Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 3

I hope you enjoy the third 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.

Wonder Woman keeps an eye on the wall-sized Justice League Global Watch monitor as she swivels back and forth in her high-backed command chair, feeling restless. She stops swiveling and takes a comforting sip of Tyraxian Juju Tea, which is supposed to be good for the nerves. She needs it. This case with Earth’s heroines under threat is gnawing away at her gut. And now, just when she feels she may be near a break in the case, this JL monitor shift rotation comes up. She frowns as she takes another sip. She’d already been on her shift for four and a half hours and absolutely nothing of note had happened.

Diana yawned widely. Watch duty at the Justice League satellite really was the pits. Sure it was important, vital in fact, to be the one who coordinated all the heroes and heroines on call for threats capable of expanding to world-wide implications. But really, how often did that happen? Once every couple of months at the most. More often than not, very few incidents required more than one superhero at any one time, male or female.

Oh, there were super villains around and some very nasty non-super ones with access to materials that made keeping justice served a challenge. But all in all, most times, things could be handled without calling on the talents of a team of meta-humans. Therefore, most monitoring shifts were deadly dull. Some JLers read books or played computer games or practiced their powers in the gym, sending the link from the main panel to the monitor there with an audio feed and a emergency keyboard for sending commands at a second’s notice anywhere in the world or within a five planet radius in seconds. Well, minutes in the case of the outer planets like Jupiter. But few JLers hung out near that giant gas bag. It was more noxious than Lex Luthor.


The alert bell went off and a message flashed on the wall screen.

Incoming contact from Superman

“Superman to JL satellite. Who’s on duty up there?”

“It’s Diana, Kal.”

“Why, hello beautiful! What’s going on?”

“Not a thing. The mice are throwing themselves out the airlock in fits of boredom.”

“We have mice on the satellite? How did that happen?”

“That would be a joke, Kal.” Sometimes the gorgeous hunk was just clueless.

“Oh, uh...yes. Very wry.”

“What’s going on, Kal? What do you need?”

“Just notifying JL command that I’m going off-planet for a few days. I’ve received a request from the Pyrraghorigan Council that they want me to mediate a meeting with the Ofalakahoosies on their sister planet. Some minor dispute about territorial space violations. No one else wants the job is my guess. They’re both very irritating species.”

“Are those the ones with all that attitude and all that mucous?”

“That’s them.” Superman’s sigh is audible through the speaker and Diana has her first grin in days.

“Better you than me, pal.”

“When I get back I’m going to want to detox? Want to hook up for dinner?”

“I’d like that, Kal.”

“Call you when I get back then, Diana.”

“Good luck. And don’t take any crap from either side. Those nasal-sucking creeps should have learned to get along by now. It’s been 280 years for Hera’s sake.”

“Some people are slow learners, Diana.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re stuck with the assignment, Kal. You’re way too nice.”

“Nice is what I do best,” says Superman.

“Wow. Hold on. I’m just ordering that in a T-shirt for you now.”




“Bye Kal.”

“Bye, WuhWuh.”

“God, you know how much I hate that.”

“And your T-shirt with that in shocking hot pink is in the mail.”

“I see. And, if I wear it, will you Wuh-Wuh my ta-tas, Kal?”

She hears his gulp all the way from the orbit of mars in crystal clear digital sound.

“Uh...got to fly, Di. Bye!”

That was the most fun Diana had on monitor duty in months. Sweet Kal-El. She did love teasing him. She sighed and took the final gulp of her tea and looked at the clock on the wall. It was set to Greenwich Mean Time. Doing the math, realized it was about 7:30 pm down in Washington, D.C. as the bright blue globe spun beneath her.

Destiny’s eyes are wide open but she cannot see. Her ears strain to catch the slightest sound but she cannot hear. On her knees, blind and deaf from Battle Axe’s crushing attack on her prime senses, the novice heroine fights the panic rising within her. Her chest expands and contracts rapidly and she lets out several harsh raspy barks of a cough.


The Zhurigk Fever she’s been infected with continues to ravage her system and erode her strength with its array of nasty symptoms. The orange star burst emblem on her left breast with its vibrant blue swooping capital D rises and falls rapidly. The young teenager tries to calm herself down. She knows that she’s still virtually invulnerable so this game’s not over by a long shot, but she’s got to turn the situation to her advantage somehow, or at the very least, nullify his edge in some way.

She turns her head from side to side but can’t fathom where Battle Axe may be. Obviously he’s not saying anything to give his position away. Although she doubt she’d be able to hear him even if he were singing “Feelings” directly in her ear at the top of his lungs. She’s sweating heavily from the space fever and from her building fear. Within her deep open V-neck, her cleavage shines with the slow drips sliding down the curves of her large breasts. The dampness darkens her armpits and the undersides of her breasts within her golden top. Destiny wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and tries to reach out with whatever extra sensory perception she can muster to locate her foe.

Wait! She feels the vibration through the floor of his approach. A steady pace she can make out through her toes flexed in her boots. She puts down her right palm against the floor’s cool cement for a better sense of his whereabouts. Damn, she wished the floor was wood. That could help her sense the vibrations much more easily! She holds her other arm out with the elbow bent, a blocking pose to protect her face.

A ceiling camera records the moment, catching the blonde heroine’s magnificent body as it stretches and flexes within her bright costume in the brightly lit main area of the warehouse. She may be plunged into darkness with her sight traumatized by Battle Axe’s retina shock ray but her foes can clearly see her and prepare for her every move. Pascal watches her crouch low with a wide, expectant smile.

Wow! He feels so close! I’d better...

The whipping slash of Battle Axe’s heavy gauge steel chain snapping against her waist knocks the 118-pound teen sideways to her shoulder. She’s still powerful enough that it doesn’t hurt but the physics of the chain’s unforgiving momentum does render its toll. Falling onto her shoulder, Destiny rolls with the blow and comes up in a fast crouch, facing her foe and feeling through her feet where his weight is near her. Barefoot would be better but that has too many drawbacks. She decides against removing her boots.

