Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 6  

I hope you enjoy the sixth 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.

Previously in Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer....

When the two men return an hour later to violate Destiny’s body with their cocks, she is a mumbling, confused mess of sweat-soaked hair, matted stinking bush, dazed unseeing eyes and drooling, slack-mouthed incontinence. A pool of urine has gathered beneath the leather horse.

“Oh, good,” says Pascal. “Stage Three is complete.”

And now, the tale continues...

Pascal walks up to the rubber-clad blonde heroine sagging heavily over the stained leather cylinder made slick with her bodily fluids. After turning off the electric fucking machine which is between fucking cycles for the moment, Pascal unlocks the castors and wheels it away a few feet. The tall Frenchman stands there a moment surveying the Bylangian beauty, his arms crossed.

The clear rubber adhering to her body is misted throughout the suit. Her ass crack, tits, thighs and underarms show pearly drops of condensation through a thin white film thrown off by her body heat and trapped sweat. The over-strained seams of the suit’s crotch flap drips with condensation and urine. The suit wasn’t designed to withstand the stress of a superheroine writhing and twisting and jerking within its confines over the course of more than an hour. Nevertheless, it’s done its job. The stimulation pads matched with the fucking machine have reduced the mighty Destiny to a barely conscious quivering, pathetic wreck.

The mighty heroine’s face is pressed against the slick leather, her eyes closed, her mouth slack. Pascal steps closer and lifts her head up by her sweaty hair with one and while his other snaps his fingers in her face.

“Come on, mon cherie. Wake up. Get those few remaining gray cells going. Fire a synapse or two for Uncle Rene and show me how gifted and quirky and resilient you are.”

“...uuuuuhhhh.......

He slaps her face with a short backhand, bringing a redness to her cheek. “Hey! Destiny! Wake up.”

The blonde dynamo’s eyelids slide up a bit and her head tilts to the side somewhat.

“...ohhh....basd.....urd...nobbing...uca...discoe...nomo...passka.....”

Pascal turns his head toward Battle Ax. “Did you make sense of any of that?”

“Not much. She doesn’t look happy. Probably some dumb threat. She’ll see us in hell or sumthin’. That’s what they always say. Anyway, seems to me the bitch is runnin’ on empty.”

“Hmm. Let us be absolutely sure.” Taking the electric pliers from a nearby bench, he waves the tool in front of Destiny’s eyes. “I have your favorite pair of pliers here, little heroine. Do you think you’re ready for more fun with your nipples?”

“..eeehhnn...nnnhuuuhh....”

The wrists and ankles shake and strain at the shiny cuffs but can do nothing as Destiny’s rubber-clad figure writhes and jerks in place. Watching the red digital display, Pascal nods with satisfaction at the very low resistance numbers being recorded by the struggling teen against her restraints.

“Yes, her tank does seem almost fully drained. Excellent!” The smiling scientist puts the pliers back on the bench and says, “I think subjecting her to another whole body physical stress assault is indicated at this point. Shall we begin, my young friend?”

“I couldn’t be more ready,” Battle Axe replies as he unzips his pants and pulls out his already stiff cock. The view of this chained blonde heroine sagging naked and helpless before him in the doc’s clear rubber stimulation suit and knowing he’s got a free shot at her has him hard as an aluminum baseball bat.

Taking a step forward, the hulking man pinches Destiny’s jaw with his left hand and her mouth gapes open with a painful grunt.

“Waaullgkk!”

His right hand takes a shiny steel implement out of a pocket in his Kevlar vest. He fits this quickly into her mouth, fitting it over her bottom teeth until it snaps open wide and keeps her mouth gaping.

“Hawwwwhhh!”

Destiny’s eyes grow large as she tries to shimmy her body away from the long, thick smelly penis coming right at her face. The hand behind her head and the chains holding her arms around the fat leather vault keep her from moving back much even as the other hand guides Axe’s dick into her defenseless gaping mouth. All she can do is whine and plead. To no avail.

“Eeeeeehhnnnn! Ohh! Ohh! Ond’t! ‘Eease...AWWGGKK!”

Battle Axe’s penis slides over her tongue, it’s head clogging the back of the girl’s throat. He smiles as both hands now hold her head still and her face goes red from the choking shaft thrust so deeply into her mouth.

“GGUHHGGKKK!! HUULLGGKKK! AAAAAGKKK!”

