I hope you enjoy the seventh installment of this Wonder Woman story. I look forward to your comments at email@example.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....
“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!”
And now, the tale continues...
Diana lies on the carpeted floor of her apartment, clutching her knees to her chest as her body shakes intermittently from wracking sobs. She is devastated by this tragic news. Another heroine lost! And countless more lives to be lost that poor Destiny will never save. Oh, Destiny! Her life sacrificed to some madman. Her beautiful, courageous soul snuffed out decades before its time, paying the ultimate price that every heroine faces and that none expect to come due. The heart-breaking sorrow of it all grips Diana in her gut and drains her of all hope. It’s a long ten minutes curled on the rug weeping and sniffling before she is finally able to pull herself together and wearily stand up, a forlorn figure wavering absent-mindedly in the center of her living room, stunned and tear-streaked with her mascara ruined.
With a heavy sigh, she walks toward the bathroom to assess the damage to her face. On the way she bends down to pick up the portable house phone and presses the Off key. She sets it down on the bathroom sink and looks in the mirror. Her makeup is a disaster and has to be completely redone.
As she’s fixing her face, the phone rings and she jerks in startled fear at the device before reaching down, picking it up and seeing the readout display: IADC.
“Hello. This is Diana.”
“Diana, it’s Steve. I just heard we lost another superheroine: a fairly new girl called Destiny who’s made a name for herself only recently. Did you know her?”
“Not well, Steve. We just met the other day.”
“Really? How did that happen?”
Diana realizes she’s just slipped up. She’d met Destiny as Wonder Woman not as Diana Prince.
“Oh, uh, I was shopping downtown the other day when I looked up and saw her swoop down and pluck a two-ton billboard out of the sky that was about to fall on my head and that of a dozen onlookers.”
“My gosh, Diana, are you okay?”
“Oh, uh yes, sure, Steve. I would have had time to run away from it. It was 10 stories up at the time. I can be fast on my feet when I have to be.”
“All that IADC field training pays off.”
“Look, uh, Diana. How are you doing with all this?”
“I’m numb at the moment. Detective Abato called just before and let me know about Destiny. I... uh..I’m..er..going to go down to the scene I guess...where Destiny was found this morning. See if I can find anything out about her killer.”
“Okay. I’m waiting here in the office for the results of Interpol’s investigation. Anything valuable comes up, I’ll call your cell.”
“Fine, Steve. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Right, Di. If you need anything....”
Distracted and distraught, Diana clicks off Steve in the middle of his offer of help, unhearing and unaware of her slight to him.
She looks back in the mirror, her lip trembling and puts both hands on the edge of sink, then lowers her head and let the tears drip down her cheeks for another two minutes before she composes herself once again and starts over on her makeup.
NOTEBOOK ENTRY #276 - DTY
That bitch Destiny succumbed to all my plans and preparations but destroyed all my scientific journals in the process. I am not sure why I am even recording this entry at this point. Pure habit and science marching on I suppose. Another unknown: I am simply not confident that I will be able to replicate the formula again for the two neural toxins. I have some left of course besides what I planted on Gerald’s corpse. But what a loss to humanity! What a super twat Destiny was! She fell for everything I planned of course: the dusting with the space spores, the application of the neural agents, almost all the tricks that Battle Axe played on her. Oh, she killed him by the way. Where was I? Oh yes, she followed me to the back room just as I knew she would and took the shotgun blast. But even that didn’t kill the bitch. I suspected it would not but was hoping it would leave holes in her. It did not. But it did put her out of commission for a while. She was just too weak and confused to stop from being tied to a chair and dropped in the cold pool. That worked well especially following it up with the liquid nitrogen and then bringing her to a climax, too. Everything I devised served to drain down her strength precisely the way I laid it out. Even with all her amazing Bylangian powers, she still could not prevent me from stripping them all away from her. It was as easy as...how do these Americans say it? Oh yes, taking candy from the baby. Well, maybe a very stubborn baby. But in the end, I pulled them all away from her. The stupid little bitch got everything she deserved and then some. The electric pliers I used had the famous heroine screaming and weeping and even pissing her panties in fear. That was the biggest surprise of the day. What a beautiful sight that was! The fear in her eyes, the urine draining out of her twitching snatch into her boots and onto the floor. And then the shame. Increable! After that, the stimulation suit and fucking machines had her screaming too, for a different reason - pleasure. In the end, they took her all the way down to zero superpowers. The digital readout proved that. But even with that mistakes were made. At only the normal strength of a teenage girl and a very exhausted one at that, it still wasn’t enough to stop the arrogant cunt from head-butting Battle Axe’s nose into his brain, the dumb fuck! I was forced to stab her before she could escape and never even got the chance to finish the final stage of choking her out with the titanium necklace. She died before I had the chance. I am ashamed to admit I beat on that cunt’s body for a few minutes in my frustration. Even turned her over and thought about ass-fucking her dead corpse. But I gained control finally and just gave her a final punch in the kidney. After that I bundled her up in a white canvas sack and ended up having to cut Battle Axe in half just so I could lift the huge lummox and bring him to my preselected body drop site. What a mess! Anyway, I’m now in the middle of preparing the house for Wonder Woman’s appearance. That bitch will suffer more than any of the heroines that I have captured. I will make certain of that. She does not let my sister die like that and get away with it, not on her life! End summary. And the end of Wonder Woman coming up. Hah!
A stiff autumn wind snaps at the lapels of Destiny’s top, pulling at them and seemingly trying to further expose the ample cleavage of her limp body to even more humiliation than it already suffers. The mighty Bylangian heroine is draped over the tail of a prototype of a twenty-foot long science survey rocket set at a skyward facing angle on a pedestal outside the west face of the National Air and Space Museum on the Mall in Washington, D.C. Her face points up at the sky that she will never soar through again. Her eyes stare sightlessly into the great forever.
Destiny’s back is slumped against the curved white plating of the rocket, her arms hang loosely down. The blonde beauty’s legs are draped obscenely apart, the shiny orange thigh-high boots straddling the long tube’s sides. Her hair has been knotted around the pointed fin to prevent the body from sliding off its precarious perch. The heroine’s skirt is missing and she wears only her gold panties with their orange piping. The panties are heavily soiled with yellowed stains of urine and her cum. Sticking out of her belly, the handle of a large knife shivers from side to side in the occasional wind. Off to her left, pictures are being taken of her disgraceful pose by a young crime scene technician. He’s been shooting a variety of angles for the last two minutes until a young man with a close-cropped neat black beard walks up to him, places his hands on the tech’s shoulder and speaks softly to him.
“I think you’ve got enough, Jeremy. Go take shots of the body parts in the bushes now please.”
