The Ultimate Superheroines Forum

Pity the 1970s! That wretched decade of perms, of corduroy, of men being willing to be seen in public in white suits; that decade of slow, miserable economic decline as the largest and most prosperous cities in the world sank into a mire of crime, poverty, mismanagement and filth. A time when all the dreams and promises of the 1960s had congealed into mass-market, tv-jingle-shaped betrayals of themselves, or had been defeated utterly.


And yet. There were some things that made it faintly tolerable. If you could survive towards the tail-end of it you had Star Wars to look forward to. There was the music: pretty uncontroversially fantastic, by all accounts. If you just really, really liked wearing brown, then hey - the 70s were the decade for you. And there was one more thing, one eccentric bonus that happened to visit itself upon the 70s from out of a rarefied version of a time that had scarcely ever really been. If you were plotting to create artificial volcanoes, or to abduct athletes for your own private Olympics, or you wanted to build functional, life-sized robots and use them to commit petty theft rather than just going public with your success and becoming the single richest, most important human being ever to have lived, ever, then you too might be paid a visit by the noble princess of Paradise Island, heir of Hippolyta, fairest and most valiant of a fair and valiant people.


But the occupants of a certain hideout on a certain backstreet of a certain mid-sized town between Washington D.C. and Arlington, VA were not quite so lucky as to be paid such a visit. But they wouldn’t have felt themselves to have been short changed. For they got precisely the next best thing.


Drusilla loved her home. She loved her people. She loved being part of their society. But utopia, for all its advantages, could be a little… dry. Years of studying the harp, the lyre, the loom, the sword; participating in olympiads, tournaments, marathons, half-marathons, pentathlons, and the occasional poetry slam - it was all well and good for a few decades at a time, but even with the odd invasion to thwart things could get mighty dull for someone with an adventurous spirit. She still preferred Paradise Island to any part of Man’s World that she had seen - the air was cleaner, the people were happier, and the girls were prettier - but there just wasn’t as much to do. So why the hell should Diana get to have all the fun?


She hadn’t been forbidden from leaving the island, but neither her mother nor Diana had much approved. A silly attitude, Drusilla thought. As though there wasn't enough evil to go around for two Wonder Women!


That was why she had come to Man’s World. To battle injustice, as her sister did, as only an Amazon could. Sure, she wasn’t as powerful as Diana, or as skilled, but - hey, who was? And… okay, she might have been after a decent adventure as much as she wanted to help people… but she could do both, couldn’t she? Yeah. Totally!


Dru was responding to a tip-off she’d been given - okay, a tip-off that Diana had been given about the location of some Swiss professor that had been kidnapped. Diana had called the tip ‘sketchy’, and had said that either it was totally bogus, or a trap, and that they needed to do a lot more checking with their allies in the police before they decided to move on it. But Dru hadn’t agreed. So what if it was a trap? That just meant it was the real deal! Besides, this professor or whoever was in real danger. The longer they waited, the longer the chance of them getting killed or something. She who hesitates is lost!


She went in through the roof. It was a two-storey building, but Dru had scaled it in a single bound. While she wore her magic belt, she was far stronger than any mortal man or woman, and such feats were simplicity itself to her. So, too, was forcing the lock on the door leading inside.


She moved quietly, but swiftly, down a shabby set of stairs. It was a pretty crappy building, and it wasn’t even that old. Everything in man’s world - that is, everything that was built in man’s world - seemed so transient. Diana had once scolded Dru for saying that she pitied them.
“It’s arrogant,” she’d said, “to look down on them. Our way of life is only possible because of the blessings of the gods. Should we pity them for not being so celestially fortunate?”
“Yes,” Dru had thought, and she still thought it now. Oh she saw Diana’s point. She was right, really. Yet in this nation - a young nation, even by man’s reckoning - parts of it were already crumbling. Dru found it sad. She wasn’t aware enough of herself to realise that this, really, was why she had insisted on leaving her home: she did feel blessed, and she wanted to share it.


She was so lost in thought that she almost ran straight into one of the kidnappers. He was a medium-sized man with a bowl-cut and a white suit, and I promise you that he was considered ‘the stylish one’ among his peers. But neither his style, nor his funk, prevented him from yelping like Dan Castellanetta when a superheroine nearly ran into him, nor - once he’d collected himself, from staring.


Drusilla’s beauty was fresh, vibrant, and sunny. She had a sweet, slightly cheeky smile, set in bright, open features. She was fairly short, about 5’2”. Her eyes were grey-blue; her hair was a very dark brown, worn to the neck, curly at the ends, held in place with a gold tiara, her one concession to the royalty of her lineage. Her plush thighs were clad in slightly glossy, flesh-tone tights, her calves in knee-high, bright red boots. Her upper body was clad in a simple leotard, red at the top, blue around her abdomen, decorated with red and white stars. It was cut pretty low, showing off Dru’s exceedingly buxom, exceedingly pretty bosom. Her whole body seemed springy - bouncy, even. But the belt at her waist, and the bracers on her wrists, were signs to any who looked that there was more to Dru than softness.
“Wonder W- no… Wonder Girl!” the criminal exclaimed.
“Aw, you got it right! I really appreciate that,” Dru said, before seizing him by the collar, and lifting him right off his feet. “Okay, buster. Where’s the professor?”
“How do you know my name?!” Buster (I guess?) replied.
Dru blinked.
“...Where’s the professor?”
“I’ll never tell!” Buster replied, and looked directly at the door, about five metres away, where the professor was being kept.
“Thanks, buddy,” Dru replied, and hurled Buster right the way across the length of the hallway. She hadn’t hurt him that badly. Just badly enough.


Another lock on the door proved little more of a barrier to Wonder-Girl’s strength than the previous one had. She busted right on in, and was pleased to find that there was no further resistance in front of her. Just a professor - or at least that’s what Dru assumed. She was lying on a grimy looking futon-ish thing, her right arm handcuffed to a radiator. She was blonde, pretty tall, too, and fairly strongly built. Dru had to admit the professor didn’t look particularly distressed: more like ‘mildly inconvenienced’. In fact, she looked more disturbed by seeing Drusilla than she had been by her captivity.
“Who -?” she said, really looking quite alarmed.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dru said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Of course she reacted like that. The poor woman had been abducted! Could she blame her for being a bit on edge? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you, ma’am. I’m… well, you can call me Wonder-Girl.”
“Wonder-Girl?” the professor said. Her expression changed. She must have been holding back her fear, because now it showed much more clearly on her face. “Th-thank you! These men - I don’t know what they wanted with me - babbling some nonsense about me making some kind of biological weapon for them - but I don’t know the first thing about biological weapons, and I thought they were going to kill me!”


Dru came closer, and smiled warmly at the professor.
“You’re alright, Professor…um…”
“Professor Blank. Rora Blank.”
“Professor Blank, I’m here to rescue you.” She moved her hand towards the professor’s handcuffs. “Is it okay if I get those off you?”
“How?” the professor said. “Do you have the key?”
“I guess I have a key,” Dru said, as she snapped the handcuff right off the professor’s wrist. “In a manner of speaking.”
“...That works, I suppose.”

Drusilla helped Professor Blank to her feet, speaking words of comfort to her, doing everything to assure her that she’d be okay. Maybe a little too much - she was kinda new to the hostage thing. But, hey, better to err on the side of caution. Nor did she think they were completely out of danger yet. But, without thinking of it consciously, Dru had already decided that she would die before she let this woman come to harm. Didn’t know her. Didn’t have any feelings about her. Didn’t even know if she was a particularly good or worthy human being. That was just who Drusilla was.


She opened the door into the hallway. There was no-one there, but she could hear voices and footsteps coming from the ground floor.
“Come on, Professor Blank, we need to hurry,” Dru said, but the professor took her far too much at her word. As soon as the door opened, the professor rushed out ahead of Dru, almost pushing past her. “Careful!” Dru shouted - but it was already too late.