“So, Destiny, you come here often?”

Battle Axe grins as he easily holds the heroine’s head in place despite her frantic struggles. He jabs a bit, back and forth with his cock and her face shades from bright red to purple before he finally pulls his dick out of her mouth to give her relief. The doc was very clear that he didn’t want Destiny to choke to death on Gerald’s dick.

Wheezing for oxygen, Destiny’s eyes fill with tears at her helpless state.

Unseen behind her, Pascal steps forward and pulls at the seals of the suit’s rear flap. He pulls it open and lets the rubber flap dangle over the back end of the leather horse. A yellowish rivulet of liquid drains out onto the floor. Immobilized by Battle Axe’s huge paws, Destiny can’t move her head to look back when she feels the cool air on her exposed ass cheeks but she trembles in fear, knowing she’s about to be violated. As tender as she is down there from an hour or so on the fucking machine, she knows it could be painful for her, even with all the wetness between her thighs.

But when she feels the warmth of Pascal’s hard muscle slide into her vagina, it’s not as bad as she expected. He fills her pussy with his firm member and holds it there, squeezing her ass with both hands as he remains still, simply sighing.

“Such a tight young treasure you are,” he says and then begins to slowly thrust himself back and forth within her loins. Surprisingly gentle but insistently firm, he drives and withdraws himself over and over into her wet velvet sheath. She moans a bit.

There’s far less compassion from the man in front of her.

“You’re a very hot piece, girlie,” smirks Battle Axe. “Tell me, what’s your sign? You seem like a Pisces, especially with that mouth of yours working like a fish out of water.” The dick is plunged back into the blonde teen’s mouth, the head of it bumping against her cheek and bulging it outward until the rod is centered and steered back into her throat.

“AWWWWGHKK!”

“That feels great, sweet cheeks. Thanks. Say, what kind of music do you like? You into heavy metal?” Battle Axe holds Destiny’s head in both hands and proceeds to force his dick in and out of her mouth in slow, steady thrusts even as he keeps up his ridiculous bar-room pick-up banter. Chained and powerless, the blonde beauty can only gag and breathe rapidly with each thrust.

“...auulgghh......auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh....”

“I like the old-school metal stuff. Sabbath’s Into the Void, Uriah Heep’s Lady in Black, Judas Priest’s Exciter. You into any of that?”

“...auulgghh......auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh ...auulgghh....”

“Maybe I’ll make you a download set. Sound good to you?” Axe pulls his dick out of her mouth. The end of it shines and a long thread of sticky drool hangs between the head of his dick and Destiny’s lower lip until it thins out and breaks.

“Heeeeeeeeezz....Heeeeeeeeezzz....” The Bylangian beauty gasps and wheezes violently for air with the dick waving in her face. Her body is tense with anguish even as her pussy is building with excitement from Pascal’s steady thrusting. The confused and aroused teenager is unable to process the conflicting emotions and her head sags in Axe’s hold, her mind befuddled, all reason demolished.

Destiny suddenly feels a smooth nozzle pressed against her asshole and then a sudden thick spurt of cool gel.

“No sense not enjoying all your charms, mon cherie,” declares Pascal as she feels him spread her ass cheeks wide apart. The head of his penis butts solidly against her greased balloon knot and before she takes her next breath, he pushes his dick deeply into her rear, his warm rock-hard staff burying itself to her very depths.

“Huungghhhh!”

Hands slide up the length of the slick rubber suit and squeeze down on her breasts and the thrusting begins in and out of her rear end even as her head is held tight and Axe’s dick assaults her throat once more.

Chained to the leather vault horse, Destiny is helpless to resist this concentrated attack on her exhausted frame. She lies there limp and powerless, arms held around the wide leather apparatus as her mouth and rear are violated with steady constant thrusts from both ends.

“...aaauugghhllkk....aaauugghhllkk....UNGHH...UNGHH ...aaauugghhllkk.... aaauugghhllkk....UNGHH...UNGHH ...aaauugghhllkk....aaauugghhllkk....UNGHH...UNGHH!”

The rhythm is everything and with Battle Axe keeping the depth of his thrusts more reasonable, Destiny’s libido kicks into overdrive. The large brute has finally stopped his banter and is concentrating on getting the most pleasure out of her mouth as humanly possible.