“Sure, George.” The lad goes over to a trio of neatly-trimmed yews and begins snapping away at the body there of a big man in grey and white battle armor who’s been sliced into two halves. Death has visited the famous museum of flight in a tableau of true horror that had sent the first early tourists heaving their breakfasts onto the sidewalk and then dialing the D.C. police as fast as their thumbs could move.
With Murray Banks, the Medical Examiner, taking his typical Sunday off, the responsibility for the crime scene fell to his assistant, George Constantine, a young doctor of Greek heritage that Banks greatly respected and trusted. Even with a high-profile murder like this, Murray had told George to handle it himself when the assistant had called him from the morgue with the news of the bodies’ discovery. Banks told Constantine that he would be in tomorrow to conduct the autopsy. That was the only thing that Murray had held back from the young doctor. The upper echelon from the Police Commissioner to Mayor would expect nothing less. Other than that however, it was George’s show to run as he saw fit. Two detectives that George did not respect much were on the scene before he had arrived with the tech crew. Sal Abato and Jimmy Glendennan were now talking together near the body of the big man in the bushes. They were speaking with the tech crew who were staking out the body’s perimeter, taking notes and making harsh jokes to the two detectives. It was the sort of grisly humor that professionals sometimes adopted to keep the reality of the moment at bay.
“He’s not half the man he used to be.”
“No, he’s two halves of the man he used to be.”
“Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
“How do you feel about capital punishment now, sir?”
“I’m pretty divided about that.”
A loud guffaw comes out of Abato just as Wonder Woman walks around the corner of the museum building and comes face to face with Destiny draped over the rocket. The Amazon princess’ face goes white as she freezes in place, staring at the horrific image before her.
“...oh...Hera....” she whispers, her fist at her mouth, her teeth clenching her knuckle, drawing blood. She’d been given no details by Abato or Trevor on the phone. She staggers to the side and sits down harshly on a nearby bench. Her head droops low, her knees shaking, her hand dripping blood onto the sidewalk. The assistant M.E. hurries toward her and sits beside her.
“I’m sorry, Wonder Woman. The police were supposed to cordon off the area....”
“I...i...asked....and....they let me through,” she stammers through deep breaths, staring at the fringe of grass between the sidewalk and the bench that was beneath her boots. “My own fault.”
“Well, we’re almost done here. I can send you my report if you don’t want to see anymore.”
“I can’t unsee that, doctor. Much as I might wish it,” Wonder Woman says, still looking at her boot tips and gathering herself. “No, I’ll stay. What have you got so far?”
“Judging by the lividity, both bodies were killed elsewhere and dropped here. I’m not sure if they battled each other....”
“Wait...both bodies?” Diana’s head snaps up. If possible, the Amazon’s face loses even more of it’s color. Was yet another heroine dead and left like trash on America’s doorstep? Diana wavers in place on the bench, her face filled with fear as her wide blue eyes search the young doctor’s eyes waiting for an explanation.
“Yes, a rather large man was found underneath those bushes over there,” George points at the group of techies and the two policemen. Diana notes Abato and Glendennan there with a scowl. “He’s wearing some sort of body armor. I think it’s the man that was in the news the other day but I forget his name.”
“Battle Axe? He’s the other body?”
“That was his name! I remember it now,” the assistant M.E. slaps his thigh.
Diana gives a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t another superheroine. “How did he die? How did Destiny die? What happened here?”
“Like I explained, they didn’t die here. They were moved here. If I had to guess, I’d say he died from a blow to his nose that drove the bone into his brain. Being bisected probably occurred after death.
“Bisected? Are you serious?”
“Why on earth would I joke about that?”
“I’m sorry, doctor, please proceed.” Wonder Woman shakes her head at the gruesome turn this case has taken. The violence seemed to be escalating.
“The woman victim appears to have sustained any number of injuries, most extremely brutal, but I would surmise that the stab wound in her stomach was the coup de grace.”
“But she’s...Destiny. Surely a stab wound couldn’t...”
“Her physical stamina was severely taxed would be my guess. There’s all sorts of wounds and marks and excretions that would indicate severe sustained traumas both violent and...well, sexual. The young lady, though she was super powered and had remarkable stamina and resistance to physical..ahh...abuse... did suffer repeated violent attacks on her person, Wonder Woman. I can’t be sure the time frame and duration of the attack but my guess is that she simply wore down over the course of her ordeal. That, and the fact that she was suffering from a cold or flu probably helped contribute to her overall demise.”
“The flu? What makes you think Destiny had the flu, doctor. She was Bylangian. She couldn’t get the flu if she sucked in all the air in the middle of an influenza ward during the great pandemic of 1918.”
“Well, she has an accumulation of mucus consistent with some sort of influenza-like pathogen. An autopsy will confirm it but I’d guess her lungs are congested and her sinuses inflamed.”
“None of this makes any sense. The flu and stabbed? That’s how you think she died?”
“The constant trauma to her body from untold attacks and the stab wound would be my initial judgement. I doubt the flu killed her. Possibly just weakened her system is all.”
“I don’t...don’t understand how this could happen to someone so strong, so vital,” Diana murmurs, more to herself than the M.E. assistant. “She rivaled Supergirl on all the power scales people use to measure these things.”
“Yes, well, Supergirl has kryptonite, so maybe Destiny had some mineral that was equally devastating to her. Or some sort of organic element that we don’t know about.”
“She never mentioned it in all her interviews.”
“Well, why would she admit to something like that in an interview? It’s not something you’d want the general public to know. I’m sure Supergirl would prefer the world didn’t know about her weakness. She’s lucky kryptonite is such a rare element or she’d be constantly under siege.”
“I’m not referring to media interviews, doctor. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”
“George Constantine,” he said, shaking the hand that Diana proffered.
“I was referring to interviews with the Justice League and other similar organizations. Star Labs would have known if she had a weakness. They track such things. I will check with both of them later to see if she ever mentioned a weakness to them. I’m afraid I really didn’t know much about Destiny.” Diana looks at the limp figure draped over the rocket and sighs deeply. And she frowns as she sees Abato and Glendennan break off from the group of technicians and head over toward her. She and the doctor both rise as the two detectives walk up.
“Well, if it ain’t Ms. Busybody. Come here to gather more clues and keep them to yourself, toots?”
“Someone has to try to solve this case, Abato. You’re clearly incapable of it,” a fuming Wonder Woman snaps back at the police detective whose face goes from smirk to scowl in an instant. “Do you have any idea what went on here?”
“Nuthin’ went on here, lady. This was just a drop off point. But judging from what the doc here told me and my own observations...”
“Hah!” Wonder Woman interjected.
Abato stopped, gave the Amazon an icy stare then continued. “...Mr. Axe under the bushes there got his dead on when blondie there headbutted him but good.”
“So we don’t know if she was stabbed by Battle Axe before or after he was butted,” Wonder Woman mused aloud.
“Highly unlikely afterward,” answered Constantine. “Death would have been near instantaneous.”
