I.
Supergirl liked to place herself in Earth-orbit sometimes, and think.
Right now she was thinking about her strange determination to protect the world that, she guessed, would have to be called her adoptive home but which was the only one she had ever known. Her parents told her they had found her as a baby in a rocket that crash-landed in their backyard one day. As Linda Danvers, she grew up a normal, shy suburban girl, albeit very beautiful and fiercely intelligent. She kept her powers to herself, using them to reheat food, open stuck jars and, twice, save her father’s life, as she graduated high school at 16 and college at 18 with top honors.
And then, two years into her doctoral studies in physics at Metropolis University, she decided it was time to do good in the world. She made herself a costume with a red miniskirt and blue skin-tight top that flattered her small, curvaceous figure. Across the front she sewed a red and yellow “S” emblem, which filled her with pride. She completed the costume with red boots and a flowing red cape, the latter adorned with another yellow “S”. She put aside her thick horn-rimmed glasses (which were just for show anyway), let down her long, lustrous but usually tightly braided and pinned blonde hair, and introduced the world to Supergirl. At first she limited her appearances to rare events where she could instantly make a difference, such as rescuing people from natural disasters. Then she became bolder, once preventing a crowded passenger jet with an engine malfunction from crashing, another time redirecting a tornado from a small town. She began patrolling the region of space surrounding the Earth, discovering and dispatching a menagerie of alien intruders that would have amazed even the most imaginative UFO conspiracy theorists.
Meanwhile, every three months, Linda would deliver a concise, well-argued paper to her professors at the university, solving a previously intractable problem in theoretical physics. Despite her lengthy absences, she rapidly became the star of the department, and her reputation was spreading in the field.
She knew that the professors and her fellow grad students, all men, not only admired her brains, but lusted after her body. She could see the effect she had on them from a quick x-ray glance at their crotches. But she always put off their fumbling attempts to ask her for lunch or coffee, smiling sweetly and saying, “Oh, I’d love to, but I’ve really got to go study. Maybe next week?” When next week came she would have disappeared again. Sometimes a student would get up the courage to say “Well – why don’t we go study at my place?” If she thought he was cute, she would accept – but then she would cruelly insist on actually studying, until he fell asleep and she could slip out quietly.
She knew that it would be foolish to get too emotionally attached to anyone. From her early teens she had opted for a life of solitude. If she ever fell in love with someone, she would have to reveal her secrets to him, which would expose both of them to great danger. She had never had sex, and sometimes wondered what it was like.
A year ago, Supergirl had taken a fateful decision: she began learning about and, where she could, fighting international crime. This took a lot more brains than strength, and the investigative work required tremendous patience. Her ability to watch criminals with x-ray vision and listen to their conversations, and of course to withstand any weapon, soon enabled her to put some of Metropolis’s most brutal criminals in jail. But after a while she realized that, despite her efforts, the world’s crime syndicates just seemed to get stronger. As she sailed through the heavens, lazily watching the continents drift by, she marveled at how thoroughly the lives of so many billions of good, decent Earthlings could be controlled and abused by a tiny coterie of powerful, ruthless men.
And she was fast learning that the most powerful and ruthless of all was Lex Luthor. As presented to the public, not least through the many media outlets under his control, Luthor seemed to be a wealthy, soft-spoken businessman and banker, an advisor to presidents, a generous sponsor of great charitable works, a thoughtful and responsible corporate citizen. But Supergirl had learned that he was also closely involved, either as financier or principal, in drug dealing, extortion, prostitution, and white slavery on a massive scale. That he controlled a small army of goons in almost every city in the world. That he was known to dispatch disloyal or underperforming staff with a single shot from the 9 mm pistol concealed in his well-tailored suit jacket. That many top political and business leaders worldwide were under his control, through bribery, blackmail or naked threats of violence. Supergirl could never get the police or the FBI interested in taking on Luthor. At first she thought they lacked confidence in their abilities. Now she recognized that, through infiltration, intimidation and blackmail, he effectively had all of these agencies at his command. Working on her own, she had disrupted some of his operations, but she could never land the decisive blow that would cause a dent in his global empire.