She just has to keep moving and not give him a clean shot. But there are implements and benches and all sorts of hazards scattered about. Flying is out of the question. The Zhurigk Fever has rendered that power obsolete for the next 24 hours, she glumly acknowledges. It will also keep her weakened and somewhat queasy for that same amount of time. It’s a bad situation but if she keeps her head, she can get out of this in one piece despite the brash promise of the French doctor of her impending death.

Destiny keeps moving in a small circle, shifting and dodging her head and body, praying for her eyesight and hearing to return. Just then, overcome with a tickle and a catch in her throat, she sneezes three times in a row, her head rearing back with each sneeze. The Bylangian champion loses her concentration as her nose drips a thin line of blue-tinted snot. The constant dull headache that’s taken up residence in the back of her skull isn’t helping Destiny maintain her focus either. Sniffling and barking another cough, the miserable heroine stops circling and tries to reach out again to perceive where Battle Axe might be. Suddenly, a heavy vibration behind her has her leaping up and spinning in mid-air to face her foe. She lands hard yet on her toes ready to defend. She’s not totally helpless at least. But that leap wasn’t a good idea. She needs to keep contact with the floor at all times to have any...

The blunt end of the axe head comes crashing down on the back of Destiny’s skull driving her to one knee. She turns halfway and throws her arm up to block a second overhead blow but the whiplash of the chain swinging up from underneath and slamming into her jaw takes her completely by surprise. Her head snaps back and her body follows immediately, flying four feet through the air before she comes to a thumping, sliding stop against a table, her skirt hiked up, her golden panties showing, the toes of her boots pointing in opposite directions.

Hmmph!” the teen heroine snorts, angry at being knocked on her ass yet again. Feeling the skirt on her waist, she pushes it down with a flip of her hand. That huge vibration was a chair or something large that Battle Axe had thrown behind her to distract her. Score one for the muscle-bound henchman.

“You must be so proud of yourself beating up a blind and deaf girl, Axehole!” Getting quickly to her feet, Destiny puts her hand on the tabletop behind her and glides along its length. When she gets to the corner she slides around it and puts the table between herself and Battle Axe. “What’s next, big man, drowning kittens? Crushing hamsters? Torturing slow-moving turtles? You’re not just going to have to answer to me; all the animal welfare groups are going to have your ass in a sling, too, I hope you realize.”

Destiny knows she’s babbling and thinks back to what Wonder Woman said about being too chatty. But this wasn’t needlessly drawing out a take-down, this was stalling for time to prevent her own. Seemed like as good a plan as any.

Either her foe is standing still or he’s walking very slowly and carefully because she can’t sense anything about where he is now. Her sight and hearing are still completely useless! She feels like a sitting duck. Her world is pitch black and overly warm. She’s feverish and slightly nauseous. She can feel her lungs drawing air but can’t hear the panting. Fighting to keep down her desperate sense of inadequacy, the blonde teen lowers down to one knee and puts her palm on the floor once more to try to gauge the direction that Battle Axe may be launching his next attack.

Nothing! Where is the bastard?

From out of nowhere, a chain drops from overhead and pulls tight around her throat. Destiny is yanked backward and upwards, her boot heels dragging along the floor until her body is pulled completely off her feet and she dangles in Battle Axe’s choke hold from the table behind her on which he sits.


Her hands fly to her throat, fingers just about under the chain links and ready to pull the choking length of steel away so she can drop to the floor. Even at reduced strength, she’s more than a match for him. She can feel his hard-edged Kevlar vest pressed against her back through the soft material of her costume. She’s more than a little surprised he’s gotten this close. It’s exactly what she’s been hoping for in order to turn the tables on him. And that’s just what she’s going...

The pile driving blow to her stomach takes Destiny completely by surprise. It reflexively jerks her hands out from under the choke chain and down to her stomach. The follow-up blows are hard, fast and relentless, one after another after another, smashing in from every different angle and she can’t block one of them. She figures it has to be Doctor Pascal whaling away at her. He delivers eight, no nine hard thumping jolts in a row to her stomach with a pointed steel bar. The queasiness is nearly overwhelming. The combination of this onslaught and the queasiness from the space flu make Destiny wince and gasp a bit and fight back an urge to vomit. This concentrated and unrelenting attack on her stomach is starting to knock some of the wind out of her, especially with Battle Axe and his choke chain behind her garrotting her neck as he keeps her dangling feet half a foot off the floor so she can’t gain any decent leverage.

“Uhhh. I don’t remember....signing up for....jousting dummy...” she gasps out. Since she hasn’t effectively blocked a single blow from the bar, she raises her hands back to her throat to pry the chain away from her throat and take back some momentum. Before she can work her fingers underneath the chain again, the point of the steel pole drives hard directly between her legs, slamming into her lower pelvis just above her vagina.

“Ghuh!” Destiny grunts at that blow, then speaks with a slightly pained grimace, as she struggles to slide her fingers under the chain tightly gripped around her throat. She’s still too strong for it to be cutting off her airway but getting her fingertips under the chain isn’t easy with the steady drop-off in her powers and the abuse she’s taking. “You guys are all alike,” she pants, her breasts heaving as she struggles and kicks feebly in the air. “With your guns....(gasp)... and your sticks.... and all your dumb weapons. It’s all a sorry-ass jack-off substitute....(.wheeze)... for your dicks, guys. You know that, right?....UNGGH!”

A second slamming jolt to her pussy draws a loud grunt but the struggling blonde champion continues to talk, trying to distract Battle Axe’s attention as she nearly has her fingertips sliding under the chain clasped tightly to her throat. “I mean, hello, do I have to draw you a picture? This is basic psychol...OHHH!”

Destiny grunts with discomfort when the pointed bar slams back between her legs for a third time with ever more power. It jolts her fingers down and her effort to ease the choke hold fails. The Bylangian Dynamo is fed up with all of this. She kicks out her left leg and tries to score a field goal with Pascal’s nut sack. But there’s nothing there where she kicks out driving her leg up high. “Damn, I was hoping for three poi....HEY!”

Her ankle is grabbed and held up high. And then she feels her assailant in front of her roughly pull aside the crotch of her panties exposing both her holes to the open air.