“Of course, there had to be a third party involved,” Jimmy Glendennan chimed in. “Somebody had to cut the big guy in half and drop the bodies.”
“I can see why you made detective, Jimmy,” sniped Wonder Woman sarcastically. “That’s good solid police work. Now for a gold star, do you know who it was?”
“We’re getting real close, I assure you, Wondie,” Abato growled. “We’re checking out every possible lead.”
“And yet the bodies keep piling up, Detective!” Wonder Woman growls and walks off toward the rocket and Destiny’s limp figure.
Diana circles the body slowly, forcing herself to be as unfeeling as possible, to merely look at the physical evidence. It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done. She sees the white fingerprint powder on the knife handle and knows that any results there will be hours away from being known. The titanium knife is distinctive and George Constantine walks up behind Wonder Woman with a soft comment to her.
“The materials in the knife seem to be the same construction and design as the axe slung in the back holster on the body under the bushes. My guess is that the fingerprints on the knife will match the deceased’s over there but that’s not conclusive that he actually stabbed this poor soul here.”
“It would be hard to prove either way, I’d guess,” says Wonder Woman as she looks over the body and its many bruises on the wrists and ankles. “She was bound to something like the other victims it appears.”
“I’d say that was probable,” answers the Greek doctor. “The stains on her underwear appear to be urine, her’s would be my guess from the patterning there...”
“Oh, Zeus! The poor creature...”
“And the other ejaculate stains seem to be a combination of hers and her assailant’s, possibly the guy under the bush over there. We’ll know that by tomorrow or the next day. Oddly, there’s no semen on her body. A chemical cleansing agent was used...”
“Elimanol,” Wonder Woman said quietly.
Constantine’s face shows great surprise at this. “Murray said you were very smart.”
“I’ve smelled it before, doctor. On the other victims.”
“Yup, someone certainly had a good time with this little lady here,” Abato says, coming up beside the rocket and patting its side with a slap that reverberates with a loud, hollow metallic ring that jars the sensibility of all three people. Wonder Woman in particular recoils badly and falters back a step. Abato actually seems a bit embarrassed by his action and the assistant M.E. simply glares at the uncouth detective before walking off to talk to his techies.
“Oh...uh...sorry...I didn’t realize...sorry...” Abato starts to move off when Wonder Woman grabs his elbow and pulls him around to face her. “Aaghh!” He yelps at the pain in his arm.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Detective Abato. I guess I don’t know my own strength.” She releases his arm and he rubs it with an unmanly pout. “Do you have any theories at all about who might have done this to this poor girl?” Diana asks him. “Anything at all?”
“Well, I do have the two vials from Battle Axe’s pocket but that’ll take some time to get analyzed.”
“Yes, the chemicals in those vials might match those found on the earlier victims,” nods Wonder Woman.
Abato looks at Wonder Woman with a raised eyebrow and then nods in return. “Yes, well, Constantine told me he’d get on it as soon as he got back to the lab. Shouldn’t be too long. But I’m going to do some heavy background searching on Battle Axe in the meantime and see if he’s connected to any of the labs or chemical supply companies we’ve got lists on to see if there’s a match there.”
“Do you actually have an ID of him?”
“His wallet was in a secret pouch in his Kevlar vest. Name is Gerald uhh..Detherlink.” Abato say, checking his notebook with a flip. “With a name like that, I’d change it to something else too!”
“A wallet? Isn’t that a little too easy, Detective,” Wonder Woman declares.
“Not everyone is an Amazon princess with no need for pockets in her uniform for cash or keys to her mind-controlled invisible jet, your superiorness. Some of us have to work for a living. Anyway, poor old Gerry there is suspect numero uno! I’m hoping that he was the mastermind of all this and Destiny there had the ability to take him out before she died, and it was just his accomplices that sliced him in half and left him here before taking off. If we’re lucky maybe this killing spree has come to its end.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t think you should rely on luck, Detective. Please let me know when you get the results from Dr. Constantine. Wonder Woman gives Abato a business card from inside a pocket in her belt. It just has her name and a cell phone number in black type on a white card. “See, I do have pockets. You don’t know everything, Abato. In fact, you don’t know most things. You can contact me at that number.”
“I know more than you think, toots. A lot more. And where exactly are you going to run off to now, Wondie? I’d like the same courtesy from you. What leads are you planning to follow up?”
“Right now, I’m expected at a meeting of the Justice League, but I will be back on the case this afternoon. I have the same lists you do, and I’ll start from the bottom and work my way up while you start at the top. I’ll call you around 4 pm or so and we’ll see if either of us has made any progress, if that sounds alright to you, Detective?”
“Sounds peachy to me, sugar pie. Do give my regards to Superman and Batman and all the other JLers. As members of the good side versus evil, we have to stick together. Right, sweetheart?” Abato starts to give Wonder Woman a pat on the rear as she turns but the Amazon princess spins in place and grabs his hand before it reaches her blue and white starred rear end.
“Aaaiieeee!” The Italian police detective yelps with a high-pitched girlish whine as his wrist is held down and Wonder Woman’s icy blue eyes stare into his pain-filled brown pupils.
“Try to touch my body again and I might not be able to stop myself from breaking your wrist, Detective. Are we clear on that?”
“I could have you up on assault charges, bitch! I’m a goddamn police officer,” groans Abato as his wrist is released and he rubs it with a scowl.
“If you want to deal with the publicity and notoriety of a sexual harassment charge, Sal, be my guest. But when it comes to matching your rep against mine. I wouldn’t push it, detective.” Wonder Woman turns her back and saunters over toward the body of Battle Axe under the bushes.
Jimmy Glendennan walks up to Sal and smiles at his partner. “Told you she was too fast for you to get away with an ass pat, you rube. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape and you sure as hell don’t pat Wonder Woman’s ass! So, you owe me lunch. And what are you smiling at? From where I was standing she got the better of you every which way you could imagine.”
“Not every way, Jimmy my lad. Not the most important way possible. I think I now know something that will put Wonder Woman in her place but good!”
“What are you talking about, Sal?”
“See that beautiful ass of hers over there?” The two men stare at Wonder Woman’s wide butt as she squats down beside Battle Axe’s divided body to examine it more closely. “It’s mine now!” Abato’s eyes gleam as he nods with a deep satisfaction. “Now let’s get back to the office and dig up everything we can on Mr. Battle Axe there. Maybe we can put a bow on this case before the day’s over.”
“Really?” Jim says in surprise. He didn’t think they were that close to solving this thing. “What the hell did she say to you, Abato?”
“I’ll tell you in the car,” Sal replies.
After examining Battle Axe’s body as closely as she could from behind the crime scene tape, Wonder Woman shakes her head in frustration. No substantial new clues were to be found anywhere at this scene. That left her with only one suspect and it wasn’t Battle Axe. It was Professor Pascal and his Elimanol. She thought it was finally time to pay him a little visit.
