Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 41

Sal is wandering around the tiny bunker in Pascal’s basement desperately searching for something sharp. Wonder Woman is now dozing face down on the mattress clad in the tight clear rubber catsuit. She’d asked Sal if he could help her get the damn thing off. She mumbled that it was sending her body temperature sky high and making her dizzy. She also stuttered through a worry that if Pascal got close he might just be able to start some damn program that would send her into a fit of helpless ecstacy. “He can do that?” Sal had asked. “He’s done it about five or six times. I lost count,” Diana had replied grimly.

So now Sal was rummaging desperately through the shelves and drawers for a knife to cut the tough rubber suit off the heroine. Finally, in the last drawer possible, he finds the cutlery. Forks, spoons, butter knives and steak knives are all laid out in their tidy compartments. Sal picks up a steak knife and turns to go back to the mattress when he stops in place. He walks over to the door to the bunker and slowly and quietly shuts it. There’s a simple brass doorknob on the inside. The mechanism clicks into place. There’s no lock Sal is disappointed to discover, meaning that Pascal can come in at will if he thinks to look in here. The shelves are all bolted to the floor so moving them is out of the question. In fact everything is attached to either the floor or walls, so there’s no way to barricade the door other than the mattress which is a poor solution. Shrugging his shoulders, Sal walks back to the mattress and sits down beside a prostrated Wonder Woman.

“You’re back,” she murmurs thickly, her voice filled with exhaustion. “You were gone a while. Did you find something?”

“I found a steak knife. It’s the best I could do.”

“...careful with it....gone through too much to be turned...into..someone’s...main course..,” she murmurs.

“Don’t move,” he says, untying his pants from around her body, pulling them out from under her and tossing them off to the corner. “I’m going to cut this thing off you, starting here from the back. I’m going to fillet it down your spine so hold still.” Sal puts his hand down onto the middle of Wonder Woman’s shoulders and aims the knife point just to the right of the locked zipper at the top of the catsuit. He begins to cut at the thin but rugged rubber. Slowly the smooth material begins to separate under the sharp edge pressed against it.

“...jus...be careful...no belt...no powers...s’only me in here...sweating up a storm...” The Amazon beauty yawns and settles into the mattress a bit deeper, letting her muscles loosen.

“I said STAY PUT! I almost cut you already and I’ve barely even started. This knife is very sharp.”

“Okay, okay...sorry....but my muscles are tight...”

Sal lifts the knife away from her skin and rubs her neck with his left palm. “Yes, I can feel a lot of tension in your neck here. Your tendons feel like steel cables.”

“...mmmhhh...sweet talker....don’t stop that.......feels good....”

“Well, just a bit longer. We’re on a deadline here, Princess, I think. Unless Jimmy comes down to find us and tell us Pascal’s left and everything’s aces.”

“...shhhhhh.....more massage....less jibber jabber....” utters the drifting beauty.

“Hmmphh! I shouldn’t even be doing this for you. ‘A mere cop’ she calls me.”

“...jibber.........jabber....” Wonder Woman sighs deeply, her eyes shut, fingers twitching.

After another half minute of working the tendons in her neck and bare shoulders til they uncoil beneath her skin, Sal goes back to work, picking up the knife and slicing the rubber suit very slowly and carefully down the length of the prostrated beauty’s sensuous back. When he reaches the base he pauses for a bit. He has to cut a swath between the luscious round buttocks. He wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his boxers, takes a breath and leans down, close to the still goddess lying before him.

“I...uh...have to cut...uhhmm...between your..uh....”

“...have to slice the suit....down the crack of my ass...right...?...”

“...uhh...yeah....er...yes...I do...”

“Well...do it...detective...it’s not...not like it’s sacred territory...anymore...I’m...I’m in the...the public domain...now....for good...” Wonder Woman begins to weep softly again, filled with the realization of just how ruinous this day has been to her, to her self-image, her public image, her very soul. She feels inexplicably damaged inside and sees no way to recover the life she’d known for years and years.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Abato slowly inserts the tip of the knife between Wonder Woman’s ass cheeks and oh so carefully continues to slice the rubber. He takes one hand and pushes her right buttock to the side to get the best possible view of the rubber skin he’s working on and sees her balloon knot, greasy with sweat and some white flaky residue of Pascal’s semen embedded in one tiny dry crevice. “...people...people still respect you. They will always respect you.”