“Stop right there!” A group of four men, with four sets coloured shirts tucked into four sets of corduroy trousers worn high at the waist, scrambled out from the nearest stairwell, all armed. One of them fired a warning shot into the air, and the professor yelped, and shakingly put her hands in the air.
“Aw crap!” Dru hissed, a dash of Amazonian speed putting her in front of Professor Blank before the criminals could so much as blink. “Alright, bozos, give it up!”


The four men glanced at each other, confused.
“...Wonder Girl?” one of them said.
“Yeah, that’s right. And if you don’t want to get clobbered, I suggest you back off right now!”
“You’re the one who needs to back off!” The shortest of the four men - by a foot, every inch of which he resented - raised his pistol, and fired two shots.


The professor shrieked. The other goons shouted in surprise. But Wonder-Girl didn’t so much as blink: with superhuman speed, she moved her arm into the path of the bullets. Each one bounced harmlessly off her bracelets, leaving the gunman gawking, and leaving Drusilla feeling rather pleased with herself.
“What did I tell you?” Dru laughed. “Run away, idiots!”
“Auggghhh!” the gunman replied, throwing his weapon aside, and just charging Wonder-Girl, fists raised.
“Buddy, c’mon. If the gun didn’t work…” Shaking her head in dismay, Drusilla intercepted the goon, caught his wild swing in her left hand, and then socked him across the jaw with her right, sending him crashing into the nearest wall. “Do any of you want to be next, or have we managed to work out that fist-fighting the invincible Amazon superwoman probably isn’t going to work out too well for you?”


The remaining three men looked at each other in a state of great consternation. The nearest to Wonder-Girl, a brick of a man in a chequered shirt, kept glancing at Professor Blank.
“Oh no,” Drusilla said, fixing the man with a cold stare. “You’re not getting anywhere near her.”
But Drusilla’s vow seemed not to convince the professor herself, and with a cry of terror, she threw her arms around her protector’s waist.
“Please!” she said. “Don’t let them get me!”
“Wh - hey, easy there!” Dru gently pushed the professor off her, but she was surprised that she had needed to. She couldn’t keep track of this woman’s personality! Cold one moment, impatient the next, and now almost childishly fearful. What on earth was going on with her?
“I-I’m sorry,” the professor stammered. “Just… please… don’t let them take me again.”
“It’s alright professor. I won’t.” Poor woman. Of course she was panicky, under the circumstances.


Drusilla stepped forward. It was time to put an end to this. She picked out the brickish man, who seemed to be the leader of the others. She closed the distance between them in three swift, confident strides, and struck at his jaw with a swift right cross. But she missed. Her target had the build of a boxer, and he seemed to have the agility of one too. Drusilla didn’t think too much of it, but before she could withdraw her arm, the brickish man had grabbed it, his hand closing around her wrist. To Drusilla’s surprise, he managed to turn her around, and that - more than anything - was just beginning to tick her off. She prepared to show this mortal the mastery of pankration that only life on Paradise Island could teach - and then she saw the Professor. She saw the Professor smiling at her, with an aspect that was deeply sinister. She saw that the Professor was holding something: an ornate, golden belt. Dru didn’t even quite process that the belt in Professor Blank’s hand had, until a few seconds ago, been around her own waist before the cloth went over her face.


“MMMMMMHHHHHHHPPPHHHHHHH!!” What? What was happening? This - ew, this rag over her face, covering her mouth and her nose, it was so - damp. Ugh, and it smelled! Sharp, sweet, kind of… cloying. The rag was so thick, too, enough that Drusilla’s voice barely carried past her mouth. It made her feel… funny… dizzy. Better get it off. Better - better - huh? Why couldn’t she wrestle the arm away from her? Why couldn’t she get that huge, strong hand from around her mouth? Oh - oh no.
“By Athena’s aegis… my belt! M-my… my strength!”


Her powers, the powers that had made her feel so sure these men were no match for her… gone. Now, this man - this ordinary man - was stronger than her. He was actually stronger than her. Oh gods, it wasn’t even close! She had to - to get him off! With both hands she grasped the man’s wrist, and tried to pull it away, but she couldn’t. Even worse, her assailant responded to this attempt at rebellion by wrapping his other arm around Drusilla’s midsection, holding her even tighter against his body; so much stronger and taller than her that he lifted her off her feet, pressing her into him, her feet dangling as she kicked vainly into the air. Ugh, she could smell him! Sweat and some foul perfume that men of this era called ‘aftershave’. But still more than anything she could smell that stuff in the rag, that smell that made her so dizzy and… oh… oh how could she be so stupid? How could she not have realised before?
“D…drugged… I’m being drugged!”


With this thought, Drusilla began fighting so hard that, powers or no powers, she almost wriggled free. She squirmed with every fibre of her feminine frame, bucking and writhing, gyrating against her captor with vigorous rhythm. But with every second, that vigour waned.
“Mhhh… mhhhh! MHHHH-NHHHH! NHHHHH!!” Drusilla screamed, trying to keep her strength up, but - but the drug was… was too strong. “Mhh! Mhh… mnnhh… mh?” She could feel herself getting clouded. Drowsy. Her power was slipping from her - what little power she had left, anyway.


“Stop fighting, Wonder-Girl!” her attacker hissed into her ear. “You don’t have your belt. You don’t have your powers. Just keep breathing. Let the chloroform do its work, and stay still.”
“Mhhbhh… mhhbbhhmm… whhmhhph?” Dru’s vision was getting hazy. Her eyelids were fluttering, and her limbs were growing slack. She couldn’t kick anymore. Her legs just shifted weakly, the fabric of her tights swishing quietly as her thighs clumsily brushed against each other. Her arms fell from her attacker’s wrist, falling to her sides, swinging slowly, before coming to a stop. “Can’t… move… I can’t move…”


Her attacker no longer felt the need to hold her so tight. He let her feet touch the floor again. But in exchange, he decided to reward himself for his encroaching victory.
“Mhh… mhhh?” Dru felt something, and cast her eyes down at her own, limp body. “N… nhhh!” she whimpered, her sleepy eyes going wide, as she saw herself being… touched. Her captor’s left hand was groping her bosoms, clutching at them, groping them, so soft, so supple and so vulnerable, Drusilla moaning as she saw advantage being taken of her with such… callousness. “No… don’t… I… I… can’t… they’re touching my… my breasts and I can’t… stop them… how… how did this happen? I was… winning, I was…I don’t… get it…”


She was still conscious, just about, but it was over. The loss of her belt had let them grab her, and the chloroform had made her helpless. She sank deeper and deeper into her captor’s grip; deeper and deeper into slumber. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t do anything. She just stared, hypnotised by the sight of herself being squeezed and fondled. She would have seen nothing else until she succumbed, had not the Professor approached her.

“Not yet, Wonder-Girl,” she said, raising Drusilla’s chin, forcing the limp Amazon to look her in the eye. “I want you to look into my eyes. The eyes of the person who has captured you. Who has vanquished you. How simple it was to play on your ridiculous heroism, to play the hapless victim. You weren’t the one I was after, I must confess… but you’ll do for now.”
Drusilla’s mind was so fuzzy, so muffled, she could barely understand what the Professor was saying to her. The insults washed over her, but the humiliation of what had happened didn’t. It had all been a trap. And now they had her.
“Whh… whh…?”
“Hm? Was that meant to be ‘who’, or ‘why’? As to ‘who’ - I already told you. I’m not a professor, but my name is Rora Blank. Nothing grander than that. If it was ‘why’ - well, my dear… all in due time. Don’t worry about that now. Just sleep, Wonder-Girl. Sleep… sleep… sleep…”


The power of the drug. The authority of Rora’s voice. Even the hypnotic rhythm of the hand groping her chest. It was all too much. Her eyes rolled back, once, twice, three times, each further than the last, each pushing her over the edge, until she was in complete freefall. Literally: her captor had let go of her, had taken away the cloth, had released his grip. Drusilla’s mind was too hazy to comprehend why, but it was because Rora had told him to.
“I want to see her kneel,” she had said.