Dressed back in her street clothes after a flashing, spinning change in an empty ladies room in a sparsely populated Metro station on a Sunday morning, Diana Prince has made her way to Chevy Chase and stands just down the street from Dr. Rene Pascal’s handsome three-story brick townhouse. She surveys it carefully from the shadowed confines of an empty doorway of a locked office building. Without absolute solid proof against him, Wonder Woman can’t take the chance of being seen breaking and entering. It was bad enough if Diana Prince were caught at it, but she might be able to plead probable cause with all the evidence collected against Pascal. Wonder Woman however was held to a higher standard by the media and the courts. Diana would have to circle around the back. Even though the block was quiet and nobody was stirring on a Sunday morning, she didn’t want to increase the risk factors any more than she absolutely had to.
Leaving the shadowed doorway, she crosses the street in her short navy skirt, white blouse and tan pantyhose. She holds up a piece of scrap paper as if referring to an address. She goes to the front door and pretends to knock and wait for a moment. Her knuckles never touch the wood. Playacting frustration, she leaves the door and circles around the side of the brick house looking for open windows. It isn’t until she’s in the back yard with its high fence and small enclosed deck and glass sliding doors that she stops the ruse and heads directly to a ground floor window. It is locked tight as are all the ground floor windows. Just good basic security, but there doesn’t seem to be any silver wiring tape of an alarm system. That was one saving grace so far. Diana looks down and sees a basement window but it’s been blacked out and is clearly tightly sealed. She frowns until she looks up and sees a window open just a crack on the second floor. Paydirt!
Kicking off her high heeled shoes under a wooden lounge chair and hitching up her skirt, Diana stands on the chair, grabs the gutter of the deck enclosure and quickly pulls herself up onto the roof over the deck. She pads quietly over to the open window, staying to the side and quickly peering in through the opening of heavy drapes surrounding the window. There’s nobody in the room which appears to be some sort of study. Lifting up the storm window, Diana climbs into the room and shuts it behind her to precisely the level it was at before she entered. She didn’t want the breezy day to swirl into the room and disturb things. She’d have to chance the fact that she wouldn’t be needing to make a diving exit out of this place. She pulls the drapes a bit wider apart to let the late morning light in so she can see a bit better.
Looking around, Diana sees a laptop open with the Microsoft screen saver icon drifting over its black face. The professor had been away from this room a while but could be returning any moment. The brunette scans the room and the top of the wooden desk for anything incriminating. She didn’t expect any items of clothing or accessories from Scarlet, Flare or Destiny lying around but there might be something in this room to tie Pascal into the disappearances of three superheroines.
Spotting a light blue memory stick with a post-it note stuck to it with the phrase “Exprmnts: 212, 213, 214” Diana’s heart quickens a bit. Three experiments, three heroines. Could it be that easy? She picks up the disk in her fingertips, moves the mouse and waits for the screen to come back to life. It takes a few seconds before the dark screen and logo blink out and the screen desktop appears, a photo of the Eiffel Tower covered with application icons but no screen windows open. She plugs the memory stick into the side of the laptop and waits nervously, tapping her fingertips on the desktop until she realizes the noise it makes and stops that immediately. She’s getting very sloppy in her anxiety about this case, she knows. When this was all over, she decides she will take a week’s vacation on Paradise Island. She needs it badly.
The computer reads the memory stick and the light on the stick blinks a bright yellow and Diana puts her hand over it to keep the glare from spreading widely in the dark study.
After a few seconds an options screen pops up. She decides to simply click on Open Files for the moment to see what’s on the stick. Again the laptop takes a moment. It’s an older version apparently and doesn’t have the blazing speed of newer models. The blinking light flutters brightly under Diana’s hand as she rests her palm lightly against the stick to block all the light. Finally, the listing comes up of what’s on the disk. It’s a sequence of numbers, the latest of which, on the top of the list, are 214, 213 and 212. She clicks on the top number, the most recent experiment. Yet again it takes several moments before anything happens. If she had time, she would copy the three files to the desktop since the blinking light is a distraction and an annoyance, but the professor could be back in any moment. This slow-moving laptop is giving her fits!
Finally the file labeled “Experiment 214” opens and Diana is looking at a captured video frame, a slightly grainy picture of a naked Destiny...no, not naked, she’s wearing a rubber catsuit like the one found on Flare. The heroine is shackled to some sort of leather cylinder and having her mouth violated by Battle Axe. The large man’s face is beaming while Destiny’s eyes appear to be half-shut as her jaw dangles loosely. From the angle that the camera’s at, Destiny’s legs are out of the frame. There’s no sign of anyone else in the picture. It’s not damning against Pascal, except that she’s found it in his house. But no court in the world would allow this as evidence with how she’s come across it. If there were only a picture of Pascal assaulting Destiny, she could wrap this case up today. She clicks on number 213 and this one shows Flare in a rubber suit draped on a table looking completely exhausted. No one else is in the picture. It’s very frustrating to Diana. She didn’t have time to...
She hears whistling in another part of the house. It must be Pascal. And the sound is getting closer. Her only option is to quickly hide the memory stick where the professor won’t find it, get away and come back with a police team and a warrant to search the place. She pulls the memory stick out of the port in the laptop and scans the room with wide eyes. Nothing easy comes to mind. She spins to the bookcase behind her and sees a snow globe of Paris sitting on an upper shelf. Quickly sliding the memory stick under the four-pronged base, Diana hopes that will be enough of a hiding place until she returns with the police.
She rushes over toward the window but stubs her nylon-covered toe on the leg of the desk and gasps aloud despite herself.
Limping the final four feet to the window, Diana thrusts it wide open and has one leg out when Pascal flips on the light switch and sees a tall brunette in a blue skirt and white blouse with very attractive legs trying to dash out of his study window. He rushes over and just manages to grab her disappearing ankle before she can make her complete escape. He pulls it back into the room and her shapely, very muscled leg along with it.
“Let me go!” She shakes and pulls her leg but Pascal’s grip is tight and unyielding. Off balance, with one leg on the roof and the other inside the room, the young woman is unable to wrest herself free. She half turns and puts her hands on the bricks over the window to try to pull away with a good strong heave when light fingers dance and slide on the sole of her foot, tickling her mercilessly.
“No. Oh,.ho..no...ohhhh.. No... Stop! Stop.” Diana’s ankles twists and pulls and her toes flex and wiggle but she has no recourse against this unexpected attack. Another sudden harsh jerk on her leg pulls her body painfully against the house and causes the brunette’s head to knock against the unyielding brick, stunning her senseless. She falls on her back and lies on the roof in a daze. One long panty-hosed leg is inside the house and the rest of her body dangles limply outside with her other leg bent awkwardly beneath her. Pascal leans out the window, grabs Diana’s other leg around the calf and hauls the stunned woman back into his house and onto the beige carpet in a ungainly sprawl.
