Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 33  

The four men in the adult bookstore have just finished clicking through to their carts of their multiple photo set purchases when the big wall-mounted screen shows a picture to the right of the tall bearded man dragging a woman by the collar of a suit jacket toward a camera.

Gary quickly clicks print receipts and then enlarges the live action scene to full screen. The printer finishes humming out its printouts behind the desk when the man waves to the camera.

“Hello again. I apologize for that interruption in transmission. I am afraid that Wonder Woman proved a touch more feisty and resilient than I expected. But as you see, the situation has been corrected and we can proceed with our show. And since the title of this site is WW Screwed that is precisely what you will now see.”

“That bitch looks dead,” Jamal said. “I ain’t payin’ for no necrophilia shit.”

“Yes, that’s out of my purview as well,” Roger agrees.

“Pervert view, don’t you mean?” Jake snickers.

Quiet down, numbnuts,” Gary barks. “I wanna hear what the guy’s saying.”

“Do not be alarmed, my friends. Our illustrious heroine here is not dead. She is, however, completely immobilized by a solution of curare and some of my own special additives. She therefore will not be able to move her arms or limbs or much of anything except perhaps her eyes. " Pascal gestures to the still figure laid on the floor.

"Her normal respiratory and renal functions are unaffected and she will feel everything done to her. Sadly she will not be able to give voice to her pleasure but she will most certainly experience it. Reflex action will be somewhat affected as well, but there will be jerks and grunts and spasms to indicate the injustice I will visit upon her. I’d wished for more for you viewers. Lusty screams and pumping hips and such. But that is not to be. The solution will wear off in about 15 minutes or so. So you will get more of her normal physical reaction at that time. I hope you will stay with me but I understand if you choose not to. The good news is that there is plenty more fun to be had. The bad news is that your visitation fee is non-refundable. At the price though, I would think you would feel you have received your moneys worth even up to this point. I thank you for your patience and patronage. I will now proceed to fuck this Amazon cunt for all she is worth. Please enjoy the show."

“So she ain’t dead and she can feel shit,” Jamal says, “but what other functions does she got?”

“Breathing and heart are normal, nerves are probably normal,” Roger clarifies. “She’ll feel his dick and his tongue sucking her nipple. She just won’t be able to do jack shit about it.”

“I’m good with that,” Gary shrugs.

“Yeah, me too,” Jake agrees

“Hell, 15 minutes of him humping limp pussy is fine by me. As long as I see that twitching and bucking stuff,” Jamal nods.

“I’m cool,” Roger adds.

“You wish you were,” Jamal shoots back. “You ain’t been since I known you.”


“Oh my god, Steve, he’s back!”

Etta had been keeping an eye on the computer monitor while Steve was busy talking to the Sergeant in Global Screening. The information was confirmed that the signal was coming from DC and not Brussels. Which was information that was obvious to Trevor but he kept his temper even when Sergeant Miller told him they hadn’t narrowed it down to the neighborhood yet, much less the street.

“Call me if you find your dick!” Steve’s frustration has peaked and now Etta was complaining about something. He turns his chair back from concentrating on the phone call toward the monitor just in time to see Wonder Woman’s head thump to the floor and the man running the website start talking. When he finishes his monologue, Steve grinds his teeth in anger.

“She had him,” he groans in horror, staring at the screen watching the heroine being stripped down. “She had him!”


Wonder Woman looks up in helpless despair as Pascal reaches down and pulls her left arm out of the sleeve of his jacket. She can feel his clammy hand on her bare wrist. He sloughs the jacket off her and pulls it way from her body, lifting her upper torso roughly by the back of her neck and then letting it fall back on the carpet with a dull thump. She is naked again but for the orange skirt, but Pascal strips that off her hips, down her thighs and lifts up both legs in short order, stripping the famous heroine of everything including her dignity.

She feels the warmth of his finger as it swipes around her labia, smoothing and caressing them, first the outer and then the inner lips. His touch is fast and urgent and stimulating in an obsessive way. The rubbing is steady, methodical and repetitive. The fingers circle and circle and twitter and poke every inch of the rubbery flap of flesh protecting her vagina. Wonder Woman grunts at the work he is performing on her. It is already more pleasurable than she’d like. She knows it will get worse. And just thinking it seems to make it happen. His finger pokes deep into the slowly moistening channel, an intrusive warm snake-like feeling. It searches her inner walls, swiping around them, first left and then right then around and around. His repetitive method is aggravating as it is stimulating. There’s a machine-like quality to his fingering. It’s not playful. It’s not inventive. It’s almost clinical but the fact of its constancy is making Wonder Woman feel jittery and slightly excited.

Then Pascal’s fingertips grasp her clit and begin their work. He employs the same practices with an even better result here. The rapidly massaged slippery little button brings a long moan from her lips and her pussy offers a small but obvious rush of lubrication.

