Against Her Will

by Stephen McIlvenna (

This story has been written as an entry in the ‘Supergirl 2005’ Story Competition hosted by The Wizard’s Lair ( The author, as a Briton with only passing familiarity with superhero characters, apologies in advance for any errors in his descriptions of these icons of American culture.



A loud moan of anguish forced its way past the beautiful captive’s gagged lips. Restrained limbs quivered with tension as the taut muscles of arms and legs convulsed in another futile attempt to break their inescapable bonds. The sweat of physical exertions mixed freely with the tears of emotional despair, the misery of her continued ordeal finally beginning to take its toll on the helpless heroine.

“Ah, Wonder Woman, Wonder Woman. Do you have any idea what a delightful picture you make?” A tall male figure walked slowly around the edges of the room, admiring the plight of his gorgeous prisoner. The man stood several inches over six feet with a lithe, supple body. A shorn haircut and trimmed goatee beard added severity to the piercing grey of his eyes. He called himself ‘The Master’ and he could scarcely believe that his plan had proceeded so successfully.

The amazon princess knelt on a plush, cream coloured carpet in the penthouse suite of her captor’s Metropolis skyscraper. She had very little choice about her position. A thick bar of metal was fixed to wide leather cuffs buckled tightly about the heroine’s ankles. The dark brown of the cuffs contrasted dramatically with the polished red of her boots. The metal bar was about two feet in length and held toned legs spread wide apart. A second bar, this one almost three feet long, was attached to more cuffs just above her knees. Wonder Woman’s legs were held rigid. The metal was obviously fashioned from some manner of enhanced alloy, adamantium or lexalite probably. Despite all of her superior strength, she was powerless to break free.

The manacles clamped around her wrists were fashioned from the same metal. The twin bands that now replaced the famous golden bracelets of her usual uniform were four inches wide and almost half an inch thick. They were separated by three short links of chain and had been locked so snugly to the prisoner’s wrists that their harsh edges indented her perfectly smooth skin. Wonder Woman’s hands felt numb from the severe restraints, but this small sufferance was the least of her problems.

A stiff collar of brown leather was locked tightly around the heroine’s slender neck. She could sense its half-choking grip with each deep lungful of air she sucked in and could feel its hard edge jammed beneath her chin, forcing her head to tilt back. A weighty padlock passed through a ring hanging from the centre of the collar and secured it to a thicker ring that protruded from the carpet and seemed to be set into the very structure of the building. A matching set of padlocks and rings also anchored her wrists to the floor, stretched far in front of her bound form. Like the other instruments of her bondage, the chains, padlocks and rings were made from the dull alloy which proved impervious to her might.

The overall effect of the restraints was that while the heroine’s arms, head and neck were effectively welded to the floor, her back and rear end were raised prominently in the air, with her legs splayed obscenely wide on either side of her torso. Wonder Woman’s mane of dark silky hair fanned out around her lowered head, the thick tresses acting as a soft curtain obscuring her vision. The finishing touch was a wide bit-gag firmly wedged between her lush red lips. The bit itself was a plastic coated rod that was pulled deep into the corners of her mouth and secured with a narrow thong of the brown leather. The unyielding gag twisted her face into a contorted grimace, although only the polished buckle at the nape of her neck was visible past the cascade of hair. Trickles of saliva drooled from the corners of her mouth, some strands clinging to her hair and chin before forming a damp pool on the carpet.

The Master sighed in satisfaction. Her physique was magnificent. The sight of her body so effectively bound was amazing. He congratulated himself on his genius. Of course, he thought with a slight regret, she was a year or two older than his ideal tastes and he preferred blondes to brunettes, but all things in good time. She would make a more than satisfactory first specimen for his harem. He would bide his time before imprisoning the true object of his lustful desires.

The villain moved across and squatted on the floor beside his trembling captive. He reached out a hand and wrapped it in a long length of her flowing locks. With a cruel tug he yanked the hair back, revealing the shining gold of Wonder Woman’s tiara and lifting her head the scant few inches allowed by her collar.

“My dear Wonder Woman, or may I call you Diana? Actually, I suppose that I can call you anything I want now that you belong to me. What will it be? Wonder Whore? Super Slut? The Captured Cunt?” He laughed in amusement at his own gloating insults, “All that really matters is that you will soon learn to call me Master.”

Unable to turn her head because of the stiff leather encircling her neck, Wonder Woman’s tearful eyes slid across to regard her tormentor. He was naked from the waist up, the solid muscles of his chest and stomach apparently oiled, for they gleamed under the burning spotlights hanging from the penthouse ceiling. Not a single scar or tattoo marred his body. Wherever he had come from, this villain clearly hadn’t risen through the ranks of petty criminals. Below the waist he was bare foot, clad only in a pair of tight-fitting black trousers.

The heroine moaned and tried to shy away. Physically this man might not be unattractive, but the noble warrior did not make judgements based on mere appearances. Clearly her foe was debauched, cruel scum of the worst kind. Her crime fighting career had brought her in contact will all manner of lawbreakers. Those who stole out of greed or plotted for personal power were one thing, but those who sought to inflict abuse and suffering on other human beings were quite another. The gleeful smile on this villain’s face and the growing bulge in the crotch of his pants made his level of depravity quite clear.

The Master released his grip on the damsel’s hair after a final needless tug that pulled on the roots and squeezed another moan past her gag. His hand moved to roam across her back and shoulders. Her body felt warm to his touch and he could sense the muscles trembling beneath the flawless surface of her skin. His distressed prisoner had been locked in this position for nearly three hours since the successful execution of her capture. She had remained unconscious for the first of those hours, had struggled in impotent anger for the second, and had slumped in resigned defeat for the third. The fierce glare of the bright lights and the exhausting effort of her attempts at escape had left her drenched in sweat. A mere mortal would be dehydrated and suffering from intense cramps by this stage. The Master idly wondered if Wonder Woman’s powerful physiology was resistant to such effects.

Letting his caress move down and beneath her body, he cupped a hand around an ample breast. He had allowed her costume to remain on, for now. Squeezing the soft mound through the red and gold of her top, his smile broadened in appreciation of both her firmness and the delightfully erotic gasp elicited by his touch. Reaching a little further, he peeled the edge of her clothing down to free the full magnificence of her bosom. He had to pause in momentary awe, “You truly are a wonderful woman!”

The beautiful captive desperately wanted to pull away from the lingering touch. Fresh trickles of saliva ran freely from her mouth and she bit down on the gag, unable to express her objections in any other way. Despite the agony and anguish of her peril, she was horrified to feel her body starting to respond to the man’s purposeful fondling. His hand continued to play with each breast in turn. His fingers began to flick at their tips and to pinch the exposed flesh. She felt her nipples answer his touch, growing stiff with arousal even as she cried out in despair.

“Yes, that’s good, isn’t it?” Her tormentor’s words were soft and coaxing, “Let yourself enjoy my pleasures. Give in to the freedom of your bondage. There’s no point in fighting any more.”

The Master moved around until he was on his knees behind the groaning heroine. With one hand reaching forward to once again grip her long, flowing hair, the other slipped between the woman’s helplessly spread legs. Her thighs bucked violently, but the strength of the alloyed bars was greater. Wonder Woman was hopelessly vulnerable as his palm pressed itself on her blue, star-spangled pants and rubbed in gentle rhythm along her crotch.