“Ohhhh.” The IADC agent moans dully as Pascal opens a drawer quickly and pulls out a small snub-nosed revolver. He turns and points it at the cross-eyed brunette and demands answers.
“Who are you? What were you doing in my house?”
A half-dazed Diana looks up to see the short barrel of a gun pointed at her face and lets out a very unladylike, “Oh shit!”
“YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING ME!” Jimmie’s eyes are wide open and his mouth is agape with wonder. Sal Abato merely nods at him as the Italian detective drives back to the station house.
“It’s true, I know Wonder Woman’s secret identity,” he replies. “And frankly I’m surprised I didn’t key into it sooner. But I never met her in her day-to-day persona.”
“Who is she? And how can you be so sure?”
“Who she is I’m 95% sure of. But I don’t think I should tell you. You’re not the best guy in the world with secrets, Jimbo, and this one’s a whopper. Much as I have problems with that stuck up heroine bitch, if word gets out about this, she could be too easily set up by any number of people who want her dead. I don’t wish her that kind of ending. A big fat slice of humble pie? Absolutely. And believe me, no one would love to be the one to feed it to her more than me. But dead? Nah, that’s going way too far.”
“You can’t not tell me, Sal. I’m your partner.”
“Yeah, well, watch me. I’m not spillin’ this. Not yet anyway.”
“You got some balls telling me and then not.”
“Don’t I just,” says Abato with a grin as they pull into the station house parking lot.
“I am not going to ask you again. Who are you?” The good-looking Frenchman with the salt and pepper beard waves the revolver at Diana. His face is not friendly but, in fact, rather menacing.
She put her palms on the floor and asked, “May I sit up?”
“Extremely slowly, si vous plait.”
Diana gingerly sits up so that her back is against the wall, underneath the window. Her mind is trying to work out what to tell this man but the knock against the brick must have stunned her more than she thought because she’s having trouble organizing her thoughts.
“I...i...I’m Diana Prince, IACD. You’re pointing a gun at an officer of a really important government agency.”
“I have never heard of them.”
“Inter-Agency Defense Command.”
“That would be IADC.”
“That’s what I said.”
“That is what you think you said.”
“In any case, you could be in big trouble if you shoot me.”
“Not as big as you. Being shot for breaking and entering is a most logical outcome from my perspective. I very much like my chances in court. What are you after?”
“I...uh...came to ask you some simple questions.” Diana is tense and upset that her mind won’t clear the cobwebs out. The knock to her head wasn’t that hard! She’d taken much worse hits in the past.
“Merde! I remember you now. You called me on the phone last night.”
“Did I? Oh, yes, yes I did. I came here to follow up on my question. About Elimanol.”
“And you came in the back window instead of the front door because...?”
“The front door was locked.”
“And being an officer of a really big government agency permits you to break into people’s houses now? America is not the country she thinks she is. Or I thought she was.”
“It’s not like that. I came around the back and ...and saw the window open. This is a matter of life and death, sir.” Diana is trying to bluster her way through this dilemma but her brain is not cooperating and she’s grasping at straws to save herself.
“Whose life? Whose death?” The French professor tilts his head and looks more bemused than concerned. The fact is, he’s stalling for time. He had expected Wonder Woman to handle the memory stick tainted with the electrical neural inhibitor, not this meddling government bitch. But stalling will increase her confusion and allow him to apply the chemical inhibitor in a little bit. After that he’ll have to stash her somewhere until Wonder Woman arrives. Maybe he could use this brainless twat as a hostage if things don’t go well with the heroine. It is always good to have a backup plan. Maybe this one’s arrival is fortuitous.
“The life of all the good people in Washington is at stake here. There’s a...a madman out there killing super heroines and...and I’m trying to stop him. If you care about what’s right, you can help me by clearing your name and...and help me by...by telling me... what you know about ...about Elimanol.”
“But I have already told you all this last night on the phone. Do you have further information about which I should know?”
“Yes...yes..” Diana looks down and tries to come up with some reason she should get up so she can spin into Wonder Woman and put this bad man away.
“And pray tell what would that information be?”
“Another heroine has been killed and she was....was cleaned with Elimanol. Like what you used...er...use....in your lab.”
“And you suspected what....?”
“We suspected you. At first, I mean. But...but not...not so much now. This is just ...just a loose end...and it’s important to tie them up. But I can come back...later...” Diana starts to stand up as if to leave like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She couldn’t be more surprised when Pascal’s foot kicks out and knocks out her left arm from underneath her as she starts to rise. She falls backward and bangs her head against the windowsill. Her eyes cross for a moment before centering back and she looks up.
“Do not be so foolish again, Miss Prince. I am more than prepared to shoot you and as we discussed, it is very much within my rights to do so. America’s better side, non? Now, who else knows of your suspicions about me?”
“Everybody on the team,” Diana lies. Abato knows but doesn’t believe her. Steve probably recalls Pascal’s name. But to all the other agents and police working the case, he’s just a name on a long, long list.
“Well then, I suppose it would be best if I could clear my name and solve all this confusion, yes?”
“How would you do that?” Diana looks up at the gun which is pointed at the carpet for the moment. Pascal’s vigilance has relaxed now that he so clearly has the upper hand. She needs to distract him.
“I am currently being blackmailed by a certain Gerald Detherlink who has my wife and child under guard and has threatened to kill them unless I provide assistance to his mad scheme to kill all the superheroines who have done him wrong in the past.”
“What? Really?” Diana has a hard time believing this statement. A really hard time. She thinks he’s throwing out a red halibut at her. No not halibut...red haddock! That’s not right either. Herring. He’s suggesting a red herring. And she’s not buying his tall tale. But she’s got one of her own to try.
“Yes, this is true,” the Frenchman moans. “I have been living with this unbearable situation for months now. I am so glad you are here. You can help me and my family at last.” Pascal is putting on a performance but it’s pretty hammy. More than anything, it’s a final stall for more time so the bimbo on the floor can’t think straight enough to be any kind of threat.
“I don’t know how much help I can be, but Wonder Woman there might be able to help,” says Diana nodding to the door behind the startled professor. He turns full around in panic. He’d been distracted by this bitch when the heroine was sneaking into his home from another entry point. What a catastrophe when he’d planned everything so... There was no one there.
When he turns around he sees the IADC agent spinning in place with her arms out and tilted somewhat awkwardly.
“What in the world....”
A blinding flash envelopes the room and Pascal turns his head away from it and squints painfully from the glaring light. The whoosh of air and loud popping sound is followed by a husky laugh that has no mirth in it whatsoever.
“Dr. Pascal, I think you’ve been wanting to see me. Well, here I am.”
