Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 4

I hope you enjoy the fourth 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.

“Miss Prince, I don’t know what to say,” Detective Sal Abato says over the phone after she lays out her concerns about Dr. Pascal to him, pleased to be able to share her doubts and suspicions about the man.

“I’m just fuckin’ shocked you didn’t try to contact me sooner about this Dr. Pascal suspect, Agent! If you ask me, it borders on the criminal that you didn’t! You’re withholding evidence in a capital crime, lady! I’m seriously thinking about bringing charges against you and recommending your termination from the IADC!”

“What!” Diana paces her apartment in circles wearing her Wonder Woman costume. All the shades are drawn so no prying eyes can see her in her alternate persona. Her irritation at Abato has turned to stunned disbelief at what she’s hearing from him.

“You heard me, Prince.”

“But...but...I thought you’d be...”

“Pleased? Happy as a clam that you finally decided to let me in on your little secret? Not by a long shot, sister. Goddammit, Prince, we’re supposed to be on the same team here. You’ve got heroines out there getting choked to death while being assfucked, in case you haven’t noticed, lady. And you, well you’re just out there freelancing like it’s all a nice skip, a hop, and a tiptoe through the fuckin’ tulips! That’s exactly why I don’t trust Wonder Woman. Won’t tell us what she’s doing, where she is, what she’s following up on. Nothing! Well, I may have to take it from that stuck up Champion of All Women but I don’t have to take it from you, Agent. So, if I find you’re sitting on leads in this case and not sharing information, I WILL have your badge, Miss Prince. You read me?”

“I didn’t...it wasn’t a sure...nothing I learned seemed to be concrete enough to...” Diana was sputtering and hesitant. This was the absolute last reaction she had expected from the man who sounded so desperate for a lead on her answering machine. She is flabbergasted and at a total loss for words.

“You seem to be having a hard time understanding my point, Agent. Let me be blunt and clear as I can be then,” Abato continues through the tiny speaker, his voice rising in pitch. “I’m the fucking lead investigator, Prince. All facts go through me. Every fucking fact you have. Every fucking tidbit of information. Every interesting little fucking nuance that strikes your razor sharp intellect. You deliver it. I receive it. I make the fucking judgement call on what’s pertinent and what isn’t. Not you. Fucking me! Now that isn’t too hard a concept for you to understand, is it, Agent Prince?”

“Look, Sal. I know you’re upset that things aren’t...”

“Fuck! Are you not hearing me? Are you exceptionally thick, Prince? Because I’m not hearing any ‘Yes sirs’ and ‘No sirs.’ I’m hearing evasions, stalls and justifications for unacceptable actions. Will you or will you not funnel every little fucking fact you have in this case through me or not?”

“Well, of course, Sal, but I think....”

“That’s Detective Abato to you, lady. I don’t know you from a rat that crawled out of a sewer. Don’t start getting all familiar with me now that you’re concerned about your own skin. And you’re fuckin’ right I’m upset. Why wouldn’t I be. More importantly, why aren’t you upset? I mean, this bastard’s out there killing super-powered heroines who give a shit about what happens in this world. Don’t you care about that, Agent? I mean, what have you done lately other than fuck up my investigation, Prince. Huh?”

“ME?! You have no idea what I’ve done to help this city,” says the raven-haired beauty standing in the middle of the room wearing the very costume that the city has honored her in dozens of times for her continuing service. This is surreal!

“Well then. Clue me in, Agent. Sounds like you think you’ve done something important? What might that be?”

Diana stops pacing in her apartment, standing rigid. She can’t tell him anything she’s done as Wonder Woman; nothing about all the crises she’s handled, the countless actions she’s taken to save the city from constant threats by villains, terrorists and disasters of all kinds. She tries desperately to think of what’s she done as an IADC agent but her mind is dulled by her outrage and she can only come up with a weak example.

“I..i...was instrumental in helping locate a sleeper cell of terrorists planning a gas attack on the L’Enfant Plaza Metro station.”

“Uh huh. Yeah I’m sure. What did you do, bring the other agents coffee? Look, lady, just put all your relevant information about this Pascal suspect in a file with your ‘professional analysis’...” This last phrase is spoken with clear sarcasm by Abato.“Then email it to me immediately. I’ll sort out what should be done with this guy and put my task force’s resources on it. As for you, well, you can spend the rest of the weekend fingering yourself for all I care. Goodbye, Agent Prince.”

Wonder Woman pulls the phone from her ear and looks at it in wide-eyed disbelief. The man was unbelievable! In both her personas now, he’s treated her with disdain bordering on actionable sexual harassment charges.

“Great Hera! I’ve seen bigger penises on the horses pulling Apollo’s chariot, but not by much!” She throws the phone onto the couch with enough force to bury it deep in the foam heart of the center cushion. That’ll be a hundred dollars to the upholsterer. The angry Amazon heads to the refrigerator for a glass of wine. She takes a hearty gulp of it then downs it completely, then sighs and puts the wine glass on the counter.

Reaching behind her back, Diana unzips her top. She stands glumly quiet in the middle of the room, thinking if she’s mishandled the Pascal information, doubting herself and her instincts. With the final pull on her zipper, her bustier releases, spreading open and letting her breasts fall free with a hefty bobble. She lets go of the red and gold top and it falls to the varnished floor with a soft plop. Grabbing the waistband of her costume briefs, Wonder Woman pushes down her blue panties and lifts one knee, her pink nether lips gleaming with a flash as she does. The white stars fold into themselves in soft creases until they disappear in a bunched clump as the panties are pushed all the way to her knees. Diana, slightly bent over, releases the briefs from her two tight fists and they fall to the floor as well. She leaves her uniform where it’s fallen and the quick rhythm of her heels sounds throughout the apartment as the long-legged Amazon strides nearly naked to the bathroom. Once there, she removes her bracelets, tiara and boots, setting everything but the boots on the toilet tank. The boots are set down beside the scale in the corner. Then the bare-assed Wonder Woman leans into the glass stall and twists on the two knobs. When the water’s warm enough, she finally steps under the hot streaming needles of water and begins to soap up her breasts with vigorous, angry hands, hoping to wash away her endless, dismal day in a long, hot, very necessary shower.

Destiny feels her right temple bump against something hard. It doesn’t hurt but it disturbs her daze enough to realize she’s being carried like a sack of potatoes on Battle Axe’s shoulder. Her head has knocked against the axe handle poking out of its back-mounted holder. She moans softly, not because of her head but because her body is deeply enjoying the feel of something fat, warm and lively squirming around in her vagina while another long warm object is held stationary up her ass.