Drusilla did exactly that. She sank instantly to her smooth knees, the impact making her fulsome breasts bounce and jiggle in her leotard, her head swinging from one side to the other. She had the strength to do just one thing: to look up at Rora with soft, pleading eyes, to be met only with sharpness, and cruelty. This, finally, overwhelmed her, and Drusilla fell forward. Just before her chest hit the floor, she was able to whimper three words, too quietly for anyone but herself to hear:
“Diana,” she whimpered, “help… me…”


With that, she collapsed prone onto the floor, completely unconscious. For a moment, her victorious foes just stood around her, staring.
“We did it,” one of them said, “we defeated an Amazon! She’s ours!”
“She wasn’t the right one,” said the brick-ish man. “Dealing with Wonder-Girl is one thing - but what about Wonder Woman?”
The others exchanged a few nervous glances - but Rora just smiled.
“Oh you simple creature,” she said, “you’ve no imagination at all. Now that we have one… the second is going to be even easier.”

Great story！

kaisme wrote: ↑

4 years ago

Great story！

Thank you! May I ask what you enjoyed about it?

As always, a masterfully-written takedown scene with delicious descriptive passages about Dru's weakness and helplessness. I look forward to what comes next.

As usual, a very satisfying beginning to what I'm sure will be a fun peril-filled story. Of course, Drucilla's vividly depicted defeat is a highlight, but I especially enjoyed Wonder Girl's fresh enthusiasm and immediacy, rushing into danger without fear, her instant and overwhelming sympathy for the "victim", and her corny bravado and lack of self-consciousness. I'm very curious how a heroine as earnest as she is will respond to being tricked and captured so easily.

To the astonishment of Blank’s employees, who acknowledged that they were goons involved with the kidnapping of a superheroine, it had not been possible for their employer to procure an abandoned warehouse to use as a second headquarters. Oh, she’d got a warehouse alright, but it was far from abandoned - it was full of crates, wares and sundries, and Blank had had to bribe the single, underpaid guard to abandon his post. But they had no interest in robbing the place. They just needed to store a valuable commodity of their own.


Buddy, the first man that Drusilla had clobbered, had been put on guard duty outside, still nursing a bruise on his back. He was joined by Flint, the short-tempered fellow that Drusilla had also clobbered. Neither of them were particularly happy about their role in their group’s success, and both of them feared that stage two would make patsies of them as well.
“How’d you get this job, anyway?” Buddy asked.
“Hm?”
“This job. Working for Blank. How did you get it?”
“Wanted ad.”
“A wanted ad?”
“Yeah. A wanted ad. Want me to say it again?”
“No, I just don’t believe you. What did it say? ‘One goon for a kidnapping job, must have experience henching’?”
“Not in so many words.” Flint sniffed. “How’d you get the job?”
“I’ve worked for Blank before,” Buddy explained. “Used to be her bodyguard when she lived in Switzerland.”
“Oh that’s what her accent is! I thought she was from like… Moldova or something.”
“Moldova,” Buddy snorted. “Jeez, man, does she look Arab to you? What?” he added, when he realised Flint was staring at him with an expression rather like what he might have worn if Buddy had shat in his car or something.


Flint shook his head, and turned away. There were forms of ignorance which death alone could cure.
“Well,” Buddy said, “at least this’ll be our big break. Getting our hands on Wonder Woman… that’s gotta make us rich. No more shivering in the cold on guard duty for a measly few bucks, right?”
“Wrong,” Flint replied, “I think this probably isn’t going to work, and that we’re going to get our asses kicked and end up in prison.”
Buddy was startled. When he glanced at his ally for some explanation of this sudden candour, however, he saw that Flint was even more astonished at his words than Buddy had been. Embarrassed, Flint reflexively put his hand over his mouth; or at least he tried to. There was something holding his wrist. A loop of shining, golden rope.
“Hm?” he grunted. To this he appended “aghh” when the rope suddenly tightened like a vise and yanked him off his feet. He sailed through the air for about three-quarters of a second, then was stopped very suddenly by a fair and lovely hand, closed into a hard and bone-shattering fist.


By the standards of later decades, there was something almost… kitsch about the garb of this newly-arrived warrior. Yet, somehow, it was not ridiculous on her. Partly it was because of her raw beauty, and beauty makes one willing to take almost anything seriously. But partly it was just her manner. The way she held herself, the way she held her eyes and her features. Even, as now, when she faced enemies, even when her expression and her thoughts were grave, there was such kindness in her face, kindness suffused through-and-through with strength. You couldn’t help taking her seriously, whatever heights of irony you aspired to. She was, simply, herself. She was, simply, Wonder Woman.


She had a finer beauty than Drusilla’s. More graceful. She was taller, more slender. A little less voluptuous, a little more athletic, so that there was a sense about her of great balance and symmetry. She was slim, but not waifish. Her waist was trim, sweeping out to her hips with enough drama to be striking, but still in total proportion to the rest of her. She displayed herself with utter confidence in a tight, revealing leotard, red at the top, bearing the crest of the gold eagle, a symbol of her royalty, just above the gold belt that girdled her waist. It was cut very low, exposing acres of flawless skin; generously showing off her sumptuous, high breasts; completely baring her arms and her silky, elegant shoulders.


The lower half of her leotard was blue, studded with white stars. Her legs - long, soft, feminine - were very much exposed: her thighs were smooth and shapely, and covered with nothing but the thin, glossy material of her tights; her calves in red, not-quite-knee-high boots. Wonder Woman was not otherwise much adorned: the same bracelets as Drusilla, the same tiara holding back her bouncing, flowing, dark tresses. Her eyes were large; almond shaped; a striking shade of pale blue. Her chin and her jawline were quite delicate, but not weak; her features were extraordinarily pretty, but intelligent; royal, but open - with no airs. Her lips were soft; red. Her beauty was suffused with sensuality in every square inch of her - but this did not make Buddy fail to realise the power of his enemy. If anything, it was precisely the opposite.


Forgetting their entire purpose, Buddy clumsily drew his pistol, and fired until he’d run out of bullets. If Wonder Woman had done nothing but stand still she’d only have been hit twice, but with effortless skill she batted away the only slugs that threatened her. Before Buddy could even think about reloading, there was a whip-crack, and a flash of golden light, and suddenly Buddy’s gun had been struck from his hand.


“What?!” Buddy actually had the presence of mind to reach for a knife he kept in his boot, but long before he had crouched enough to reach it, his foe had closed the distance between them. In what seemed like a single movement, she took Buddy’s forearm, twisted it behind him, slipped behind him, and coiled her lasso around his upper body.
“Where is Wonder-Girl?” she asked. Her manner was urgent, but not panicked. She was worried for Drusilla, of course, but she would not by any means allow her emotions to get the better of her.
“S-she’s inside,” Buddy stammered, unable to believe how easily he was giving the information up. Wonder Woman had him immobilised, but she wasn’t even hurting him very badly.
“Is she unharmed?”
“Uh… we drugged her… to keep her asleep…”
“Other than that?”
“No, we haven’t - haven’t done anything else.”
“How many of you are inside?”
“Five, and Wonder-Girl.”
“Have you ever had a cranial injury or serious skull fracture?”
Buddy found himself no less able to answer this question than all the others, but in a rather more baffled tone of voice than before he replied:
“No?”
“Then this won’t do you any lasting harm.”
“What won’t?” Buddy would have replied, had Wonder Woman not thumped him on the back of the head, and knocked him unconscious.


Diana did not love violence. It gave her no pleasure to brutalise this man. Neither, however, would she hesitate. These villains had captured Drusilla, presumably as a means to capture Diana herself. She felt foolish for not having foreseen this. Drusilla had a good heart, but she was terribly impetuous. Diana’s off-handed, gentle warning that this nonsense with the kidnapped scientist was ‘not what it seems, probably’ would never have been enough to convince her to leave off foolhardiness. This was, in part, her fault.