“Pardon my language, Sal, but that’s a steaming pile of bull crap,” growls Wonder Woman as she trembles with fury at the depths she’s fallen, or been pushed. Her twitching rear end causes Sal’s trembling hand to stop, the knife point poised perilously close over the heroine’s anus. He pulls it out and with the same hand, wipes his brow with his forearm.

“Well, I respect you.”

“That’s a switch from this morning and before that. I got the feeling you didn’t like me much.”

“I don’t. But I respect you. Now keep still unless you want a second asshole.”

“I have a second asshole and he’s kneeling on the bed right next to me.” Wonder Woman turns her head and gives Sal a small, wan smile.

“Why you little...” He gives Wonder Woman a playful slap on her butt and she winces at that, the smile disappearing immediately. “Oh, god. I’m sorry. That was so.. so...so out of line.”

“Don’t give it a second thought, detective,” murmurs Wonder Woman as she rests her chin on the back of her hands with a mournful sigh. “My body incites...behavior like....like that. It has for... for years...and years....” Once more, Wonder Woman breaks down and cries turning her face into the soft comforter and dousing it with her grief.

With a growl and a grunt, Abato suddenly grabs the edges of the catsuit at the top of the Amazon’s butt and rips it apart with a shout, “That’s it! I’m getting this fucking thing off you, now!” His arms stretch the springy rubber to the limits of its tolerance and beyond. The suit separates down the length of her ass crack and down to the very middle of her thighs with a loud warbling sound of a steel saw being struck. The resilient rubber finally exacts the energy expended and retracts quickly, pulling the Italians arms together and his palms collide together over the middle of Wonder Woman’s back with a thunderous slapping sound.

“What the hell....” Diana starts to turn but can’t move far as Sal presses one palm against her thigh and proceeds to rip apart the left leg of the catsuit in a line down to her toes with a squeak of rubber. Seeing now what Sal is doing, Wonder Woman stays on the mattress and lets the Italian cop work out his frustration on her rubber prison. She’s thrilled to see him do it and could care less that her body is on display for him, everything out there for his eyes to snap to with delight. But there isn’t delight in his eyes. There’s purpose and righteous rage and duty in those brown irises.

When he finishes ripping apart the right leg, Wonder Woman turns onto her back and sits up. She helps him strip her of the suit by grabbing the loose rubber at her neckline and yanking it down. This frees her breasts and they wiggle and sway in place. Lying down on her back, Wonder Woman arches her lower back, raises her legs first and spreads them so Sal can pull the torn and tattered catsuit off the rest of her body. She helps him by lifting her pelvis at the end and the position presents all her assets to him in full detail. He looks at her crotch, looks in her eyes and then carefully bundles the dangling heap of rubber into a ball and chucks it across the room where it hits the opposite wall with a loud smack.

“I wish that was Pascal’s head,” Sal says and turns away suddenly, facing the opposite wall. “You might want to get under the covers, Diana,” he says hoarsely.

Before I lose control and fucking slip into you like a rutting dog!

Taking his advice she flips the corner wide and does get beneath the comforter, but she’s not in any hurry and she’s looking at the detective’s back with a bit of a surprised expression.

“You really don’t like me?” She asks this softly.

“You’re growing on me,” he says turning toward her with a weak smile. Her face and even the shape of her body under the thin comforter sends thrills right through him. He’s trying to be noble but this is Wonder Woman here. Naked and needy.

“Come under here with me,” she says pulling open the comforter and patting the sheet. “Just hold me, please. I need it. I so..so need it.”

“Are you...are you sure?” His eyes are like a four-year-old’s whose spotted an open package of Oreo cookies right there on the coffee table within easy reach.

“I just really need the touch of a person who cares about me...at this moment, I need it desperately. Please Sal.”

Without speaking, Sal kicks off his shoes and climbs in under the comforter next to a completely naked Wonder Woman. He looks at her, unsure how to proceed.

“What d..do you need?” His voice is actually shaking.

“Hold me. Just hold me in your arms,” she says, her breasts pressing against his chest and enfolding him with her own arms.

His arms slide under and around her and she buries into his body, her head next to his on the mattress. The scent of her hair and body is thick and musky with all the activity she’s gone through on this long day but it sets his senses on fire. The very presence of this incredible beauty pressing up against him, her body warmth glowing against his as he holds her tight, the weight of her breasts against his chest, the prod of her nipples pressing lightly into his skin makes him rock hard. He feels her heart beating through their shared skin.

