“My guess is that this lovely multi-faceted regal jewel of yours is going to do wonders for your clit, Wonder Woman.”

“..oh..Hera....help...me..........you can’t.....you just.....can’t....” she whimpers in cringing fear.

“Watch me, beautiful. It is happening.”


Sitting in heavy traffic on the beltway circling the nation’s capital, Sal Abato curses man and machine with equal vehemence. They would be exiting the beltway onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway in less than a mile, but until then, the traffic was barely moving.

“Too many fucking people in too many fucking cars! Look at this guy in front of us. Why does this dipshit need a huge damn Hummer, Jimmy? I ask you, does a prick like this need a goddamn Hummer to pick up a carton of milk and a jizz magazine?”

“Can’t be too careful, Sal,” Jimmy replies with an barely-contained smirk.” Don’t want to endanger your jizz mag. You gotta protect what’s yours.”

“Assholes. Both of you,” he snaps, giving his partner a cold look at the humor attempt. “I’m done with this. I’m hitting the siren. Put the bubble on, let’s get moving, we’ve got a homicide to solve.”

Reaching under the seat, Jimmy takes out the magnetic police light and sets it on the roof of the beige sedan then plugs in the wires to the specially-modified jack installed in Sal’s dashboard.

With a loud whoop of the installed siren and several flashing spins of the rooftop bubble, Sal is able to maneuver his Buick through the cars edging sideways out of his way. Getting to the shoulder of the road, the car is able to bypass some of the traffic but even with that the cars using the shoulder have to meld back onto the main road under penalty of getting a ticket from the shouting cop leaning out of his window and cursing each and every car blocking his way.


With her body pinned to the shelving unit by yards of unforgiving duct tape, Wonder Woman watches the tall Frenchman step up close to her and lean in. His hand goes immediately to her waist and gently caresses over her two wounds.

“You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, cherie?” The tall blond’s cold and quiet intimidation is daunting and Wonder Woman holds her breath as she shakes her head slowly back and forth.

It didn’t pay to challenge this man anymore. He had been two steps ahead of her at every stage of their struggle – even before she felt this fuzzy cotton ball of confusion filling her head and making her dopey and slow. Not doing what he told her to do at this point would be a bad thing.

“...nuhh...I’m not. I’m not.....gonna...do....that...”

“Excellent. You are capable of learning your place. I appreciate that quality in a woman. It makes things so much easier for us men. Now then, open your legs for me, Wonder Woman.” The scorn in Pascal’s voice when he says her name is striking and the heroine’s mouth scowls in a crease of dismay and anger that simmers in her stunted brain. Despite her feelings, she obeys.

“...uuuhhmm...okay...”

“Nice and wide, hero. I want complete and easy access to that soft, precious twat of yours.”

The beaten and demoralized Amazon warrior spreads her legs apart for her foe, taking a wide stance and making her downy bush and gleaming genitals completely available for his pleasure. The shame of having to comply to his demands along with the fear for her very life and the disorienting confusion of why she can’t think clearly anymore wears heavily on the proud Amazon and she begins to tremble and whimper openly.

“...d..d..don...don’t hurt...me....please...i....don’t want to be hurt... please...it’s not fair...”

“Hurt you? You misunderstand me completely, you stupid cow. Stop embarrassing yourself with that pathetic simpering and listen to me. I am here to give you pleasure. Pleasure beyond your control.”

“...but...i...don’t....want that...” sniffs Wonder Woman.

“Why on earth would you suppose that what you want matters in the least to me, cherie? Oh, you foolish little piglet. Now then, try to convince me that this does not feel good, eh?”

Placing his left hand on her thigh and taking his thumb to her outer labia, he pulls her flower open, showing its pink inner walls in the light. His right hand guides the protruding red jewel into the gleaming folds and slides it up and down the tiny crevices there with slow, gentle passes.

The sensation is a startling surprise to her and Wonder Woman shudders then gasps softly, her thighs involuntarily twitching at the touch of the cool hard stone’s surface rubbing into her sensitized folds.