She took back her lasso, skilfully looping it up and clipping its shining cords to her belt. It occurred to Diana that she could have extracted more information from the man she’d knocked out. What Drusilla’s captors wanted; whether they had orchestrated it all themselves, or if they had captured her for their own ends. What she did not need anyone to tell her was that this was a trap; a trap laid for Wonder Woman. She would have to be very careful.


The door to the warehouse was not locked. Entering, she found it only very dimly lit, and though her senses were a good deal sharper than the average human’s, they were not exactly superhuman either. The piles of wares and boxes cast tall, heavy shadows, and though Diana had no fear of physical danger as such, she felt on edge. Knowing that she was walking into a trap made her imagine hidden villains around every corner. From the man she’d interrogated she knew that there were only five enemies to face. They could not, therefore, be in every shadow: but they could be in any shadow.


Diana turned a corner, past a stack of 8-track players and a second, much larger stack of pre-packaged macramé wall-hangings. For a moment, she was looking into near-total darkness, as the little light coming through the grimy windows had no more stacks on which to fall. But at the very moment that she stepped out, a single light hanging at the very centre of the warehouse flared to life with a loud, metallic ‘clack’ - illuminating a single young woman, sitting directly underneath it.
“Drusilla!”



Until Diana spoke, Drusilla had seemed unconscious. Her head had been bowed, her hair obscuring her face. But she raised her head at the sound of her name, revealing eyes that were half-open and groggy, revealing that her mouth and nose were covered with a thick, red scarf, forced tightly over Drusilla’s lips with a single strip of black electrical tape wound all the way about her head.


She was bound, too: in slim, beige ropes that were twisted about her body like vines about a trellis. Her upper arms were fixed to her sides by four or five loops around her torso, which had the effect not only of binding her arms, but of exaggerating her already voluminous breasts, squeezing them from above, from below, and pushing them apart by running between them; the ropework forming a kind of harness. Drusilla’s wrists had been ensnared by this harness as well: they had been bound in front of her, lashed together with four swift circuits; but then the tail of the knot had been looped around the lowest cord of the harness around her breasts, so that her hands were kept in place, the connecting cord short enough that Drusilla’s hands could not quite rest in her lap unless she bent forward.


Her legs were bound in the same coarse cords, biting and pinching visibly into the plushness of Drusilla’s thighs. One sequence of loops bound her four inches above her knees, another just below them, a third around her ankles, pressing into the material of her boots. A fourth, much looser, was right in the middle of her thighs, and was the only rope actually binding Drusilla in the chair. With effort she could have wriggled out of it, but she was not in a position to make effort. She was bound fast, and still half-asleep from the chloroform they’d been dosing her with. For that reason, when she heard Diana’s voice, and raised her head to see if she’d imagined it, she could only barely make out that she wasn’t dreaming.


“Dhh…hmmnnhh…” she moaned, far too thickly gagged for her voice to carry more than a few feet. “Hhlllhhp…” She could barely keep her head raised; and as it dipped again, she got the first properly illuminated view of herself since being brought here. She knew she was bound, but only now did the full sting of it really hit her. “Can’t… move… oh gods I can’t believe I… let them do this to… to me… . So… stupid… oh, Diana I was so stupid…!”


In a vacuum, Diana might have agreed with her. When she’d first discovered Drusilla had blundered into captivity, Diana had been exasperated, even angry, as well as fearful for Drusilla’s safety. But such recriminations evaporated the very instant she beheld Drusilla in such a state: she felt only compassion, and wished only to save her. Yet she was no fool. Drusilla’s captors were surely lurking nearby; surely had some plot or plan to ensnare Wonder Woman as well. But she didn’t need to ponder for long.


“Wonder Woman!”
The voice came from above, and slightly behind Diana. Her first instinct was that the voice was a distraction, and she jumped back from where she was standing, eyes darting about to search in the gloom for hidden hands ready to seize her. But it was no trick; not of the sort Diana suspected, anyway.


It was Rora Blank. She stood on a catwalk, many feet above the main floor of the warehouse. Two of her henchmen stood by her; the other two still hidden somewhere. Blank had discarded the trappings of her scientist disguise, and now looked like something between a 1930s English aristocrat-on-tour, and an anticipation of Adam and the Adamants. She had a ruffled, white shirt; wore her hair tightly pulled back in a long ponytail; had clad her well-muscled legs in jodhpurs, and tall, black riding boots. And, like any decent aristocrat, she was carrying a large, long rifle.
“I know you’re fast, Wonder Woman!” she shouted, sneering. “But are you faster than a bullet?”
She wasn’t. Nowhere near. If this woman were aiming at Dru, and she fired now, Diana would never reach her in time. Damn!
“Stay right where you are,” Rora commanded, “or your… associate dies.”


Only now did the other two criminals reveal themselves. They were both carrying great bundles of the same kind of cord that bound Drusilla. Both were gingerly approaching Wonder Woman and both were making a pretty decent show of not being scared pantsless to be so close to one so powerful.
“Whatever you intend to do,” Diana said to the nearest man, “it won’t work. If any harm comes to my comrade, you shall face justice.”
“B-big talk, Wonder Woman,” the fellow said. “But you’re not going to bring anyone to justice when you’re -” He couldn’t keep talking. Diana had fixed her eyes upon him. Her countenance was so fair, so stern, so righteous that he cringed as he might have done from St. Peter. It was like those glittering, blue eyes were staring a noose around his throat. But Diana showed mercy on him, and looked away.
“Very well,” she said, and held out her hands. “Bind me, then.”
Astonished, the criminal was about to come closer, but his partner glared at him.
“Nice try,” this second man said, “but we know these ropes won’t hold you. Not unless you take off that belt.”
Diana’s eyes narrowed.
“They know that much, then. Hmm…” She thought for a moment. She glanced at the tall stack of electronics on her right. “Alright,” she said. “You win.” But she had no intention of surrendering. “I’ll have to be quick…!”


Diana lowered her hands to her waist, but she didn’t undo her belt. She drew her lasso. But the action of reaching down, fiddling with a catch, and then drawing something away, was so much like what her would-be captors had actually told her to do that there was a moment of hesitation before they realized she had disobeyed - and in that brief moment was Diana’s chance.


Her lasso snapped out like a whip, not at either of the criminals, but at the stack of 8-track players. It sent them spilling in all directions, and throwing the top two boxes in Rora’s direction. As Diana had intended, it spoiled her aim, and though she instinctively fired, her shot hadn’t a hope of coming anywhere near Drusilla.
“Damn it!” she shouted, and hurriedly reloaded. But, while Diana was slower than a bullet, she was a hell of a lot faster than Rora Blank.


One of the men actually stepped into Diana’s path, but she simply backhanded him across the warehouse floor without losing even a quantum of speed. Like a lioness dashing across the savanna did Diana cross the distance between where she’d been and where Drusilla sat bound, and by the time that Rora had reloaded her rifle and reacquired her target, Diana stood defiantly in her path. She was now fully illuminated, so Rora could see the proud justice of Wonder Woman’s features. But Rora was still in shadow: so Wonder Woman could not see that she was still smiling when she fired.


Diana did not consciously become aware that something was wrong. The time between the bullet being fired and it colliding with her bracelet was less than a second. But it was enough for her unconscious mind to register that the bullet was travelling slower than one would expect from a high-powered rifle. That it was the wrong shape. That Rora was aiming too high to hit Drusilla - but was aiming perfectly to hit Diana herself. Diana could not, in so short a time, think of why this would be so. Not until the bullet collided with her bracelet - and exploded into a cloud of thick, pink mist.


