Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 29  

Standing there in the Frenchman’s basement storeroom with trails of her own cum as well as Pascal’s thick white streaks running down her thighs, the Champion of All Women teeters erratically in place, her arms limp at her sides. Weak and confused, completely naked except for her ruined magic belt and red and white boots, Wonder Woman slouches against the six-foot tall bearded scientist as his palm slides down from hold her waist to cupping her ass.

“...i...i...don’t........wh...what...?...”

Her bald pussy is pink and puffy with use over the past several hours. And the coming ones don’t promise any relief. Her ass cheeks wobble under Pascal’s roaming hand as she shivers in the cold.

“Never mind. Just move in that direction,” Pascal says, pushing her butt with one hand and pointing with the other. “We are going to go into my lab and see what mischief I can get up to with the rest of your costume.”

“...no...no costume....left...” Diana whimpers.

“Actually, just enough, cherie, to be interesting: the final remnants of the famous Wonder Woman’s uniform: your glorious power belt and those awesome fuck me boots!”

Pascal pushes the Amazon beauty forward and she stumbles a bit before regaining her balance with a grabbing palm holding onto a steel shelf. She moves forward as Pascal follows behind her, bending down to snatch up the coils of golden rope that the lethargic heroine fails to notice in her dazed condition. When his head comes up, his face is unexpectedly inches from Wonder Woman’s ass crack since the raven-haired goddess has stopped suddenly in place, unsure whether to turn left or right at the t-shaped intersection.

“Merde, but you are a stupid cow. Turn right, bossie,” Pascal says. For emphasis he swats at the left ass cheek with the end of the lasso and Wonder Woman jerks with a yelp and turns right.

Pascal loops the rope into tighter coils, both hands mindlessly busy as he watches the buttocks of the naked lumbering beauty wiggle and sway as she walks. Even in her stupefied state, the gorgeous creature’s rear end is an arousing sight to behold. Muscled glutes, flexing with each step and the slightest twitching of the underside of those buttocks makes for a mesmerizing view.

Pascal swats gently at that glorious wide posterior once again as they make their way between the high shelving units on either side.

“Come on, Wonder Woman, move that fat ass. Time is of the essence now. I suspect even your insipid police friends may have figured things out by now. They may even be coming here so we have to move things along. Get things ready for you and them. Lots to do. Heroines to degrade. Traps to set.”

Another snapping of the lasso’s end, this one much more vicious, draws an actual red welt up on Wonder Woman’s left butt cheek.

“Owww!” Her body jolts and her cheeks quiver in sensuous waves. On top, her mighty breasts bump and shimmy in a dramatic clash of flesh against flesh, spheres bouncing against each other in oscillating ecstacy. The clinking and tinkling of her crushed feminum bracelets dangling from her nipples resounds between the rows of shelving. Pascal smiles broadly at the bedlam of flesh and noise he’s generated.

Wonder Woman moves her left hand behind her, literally trying to protect her flank. Pascal simply snaps the end of the lasso at her exposed right cheek, raising a cry from the heroine as well as a second welt. More violent shimmies of slapping flesh and swinging, tinkling nipple ornaments follows. Too late the Amazon’s hand moves over to shield her other cheek but, failing that, circles it gingerly with her palm, whimpering as she does.

“Keep it moving, cherie. All those naked jiggly parts of yours have places to be,” announces the Frenchman with a twinkle in his eye. “We are almost at the door to the lab.”

“...ah...i...i’m moving...d...d...don’t hit me....please....not again...”

Taking careful steps, Wonder Woman makes her way down the shelving aisle, fighting confusion and weariness as she tries to pull herself together. She’s failing badly though as new lighter pink stripes are added to her sore cheeks with stinging applications of her own lasso.

SNAP! WHAP! THWIT! WHIP!

“OHH! Owww....puh...please...stop that....it hurts...really hurts....”

“Duh! Supposed to, dumbass!”

“OWW!”

“Or should I say Tiger Ass with all those stripes.” Pascal chuckles to himself as he leans forward to twist open the doorknob. That’s when Wonder Woman jabs her elbow to his head, knocking the over-confident scientist to one knee. She disappears quickly through the door, a startling study in bouncing breasts and bobbing buttocks, as Pascal shakes his head trying to clear the cobwebs.

“Oh, you will pay for that,” he intones quietly, still down on one knee and fighting to collect his wits. After a few moments he stands up fully, coldly intent on recapturing his fleeing prize.