“Do not move away, my dove. I do not wish to hurt you.” The cool voice is more than enough to control the trembling beauty. Diana stays her ground reluctantly and then gasps again as the jewel pushes cooly against her womanly furrows

“...haahh!” The large ruby pushes her lips apart as it glides against her. Pascal’s hand maneuvers his tool of delight this way and that, up and down and in slow circular motions until Wonder Woman’s eyes begin to fog. The aphrodisiac has drifted into her brain even as its dewey drops within her petals create shimmering bands of joy between her thighs.

“You see what you receive when you obey me, hero? You feel what I can give you?”

“Ohhhhhhhhhh....” the raven-haired beauty moans out in a long low pull of sensuous thrill. Her breath catching at the end in a swoon of pleasure.

“I will take that delighted bovine mooing as a ‘yes,’ mon ami. You see? No pain at all. Nothing but the thrill of the many keen edges of this marvelous ruby seeking out the sensitive juicy folds of your quivering pussy, yes? You feel them, non? The caressing touch of those countless glorious smooth faces riding among the waves of feminine treasures. This must bring you great delight. I am correct in this, yes?”

The round jewel pushing up and down between her thighs under Pascal’s steady strokes, with all its facets rubbing against her tingling nether lips, is filling Wonder Woman’s thoughts with pulsing waves of joy.

“...I...uh...ohhh....yes....yes...” she nods dully. “..ohhhhh...yez....feelz...wunder....ful...”

Indeed, the wave of excitement from what Pascal is doing to the outer edges of her vagina is carrying the dulled beauty along like a log flume ride; helplessly propelled along a course over which she has no control. Just like he said it would be. This makes her angry until the jewel of the tiara is pressed firmly up into the very apex of her crotch, grinding gently there and sending her heart into faster beatings and turning her mind into mush.

“...uuugghhnnn.....agghhhhhhh......ohhhhhhhh....ahhhhhhh...” The groans and gasps of the Amazon warrior in the throes of intense pleasure brings a beaming leer from Pascal as he presses his advantage and rotates the jewel back and forth deep within Wonder Woman’s snatch. The surface of the brilliant jewel is slick with the juices of Diana’s excitement and the residue of the aphrodisiac as the faceted face of her family’s precious jewel rubs into the very core of her womanhood.

“UUUHHHNNNNNN!....wait....wait!....this is.....too much...i..can’t...can’t...ohhhh...”

“Come on, princess. It is time for you to let go. Feel the pleasure overwhelm you completely.”

“...i...don’t...i...can’t...not...how...i...should.....aaaahh!....act....ohhhhhhhhhh....”

“Oh, I would not concern myself with decorum at this stage, Wonder Woman. I am discovering exactly what a hopeless harlot you are. Feel free to let yourself go completely.”

“....shouldn’t...” she pants.

After slowly rubbing the jeweled face of the folded tiara down Wonder Woman’s greasy channel, Pascal then positions the shining jewel at the opening of her vagina and begins to press the fair-sized ruby against the spread lips with a firm and inexorable pressure. The glowing jewel suddenly disappears within the widely-spread thighs of the Champion of All Women, popping into her with a slurping thump.

“OHH! OHH! H...H..Hera!...tha...that’s...wrong....so....so...wrong....”

The hand that suddenly appears at her lower back keeps her pelvis arched forward as the satin-wrapped tiara is gradually and relentlessly forced deep into Wonder Woman’s passage.

“Who is to say what is wrong, cherie?”

Pascal twists the soft satin cylinder and pulls it out two inches before pushing it back inside the wet and yielding tunnel. Then he begins to stroke the damp tool in and out and in and out of Wonder Woman’s body, slowly and first and then picking up the pace. The Amazon warrior bites her lower lip and tries not to yelp with joy. But she can’t stop the burbling moans and gasps she emits.

“...uh...gud....ohhh....ahhhh...ahhhhh...ooooohhhh...s...ss..sooooo....so gooood....”