“Let’s find out just what sort of slave you will make, shall we?” Taking hold of the material with each hand, The Master pulled the pants down to mid-thigh, stripping away her last pretence of protection. His hand returned between her thighs. Two fingers extended along the length of her enflamed vaginal lips and easily slipped inside, “Oh, yes. I think such delicious wetness tells us all we need to know.”

Dear god, no. Wonder Woman was lost to her distress. The position of her bowed head gave her no view of what was happening at her rear, but she could hear and recognise the sounds of a belt being unbuckled and a zip undone. Firm hands gripped her body above each hip and, shuddering in humiliation, she felt a hard shaft of male flesh press against her dripping cunt.

I’m going to be raped. The though was terrifying and repulsing, but her body was acting with primal instincts, sex calling out to sex. Fear gripped the heroine’s heart and she began to cry freely, unhindered tears joining the pool at her chin. Yet through all of her pain, humiliation, fear and despair, Wonder Woman’s thoughts returned to her capture. The single, shocking act of betrayal which had led to her current plight. Out of all that had happened, the circumstances of her defeat were what wounded her the most.

With a single confident thrust and a groan of triumphant exhilaration, The Master forced himself inside Wonder Woman. His throbbing penis pushed its full length into the tightness of her vagina. The villain’s head spun in sexual pleasure. He could feel the powerful muscles of her cunt gripping his member and pulling it deeper. He pulled back and thrust again. This was far beyond his dreams. The warm, welcoming wetness of her sex and the loud, pitiful sounds of her cries, drove him on and on. The room was filled with his gasps of victory and her gagged moans of defeat, until, at last, he felt himself erupt inside her, long bursts of hot semen spilling into his prize.

When he could finally think again, The Master withdrew his still semi-erect shaft. He wiped it along Wonder Woman’s raised butt-cheeks to remove the glistening coating of their intermingled juices. Refastening his trousers, he moved to stand before his captive and glanced up at a wall clock, “Well, that was most gratifying. Thank-you, Diana. You don’t mind if I just leave you there while I have a quick shower to clean up? I wouldn’t want to look untidy when my new partner brings in our next guest.”

Wonder Woman lay helplessly on the floor as the villain retreated. She was a wretched and utterly defeated sight. One question kept running through her mind. One mystery that might explain the reason for her ordeal: Why Supergirl? Why did you deliver me into this terrible fate?


Chapter One

Wind whipped through the hair of Kara Zor-El, the caped superheroine known to the people of earth as Supergirl. A skimpy, sky-blue top clung to a body which was the very image of nineteen year old, female perfection. A matching skirt, barely reaching to the top of her thighs, fluttered wildly as she sped through the air high above the ground. Knee-high red boots and a flowing red cape completed her ensemble. Truly she was a picture of innocent, youthful beauty.

Flight was only one of the amazing gifts possessed by this refugee from a long dead planet. She could move with a speed which defied the human eye. Her strength could lift trucks or punch holes through walls, perhaps surpassed only by that of her older cousin, Superman. Her alien body was immune to the many frailties of humanity. She would never know the misery of a common cold and, though she flew high in the atmosphere, the lack of oxygen was of no concern. Fists, blades and even bullets couldn’t penetrate her flesh. None could dispute her well deserved title as the Girl of Steel.

Angling her body downwards, Supergirl began the descent towards her destination. The dark shadow of Gotham City began as a distant speck which rapidly grew in size with her approach. Soon the shapes of narrow, mist-shrouded streets and dense, smoke-churning factories could be distinguished. Kara aimed towards a tall apartment block in one of the city’s wealthier districts. Dust and leaves were scattered by the sudden downdraft created when the young girl gracefully landed on the paved street. Passers-by stopped to point and stare, even in a city as event-filled as Gotham, such an arrival was out of the ordinary.

Supergirl ignored the cheers and shouted greetings of well-wishers. She took no interest in the bustling chaos of the thriving city. Her expression remained blankly impassive, her mouth set in a line of resolute silence. With single-minded focus, the caped heroine entered the apartment building in search of the reason she had travelled to this concrete jungle.


Dinah Lance tutted in annoyance at the sound of her apartment’s door bell. The athletic adventuress was luxuriating in a hot, fragrant bath, taking a much needed rest to ease the aches and fatigues earned during her most recent exploits against crime.

“All right, all right. I’m coming,” she grumbled at the bell’s repeated summons. Slipping gracefully from the tub, she brushed off some foamy suds and found a large cotton towel to wrap around her nakedness. She padded out of the bathroom and into the hall of the apartment, slicking back her short blonde hair as she went.

“Yes? Who is it?” Dinah tried not to let her irritation show when she spoke into the intercom.

A short crackle of static accompanied the brief reply, “It is Supergirl. I have come for the Black Canary.”

“Supergirl?” Dinah was surprised. What was she doing here? She pressed the button which buzzed the door open, “Come on up.”

Soon the Girl of Steel and the Black Canary, still immodestly dressed in only her towel, were standing in Dinah’s small living room. “What brings you to Gotham, Supergirl?”

“Wonder Woman has been abducted. You must come with me.” The answer came in a flat, emotionless voice.

“Wonder Woman abducted? Who by?” In contrast, Dinah’s words were urgent and full of concern. “I should tell Oracle. Or maybe call the Justice Society.”

“No.” The command was spoken in the same level monotone, “I need you alone. You must come with me.”

Dinah frowned curiously at her companion then gave a shrug, “OK. I assume you’ve got something planned? Give me a minute to get my costume.”

Supergirl opened her mouth and then paused. Her eyes seemed in glaze in thought before she finally spoke, “Yes. Yes, wear your costume.”

Again Dinah studied Supergirl quizzically, but seeing nothing out of place, she turned and headed into her bedroom.

Kara’s thoughts were in turmoil. Run, Canary, she silently pleaded. Please, figure out that something is wrong. Don’t let this happen again. Her mind was racing desperately, but her outward demeanour remained unchanged. She stood patiently with her arms by her side, her stony face revealing nothing of her thoughts.

Given the opportunity, Dinah Lance could spend just as long getting dressed as any other woman on the planet, but when the time for action came, she was all efficiency. In less than a minute she strode back into the living room, ready for whatever challenges would face the Black Canary. Her outfit consisted of a stylised combat jacket zipped over a figure-hugging leotard. Leather boots rose to leave her finely curved legs bare from below the knees to the bottom of her hips. A pair of smooth gloves and a fully-equipped utility belt added further touches of practicality. The costume was shaded in hues of green, highlighted here and there with flashes of yellow. She looked, in her own opinion, simply stunning.

“All right, Supergirl, where are we off to?”

“Metropolis. I must take you to Metropolis.”

Black Canary nodded, “How much time do we have? I know how you like to travel, but given the choice, I would prefer to take my car. It’s a fast little Italian model and, trust me, you won’t need to worry about speed limits holding me back.”

“Lead the way.”

Dinah took the non-committal response as approval for her request. She wished that Supergirl would stop being so mysterious and tell her what was going on. She would need more information if she was to be of any use in what she assumed was a rescue mission.

Supergirl stepped aside and let Black Canary move towards the exit. When she was out of the adventuress’ line of sight, the caped teenager discretely reached into a concealed pouch sewn into the side of her short skirt. She brought out a neatly folded white handkerchief and carefully placed it in the palm of one hand. There was really no need for such caution when she possessed her blinding speed. The Black Canary had only just reached the door of the apartment when Supergirl pounced. She clamped the cloth over the Canary’s nose and mouth, wrapped her other arm around the woman’s chest and dragged her back to the living room.