Before him at last stands the very heroine who has been haunting his dreams and filling his days with hatred and vengeance. Wonder Woman stands before him, hands on her hips, her chest thrust out with its twin globes barely contained by her bustier. Her beautiful muscular legs, red boots, blue briefs with their white stars spangling them, her golden lasso hanging on her hip and shining tiara in her inky black hair all present the epitome of statuesque Amazonian might.
“Sacre bleu! It’s you!”
“Yes, it’s me. Now come along to the police so you can answer all their questions to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Pascal doesn’t move and inch but just looks askance at her with a concerned expression. “How do you feel?”
Wonder Woman’s eyebrows dip down and she stares at the professor with a mix of anger and confusion. “Feel? I.... I’m fine, doctor. Thank you for your concern but I’m afraid that your chemicals don’t have much effect on my Amazonian constitution.”
“Well, ‘much effect’ may be just enough then.” Pascal immediately empties all six shots in the revolver at the blue and red heroine standing before him, the blasting noise of the small recoiling gun fills the room as Diana’s wrists dart and dodge with uncanny speed blocking every bullet fired.
Except one. It grazes her waist, tears a slice out of her costume and leaves an angry red stripe in her side before burying itself in the bookcase behind her.
Diana sucks in a loud hissing breath. She’d never been shot before and it hurts. Fortunately it’s only a flesh wound. Whatever drug Pascal had dosed her with had slowed her just enough to give him the opening he needed. As Wonder Woman looks down at her side to see blood filling the shallow wound, Pascal turns and sprints out of the room and down the hallway as fast as he can.
“Oh no you don’t, you animal. You’re not getting away from me that easily.” Wonder Woman chases the fleeing man down the long hallway. She’s not as fast as she might be with the gunshot wound, but she’s almost fast enough to catch him. To her right, an oak railing overlooks a beautifully furnished living room one story below. There’s a big black burn mark in the rug that catches Diana’s eye but then she focuses ahead and sees the Frenchman fling the door open at the end of the hall and rush through it into the darkness before slamming it behind him. A mere three seconds behind him, the mentally compromised Wonder Woman grabs the doorknob and yanks it open. Faced by a pitch black room, the startled heroine freezes in place and still has enough smarts to take a step back. But it’s not far enough. From a ceiling-mounted device, the nozzle pointed at her sprays a thick clear stream of liquid at Wonder Woman’s face and chest. It drenches her face and drips down her chin in thick globs onto the golden fabric eagle topping her tunic. Fortunately she had closed her eyes the second the stream hit her forehead before sweeping downward.
The harsh burning sensation is immediate however and Wonder Woman stumbles backward out of range of the device with a series of agonized yelps. The stream shuts down but the damage has been done.
“Aaiiyyeeee! Aaaagghhh! Owwwww!” Bending at the waist, the howling Amazon princess frantically wipes away the thick corrosive liquid on her face. While she is able to quickly scrape away the majority of the burning acidic lotion, her hands throb with the pain of the liquid that she swipes off her cheeks, her forehead and her chin. She shakes off her hands with a wildly frantic flailing motion. The clear lotion splatters on the floor in the hallway and begins to wear away at the varnish. She foolishly wipes the acid on her hands against the sides of her blue briefs instead of the wall. It brings relief to her hands but the sides of the briefs will begin to thin and fray within minutes.
“Hera, what is this horrible gunk? Some sort of acid. I better not open my eyes. I need a towel or...” The desperate, handicapped mind of the Amazon beauty remembers the drapes in the study and she turns and heads back there. Bearing to her left now, she holds onto the railing as she rapidly but blindly makes her way down the wooden hallway, her red boots clicking loudly against the bare wood floor. Her face and hands burn and begin to redden slightly and the wound in her side stings her as she walks. When she reaches the door of the study, she feels her way over to the breeze in the window, passing through the room while holding onto sconces, picture frames, bookcase and finally the drapes. She wipes her hands on the back of the fabric while she buries her face thoroughly in the front of the fabric, cleaning herself as much as possible.
When she pulls her face out of the drapes, the Amazon princess takes a deep sigh and opens her eyes. She walks over to a framed diploma on the wall and uses the angled reflection of her face there to check out the damage. Most of clear gunk had been cleared off her face in the crucial few seconds after she’d been sprayed, but still very teeny patches of residue that she hadn’t gotten to remained on her skin for too long. These red dots are slowly turning to scaly white flakes on her face. Not many but enough to mar her remarkable beauty somewhat. Her hands are much worse, red with white scales all over her palms and on the front of all her fingers.
“Goodness,”sighs Diana. “I hope the healing ray back on Themyscira can take care of these spots on my face and all this damaged skin on my hands, too. But first I have to catch this monster and bring him to justice.” The electrical neural inhibitor has reached its maximum effect within Wonder Woman’s brain but the powers from her belt and inherent strength are enough to keep her from being impaired to raw stupidity. She’s just a bit off her game. And without the added effect of the chemical inhibitor, the Champion of All Women is intelligent enough to plan ahead for her adversary.
“This man is very clever. I’ll have to be extremely careful about more traps around the house. In fact...” She turns around and pulls hard on the drapes, even lifting herself off the floor until the brackets give way and the wooden rod and drapes clatter to the floor by her boots. Wonder Woman pulls the drapes off the rod. The wooden curtain rings click and chatter against the curtain rod and each other as she does.
Setting her jaw with a determined scowl, Diana proceeds once more out of the study but this time walking carefully, with the dark green drapes folded over her arm and all senses tuned. So when she walks up to the doorway of the room at the other end of the hall, then stands off to the side and lightly taps the doorknob checking for electrical stun charges, she is more than shocked to be knocked down the hallway by a very powerful spring-loaded battering ram the size of a baseball bat that comes blasting out of the fake wall next to the doorway. The thinly cushioned pad at the end of the thin steel ram had slammed into her side, just above her kidney, and had knocked every ounce of breath out of the Amazon’s body.
She tumbles, flops, flails and skids ten feet down the waxed hallway until her head bounces against the hard oak railing. The drapes in her arm now stretch from her fingertips to only a foot from the bottom of the door she’d just tried to enter.
“Uuuuunnnnhhh!” Wonder Woman moans softly, trying to catch her breath as she winces from the pain of the powerful ram slamming into her soft flesh. Her bullet wound has pulled open a little wider and the blood drips slowly down her hip and that doesn’t make her feel any better either. She lies there looking up at the ceiling, trying to gather her wind and wondering why she feels so foggy. She hears footsteps enter the hall from the room she’s been unable to breech yet and they stop in place. This is followed by the sound of clicking and quick scraping. Groggily, she lifts her heavy head to see what’s making the noise when a wide field of green cloth comes flying at her and covers her face. The neurally-compromised champion quickly pieces together that Pascal has thrown the drapes over her head, which is just enough time for him to jab the steel battering ram now in his hands into Wonder Woman’s muffled face.