“What the hell! Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?” the Most Awesome Teen says. “Rape the poor blind deaf girl. Well, this girl’s not so helpless, guys.” Destiny has already started to pull down her leg but she’s off balance and weakened from the steady beat down and isn’t fast enough. From behind her, she feels two fingers separate her butt cheeks as a smooth slippery metal nozzle is forced up her anus.

“Boy, you guys just don’t qu....AARRRGGGHHH!” Destiny screams in shock and pain, her body arching like a bow as Battle Axe’s flame thrower shoots a stream of liquid fire up her ass. And then the steel bar smashes downward against her cheek, blasting her head to the side with the force of the blow. This is followed up by just as hard a shot with the bar to her other cheek, her head snapping in the other direction. And then a second blast of fire sears up into her body. And the chain doesn’t relent its secure grip around her throat as she dangles from it while her body is being battered and beaten without mercy. Her one leg is still raised high and the smashing blows to her face continue with fierce relentlessness. Over and over her cheek, her jaw and her forehead are clubbed back and forth in a devastating rhythm of hate and vengeance even as the flame thrower shoots fiery pain into the mighty teen’s rear.


And then, without notice, all the fury and the fire stop. Her leg is released and the nozzle is pulled out of her butt hole. A stream of thick, bright yellow flaming drops of gasoline drain out of the groaning blonde teenager’s ass like fiery shit. The firefall cascades between the black heels of the young girl’s trembling orange boots only to sputter and die on the cold non-flammable cement. The mighty heroine is watched very carefully and very nervously by her two assailants. But not even Destiny, powerful as she is, can withstand this level of abuse with her body critically weakened by the space bug circulating through her system.

“OHHHHHHH!” She moans loud and low, suspended only by her throat, chin on her chest, dangling limply with her arms hanging loose at her sides. She cannot focus, cannot recover right now as her body uses a heavy measure of its powers to heal her body at this point.

Smiling unseen behind her, Battle Axe grips the chain behind her head as Destiny succumbs to the wooziness, the heat and the dull pain in her face and ass.

It’s in this drifting daze that she feels her left breast lifted out from within the V-neck opening and rubbed and fondled with a smooth greasy glaze.


She weakly lifts her head and realizes she can actually make out a big gray blur in the middle of all the black. Her vision seems to be coming back. That is until the back of her head is smartly struck by Battle Axe’s titanium knife handle and her chin falls to her chest in numb confusion.

“Ohhh...” she groans, unable to focus on anything for the moment as her slippery tit is rubbed with one final swipe before being pushed back into the uniform. The novice heroine doesn’t realize it but her breast has been smeared with a gel containing a powerful chemical agent that will badly retard her brains ability to process electrical signals. To her, it feels like some dumb guy getting his jolies oiling up her tits.

After a momentary pause, the second breast is pulled out from the V-neck into the open air. This one too gets the full glazing: smooth hands rounding about her soft curves, squeezing, smearing, rubbing and coating the large round teat until every inch glimmers with the salve.

In the ceiling, the cameras capture the moment in vivid detail. Dr Pascal stands before the mighty Destiny, fondling her breast at will as she dangles by the neck helplessly before him. His hands shine with heavy dollops of yellowish gel inundated with the chemical neural inhibitor as he wantonly desecrates the famous champion’s fat fleshy mound with cradling strokes and fast flicking fingers to the swelling pink nipple.

Finally, the nodding blonde’s breast is roughly pushed back into place. As a final insult, both tits are pushed flat and rolled about her chest for several seconds, the greasy hands of the smiling Frenchman smearing the girl’s logo, her smooth golden fabric and the bright blue lapels with long, staining trails of slimy grease as the limp Destiny hangs in mid-air, defenseless in a fog of pain and fever.

After a long 30 seconds, Destiny murmurs into her chest, finally achieving a small measure of mental awareness. “...uuuughhh......ohhhhhh....damn...itz the same....all over....the universe.....guys...like to... squeeze.....tits...”

And then the chain releases. The smooth links are pulled away with a deft yank and the super heroine drops to the floor like a rock, landing in a heap with her forehead thumping loudly on the cement, her ass up, panties showing, and her face down as her cheek presses flat against the floor in bewildered weariness. “...ohhh...which end....is...up....?” Destiny mumbles, trying her best to focus. She’ll have to do better than this, she thinks, or she could be in real trouble. Then she sneezes abruptly and a misty spray of pale blue snot reflects off the cement floor and settles on the dazed blonde’s face.

Dr. Rene Pascal looks down at the mumbling, confused heroine on the floor at his feet and tries to gauge her status at the moment. He can’t be sure and it’s certainly not scientific but to him, the young blonde bitch looks to be at a fraction of her normal strength now; maybe around 20%. Good progress but still a long way to go. But that was okay because he had lots of fun surprises prepared for his little lab rat.

Wonder Woman is straining with all her might, the sweat beading on her forehead in huge drops as she slowly bench presses the resistance equivalent of 22 tons on the specialized weight training machine built for the Justice League satellite. It’s her 20th and final repetition and she presses through to the top, her arms shaking as she holds onto the bar and keeps it steady for a three count before resting it on the steel cradle. The second the bar touches both cradles on either side of Diana’s head, the gravity flux control zeroes out its resistance factor and the 10-pound bar and it’s 30-pound end weights are set back to their real weight instantaneously. The bench had settings from 60 pounds to 250 tons. Even Superman didn’t do that many reps at the highest setting. Only about 60 or 70 at a brisk pace.

Wonder Woman is lying on her back, her chest rising and falling in mighty swells as she cools down and lets her sweat be absorbed by the thick fluffy towel draped over the bench. She’s fretting over the range of clues in the Heroine Killer case and the lack of hard evidence available. The Elimanol hadn’t led anywhere solid but it did point to the Frenchman Pascal as did the drugs found in the knockout/aphrodisiac cocktail. The rubber pleasure suit had led nowhere, or at least not until the owner of the adult entertainment store came back from vacation. That neural chemical that was made exclusively in Europe had not been tracked down to any specific names yet. That wouldn’t happen until Interpol called her tomorrow morning at the earliest. And she yet to hear back about any leads that might be worthwhile from the beta chip found on the rubber suit. At the moment, the Frenchman was her best suspect but by no means a sure thing. At this point, certainly not enough for any kind of warrant.