“What?!” In an instant, Wonder Woman was enveloped, the mist totally surrounding her, totally obscuring her vision. In her first gasp of surprise, she had already breathed in a great deal of it, and to her dismay she could already feel the effects. She was already becoming light-headed, her limbs already feeling slow, and heavy. “Sleeping gas…!”


She was not beaten yet. Her limbs still had strength, and she forced herself out of the cloud. But it hardly mattered. As soon as she emerged, Rora just fired again, at Wonder Woman’s feet, and another cloud of gas erupted in her face.
“No…!” Diana cried, her body again wrapped in a great, heady cloud, and again the gas surged into her. It sapped her great strength, it clouded her mind, and it made her vision hazy, unfocused. She could still move, but now she could not run; could only stumble forwards. Again she emerged from the cloud, but far more clumsily this time. It was all too easy for Rora to fire again - and again - and again.


“Unnhhhhh!” Each burst, each new dose of gas, struck Diana with a chastising pulse of weakness. She staggered clumsily to and fro, but now it seemed that wherever she went the gas poured upwards at her just as thickly. She tried vainly to waft it away, but it seemed to cling to her, making the surface of her flawless skin glisten with moisture. “They… they tricked me…” Diana thought, though any thought at all was difficult. “Drusilla… have to find her… have to… protect her…” But she couldn’t find her. She was lost. Lost in these never-ending clouds of sweet gas, swirling around her and within her, dissolving all her strength, all her clarity; making it all bubble away into effervescent nothingness.


It wasn’t long before Diana could not take another step, could barely stand. Her sparkling eyes were dull; her elegant lashes fluttering prettily. Her mighty arms fell to her sides, swinging heavily; limply. Her legs quivered, shuddered, as they became less and less able to bear her weight. Diana didn’t even notice them give way until she was already on her knees.


The mist cleared a little. Enough for both Rora and Drusilla to see that Diana was kneeling.
“Nnnhhhhhmmmhhhhhhbbbhhh!” Such was Drusilla’s long lament, seeing her saviour fallen. It was not for her own sake that she moaned, but for the fact that her foolishness had now cost Diana her freedom as well. “Get up, Di,” she begged, “please… please get up…!”
She would not rise. Couldn’t. She was so deeply drugged that she barely even heard Drusilla’s moans. She could not see her either, but that was simply because she was facing away from her. She could, however, see Rora. Standing above her, far above her, looking down with utter delight to see this heroine falling before her; kneeling before her. She seemed to swell in stature as Diana’s consciousness fled further and further from her, and she looked up at her conqueror with innocent, helpless, half-lidded eyes. Perhaps she imagined it, but there was something in Rora’s expression, some quality in her that spoke a message loudly and clearly into Diana’s mind.
“You’re a warrior.
You’re an Amazon.
You’re my prey.”
With this thought in her mind, and with a crimson blush rising to her cheeks, Wonder Woman succumbed.


She fell to the side, and then rolled onto her back. One arm fell flatly to her side, the other seeming to reach upward, bent at the elbow. Her legs fell a little clumsily, her left leg bent, its calf resting under Diana’s right thigh, her right leg lying relatively straight in front of her. Her face was peaceful, passive, all traces of resistance and anguish melted away. Save for her breaths - slow and deep - she was completely still. And she stayed that way until Rora reached her.


None of Rora’s men dared approach - not so much for fear of Wonder Woman waking, but of their leader’s grim command: “Wonder Woman is mine.” And indeed, she was not willing even to let Wonder Woman out of her sight, keeping her eyes fixed upon her the entire time that she approached her, descending from the catwalk and striding slowly upon her new and lovely captive.


“Oh, how I’ve waited for this…!” Rora placed her hands on Wonder Woman’s naked shoulders, astonished by the fineness and softness of her skin. She let her fingers dance over Wonder Woman’s elegant collarbones, her neck. She spread them over Wonder Woman’s voluptuous chest, letting her captive’s own breaths push her bosoms against her palms. She grasped the heroine’s thighs, so sleek and so soft, delighting in their womanly slenderness, in the swish-swish of her satin tights as she stroked the sleeping damsel’s legs. “Yes,” Rora whispered, “yes, even in your sleep you know it, don’t you? You’re mine.”


She turned Wonder Woman onto her back, carefully, but with a clutching possessiveness. She felt for the clip of her belt, and gasped with delight as it came loose, pulling it out from underneath the Amazon’s body. There. Now even if she woke she would be powerless. It was simply a matter of binding her. And, in Rora’s mind, there was only one way to do this properly with this particular captive.

Her hands had snatched up Diana’s lasso before she was even aware of doing it.


Diana’s hands were forced behind her, wrists crossed not in defence, but in submission, and ensnared with unbreakable, shining cord. Lashed around her bracelets until her bracelets were invisible, and her wrists were inescapably entwined. But then further up her arms, criss-crossed all the way to Diana’s elbows, pulled tight to lock them together and cinch her forearms into one.


Then, Rora flipped Diana over again, leaving the rope trailing, and raised her into a sitting position, kneeling behind her, letting her captive’s head fall against her chest. In this position, she could coil up Wonder Woman’s chest more thoroughly. With delight, and with both hands, she guided the shining ropes around her captive’s torso. She looped them around Wonder Woman’s midsection, winding round and round and round until her midriff was completely covered, her hands almost buried beneath the overpowering quantity of rope. Then, Rora guided the ropes even higher, twisting them just below Wonder Woman’s breasts. But she coiled them only lightly at first, hardly adding to Wonder Woman’s restraint at all. Not, at least, until Rora had expended almost all that remained of her captive’s lasso, when she pulled the loops tight, suddenly forcing her upper arms against her back, forcing a soft grunt from Wonder Woman’s mouth, and exaggerating by their pressure the already sumptuous bosom of her fair, fallen Amazon.


Rora turned around, still holding Diana against her chest. She found Wonder-Girl’s eyes, caught them with a cruel and mocking gaze.
“Nhh… lhvvhh hhr… hllnn…” Drusilla mumbled, eyes wet with shame.
“Poor thing,” Rora crowed. “I didn’t even intend to capture you in the first place at all.” She let Wonder Woman flop onto the ground, moved around her body, knelt down again by her knees.
“Nmh… mhh…” Drusilla could hardly bear it. She wiggled a little, but in her heart she knew that she had no hope of escape.
“But I’m very grateful to you, actually,” Rora said. “You see, if it weren’t for you, I’d only have had enough of that magical cord to bind Wonder Woman’s upper body. But…” She reached behind her, unclipped something from her belt, dangled it in front of Wonder-Girl’s eyes.
“My… lasso…” Drusilla blushed with embarrassment. It wasn’t enough that her foolishness had led to her sister’s captivity. Now her own weapon would be the capstone on Diana’s bondage.


All the way up Wonder Woman’s long, supple, sumptuously shapely legs, Rora wrapped her second stolen length of glistening golden cord. Around and around and around her calves, completely covering her boots from her ankles upwards, totally obscuring them in shining rope. Then just above her knees, pushing them together, then looping back down to cinch and knot them together. Then sweeping up the backs of her legs to be trussed just below her hips, biting hungrily into the soft flesh of Wonder Woman’s upper thighs. Then down again, slinking in a complex, criss-cross pattern all the way to where it had started, where finally Rora knotted the rope; definitively and utterly binding her prize in yards and yards of indestructible rope, capturing her body utterly, exaggerating her flawless beauty, glorifying and humiliating her all at once.


Rora found herself almost panting. Her hands trembled. Her breathing was heavy. She could almost not believe it had really happened, that she had truly captured and bound the world’s mightiest - and surely loveliest - woman. She stood, and she lifted Wonder Woman with her by the ropes around her chest, letting her captive fall against her, thrilling as Wonder Woman sank meekly against her. In triumph, and unable to resist, she gripped Wonder Woman by the back of her head, and forced a kiss against the Amazon’s soft, red, defenceless mouth.
“NMMHHHBBHH!”