Her body is rocked and prodded, fondled and caressed, held and dominated for minute after minute after minute. Pascal has begun to alternate between her holes now. First her pussy for a series of thrusts and then her ass. Back and forth, over and over. Pussy and ass, pussy and ass. Stuffed tight and restuffed to the stretched limit of her cavities time after time. Her mouth is filled again and again, only occasionally tickling the back of her throat to make her lips clench down on the fat rod. Her nipples are pinched and rolled, her breasts compressed, her thighs caressed. She is building to a violent crescendo as her limp body is played and played well by these master musicians of sex.

A low, keening whine of pleasure issues from the blonde heroine as the assailing duo humps away at her chained form. Finally, the thrusting, the friction, the manhandling and the sensations are too much for the blonde teenager to withstand. She yelps in joy as her neck arches, her pelvis rises a few inches and she cums magnificently in the grip of the two males who have bested her so thoroughly, her pussy issuing a heavy rush of her juices. Her jerking, battered body with it’s clenching sphincter and it’s lip-locked mouth set off both Pascal and Battle Axe and they grunt and freeze in place, their dicks filling Destiny’s ass and mouth with warm jets of thick semen. She swallows what she can and the rest surges out of the corners of her mouth. Her ass is filled like a creamy doughnut by a factory nozzle. Hands squeeze and caress her ass as spurt after spurt of Pascal’s pleasure jets into her rear.

Everyone maintains their dazed, sex-addled positions for a few moments. And when Pascal finally pulls his dick out of Destiny’s ass, a flush of white semen drains out of her and down the sides of the leather horse. Even as he packs his dick away into his pants, her butt continues to issue the residue of her violation, the thick clumpy clusters sliding down the leather, leaving dark trails against the light tan cowhide. From the front, the sliding trails from the champion’s slack mouth are equally humiliating.

“That was fuckin’ great. Thanks, Doc. I love face-fucking heroines. This twat was my third superheroine this year. Ain’t nothin’ else like it.”

“I am pleased you are pleased. Now if you would remove that mouth brace so she can breathe freely and replace the fucking machine inside her I believe another three hours or so will be satisfactory to reduce her to near or below human power levels, my friend. And then we shall have our final bit of fun, yes?”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely yes!”


The tiny bell tinkles over her head as Wonder Woman walks into the store. She sees row after row of boxes lined up before her. They are filled with magazines. Dark figures in raincoats lurk throughout the aisles, flipping through the boxes, paying her no attention even though she’s dressed in her full costume. Everywhere there are flashes of red and blue in her peripheral vision as the dark figures search for their treasures.

Walking up to the first table laden with wooden boxes filled with magazines she sees a picture of herself on the front cover. Her mouth is filled with a red ball gag, her wrists tied over her head, she hangs from the ceiling with her legs spread by a steel bar and Superman is using a large round-headed vibrator on her exposed crotch. Her head is thrown back in orgasm and a small trickle of gleaming silver trickles down her inner thigh. The magazine is titled “Super Team Ups” with a promotional banner reading “Superman gets Wonder Woman Loose and Juiced!”

Grimacing with anger, Diana flips past that magazine only to see the next one with her posed on all fours taking a large cock from behind by a black man. His penis is half buried in her vagina and yet again, her neck is arched in absolute pleasure. “WW Goes Ebony” is the title on that magazine.

Frowning she flips through magazine after magazine and everyone of them shows her in her famous red, blue and gold uniform in different positions being sexually abused or bound or tickled or urinated on or half stripped with her breasts exposed, often with nipple rings. Yet each and every magazine shows her face in a display of extreme erotic pleasure. She looks over at the other racks and sees every magazine in the place seems to have her image on the cover. Looking up at the wall, the store’s name is emblazoned in bold curly type: “Wonder Woman Whack-off World.” And under that is the bold slogan: Champion of All Porn!

A voice from the back of the room, one of the dark figures in a raincoat calls out through the store, “Hey, do you sell any Destiny magazines? I’m looking for “Destiny Defeated Vol 1, Number 1.”

The faceless clerk behind the register calls back. “Not here, fella. That’s next door at “Destiny Diddle Depot.”

“Oh. Thanks,” replies the figure. He walks toward the front of the store, and as he walks by Diana, the cool wind of his passing abruptly halts as his hand suddenly reaches down into her tunic and squeezes her left breast. She is too stunned to resist and the hand instantly withdraws and the cool breeze moves away, carrying the words in the departing wind. “Nice hooters, Diana, but I’m still a Destiny man at heart. Too bad there’s no Volume 2 though.”