Her ringing cell phone disturbs her train of thought and she wearily pulls herself up and walks over to where the phone is resting on the juice bar. Her generous ass wiggles and shifts in her tight blue briefs as she plods sulkily over to the phone. She sees the name and number on the screen and grimaces as she sits down on the high stool at the counter. Detective Abato calling. Even 23,000 miles in space, she still had to deal with this guy! Why did the JL satellite have to be linked into the world wide communications system? Oh sure, they had to have instant communication for planetary-wide threats of total devastation, but was that really worth it compared to being able to not have to take a call from this slime ball? She never should have given him the Wonder Woman cell phone number. Well, maybe he had a lead that would help. She’d try to keep this as short as possible.

“Hello, Detective Abato. I hope you’re making headway,” she says, taking the offensive.

“Hiya, toots. How’s tricks?”

The man was incorrigible! He showed her no respect at all!

“Do you have a report to make, Abato, or are you just wasting my time and public resources without anything to show for it?”

“Hey, don’t get your panties in a bunch, Wonder Woman. Besides, although you have legal access to this case and can serve as an officer of the court, I’m the fuckin’ lead detective in this matter under the jurisdiction of the District of Columbia, lady, so back the fuck off. Pleeaassse.” That last word is delivered with such smarmy insincerity that Diana is tempted to hang up on the irritating little tyrant.

Holding her temper, Diana asks, “Is there any good news, Detective? At all?” She crosses her fingers of the hand resting on her muscular thigh.

“I can’t be sure to be honest with you, Wonder Woman.” Diana hears actual regret in the man’s voice and a weariness. Certainly he had to be feeling immense pressure by this time. The case had generated headlines worldwide at this point. Two superheroines dead within the course of six days will do that. Recent news headlines and columnists had begun getting snide about the lack of results

“Scarlet Avenger Yet to be Avenged”

“Not Faster than a Speeding Bullet”

“No Flair for Justice. No Justice for Flare”

“Police Are Powerless, Too!”

Diana softens her tone. “Why did you call, Detective? What do you have?”

“We have a list from the company that made the chip found on the rubber suit the second victim was wearing. I’m forwarding it to you now. These are the names of all the companies and individuals that were sent the beta version of that chip for field tests. About two dozen names. I looked through them but nothing there rings a bell with me. In the meantime, I got extra men in the task force tracking down every name here for anything that looks fishy but, frankly, I’m kinda hopin’ maybe you can spot somethin’, Wonder Woman.”

He’s scared for his job. He’s trying to mend a fence here.

“Hey, I’m sorry I was out of line before,” he continues. “There’s a lot of pressure around here for results. You touched a nerve.”

“I accept your apology, Detective Abato, and I will get back to you if anything rings a bell with me, as you say.”

“Thanks, toots! Later.” He clicks off and Wonder Woman stares at her phone, simply stunned.

Is he trying to make my blood boil or is it just a natural gift he has?

Nearly growling, Wonder Woman opens the file Abato had forwarded and looks through all the names, searching the screen for the name Pascal with laser blue eyes. Hoping for a break.

It isn’t here!

Diana almost chokes with a teary “Aargghhh!” as she pounds the juice counter in frustration. Fortunately, this counter is made of much more durable materials than the one in Heavenly Desires Adult Emporium. After all, meta-humans convened around this bar and often slapped it in laughter or anguish, it had to be solidly built.

She scans every name and yet the results are the same. No Pascal Research LLC. Nothing even close. Just a lot of names both corporate and individuals that would have to be checked out one by one. For now another dead end. Diana rests her forehead on the counter and sighs heavily, her stomach feels like she’s grinding glass in there. It’s 9:30 pm in Washington, DC. Was this the night another heroine would be taken?

As she’s hoisted to her feet, a woozy Destiny can’t even keep her legs from buckling and Battle Axe has to wrap one hand around her waist while the other holds her wrist with the blonde’s limp arm pulled around his shoulder.

“...you...bastards....did some....number...on me...” she grumbles, her mind dulled by pain, the Zhurigk Fever and the neural inhibitors just kicking in. She feels as weak as a baby lamb and just as dangerous. On the plus side of things, her vision is finally coming back. She can see the toes of her orange boots as her head nods against her chest. They’re blurry but the focus is slowly returning. And she just catches the end of Battle Axe’s taunt of her.

“....easiest super cunt I’ve ever taken down.”

“...bet you say...that...to all the...girls...” she replies. Then realizes how stupid it was to give away the information she could hear again. “Can’t you...clowns...turn on the lights,” she says. “Iz pitch black in here. S’matter, doctor genius....forget to pay...your light bill?”

“Ah, but the lights are on, my dear Destiny,” the doctor says from a safe distance, watching the blonde with bright-eyed scientific empiricism. She’s heavily supported by Battle Axe and too weak to even fully raise her head. He’s very pleased with how well his plans have played out. They’ve handled this amazingly powerful female perfectly so far. “It’s just that’s nobody’s home in your retina right now. And may not be for some time I’m afraid, mon cherie.”

“Let go a me, you big lump,” Destiny whines, pulling at Battle Axe’s hand on her waist but unable to budge it right now. Or at least pretending not to be able to. She’s biding her time for a clear opening where she can gain the upper hand.

Dr. Pascal frowns at this. He didn’t think he’d knocked that much power out of the young bitch that she couldn’t break away from a mere human, even one as powerful as this towering specimen. The thing is, it was difficult to be exact when it came to a meta-humans and their abilities. What’s more, there wasn’t a huge amount of data about how the space spore affected specific species. The fellow researcher who Pascal had contacted via back channels of the scientific community for the spore sample had the barest minimum of records on the influence of Zhurigk Fever on Bylangian physiology.