The cry had come from Wonder-Girl. Smiling, Rora let Wonder Woman down, lying her on her front: still, passive, and completely unconscious.
“Jealous of all the attention your comrade is getting?” Rora laughed. She strode over to where Drusilla was sitting, took the maiden by the chin.
“Mhh… mhh…” Drusilla looked down, her resistance evaporating as Rora loomed over her.
Rora let her hand trail from Wonder-Girl’s chin, down her neck, to her right shoulder. With her little and her ring fingers, she teased off the strap of Wonder-Girl’s leotard.
“Mhhh! Nhhmmphh!” Thinking that Rora was going to take even further liberties with her, Drusilla began squirming more fiercely - and then went completely still.


“Mh! Mh!” Drusilla mewed, her eyes going wide, her body going stiff. Rora was - was pinching her with her thumb and three of her fingers, just above her right clavicle. It felt - it - it felt weird, what… what was - like there was electricity running around her but it couldn’t get anywhere, what was - wh - why was it - so hard to - to think, she -
“Aaaaand relax…” Rora whispered, releasing her hand, and releasing the pressure on Drusilla’s shoulder.
“Mhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” The pressure left her all at once, that discomfort and buzzing slipping away in sweet relief. But everything else was going too. All that pressure that had built up, somehow overwhelmed her. Rora had done… something to Drusilla’s nerves and it was… making her… so… “Mph…” Her eyes fluttered, and faded, and Drusilla sank again into unconsciousness.


“You there!” Rora commanded, pointing at Billy, her nearest goon. “Take Wonder-Girl to the car.”
“Yes, boss,” Billy said. A burly man, he easily cut Wonder-Girl away from the bonds holding her to her chair. He was so large, and Wonder-Girl so short and light, that he was able to scoop her up under one arm like a pub landlord with a barrel of beer. He held her by the waist, her chest dangling down in front of him, her soft, plush legs trailing behind him.


As Billy carried Wonder-Girl away, Rora returned her attention to her true target. Wonder Woman. Still lying, slumbering, on the floor. Still bound. Rora turned her over with her foot, and Wonder Woman’s dark hair swept about her - the simplest movement of her had an inescapable, sensual drama. There was only one thing left to do with her.


Rora balled up a small wad of cloth; not too much, for she certainly wouldn’t want one of her captives to be uncomfortable. Squeezing Diana’s cheeks, she carefully opened her mouth, and pushed the wad of cloth inside, then tucked her mouth closed. This done, she produced a thick, red scarf - very much like the one gagging Wonder-Girl. She pressed it over Wonder Woman’s mouth and nose, almost completely obscuring the lower half of her face, its lowest corner dipping below her chin. She pulled it as tight as she could before knotting it into place, muzzling and stifling her conquest with entirely dominating thoroughness.


Rora was a strong woman, but she had a strange idea that she’d have difficulty carrying Wonder Woman - that she was so much larger than life that she’d need three or four men to bear her. But it was not so. She didn’t weigh any more than it looked as though she weighed. She wasn’t a small woman, and it wasn’t by any means effortless to lift her, but it wasn’t all that difficult either. So when Rora lifted her up, and found herself carrying Wonder Woman helpless in her arms like a stolen, helpless princess, she was momentarily stunned.


Wonder Woman’s long legs sank against her hand, bound calves dangling in the air. Her bare shoulder rubbed against Rora’s chest. Her head dangled backwards, dark hair flowing downwards toward the floor. The weight of her head made her neck go taut, exposing the vulnerability of her throat. She was entirely at Rora’s mercy: tricked, trussed, and helpless.


Rora carried her outside, exulting in every moment she had the Amazon bound in her arms. Her thighs and her breasts jolted with each step, subtly, but visibly. There was nothing crass in her sensuality, but it was not hidden either. Even in her sleep there was an… aura about her, and Rora drank greedily of it.


Billy had opened the passenger door for her, and with great care, Rora laid Wonder Woman inside. She climbed into the front passenger side, and looked over her shoulder. It was quite some time before she could look away.


In the back of her vehicle sat two captured Amazons. One, smaller, softer, curvier; bound hand and foot in cheap, plain ropes, her hands bound in front of her, not-quite resting in her lap. The other taller, more athletic, more elegant and perhaps more beautiful; utterly trussed up in many metres of shining, golden cord, the weapons of her people turned against her to keep her captive. It was clear just by looking which of the two was stronger, which of the two was more powerful and which had taken more planning and effort to defeat. But it didn’t matter now. They were both reduced to the same state. Both stifled and muffled with thick, red scarves covering their pretty mouths. Both of them tied up. Both of them drugged, subdued, and deeply asleep, vanquished and kidnapped just as much as each other. And if one was lovelier than the other, even that hardly mattered. For each seemed to magnify the other’s beauty by their proximity, by their shared defeat, by the way that their heads fell against each other’s soft, warm shoulders, by the way their smooth, bound thighs pushed lightly against each other.
“Sleep tight, my Amazons,” Rora said, hardly able to get the words out over the thrilled shiver shooting through her. “Dream of power, of victory and glory. You’ll never know them in the waking world again…”

Sweet, sweet, sweet dreams are made of these! Lovely, sir!

DrDominator9 wrote: ↑

4 years ago

Sweet, sweet, sweet dreams are made of these! Lovely, sir!

Thanks much! Anything in particular stick out?

Damselbinder wrote: ↑

4 years ago

DrDominator9 wrote: ↑

4 years ago

Sweet, sweet, sweet dreams are made of these! Lovely, sir!

Thanks much! Anything in particular stick out?

Me! LOL.

Last sentence sounds ominous

Seriously though, excellent gas scene description. I'm not into rope bondage descriptions quite as much as you are, but that said, they were well done, too.

A most excellent story. Very well written, a good plot, nicely acted action sequences, erotic but only in hinting fashion, and an ending that makes you want more.

Is there going to be more?

nome144 wrote: ↑

4 years ago

A most excellent story. Very well written, a good plot, nicely acted action sequences, erotic but only in hinting fashion, and an ending that makes you want more.

Is there going to be more?

Thank you very much for your comment. I think it's unlikely to continue, alas - just a one-and-done.

That's a pity but can't wait for your next one.

Love it. I didn't think that that was already the end, though and I was expecting the story to continue. Great writing nonetheless.

Damselbinder wrote: ↑

4 years ago

Pity the 1970s! That wretched decade of perms, of corduroy, of men being willing to be seen in public in white suits; that decade of slow, miserable economic decline as the largest and most prosperous cities in the world sank into a mire of crime, poverty, mismanagement and filth. A time when all the dreams and promises of the 1960s had congealed into mass-market, tv-jingle-shaped betrayals of themselves, or had been defeated utterly.


And yet. There were some things that made it faintly tolerable. If you could survive towards the tail-end of it you had Star Wars to look forward to. There was the music: pretty uncontroversially fantastic, by all accounts. If you just really, really liked wearing brown, then hey - the 70s were the decade for you. And there was one more thing, one eccentric bonus that happened to visit itself upon the 70s from out of a rarefied version of a time that had scarcely ever really been. If you were plotting to create artificial volcanoes, or to abduct athletes for your own private Olympics, or you wanted to build functional, life-sized robots and use them to commit petty theft rather than just going public with your success and becoming the single richest, most important human being ever to have lived, ever, then you too might be paid a visit by the noble princess of Paradise Island, heir of Hippolyta, fairest and most valiant of a fair and valiant people.


But the occupants of a certain hideout on a certain backstreet of a certain mid-sized town between Washington D.C. and Arlington, VA were not quite so lucky as to be paid such a visit. But they wouldn’t have felt themselves to have been short changed. For they got precisely the next best thing.