Just then the loudspeaker kicks in and the voice overhead announces, “Gentlemen. Attention please. It’s my honor and privilege to announce to you that the famous Wonder Woman is here for her autograph session. Anybody who purchases any WW magazine today at any price will have it gratefully signed by the Amazon Princess herself. She will also probably be happy to fuck you silly!”

Horrified Diana runs out of the store crying and shaking her head back and forth...and she snaps upright in a sitting position just like that. Her dark bedroom is lit only by the moon as she shakes her head back and forth in reality. Then stops, breathes out heavily and collapses back onto her bed, her head bouncing in the soft pillow. She turns her head a moment to read her bedside clock before looking back up: 2:58 a.m.

“By Hera, what a dream,” she says, staring at the patch of moonlight flowing across her ceiling. “I am a wreck. I have to catch this killer. It’s driving me batty!” She turns on her side, punches the pillow and tries to settle back down to sleep. Her racing heart finally slows after tossing and turning for 10 minutes and then she slowly drifts back into her slumbers. She’s already forgotten the reference to Destiny in the dream.


It is the middle of the night, just approaching 3:00 a.m. when Doctor Rene Pascal returns to his basement laboratory. Since 11:50 p.m. Destiny has been at the mercy of the stimulation catsuit and the electric fucking machine. She is completely out of it, reduced to a mindless, sex-addled sagging sack of flesh and bones. The puddle on the cement floor under the leather horse is wide and slick with the heroine’s dripping pleasure and her urine. Chained down for hours on end, she was forced to simply let go and pee after shouts for bathroom breaks, for mercy, for any response at all went totally unheeded.

The drifting, senseless teen has no clue about the number of orgasms she’d had. They kept coming in waves with the suit and the machine working in unison to drive her to peak after peak after peak until her snot ran free, her tears drained out, her every ounce of perspiration poured out of her pores and her mind went to hide in a corner.

After turning off the fucking machine and moving it away, Pascal stands next to the horse and looks down at the defeated and drained superheroine. He pinches her ass, the plastic squeaking in his fingers. No response so he pinches harder to extract only the slightest of grunts from the girl.

“I think I may have to wake you up with those pliers over there, Destiny,” Pascal threatens. “Do you want that?”

No words. No stirring at all from the teen. She might not be capable of processing language at this point. Or may be catatonic. Only one way to tell her true mental state for sure. He does retrieve the pliers and returns to her side. He slides his hand under her upper torso and lifts it up slightly, then slides the pliers over to the nipple encased in plastic mere inches away. He fits the teeth of the tool over the nipple and squeezes down with his own strength.

“Aaaghh!” Destiny yelps, brought to awareness by the sudden brutal pain. She yanks on her restraints. “Stop! Please, please. Nuh more... Begging you, please!”

Checking down at the readout, Pascal sees the red digital number and smiles.

“Perfect! Normal human resistance levels. We have arrived, mon amie, at the crossroads of your life at last. Your life is about to become forfeit. Another superheroine will pay for her arrogance with her life. And my sister will be avenged once more. All you supers will learn that no matter how powerful you may be, how arrogant you are, how blase about the needs and rights of us small weak individuals under your protection, that the hands of justice can reach out to even you and tear you apart, render your powers useless and crush your spirit and your haughty self-importance to dust.

“You have seen how it can be accomplished, you have felt how it can be done and now you will hear your sentence and how it will be carried out. Death to Destiny by strangulation without mercy for the crime of being a superheroine! How does it feel, champion of shit, to be reduced to a pathetic weeping husk of a woman. Savor your downfall well, little bitch, for it is well-earned. Like your friend Wonder Woman who let my sister die without lifting a hand, you too will die and not she nor any superhero will be here to lift a hand in your defense. Even you will not be able to lift your own hand to deter your death, super cunt! I have seen to that. My scientific method has defeated you along with all I have tested it against. There is no escape for you. My journals there describe the process. They detail my brilliance. They record all your types’ petty resistance and how easily it can be overcome. Those journals will be my legacy and my altar of genius. They will be a shining beacon of the truth of you hero types. You all can be bested. Your brains are putty in my hands. Your powers are but withering whispers in the gale of my brilliance. My sister gave her life so that I may reach my height and avenge her death. And you, dear Destiny, are merely the latest in what will be a very long line of bodies brought low by Dr. Pascal, destroyer of arrogant heroines everywhere.”