“Oh, so the mighty super chick likes being finger fucked in both holes,” she hears Battle Axe chuckle from behind her head in the foggy distance of her lethargy. She couldn’t argue the matter even if she didn’t have a ball gag crammed in her mouth. She feels a wide area of dampness on her inner thighs. It’s an obvious sign of her pleasure as her juices ooze steadily from between her legs. Her panties are soaking wet. She doesn’t know if its from the pool, the melted shell of liquid nitrogen or the deeply satisfying sensations glowing in her crotch. All she knows is that it feels wonderful and she’s too out of it to fight the feelings. Another energetic wiggle of a finger in her pussy elicits an even deeper, louder moan. Her mouth, held wide open by a very wide red plastic ball, drools long strands of silvery saliva onto the back of Battle Axe’s light gray Kevlar vest, and the passing concrete floor below, and onto his butt, and pretty much everywhere. As his body strides along in a steady bounce, it flings her drool about in thick drops like Hansel and Gretel leaving a trail of breadcrumbs through the forest. Except the dazed heroine has a brief bad feeling as she sees the dark drops on the cement that she won’t be coming back this way anytime soon.

But the bad feeling is quickly subverted as the long, fat-knuckled finger twists this way and that within her loins, sending shivers through her. It twists faster and faster and the other finger in her rear starts drawing in and out, in and out. Both hands work at her in a frenzy now, building her to a fever pitch. The madhouse of ceaseless stroking, sudden twisting and rapid circling movements in both of her sensitized channels is far too much for the weakened Destiny to resist.

“UUUUNNN...HUUUNGGHH! Destiny grunts loudly and her vision blurs and she darkens her bright orange panties further with a fresh rush of cum. It flows out of her, draining her energies, crumbling the dam of her will, flooding the loose gravelly surface of her battered ego. But, sadly, the only fingers in her dike are the tall man’s on whose shoulder she is weakly draped, and they control her womanly waters with absolute authority. On the long walk through the poorly-lit hallways, Destiny is stimulated continually by the humming henchman and she cums twice more on his bouncing frame. Her golden panties, drenched with her essence, reek with the pungent scent of complete sexual conquest. Her mumbling, groaning mouth continues to drool long thin ropes of silvery spit. Her eyelids are heavy blankets for her heavily-crossed vacant blue eyes.

When they finally reach the large open warehouse area, Battle Axe lays the wilted superheroine face-up on a long table, her cuffed hands underneath her back, knees bent with her orange boots dangling loosely over the table’s edge. Her head flops to the side, her cheek against the table, eyes barely open. The heroine is in a foggy state of bliss, exhaustion and slight neural impairment. Her drool forms a tiny puddle beneath her cheek already, sure to grow larger as the ball gag prevents any control of her saliva.

For a girl who was capable of grabbing the fuselage of a plummeting passenger jet and gently guiding the crippled silver bird and its full load of passengers onto the safety of an airport runway, Destiny now looks badly miscast in the part of an all-powerful heroine. At the moment, her drenched blonde hair clings to her forehead and face in dark messy strands and lays about her head like a dirty tangled mop. Her wet top, pulled all askew after the hike on Battle Axe’s shoulder and the harsh sudden unloading onto the table, reveals a much wider expanse of cleavage than is proper for a champion of the people. The soft globes of her generous swelling breasts spill forth to near full exposure, the wet dark blue lapels of her V-neck barely holding them in with a tantalizing wink at gravity as they rise and fall with each breath. But gravity will have its say and the wet golden fabric so clearly presses down on the shape of her highly-aroused pointed nipples that it takes no imagination whatsoever to know what those beautiful breasts look like when naked. In fact, the clinging fabric enhances her degradation. Any real heroine wouldn’t let herself be caught dead looking every bit the picture of a drowned hooker. But her erotic appeal is undeniable even to the casual glance of Pascal as he busily packs up for Destiny’s transport back to his lab.

The professor stops for a moment and appraises his captive as does Battle Axe from only a few feet away. In addition to the scandalous condition of her upper torso, her lower half is equally defiled. The champion’s short skirt is lewdly hiked up around her hips in a wet clump of dark orange fabric. Her sodden panties are completely exposed, their golden highlights now dulled to nothing. Completely soaked, the tight underwear clings to her figure like a second skin. The drenched golden material shows off every smooth mound and cleft of her feminine form, outlining her puffy excited labia like the softest dunes on the softest beach on earth. Whether it’s a belated aftershock of her previous orgasm or her dulled mind trying to reassert itself, the blonde teenager lets out a long slow sigh as her slackened face reveals an expression that’s noteworthy for its shocking lack of intelligence. Her dull eyes blink with no understanding of her condition. Her beautiful toned body is gorgeous to the two of them, all the more so for its limp capitulation to the traumas they have heaped upon it.

Moved by the scene of his conquest of this amazingly-powered girl, Pascal walks up to her limp figure and takes her jaw in his hand, angling her face upward a bit. Her eyes drift lazily in and out of focus, the blue irises sliding in opposite directions, untethered by any mental discipline at the moment. Pascal brings his other hand down and gives her cheek a sharp little whack.

“Focus, you pathetic half-wit. I want to explore your thoughts and reactions so I can fully document my experiment,” Pascals says as he leans forward over the dazed girl. He then turns his head and addresses the tall warrior smirking to his right. “Mr. Detherlink, would you please put those items in the van that I have marked for transport.”

“Boss!” Battle Axe nods urgently at the sprawled heroine. “Ixnay on the amenay! You’re not supposed to say that in front of the hostage. Pretty basic rule.”

“Oh, I am sorry Gerald. How do you Americans put it? My bad. Well, it is of no consequence since she will not be able to communicate that information to the authorities.”

“She won’t? How come?”

“She will be too dead to do so.”

“Oh, right. Does she know that?” Another nod of the big head at the heroine.

Turning to look at the frowning face of the heroine who is slowly coming around, Pascal assesses her eyes and says, “I would think she does now. But again, it is of no consequence.”


“She will be unable to affect the outcome.”


“Because my dear Battle Axe,” Pascal says with a wink, “you have done a splendid job of helping me reduce her to a helpless sack of merde!”

“Merde? Oh! You mean shit! Yeah, I guess I did.” Smiling broadly at the compliment, the brutish henchman trudges off to load the van with a tan leather vaulting horse complete with dangling bondage rings, a box full of sex toys, a coil of very thin silvery chain and more. He goes back and forth from van to supplies as Pascal talks at Destiny.