Drusilla loved her home. She loved her people. She loved being part of their society. But utopia, for all its advantages, could be a little… dry. Years of studying the harp, the lyre, the loom, the sword; participating in olympiads, tournaments, marathons, half-marathons, pentathlons, and the occasional poetry slam - it was all well and good for a few decades at a time, but even with the odd invasion to thwart things could get mighty dull for someone with an adventurous spirit. She still preferred Paradise Island to any part of Man’s World that she had seen - the air was cleaner, the people were happier, and the girls were prettier - but there just wasn’t as much to do. So why the hell should Diana get to have all the fun?


She hadn’t been forbidden from leaving the island, but neither her mother nor Diana had much approved. A silly attitude, Drusilla thought. As though there wasn't enough evil to go around for two Wonder Women!


That was why she had come to Man’s World. To battle injustice, as her sister did, as only an Amazon could. Sure, she wasn’t as powerful as Diana, or as skilled, but - hey, who was? And… okay, she might have been after a decent adventure as much as she wanted to help people… but she could do both, couldn’t she? Yeah. Totally!


Dru was responding to a tip-off she’d been given - okay, a tip-off that Diana had been given about the location of some Swiss professor that had been kidnapped. Diana had called the tip ‘sketchy’, and had said that either it was totally bogus, or a trap, and that they needed to do a lot more checking with their allies in the police before they decided to move on it. But Dru hadn’t agreed. So what if it was a trap? That just meant it was the real deal! Besides, this professor or whoever was in real danger. The longer they waited, the longer the chance of them getting killed or something. She who hesitates is lost!


She went in through the roof. It was a two-storey building, but Dru had scaled it in a single bound. While she wore her magic belt, she was far stronger than any mortal man or woman, and such feats were simplicity itself to her. So, too, was forcing the lock on the door leading inside.


She moved quietly, but swiftly, down a shabby set of stairs. It was a pretty crappy building, and it wasn’t even that old. Everything in man’s world - that is, everything that was built in man’s world - seemed so transient. Diana had once scolded Dru for saying that she pitied them.
“It’s arrogant,” she’d said, “to look down on them. Our way of life is only possible because of the blessings of the gods. Should we pity them for not being so celestially fortunate?”
“Yes,” Dru had thought, and she still thought it now. Oh she saw Diana’s point. She was right, really. Yet in this nation - a young nation, even by man’s reckoning - parts of it were already crumbling. Dru found it sad. She wasn’t aware enough of herself to realise that this, really, was why she had insisted on leaving her home: she did feel blessed, and she wanted to share it.


She was so lost in thought that she almost ran straight into one of the kidnappers. He was a medium-sized man with a bowl-cut and a white suit, and I promise you that he was considered ‘the stylish one’ among his peers. But neither his style, nor his funk, prevented him from yelping like Dan Castellanetta when a superheroine nearly ran into him, nor - once he’d collected himself, from staring.


Drusilla’s beauty was fresh, vibrant, and sunny. She had a sweet, slightly cheeky smile, set in bright, open features. She was fairly short, about 5’2”. Her eyes were grey-blue; her hair was a very dark brown, worn to the neck, curly at the ends, held in place with a gold tiara, her one concession to the royalty of her lineage. Her plush thighs were clad in slightly glossy, flesh-tone tights, her calves in knee-high, bright red boots. Her upper body was clad in a simple leotard, red at the top, blue around her abdomen, decorated with red and white stars. It was cut pretty low, showing off Dru’s exceedingly buxom, exceedingly pretty bosom. Her whole body seemed springy - bouncy, even. But the belt at her waist, and the bracers on her wrists, were signs to any who looked that there was more to Dru than softness.
“Wonder W- no… Wonder Girl!” the criminal exclaimed.
“Aw, you got it right! I really appreciate that,” Dru said, before seizing him by the collar, and lifting him right off his feet. “Okay, buster. Where’s the professor?”
“How do you know my name?!” Buster (I guess?) replied.
Dru blinked.
“...Where’s the professor?”
“I’ll never tell!” Buster replied, and looked directly at the door, about five metres away, where the professor was being kept.
“Thanks, buddy,” Dru replied, and hurled Buster right the way across the length of the hallway. She hadn’t hurt him that badly. Just badly enough.


Another lock on the door proved little more of a barrier to Wonder-Girl’s strength than the previous one had. She busted right on in, and was pleased to find that there was no further resistance in front of her. Just a professor - or at least that’s what Dru assumed. She was lying on a grimy looking futon-ish thing, her right arm handcuffed to a radiator. She was blonde, pretty tall, too, and fairly strongly built. Dru had to admit the professor didn’t look particularly distressed: more like ‘mildly inconvenienced’. In fact, she looked more disturbed by seeing Drusilla than she had been by her captivity.
“Who -?” she said, really looking quite alarmed.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dru said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Of course she reacted like that. The poor woman had been abducted! Could she blame her for being a bit on edge? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you, ma’am. I’m… well, you can call me Wonder-Girl.”
“Wonder-Girl?” the professor said. Her expression changed. She must have been holding back her fear, because now it showed much more clearly on her face. “Th-thank you! These men - I don’t know what they wanted with me - babbling some nonsense about me making some kind of biological weapon for them - but I don’t know the first thing about biological weapons, and I thought they were going to kill me!”


Dru came closer, and smiled warmly at the professor.
“You’re alright, Professor…um…”
“Professor Blank. Rora Blank.”
“Professor Blank, I’m here to rescue you.” She moved her hand towards the professor’s handcuffs. “Is it okay if I get those off you?”
“How?” the professor said. “Do you have the key?”
“I guess I have a key,” Dru said, as she snapped the handcuff right off the professor’s wrist. “In a manner of speaking.”
“...That works, I suppose.”

Drusilla helped Professor Blank to her feet, speaking words of comfort to her, doing everything to assure her that she’d be okay. Maybe a little too much - she was kinda new to the hostage thing. But, hey, better to err on the side of caution. Nor did she think they were completely out of danger yet. But, without thinking of it consciously, Dru had already decided that she would die before she let this woman come to harm. Didn’t know her. Didn’t have any feelings about her. Didn’t even know if she was a particularly good or worthy human being. That was just who Drusilla was.


She opened the door into the hallway. There was no-one there, but she could hear voices and footsteps coming from the ground floor.
“Come on, Professor Blank, we need to hurry,” Dru said, but the professor took her far too much at her word. As soon as the door opened, the professor rushed out ahead of Dru, almost pushing past her. “Careful!” Dru shouted - but it was already too late.


“Stop right there!” A group of four men, with four sets coloured shirts tucked into four sets of corduroy trousers worn high at the waist, scrambled out from the nearest stairwell, all armed. One of them fired a warning shot into the air, and the professor yelped, and shakingly put her hands in the air.
“Aw crap!” Dru hissed, a dash of Amazonian speed putting her in front of Professor Blank before the criminals could so much as blink. “Alright, bozos, give it up!”


The four men glanced at each other, confused.
“...Wonder Girl?” one of them said.
“Yeah, that’s right. And if you don’t want to get clobbered, I suggest you back off right now!”
“You’re the one who needs to back off!” The shortest of the four men - by a foot, every inch of which he resented - raised his pistol, and fired two shots.


The professor shrieked. The other goons shouted in surprise. But Wonder-Girl didn’t so much as blink: with superhuman speed, she moved her arm into the path of the bullets. Each one bounced harmlessly off her bracelets, leaving the gunman gawking, and leaving Drusilla feeling rather pleased with herself.
“What did I tell you?” Dru laughed. “Run away, idiots!”
“Auggghhh!” the gunman replied, throwing his weapon aside, and just charging Wonder-Girl, fists raised.
“Buddy, c’mon. If the gun didn’t work…” Shaking her head in dismay, Drusilla intercepted the goon, caught his wild swing in her left hand, and then socked him across the jaw with her right, sending him crashing into the nearest wall. “Do any of you want to be next, or have we managed to work out that fist-fighting the invincible Amazon superwoman probably isn’t going to work out too well for you?”


