Tricking a Bird–Scene 1

by Barfly

Chapter 1

Delilah Lance sat in her modest sized office looking over some forms that had been sitting on her desk.

It was eight o’clock on a Friday night and the whole floor had been empty for hours except for the tall blonde. She sat on the edge of her seat anxiously gnawing on a pencil but her desk job wasn’t the reason for her tension.

Delilah awaited an e-mail message from a usually reliable informant that might have some information for her. It concerned a nasty fellow Delilah desperately wanted to find.

Delilah Lance was the daughter of the legendary Dinah Lance, aka the Black Canary. After her mother left the crime fighting scene, Delilah happily filled her black leather boots.

Delilah’s day job as a marketing manager paid the bills nicely, and tonight she had planned to go for a few drinks with some co-workers. That was, until she received an e-mail from Crispin (her informant/petty crook) simply saying, “I’ve found him.”

Del quickly made some excuses to her friends about too much work. A couple of the guys tried to convince their sexy co-worker to come out, but she declined. She’d been waiting for this information for too long!

She now sat alone in her office chair, her straight blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. Some strands cast over her forehead to one side. Her almond shaped face was slightly tanned, and her piercing green eyes were accentuated by her long dark lashes. It was easy to see how modeling paid for university–she could have done it full time, with a perfect build posture and height, but crime fighting was in her blood and she wasn’t about to add a mask to her costume.

Del sat for another few minutes and stretched her arms up; her tight black sweater strained against her slender arms and cupped her firm chest. It rode up exposing her back and stomach a little, revealing her firm tanned midsection. She let slip a yawn from her pouty lips and pulled her sweater back down to the top of her grey skirt. Her long legs were crossed garbed in sheer white tights displaying her dancer like legs that ended in big brown suede winter boots.

“Blip.” Del jumped and tapped her computer console it read “84168 Devon rd top floor, Crispin.” She jotted down the address, grabbed her briefcase, and walked quickly out of her office to the elevator.

This was the news she was waiting for! Finally a break as to the whereabouts of the scumbag, Vulker.

Delilah thought back to her run in a few months ago with Markus Vulker. She had pretty much walked into a heist that was taking place at a bank in downtown Gotham City.

When the Black Canary thought she had wiped the floor with the four thieves, she was knocked out by the supposed night watchman. A trap! When she finally came too she was formally introduced to a man named Markus Vulker. A shiver ran down her spine when she thought of their meeting. Along with that shiver came a slight feeling of arousal as she squeezed the handle of her briefcase.

She closed her eyes and remembered looking down at her bound legs and the opaque stockings stretched over her knees, his hand on her chin lifting her drowsy drug-induced head as their eyes locked. “Ding.” The elevator door opened and slammed her out of her terrifying yet slightly stimulating ordeal. “Get over this Del,” she muttered to herself. Canary was trying desperately to overcome her worsening condition/weakness.

Her problem began shortly after her career as Black Canary began. When her mother finally disappeared, she left her daughter with the training that she had been given and the costume–Black body suit and fishnet tights.

Delilah wasn’t sure about the costume. Who could take her seriously running around looking like a cocktail waitress or a playboy bunny? But her mother swore by it, saying, “If you land in a crowd of men, or women for that matter, wearing this, you’ll have at least three on the ground before they know what hit them!”

After a few months of random crime fighting, mostly foiled breaking and entering some drug dealers busted up, the new Canary started feeling great about both her alter ego and her attire. She thought it really did “shock the competition” and gave her an upper hand on the dirty streets of Gotham.

She wasn’t bashful or shy–she knew how men reacted to her even when she was dressed like a slob. She was a bombshell and had been a model for four years, doing runways mostly in Europe, on purpose (nothing to mainstream). She knew what her future held, and that future was Black Canary.

One night at the docks her luck changed. A truck was being hi-jacked by about three thugs; she was tipped off the night before by a pimp she had shaken down.

The thugs took the driver to the back of the truck, and make him unlock the cargo door at gun point.

As the driver fumbled with his keys, Canary made her move. She swept in with a high kick that took one thug out, then a punch on the second that spun the man twice before he crumpled. As she looked at the third man (who resembled a deer in headlights) and contemplated something witty to say, “WHACK” something hard slammed into the back of her neck. She tried to look back to see, but fell into the arms of the deer in headlights…Canary awoke with a huge headache and tied tighter than she thought possible. Her back was against what she assumed to be the cube van that was being hi-jacked. Her vision still blurred, she looked down her bound form–to her relief all her clothes were still on, but that was all the good news.