“So, mon cherie, you do not feel so well, eh? My little tactics and toys, they made you so very weak, n’est pas?” He loosens the buckle slightly on the ball gag and pulls the wide plastic ball out of her mouth until it rests low on her chin. He wants to hear her express her misery at her devastating defeat, to exult in her verbal acknowledgment of his brilliant victory over her pathetic brawn.

“...uuuuuhhhh....” Destiny is too disoriented and feeble to come up with any words yet.

“Yes, I figured this would be the case. But you have more power still in this lovely vessel yet to be siphoned away, my dear. A woman of your immense fortitude one cannot eradicate so easily I think.”

As he speaks, the French scientist takes a thin steel cord from his jacket pocket and wraps it around the befuddled 18-year old’s neck, snapping the ends closed with a loud click.

“The Zhurigk Fever did its job well, I have to admit. I shall have to thank Maurice, my fellow researcher from Belgium for his spores and his advice.” A second steel cord is produced and this he clips one end to the small ring on the collar around Destiny’s neck and the other end to a ring soldered to the end of the table on which she lies.

“Cancelling your power of flight and making you sickly, weak and listless was the all-important first step. And all the rest, the flamethrower and the beating, the shotguns, the water tank and the liquid nitrogen, even my friend Battle Axe with his hands in your pants as I instructed him, they all served their purpose to force you to expend your dwindling energies and reduce you to this limp and destitute figure I see before me.”

“...not out of tricks yet...Pascal...” murmurs the blonde as her wits begin to slowly gather.

“Nor am I, cherie.” He brings out a third cord and rolls the blonde champion onto her side with one hand as the cord is linked from her handcuffs to a ring set into the middle of the table’s side edge with his other. He lets her body go and she rolls onto her back, still dazed and lethargic from all her ordeals.

“But you must tell me, my vanquished dove, how do you feel now that you realize even you, a person of boundless physical capabilities, can be so thoroughly bested and humiliated by one man. Does it sour your soul and crush your will to know you were so easily manipulated into this pathetic condition of such absolute defeat and scandalously obvious sexual arousal? Talk to the cameras, mon cherie. Does it bring you to tears, Destiny, to be reduced to a mindless, inept cunt?”

“...not one...man.....took two....of you...to do...it...” Destiny says slowly, not realizing she’s conceding her status in her mumbled protest.

“Let’s say one architect then. One who looked upon your sad house of cards and pulled on its base in just such a clever way that your famous physical magnificence came tumbling down in ruin. A collapse of such epic failure that its telling will forever bring shame and dishonor to Bylangians everywhere.”

“...hey.....motor mouth...you haven’t finished me.....yet...” Destiny’s eyes focus on Pascal and she is able to glare at him now with purpose. He sees it but dismisses it as residual anger he can easily swat away and nothing more.

“Not quite yet, perhaps, but you are out of most of your strength, my pretty ingenue, and that is all I need before the next stage of my plan.” The final steel cord he takes from his jacket pocket, double the length of the others, is quickly wrapped around her boot ankles and fixed to the final ring at the foot of the table. “There, finis for now. Trussed and helpless while I finish packing up for your ultimate destruction and final grand humiliation.”

Destiny begins to try to break her bondage, to jerk her wrists in opposite directions behind her back, seeing if she’s strong enough to pull the cuffs apart. She is not. Her boots yank and strain as well, banging against the table. Her entire body shakes and writhes and Pascal looks at his prize heroine and frowns. Still too much power, too much danger.

“Excuse me! Battle Axe? Please come here quickly,” Pascal shouts, nervous to even be so near the struggling blonde dynamo. Had he miscalculated her powers? She was a truly remarkable specimen. “Where are you, Gerald?!”

Destiny speaks more steadily now, all too clearly for his liking. “I don’t think I need all my strength to handle a pompous old gas bag like you, Pascal. I think a fraction will be more than enough. And when I’m off this table, I’ll yank that beard off your face and cram it up your ass like a steel wool pad.”

He had definitely miscalculated the dosage on the neural inhibitors. Either that or the icy water and liquid nitrogen had helped her synapses to better conduct the electrical passageways of her brain. That was all too possible, he thinks to himself. Even the chemical inhibitor did not seem to be effecting much of a difference. He is shocked at her continued use of most of her faculties.

The sound of the cord behind her back snapping apart is like a firecracker to Pascal’s ears and he hops back from the table, horrified. This could not happen. His entire experiment had been carefully constructed and carried out precisely to plan so far. Yet here she was breaking the cord linking her bound feet to the table. This second loud pop causes the Frenchman’s head to rear back as if physically struck. Her ankles were still well twisted in the coiled steel but as she swings her boots counter clockwise it was only a matter of time before her legs would be free and she could strike at him with those boot heels with a nasty vengeance.

“You are truly amazing, Destiny,” he says with awe, the scientist overwhelming the villain in him. He watches her yanking her head in short, harsh pulls against the cord, trying to break the last line restraining her head to the table. When that is done the vixen will be able to get to her feet, probably break out of her handcuffs and beat him and his man to an inch of their lives. She seems to appreciate that, smiling at him with a gleam of spirit in her eye he thought he’d beaten out of her.

“You have no idea, Frenchy,” she says with a wide grin smile. And then the cord from her neck to the table finally snaps with her last straining jerk against it and she sits up quickly, completely freed now. “But you’re about to find out just how amazing I ...”

“Taser her!” Pascal barks.

A powerful hand grabs her collar from behind and just as Destiny turns her head halfway around, she feels two steel pins pressed to the midpoint of her shoulders.


“UNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH.....HUNNH! UNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH HUNNH.....HUNNH! Destiny’s body arches and flails on the table in helpless, wildly uncontrollable spasms. The powerful voltage makes her figure dance and quake in place, every muscle tightly knitted even as her breasts shake completely loose of her top and bounce around on her chest like two dribbled beach balls. Stricken with a complete loss of muscle control, the jerking spastic teen falls off the table and lands face down on the floor, quivering and drooling, her eyes rolled up into her head.

Battle Axe calmly kneels down beside her and presses the square black taser to her neck.