Dinah was taken completely off-guard. She opened her mouth to utter an exclamation of shock and immediately inhaled a deep lungful of chemical fumes. Recognising the all too familiar taste of chloroform, she realised her mistake. One arm was pinned to her side by the grip from behind and she had been swept from her feet, her flailing legs unable to find purchase as she continued to be hauled backwards. There was no point in competing her own strength against Supergirl’s, but she knew that she had to do something. Dinah swung her free arm back in a violent jab, hoping to ram her elbow into her attacker’s ribs. The blow was accurate, but it inevitably did more harm to herself than to her target. Dinah yelped, inhaling yet more fumes, as numbing pain shot down the length of her arm.

Her futile struggles were almost over. The powerful anaesthetic had done its job quickly. The heroine’s eyelids drooped heavily. She feebly writhed in her captor’s grasp and cried muffled protests into the cloth. Soon even these efforts came to an end and she slumped into enforced slumber.

Supergirl gently lowered the limp body onto the polished wooden floor. She kept the handkerchief pressed to her victim’s face for a few more moments to be certain that the sleep wasn’t feigned. Satisfied that her target was genuinely unconscious, and would remain so for some time, she tucked the drugged pad away and reached deeper into the pouch.

This time she fished out a roll of black duct tape and a second folded cloth. She rolled the Black Canary’s unresisting form until she was lying face down, then drew her arms back and crossed them at the base of her spine. The roll of sticky tape was taken and six tight turns used to bind the crossed wrists. Supergirl then laid one booted foot across the other and used more of the tape to secure her captive’s ankles. The bound Canary was lifted onto one side and Supergirl’s fingers carefully prised opened her jaw. The fresh cloth was taken and prodded into her open mouth. Three black strips of duct tape secured the packing in place and sealed the pouting lips.

More than half of the tape still remained. Supergirl looked at it blankly for a few seconds, as though uncertain how to proceed. A decision seemed to be made and she returned her attention to Dinah’s trussed body. A dozen turns of tape were wrapped around the young woman’s knees. A dozen more were used to bind her forearms and elbows, drawing her shoulders back uncomfortably. The last of the tape managed to pass twice around the prisoner’s waist, locking her wrists against the small of her back.

Supergirl bent and effortlessly lifted the restrained damsel. She now had what she had come for. It was time to deliver the package to her Master. She stepped outside and leapt into the air, the flight back to Metropolis would not take long. Inside her head, Kara’s voice silently offered a heartfelt apology: I’m so sorry, Dinah. I pray that we get out of this so that you have a chance to forgive me.


A dim light began to intrude into the Black Canary’s awareness. The courageous heroine groaned softly and wondered why she felt so terrible. Her head was throbbing so much that she could barely maintain a coherent thought. Every muscle in her body seemed to ache. She wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for a week, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to move. Even breathing seemed like a chore. A peculiar sensation filled her mouth and she could only manage shallow breaths through her nose.

“Wakey, wakey! Time to face your new life, little birdie.”

The mocking voice seemed to come from a vast distance. She shook her head and moaned a refusal. Screwing her eyes shut, she tried to return to the comforting abyss of unconsciousness.

“Oh, for god’s sake.” The male voice turned impatient, “Hit her please, Supergirl. But mind your strength. I wouldn’t want her permanently damaged.”

The resounding slap, despite being delivered with only a fraction of Supergirl’s strength, snapped Dinah’s head to the side and shocked her fully awake. Her eyes flew wide open and stared up at the Girl of Steel, who stood towering above her. The Black Canary bellowed an incoherent grunt and tried to surge to her feet. That was when she realised that she was both bound and very thoroughly gagged. The sight of Supergirl focused her last few minutes of memory: the unexpected visit, the chloroform and Supergirl’s unbreakable grip. What the hell was she playing at? Was Wonder Woman here too, or had that all been part of the deception?

“Good. I see that we finally have your attention.”

A bearded figure stepped into view. Dinah guessed him to be in his early forties. He was dressed in a sashed robe of expensive silk printed with Oriental designs. He carried himself with the arrogant self-importance common to all villains, speaking in a patronising voice as if addressing a simple-minded child.

“Let me introduce myself. My name is The Master and I now own you. I must apologise if I have overdone your gag. My files on you aren’t as complete as they should be and I have been unable to confirm whether your Sonic Scream is still effective. Better safe than sorry, I always say.”

The gag proved its worth by blocking the stream of abuse that Black Canary tried to yell. A massive ball of hard rubber filled the cavity of her mouth, trapping her tongue and almost choking her through her inability to swallow. A leather panel of some description was attached to the front of the gag, the heroine could feel it pressing firmly against her mouth, squashing her lips and teeth into the rubber ball. Thin leather straps fastened the gag in place, biting into her flushed cheeks and buckled somewhere in her tangle of blonde curls.

The captive glanced down and examined the rest of her considerable bondage. Straps of leather bound each ankle to its respective thigh, both ankles had then been tied together with another thong. The Canary was left sitting on the floor with her feet tucked below her backside. Her legs were pointed forwards and held wide apart by a metal spreader bar cuffed above her knees. The position afforded an unobstructed view of her crotch area to anyone standing before her. Another thick bar of metal passed behind her back and through her bent arms, locked into the crook of her elbows. A very long length of thin, flexible chain ensured that the bar couldn’t slip out. The chain bound each wrist to the ends of the bar, then wrapped across her stomach, criss-crossed between her cleavage, before ending with a final pass below the neck which served to pull her chest back. A side effect of this elaborate harness was that not only did the chain links define the round globes of her breasts, the metal bar did an excellent job of thrusting them forwards for better display.

Dinah sighed in abject dismay. She still wore her uniform and utility belt, but even if she could reach one of her many hidden tools, there was no way that she could ever stretch to undo her restraints. She glared in anger at Supergirl, but her look went unnoticed. The girl was standing passively with a complete lack of interest in the scene around her.

The Master continued his little speech, “I’m most disappointed by your choice of costume. Whatever happened to the corset and fishnet tights? I think we might have to find you something a little more attractive than this horribly, macho jacket. You are going to quickly learn that your only remaining purpose in life is to fulfil my every whim and pleasure. You will come to love calling me Master and appreciate your reciprocal position as my slave.”

The villain laughed as his captive pulled on her bonds and muttered another inaudible comment, “Oh, I’m quite sure that you will need time to adjust to these new circumstances, but I promise that we will have all the time in the world. Of course, Supergirl already has an unfair advantage when it comes to matters of submission.”

Standing beside the young Kryptonian, The Master tilted her head to one side and brushed back her long flowing mane. The Black Canary’s eyes widened when she saw what was revealed by his actions. A small metal disc, no more than an inch in diameter, was attached to Supergirl’s skull behind the temple. A series of small lights winked on and off in an irregular pattern. The caped wonder remained motionless while The Master tapped the device.

“You see, Supergirl’s will is no longer her own. Thanks to the genius of my Synaptic Inhibitor, her conscious desires no longer control the commands sent by her brain. She is fully aware of her surroundings and I’m sure that she abhors her recent behaviour, but it really makes no difference. My will dictates all that she does.”

Kara Zor-El’s mind was indeed aware of what was happening. Her consciousness screamed in impotent rage. She longed to strike out at this villain, but she was helplessly trapped in the prison of her own psyche. The full range of sensory input allowed her to experience her body’s actions, but every outgoing signal was intercepted and overridden by the electronic guardian of her virtual cage.