Destiny weakly lifts her head at the journals stacked high on the bench across from the leather horse on which she is shackled. She stares at the tower of paper edges before her, just two yards away. Concentrating with all her might, she attempts to use her heat vision to ignite the heinous pile of his research. She imagines them bursting into flame as she stares into the bound white paper of journal after journal piled there. Pascal sees the frown on the blonde teens face and follows her gaze. Then he laughs aloud, heartily and long.

“Oh, no. Surely you did not think you could actually harm my work with your famous heat vision, did you, Destiny? Do you still not realize that you have no super powers left, you dumb twat! I have stripped them all away from you. Every last power. Every last superhuman ability is forever lost to you, my dear. I have cancelled your membership in that club of elite freaks of nature just as I will cancel your membership among the living.”

“....bastard....” she mumbles, letting her head down so her cheek rests against the slick leather. She is exhausted. It seems he’s won. She can do nothing.

“Moronic blonde bimbo!” He responds. “All you’re good for now is fucking so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Once again, Destiny is violated. A triumphant Pascal, heedless of her tender sex organs, rams himself into her without gentleness, without concern and without any lubrication other that the half-dried cum in her pussy. He takes her like a conquering Roman soldier, stunning her breathless with his ramming tool. He pushes and pulls at her with his dick, holding her hips and fucking away with a snarl of lust and a wild eye. A dazed and agonized Destiny can only lie in place and be raped by this madman as the throes of his insanity crest in his mind. His hips pump back and forth, his hands slide to grasp her tits none too gently and he possesses the blonde heroine with brutal force until the friction ignites his loins and he ejaculates his victory into her limp, depleted form with hefty grunt of animal satisfaction. All the finesse of the man has left him for now and he savors the smell of fear and terror of his victim as he lies on top of her inert form, sighing like a beast and nothing more. After a half-minute, he pulls out, puts his penis away and simply walks off without a word, leaving Destiny to lie there in her murmuring tears as his seed dribbles out of her naked pussy and down the semen trails blazed earlier that evening on the side of the leather horse that has borne witness to her complete degradation.


Fifteen minutes later, Battle Axe enters the laboratory alone. He strides over to the leather cylinder where Destiny lies in a flaccid daze. The crotch flap is open, draped over the round end of the vault horse and her pussy is dripping with the last expulsions of Pascal’s semen. He surveys the scene with a leer.

“You’re one sorry fucked up hero now, ain’t you, Destiny? Too bad I don’t like sloppy seconds or else I’d do you once more for good luck myself. But doc says to get you onto the table for the big goodbye now, so that’s just what I’m gonna do” Reaching down, Battle Axe unlocks the handcuffs holding Destiny’s wrists to the steel bar attached to the underside of the vault horse. He slips them off and puts them in a pocket of his pants.

“He’ll be along in a minute to send you to that great big forever you so richly deserve, bitch. Don’t see you coppin’ an attitude now though, do we, Destiny? Knocked the fight right out of you for good, didn’t we, slut. Had you swallowin’ my cum like it was ice cream and takin’ it up your cooze like some slutty prom queen, didn’t I, champ?

He undoes the ankle cuffs next and then slides the limp figure off the top of the leather apparatus and takes her up in his arms.

“.....uuuuhhhhnnnnnnnnnn....” The long, low moan surprises Battle Axe. Doctor Pascal had told him she probably wouldn’t even be conscious during the transfer. Still, he said she was weak as a kitten and that Axe would probably have no trouble handling her at all.

“Just take her from the horse to the restraint table,” says Battle Axe as he’s walking her over to it, her body slack in his arms, legs dangling loosely, head flopping back and her ass slung low between his arms as he cradles her under her knees and her back.

“What did you say,” asks Pascal as he enters the room and witnesses the transfer with satisfaction. He’s wearing his tight green silk shorts and top and making a note on a journal he’s placed on a bench.

“Oh, nuthin’. Just repeatin’ my instructions.”

When he gets to the table, Battle Axe lays the limp Destiny on her back with her head near the end of the table where the thin molybdenum steel chain dangles menacingly.

“Everything going as planned,” Pascal asks, jotting another note and not looking up.