Destiny’s body arches harshly in place again, and she twists on her side, her body bowed backward in rigid agony. Her hands are still cuffed behind her back, wrists bent and hands twitching like giant spiders gone mad. Her exposed breasts shake and bounce heavily in place, their wide surface slick with sweat. Her legs are still somewhat ensnared by the loops of steel cord around her boots and the heels bang against the cement floor as the heroine arches and flops on the floor for half a minute. Finally, the violent spasms ultimately come to an end, leaving the drooling, mindless figure lying quiet on her side on the cold cement floor, her fingers throwing off final twitches from nerves firing in random complaint from within her steel enclosed hands.

Battle Axe finally lifts the dazed heroine back onto the table, more steel cord is fetched and Destiny is once more fixed in place with three new tethers. Once secured, Pascal immediately dons a pair of yellow rubber dishwashing gloves and pours out a wide clear puddle into his palm from a small vial. He then places his gloved hand over her already exposed right tit and smears a generous second application of his electrical neural inhibitor solution all over the smooth curved surface before him. The semi-conscious teen can only moan in quiet desperation as once again her body is assaulted against her will. The tit is squeezed and mauled and thoroughly manhandled by the stern-faced Frenchman as he ensures that the full surface of Destiny’s breast is treated with the chemical agent. After the left breast is given equal treatment with the chemical neural inhibitor solution, the fat gleaming breasts shine brightly under the overhead fluorescent fixtures. Not so the blonde beauty’s blue eyes which are now dull and lifeless with all that the teenage heroine has been subjected to. Pascal leaves the breasts exposed and studiously fits the wide ball gag back into her slack mouth until Destiny’s pink lips grip the round surface firmly. He tightens the buckle and then straightens up over the dizzy and defenseless champion. Battle Axe has been hovering nearby in case of emergency but the precaution is unnecessary it seems. Destiny is a slouched confused figure of helpless ineptitude.

“You have been an admirable opponent, my dear,” Pascal remarks, “but now I think we will see your mental abilities deteriorate to a more easily controllable level. That smart-ass attitude of yours ought to be dulled down to simple-minded acquiescence in no time I should think.”

If the renewed drooling and heavily-lidded expression displayed by the lethargic blonde stretched out on the table was any indication, Destiny was already on her way to a mental meltdown. And the fact that there’s not so much as a flinch or murmur out of the teen heroine when Pascal reaches under her orange skirt and palms her crotch, it’s clear that the Frenchman has completely regained his position of power over the unresponsive girl in his eager grip. She issues not a word or releases the softest sound, even when he shakes her crotch firmly and says, “And when we take you back to the lab, we will all then enjoy the pleasures of what this warm and inviting cunt of yours will eagerly offer.”

With that said, the two men continue to pack up the final materials and equipment assigned to be used for Destiny’s complete sexual subjugation. It takes a good eight minutes to get everything loaded, arranged and tied down in the van for the short 10-minute drive back to Pascal’s house with its basement laboratory. The men discuss the unloading procedure, how the heroine will be transferred into the house so she is not seen by curious neighbors and other details to be handled.

As Pascal and Battle Axe talk and lift and maneuver all the items into the vehicle, Destiny is able to slowly recover from the effects of the taser yet she feels very thick-headed. She can’t form thoughts or plans particularly well and she still feels very tired and drained. It could be the space spores’ effect, all the stress her body has had to deal with or something else but she can’t be sure what’s causing it. She thinks it would be a good idea to try and escape. That makes sense. She should try that. She pulls on the handcuffs pressed underneath her body, straining to yank her wrists apart. It’s no good. She can’t do it. She wonders if it’s a special metal of some kind. If it’s just steel handcuffs she really should be able to break out of them. She isn’t completely helpless yet. She can feel an amount of power still circulating inside her. She tries the cuffs again, squinting her eyes and trying real hard. That feels like the cuffs bending and warping a little. She keeps at it.

Come on Destiny. Let’s do this. Let’s escape. I am a Bylangian. We’re one of the strongest people in the universe for gosh sakes! Just keep pulling on your wrists!


They break at last. Thirty seconds after that, Destiny is free yet again from the horrible bondage table. She reaches behind her head but can’t manage the buckle on her ball gag. It seems incredibly complex to her. Is that some kind of combination lock? She tries to rip the metal straps holding the ball in her mouth but surprisingly, she can’t break them. They must be some kind of metal that’s stronger than steel. Some reinforced special metal like adamintyum or whatever it was called. Frustrated, she does the only thing she can think of to loosen the ball gag, she bites down on the plastic sphere. Maybe by breaking it, it will loosen the tension of the straps so she can work it over her head. The first bite doesn’t do it but she thinks she feels it give a little. She bites down harder and she feels the plastic give way, crumbling into three pieces in her mouth. And suddenly her mouth and throat are filled with the flavor of rich chocolate that tastes unbelievably good. She swallows it, licks her lips and sucks her finger after wiping off the drool and chocolate-y essence off her chin. Yummy! A ball gag with a tasty inner center. What will they think of next? She is able to pull the face straps of the ball gag off and over the crown of her head. She tosses the broken gear off to the side, onto a tarp so it doesn’t create any noise.

Destiny looks down at the table she’s just gotten off of. She’s pretty sure they’re going to want to take this table back to the house for their fun and games. Maybe she should pound it to smithereens. But that would make noise and alert them. That probably wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. Gosh, if she could only fly away and be out of here. That would be the best thing. Maybe the flu’s worn off. That’s a possibility. How many hours did it last? Four hours. That might be right. She wasn’t sure but she knows she has to escape. She’s going to try it. Quietly placing her boots on the floor, she smoothes her skirt down and...

Oh my gosh, my tits are exposed! How did that happen?

Destiny works her boobs back within her tunic, straightens out the lapels a bit and looks down an aisle between tall stacks of wood pallets. That would be a good place to try to fly. She’d be hidden there. She tiptoes over to the aisle, takes a running start, her power giving her great speed now. She smiles as she nears the end of the aisle. She will launch off that one pallet at the end and soar away until she feels better. She hops onto the pallet and flings her self skyward, thrilled to be free and her old self....


Destiny’s leap into infinity sends her arcing up in the air, gaining all of ten feet of height thanks to her amazing residual powers...only to come smashing down into the steel wall of the building’s broad side. Realizing at the top of her arc that she still does not have the ability to fly, she turns her head and hits the wall with her shoulder, denting it deeply but not breaking through the wall.

It feels like everyone in the city must have heard the noise of her contact. She stands up and brushes herself off and gets ready to face Pascal and Battle Axe who have come to the end of the aisle and are facing her with angry scowls.