The Master had moved across the room and now sat before the large monitor of a sophisticated computer bank. The Black Canary listened in growing horror as he resumed his gloating exposition, “It took years to collect and analyse enough data to extrapolate an accurate personality matrix. After that, the actual construction of the Inhibitor was a relatively simple exercise.”

Rapid images flashed across the monitor: Supergirl battling countless foes, Supergirl rushing into a burning building, Supergirl giving rare interviews to the media, even a few biographical logs which could only have come from the encrypted servers belonging to Oracle, the Batcave or the Justice League’s headquarters.

“Now, this is interesting,” The Master tapped a few keys and indicated an animated graph. “My early algorithms looked perfect, but they completely unravelled during simulations of combat or heightened conflict. It turns out that, whereas the human brain might become clouded and error prone during emotional stress, the Kryptonian model enters a feedback loop where emotion increases the amplitude of brain output and reinforces the subject’s core values.”

He gestured to Supergirl with a proud smile, “As you can testify, my addition of Emotion Suppressant routines overcame that small hurdle. A certain amount of spontaneous interaction is lost, but it’s a price worth paying.”

Dinah gazed at the teenager with mute pity. You poor, poor thing. What has he done to you? Of course Supergirl would never have willingly acted against a fellow heroine. She wished that she could do something to help, but the chains that held her immobile removed all possibility of action.

“Perhaps a further demonstration is called for.” The Master pushed his padded chair away from the computer desk and called across the room, “Supergirl, come here.”

Obediently, the Girl of Steel trotted across.

“Kneel before me and open my robe.”

Again the dominated heroine obeyed. She knelt between The Master’s open legs and daintily unknotted the sash of his robe to part the folds of the garment. The man was completely naked beneath. The Black Canary closed her eyes and turned away. She refused to watch this spectacle. Kara wished that she could act upon her own disgust, but her trapped mind had no choice but to witness and experience all that followed.

“Excellent, Supergirl. I want you to remove your shirt and then use your hand to bring me to erection.”

First unclipping her red cape, Supergirl peeled the clinging top over her head and tossed it aside. The Master gazed at her perfect body. She had no need for a bra or any other artificial enhancement. Her breasts were exquisite. Firm and perfectly sized, their nipples jutting forward from ripe, brown areola. The villain’s manhood was starting to harden before the girl had even touched him.

When she did reach out, her fingers first cupped and tickled his heavy ball sack. The lights on the Synaptic Inhibitor increased their tempo, the circuits compensating for the growing outrage from Kara’s consciousness. The hand moved to delicately circle the widening shaft and pump up and down in smooth rhythm. The same hand would have been making an altogether more unpleasant grip if Kara’s true thoughts had been in control.

The Master’s breathing was becoming rapid. He licked his lips and struggled to control his shaking voice, “Now … oh, god, yes … now, I want you to take me in your mouth … Suck me and don’t stop sucking until I have finished cuming.”

Supergirl edged closer. She raised herself upright and swept her hair to one side. Dipping her neck down, she took first the head and then the whole of the engorged member into her mouth. Her lips formed a perfect ‘O’ and sealed themselves to the shaft. Her fingers continued to fondle the base of the man’s penis, just as her tongue swirled around its top. The villain’s fingers clawed into the arms of his chair. Supergirl’s hair had fallen forward and now caressed his legs as her head bobbed vertically. This was his perfect slave. Oh, he would keep the others, they had their uses, but Supergirl was the only female he truly lusted after.

The warmth of her mouth continued to suck. Kara wept inside, she would have been vomiting if her mental nausea was able to communicate itself to the rest of her body. The oral stimulation built relentlessly until, finally, The Master could contain himself no longer. Both hands seized large handfuls of Supergirl’s hair and he thrust his pelvis into her face. With a bestial grunt, he exploded inside her mouth, thrusting for several long seconds while she obediently obeyed the instruction to keep sucking. With no need to breathe, she had no reason for a gag reflex, but Supergirl still couldn’t manage to swallow the entire torrent of sperm. Her lips and chin were coated with the white cream when The Master stopped spurting and came to a panting, breathless rest.

Having received no further instruction, the Girl of Steel remained kneeling meekly between The Master’s legs, cum slowly dripping onto her breasts. The satiated villain pulled his robe shut and bent to place a tender kiss on her forehead. He stood and walked to Black Canary. The muzzled songbird sat dejectedly in her bondage. Even with her eyes shut she hadn’t been able to ignore the loud sounds of their sex. The degradation of the young heroine had been as demoralising as if she had suffered the abuse herself.

“She really is a greedy little slut.” The Master tilted the Canary’s chin until she was forced to meet his cold gaze. “I had intended to take my pleasure with you tonight, but I’m afraid that I’m quite spent. Don’t fret though, there will always be another time. Rest assured, my pet, you will get your turn.”


Chapter Two

The ceiling lights were dimmed in The Master’s luxury penthouse. The room’s main source of illumination was a large computer monitor and the glow from its many displays. A window in the desktop’s upper corner showed an image beamed from remote cameras elsewhere in the penthouse. The location revealed was that of a gloomy cell of dull brick walls and bare wooden floorboards. Two dishevelled women lay miserably upon the dusty floor, huddled together for warmth and mutual sympathy. They were both bound hand and foot and had large rubber ball-gags locked in their mouths. Their friends would not have recognised the tear-stained faces and broken wills, but their distinctive uniforms identified them as two of the world’s bravest female crime-fighters: Wonder Woman and the Black Canary.

The man sitting in front of the monitor smiled as he watched the display. His third and most valued captive knelt by his side. Supergirl was reclothed in her familiar blue costume with its red cape and boots. Her head rested submissively in the man’s lap, allowing him to absent-mindedly run his fingers through her long, silky hair. Her hands were crossed behind her back, although neither rope nor chain secured them there. There was no need for physical restraints. The metal disc which pulsed at the side of her skull sent complex electronic signals which completely dominated the young girl’s mind. Kara Zor-El was helpless to resist her captor’s commands.

Turning his focus to the computer’s other systems, the villain known only as The Master, searched for another victim to add to his growing harem of imprisoned sex slaves. The computer stored a vast wealth of information about the planet’s many costumed heroines and their villainous foes. The Master flicked through the files like a connoisseur perusing an expensive wine list. With so many fine vintages to chose from, he was almost spoilt for choice.

“Who shall become our next little playmate?” he murmured to an unresponsive Supergirl. He paused at one particular entry. “Ah, Catwoman. There would be a challenge. Imagine the fun we could have with that frisky feline in our ropes. But, no, I think not. Her preference for her own sex is too well known. I want a woman that will truly appreciate the dominance of a powerful man.”

A linked document flashed for attention. He clicked the link and studied the biography and video clip it called up. Genuinely impressed, he leant back with an eager smile, “I think we’ve found our answer. It’s about time this bitch was taken down a peg or two. In fact, her enslavement could almost be considered a service to humanity.”

The villain raised Supergirl to her feet, issuing new instructions to his unwilling accomplice, “I hate to be repetitive, my dear, but it looks like you’ll be making another trip to Gotham.”


The interrogation was not going as planned. Taking a deep breath and silently counting to ten, the masked vigilante fought to control her rising temper and asked her question again, “I know your boss has been building a new gang. He’s planning something big and I want to know what it is.”