The remaining three men looked at each other in a state of great consternation. The nearest to Wonder-Girl, a brick of a man in a chequered shirt, kept glancing at Professor Blank.
“Oh no,” Drusilla said, fixing the man with a cold stare. “You’re not getting anywhere near her.”
But Drusilla’s vow seemed not to convince the professor herself, and with a cry of terror, she threw her arms around her protector’s waist.
“Please!” she said. “Don’t let them get me!”
“Wh - hey, easy there!” Dru gently pushed the professor off her, but she was surprised that she had needed to. She couldn’t keep track of this woman’s personality! Cold one moment, impatient the next, and now almost childishly fearful. What on earth was going on with her?
“I-I’m sorry,” the professor stammered. “Just… please… don’t let them take me again.”
“It’s alright professor. I won’t.” Poor woman. Of course she was panicky, under the circumstances.


Drusilla stepped forward. It was time to put an end to this. She picked out the brickish man, who seemed to be the leader of the others. She closed the distance between them in three swift, confident strides, and struck at his jaw with a swift right cross. But she missed. Her target had the build of a boxer, and he seemed to have the agility of one too. Drusilla didn’t think too much of it, but before she could withdraw her arm, the brickish man had grabbed it, his hand closing around her wrist. To Drusilla’s surprise, he managed to turn her around, and that - more than anything - was just beginning to tick her off. She prepared to show this mortal the mastery of pankration that only life on Paradise Island could teach - and then she saw the Professor. She saw the Professor smiling at her, with an aspect that was deeply sinister. She saw that the Professor was holding something: an ornate, golden belt. Dru didn’t even quite process that the belt in Professor Blank’s hand had, until a few seconds ago, been around her own waist before the cloth went over her face.


“MMMMMMHHHHHHHPPPHHHHHHH!!” What? What was happening? This - ew, this rag over her face, covering her mouth and her nose, it was so - damp. Ugh, and it smelled! Sharp, sweet, kind of… cloying. The rag was so thick, too, enough that Drusilla’s voice barely carried past her mouth. It made her feel… funny… dizzy. Better get it off. Better - better - huh? Why couldn’t she wrestle the arm away from her? Why couldn’t she get that huge, strong hand from around her mouth? Oh - oh no.
“By Athena’s aegis… my belt! M-my… my strength!”


Her powers, the powers that had made her feel so sure these men were no match for her… gone. Now, this man - this ordinary man - was stronger than her. He was actually stronger than her. Oh gods, it wasn’t even close! She had to - to get him off! With both hands she grasped the man’s wrist, and tried to pull it away, but she couldn’t. Even worse, her assailant responded to this attempt at rebellion by wrapping his other arm around Drusilla’s midsection, holding her even tighter against his body; so much stronger and taller than her that he lifted her off her feet, pressing her into him, her feet dangling as she kicked vainly into the air. Ugh, she could smell him! Sweat and some foul perfume that men of this era called ‘aftershave’. But still more than anything she could smell that stuff in the rag, that smell that made her so dizzy and… oh… oh how could she be so stupid? How could she not have realised before?
“D…drugged… I’m being drugged!”


With this thought, Drusilla began fighting so hard that, powers or no powers, she almost wriggled free. She squirmed with every fibre of her feminine frame, bucking and writhing, gyrating against her captor with vigorous rhythm. But with every second, that vigour waned.
“Mhhh… mhhhh! MHHHH-NHHHH! NHHHHH!!” Drusilla screamed, trying to keep her strength up, but - but the drug was… was too strong. “Mhh! Mhh… mnnhh… mh?” She could feel herself getting clouded. Drowsy. Her power was slipping from her - what little power she had left, anyway.


“Stop fighting, Wonder-Girl!” her attacker hissed into her ear. “You don’t have your belt. You don’t have your powers. Just keep breathing. Let the chloroform do its work, and stay still.”
“Mhhbhh… mhhbbhhmm… whhmhhph?” Dru’s vision was getting hazy. Her eyelids were fluttering, and her limbs were growing slack. She couldn’t kick anymore. Her legs just shifted weakly, the fabric of her tights swishing quietly as her thighs clumsily brushed against each other. Her arms fell from her attacker’s wrist, falling to her sides, swinging slowly, before coming to a stop. “Can’t… move… I can’t move…”


Her attacker no longer felt the need to hold her so tight. He let her feet touch the floor again. But in exchange, he decided to reward himself for his encroaching victory.
“Mhh… mhhh?” Dru felt something, and cast her eyes down at her own, limp body. “N… nhhh!” she whimpered, her sleepy eyes going wide, as she saw herself being… touched. Her captor’s left hand was groping her bosoms, clutching at them, groping them, so soft, so supple and so vulnerable, Drusilla moaning as she saw advantage being taken of her with such… callousness. “No… don’t… I… I… can’t… they’re touching my… my breasts and I can’t… stop them… how… how did this happen? I was… winning, I was…I don’t… get it…”


She was still conscious, just about, but it was over. The loss of her belt had let them grab her, and the chloroform had made her helpless. She sank deeper and deeper into her captor’s grip; deeper and deeper into slumber. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t do anything. She just stared, hypnotised by the sight of herself being squeezed and fondled. She would have seen nothing else until she succumbed, had not the Professor approached her.

“Not yet, Wonder-Girl,” she said, raising Drusilla’s chin, forcing the limp Amazon to look her in the eye. “I want you to look into my eyes. The eyes of the person who has captured you. Who has vanquished you. How simple it was to play on your ridiculous heroism, to play the hapless victim. You weren’t the one I was after, I must confess… but you’ll do for now.”
Drusilla’s mind was so fuzzy, so muffled, she could barely understand what the Professor was saying to her. The insults washed over her, but the humiliation of what had happened didn’t. It had all been a trap. And now they had her.
“Whh… whh…?”
“Hm? Was that meant to be ‘who’, or ‘why’? As to ‘who’ - I already told you. I’m not a professor, but my name is Rora Blank. Nothing grander than that. If it was ‘why’ - well, my dear… all in due time. Don’t worry about that now. Just sleep, Wonder-Girl. Sleep… sleep… sleep…”


The power of the drug. The authority of Rora’s voice. Even the hypnotic rhythm of the hand groping her chest. It was all too much. Her eyes rolled back, once, twice, three times, each further than the last, each pushing her over the edge, until she was in complete freefall. Literally: her captor had let go of her, had taken away the cloth, had released his grip. Drusilla’s mind was too hazy to comprehend why, but it was because Rora had told him to.
“I want to see her kneel,” she had said.


Drusilla did exactly that. She sank instantly to her smooth knees, the impact making her fulsome breasts bounce and jiggle in her leotard, her head swinging from one side to the other. She had the strength to do just one thing: to look up at Rora with soft, pleading eyes, to be met only with sharpness, and cruelty. This, finally, overwhelmed her, and Drusilla fell forward. Just before her chest hit the floor, she was able to whimper three words, too quietly for anyone but herself to hear:
“Diana,” she whimpered, “help… me…”


With that, she collapsed prone onto the floor, completely unconscious. For a moment, her victorious foes just stood around her, staring.
“We did it,” one of them said, “we defeated an Amazon! She’s ours!”
“She wasn’t the right one,” said the brick-ish man. “Dealing with Wonder-Girl is one thing - but what about Wonder Woman?”
The others exchanged a few nervous glances - but Rora just smiled.
“Oh you simple creature,” she said, “you’ve no imagination at all. Now that we have one… the second is going to be even easier.”

It was a very funny story opening! I especially liked the part where the Professor says: "I want to see her kneel." It transmitted a sort of saddistic cruelty that spurtted out of her soul.

I think what I liked the most were Rora Blank's dialogues. They are cruel, soulless and sarcastic, especially in the context of having the upperhand all time long.

BernaMich wrote: ↑

3 years ago

I think what I liked the most were Rora Blank's dialogues. They are cruel, soulless and sarcastic, especially in the context of having the upperhand all time long.

Thank you very much! I'm delighted you enjoyed, and I'm very grateful that you took the time to comment.