II.
Flying over the nighttime Pacific sky, Supergirl wrestled with the fear that her entire campaign against crime had been a complete failure. All her successes against lower and mid-ranking thugs had merely opened up opportunities for the truly powerful global crime lords like Luthor. Their ability to rob, murder, and rape at will, whenever and wherever they wanted, was greater than ever. Their power reached into every corner of politics, business, society, and culture, in every country around the world. For the first time in her career as a superheroine, Supergirl faced a challenge she truly didn’t know how to handle, a thought that filled her with despair.
Something hit Supergirl hard in the forehead, propelling her several hundred miles out into space and causing her to spin rapidly, head over heels, like a pinwheel. When she regained her balance, she braced herself for combat with her attacker, but there was no one to fight. An errant test missile, she thought, but there were no tests scheduled, and anyway even the biggest ICBM would have only caused her head to snap back a bit before the missile shattered and fell back to earth. No, it had to be a burst of high-energy particles of some kind. But who on her growing list of enemies had such a powerful particle beam at their disposal, and a platform in from which to shoot it?
Gingerly she ventured back to where she had been hit and, using her cape, determined that the particle beam continued shoot into space unabated. Following the beam downward, she found that it was being emitted by a gun-like structure on an island in the Pacific, in a place where she didn’t remember an island having been before. As she hovered over it, an actual missile streaked towards her, which she caught and examined closely. A Chinese Silkworm, equipped with a US-made guidance system, one of the most technically advanced available. The kind of system that the US never supplied to other countries.
“Curiouser and curiouser! I’ll look more closely at the gun in a moment”, she decided, “but first, what are they shooting at? I can’t see any satellites or starships nearby”.
She followed the particle stream upward, farther and farther into space. After a few hours Supergirl found herself at the Martian North Pole. A dish-like antenna standing on the polar ice cap received the beam, which was much attenuated by the distance but still very strong. Below the dish was a mechanical apparatus of some kind, and the whole complex rested on huge rubber tires. A spaceship, built for interstellar lightspeed travel, rested on the ice nearby. Moving closer, she saw that a lengthy hose-like appendage from the ship was sucking material from the Martian ice cap, leaving long indentations. “Hmmm. Maybe they come from a planet that lacks ice cream?”
By now she was close enough that she could use her x-ray vision on the dish. After some puzzlement, she finally worked out how the different parts fit together. The beam was apparently made of hydrogen and oxygen atoms, which were captured by the dish, and passed to a reaction chamber that combined them to produce – water. Which was deposited, frozen, on the ice cap. The wheels allowed the structure to move around the ice cap and deposit the ice evenly.
Now for a look at the spaceship. The ice and snow sucked in from the surface were stored in large tanks in the hold. Wandering about in the living areas were humanoids, actually very similar to Earthlings. The taller ones, evidently men, wore long green robes tied with black sashes. They had handsome, square-jawed faces and pale skin. There was a much larger number of women, naked except for a silk sash slung low around their hips and a thin metal collar fastened around their necks. Some of the women also wore jewelry, such as bracelets, anklets, nipple rings, and intricate metal bands on their upper arms and thighs. All of the women were young, shapely and stunningly beautiful, with equal numbers of blondes, brunettes, and redheads. When a woman passed a man in the corridor, she would avert her eyes and look down modestly. Sometimes the man would stop her, point to the floor or the wall, open his robe and have sex with her.
Supergirl counted twelve men on the ship, and perhaps a hundred women.
Some of the men were doing the operational work of the ship, in a large room filled with information screens, data terminals and control panels. Between the work areas, women were chained to the walls in a variety of positions. Other women came and went, carrying what looked like food and drink or small items of equipment.