He gulps with a noisy swallow and Diana gives a little snort of acknowledgment about what’s going on below.

“At ease, detective. I understand the attraction. I’m not insulted.”

“At ease is the very last thing I’m capable of, lady. I assure you.”

“Then maybe this ‘lady’ should put you at ease.” Wonder Woman’s hand creeps across Sal’s thigh, reaches into his plaid boxers and holds his shaft lightly. He doesn’t exactly reach the ceiling on his jerk of surprise but he’s not far off.

Her fingers surround his stiffness and gently pulse in time with his heartbeat. Sal lets out a groan. “You call that ‘at ease!’ Hell, I don’t want to be crude, Diana, but I’m about at the edge of my self-control here! I want to be inside you. Like now!”

“Good idea, Sal,” Wonder Woman says, gripping his jaw lightly and kissing him full on the mouth while lightly stroking him. Diana pours herself into this man, desperate to feel a connection to a human being who cared about her, who wasn’t there to taunt, wasn’t there to kill, wasn’t there to beat on her psyche. He was there to help her and she draws on this strength like cold well water in a desert oasis. She can’t stop herself from drinking him in.

Her tongue slips between his lips and goes exploring, warm and eager, embracing his tongue, entwining and tussling with it. Her one hand continues to feather up and down his shaft while the other pulls his body against hers slightly tighter. They moan at the same time, enjoying the thrill of two bodies finding unexplored terrain. His left hand holds her right breast, enveloping its heft and gently squeezing it as his right hand does the same with her left buttock

When finally their mouths separate in the need for fresh air, it’s Wonder Woman who speaks first. “Why don’t you take off your briefs...make things easier.”

He does this. Guinness isn’t there to take note of the world record he sets. Too bad. “You must think I’m quite the slut.”

“I just think you need human contact, Diana. That man, he’s not human.”

“But you are. You most certainly are, Detective Abato.” She goes in for more.

Her hand grasps his hardness more firmly and the strokes get more eager, shifting his skin up and down with a rhythm that has Sal woozy with pleasure. He holds onto her body for dear life, squeezing her breast and ass and pulling her to him. He feels the outside of her fist sliding up and down against his pelvis and suddenly her other hand grabs between his cheeks and her finger prods against his anus.

“..huhnn....ohhh...” he gasps with absolute delight. “You sure are..a...wonder, ...woman!”

“Shhh...don’t talk...just now...please....just get closer...slide into me...I need you...your rod... inside me....please...”

Silently, deftly, easily, Sal slides his pulsing shaft into Wonder Woman’s warm, slippery tunnel, connecting with her on a primal level. He enfolds her body, side by side on the mattress. They are co-joined, pressing against each other with just their pelvises gently grinding away beneath the comforter. They kiss and moan and clutch and sigh.

The pace begins to increase and Wonder Woman is whining softly, a keening sound of incredible joy and deep, deep sadness. She is immersed in this reality and this reality is beyond sweet. It is so painfully wonderful that her heart hurts. And then Sal begins to thrust and thrust and thrust and she holds him so tightly he can barely breathe. She exults in his fierceness; in his length and width; in his heat and in his energy. Slightly short of breath but set on automatic and too blissful himself to care, Sal savors the Amazon’s tightness; her powerful thighs as they press against his legs and her ankles entwine his legs, pulling him closer to her, her scent and her acceptance. It’s all beyond the scope of anything he’s experienced in his entire life. When the crescendo arrives, they both cry out together, blind with the joy of life, treasuring it for all it’s worth at the end of this most horrific of days.

They lie together in silence afterwards. Drifting and loose. Dribbling fluid and not caring a whit about anything. And together the two of them drift into the arms of Morpheus.

A big-breasted young blonde reporter in a bright pink blouse and a tight powder blue suit with a skirt that only goes to mid-thigh stands in the glow of her cameraman’s light. A octogenarian with a ring of wild white hair surrounding a bald head stands beside her wearing a light tan windbreaker over striped pajama bottoms. Neither the reporter or the old man seem to care about his fashion risk.

The blonde prepares to do her standup interview in front of the police barricade a block away from a very congested scene surrounding Pascal’s residence in Chevy Chase. The brick townhouse is now surrounded by a phalanx of police, yellow tape and emergency vehicles parked haphazardly on sidewalks and lawns with flashing blue and red lights that light up the night sky.