“Ahh, very good. Your excitement is showing, cherie. I can now feel the slippery flow of your estrogenic fluids bathing your entryway, making you ready for penetration.”

“That guy really needs to work on his pillow talk,” Jamal says.

“Oh, no, not again,” Etta says, putting her hands on Steve’s shoulder and watching with a mix of fascination and disgust as the man pulls down his fly and mounts the prostrate figure on the carpet beneath him.

Lying beneath his heavy body, Wonder Woman feels the large man guide his tool to the opening between her thighs. And just as easily as that, he slides himself into her. She cannot resist him in any way. His sudden girth fills her channel and she feels his heated muscle, firm and forceful begin to stroke in and out of her even as he enfolds his hands around her and takes her at his pleasure.

“So, the famous Wonder Woman: so easily entered, so warmly embracing my prick,” Pascal declares boldly to the walls and his audience of thousands. “You, the Champion of All Women, taken on a whim, ruined in a second, tarnished for a lifetime.”

“Pompous bastard,” Steve grunts.

“That’s upping his verbal game,” Jamal notes.

“That’s up in her game,” Jake says.

“You know, this is not satisfactory. I believe we should get into a more comfortable position, my dear,” Pascal states. He pulls out of the wet vagina without a thought, his hard dick waving in the air. Repositioning himself, Pascal sits cross legged and pulls Wonder Woman into his lap, his dick reentering her with ease as he pulls her loose legs around his waist, her ankles dangling on the floor behind his back.

“Much better. Now let us begin in earnest, shall we? Pascal’s hips begin to rock and his penis glides into Wonder Woman’s warmth and out. In and out. Slowly and steadily the pace of his dick, like his fingers is constant, unvarying, uncaring but not unmoving. She feels his arms holding her, encompassing her, possessing her. Her limp neck forces her head to rest on his shoulder as he rocks and rocks and rocks. His hard muscle fills her again and again. It’s heat moves through her and she begins to moan as the sensations build within her. She tries to think of horrible things, disgusting things that prevent pleasure but the heat and the endless thrusting of him within her pussy and the sudden caressing hand on her naked breast pulls her thoughts back to her body as easily as a funnel fills a container with liquid. She is with him and of him and there is no help for it. His palm holds her breast, his fingers pull and twist and tickle her nipple raising moans and taking her will. She shudders in his arms despite all her hate. A tiny trickle of pleasure wets her thighs and he chuckles in her ear.

“So strong and now so weak. So dominant and now so passive. How the tables have turned. Do you not love the irony, woman?”

Her eyes well with sorrow even as the joy begins to fill her beyond her capacity. His hips do not stop rocking, his tongue caresses her neck, his hands surround and fondle and squeeze and mark her body with pleasure points far too rich to ignore. And still the thrusting muscle owns her space, the friction mounting beyond belief. She wishes it were not so but she is a helpless quaking lamb in the abattoir of his passion. And her own.

He caresses her hair. He licks deep in her ear. She is a violin string and she vibrates with the sound of his plucking. The sweet, sweet harmony of his attentions is beyond her now. The licking, the thrusting, the heaving. She feels him bow his body over her, his breath hot on her nipple, his physique impressing itself upon her. Her neck lolls now as he cradles it and lowers her away from him, arching her back, controlling her figure completely. Her eyes close and that brings the dizzying sensation to a rushing surprising fountain inside her, Horrified she opens them again but it is too late, the roaring in her ears and her blood sweeps her away beyond all control.

She shudders like a fish out of water in his grasp, bucking and flopping and wishing for what she cannot have: a surcease of this ecstasy. Wishes be damned though, she is lost. Loud groans and whimpers rush from her throat. Rough urgent needs bark from her throat, nonsense sounds that speak too clearly of the helpless joy she feels. Her body bonds tightly with all things in the universe. Besotted with pleasure unbound, she releases her joyous rapture in a wet torrent in Pascal’s lap, a taken, wounded and destroyed bird, broken in his grasp, made into nothing at his touch. Tears on her cheeks flow like streams down her cleavage until they meet the river from her thighs.

And when out of nowhere his steely muscle finds its own limits, it freezes then pulses hard, sending rockets off within her, a spraying fountain of lava shared between them. It burns her with shame. This poisoned pleasure that thrills her so. The jetting stream of him unleashed in her and unleashing her joy even more. She adds herself to the outpouring, her ecstasy joining his now as she once more shakes and shudders in his impossible hold, his irresistible conquering hold. She sags in his arms, lost, blind and devastated. A washed out skin with nothing in it. No soul, no hope, no future. And she hears him laugh at her. Hears him relish her plight. Hears him promise more.

“I think I will fuck your tits next. I will cum on them and the spray your face with it, Wonder Woman. Would you like that?”

She does not know. She does not care. She is gone.

End of Part 33

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer part 33