Supergirl watched one of the women stumble and spill the drink she was carrying. A man abruptly stood and pointed at the wall. The woman rushed to the wall, faced towards it, and allowed the man to affix her wrists to the wall with a length of chain. He then took a whip from his belt (all of the men, she noticed, had coiled whips attached to their belts) and struck the woman repeatedly – five – seven – ten – twenty times on her back, and then the same number on her buttocks, leaving bright intersecting red stripes. Another man, watching this scene, called a woman over with a hand signal and pointed to the floor. The woman immediately put down what she was carrying and knelt before him. He opened his robe and she applied her vigorous mouth to the bulbous head and broad shaft of his erect cock, until he came in huge spurts that coated her face, shoulders and breasts.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the drama ended and life resumed as before. The first man, having applied his forty lashes, coiled his whip, released his victim from her chains, and resumed working. His victim cleaned the spilled drink and left, soon returning with another one which was accepted gratefully. The second man calmly closed his robe and returned to his work. His fellator untied the sash from her waist, carefully wiped his semen off of her face and body, tied the sash again, and returned to her previous task. Throughout this episode, the other men in the control room had barely looked up from their screens.
Another group of men were in a large common area, apparently off duty. Two were on couches, each with a woman splayed on top of him, while other women caressed their feet, arms, ears, and balls. A third man watched a blonde whip a chained brunette, as three women sought to give him pleasure in various ways. A fourth stood next to a raised platform on which four women rested on their hands and knees with their asses facing him, presenting him with eight inviting orifices, which he fucked in turn.
The remaining men slept in private rooms. Each had two or three women curled up asleep on the floor at the foot of his bed and three or four chained to the walls.
The ship also had a very large area where the women stayed when they were not needed by the men. There was a front section, where the men sometimes came and seemed to request specific women. These would come immediately when called and stand demurely, awaiting instructions. Behind a curtain was an area where the men did not go, where women ate, slept, bathed and gossiped. Some tried on different colored silk sashes, while others adorned themselves with jewelry and cosmetics.
Supergirl spent some time hovering above the ship watching all of this, fascinated. In her battles against white slavery she had seen brothels and holding camps where large numbers of captive women and girls would be regularly raped and abused by small groups of men. The women would typically be passive, emaciated, and depressed. But the women on this spaceship looked healthy, happy and relaxed, with no obvious hatred or bitterness towards their tormentors. Indeed, when the men demanded sex of them, they seemed to throw themselves eagerly into the task. There were no guards or punishment cells. Women were sometimes chained to the walls, for whipping, sex, or mere decoration, but when released they would go about their business as before.
Something about the whole scene made Supergirl feel very warm, and somewhat weak. Unconsciously, she felt inside her red panties and began moving two fingers in light, gentle circles over her clitoris and between her labia, a warm, wet spot amidst the cold blackness of space.
A signal seemed to sound inside the ship. Everyone suddenly stopped what they were doing - walking, sleeping, eating, whipping, fucking – and strapped themselves into seats that came out of the ship’s walls. The hose was removed from the ice cap and withdrawn into the ship. The ship rose from the surface and sped off into the Martian night, beginning the first of a long series of accelerations that would eventually bring it to light speed. The receiving dish stayed behind.
III.
Supergirl snapped out of her soft, moist languor. “OK, back to work!” she giggled, readjusting her panties as she soared out of Martian orbit.
On her way back to Earth, Supergirl turned many questions over in her mind. Someone was collecting water from the Pacific Ocean, ionizing it, and shooting it at very high energy levels to Mars. The water was stored in a kind of frozen reservoir at the Martian pole, from which it would periodically be harvested and taken to its final destination by spaceship. But who needed this water so desperately? And how could they set up such a powerful ionizing gun on Earth, on an artificial island, protected by high-tech weapons, without attracting attention? Someone on Earth must be cooperating with them - but who? Not least, Supergirl wondered about this strange, cruel society, where beautiful women submitted eagerly to the whips and sexual demands of powerful men. She rubbed her thighs together slightly as she sped towards Earth.
This time she was greeted by a dozen surface-to-air missiles, which she swatted away like flies. She flew in a broad arc around the artificial island. Besides the massive ion gun, it contained a power plant, probably nuclear, a deepwater port with several ships docked for loading and unloading, some nondescript industrial plants, and a number of low buildings that seemed to be used for administration and housing. On the far side of the living complex was a golf course, a swimming pool and a beach.