Pascal’s neighbors have been asked to move back to blue police barricades and off their front lawns where they’ve been describing their neighbor as polite and good-looking and a credit to the area to the early news crews arriving on the scene who’d been monitoring the police band. The attractive blonde, Heather Wells, has arrived late and is trying to play catch up with the willing senior citizen who she’s pre-interviewed just moments before.

“We’re going live, Heather,” says her cameraman, “...in 4...3..2....” He folds down his forefinger and jerks up his thumb with the high sign.

“Good evening. In a stunning and dramatic development to what has been a tense few weeks here in our nation’s capital, it appears that a suspect who has already allegedly killed three superheroines has now captured a fourth, the famous Amazon beauty Wonder Woman. Apparently, that heroine has been held and repeatedly beaten and raped throughout the day in a brick townhouse one block from here in fashionable Chevy Chase. In a surprising development, this man, a professor from France, Rene Pascal, has gone public with this capture, going so far as to offer a podcast of his most recent kidnaping on a website created specifically for this event. Beside me is Mr. Casper Stevenson, a next-door neighbor of the professor. The suspect has lived in the United States now for more than 15 years. Mr. Stevenson...”

“You can call me Casper, Heather.”

The man winks and wiggles his fingers at the camera at the same time Heather frowns. She turns it quickly into a very weak smile and continues on.

“Casper, you’ve lived right next door to Dr. Pascal for over 10 years you’ve told me. Did he ever show any signs of being unbalanced to you in all that time?”

“Besides being French, you mean?”

“Yes, besides that,” Heather grits her teeth.

“Not particularly. We didn’t speak that much to be honest. He always seemed busy. Kind of preoccupied. But when we sometimes came out to retrieve our newspapers at the same time, we made small talk.”

“Did he seem to have a temper?”

“No. He was actually quite charming...especially for a Frenchman. I can’t believe he’d hurt anyone. This is pretty surprising.”

“Didn’t you tell me you heard screams coming from the house once or twice over the years?”

“No, I did not, Heather. You misunderstood me. I said I heard screams a couple of times from there today. But never before that.”

“Yes, of course,” Heather nods, bull-rushing past her error into the meat of her interview, “but those screams, did they sound like they came from a woman, possibly even Wonder Woman herself?”

“I suppose it’s possible. Unless it was some guy who got kicked in the nuts. Men can be pretty high-pitched when that happens. Can I say nuts on TV?”

“Bryce,” Heather says, turning back to the camera and ignoring the oldster at her side. “The police are formulating a plan I’m told and are awaiting the arrival of SWAT. Just before the site stopped showing live action of Wonder Woman it appeared she had escaped with the help of two stalwart detectives from D.C., Salvatore Abato and James Glendennon. But that was over 20 minutes ago and she’s yet to make any appearance. Nor, for that matter, have the two police officers inside the house been seen since. Until SWAT arrives and they possibly go in hot, however, we can only guess what sort of dreadful conditions that brave woman might be going through. For now, the website has gone quiet with only a homepage showing obscene images of the heroine in compromising positions in photo sets available for purchase.”

With a heavy frown as prearranged with her cameraman, he goes in for a closeup of Heather’s beautiful face, centering on it for the duration of her wrap up before pulling back to a medium shot.

“On such a calm and peaceful night, it’s hard to imagine that a tragic state of affairs could be unwinding here. But people around me are hoping for a resolution that does not include yet another death of a famous heroine, indeed, possibly the most famous of them all, The Champion of All Women, Wonder Woman. For Channel Four Action News, here in Chevy Chase, I’m Heather Wells.”

“I’d do her,” Gary says, loving those thighs wrapped in the tight powder blue skirt and appreciating the shape of those large tits under that bright pink blouse as they rise and fall just before the cut back to the anchorman. “Show of hands?” He says. His three companions’ hands all go high in the air.

The tall Frenchman cautiously makes his way down the secret back stairway to his basement lab from the first floor utility room. He has decided not to use his cell phone to re-engage the website for live action until he has the situation well in hand.