Dashing across a large open room brightly lit by fluorescent light fixtures suspended on thin steel posts from a 15-foot ceiling. Wonder Woman takes note of heavy built-in oak shelves and oak workbenches along two walls as she passes a massive steel table with thin tan leather cushioning. A dark sweat stain covers the middle of the table and leather restraint buckles dangle off of all four corners. Her eyes go wide in fright, registering briefly but instantly the horror those restraints represent. Not to mention the stain and it’s nasty implications. She tries not to let it eat at her confidence but her mind flashes on the broken bodies of Scarlet Avenger, of Flare, of Destiny. An organic whimper issues from her despite herself.

Coming to a steel door in the corner of the laboratory, the Amazon princess yanks on the oversized handle.

Locked! Of course, my luck. Have to fight him here. With what?

Desperately pulling open the doors of a wall-mounted cabinet, she searches for any kind of weapon. She’s past the point of thinking she can take this man on with just her fists and feet and her wits. She hasn’t bested him in a fight in hours. She sees something on the top shelf and reaches up for it, hoping it will be enough.

The door leading to the storeroom squeaks open and Pascal walks in slowly, cautiously looking around. He sees the sleek arched back and beautiful tush of the six-foot tall beauty as she stretches over her head for something from the top shelf. There’s also the briefest glimmer of pink pussy lips as she goes on her toes to get whatever she’s after.

That is one fine piece of ass!

Hearing the door open, a panicked Wonder Woman pulls down her only possible weapon of choice: a large, tall glass beaker. Her hand wraps around its base and she spins in place like a ballerina on point. Settling down off her toes, she suddenly takes four long strides to the cushioned table and smashes the beaker against a metal leg. The broken glass left at the beaker’s new jagged rim gleams like slashing snake fangs as the raven-haired wonder slices the air with her desperate weapon.

“Come on, Frenchy, let’s dance. You think it’s fun to whip and humiliate an Amazon warrior. Now you can taste her rage!”

Diana’s not sure if it’s her adrenaline or a very sparse surge from her ruined power belt but she suddenly feels more energized and focused than she has in hours. She’s eager for payback against this vicious prick.

Pascal looks at the wild-eyed beauty on the far side of the restraint table waving her crude weapon around in wide arcs. Wearing only her golden belt and her red and white boots, Wonder Woman is oblivious to her naked swaying breasts, the clinking bracelets dangling from her nipples, and her bald, shaved pussy. Pascal is shocked the Amazon is so fearful of him that she feels she needs a weapon against him, a normal human male. He’s really gotten to her and he smiles broadly at the notion.

Wonder Woman doesn’t like the smile he’s showing and flashes another show of over-the-top bravado at him. “Come on, come at me,” she says, waving him on. She faces off against him, obviously charged up and ready to tango, thinking which direction around the table he’s most likely to take to challenge her.

“Yeah, no. I don’t think so,” Pascal says. He takes a small black device out of his pocket and pushes a button on it.

“Oww!” Wonder Woman feels a sharp pinpoint of pain in the arm patch circling her biceps and grimaces at the traitorous thing. “Why you bast....uugghhhhnnnnnn.” The whites of her eyes show clearly in the few seconds before the stacked beauty collapses to the tiled floor in an ungainly heap of twisted arms and legs.

Pascal walks around the table and crouches beside the pile of naked flesh that is Wonder Woman. He pulls her head up by the hair with one hand and pulls her eyelid back with the other. No one’s home. He lets her head drop back unceremoniously and it thumps hard against the white tile floor.

“Dumb cunt.”

Still crouched beside her, Pascal reaches down to the conveniently presented back of the famous Amazon’s belt and undoes the complicated clasp. He pulls hard on the belt and it finally comes away from the fleshy bulk of the unconscious Amazon. After that he takes hold of her calves and removes her boots, pulling down the zippers that separate butter-soft red leather into limp flaps. He pulls them away from her surprisingly dainty feet with their painted lavender toenails.

“Hunnh,” Pascal’s eyebrows arch.“The lady actually does have a feminine side.”

Glancing at his watch, the French scientist sees it’s now 6:25 p.m. “Well, it is time to get to work. I think your cavalry must have caught on to the wild goose chase I have sent them on. Your boys in blue so to speak could arrive here within the next couple of hours. Maybe less. That gives me just enough time to set things up for my big show. And with that powerful dose of sedative keeping you quiet, I have got just enough time to have some fun with these last remnants of your famous costume, cherie.”