“I’m not sure that I should say anything.” A high-pitched, girlish voice squeaked in doubt, “I don’t think that Mister J would like it if I spilled the beans so easily.”

Helena Bertinelli cursed. It had already been a long and tiring night. Several hours ago, she had stumbled upon an attempted robbery at a convenience store. The petty crooks had been no match for her fighting skills, but one of them had managed to run off while she was busy subduing the other five. She had eventually tracked him down to an old warehouse near the docks. Two vans had been parked outside and more then a dozen men congregated within, too many to risk taking on at once. The costumed heroine had to wait for them to leave before breaking in to search the place. She had found two crates: one filled with handguns, the other crammed full of green wigs, black eye-masks and white face paint. That meant only one thing: the Joker was back in town and already equipping a fresh group of henchmen.

“Hey, Huntress. Have you really finished tying me up? These ropes feel kinda loose.”

A petite figure in red and black rolled on the ground in front of the Huntress. A circle of white make-up brightened her face, with a cute little jester’s cap covering her head. Harley Quinn was the Joker’s number one moll (whether he liked it or not) and she had been the only one of his known associates that could be located on short notice. With more enthusiasm that actual ability, the comical sidekick had been easy prey for the Huntress to trap.

Whatever she might say, Harley was going nowhere. She was roped into a variation on a hogtie. Instead of her hands and ankles being tied together and then linked, her left wrist was tied directly to her left ankle and her right wrist to her right ankle. The coils of thin rope entangled around her knees had been what first thwarted her escape and brought her to ground, a ‘batarang’ trailed from one end and was tucked away to secure the binding.

Harley wriggled around, a big smile on her face despite her bound state, “Say, when Mister J ties me up, he usually gags me too. Are you going to do that? Although, come to think, I suppose that might make it difficult for me to answer your questions. Oh, I know. Sometimes he likes to stick a dildo into my tight, little pussy. That always makes me more responsive. Do you carry one of those in your belt?”

The Huntress scowled in disgust and anger. She stomped across and knelt on the damp ground beside her prisoner. Clamping a gloved hand over the squirming bundle, she bent her head closer and hissed a fierce whisper, “Listen to me, you stupid little bimbo. I’m not here to play games and I’m not interested in your sick private life with that psychopath. I just want to know where he’s hiding and what he’s planning. Understand?”

The chequered minx fell still. Her eyes grew solemn and she slowly nodded her head, “Mrr umumn m’hin ou.”

“What?” The vigilante cautiously removed her muffling hand.

Harley gasped for breath and then repeated in a loud whisper, “I said, there’s someone behind you.”

The Huntress spun to her feet and swivelled in one fluid motion, drawing a small crossbow from her side and pointing it into the shadows. She had captured Harley on waste ground behind an engineering plant. A wide steel pipe ran between two buildings. Jets of dense steam escaped from cracks along the pipe, but Helena’s sharp eyesight could see the outline of a slim figure concealed in the cloud of vapour.

“You might as well come out of there. Slowly and don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Her crossbow was held level at head height. The figure’s silhouette came nearer and emerged through the steam. The Huntress and Harley Quinn voiced their surprised recognition in unison, “Supergirl?”

Supergirl regarded the scene before her. The Synaptic Inhibitor filtered out Kara’s desire to shout a warning, dismissed Harley as unimportant, and issued the neural impulses to carry out its current orders. Supergirl’s gaze turned to the Huntress and she spoke in an emotionless voice, “Huntress, I must take you to Metropolis.”

“Why?” The ever-suspicious heroine’s weapon was still aimed. She backed off slightly, keeping room to move between herself and Supergirl. A lifetime spent on the edge of danger had taught her to be cautious of anything unexpected.

“I must take you to Metropolis. You must join the Black Canary and Wonder Woman.”

“No way.” The Huntress shook her head, “Oracle tells me that Black Canary has been uncontactable for days. I’m going nowhere until I know what’s going on.”

Supergirl raised her arms and lunged forward, but the Huntress had been waiting for some sort of move. She ducked to one side and fired her crossbow. A bolt shot upwards and into a concrete wall, trailing a grappling line which the acrobatic fighter used to swing onto a high ledge.

Harley Quinn giggled in delight and rolled in her bonds to get a better view, “Ooh, a cat fight. What fun!”

The tactics employed by Helena might have worked well on Gotham’s rooftops when facing the city’s usual array of villains, but they counted for nothing against Kryptonian opposition. Supergirl stepped lightly into the air and flew up until she was level with her quarry. She seized the heroine’s wrist and reached with her free hand to calmly remove the crossbow, “I am not to harm you, but it is pointless for you to resist.”

“Like hell it is.” The Huntress snarled in fury. Grabbing the hand that held her own wrist, she leapt off the ledge and kicked away from the wall, using the momentum to tumble over Supergirl’s shoulder. The stunt almost wrenched her shoulder from its socket, but somehow she managed to twist out of the Girl of Steel’s grip. She landed athletically and sprang back to her feet, running towards an alley. She was smart enough to know when not to continue an uneven fight.

“Quick! She’s getting away!” Harley was breathless with excitement. She half expected Batman and Superman to show up to make it a tag-team double.

Supergirl had no intention of allowing the Huntress to escape. She flew a little higher and ripped a length of metal drain pipe from the wall, then turned and hurled it with incredible accuracy. The object struck the fleeing heroine directly between the shoulder blades and brought her crashing to a halt. Supergirl slowly glided down and used her supersenses to study her opponent: still breathing, steady heart beat, no broken bones. She was unconscious, but with no lasting injuries.

“Wow. That was so cool.” Harley, still tied hand to foot, wriggled along the ground to see what happened next, “I’m glad you don’t hang out in Gotham all the time. Mister J would be out of business real quick.”

Supergirl ignored the banter and stooped down for the Huntress’ utility belt. There were still plenty of spare grappling lines in its many compartments. She took one coil and used it to tie her defeated victim’s hands behind her back. Six quick loops circled the wrists before another three turns were made crossways to cinch the bonds. The line was as soft and pliable as rope, but was as thin and strong as wire. Supergirl’s firm knot caused the strands to dig into the Huntress’ gloves and bite into the skin below. Another two lengths were pulled from the belt. Similarly stringent ties were used to bind the damsel’s legs at ankles and knees.

Harley was watching in admiration, “Are you going to remove her mask now? That’s what Mister J always threatened to do to Batgirl in these situations.”

Supergirl looked down at the prone vigilante. The Huntress wore dark, thigh-high boots of thick leather which were bucked securely at several intervals along their length. Her skin-tight vest fit so tightly that it might well have painted on. It was cut to leave her toned stomach muscles exposed to the cool night air. Matching gloves of the same dark material reached from finger tips to elbow. However, the most impressive item of her costume was the purple face mask. It circled the heroine’s shadowed eyes and ran down smooth cheeks towards her firm, feminine jaw line. Two stiffened triangles protruded through her beautifully thick head of hair, modelled to mimic the large ears belonging to some predatory animal. Nothing in The Master’s instructions had mentioned the mask so Supergirl simply left it in place.

The caped teenager picked the bound prisoner off the ground and balanced her over one shoulder. Her mission here was complete. Harley watched as they took to the sky and disappeared into the clouds. She rolled onto her side with a wistful sigh and wondered who was going to find her, tied up in the bad part of a bad city. The Joker was never going to believe this when she got home.