With one hand against the cool stone wall, his other pushes on the heavy steel doorway to his lab, swinging it open wider. There’s no one in the laboratory and all the tear gas from earlier has fully dispersed. Unless someone is hiding behind the door, the place looks clear. He shakes his head angrily about the fact he’d forgotten to take the Irish cop’s gun. He does have a syringe and a few bottles of heavyweight drugs in his jacket pocket, and the handheld camera in his other pocket but they’re no answer to the gun that the Italian cop carries.

Dashing across the lab in a sprint, he hides behind the choke table, squatting low and peering behind the door. There’s no one there. He can’t see into the deepest shadow but he knows the lab is deserted. It just feels that way. The sour scent of sweat and death waft up from the stained leather pad next to his face and Pascal breathes it in, relishing the smell of his conquests over women of vastly greater physical skills but stunted brain power. He will find Wonder Woman and her crude Italian protector and finish them both off. He’d lied about the poison to the Irishman. He’d just dosed him with a strong sedative. Abato may actually get the poison he has in a tiny bottle in his pocket. Or he may get the curare. It would serve the asshole right to watch his beloved heroine get dragged off to die with him unable to do a thing about it. Yes, that sounded better. Maybe after he killed Wonder Woman he would go back and inject the helpless cop with the poison on top of the curare. He might choke on his own vomit. A fitting end to the foul-mouthed pest.

Moving on in his search, Pascal heads through the door leading to the storeroom and quietly, stealthily looks for where the duo might be hiding. He’s not certain that they didn’t head up to the first floor but with the house in lock down mode, he would have heard if they’d tried to break out with every window and door bolted and sealed. Getting an idea, the ingenious villain keys his phone and brings up the security system, carefully calling up all the camera views of the storeroom. Slowly thumbing through them, he finds no dark shadows, no crouching bodies, no frightened shining eyes anywhere. Just the one camera shows himself with his face peering at this own phone in the open area just outside the lab.

“Where have you two do-gooders tucked yourselves away to, hmmm? Not the freezer?” He grins at the thought. That would be a lucky break, even though there’s no camera in there, he would have plenty of ways to make their lives miserable

Suddenly his phone vibrates in his hand with an incoming call. He’s pleased he remembered to mute all the sound features. It wouldn’t do to give his position away. The prince and princess of justice were dangerous enough as it was without giving them any advantage. The screen just gives a local area phone number. Rolling the dice, he takes the call.

“Hello?” Pascal whispers this as he heads back into his lab and away from the freezer just to be sure any lurking ears cannot hear him.

“Rene Pascal?”

“Doctor Pascal if you please!”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Doctor Pascal, this is Heather Wells from Channel Four Action News.”

“Ah, yes, right. You are the blonde girl with the big hooters and tight blouses, n’est ce pas?”

Pleased her fashion marketing choices are working, Heather presses on. “Doctor are you prepared to surrender with the house surrounded by at least thirty policeman?”

“Is that all? Call me back when it gets to 50, cow!” Pascal hangs up. He is pleased at the police presence. It fits into his final plan nicely. All he has to do is find Wonder Woman and dispatch her and that bothersome cop. He heads back into the storeroom, swiftly and silently heading for the freezer.

When he gets to the wall beside the freezer door, he flattens against it and very carefully slides the lock latch into its closed position. The second it clicks shut he spins and looks through the freezer window. It’s not that large a space and its clear no one is inside.

“Merde!” Where else could they be? They cannot have vanished into... Ahh!” A sly smile spreads over his features. The bomb shelter! It is the only place left.

The bomb shelter will not be an easy place to assault. It’s very defensible. He stands in place, stroking his beard as he holds his phone down by his leg, tapping it against it as he thinks. “If only there were a camera in there,” he mutters softly. He considers drilling a pinhole. He has a camera that would fit but the drill would probably alert them. He considers returning to retrieve the gun lying under the Irish cop’s unconscious body upstairs. Probably exhausted, and without her bracelets or god-given speed, Wonder Woman would be an easy target. The dago cop would be more of a challenge. Curare would take care of him but how to deliver it? There was no gas canister attached to the ducts in this room so he couldn’t knock them out. There was a ceiling duct for fresh air. He could try to rig a gas attack but the duct was tucked into a high ceiling and it would be noisy and troublesome to get to. Pascal starts to pace. Time is draining away from him, he feels. His window of opportunity to recapture the Amazon cunt and finish her for good and still make his escape feels like it’s beginning to swing shut. He looks at his watch. He may have only 20 more minutes before he has to walk out of this house forever.