The symptoms list was brief and only slightly helpful. It described a 24-hour cycle that included general weakness, loss of flight, nausea, flu-like symptoms and intermittent powerful headaches. The man supplying the spore readily accepted Pascal’s reason for needing a spore sample as a means to investigate neural pathways used by antigens. Pascal was well-known in scientific circles for his advanced work on brain function. It had been an honor for the young researcher to talk to the Frenchman. He was thrilled to provide the spore and gave explicit instructions for maximizing it’s growth regimen and the optimum cultures in which to do so.

Still, Dr. Pascal is wary of the blonde’s behavior. It didn’t feel consistent with what he expected. Plus, her verbal skills didn’t seem overly affected by the inhibitors yet as far as he could tell. With the punishment she’d just taken, he couldn’t be certain where her lethargy ended and the inhibitor’s effects began. But the verbal quality was higher than her displayed physical ineptitude.

Pascal thinks she could be faking and he gives a barely perceptible pre-arranged hand chop signal. Battle Ax continues to hold on to Destiny’s wrist on his shoulder while releasing her waist. She sags into him, her legs seemingly still failing to provide support.

“Please see that our guest is comfortable for the next few minutes, Axe. I must go check the control room and be sure the recording discs are not filled up. Naturalement, I do not want to lose a minute of this for my journal addendums.”

“Sure thing, doc. I’ll find her a comfy place to rest. She looks kinda tired and sweaty.”

The Frenchman walks out of the wide open warehouse space and heads into the low-ceiling hallway that led Destiny into her personal Hell on Earth.

“Let’s find you a nice place to lie down, Destitute,” Battle Axe jokes. “How about right here.”

“Whuh...?...where...?” Destiny mumbles..

Without warning, the huge muscular man pulls the titanium axe off his battle belt and rams the head of it full force into Destiny’s gut. Her eyes go wide and her puffed cheeks blow out every ounce of air in her lungs. Battle Axe releases her wrist and the Most Awesome Heroine collapses to her knees and keels over onto her side, wheezing and gasping loudly.

“HEEEZ! WHOOOOP! HEEEZ! .......ghuuuuuhhhh......”

“That comfortable enough for you, bitch? You had a fun time beating my ass the other day, didn’t you? Now it’s payback time, twat! That little love tap is just in case you’re getting any screwy ideas about whose in charge here, butter buns,” Battle Axe says, hauling up the gasping beauty by her collar.

“...clearly....not you...” she pants, her face scrunched up in a wince. “...such big muscles...such a small brain......”

Growling like a rapid dog, Battle Axe flings the teen across the open space with one arm like a discus. Her body spins in circle until her head smashes into a stack of wooden pallets that come crashing down on her.

“That could be my personal best in the heroine toss,” Battle Axe jokes as he stalks across to where a dizzy Destiny is struggling to get to her knees so she can defend herself. Like before, she puts one arm out in front of her, trying to protect herself as the other feels the floor for his vibration. But this time it’s a ruse. Nevertheless, Battle Axe plays the same game thinking what worked before will work again. He picks up a small metal step stool and hurls it behind the frowning blonde. The moment it crashes to the floor, he dashes up to her as she spins in place again, her back to him, poised to protect herself in her blindness. “This is too easy,” he thinks as he lifts his axe for another head smash. Just as his arm swings down with the blunt end of the axe nearing the halo of soft blonde curls, Destiny ducks sideways, spins back around and punches out with a straight arm directly at her shocked foe’s face. He turns his head just enough so that her fist connects with the protective side flap of his Kevlar helmet but the blow knocks the titan twelve feet through the air until he lands on his back and comes to a sliding stop, his body limp, boots pointed at the ceiling.

“And that could be MY personal best in the chump of the month knockout,” the blonde heroine says with her first real smile in an hour. Then she gets serious and stalks off to find Pascal. Suddenly, the teen champion stops and pivots in place. She quickly walks back to where Battle Axe lies unconscious. Getting down on one knee, Destiny reaches over and pinches the small green circle on Battle Axe’s vest where the optical stunner ray is generated. It crunches with a nice pleasant sound to her ears, as does the tiny pointed aerial that creates the sound wave that stunned her ears so badly.

“Oops, toysies go crackle,” she says and then rises and proceeds directly into the low hallway to find Pascal and end this.

Walking through the long low hallway again, Destiny feels even worse now than when she felt on the way in. She’s more flushed, more tired and even more nauseous than ever. At one point she puts her palm against the wall and bends over as a pounding headache and gut-twisting stomach ache have her on the very edge of puking. She fights the rising gorge down, willing herself to keep control and after a moment, she lifts her head and blows out a hot tepid blast of foul breath.

“Phew. This Zhurigk Fever is a bitch.” Feeling slightly better, she moves on down the hallway. There are no breaks in the walls or ceilings, no doors, no windows, no fans circulating the stale air.

Where did this guy go? Control room can’t be that far away? I hope I hit BA hard enough. Don’t want to have to fight him again. Don’t feel well. Where did this guy go anyway? Boy, they really beat me up a lot. That fiery thing in my ass hurt so much. Really! So much! Darn it all! Why did I forget to break that fire weapon. That wasn’t smart Destiny. Super heroines aren’t s’posed to make mistakes like that. Girl could get killed or worse. Gosh, seems like I been walking a long time. Where’d what’s his name go anyway?

“Pastel? Yoo hoo. Coming to get you!” Destiny foolishly shouts out, eliminating all possibility of surprise. But the neural inhibitors have kicked in strongly and the novice heroine is now stupidly stumbling ahead to her doom, her reasoning badly compromised. A sudden racking series of coughs and multiple sneezes overwhelms her for a moment and she wavers in place, a bit dizzy from the attack. She wipes a trace of blue snot from her nose with the back of her hand and absentmindedly wipes it on her skirt.

Maybe I should just fly outtahere and come back later with Wonder Woman. She could be helping me. She’s a good person. A nice woman. Could be a friend. I’d like that. I should fly away and get her. Oh yeah, forgot. Flying’s not for me for a while. Stupid fever! Where the heck did this guy go?

Finally, Destiny comes to a door.

“Yipee! At last! Destiny gets to kick bad guy butt,” she whispers loudly. She tries using her x-ray vision but that seems to be on the fritz for now.