The Huntress had regained consciousness, but was still securely tied, by the time The Master entered her locked cell. In fact, she had been awake for quite some time and he had enjoyed watching her struggles on his security cameras. He had been impressed with her self-control. There had been no hint of an hysterical reaction or pointless outbursts of anger. Instead, she had lain still and carefully explored her situation, as though unperturbed by the tight ropes and grim environment. The heroine’s perceptive eyes had studied every inch of the spartan room, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of her prison. The Master’s cameras were well concealed, but somehow they didn’t escape her notice. The steely blue eyes behind her mask had looked into the hidden devices and stared directly into lenses with deliberate pride and projected confidence.

Eventually she had turned her attention to the ropes in which she had been trussed. No doubt recognising them as her own grappling lines, she hadn’t bothered wasting effort trying to burst them through sheer strength. She had taken a more methodical approach, twisting and turning in an attempt to reach any of the knots. The Master had greatly appreciated the sexy contortions of her agile body. At one point she had managed to bring her ankles within range of her fluttering fingers, but the combination of her gloves and the constricting ropes at her wrists had reduced the sensitivity of her touch. After several fumbling attempts, she had given up trying to unpick the compact knot.

That had only been a few minutes ago. Her face was still flushed and coated in a sheen of perspiration as her captor entered. The Huntress was able to lithely roll onto her knees, lacking the balance to stand fully, but unwilling to lie completely vulnerable before him. She studied the man as he approached and noted Supergirl following at his heel in docile compliance.

“So what have you done to her? Telepathy? A mystical enchantment? Or some alien mind device?”

“Very clever, Huntress.” The Master was again impressed, “Good guesses, but my technology is entirely of earth origin. I can see why the Batman considers you worthy of support, but I’m afraid your intelligence may go to waste in your new life as my sex toy.”

“Oh, so you’re that sort of villain,” Helena sneered in disdain, “What happened? Raised by an over-bearing mother? Rejected at your high school prom? Or just not able to get it up around real women?”

“Careful, Huntress.” The Master’s voice grew cold and angry.

“You’re a sad little pervert, aren’t you?” Her mocking taunts continuing unabated, “I’ll bet you aren’t even that well endowed. Probably too small to attract a partner by honest means.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” The Master’s face grew crimson with fury. The back of his hand struck the defenceless heroine across the face with enough force to knock her sprawling to the floor.

“Filthy bastard.” The damsel raised her head and spat on the man’s shoes.

“Insolent bitch!” The Master was enraged beyond reason. He would not tolerate such defiance. This slut would learn some manners the hard way. He had been carrying bundles of new rope and now dropped them to the floor, “Supergirl, strip this whore and string her up.”

The Girl of Steel stepped into the room and stood astride the bound captive. Kara had cheered the Huntress’ brave refusal to bow to The Master. She had willed her on, deeply regretting the fact that she could only stand wordlessly and watch. Now she was again forced to do his bidding. She stared down at the proud damsel and focused the intensity of her vision. Twin beams of red light left her eyes. With surgical precision, the heated rays ran along the seams of the Huntress’ purple costume, burning through the material without harming the delicate skin below.

“You don’t have to do this, Supergirl.” Helena spoke in an urgent whisper, watching anxiously while her clothing fell away in tatters, “I know you’re in there somewhere. Resist!”

I’m trying. Kara’s consciousness was indeed trying, but the Synaptic Inhibitor was like a glass wall between her mind and her body.

“Come on, Supergirl. Think of all the good you have done and look at what you’re doing now. You can’t want to end up serving this scum all your life.”

Spurred on by the encouragement and repulsed by her automated actions, Kara fought harder. Her mind battered itself against the Inhibitor and the cerebral illusion of its barrier. Suddenly she realised something. Even in this mental landscape, a wall had limited height and since when did such obstacles restrict a girl who could fly?

The beams of heat vision stopped. It took supreme effort, but she succeeded in forcing her faltering voice to form words of her own choosing, “No … This ... is … wrong.”

The Master looked up in alarm. He dashed across and reached below Supergirl’s hair, tapping controls on the miniature device before she could gain further freedom, “You’re getting far too worked up, my dear. I think we need to eliminate such passions.”

To Kara it was as though a glass roof had come crashing down to meet the walls. The Emotion Suppressant circuits grounded her brief flight. The roof seemed to lower, the walls growing thicker, the electronic circuitry once again winning dominance and enclosing her mind.

An expression of agonised defeat crossed Supergirl’s face before her features collapsed into bland neutrality. The Master sagged in relief. That had been too close.

“You can’t stop her forever, you know.” The half-naked Huntress spoke from the floor, “She’ll keep fighting until she wins.”

“You really need to shut up.” He hadn’t forgotten his anger at this bitch. He lifted a wad of her discarded costume and stuffed it into her mouth, cutting off further remarks. A longer strip of the material cleaved between her lips to hold the gag in place. The damsel mewed noisily, but only garbled nonsense passed the foul-tasting fabric.

“Finish your work, Supergirl.” The villain pointed to a heavy hook which hung from the ceiling. “I want her nude and suspended by those ropes.”

The Master opened a cupboard standing in one corner of the room. It was filled with an astonishing variety of instruments designed for pleasure and pain: her pain, his pleasure. Stiff riding crops, flexible bamboo canes and long whips hung beside leather floggers, wooden paddles and rubber punishment straps. A shelf was scattered with nipple clamps, clothes pegs, steel needles and wax candles. A set of crocodile clips hung from wires screwed to a small car battery. The Master dismissed the vibrators and plastic phalluses, he had no inclination to bring the least amount of sexual pleasure to this slave. He made his selection: a black flogger with a dozen heavy tails and a gleaming chain ending in two self-tensioning clamps.

When he turned from his sadistic arsenal, Supergirl had concluded her task. The Huntress' wrists were now bound together with thick hemp rope, the knots every bit as tight as those of her previous restraints. The end of the rope looped over the dangling hook and had been used to elevate her arms high above her head, stretching her body and raising her from the floor. The ties at ankles and knees had been removed. In her new position the ropes were wrapped around each ankle and used to pull them wide apart before being secured to iron rings bolted to the floor. The result was to leave the heroine suspended in an inverted 'Y' a full two feet above the ground, her entire weight supported by her bound and straining arms.

Only her mask remained in place. Her legs, arms and torso were bare for all to see. Her full breasts quivered as tension rippled through her body. A thatch of short hairs curled around the bound woman's exposed pussy. The Master frowned in disgust, he would get Supergirl to remove the unsightly hair later. He considered tearing off the mask, but shrugged and left it alone. Her old life was over. He couldn't give a fuck about the secret of her identity.

He raised the flogger and brought it down on her naked back with all of his might. The heroine flinched from the blow, but she bit down on her gag and refused to call out. The Master stuck again and again, shifting his aim from her shoulders, down to her rounded arse and onto her thighs. The Huntress convulsed and pulled against her tight ropes. Her nostrils were flaring, her eyes blazing wildly, but still she swallowed back any cry of pain.

The Master lowered the flogger for a moment. He took the metal clamps and fastened them cruelly to the jutting nipples. A small, barely audible moan was forced from her lips as the vicious teeth distorted the soft flesh. The flogging resumed, this time on the front of her body. Blows rained down on her trembling stomach and already tortured breasts. Stray swings even caught the heroine in the sensitive area of her cunt.