“I have to risk this! I have come so far, come too close to lose everything.” Quickly removing the syringe and bottle of curare from his pocket, he efficiently fills the thin barrel with the potent serum and holds it aloft, ready to stab whoever guards the door. He has to be careful and only use a half dose and save the other half for whoever is left to fend off.

Girding himself, he strides over to the outline of the door in the gap between the steel shelving. He gently presses the spring mechanism and it only very faintly clicks before releasing. Taking hold of the door edge, Pascal very, very slowly opens the door and then stops it from moving any further. He knows it squeaks when swung too wide.

With no one launching out at him, he sidles into the small gap of the just barely-opened door and is greeted by the most wonderful sight he could have hoped for. Two snoring bodies lie on the mattress across the room entangled under and over the comforter. Sal’s bare leg is bent and resting on Wonder Woman’s naked pelvis while their chests are covered by the bedcover. Shifting his eyes to the ceiling, Pascal praises God, his good fortune, or whatever being seems to be watching over him. Maybe it is Saint Valentine with the way these two are sprawled in a tangle of legs and arms.

In less than ten seconds, Pascal has the handheld camera out of his jacket pocket and wedged between two cans of potted meat. He sets it at wide angle and then takes out his cell phone and starts up the feed from the camera to the website. So as not to wake the sleeping innocents, the grinning Frenchman types in a bold-faced message in 48 point type that flashes on the home page just before the video feed goes live.


Wasting not one more second, Pascal steps silently and rapidly to the side of the bed and injects Detective Abato with the full syringe of curare right in the thigh that’s exposed. He is so supremely confident in his ability to handle the Amazon himself without the effects of the nerve paralyzing agent that he gives the cop the full dose.

“..hey...what the...” Abato wakes up with his leg stinging. He opens his eyes to see the bearded Frenchman rising up and away from him. Sal swings his arm out with a roundhouse punch that is just quick enough to catch Pascal square on the nose. It erupts with blood even as Pascal stands there in shock, his head reeling.

“OWW! Merde!” He drops the syringe and his hands cover his nose, one hand pinching it, his fingers firmly applying pressure.

“Oh fuck! Diana! Pascal! Trouble!”

Without a second’s hesitation, he pushes the naked Wonder Woman off the mattress and into Pascal’s legs. This causes Pascal to stumble and fall on his ass as Abato springs to his feet, standing on the mattress with his fists raised in a fighter’s stance. He’s butt naked and his gun is on a shelf four feet away, but Sal doesn’t think he needs it. He thinks he can handle this science nerd with his fists. He’s looking forward to it.

Pascal continues squeezing his nose as he sits a foot away from a befuddled and moaning Wonder Woman. The day’s toll has left her beyond groggy and she struggles to find the sense and equilibrium to even know up from down. Her face is pressed against a threadbare red area rug, her eyes focused on its loose weave. She see’s Pascal’s shoe in the background but is too out of it to understand the threat.


“I’ve been waiting to beat the shit out of you, Pascal. You led me on a wild goose chase this entire day.” Sal adroitly steps over a wobbling, groaning Diana and puts himself between her and Pascal. He looks down at his sitting opponent who is just removing one hand from his face as the other continues to squeeze his nose.

Carla at D.C. Dispatch watches the screen that’s been set up at her station in case she’s needed as a fast feeder of information to the two detectives. Her jaw drops at the sight of a naked Detective Sal Abato standing up on a mattress with his fists up and his package hanging down. “I had no idea that he was so well-endowed,” she murmurs to herself. If he gets out of this, she’s taking him out for a coffee and a....whatever.

Pascal is getting awkwardly to his feet and Sal peers intently at him, searching for hidden weapons in his free hand or any sudden movements. The Frenchman straightens up and steps back nervously. He covers his wounded pride with false bravado. His voice though is squeaky and nasal through his fingers.

“I'd dook you duh endire day do figure id owd doe, did it dot, Abadoh? Dust az I plad.”

“You planned to have your face punched, Pascal? I don’t think so. You’re going down, prick, for everything. And I’m the man who’s...who’s gunna...punch...yer...tick...” The swarthy Italian falls face forward as he suddenly loses all the muscle control in his legs. He has just enough strength in his arms and hands to cushion his fall so he doesn’t break his nose or suffer a concussion, but the fall is hard and Sal is badly winded by it. As soon as he catches his breath, he’ll get up and knock this guy.....except he can’t move his neck, or any extremities he realizes. “...whaya...du..t’me...” They’re the last words he’s able to voice.