“You broke out?” Pascal says, noticing the steel cord still clasped around her throat and the fact that the ball gag is missing. That could be a very bad thing or very good.

“Chuh...yeah!” Destiny replies. “Super strong, remember?”

“You’re not THAT super, bitch,” says Battle Axe who runs down the aisle of pallets at full speed, his axe hoisted high in the air. “Yaaaahhhh,” he screams loudly as his assault nears her shorter figure with a looming shadow that eclipses her. Destiny is prepared for him though. She’s battled him before and knows his tactics. When he comes within three feet of her, she suddenly ducks to the right and spins instantly in place, ready to grab his Kevlar vest from behind and toss him 20 feet or so into the air so he comes crashing down on Pascal while she can make her getaway. The duck to the right works but when she spins in place she suddenly realizes she didn’t spin all that quickly. In fact, the big lug had turned around before she had. This surprised her very much. And so did his heavy steel chain snapping hard into her nose.

“Owww!” She yelps, her face jerking back in pain. That chain had hurt a lot. She had to remember she wasn’t at full power any more. She takes two steps back to get a running start at Battle Axe only to feel herself suddenly pushed forward four stumbling steps toward him. Pascal had come up behind her and given her a hard shove. Her surprise at stumbling forward gracelessly at her opponent is supplanted by the shock of him swinging his axe from behind his back and burying its sharp titanium blade into the depths of her belly.

“GOOOONNFFFFFFFF!” Destiny goes down on one knee, breathless and gasping and very nauseous. The residual effect from the Zhurigk Fever coupled with the blow to her gut almost has her puking. She wavers in place, dizzy and weak, but successfully forcing down her gorge. That blow had hurt. Even more than the chain. She doesn’t feel well. She looks down at her costume and sees a large dent in her belt buckle. Battle Axe does not follow up his blow though, allowing her to rise. She balls her fists.

“I’m mad at you! You’re making me mad,” Destiny yells out at Battle Axe who looks surprised at this pronouncement.

“Suck it up, bitch. And try to fight better. You’re slow as molasses.”

“Am not!”

“Oh yes you are,” the soft voice of Pascal says behind her. She spins to punch him but her reflexes are so bad right now even he can dodge that blow. Off balance, Destiny is easily pushed back yet again toward Battle Axe. She stumbles backward three steps and awkwardly turns to face him. He’s swinging his chain upward toward her face again. This whiplash of hard steel links she is able to just barely avoid. Taking a side-step and then a step forward she launches her fist straight up at the tall enforcer’s face. He catches her fist in his huge palm easily and holds it there with a grin.

“Hey! No fair! How’d you get so fast. I don’t....don’t...unnerstannn....whuht...” Destiny’s eyes suddenly roll up into her head, with nothing but whites showing. She collapses to her knees, her arm raised high in Battle Axe’s grip, her body slack as it falls against his legs and dangles there before him, suddenly unconscious.

The chocolate flavored center of the ball gag with its heavy dose of combination knockout/aphrodisiac serum has finally done its work. The mighty Destiny is out on her feet as Pascal looks at a very shocked Battle Axe and begins to laugh at the site of the famous blonde champion suspended by one arm helplessly before her foe with her face directly in his crotch, her slack mouth drooling on his suddenly stiffening dick.

“Perfect! Let us take her back to the lab. She seems ready to have some fun, wouldn’t you say, Gerald?”

“Sounds good to me, boss. Wow, her breath is really warm!”

Steve Trevor calls Diana Prince’s apartment but she doesn’t answer, her answering machine does.

“Hi, Diana. It’s Steve Trevor. It’s just after 11 pm, Saturday night. Sorry to be calling so late and on your personal time but I just heard from Interpol and they may have something on a suspect but they’re checking their sources and such. We should get a full report early in the morning so I’ll have them send the report to your home fax machine as well. Just a heads up so you know to keep an eye out for it, oh I’d say maybe 8 a.m. But if you’re out painting the town red, I can understand if you don’t get up that early.”

One can almost see her boss’ wink in Steve’s chuckle. Diana Prince doesn’t paint the town red. She probably turned in early. He hopes he didn’t disturb her sleep as he gently hangs up the phone. Diana is not home in bed slumbering fitfully at the voice filling the empty apartment. Diana is standing in a dark alley in a bad area of the D.C. punching a defiant mugger in the face and causing him to drop his knife as the young couple who’d been enjoying a night of clubbing stand by and watch. Their faces are filled with relief and no small amount of satisfaction as the man who threatened to kill them crumbles to the alley cobblestones like a pile of old laundry.

Diana picks up the shapely woman’s sequined silver purse and hands it back to the brunette, eyeing her ridiculously beautiful body sheathed in tight matching silver.

“I’m glad I was here to prevent this from turning into a horrible memory for you two,” Diana says warmly. “But this isn’t the best area these days. You should think about going clubbing in a better area of the city.”

“You’re right, Wonder Woman,” replies the young man in the black jacket, slacks and T-shirt nodding at the end of the alley. “But Pugnacious there is the hottest club around these days.”

“Then I’ll talk to the manager about having his bouncers look down this alley regularly so his ilk,” Wonder Woman nods her head at the stunned thug she yanks to his feet, “don’t loiter around and disturb your right to a fun evening.”

“Thank you again, Wonder Woman,” The man says with a smile.

“Yes, You’re a life saver!” The silver spangled beauty leans forward and brushes her lips to Wonder Woman’s cheek and the Amazon gives her a wide smile.

“You’re welcome. Good night.” Diana enjoys the feeling of having done some good this evening – as well as the view of the girl’s shapely butt as it shimmers the sequins in its cute retreat. “Now let’s get you to the nearest police station for processing, creep.”

Around the corner the couple bend their heads together giggling with relief at their good fortune and their shared secrets. “You were SO checking out her ass, Danny,” the girl says to her escort. “I saw you.”

“Like you weren’t?” His right eyebrow arches up.

“Delicious, wasn’t it?” The beautiful brunette says. “When she bent over to pick up my handbag, I got a little wet.”

“Let’s go home and use that,” he grins.

As the van pulls up in front of Pascal's brick townhouse, Destiny is docilely lying on the cold steel floor of the vehicle, looking up the van's ceiling and trying to pull her thoughts together in some kind of mental focus. But she just can’t do it. She’d come back to a semblance of awareness on the short ride from the warehouse to his home but was too dizzy and weak to do anything but lie there and keep from drifting back into the hovering gray cloud that was drawing her in.