“Pretty much. She moaned some.”

“What?!? Wait! Gerry be....”

As the big blonde thug leans low over Destiny to look into her face, before Pascal can even finish his sentence, the girl’s head comes up at him with incredible speed, her wide forehead smashing into his nose.

“UUUUGGHHNN! OWW! THOUGHT YOU SAID....”

The head retreats and smashes up again, this time more centered, driving the nose bone up into Battle Axe’s brain. His eyes widen and then the irises roll up under his lids and he’s gone, a dead weight that Destiny holds onto to help her rise up off the table. Her hands grasp his vest and his weight pulls her forward to a sitting position and then, with her fingers caught in his vest and all his momentum, it drags her off the table onto the floor with the dying villain. The two of them land on the floor almost simultaneously. Battle Axe’s back hits first and something goes flying off to the side just as Destiny lands on one knee and her awkwardly positioned ankle. Her vision dulls with flares of pain and she sways in her crouch, dazed and unthinking for a moment. When she gathers herself a moment later, she stands up and turns hurriedly to scan the room for Pascal. He’s right in front of her. He thrusts Battle Axe’s titanium knife hard into Destiny’s stomach.

“GHUNNHHH!” She exhales a burst of foul air and looks down at the blossoming red flower filling the clear rubber suit. “Uhhh. N...nohhhhh...” She falls to one knee as Pascal’s hand retreats leaving the knife sticking in her gut.

“Human level strength or less,” is all the Frenchman says, half in shock himself at this turn of events.

Destiny reaches down, in a flash of inspiration and grabs the first weapon she sees, Battle Axe’s mini flame thrower. She pulls it around and aims it at Pascal who ducks quicky and scurries away in fear.

Dazed and angry, Destiny looks around but sees nothing but the laboratory, the shelves of equipment, the stack of journals. THE JOURNALS! She points the nozzle at the stack and presses the button on the pistol grip. A stream of fire shoots in an arc through the air. Destiny stands up and directs the fire right at the stack. It catches on quickly and the whole pile, including plastic CDs and DVDs goes up in flames. From behind a bench, she hears a strangled scream of hatred and horror.

“NO!” Pascal tries to run to save his life’s work. “I have no copies! No copies yet!”

He only gets halfway there before Destiny aims the flame thrower his way, backing him down.

He ducks low and disappears and she is suddenly very, very tired. She clicks off the flame and, looking down, sees her whole lower body drenched in blood, the suit holding most of the bright red liquid in with small streams of red arcing out of the strained seams.

“This isn’t good,” she murmurs, dropping the flame thrower in exhaustion. She collapses to all fours, horribly weak after her long, long night. She’s completely exhausted. Everything is shutting down. Pascal hears the flame thrower clatter to the ground and turns to see Destiny wobbling pathetically 8 feet away. Enraged he rushes over to her, hauls her up and throws her on the table. He yanks down the flap on her suit and the blood comes pouring out. He doesn’t even attempt to bind her at this point. He just wants to complete his experiment. To strangle her and cum inside her. To complete the moment. He tries stroking himself since he’s still soft.

On the table, her vision dark, her life floating away, Destiny murmurs her final words. “..s’matter...doc...’formance...issues....”

And then she’s gone and Pascal is horrified, enraged and vengeful. There will be no strangulation. No sodomy. No final victory with this one. He will have to enjoy his final victory with Wonder Woman then. It will be as he’s always wanted it anyway. And he will leave her a message to goad her into action.


When the phone rings at 7:30 in the morning, Diana has already dressed and showered. She’s ready to go out for her Sunday morning run. She strides over to the phone and picks it up.

“Hello, this is Diana Prince.”

“Miss Prince, this is Sal Abato. I have some bad news.”

Diana’s face goes still with the phone to her ear. And then, like a force of gravity it is pulled down to a frown and then seemingly collapses into itself completely. Her entire body goes with it. Her knees thump to the carpet and her head bows momentarily before she picks it up and screams. “NOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!” She tosses the phone away like it’s a diseased rat and collapses into a fetal position, weeping inconsolably.

Softly now, barely audibly, she cries into the carpet. “Not her too! Not Destiny!”

End of Part 6

If you like this story or have feedback that you'd like to share, you can contact the author at drdominator9@live.com I try to respond to all emails in a timely manner and welcome your comments.

Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer part 6