Pascal’s hand moves up Wonder Woman’s back, gliding along the obvious spinal column until he passes over her neck and takes firm hold of her hair. He pulls the woman’s head back and, with a gleam of satisfaction, begins thrusting the satin cylinder in and out of the dazed heroine’s crotch with one hand while his other holds her head up so she is forced to look him directly in the eyes.

“Did you think it would be any other way than this between us, Wonder Woman?”

The hand with the tiara continues to batter the beautiful woman’s channel with rolling, thunderous waves of pleasure. The hand in her hair keeps her blue eyes pinned to his own.

The blues irises are foggy and lost, the comprehension there is barely enough to understand the taunt. Barely. The capitulation he does find there, the flickering doubt followed by wounded acceptance of her status is more than enough to make Pascal’s heart soar in triumph. The murmured grunt of acknowledgment from the panting female is pure icing on the cake.

“...n...no...”

“Nor did I. Now cum for me, Wonder Woman.”

The sopping cylinder of cloth is withdrawn almost completely and then the jewel face is rotated back and forth against the overstimulated, throbbing clit of the Champion of All Women. She falls hard into ecstacy as commanded.

“UUUUGGGHHHHNNNNNNNN!”

Rapid, constant jerks shake her thighs while her eyes to disappear into her head. A copious flow of her liquid ecstacy floods from between her legs, draining down her thighs until a plentitude of rivulets disappear into her knocking, spastic boots.

“This is the heroine who would have you believe she is above us all in wisdom and truth and honor. Quiver and cry again, female. Share with us the wisdom of your cunt.”

The wrapped tiara is shoved deep into Wonder Woman’s crotch once again and thrust and withdrawn over and over, more than a dozen times until she cries out in helpless pleasure.

“AAAYEEAAAGHHH!”

Her wide pelvis rocks back and forth and more cum flushes out from between the legs of the frenzied, lost and broken Amazon. She puddles the cement floor under her scraped and marred red and white boots with her helplessly siphoned lust.

“There is the sum total of your truth and honor, whore. A greasy wet spot on my floor. You are no hero. The very symbol of your truth and honor has tapped your sopping cunt like a spigot in a whiskey barrel. Champion of All Women? I think not, slut. You will be no one’s champion anymore.”

“....i...i’m...please...i...i....want....to....go...now....” Heaving pants issue from the woman whose massive breasts are rising and falling like a mighty bellows. Her head, released now by Pascal, has flopped forward, her chin on her chest.

“Go? Go where, cherie?”

“...a....away....i...want...to..go away...from you....” she murmurs softly.

“No doubt, my little dove. But there is so much more to do. For example, we have not even explored how you will enjoy having your ass fingered while this ruined crown repeatedly fills your pussy.

“...no....NO!...you can’t.....i...can’t take...anymore....”

“We have discussed this, cherie. I can do what I want. What you want does not matter.”

The waves of pleasure forced from a delirious Wonder Woman by her bent and ruined tiara were beyond her counting before the next hour was measured out by the black hands on the white round face of the clock on the storeroom wall. Pascal’s control of the damp red cylinder of lust was masterful and continuous. His hands were everywhere, forcing the tool into her slippery yawning vagina again and again and again while busy fingers reamed her ass, turning and twisting and probing her most sensitive inner realms of rectal pleasure until the mighty champion heaved and wept and came in his palms, over her thighs, and into her jittering, jerking boots over and over. Other times, the cum-coated jewel circled her nipples in dizzying unending spirals while frantic pumping fingers in her rear joined in to tear shrieking screams of ecstacy from Wonder Woman’s raw throat.

By the time Dr. Rene Pascal finished this stage of his experiment in the sublimation, humiliation and devastation of Wonder Woman, he had the mighty Amazon warrior sucking on the moist red satin cylinder like a docile youngster dumbly sucking her thumb in the schoolyard sandbox: sad, alone and in tears.