Pascal removes his fingers from his nose and sniffs. He’s stopped the bleeding. “It is curare, moron. Same as I shot up your naked-ass-girlfriend here with earlier. Now look at the two of you, both paragons of the law: bare-assed and defenseless on the floor. I just love the classic tactics. They never get old. Isn’t that right, Princess?” Angrily grabbing the woozy, exhausted beauty by her hair, Pascal drags her five feet across the red area rug on her back and slams the back of her head against the bottom shelf holding four 30-pound bags of rice.



If her head had hit the shelf with that force, it might have rent a nasty wound but the front edge of the rice bags cushioned the blow just enough to prevent that. Nevertheless, Wonder Woman’s eyes cross and her hands twitch at her sides as she’s had her bell rung soundly. The heroine is so dazed she doesn’t see the kick to her ribs coming but she sure feels it as the toe buries into her. She rolls over on her side with a high-pitched yelp and goes into a fetal position.

“No....don’t....” she wheezes in a pitiful wail. “...please...no more...you win....you win... you win....I give up....you’re better than me...stop...STOP! STOOOPPPPPPP!” Wonder Woman is crying and begging as she tucks her head behind her hands, warding off the punches that Pascal is now raining down on her body.

He is in a fever of blood lust after being punched in the face by Abato and takes it out on the helpless Amazon, punching, kicking and shouting at her.

“Fuck you, bitch. Who is the champion now? Who has been ahead of you all day, every hour, every minute, every fucking second? Who?”

“...you...it’s you...been you all day...like you say...every fucking second ..so please.... please....stop...no more...I can’t take it... please...”

Pascal reaches down with one hand and wrenches away one of the arms protecting the huddled beauty. His other hand grabs her jaw and twists it so her face is presented to the camera wedged on the shelf. The picture sent out to the world is one of a panicked, wild-eyed Wonder Woman with snot draining out of her nose, a small cut over her eyebrow, a growing bump on her temple and a fattening upper lip. Her defense had been shoddy at best in her dazed and lethargic state.

“And now the piece d’resistance, mon amie”

Pascal jerks up Wonder Woman’s head by the hair and smashes her forehead against one of the upright posts of the shelving unit with considerable force. She goes out like a side of beef in a slaughterhouse and Pascal lets her limp body fall to the floor with a thump. From ten feet away, Detective Sal Abato can do nothing but watch as the Champion of All Women is then hoisted up in a fireman’s carry by Pascal and walked right past him as he lies limp and helpless face down on the floor.

And then he sees Pascal’s legs go past him the other way, retracing his steps. From his low vantage point, he sees Pascal squat down right beside the rumpled heap of clothes against the wall. Securing the limp body with a firm restraining hand on Wonder Woman’s wide ass, Pascal pulls a glowing golden rope out of the pocket of Sal’s pants.

“Perfect! Just perfect,” the Frenchman exults.

Sal is thinking the same thing but in a much more bitterly sarcastic way. The end of the rope drags past his fingers and he can’t move a muscle to grab it. He lies on the floor, naked to the world just before Pascal puts the lasso into his own pants pocket, takes his cell phone out and switches the view from the handheld camera to the storeroom cameras.

“Man, that guy just does NOT like Wonder Woman,” Jake says as he watches the raven-haired beauty’s forehead bounce off the steel shelving unit only to then see her limp body dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“What gave you the hint, Jake?” Roger rolls his eyes. “What I can’t believe is that the fat old cop actually got to fuck Wonder Woman. Who the hell saw that coming?”

“Yeah, for fuck sake! I mean,” Gary is almost spitting in his vehemence, “I could have had her if she’s willing to do him!”

“Yeah, ‘cept you didn’t ‘xactly lay on the charm when she was here, man,” Jamal points out.

“Well, she did come in on her high horse and all. Fuckin’ bitch. She’s not so high now though, is she? Not with her ass draped over Frenchy’s shoulder like that. Not begging and whining like that. Not getting her ass reamed. No, the Princess got knocked down quite a few pegs, just like she deserved. I just wish I was the one tapping that big, luscious ass.”

“And me,” Jake, Jamal and Roger all answer simultaneously.