The assault was relentless. Soon the Huntress' skin glowed red from countless welts. Her body was trained to endure physical punishment, but this was pushing her to her limits. Her bonds prevented any attempt to evade or roll with these attacks. The nipple clamps were an entirely new form of pain and were sending her into a frenzy of confused agony. Her shoulders ached from the discomfort of the suspension. It was almost impossible for her to control her jerking movements, but this hardly mattered. When she did manage to pull away from a blow delivered across her tits, it only brought her closer to two rapid follow-ups to her backside. It was no use. She couldn't take this. Throwing back her head, she closed her eyes and screamed long and hard, the gag doing nothing to muffle the tormented yell.

The Master stopped to catch his breath. He was panting hard and bathed in sweat. His arm ached from the effort required to bring forth that one single scream. But it had been worth it. The Huntress now slumped in her bonds. She sobbed through her gag and a few hot tear drops trickled from below her mask. The villain was triumphant.

"I'm going to leave you now, Huntress. But you won't be alone. Supergirl is going to continue your punishment on my behalf. I've asked her not to use her full strength, but her superspeed won't leave you the slightest fraction of a second of peace between blows and her superstamina will ensure that your ordeal lasts for hours."

The Huntress' eyes went wide with fear. She desperately shook her head and pleaded incoherently for mercy. The Master was pleased. When the next of her many, many screams echoed through the halls, it was like music to his ears.


Chapter Three

The day had finally come. The hour of his ultimate victory was at hand. The Master could hardly believe that all of his dreams and fantasies would soon be fulfilled. After sampling so many wonderful appetisers, he would soon get to taste the main course. Supergirl would be his. He would enjoy the sexual pleasures of ravishing her magnificent young body. No more foreplay. Today he would give into his lusts and rape the girl until all of his pent-up desires were satiated. All the hard work which he had invested would, at last, reap its reward.

The Girl of Steel had first come to his attention three years ago when she raided one of the many unlisted subsidiary companies of LuthorCorp. Back then he had merely been Dr Alan O'Rourke, a senior technician far beneath her notice. He had watched in awe as she bested the plant's security guards, destroyed the prototypes of their BioCerebral Image Array (a device which could have allowed Lex Luthor to view the thoughts of his many enemies), and taken the entire board of directors into custody. She had been unstoppable. He had known from that moment that he must make her his.

He had dedicated his life to that one goal. His genius had never been truly appreciated at LuthorCorp, so he felt absolutely no guilt when he had stolen blueprints and patents, faked his own death and made a small fortune selling the corporate secrets on the black market. 'The Master' had been born during that period. The profits of his deceit were used to fund the research and development of the key to his success: the Synaptic Inhibitor. He recalled the stomach-churning adrenalin rush when Supergirl had raced to the 'accidental' chemical spill he had arranged as a lure. His hands had been shaking, but he had managed to get close enough to the unsuspecting heroine to slap the small disc onto her skull. Personalised to match her specific Kryptonian brainwave patterns, the device had taken effect instantly. Kara Zor-El's mind had been trapped in an electronic cage, her will usurped by the machine's neural output.

That had been a little over a week ago. He strode into the opulently furnished lounge of his Metropolis penthouse and admired the initial fruits of his labour. Three beautiful female trophies were displayed around the sides of the room. Three captured heroines, defeated by the dominated Supergirl and victims of his degenerate sex games.

Wonder Woman had been the first to fall into his clutches. He had been present during her fateful confrontation with Supergirl, wanting to witness the performance of the Inhibitor under the stresses of combat. The results were spectacular. Their battle might have become the stuff of legends if Wonder Woman had not insisted on holding back, unwilling to believe that she was really under attack by a trusted ally. A full blown clash could have been too close to call. Supergirl's powers might be greater, but Wonder Woman had the advantage in terms of age and experience. As it was, her loss had been unavoidable.

The mighty amazon was now perched on the edge of a small stool. Her wrists were locked behind her back in heavy manacles forged from the unbreakable alloy lexalite (another asset stolen from his former employers). The golden rope of her lasso had been wound around her arms and torso, although more for artistic purposes than for restraint or its other mystical properties. Wonder Woman's hair tumbled from her tiara in a tangle of complete disarray and her torn costume revealed even more flesh then usual. Some of her fighting spirit had returned since the humiliation of his earlier assaults. Her eyes blazed with righteous indignation and The Master was certain that he would have been receiving a haughty moral lecture if a large ball-gag had not been crammed into the captive's mouth.

The crime-fighting adventuress called Black Canary was next in line. The Master had kept his promise to find her a more appealing costume. The dark green combat jacket had been replaced with clothing which brought back memories of an earlier age, a time when male heroes were noble and strong and their female colleagues were doomed to stumble unwittingly from one perilous death-trap to another. The outfit could have come straight from the pages of a lingerie catalogue. A flimsy basque of black silk clung to the shapely curves of the damsel's chest and stomach. The mesh of fishnet stockings covered her legs and met the tops of black, high-heeled, knee-length boots. The costume would offer absolutely no protection against the hazards of adventure, but its visual impact was stunning.

That visual impact was further enhanced by the pose enforced by her bondage. Bands of strong, white rope gripped the heroine's legs at ankles, just below the knees, again above the knees and at the tops of her thighs. Each band consisted of three or four tight turns which were cinched and firmly knotted. More white rope was bound around her arms at wrists and elbows. It was fortunate that the Black Canary spent so many hours in martial arts training, for great flexibility was needed to endure the position of her joined elbows. A doubled length of rope was wrapped twice around her slender waist and then plunged from her naval, between her thighs and through her crotch, before being tied off at her back. A last long strand of rope was the master touch of the arrangement. It was tied to her wrists and threaded through an eye-bolt in the ceiling. This pulled the Canary's hands high into the air, lifting her arms and forcing her to bend forward.

The Master paused to admire the effect. The position threw the heroine off-balance, forcing her to totter in place. The deep valley of her cleavage almost spilled from the silky basque. Being bent over had dragged the crotch rope further into the gap of her glistening womanhood. The Black Canary was writhing in her bonds. The Master couldn't tell if she was trying to escape the ropes or revelling in their intimate embrace. Like Wonder Woman, she had been gagged. The precaution had greater justification with a heroine whose voice could shatter objects and stun her foes.

The last of the trio was Gotham's masked vigilante, the Huntress. Of the three, she had been subjected to the greatest physical abuse, punishment brought on by the defiant insults unwisely directed at her captor. She had spent most of the night being whipped by Supergirl, an ordeal which had continued even after the pain and exhaustion had caused her to pass out. The torture still continued even now. Cold metal clamps were still fastened to her hardened nipples, although the poor woman could no longer distinguish the individual aches which had long merged into an agony that permeated every muscle and joint in her body.

She was barely aware of her surroundings, fainting in and out of consciousness. She sat in a high-backed chair, only supported by the web of ropes which held her in place. Her ankles were pulled back and tied to the rear legs of the chair. Loops anchored her thighs to the seat of the chair, and an elaborate rope harness pulled her firmly against its back, also pinning her roped arms and forcing her tired body to remain upright. Her head was slumped forward, long hair draped across her shoulders and small dribbles coming from the corners of lips that were distorted by a tight cleave gag.

The Master walked past these lesser specimens. They had been nothing more than a build up to the main event. He would keep them for occasional diversions, or perhaps use them to enhance his reputation among other villains, sharing or selling them as he saw fit. But one slave would remain his alone. She lay on a couch in the corner of the room.