Twisting the knob, she’s surprised to find it’s not locked. She pushes the door wide open and strikes her own special heroic pose facing a pitch black room. Her right fist is on her hip, her left arm is extended out, all fingers clutched together but for the forefinger which points outward defiantly.

“Jigs up, Pascky! Come on out! You’re goin’ to jail, mister. You can’t escape the long arm of justice!”

The lights flare on and Destiny is facing four separate 12-gauge double barreled shotguns mounted in racks pointed right at her. She blinks in complete surprise as they all fire at once directly at her.


The blonde is thrown backward from the intense impact of all that firepower hitting her in the chest, face, arms and legs. She slams against the wall and collapses in a heap, stunned senseless but not riddled with countless holes from all the shot in eight shells of explosive death smashing against her. Amazingly, even though it’s badly compromised, her Bylangian physique has held up against a fusillade that would have reduced virtually any other being to a pulpy mess.

“.....uuuuuunnnnnhhhhhhhhh....” But Destiny is completely out of it. Her head tilts on her shoulder, her mouth slack as her arms hang loose, both hands palms up. The heroine’s muscular legs sprawl straight out, her skirt drapes between her thighs providing at least some modesty below, but both breasts have been knocked out of the badly skewed V-neck. There are no lasting black pockmarks or scorches on the naked breasts but the countless dimples from the shot are slowly disappearing back into smooth flesh as the slouching blonde champion sits with her back against the wall in a total stupor.

From down the hall comes the sound of someone heavy jogging toward the groggy teen but she’s far too stunned to do anything but sit there. Battle Axe rounds the corner just as Pascal come out of the shotgun room. They stand over the slumped beauty all smiles.

“That worked out just like you said it would, doc! Except for my headache,”he says, rubbing his cheek.

“Of course.”

“Look at them beautiful tits. My, what huge knockers you have, granny,” Battle Axe says, parodying Little Red Riding Hood. “Hey, mind if I give ‘em a squeeze, doc?”

“You can fondle her as much as you like, lad, as soon as you tie her to the chair as we discussed.”

“Oh, right! Sure. Be happy to. With nice tight knots. I don’t like you, bitch. You play too rough.” Saying that, Battle Axe kicks Destiny in the kidney and she yelps out in pain as she tilts all the way over to her side. Reaching down, the huge henchman grabs a handful of hair, spins the barely conscious girl in the opposite direction and drags her into the shotgun room. When he comes to a steel folding chair, he hauls her seemingly boneless body onto it and begins tying her up with a coil of thin steel cable left next to the chair. He loops the cable around her waist twice and her shins twice, pinning her legs to the chair legs. He then ties a wrist to each thigh and proceeds to loop the steel cable between her naked breasts and over her shoulders in an X that pins her back to the steel chair back. Finally he passes the end behind her back and between her butt crack, pushing on the cable until the end pokes out from under her crotch. He pulls this up into the cleft of her womanhood and then winds the steel cord around her neck before looping it back down and tying it off in a square knot to the loops around her waist.

After that, Battle Axe takes off his Kevlar gloves and fondles the teenage girl’s large bare breasts with slow, firm caresses. He enjoys himself immensely, going to town on the great big beautiful rack this babe offered. He squeezes hard, he mauls, he rubs her nipples and he even goes to suck on the nipples when Pascal puts a hand on him.

“I would not do that. I think she has absorbed all the neural inhibitors but I cannot guarantee it. I would also wash your hands after this. One never knows. You do not have an over-abundance of brain cells to waste, my friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, dumb henchman. I get it. But you wouldn’t have this bitch like this if not for me.”

“That is true and I do value your contribution. Nevertheless, you should go wash.”

The big guy walks out toward the bathroom leaving Pascal alone with the nodding blonde heroine. Through all of the rope work and the discussion between the men, Destiny has been too disoriented and weak to put up a shred of resistance. She’s barely been cognizant of her surroundings. From her nostrils, a thin trail of the palest blue snot hangs down in a springy thread that finally fixes to her upper lip. Pascal, comfortable now with the heroine securely trussed up like Christmas turkey, palms her chin and kneels down before the moaning blonde girl.

“So this is the darling heroine who everyone claims is the next Supergirl. So powerful. So indestructible. She does not have to worry about kryptonite. She is an unstoppable force for good. Well, you have been stopped for good here, haven’t you, cupcake? I warned you that this Zhurigk Fever could be fatal, did I not, my young champion?”

With her eyes blinking and fluttering, Destiny registers the voice and the sensation of the hand gripping her face. She looks up dully from under heavy lids and replies. “...not dead yet....Frenchy....”

“Ah, well, non, this is true. But the night is young yet. And I have even more fun planned for you.”

“...ever consider...being...a party planner...?” Destiny says thickly. “..got...the knack...”

Pascal releases the blonde’s face from his grip and paces away, then circles around her chair talking.

“Always having the quick comeback, yes? Even now. Well, I am extremely impressed, Destiny, that you are not a babbling cretin considering all that you have been subjected to, mon cherie. But this is no joking matter. Just as it was not when my dear Marie had her life snuffed out by a mighty heroine such as yourself. A paragon of justice and goodness who let my sweet sister choke to death and did nothing. Your kind disgusts me with your judge and jury attitude, deciding who lives and dies with a wave of your hand. Well, it is I who holds the gavel now, you haughty trollop. And I who shall bring it down on you with all the justice my dead sister demands!” Walking to a blue wall switch, Pascal turns toward the bound heroine and says, “Au revoir, mademoiselle,” then knocks the toggle switch down with slap of his palm.

The floor beneath Destiny suddenly gives way and the dumbstruck Bylangian teen finds herself tied tightly to a chair falling through the air for a full second and half before she is plunged into the coldest water she’s ever felt in her life.


The freezing temperature of the water almost makes the girl gasp and lose all the air she’d gulped the second the chair dropped into eternity. She doesn’t lose her air though and rather quickly she and the chair settle to the bottom of a very deep water tank. The chair lands on its side. She’s bound with a steel cable. She sick as a dog with Zhurigk Fever. She wonders if she had enough of her powers left to live through this. The shock of the water temperature does at least help her poorly functioning brain to focus.