By the time Sal and Jimmy pull up to the precinct house, the setting sun is throwing a spectacular display of orange and red streaks across an endless pale blue background. The undersides of clouds are edged in pink and the capitol building’s western facade seems to glow.

“Nice sunset, huh?” Jimmy nods at the sky as he gets out of the passenger side of Sal’s car.

“Yeah,” Sal replies barely noticing. Now that he’s parked, Sal’s got his cell phone out and is frowning at it.

Jimmy starts to wax philosophical. “You got to take these moments and enjoy....Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh, I got a reminder here I forgot about. I was supposed to call Wonder Woman around four this afternoon to check in with her. I’d put the damn thing on mute while we were in that warehouse and never took it off, never even set it to vibrate. You go in and start the wrap-up report on BattleAxe for the murder of Destiny while I try to contact the Amazon.”

“Okay. See you inside,” Jimmy says, taking one final look at the magnificent sky before heading up the front stairs of the police building.

Sal keys in the phone number from the business card Wonder Woman had handed him. He lets it ring until it goes to voice mail.

“Hi, Wonder Woman. It’s Sal Abato calling around seven pm. I couldn’t get to you until now because Jimmy and I were busy gift-wrapping BattleAxe for the murder of that Destiny stiff. Oh, uh, sorry. Anyway, that’s Washington PD one and Amazon super heroine zero. Call me back and I’ll fill you in on how real police work is handled. See ya’ round, toots.” Chuckling to himself, Sal heads into his headquarters and is directly confronted by the yelling voice of the large desk sergeant.

“Sal, you lazy fuck, where you been? I got a Fed dick from IADC, a Major..uh..Trevor...” He consults the pink message slips piled beside him. “Yeah, Steve Trevor who’s got a hard on to talk to you since I got on shift. He’s left seven messages to call him, three voicemails and your email in-box has something from him, too. You know, if you’re going gay on me, Abato, you’re shakin’ up my world view.”

“Suck my dick, Delancy, and we’ll see what happens after that.”

“Gosh, won’t Jimmy be upset?”

“He’s had his shot. It’s been six years.

“...since you washed?”

“Since I had your mother!”

“Call that Fed. Now, Abato. He’s breakin’ everyone’s balls!” Delancy calls after Sal as he goes through the doors to head upstairs to the squad room.

“Everyone who has them, Frank, which leaves you out!” Abato grins at his parting shot at the desk sergeant as he climbs the stairs.

“Did Frank...” Jimmy begins when Sal comes in the squad room.

“Yeah, he did. I’m callin’ Trevor now to see why he’s got a hair up his ass.” Sal picks up his desk phone and punches in the voice mail access number and waits.

“He’s a Fed, Sal. You should show some respect,” Jimmy deadpans then breaks into a grin, unable to help himself.

“Hey, they put their pants on one leg at a time. Thing is...”

“...they put them on their arms. Yeah, I know Sal, it’s not new. Hasn’t been since, well, forever.”

Sal listens to his voice mail. An increasingly concerned Trevor is climbing the ladder to hysteria through the day about his agent Prince gone missing and no word from Wonder Woman either. Well that only stands to reason since they’re the same friggin’ person!

“But I wonder where the bitch went to,” Sal muses aloud.

“Who’s that you mean,” Jimmy asks.

“Trevor’s saying that he’s missing his agent. She hasn’t called in all day. He’s afraid she’s gone off following a lead and has gotten in trouble.”

“Can’t be anything that big. The guy we’d be worried about is BattleAxe and he’s cut in half like a meat sandwich.”

“Yeah, well, Trevor doesn’t know that we’ve got him sewn up as the killer. I’ll call him and tell him that. Hell, the bitch probably went out for a pedicure and couldn’t be bothered to call him back on her downtime. It’s freakin’ Sunday for godsake. Not everyone’s as dedicated as us cops.”

“Damn straight. You tell ‘em, Sal.”

“IADC. Major Steve Trevor speaking.”

“Trevor, it’s Sal Abato. Sorry I didn’t get back before now. I was on your case all day, that superheroine serial killer guy.

“You got him? That’s great news. My aide and I were just going out to the suspect’s place now.”

“For what reason? The guy’s dead.”

“Dead? You shot him? Was Wonder Woman there? How about Diana Prince?” Trevor’s questions are rapid fire.