Her hands were tied up behind her back. Her knees and ankles were tied together. She also found her mouth was tightly cleave gagged; she squirmed a little and tested the ropes with futile results.

The blood was nearly cut off to her hands and feet.

The truck she was in was empty except for her. Another van was backed up against the truck full of now stolen merchandise, and apparently the crooks were busy moving boxes while Canary was in la la land. The thugs were now just outside talking with the driver. “Damn it, he was in on the heist!”

With their business now completed, they all came in to see their captive. This is when the strange sensation took hold of the young heroine. The very thought of these men reaching down, touching and fondling her chest, thighs, and ass, and having their way with her made her struggle anew. Hearing herself moan through her clenched white teeth that bit down on her gag, pushed her mild sensation to a new level of sexual stimulation.

Her nipples hardened instantly, and her cheeks burned with guilt and shame. Canary’s eyes were closed tightly. Her only wish for freedom was a need for her own hand between her soft thighs–if she could only briefly touch herself for one minute, she could concentrate on the real task at hand.

A hard smack across her face quickly grabbed her attention. But, as if she were watching the scene from afar, it continued to excite the beautiful blonde.

She laid completely helpless, dressed in a costume that completely defined sexy. Her wild blonde hair parted in the middle and cascaded over her wriggling shoulders. As the thugs continued to smack and grope her fidgeting body, the sensations she felt were almost euphoric. Still resisting and struggling with grunts and garbled moans, a hand slid between her thighs, slowly down her warm fishnet cover legs–the gorgeous blonde heroine wasn’t sure if she should scream in ecstasy or scream for help.

As the hand roughly groped the front of her nylon/spandex body suit, Canary let out a long moan of pleasure. Her big green eyes stared pleadingly into her captors face–he responded to her intense body language and pushed the crotch of her tight black costume aside to fondle her sex more directly. Canary’s eyes closed as his lips touched her gagged mouth.

She couldn’t resist moving her gagged pouty lips in an attempt to kiss back through her saliva soaked mouth restraint.

Her breath quickened and she slammed her head back against the cargo truck wall, exposing her lean neck wrapped in her mother’s black chocker. The thugs mouth sucked at her throat and his thumb rubbed hard on her sex–she felt herself about to cum.

Seconds into the molestation, a phone beeped. The smiles of the thugs instantly vanished; the hands that smothered her instantly released.

Canary stopped moving and stared wide eyed as the men jumped out of the back of the truck and pulled the roller door down. “Sorry I couldn’t play longer.” The door slammed shut.

Canary, relieved and disappointed and burning in her loins, thrashed madly against her ropes. Panting and frustrated, she fell onto her side and slid her boots farther behind her back, stretching her legs–with her gloved hands numb from the lack of blood and her heart coming out of her chest, she reached into the fold of her leather boot and produced a thin serrated wire and began cutting her ropes.

As she started to cut through her ankle ropes, she heard the truck she was in start up. There was a tiny window from the cargo box to the cab–Canary strained her still blurred eyes and she saw the light come on. Canary’s heart sank when she heard the truck slam into gear and jerk forward.

Canary worked harder on the ropes, making it through her ankle bonds. She felt circulation return as she stretched her bound form and started on the knee ropes. She heard the truck rev higher and the driver door open. “This can’t be good,” she thought as the truck dropped ten feet off the pier and slammed into the Gotham harbor. Canary’s body slid against the wall back to the sliding door as the truck fell, then flew forward when the big truck hit the water.

Like a cat she hit feet first and absorbed the impact perfectly; she lost her small escape tool in the crash, but was through the knee ropes enough for them to snap on impact.

Freezing cold water rushed in through the cab window, and the truck sank rapidly. Canary kneeled down with her hands still bound and mouth gagged, frantically unzipped her tall leather boots, and in her stocking feet dove head first through the small cab window barely wriggling through.

The heroine’s breath was completely lost as her body hit the frigid water. Twisting her lithe body and squirming into the cab of the truck, she swam out of the opened driver’s side door and kicked as hard as she could for the surface.