Supergirl's hands were tied behind her back. Her ankles and been bound and lashed to her wrists, bending her legs and bowing her back into a hogtie. Rope had also been tied in her mouth as a crude gag. Kara whimpered only within the confines of her mind. Ordinarily such bonds would have been nothing to her unearthly strength. She should have been able to snap the ropes with ease, but she could not. The Master had given instructions that she should lie still and wait for him and the Synaptic Inhibitor enforced his decree with no means of resisting. The ropes themselves were redundant in terms of restraint, they were there purely because The Master enjoyed how they looked upon her.

She had been forced to watch as her friends and comrades were brought in and bound before her eyes. She had watched the brute as he groped Wonder Woman's breasts, fondled Black Canary's aroused cunt and slapped the Huntress' masked face. Since yesterday's fleeting moment of freedom, it had been almost impossible for Kara to even consider acting against the villain. The increased setting of the Synaptic Inhibitor made it seem that it's glass walls were constantly pushing down on her mind, no longer simply blocking her thoughts, but actually trying to prevent them. Her plight was growing ever more hopeless.

The Master slowly stripped until he was standing naked before his helpless captive. He reached down and lifted the bound body with almost loving care. He carried her back to the centre of the room and gently laid her upon the floor.

"I'm going to rape you now, Supergirl." He whispered the words tenderly, nibbling on one delicate earlobe, "I'm going to fuck you and make you mine, body and soul. You don't mind if I let your friends watch, do you? It will serve them well to witness the complete subservience of the greatest heroine of all."

Kara couldn't even shake her head in protest. She could do nothing to fend off these unwanted advances. And yet, the twisted genius of the neural technology meant that she must experience her ordeal in every detail. She could see the villain stroking his cock in anticipation of the act to come. She could feel his warm breath in her ear. Her superhearing could even hear the increase of his heartbeat and the quickening of his pulse. When he did what she knew he would do, she would have no choice but to feel every moment of her violation.

The Master leaned in and kissed Supergirl on the lips, his tongue probing the depths of her mouth. She lay still and let his saliva mix with hers.

He reached his hand below her top and cupped first one breast and then the other. She made no protest, no complaint.

Untying her legs, he licked the soles of her feet then kissed his way to the top of her thighs. Supergirl allowed her limbs to be manipulated and uttered not a sound.

The Master pushed her thighs apart, his penis pushed at the entrance to her cunt. Supergirl's emotionless expression did not change, she lay unresisting below him.

Damn it! The villain swore in frustration. This was no good. She was just fucking lying there. Where were the moans and sensual movements? He wanted to feel empowered and to know that he was taking control of the strongest girl in the world. He couldn't live out his fantasies if she was just going to let him take her. Shit, he could get more pleasure alone in the shower.

It was the Emotion Suppressant routines of the Inhibitor. He had turned them too high. It had left her like some sort of robot, able to follow commands, but unable to act with spontaneity or to display feelings of any kind. The Master thought quickly and made his decision. He would turn the settings to their lowest level. They were designed as an additional protocol anyway, he reasoned, the basic function of the Inhibitor would still be in place.

He adjusted the silvery device and was rewarded almost immediately. Supergirl groaned and tossed her head to one side, biting down on her lower lip. Kara was unbelievably aroused. She had never been so stimulated in all her life. Although her body and lain lifeless, her mind had been reacting to The Master's expert touch. With the Emotion Suppressant system deactivated, the pressure of her prison and lessened, but she was still unable to act with complete freedom. She wanted to push the villain away, but her arms would not respond to such desires.

"Much better." The Master grinned broadly. Now he could have his fun. He placed his hand between Supergirl's thighs, spreading her legs and stroking her mound. He nodded in delighted approval as her juices started to flow. He pushed her blue top higher up her chest and knelt to lick, kiss and bite at her breasts. His other hand joined in, pinching one nipple while his tongue caressed the other. She was moaning now, moaning like the slut he wanted her to be.

Oh, please, keep going. Don't stop now. Kara was dizzy with confusion. She knew that she was being subjected to a terrible crime, but she did not want it to stop. For the first time since her capture, she was grateful that her actions were not her own. Since there was no point in resisting, she gave her mind over to the sea of sensations flooding through her brain.

The Master's penis was harder than he had ever known it to be. Even when he had raped Wonder Woman or been sucked off by his beautiful Supergirl, he had never felt this. He grabbed her throat and violently kissed her mouth, his tongue and his cock entering her simultaneously. Oh, god, yes. He had to fight not to cum straight away, not out of concern for her fulfilment, but to draw out his own pleasure for as long as possible. His hips thrust, long hard strokes that became faster and faster. He was doing it! He was fucking Supergirl!

He's doing it! He's fucking me! Kara was on the edge. She heard her small animal-like groans and could feel the tight ropes that still held her wrists at her back. If she had been able to send commands to her muscles, she would have been clawing at this man's back and thrusting her hips to meet him. I'm going to cum, she realised. His rape is bringing me to orgasm.

The Master climaxed, his body shuddering as his seed gushed out. Supergirl was only a moment behind him. She screamed, first in pleasure and then in distress, as a blinding flash overwhelmed her mind and sent sharp, jagged pain through her thoughts.

She must have blacked out. When her eyes opened, The Master was kneeling beside her, holding out his dripping cock.

"Lick me clean, Supergirl."

Kara rolled towards him, "Yes, Master."

She stopped. That was her voice. She - Kara - was moving her body. She searched her mind. The wall was gone! Imaginary shards of glass were scattered through her thoughts and even they were starting to fade. The orgasmic forces which had shaken her mind had overwhelmed the Synaptic Inhibitor. She was free!

"Hurry up, slut. Lick me clean."

"No." Kara's voice was strong and determined. Strands of rope fell to the floor as she brought her hands to the fore and lifted back a lock of blonde hair, "Notice anything?"

The Master stared in confusion and then it dawned on him. The lights on the small disc were no longer flashing. He met Supergirl's cold stare with a tremble of fear. He was in trouble now.



Four costumed superheroines stood in a huddle. Wonder Woman, Black Canary and the Huntress had been freed from their bonds, though Helena Bertinelli was only standing with the added support of Dinah Lance. Wonder Woman was speaking consoling words to the youngest of the group.

"It's OK, Supergirl. We understand what was done to you. You were every bit as helpless as the rest of us."

"But, may be if I ..."

"No! No more doubts. None of us blames you, do we?" Wonder Woman smiled as Black Canary and the Huntress nodded and murmured their agreement.

Supergirl wiped a grateful tear from her eyes. She gestured to the floor, "What about him?"

A naked man lay upon the carpet. His body was bruised, one eye swollen shut and blood trickling from a cut lip. His penthouse apartment was almost as badly damaged. A crack ran down one wall, half the furniture was smashed and two precise holes had been burned through a computer monitor.

Wonder Woman folded her arms across her chest, "We'll deliver him to the authorities. He'll spend a long time in prison for this."

"I'm not sure." Black Canary voiced her doubts, "Do we really want this coming out in the courts and filling tabloid newspapers?"

"Maybe she's right, Wonder Woman," Supergirl spoke in agreement. "I ... I don't think I ever want to live through this again."

"Then what? He must face justice."

The Huntress coughed and raised her voice in a soft whisper, "If none of you stake a greater claim then leave him with me. I will see that he receives fitting punishment."

The Master, barely conscious, groaned and rolled over. He dreaded to think what the Huntress intended. Still, what a week! The memories would almost make it all worthwhile.


Stephen McIlvenna
November 2005