“Hold on a minute, Major. Nobody got shot. I don’t know where your agent is and I haven’t seen Wonder Woman since this morning when we met over the perp’s body who was cut in half.”

“Rene Pascal was cut in half? Let me put you on speakerphone. I’ve got my aide here, Etta Candy. We’ve been working on this for hours this afternoon. She’s pretty much up to speed.”

“Hello Detective Abato.”

“Hello, Miss Candy.”

“It’s Sergeant Candy.”

Well, Sergeant Candy, this guy Pascal, he’s the one your agent Prince was concerned about, but he’s not the guy. It’s BattleAxe, a one Gerald Detherlink who was killing all the supers.”

“What? No that can’t be,” Steve says. “Are you sure, Detective Abato?”

“I spent all day making sure, Major. From here to hell and back again. BattleAxe is your guy. Maybe he was working for this Pascal character but all the leads point to the big guy that Destiny ended up killing before getting killed herself.”

“But surely this Pascal, this head of Pascal Research must be an accessory at least. His name is the one that Diana mentioned and that cross checks with our list from Interpol. If you read my fax, you’ll see...”

“What fax, Major? There’s no fax. I’ve been out of the office all day and I don’t see anything on my....oh wait, here it is under the new duty roster in my inbox. Yeah, okay, so I see three possible names on a cross check. Axelrod Industrial, Reardon and Pascal Research. Yeah, Prince did think she thought something was funky with Pascal. But can a science geek take out three superheroines, Major? Really? I mean, how likely is that? No, BattleAxe is our guy, I’m sure, but I can have this guy picked up tomorrow and sweat him in a box and see what he says.”

“What about our missing agent, Detective,” Etta adds. “She’s not the type to fall off the face of the earth like this. She’s very reliable.”

“It’s Sunday, people! Don’t you Feds get time off?”

“You don’t know Diana,” Steve says. “She’s very dedicated. If she thought something was fishy I know she’d have tried to check it out no matter what day it was, Abato. And we’ve also yet to hear from....”

“....Wonder Woman,” Abato completes Trevor’s thought. “You’re right there, Major. My call went to voice mail when I just tried.”

“My calls have been going there all day. If you’re not going to go there tonight, Abato, I’m going to do it myself.”

“The hell you will, Major. I’m primary on this case. You stick your nose in it and gum up my prosecution and I’ll have you brought up on charges.”

“My agent’s disappearance gives me the right to be there, Detective,” Steve says, his face red with anger, his fist shaking the phone at his ear. “And if you’re so sure it’s Battle Axe, your prosecution is moot, isn’t it? Sounds to me like you think this Pascal is more than just some front for BattleAxe.”

“Okay, Major Trevor. You’ve convinced me. I’m going to go out to his home residence tonight with my partner. We already checked his warehouse and that’s what led us to confirming BattleAxe was the serial killer.”

“What confirmed that exactly for you, Detective?”

“You know, it’s too lengthy to go into right now, Major. Let me get out to this guy’s home and if I need help, I’ll call Washington PD for backup, not you! We clear on this? If your agent’s there, I’ll pull her out safely. You stay by the phone and I’ll get word to you ASAP.”

“I don’t like it, Detective.”

“Look, Major, there are two other names that cross check on the list. What about them? You think your agent could have gone to those places to follow up?”

“It’s possible,” Steve nods at the same time Etta does. She sits down at the computer and starts to search for contact information of the other two matching names to check out.

“Then you should try to confirm if there’s anything hinky about those other two leads. Maybe they’ve seen your Agent Prince today. Work the phones and get back to me. Let’s use our resources smartly, Major.”

“Okay, Abato. Let me know the moment you get there what’s going on.”

“I will, Major.” Abato hangs up and looks straight at Jimmy who’s been standing there throughout the phone call trying to understand what’s going on.

“Fuck!” Abato’s shout has the other two detectives in the lightly-manned room looking up with sudden alertness.

“What’s the matter, Sal? Your bookie doin’ your sister again?”

“No, Rosewater, he’s too busy putting it to your wife. Front door and back! Jimmy, we gotta go back to Chevy Chase to this Pascal’s home address. I don’t like what I’m feeling here.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ll fill you in on the way. And I might just have to share my secret.”

“About....”

“Yeah, her.”


Wonder Woman had only been unconscious for about 15 minutes but she wakes up feeling as if someone is trying to drive the final ceremonial spike for the Transcontinental Railroad into her head.