He held the sticky tube up to her face and watched with unabashed delight as she licked the jewel clean and then sucked it whole in her mouth until he told her to stop.

“Good girl. Now does this jewel and this tiara mean anything to you anymore?”

“No,” she replied dutifully.

The backhand came out of nowhere and knocked her face sideways. Her eyes took a moment to settle before she turned her face back to him in stupid confusion.

“WRONG! It is still very much a symbol to you. Only now it represents not the aura of royalty but the never-ending stigma of shame. You understand that now?”

“Yes,” Wonder Woman nodded dully.

The second backhand hurt more than the first.

“NO! You don’t. Not until you are fucked one last time by it. Except this time using it by yourself.”

“...me...?...” she mumbled, turning her bright slapped cheek and looking straight at him with defeated eyes.

“Problem?”

“No....n...none...at.....all.”

So Wonder Woman fucked herself with her own tiara. Her heart was heavy and it took a long time for her to bring herself to a climax. She kept thinking about how she’d used the tiara as a boomerang to save herself in battles, and how it had been bestowed upon her by her mother in a crowning ceremony on Theymiscira that was a wonderful and cherished memory. With all those blurry memories creeping in, the weeping, distraught heroine rubbed herself raw before she was finally able to disengage her mind enough to feel the flush of pleasure finally crest in her brain. There was not nearly as much cum dripping from her satiny, red folds in that final climax. She’d expended so much it was a sad little tinkle between her legs, barely more than the tears she was shedding down her blazing, shamed, slapped and reddened cheeks.

When the needle came from behind her and stuck her in her rump, Wonder Woman almost sighed in relief to be carried away by the knockout drug. It had been a hellish, devastating defeat for the proud heroine. She slouched in place against the steel shelving, a heavy weight, with a lost world on her shoulders as she slipped into blackness.


The blackness eased away from her like a fog slowly lifting. Diana’s muscles hurt all over and her mind still felt like it was swaddled in cotton. Her left eye hurt, her lip was wet with a coppery taste coating it, and her body felt tightly constrained. She’d been beaten and beaten badly by...uhhh...what was his name again....Pascal. Rene Pascal. She’d confronted him and he’d beaten the crap out of her in every way possible. He even had abused her with her own tiara she now remembered. And had she actually abused herself with it? Everything was so jumbled up in her mind. And why couldn’t she move?

Finally opening her eyes, Wonder Woman quickly understands why she can’t move. Sluggish and dull as she is, she understands she’s been securely bound in a set of black reinforced steel bars. She’s been bent in half with her legs shackled behind her head. A long steel bar is braced across her chest and pins down the back of her knees. Both wrists have been shackled off to either side of her to a large cement block. She’s like a turtle turned upside down and held there in stasis. There will be no getting out of this bondage set up.

To make matters worse, her breasts have painful alligator clips pinching her nipples and pulling them out and away from her breasts. The clips are fixed by screws to the bar that pins her legs over her head. She’s not only not going anywhere, but the rip in her famous spandex briefs point her pussy and rectum invitingly to the sky. She is fucked. Or very soon will be. Even as thick and stunted as she now is by the drugs flowing through her, not even Wonder Woman can escape the fact that she’s in the worst trouble of her life.

She begins to cry, great heaving sobs wrenching from her. She has no pride anymore. She has nothing but fear and doubt and self-pity. It is a bitter feeling. There’s no hope in her heart whatsover.

End of Part 10

I want to apologize for the lengthy gap between posted chapters. Certain issues have prevented me from writing but I do expect to be more productive over the coming months. I look forward to providing a steadier flow of heroine peril for you, my very, very patient readers.

I also want to thank Testcase for the photo manipulation at the end of this chapter. He was very helpful in rendering the final scene of the chapter exactly as I envisioned it. Great work. And I suggest you also read his story in this week’s posting about WW and the Joker.

Finally, if you like this story or have feedback that you'd like to share, you can contact the author at drdominator9@live.com I try to respond to all emails in a timely manner and welcome your comments.

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer part 10