The mighty Destiny strains against the cables, flexing the muscles in her arms, wrists and legs with all her strength. The steel does not snap like stale spaghetti as she was hoping. Instead they stretch just slightly like very thick rubber bands. She tries again, pushing both fists to the side with all her might as she stares at the riveted steel wall five feet away from her. The arm that’s pinned to the bottom of the tank underneath her as she rests on her side can do nothing except shift the chair slightly. The other arm is stretching the cable a bit more. Helplessly, Destiny releases a clump of bubbles as her measure of air diminishes. She strains against the taut steel loops again, trying to remain calm.

She’s not the all-powerful heroine now. She’s a fraction of it but she can’t think that way. Yet again she strains against the cables and she hears them complain with a low groan dampened by thousands of gallons of water. Heartened by this, she puts every ounce of her willpower to the test as well as everything she has left of her Bylangian might. She pushes outward with a fierceness in her face that is unlike anything she’s shown on magazine covers and charity posters throughout Washington. This is not the pretty young heroine who teenage boys fantasize about. This is a woman of extraordinary courage and spirit who is expending everything to fight through a challenge cruelly thrown down before her. She flexes and pushes out from the core of her being and finally the cables relent, twanging like broken bass fiddle strings. With her hands free, she is able to rip apart the cables around her legs and the rest of them immediately after that. Smiling with a deep sense of satisfaction, Destiny kicks off the bottom and swims to the surface, releasing another small cloud of bubbles as he does.


Her head hits a clear covering that stretches over the entire tank of water. Eyes bulging, Destiny gives the solid pane of DuraLast iron polymer a hard thump with her fist. It shakes but does not break. She thumps it again but she can’t get enough energy through the water’s resistance to make enough of an impact on the unyielding material. Another grouping of bubbles must be released and it’s Destiny’s last. She’s on borrowed time here. Swimming to the side of the tank, she spins so she’s upside down, her arms braced against the wall, her feet pressing against the polymer cover. She draws her feet about eight inches away from the underside of the cover and thrusts upward with both feet, her black boot heels jarring hard against the clear substance.

GATHUUMP! Nothing happens so she kicks again, this time making sure both heels hit simultaneously. THUMP! Again she kicks. THUMP! And again. THUMP! And again, now feeling faint, all her air gone. THUMP. Crick! That sounded like something positive. Giving it her all, bracing firmly with her arms, she kicks out with boots at the same spot where she’s been kicking before. THUMP! CRACK! THUMP! CRACK! CRUNCH! SPLASH! A piece of the cover drops into the tank beside her and lazily floats to the bottom. Desperately, Destiny swims for the hole she’s made and grabs the edges of the polymer cover and heaves her head out of the freezing cold water. And tastes sweet, sweet oxygen.

“WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!” She’s done it! Too weak to even tread water, Destiny hangs on to the polymer cover with both arms braced against it. She’s just drawing oxygen and trying to get the energy to pull herself up and out of the freezing water. After 40 seconds, the blonde heroine hauls her drenched and shivering body up onto the top surface of the cover and crawls on her hands and knees to the side of the tank. A steel deck surrounds the tank and when she gets there, she crawls onto it and collapses flat onto the cool steel. Her sodden uniform clings to her shape and reveals every curve, dimple, nipple and butt cheek with a shining slickness that leaves nothing to the imagination about the beautiful teenager’s every asset. But Destiny lies there unknowing, uncaring, just delighted to be alive. She’s persevered. She feels immense vindication. She’s earned her stripes and can face anything now.

And then the shivering starts and the moment of triumph is over. Deep, unrelenting chills suddenly sweep through the 18-year old’s feverish body like she’s being clubbed to death with huge icicles.

“Uh..huh...huh..huhhh. Oh...ohh..hohhhh...” She can’t prevent her teeth from clicking out the devil’s Morse code or her blue lips from shivering and twitching like worms on a hook. “Uh..huh...huh..huhhh. Oh...ohh..hohhhh...”

“Congratulations, mon amie,” calls Pascal from the overhead speaker. “Such fortitude. Such a show of strength and determination. Such inspiring pluck. Too bad it’s all for naught.”

Destiny wearily looks up toward the annoying, taunting French accent coming through a speaker overhead. And that’s when the wide-mouthed silver nozzle that points down at her from a ceiling-mounted swivel bracket releases its arching blue-white cascade of liquid nitrogen all over the palsied girl’s body. Her shocked upturned face is frozen in place, mouth gaping widely, eyes wide as she is covered in less than four seconds, the nozzle sweeping back and forth just once. It coats her figure with arctic destruction. Her breath is sucked out of her lungs like a vacuum as she is entombed in a frozen shell of white eternal death.

Wonder Woman signs out, initialing the log at the Justice League Watch Satellite with a looping WW and handing the pen to Flash who signs in.

“Wow, quiet shift, huh?” he says, reading the notes in the log. “There was no activity at all except Kal’s notification?”

“‘Fraid not. Maybe you’ll be lucky and a devastating typhoon will hit and you’ll have to coordinate a dozen leaguers dispatched under your brilliant command.”

“Yeah, or maybe I’ll be so bored I’ll throw myself out of the airlock.”

“The mice already beat you to that,” Diana smiles.

“We have mice? Since when?” Flash is dumbfounded.

“Does no one around here have a sense of humor beside me?”

“What do you mean? I have a great sense of humor. Two salesman come up to this farmer’s house needing a place to stay for the night. Now the farmer, he’s got a beautiful daughter, natch. So....”

“Good night, Flash. Hit the transporter command for me. It’s been a long shift.”

“You don’t want to hear the punch line?”

Diana looks at him and says in complete deadpan, “And the second salesman says, ‘If I’d known the sheep was that friendly, sir, your daughter wouldn’t be pregnant.’”

“Oh, you’ve heard it?”

“Only about 80 times. Hit the button, Flash.”

Destiny is frozen in an airless white world without sound, without breath, without heat. Her brain feels frozen. Thoughts drift through her mind, randomly turning in slow-motion circles of hovering need.