“Ohhhh..Owww! Holy Hera...that hurts....” Lying face down, the beautiful heroine opens her eyes to see a wide expanse of white tile floor stretched out before her. She doesn’t even try to move yet, just breathing and waiting for the man with the mallet to stop that pounding.

“I truly regret the pain, mon cherie, but a knockout drug with a six-second efficiency factor has its drawbacks, you understand.”

That voice, his voice, causes her to jerk her head up to see a fuzzy double image of Pascal looming over her trying to coalesce. She instantly regrets the sudden move and retches slightly, her mouth gaping open as she will herself not to puke.

“..ogkkk...ohhhhhhhhhhhhh....”

“I would not recommend such abrupt movements, mon amie. Your balance is severely compromised as is your mental agility until your head clears, which could be a while, I am afraid. And, of course, you see the physical distress it causes.”

“...i’ll....manage...pascal...”

“I suspect you will not manage well, cow,” Pascal replies.

Wonder Woman pulls her two limp arms together from opposite directions, arranges her tangled legs into something close to parallel and puts her palms flat against the tile floor. She pushes herself up about a foot when her elbows fail to lock and her arms splay out to both sides and she falls face down onto the hard tile with a hard thump. The man with the mallet is joined by a gentleman with pliers clamping down mercilessly on the bridge of her nose and another one with a rusty hacksaw who’s sawing at her tits.

“....agghhhhhhhhhhhh...Owwwwwwww..... Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.....”

Falling hard on the nipple ornaments made from her own feminum bracelets has knocked the wind out of Wonder Woman and it takes a full minute for the heroine to recover her breath and her senses before she can roll to her side and let the indentation in her soft tits made by the dangling metal to fade from harsh dents to soft red welts.

“I warned you, mademoiselle,” the Frenchman remarks cheerfully.

“...told you so... told you so... Bit childish, no, Pascal?”

Wonder Woman pulls her body back into a straight line, collects herself and pushes off the floor with one bent arm to roll herself onto her back. Taking a breath, she then bends her knees and does a slow sit-up, pulling on those knees to get herself to a sitting position. She’s sitting on her butt with her knees pulled up and considers this a big accomplishment. This is definitely not her day.

Her head hangs down and not looking at anything but the floor beneath her, the weary Champion of All Women softly asks, “What the hell more do you want from me, Pascal?” When she finally, slowly lifts her head to meet his eyes, hers are brimming with tears. And they begin to drip down her sallow cheeks.

“Oh, cherie. Thank you. Your tears. That is an excellent start.”

It is only then that Wonder Woman registers the fact that the Frenchman is holding a compact video camera in his hands that is aimed at her bleary, forlorn face.

“I wish to make you the star of my little internet documentary. I am calling it ‘Wonder Woman: Devastation, Defeat and Death-A 3D-Movie in Two Dimensions.’ Catchy, no?”

“I didn’t kill your sister, Pascal.......for the record,” Wonder Woman firmly yet softly murmurs as she nods at the camera that Pascal now holds up to his left eye, its red eye blinking in record mode. “....you did. I am simply here to bring you to justice for your crime.”

Pascal is pushing a small button on the top of the camera as he replies, “Oh, I am so sorry, did I miss your meaningful straight-in-the-lens drama queen moment, Wonder Woman. I was just so focused on getting those huge beautiful tits of yours and your bald snatch in a full frame shot”

The dazed heroine looks down in startled horror, suddenly reminded of her complete nakedness. She blushes heavily as she covers her breasts with one hand while the other dives between her thighs to shield her snatch from the camera’s lens.

“Pig! Scum! Douche!” Wonder Woman snaps waspishly and dazedly begins to try to get to her feet.

“That is what you are going with? Douche? Hardly superheroine-quality banter, Wonder Woman. But then this whole documentary is going to reveal just how far away you are from achieving anything remotely superheroine. For example...” He jabs his long arm forward and pushes hard on Wonder Woman’s chest before she can gather herself enough to rise and she awkwardly tumbles over backward onto her shoulder before slowly rolling over onto her forearms with her ass in the air showing her pussy and balloon knot to the camera lens for an unforgettable close-up.

The website that Pascal has created for this presentation is slowly beginning to gain visitors thanks to an eye-catching variety of banner ads placed on fan-boy and heroine peril sites across the Internet. With the stunning, jaw-dropping display of Wonder Woman’s naked crotch pointed at the camera in full color, countless messages shoot across the globe at the speed of light with the site’s link offered to help share the phenomenon occurring.