“OWW!” Wonder Woman’s head recoils hard from the brutal blow. Inside the cloth her eyes cross and she flops backward, the crown of her head smacking against the wooden floor with a sickening thud. “OHHH!”
A mere second later, the ram finds the Amazon’s unprotected belly. Pascal drives the barely-cushioned knob of steel hard into her abdominal muscles, covered only by her soft costume bustier. All the wind is driven out of the unsuspecting heroine with a whooping blast of air into the drapery material as she folds into herself in breathless shock. If she’d been able to tense her muscles, she would have been able to withstand the attack. Now she can only whoop and wheeze for oxygen from under the drapes that she fitfully is now trying to cast off.
The ram hits directly against Wonder Woman’s forehead and slams her head back against the floor for a second time.
“HHUUUNNGGHH!” Dizzy and bewildered, the Amazon warrior lies awkwardly sprawled on the hallway floor trying to recover from this brutal assault.
“This is a wonderful sport, Wonder Woman. I hope you are enjoying it as much as I. Maybe when it is your turn at bat, you will be just alive enough to take a pathetic swing at me. But first...” Pascal draws the ram back with both hands and goes to strike at the center of the drapes, aiming again for the exposed stomach of the limp figure on floor below him. He doesn’t get the chance to follow through. Wonder Woman’s leg flies upward and her boot knocks the ram right out of the Frenchman’s hands. It bangs against the wall, falls to the floor with a clang and rolls too far away from Pascal to reach it easily.
Wonder Woman flings the green drapes off her head and gets to her feet in a fast but inelegant fashion. As she stands up however, the severe damage that the acid has wrought on the golden eagle topping her bustier is too much for the now shredded emblem to bear. With the sudden movement of her rising, the golden fabric completely disintegrates and the mighty Amazon’s breast flop out of her torn and thread-bare top and wobble in the open air. The beauty stands there wavering in place with slightly rubbery legs from the beating she’s endured and the mild confusion from the electrical inhibitor slowing her brain. She only becomes aware of the chill after an immodest second or two.
“Tu es ravissant, mon cherie. Comme c’est...ahh..beautiful, yes? Nice tits, girlie! Oui?”
Pascal’s comment brings her humiliation home to her with a rush of shame and she covers herself up as her face flushes to a deep red. With nothing else she can do, the grimacing Amazon warrior stuffs her breasts back into her tunic and pulls it up so the large globes are once again contained. But by that time Pascal has spun on his heels and dashed off back into the dark room once more.
“Not again,” groans Diana. But she resolutely snatches up the drapes and runs after him. Her gait is off center as the bullet wound stabs at her side with an annoying vengeance. As she crosses the threshold, she dashes into the dark room, holding the drapes high while the ceiling mounted device rains a stream of acid on the thick, flapping green fabric. She runs to the left. There’s just enough gray light in the room’s interior from a window set high in the wall that Diana doesn’t bang into any walls or furniture as she crosses a dozen feet of space and then stops. The device is shooting an arc of deadly clear acid toward her but it lands harmlessly five feet away. After 10 seconds, the device in the ceiling shuts down, foiled by her cleverness. She turns to face the sprayer and backs up another two feet to be safe and avoid any splashing. Sighing, Wonder Woman drops the heavy drapes to the floor and backs up yet another couple of feet. Where the acid has pooled in the folds of the green fabric, the material is beginning to thin already. Diana looks down at the ruined drapes and frowns.
“Dangerous stuff. This guy is playing for keeps.” Just then, Diana feels a wet spot on her butt. It’s growing, dripping down the crack in her briefs and tingling. She turns her head and tries to see but just can’t. Stepping quickly over to the drapes, she crouches down and takes an un-spattered corner. She uses this to wipe her crack and then looks at the fabric. It’s more clear acid. It had probably dripped on her butt from the drapes as she ran underneath the sprayer. The damage is done and there’s nothing she can do now about it.
Nevertheless, Diana’s simple plan with the shielding drapes has brought her closer to capturing her target. She turns around to survey the large room. It’s a bedroom but little used. The bed has no sheets, merely a bare mattress. There is only a small night table and a single cushioned armchair beside the bed. A simple gooseneck reading lamp is the only furnishing in the room. The walls are bare. At the far end of the room there is a door. It’s the only place Pascal could have gone. She’s wondering if she should retrieve the drapes but they’re so doused with acid that she was in greater danger of it dripping more acid on her than it being any kind of protection. She decides to take the chance and move on without them. Wonder Woman approaches the door slowly, methodically looking for any possible danger. She looks for seams, for false walls, for anything suspicious. There’s nothing. She lightly taps the doorknob with her finger. No electrical current. She twists the knob, feels it’s not locked, drops to a crouch and pulls the door open swiftly. In front of her is another door made of steel. Diana has discovered an elevator.
Sal Abato has a computer file open on Gerald Detherlink, aka Battle Axe. It’s not a very extensive file. It contains a synopsis of his armaments, a photo of his Kevlar battle uniform, all known addresses, a short listing of his priors, a spotty employment record and a psychological profile. Sal is looking for any connection to the names on the lists open in another window on the computer, those suppliers of Elimanol. So far there’s no match-ups that he can spot. Jimmy Glendennan is calling the known addresses to see if Gerald had been seen in any of them lately. So far neither man is getting anywhere. But that’s what good police work takes: a dogged diligence in the face of long odds. The pair of detectives keep looking and calling.
Wonder Woman is sitting on the top of the elevator cabin in the dark elevator shaft as the car moves slowly downward. She’d pushed the button for the basement and quickly climbed up through the service door in the cab’s roof, grimacing with the stinging pain from the bullet wound in her side.
This wasn’t much of a ruse, but it was all she could do for now. After a long minute’s descent, the cab comes to a halt and the steel door slides open. The Amazon listens fiercely for any sound of footsteps or ambush. She can hear nothing. Carefully, slowly, she climbs back down into the elevator cab and stops the sliding door just before it closes. It retreats back and Wonder Woman quickly spins out of the elevator to her left, scanning the room for danger. There’s no one around. She appears to be in some kind of storage room. It’s filled with shelves of beakers, oscilloscopes, Bunsen burners, empty petri dishes, centrifuges, bottles of all shapes and sizes and colors and more. On a nearby bottom shelf, she spots two gallon jugs of Elimanol. Circumstantial evidence that would help build a case against him, but the point seemed moot at the moment since Pascal had tried to kill or maim her at least three times since she entered his house.
While walking toward the Elimanol jugs, Wonder Woman scans the room in all directions, in front, behind her, through the steel shelving on both sides of her, constantly looking for an ambush. Where had this guy gone? Then she notices a door with a small inset window off twenty feet to her right. It looks to be a walk-in freezer based on the long, wide handle and the steel hinges.