Her body is stuffed into a tan canvas sack with only her head uncovered. Her hands are bound behind her back with thin plastic zip ties. While nothing else is bound, she’s too out of it to be a threat. Her sweaty hair fans out against the steel floor of the van, the usual blonde highlights gone, the allure of it’s lively halo turned to straggly, twisted knots and unruly dark clumps.

When the brakes squeak and the van finally comes to a halt with a shake, Destiny moans dully. The little Pomeranian hears this and circles over to her, licking her lips and nose repeatedly with it’s small, pink tongue.

“Don’t you worry, fun bags,” Battle Axe says, turning his head in the passenger seat and glancing back at the befuddled blonde, “Nodie! Stop that,” Axe says, reaching back with a long arm and giving a brusque little shove to the tiny pooch that has it sliding across the bare metal floor with a surprised squeak. “We’ll have you comfortable in a few minutes. Just have to sneak you into the Doc’s lab.”

“And you as well, my large friend. Put on the overcoat, yes, so you do not call unnecessary attention to yourself,” Doctor Pascal eyes the gray, white and red-highlighted costume of his huge accomplice. “You are big enough as it is without having you stomping about in your battle gear. I will go on ahead and open up the house and unlock the basement access doors so we can proceed with her and your entry into the lab as quickly and efficiently as we discussed.”

Six minutes later, still dazed and limp, Destiny is held up by her wrinkled costume shirt inside the secluded confines of Pascal’s basement laboratory. Battle Axe’s fist clutches a wad of blue and gold material where her v-neck meets her cleavage. Her back is arched slightly, her jaw upraised, eyes lazy and unfocused. Axe’s other hand yanks down the canvas sack, uncovering the famous heroine’s sagging body. Her tits jiggle noticeably. When the sack falls to a loose pile around her bright orange boots, the six-foot six-inch villain grabs Destiny’s blue belt with his free hand and easily hoists the defenseless heroine in the air by those two points on her costume. He carries her toward the restraint table with it’s thin leather pad. The slack-jawed beauty hangs limp as she’s transported across the floor. Her arms with their zip-tied wrists dangle beneath her and her boots sway back and forth with every step the big man takes. Finally he lays Destiny on her back on the very table that helped usher two other clever, crafty and powerful heroines to their deaths. Just as helplessly dazed, just as naively unprepared for her fatal end, Destiny’s body settles against the leather pad, her face sideways, the toes of her boots pointed in opposite directions. She moans again.


Bustling around and readying everything for the evening’s festivities with his famous captive, Pascal is humming happily away and asks Battle Axe to help him move the leather vault horse from the van to the house.

“The bitch going to be okay alone here like that?”

“Did you clip her to the table’s side rings yet?”

“Doin’ that now, Doc,” the henchman nods, clipping a small chain around the zip ties that leads back to the soldered ring on the side of the table.

“Well then, it should not be an issue. She has taken a dosage of barbiturates that would make an elephant stumble. We can take a few minutes to get the equipment from the van. Buckle up your coat so your battle suit does not show, please, and we can go.”

After two minutes, the silent laboratory finds Destiny slowly coming around, fighting her way out of the gray, dull mindless drifting miasma brought on by her spore-weakened body embattled with brain-dulling drugs.

“...huuuhhhhhhhh....where am...I...” Her eyes focus on a white board mounted on the wall facing her dull stare. It’s filled with symbols of red and black chemical structures. “Pascal. said something about...his lab...must be...it...uuugghhhh...”

Head feels like it’s been tossed around a clothes dryer for an hour.

“..where is....everyone...?...” Straining on whatever it is binding her hands underneath her, Destiny breaks the bonds with a grunt and a soft pop of plastic. She rolls weakly to her side and starts to try to pull herself to a sitting position when she hears Pascal’s voice. Immediately she lies back down, with her knees flopped open and her cheek pressed against the leather pad. She closes her eyes and moans slightly. She has to buy time to recover but lying on her back so suddenly in her condition makes the room cycle around her for a bit and she’s sadly disoriented again.

“I’ll prep the spray bottles and you bolt the vault horse to the floor insets.”

“Sure thing, Doc. Hey, shit-for-brains. Miss us?” Battle Axe chuckles as he carries the heavy leather cylindrical sex bondage apparatus over to four recessed holes in the tile floor on the opposite side of the 40 x 25 foot lab. Off to the side, the tall French scientist begins carefully mixing plastic spray bottles with a combination of liquids from two different containers.

As the two men busy themselves with their tasks, Destiny’s strength slowly builds and her head clears a bit more but she’s still confused in her thinking.

Have to get out of here somehow. Big guy’s gotta go down first. First is important. Can handle Frenchy alone. I think. Think I can. Frenchy not as strong. But what to do? What to do with Axe? Something surprising. Something fast is good. Take him out quick. Quick is important. And he’s gotta be close. Too slow to chase him. Don’t think I’m fast enough to catch him the way I am. The way I feel. Don’t know what to do. Better think of something or he’s gonna rape me. Both gonna want to fuck me. Men and their dicks. I know both will want to stick them in me. My first men. That’s so sad. Don’t want my first man to be a mean man. To be a bad person. It’s so sad and bad. Gosh, what did that Pascal guy do to my brain? Can’t think strong...can’t think straight. But I have to. Have to so I don’t get raped. He’ll come up to me so close and put his cock in me. Bet that Axe is big. Very big penis. And thick. Why am I thinking about this and feeling like it would be good? That’s wrong. What’s wrong with me that I thought that? Don’t want him pushing his smelly big body between my legs....Do I?.... Do I?....Or do I?

After Battle Axe tightens the fourth and final bolt he gives the leather restraint apparatus a hard punch. It doesn’t move or quiver in the slightest and he smiles widely and turns around to face the blonde superheroine lying quietly on the restraint table.

“You and me are gonna have a lot of fun with you strapped down on this special equipment, babe,” Axe says, reaching back and slapping the top of the leather-wrapped cushion with a resounding smack. “A whole lot of fun, little Destiny. I’m gonna rock your world, cunt!” The tall blonde villain strides over to the restraint table and looks down on the slack-jawed girl. “You ready to have your world rocked, hero?”

Destiny’s knees shake and she tries to pull them together but they weakly flop apart again, her thighs slightly wider. The mighty heroine is too weak to protect her honor before the leering Battle Axe. He sees this and shows a wolfish smile.