Should move.

Can’t move.



Balloon ideas drift by without meaning or urgency. She is very still. She can hear her heartbeat. It too is slow. Very slow. Very slow.

When Diana gets back to her apartment after midnight she checks her home phone for messages. There’s only one and its from Detective Sal Abato. She plays it back.

“Hi, Ms Prince. This is Detective Sal Abato, DC Homicide. Steve Trevor gave me your number. I was wondering if you had any insights you might share with me about this heroine killer case I’m working. Major Trevor said you talked to a chemical supplier of Elimanol and I was wondering if you got a vibe from any of the names from his client list. The major says you’ve got good instincts and anything you think you might be able to offer to help catch this vermin would be greatly appreciated by everyone here at the station. Call me back when you get in. Anytime. Day or night. Detective Abato. Thanks. Uh, bye.”

The man was reaching out everywhere and was desperate. He had nothing. Diana feels sorry for him, something she didn’t think possible last week..

Maybe I should give him Pascal’s name.

She picks up the phone and dials his number off the machine’s readout screen.

Destiny feels vibrations through the whiteness, through the shell. They foster activity. They stimulate her brain. They give her something to focus on. They conduct hope.

Have to move.

Have to break the white.

White is bad.

The vibrations intensify. Very nearby. There is a vibration behind her. And now the vibration is on her rear end. Her cold stiff bumps. It is slow and steady. Circular. And then it moves to between her legs. More circles. Slow and steady. And then there is a slow warmth there, between her legs. There is a hissing. There is dripping. More heat, more dripping. All down there. All concentrated between her legs.

And part of the shell is broken now. It feels like a hatching. A possibility. Down there. Between her legs. More warmth comes in through the broken shell. A rush of it. She feels the dripping between her thighs. She can feel fabric touching her ass. She has an ass! SHE IS REAL! She has been imprisoned! She has to shake. SHE has to vibrate. She has to break the shell. Not let someone else do this for her. To her? It has to be her. She tries to shake. It is too hard. It is too much. She feels chilled to the bone and she shivers. And then she understands. This is a good thing, this shivering. This is salvation. She lets it happen. Lets it build. The shivers are good.

Down there something is happening though. Between her legs there are activities concentrated on her. Not all is right down there. She feels her flesh being warmed down there. She feels her inner thighs soaking up heat. Everywhere is ice and freezing shell but there. There her flesh has become pliable. A living entity almost not of her body yet very much part of it. The flesh is warmed even more and then between her legs where the warmth is she feels a new sensation, beyond warmth, beyond possibilities. It is excitement. It is pleasure.

Is that a finger?

She has to concentrate on the rest of her body. On the cold part. She has to let the cold shell surrounding almost all of her dictate her actions. The warm part, wonderful as it is, is wrong. It does not help her to shake. She needs to shake, to break the shell. She centers on the coldness and feels its shocking hardness. Its mercilessness. This works. She begins to shiver. She begins to shake. She is so cold. She is entombed in blue ice. From the inside, she imagines her shell on the outside. Forbidding. Unyielding. Hateful ice. Sheathing her body. Holding it rigid. Allowing no movement. No freedom. She shakes harder. Anger and sub-zero chill combine to help her shake and shake and shake. She feels small cracks forming. From the warm area, the shell is breaking down. She is birthing herself. She is coming back to the world. She is pleased. She is more than pleased. She is thrilled and joyful and ecstatic. But she has stopped shaking. Only her mind is shaking now. And her hips. There is something clutching her womanhood.

My clit? Something gripping my clit?

There is something there and it is fast and it is surrounding the core of her very sensuality. It is buzzing and turning and OH GOD! She’s only felt this sensation a few times. Alone. In her bed. Before sleep. Never like this! Never so intense! Never in public! She trembles with the surge of emotions. She shakes. Maybe this was a good thing after all. Maybe she needs the cold and the heat to break the shell. Certainly even this shell couldn’t resist such extremes without cracking. She tries to think of the cold and to shake but the sensations down there are so, so strong. She strains her stiff neck and feels a crack there. She twists her hips and feels a crack there. She is succeeding! She is breaking out of her...

OHH! The turning thing! Around her clit. The turning thing is driving her mad. She can’t think. She can’t plan which part of her to shake. She is awash in little trembles. Tiny insignificant shakes that, nevertheless, are rocking her world. She would love to be able to lie down but the shell holds her up. The shell keeps her head raised, her eyes open and her mouth open. If not for the tiniest opening where a hole in the shell on the roof of her mouth exists, she would be long dead. Suffocated in ice.

The turning has stopped. She concentrates on the cold shell and begins to shake once again. And more cracks occur. Her upper thighs, so close to the warmth have begun to crumble now. And apparently her large wobbling breasts are creating micro-fractures around her chest. This is all good again. She will break out. She will be free. She will...

...be damned! The clit-hugging turning thing is back to work and Destiny loses all concentration again. She shimmies in place. She feels the shell cracking but now does not care. The pleasure is beyond intense. The pleasure is everything. She shivers hard and suddenly, the shell is gone. It collapses to shards around her. And so does her psyche as the pleasure wave lifts her higher than ever, flooding her brain and cancelling out all thought but one.

Cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!

The surge drains her of everything now. Her personality, her hope, her possibility. Its all dissolved in the heat of her pleasure. It drains out from between her legs, the moisture trickling beneath her, joining with the drips, the melting shards of the cracked shell, the puddle in which she lies dormant and spent.

Destiny feels her loose, limp arms folded behind her back. She feels the steel circles fixed to both wrists. She feels her head lifted as a wide, hard orb is forced in her mouth and is buckled in place behind her head. She doesn’t care about any of it. The pleasure has drowned her brain in carelessness. In lethargy. In entropy.

She hears voices. Pascal she hears. He says, “Take her back to the main warehouse room. We will move her to the house as planned and finish her there. She will not give us any more serious trouble. She has so very little power left.”

Destiny hears this and wonders dully, Is he right?

For now, she’s too exhausted to care. Too damaged to know.

End of Part 3

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