In her foggy and sluggish state, Wonder Woman is not fully aware just how badly her modesty is compromised.

“...vile filth...” is just one of the several epithets the Amazon beauty mumbles as she pushes off the floor and finally balances on her hands and knees facing away from Pascal. She sways there unsteadily for a moment, with the potent drug still keeping her too confused to fully appreciate her predicament. Meanwhile, Pascal continues to record the shapely rear end of his wobbly captive to the unrestrained joy and amazement of a growing base of fans connected to his dot com site: WW_Screwed!

“Smile for the camera, Amazon,” Pascal says brightly. He clicks a button on the control for the house video system and puts the handheld camera down. The scene going out to the Internet now is the feed from the prime ceiling-mounted camera in Pascal’s lab.

Wonder Woman is on her feet finally, but stands clumsily. She turns around to face her foe but something is wrong with her boots. Still, the very idea of Pascal filming her in her nakedness enrages the raven-haired heroine. She rushes forward to grab at the tall man just five feet away from her and she stumbles and falls hard onto all fours. She has twisted her left ankle slightly and wrenched her right knee just a bit.

“Ow! What in the...what have you done, Pascal?”

“Nothing too fancy. I simply cut your boot heels in half, Wonder Woman. Leaving just the right half of the heel on your right boot and the front half of the heel on your left boot. Makes it just a bit cumbersome to walk and running forward like that as you see, well, challenging, non?”

“Is there no end to your...UUUNNGGHH!” Pascal’s own boot heel suddenly swings up from the floor and catches the drugged heroine in the chin, knocking her onto her back. Her eyes glaze over as Pascal steps forward and kneels down near the dazed Amazon. He cuts a small circle of yarn around the top edge of Wonder Woman’s left boot and then the right one. The boot fabric, no longer held in place flops out in limp strips, unfolding like a flower blooming, the famous boots cut to ribbons. The once illustrious red and white footwear has been reduced to something resembling the footwear of a silly court jester. Pascal rises up and takes a step back.

After shaking her head to clear it, Wonder Woman wearily rolls over yet again and struggles to her feet, her palms on the floor first and then placed around the legs of the restraint table as she pulls herself up to her knees and finally to her full height. The camera from the back of the room is now trained on her, capturing in clear detail the heavy, swaying breasts, the bent tubular bracelets dangling from her nipples and the very posture of defeat as the renowned heroine slowly, painfully works herself up to a standing position. The messages fly back and forth worldwide in delighted response to the incredible scene being podcast from WW_Screwed!

Wonder Woman turns around once again to face her adversary and wavers stupidly in place, glowering at Pascal. The heels and the drugs both put her at a disadvantage and she totters with her arms out and waving for balance like she’s a first day learner on a surfboard.

“..you...haven’t...played fair with me....this whole....day...you miserable cur....”

“But of course not, cherie. Your strength is legendary. Your grace...” he smiles widely at this, “is renowned and your reflexes are without equal. Everyone knows this. So I have to make the playing field less even to give myself a fighting chance, you see?”

“I see a coward who’s about to....NOOOHH!!!!” Knowing her heels have been badly compromised, the canny Wonder Woman leaps forward on her toes to try to grab Pascal’s lapels and give him a solid right cross to the face. She hadn’t noticed how badly her boots had been sliced from calves to ankles and trips forward on one of the leather strips that catches under her sole. She lands face first directly onto Pascal’s upraised fist, easily positioned since the confused heroine telegraphed her move so blatantly.

“UUNNGH!” The famous Amazon beauty jerks backward and falls onto her side in a stunned daze.

“You might decide to remove those boots of yours, mon ami. They seem to be cramping your style at this point, yes? I mean, a naked woman flailing stupidly about with her tits bouncing and her pussy on parade is fine with me but you do have a reputation to protect, cherie. Have some class, Wonder Woman.”

As the befuddled heroine tries to recover her senses from the hard punch to her face, she rolls over onto her back yet again, first raising and then spreading her knees apart for balance as the room reels around her in dizzying cycles. Pascal quickly snatches up the video camera and cycles the remote so it feeds the signal from the handheld to the Internet site. The view between Wonder Woman’s spreadeagled thighs of her clearly exposed snatch goes out to the world wide web in all its glistening detail.