“Look at the pathetic Most Awesome Teen. Too out of it to guard her precious pussy.” Battle Axe steps up to the table, grabs Destiny’s thighs from underneath and pulls her forward so her crotch slides up and bumps up against Axe’s groin. He grinds it against hers, the lump in his pants growing as his hands lift her pelvis and the silky golden fabric of her panties slides over the cloth of his pants.

“....uuuuhhhnnnnnn...dnn..stt...ckkmeh...wwthyr...bgfftdckk...” Destiny moans softly and murmurs something in a faint whisper. A plea that Battle Axe wants to savor. He’s pretty sure she’s begging and he wants to hear her whimpering words. He leans over her, his hands gliding from thighs to hips to stomach and up and around to enclose her soft, large breasts. He squeezes her full supple mounds with deep delight as his face lowers further, his face mere inches from her cheek as he whispers in her ear.

“Speak up, cupcake, I can’t hear your whimpering little prayer for mercy.”


He gives her pliant bosom a harder squeeze and the fabric of her renowned logo peeks out between his knuckles as Battle Axe presses his lips against her ear as he taunts her softly. “Just a tiny bit louder, pillow tits. Still can’t quite understand your pitiful little squeaks.”

“....i....said....you’re dumb as a bag of fucking rocks....” the small blonde girl whispers a little more loudly now.

Destiny’s thighs clamp down around Battle Axe’s waist and her hands whip out from behind her back. Forming compact powerful fists, they smash into the side of Battle Axes’ head, slamming his ears flat and stunning him into a cross-eyed daze. Held in place by her legs’ scissor hold, the shocked and disoriented henchman can do nothing as Destiny pulls her arms wide apart and slams her fists together again.


“GGUUUHHNN!” Axe collapses inertly onto the blonde’s young body and she releases her leg hold and shoves him away. His huge torso arches away several feet and comes to rest with a loud thud on the floor, unmoving.

Pascal’s head has snapped up at the sound of a commotion on the other side of the room. Seeing the disastrous turn of events, he grabs a bottle from the set of four before him and rushes toward the restraint table as Destiny pulls herself into a sitting position and hears the clomping of footsteps off to her back right. Pascal is holding out a bottle only four feet from her turning face. He is pulling the trigger on the spray nozzle and a soft cone of purplish droplets spreads out toward Destiny’s eyes. She turns her head away and suddenly falls to the floor on her knees. The shimmering purple cone hangs in the air over her head but the superheroine has been fast enough to dodge whatever the Frenchman was trying to dose her with. She rolls sideways and lashes out with her arm at him. The back of her hand strikes the bottle, sending it spinning away out of Pascal’s grip to slap against the far wall and fall to the ground.

“Non!” The Frenchman cries out in alarm and spins to head back to the workbench and the three other bottles. He takes two steps when Destiny’s hand grasps his collar and yanks.

“Oui. You nasty prick!” Destiny pulls the tall man to her and brings her arm up to wrap it around his throat. If she’d just given him a hard quick shot she could have knocked him silly in a second. This poorly chosen tactic is one he can parry. His elbow snaps back and bangs into her nose, rocking the handicapped girl’s head back without really hurting her. His foot stomping on her instep doesn’t hurt that much either but his twisting upper torso launching into her unbalanced one is enough to have her back arch as the two of them fall to the hard white tile floor.

“UUGHHNN!” Having Pascal’s 195-pound frame land on her and force her body to cushion his own fall does draw a grunting gasp out of the momentarily winded teenager. As Destiny lies underneath his twisted body, she grabs Pascal’s shoulder, ready to fling him away and off her as soon as she has the breath to do so. From nowhere, his fist slams between her legs, punching her pussy and stalling the recovery of her breath. “WHUUUNNFF!”

Yanking himself away from her tentative grasp, Pascal clambers to his feet and grabs a metal stool. He picks it up and slams the furniture down on Destiny’s belly but the wide legs straddle her waist and merely serve to unexpectedly pin the teen to the floor. Hopping on the stool’s seat in a flash, Pascal out-thinks the embattled blonde and lashes out with the heel of his foot, catching her in the nose and knocking Destiny’s head hard against the floor.

“UGHH! Get off me, you French fuck!” Destiny barks and grabs the stool’s metal legs. She pulls hard. Pascal’s advantageous higher ground is lost as he falls off the stool and comes crashing to the floor on his side, his own head hitting the floor and causing him to roll onto his back and let out a loud groan of his own.

“UUGGHHNN! Sacre bleu! How can you be this strong still?”

Destiny rises to her feet awkwardly but with a true smile for the first time in a long while. She stands unsteadily, swaying slightly as she stands over her flabbergasted foe.

“You just keep underestimating me, doctor,” Destiny pants, her hand wiping her nose and coming away with a thread of blue snot. Despite turning the tables on him, the Bylangian champion knows she has to wrap this up quickly. She’s not in great shape. “A common mistake in men with huge egos. Come on, Pascal, get on your feet. I’m taking you in.”

“Everyone has an ego, my dear,” Pascal says, reaching his hand up for her to help pull him up. “It’s what separates us from the lower animals.”

Taking his hand, Destiny hauls the unsteady Frenchman to his knees. “That’s all okay if you don’t let it get too big.”

“Like you have?” Pascal says, swaying in place on his feet now and leaning dizzily against her. She steadies him quickly, herself thrown a tad off-balance by this large frame.”

“Me? We were talking about you, Pasc...UUUNNNGGHH!”

Destiny’s head explodes in white hot pain and she collapses to her knees, stunned to blank incoherence, fighting with everything she has to stay conscious. The blunt head of Battle Axe’s namesake weapon has rendered the Bylangian champion completely defenseless. Only the tall henchman’s fisted grip on a sweaty clump of her dirty hair keeps Destiny from falling flat on her face. Her arms hang limp at her sides, her mouth drapes open in slack confusion. Her victory has turned yet again to crushing defeat. The neural inhibitors kept her intelligence from processing her vulnerability as Pascal kept her distracted. Battle Axe’s surprising stealth for a man his size did the rest.

Lifting her off her knees until her whole body hangs by her hair, her swinging boot toes eight inches off the ground, Battle Axe snarls at his stupefied blonde captive as her limp body twists around to face his now.

“You’re one sneaky cunt. And now you’re going to pay the price, Dest--royable!