As she stands in the center of the room considering what danger the freezer represented, the Champion of All Women frowns. Speaking of coldness, she feels a sudden draft between her ass cheeks. The acid has finally worn through the cloth of her briefs leaving a generous gap that reveals her butt hole. And once it continues to eat away at her costume, Wonder Woman’s most intimate parts will be exposed to anyone coming up from her rear. But it’s not her rear at the moment that’s most at risk.
From high overhead, the one place the Amazon hadn’t looked, a weighted nylon net swiftly drops down upon her from the 15-foot high ceiling. It fully encompasses the surprised beauty just as the freezer door is flung open and the French professor bull rushes the captive Amazon.
“You are just too easy, Wonder Woman,” declares a sprinting Pascal from a mere 10 feet away.
“As are you, professor,” replies the famous champion as she tears apart the nylon webbing like some flimsy paper napkin. When the shocked Frenchman stops and fires the tazer at his intended victim, it’s child’s play for her to block the flying pointed leads with her bracelets. They never get near to contacting her body.
“Merde!” Pascal turns and dashes back toward the freezer door in a panic now but Wonder Woman flings the netting away and closes the short distance between them with her god-given speed. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes hard. Pascal screams in pain as she flings him to the left with a snarl. He falls awkwardly to the floor and slides up against a row of steel shelving. He’s barely on his feet again before the enraged Amazon princess stands before him and grabs his left wrist to twist it up and behind his back. Before she can effect that maneuver, however, the Frenchman swings a big brown bottle from behind his back that he’d swiped off the shelf behind him while getting to his feet. Too late Diana sees a large brown shape come out of nowhere. It connects with her forehead and shatters, stunning the raven haired beauty badly.
The gray-bearded Frenchman takes a very adroit step back and then another, watching the Amazon waver in place as her head drips with the contents of the big bottle. Her system is inundated, her costume saturated, her physical acumen eliminated – all by a massive dosing of pungent, sweet-smelling, debilitating chloroform.
“...whhuuuuuhhhh....?....” Diana is bewildered and alarmed at how the tables had been turned against her so suddenly. She had been winning just moments ago. Now she was confused and dizzy. She sees Pascal walk over to some black thing on the floor and bend down and pick it up, then turn back toward her. He’s a mere five feet away from her. He points his arm at her. And she puts up a palm to fend off whatever he’s going to use to attack her. This time though, she’s too dazed to stop the tazer and it hits home in her hip and thigh, sinking into her skin and shorting out her body’s ability to function. She spasms, twists and falls to the cement floor, her body gyrating and bucking in the helpless hold of Pascal’s weapon. She grimaces in a rictus of pain from the prison cell of electrical force that completely negates all her Amazon prowess. Diana jerks and froths and shudders on the floor at Pascal’s feet until the charge is finished and her tits have bounced out again out of her ruined uniform. Her body refuses to obey a single command now as her fingers twitch, her eyes blink and her legs jerk and skitter to some unheard tune on the Devil’s own flute. And her breasts: they jiggle and wiggle and offer bobbing invitations to the smiling Frenchman standing over her that he may caress them and fondle them and oil them up with his own devil’s mixture: his chemical neural inhibitor.
And so he takes up their invitations. Donning a pair of clear rubber gloves from his pants pocket, the beaming Frenchman squats down and pulls a vial of his chemical neural neutralizing agent from a leather holder on his belt. He uncaps the rubber stopper and pours a small puddle of the toxic agent into his palm. And then he lowers that palm and places it on a helpless Wonder Woman’s right breast and smears the thin gel all over and around the large fleshy globe. He coats the tit completely, smoothing the cool liquid in small circles against the pale exposed flesh, rubbing it over the nipple, and sliding it along the bottom of the heavy milk sack until the breast gleams with the devastating concoction in the overhead fluorescent light.
And the mighty Wonder Woman can do nothing to prevent it. She can merely quake and quiver in place, her body betraying her screaming mind as it can only lie in place and be subjected to such mortifying affronts as Pascal takes his liberties with her to his heart’s desire. He then proceeds to empty the rest of the vial into his palm again and coat her left breast with the witches brew he has developed. He is no less thorough with this breast, his hand a wide warming tool that cups, squeezes, rolls and smears away at her fat, weighty orb with total impunity. Wonder Woman’s eyes are glazed with anger, fear and confusion as her breasts are man-handled at will while she can do nothing but twitch.
“You thought you were so powerful, so indestructible, so unbeatable, did you not, Wonder Woman? You super heroines always start out that way. But you all end up like this, bitch. At my mercy, unable to defend yourself. Available for easy sexual domination. But let us be sure everything is done properly and completely, yes?”
Uncapping the rubber stopper from the second vial in his leather belt holder, the smiling Frenchman pours a dollop of this new mixture into his palm and then lowers his hand and cups Wonder Woman’s exposed crotch. Her body jerks in angry reaction but it’s an uncontrollable spasm that is easily countered by Pascal who simply grabs a clump of his captive’s hair and leans over to look directly in the horrified heroine’s eyes as he squeezes her sex, fingers it and rubs his vile solution all over, in and around the whimpering champion’s privates.
Indeed, the acid has worn away the fabric completely and it’s an easy matter for Pascal to firmly caress and stroke and tickle and pat the rubbery nether lips of the Amazon beauty with a generous application of his electrical neural inhibitor. It’s a simple matter to slide his finger into her undefended pussy and circle it slowly in her channel of love. And she can do nothing by lie on the floor in his firm grasp, look into his eyes mere inches away from hers and see the reflection of her defeat.
“I do not know why you play the coquette so, mon cherie,” Pascal taunts, his warm breath caressing her lips like a lovers. “You must know what I have done with the others I will do ten-fold to you. This lovely tunnel of passion here will be entertaining me and my toys for hour upon hour, Wonder Woman.” He squeezes her crotch and gives it a gentle shake and then a long lingering caress. “How could you even think it would be otherwise? To tell you the truth, I thought you might be more of a challenge, but it turns out, you are little better than the others. In fact, when it comes to your fighting acumen, you seem to come in dead last!”
With the spasming heroine’s pussy now well-lubricated by a second application of the electrical inhibitor and her breasts shining in the open air with the chemical version, the mighty Amazon princess of Theymiscira begins to feel the effects of the tazer slowly wearing off. In a few minutes, if Pascal isn’t totally vigilant, Wonder Woman thinks she’ll be able to surprise him, turn the tables on him and...and...and...
And what? Suddenly, she can’t think of what she had been planning just seconds ago. All she can think is that she’s in some kind of big trouble. And this man was the reason. And she didn’t think she’d be able to stop him. Even though she was Wonder Woman. How strange!
End of Part 7
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