“Oh, this is marvelous, just marvelous, my dear,” beams Pascal, zooming in for the money shot of the world famous Amazon’s bald pussy, the hairless pubis mons, the curly labia lips gleaming with sweat, the pinkish hue of her inner lips barely visible. The full glory of Wonder Woman’s snatch is broadcast to shocked and delighted viewers now numbering in the thousands. Pascal slowly pulls out of the zoom to capture the face of the beauty as her head nods heavily on her neck, her flat blue pupils trying to focus as the confusion slowly begins to clear away.

“What are you....NO!...y...you....bastard...!”

Without warning, Wonder Woman crabwalks forward toward the camera, scuttling more rapidly than Pascal would have imagined possible. One kicking boot toe catches the camera lens and knocks it up sharply, giving viewers a blinding view of an overhead fluorescent before the scene switches to a wide shot.

The second boot catches Pascal on the chin just as he’s leaning backward. He takes a nasty tumble on his rear and Wonder Woman immediately stands up, her adrenaline providing a rush of energy and focus now. She pulls off first one useless boot and then the other. Dashing forward on bare feet that give her solid footing she can finally rely on, the cagey Amazon reaches Pascal in two bounds and she pounds her fist into his gut, the nearest biggest target.

“GUHHNN!” He doubles up in grunting pain, disabled and wheezing. In a flash of insight, Wonder Woman searches his jacket pockets and then his pants pockets for his keys. She finds them deep in his right pants pocket next to the bulge of his deflating penis. Though tempted to angrily squeeze the accessible muscle into a painful new shape of soft clay, the scowling heroine resists due to worry and timing. She rushes toward the big steel door in the corner of the room with keys in hand. It leads to upstairs and the very real possibility of escape for the frightened and desperate beauty. And then she suddenly stops and veers to her left. On a wall hook is a small dangling orange draped piece of fabric.

Wonder Woman snatches the colorful object off the hook and realizes with sudden brutal clarity that this is Destiny’s skirt. This is the clearest evidence possible in her hands that Pascal was indeed the killer who had defeated Scarlet Avenger, Flare and Destiny. He was the one who humiliated and killed three superheroines. She’d known it all day of course. She’d felt it deeply in her bones, but this, this skirt made it all sink in with horrific lucidity. He’d bested them completely and he’d been ahead of her every step of the way today.

Focused in her anger, Wonder Woman looks back at a stunned Pascal lying barely conscious on his back and she growls like she-wolf. After she quickly steps into the very short skirt, the angry beauty yanks off the patch surrounding her arm, ensuring there would be no more surprise injections from that quarter. After that, she squeezes the alligator clips and pulls the long dangling bracelets off her nipples with a loud sigh of relief. She drops them in place, despairing of their ruin but determined in her focus. This could be her only chance to escape.

She gives the stirring Pascal a glance. Hera only knows what other secret traps he has on his person. She rushes over to the steel door. The third key turns the lock and Wonder Woman gives out a short cry of victory and pulls the heavy door open. There’s a set of steep stone stairs leading up into the darkness. She has no means to light it but she doesn’t care, she rushes up into the yawning dark, fleeing for her life. Heading for hope.

Back in the laboratory. Pascal gets to his feet and stands up straight, facing the prime ceiling camera that he made the live feed just as he saw Wonder Woman’s toe come flying up at the lens of the handheld camera.

“Well, people, it appears we have a chase on our hands. How lucky for you, eh? Tell your friends. Text everyone. This is an event you do not want to miss, n’est ce pas?”


“You’re fucking kidding me. Wonder Woman is this Agent Prince?” Jimmy’s jaw has dropped open as he stares at Sal with shock as the Italian detective steers the car toward Chevy Chase. “How do you know this?”

“She let something slip, something that got told to Prince that Wonder Woman couldn’t have known. I put two and two together and came up with blue starred underwear! And now they’re both missing. I think our friend Wonder Woman paid this Pascal guy a visit and he gave her more than she could handle.”

“Come on, Sal. We’re talking about Wonder Woman. There’s no way she can’t handle...”

“Tell that to those other three skirts that got offed.”

“But BattleAxe...”

“Was a red herring I’m starting to think.”

“This is something I gotta see for myself,” Jimmy says shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope we’re not too late. She’s been missing for hours.”

“You don’t think Wonder Woman can handle herself?”

“Yesterday, I would have liked the odds. Today? Not so much.”

End of Part 29

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer part 29