The tall blonde enforcer slams his titanium axe head into the girl’s belly dangling before him. Her legs fly up and outward, her body forming a u-shape as all her breath explodes out of hugely puffed cheeks. The axe head is withdrawn and the legs fall back to vertical, hands twitching as Destiny’s mouth screams wide in a soundless gape for air that will not come fast enough. He waits a moment until her screeching whine of air inhaled reaches his ears. Then he punches her in the gut again with his axe head and waits. And then again. After six blows, the girl’s abs turn to jelly and the axe head is buried deeper and deeper into her softened, unresistant gut.

And then he goes for her crotch with his blunt axe head. This creates a louder whining cry from the defenseless teen. By his fifth crunching jab to her crotch, Destiny is whimpering noticeably.

Battle Axe holds the blonde aloft and surveys his damage to her with a raised eyebrow. He feels he has softened her body very nicely. She is a twitching, haggard mess of flabby stomach muscles and quivering wobbly thighs. But perhaps her head and face are not sufficiently tenderized to dulled, unresponsive ineptitude. He will fix that. He goes to work pounding her cheek, jaw, forehead and nose with his tool of choice, slamming it repeatedly into the grunting defenseless champion, the face snapping back and forth with every brutal blow. Again and again he goes at her with the blunt edge of the titanium axe head until there’s the palest blue bruising about her eye, a tiny bleeding cut in her lip and a small bump on her jaw line.

Holding her limp body before him like before, he surveys the new damage, using the curved blade of the axe to direct her face back and forth. Nodding with gruff satisfaction, he takes the blade away from her face and it drops to her chest in silent defeat. Battle Axe replaces his axe into its back-mounted holder. He’s done enough to render this sneaky Bylangian cunt completely helpless now. He believes. He lets her body drop to the white tile floor with a sickening thump. Destiny curls up into a whimpering wheezing fetal ball.

In the meantime, Pascal has picked up the bottle Destiny had knocked from his hands and gone back to his workbench to complete his task of measuring out the contents of the four bottles. He is shaking his head in awe at the punishment this Bylangian bitch had been able to withstand and still respond with power and finesse. But she looked badly compromised at last. The big brute had beaten her with his axe with merciless vindictiveness. And that served Pascal well. Just a few more rounds of punishment and sexual overstimulation and the famous Destiny would be too weak to defend herself against his chain-driven choker and he would have his vengeance for his sister on one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

There was a lot he had to note in his journals for this experiment. The girl was far more of a challenge than he had anticipated. Mistakes were made. He would have to adjust his methodology significantly if he wanted to take on another heroine of this caliber. And he might. The Kryptonian perhaps? Far less of a challenge since she was so easily rendered helpless by that glowing green rock from her home world. Well, that was for another time. It was the Amazon he would need to concentrate on next. He could not afford to make mistakes with her and expect his luck to hold as it had so far. But even that was looking too far ahead. He had to break this Bylangian’s spirit once and for all, even before the pleasure suit. He needed her pliable, willing and too befuddled to be any kind of threat. He opens a drawer in the work bench and removes a pair of pliers with an electric cord attached to the end of one of the handles and eyes the menacing looking tool with a nasty smile. A very unscientific one.

Across the room, Battle Axe kneels down beside the vanquished teenager and pulls out his heavy titanium chain from the sack at his side. Leaning over, he easily tugs Destiny’s entangled arms away from clutching her midriff. He pulls her wrists behind her back and circles them with titanium links. Then he tugs the chain up and loops it twice around her throat and lets the end dangle down the middle of her back. Destiny is not going anywhere now that her doesn’t want her to go. And now, he wants her on her feet.

Glancing over at his boss, he asks, “You ready, Doc?”

“Yes, my friend. All is prepared.” He picks up the pliers and two plastic bottles and walks over toward Destiny who is held up by the chain around her neck, her body resting against Battle Axe’s front, knees bowed outward, her hands limply resting on her thighs.

“Can I nail her now?” The huge thug’s eyes are bright with lust.

“By all means, mon amie. She is yours below and mine on top.”

“Excellent. I’ve been waitin’ for this a long time, Destiny,” Battle Axe declares. Holding her sagging body up by the neck chain with one hand, the grinning thug reaches under the bright orange skirt of the dazed and beaten champion with his other hand and pulls down her golden panties until they droop in a clump around her bowed knees.


“You’re gettin’ your pussy stuffed with long hot man meat, hero. That’s what’s going on.” Battle Axe holds his cock head against the soft petals of Destiny’s sacred flower and rubs it back and forth between the slightly parted pink lips.


Holding Destiny’s jaw up, Pascal points the spray bottle marked “100%” at her droopy eyelids and sneers at the bewildered, overmatched heroine.

“You will, mon cherie. And very shortly.” He sprays her face and Destiny is enveloped in a pinkish cloud of misty pearlescent drops that cling to her skin shine there before quickly drying and being absorbed into the flesh.

“Besides,” says Battle Axe, rubbing his cock head up and down the thin lips of Destiny’s sweaty pussy, “it’s not what you want that matters. It’s what we want. What the doc wants. And what I want. And right now I want to fuck you, hero.” Holding her aloft with one hand, the tall, vengeful thug pulls her thigh slightly to the right and thrusts the wide girth of his cock deep into Destiny’s vagina, tearing through her hymen with only the most momentary pause of resistance before burying himself to his balls in the highest recesses of her being.


“Honey, I’m home!” Laughs Battle Axe with glee.

“...noooohhhhhhh....” Destiny weeps, her innocence violated, her body impaled upon the staff of her enemy, her mind stunted with befuddling drugs that sap her intelligence and blunt her will.

She’s never been so thoroughly bested as this. Never so totally humiliated and crushed in spirit as this very moment. And then Battle Axe slowly pulls his immense penis down and out of her channel until only the bulbous head remains inside her. Was her quick defeat over so soon? The instant deflowering and all was now ended? If so, the fuss she’d heard from girlfriends and tales she’d read in bawdy texts were all quite overblown. And then his one hand releases the neck chain and moves to her top, encompassing her breast, squeezing the soft golden material of her blouse. His other hand moves off her thigh and journeys slowly up her body to meet his other hand on her chest. Both hands then cross and move inside the V-neck and under the bright blue lapels. And the fingers begin to twist and pull on her nipples and the penis begins to make its way back up into her body, pressing against the walls of her feminine tunnel, pushing them open with its hot girth. And Destiny’s eyebrows go up. Very high. The sudden pleasure of this combination is a stunning revelation to her.

“Uuuhhnnnn!” She moans, eyelids fluttering, breath short, body tingling everywhere all of a sudden. Perhaps the girlfriends and the bawdy tales were not so overblown after all.

End of Part 4

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