About 10 minutes later, the waterlogged, beaten, bound-and-gagged heroine lay on her side coughing and panting under the dark pier, shivering with wet strands of blonde hair tangled around her face. Her gag still holding most of her blonde locks tightly to her head, Canary laid there for an hour or so wondering what the hell had come over her.

The experience had an enormous effect on the heroine. She was a tougher, grittier, and more conscientious heroine since the dock experience, and she turned her back on no one.

Canary tried everything she could to overcome those feelings that overpowered her in the back of that truck–mostly self training and preparation for if and when she was caught. The training mostly consisted of self tying herself in her apartment, and utilizing her numerous escape devices located in her boots. The training had a substantial arousal effect on her, but nothing like the real deal.

Canary’s biggest threat right now was Markus Vulker; he knew her weakness, so he must be stopped.

Three floors down from her 9 to 5 office, Del unlocked a door marked “song bird modeling.” Inside was a small room with nothing but a desk a chair and a coat hook on the wall–hanging from the hook was her sexy alter ego.

Alone in the confines of her faux little office, Delilah quickly pulled her skirt down and removed her boots. She then hooked her thumbs into her nylons and pulled them down her shapely legs and off of her feet. Finally, she stood in only her black thong panties.

The lovely blonde pulled open a drawer of her desk, and pulled out two new packages of hosiery.

Carefully opening a package of very sheer black stockings, she rolled them gently in her hands and slid them over her foot. Then, placing her foot gently on the chair, she slowly straightened them as they stretched over her leg. She repeated the process with the other foot, and then pulled the stockings up her narrow thighs to her lean hips.

The lovely blonde then produced her trademark black fishnets; they were a tight nit durable fishnet that she pulled up until they ended very low on her hips. Winter was approaching, so doubling up on leggings helped with the chilly air.

From the hanger on the wall, she grabbed a pair of shorts; they were very stretchy black nylon that resembled a bikini bottom. The beautiful blonde pulled the shorts carefully up her long legs and fought a little against the tight garments, trying not to twist her tights, until the shorts hid the tops of her stockings.

The shorts fit more like bathing suit bottoms, and revealed a lot of her fishnet covered buttocks. Around her waist, her shorts had a cotton belt that thread into loops purely for aesthetics (the shorts may as well be painted on).

Her Canary logo was stainless metal buckle in the form of a bird, latched low on her hips, making the heroine appear even longer and more slender than she already was.

Her transformation almost complete, she removed her tight sweater and bra. From the same hanger, she grabbed her sports bra, a completely sheer black nylon tube that held her perfect breasts in check but was almost as sheer and see through as her black tights. The bra made no irritable impressions on her skin or through her dark-black skin-tight top and was very comfortable.

Her top was made of a nylon/spandex and stretched over upper body accentuating her fit body. The blonde bombshell wrestled herself into the top–the shirt had a V-neck that came down to her solar plexus, where the top of her tube top/sports bra held the package very tight.

The shirt wrapped her torso like a sheer second skin, and ended at the top of her shorts and wrists. She felt very free and comfortable in the shirt that hugged every curve. The new Canary had a few different costumes all with the basic’s–fishnets, high boots, and chocker, but with slight differences. Sometimes a one piece body suit, sometimes with a leather biker jacket, hair up or down; she liked to mix it up.

With her head slightly tilted, she glanced at her reflection in the small mirror on the desk with a sexy smirk on her beautiful face.

She gave herself a cocky wink as she slipped her opaque feet first into a pair of black wool socks that ended below her knee, then into the large black leather boots. Next, she bent over and delicately zipped up her tall boots to the top then buckled them tightly, her socks ending a few inches higher than the boots.

The same steel emblem of a bird was on each boot, along with a few hidden trinkets that helped the heroine out of some very tight jams.

Her final touches were done quickly, like pulling out her hair tie behind her head and shackling her hair loose until the straight locks of golden hair fell perfectly over her shoulders and naturally parted in the middle just covering her smoldering features.

It only took her moments to apply her heavy black mascara and eye liner.

She now felt ready–all that remained was her mother’s black choker that fit snug on her long thin neck, and the tight leather gloves over clenched fists. Looking herself over in the mirror, she knew that hardly any of her co-workers would recognize her even if they did see her. She then pointed at herself in the mirror, said sternly to her reflection, “focus,” and left Delilah Lance at work, for she was now the Black Canary.