There was also an airfield, from which a squadron of fighter jets now scrambled to intercept her. With missiles and tracer bullets bouncing off her body, she advanced on the jets and, one after the other, tore off their tailfins. “Sorry guys – but hey, you shot first!” she shouted playfully as the pilots opened their parachutes and drifted into the ocean. The jets bore markings of the Russian air force.
She swooped down over the port. Uranium ore was being unloaded from the ships, and placed directly into railcars that took it to one of the factories. There it was presumably processed into fuel for the power plant. The cargo ships – there were at least twenty, and more steaming in from over the horizon – bore the words “Luthor Shipping” on their bows.
“What is Lex up to now?” wondered Supergirl. She was tempted to put the entire complex out of commission. At the same time, she didn’t want to move too quickly. She always had to resist her urge to vigilantism. Despite Luthor’s involvement, and the heavy veil of secrecy, there could be some legitimate purpose to the enterprise. Maybe some space agencies were testing a technique to deliver water to a future colony on Mars. For the moment, she would limit her activities to surveillance and careful probing; she could wreak havoc later if she had to.
But there was the matter of Luthor’s ships. “Well”, she thought, “anything with Luthor’s name on it is fair game. And it might draw him out a little. And there’s nothing like a quick dip on a hot summer’s day.” With her x-ray vision, she spied two ships at anchor that contained non-radioactive tailings from the processing plant but no crew. She dived under the water and shot through their hulls, sending them to the ocean floor.
Now for a closer look at the complex. All of the buildings were lead-lined – not surprising with a nuclear plant so close. This meant she couldn’t tell what was going on inside with x-ray vision; she’d have to venture inside the buildings themselves. Nothing wrong with trying the front door. She landed in front of the nuclear plant, where she was met by a hail of machine-gun fire. About twenty security guards converged on her. They wore camouflage fatigues with the insignia of the British Special Air Service. Curiouser and curiouser.
Still dripping wet, Supergirl knew that her nipples and areolae would be readily visible through the form-fitting fabric of her costume. Pulling back her shoulders, swaying her hips, she sauntered towards the phalanx of heavily armed soldiers. “Um, excuse me, I signed up for the tour?” she cooed, but they didn’t get the joke, and resumed shooting. With a blindingly fast combination of straight-arms, kicks and punches, she tossed the men aside in twos and threes, battered down the steel-reinforced doors and continued inside.
The technicians inside the plant seemed frozen in place, paralyzed by the multiple sirens, flashing lights and PA announcements howling “Alert! Intruder detected. … Alert! Intruder detected”. Few if any noticed the blue and red clad figure streaking by them.
IV.
In one of her first physics projects, unsupervised of course, Supergirl had discovered that her body’s dense molecular structure was as impervious to radiation as it was to knives or bullets – as long as the radioactive material came from a solar system orbiting a yellow sun. This meant that she was free to investigate the reactor core and the other components. She learned that it was a highly advanced liquid-metal breeder reactor, and that it used a control system based on artificial intelligence and fuzzy logic to maximize efficiency and minimize the need for human intervention and monitoring. And that it was operating at only 2% of capacity.
Supergirl followed the underground power lines from the nuclear plant into the complex at the base of the ion gun. There were two electrolysis chambers that took in seawater, purified it, and separated hydrogen from oxygen atoms, and a donut-shaped particle accelerator that accelerated the resulting ions to near light speed before sending them to the gun and into space. These, too, were capable of handling far greater quantities of material than at present.
Near the accelerator was a lead-lined double door labeled “Control room”. Supergirl smashed the lock, pried open the doors and stepped inside. As the doors snapped shut behind her, she found herself in a small tubular chamber with smooth walls. Suddenly the chamber turned upside down, the ceiling disappeared and she was propelled at high speed downwards through a pipe with a diameter just slightly wider than her body. After a few seconds the pipe turned horizontal, then vertical, then horizontal again, then made a hairpin turn. Supergirl felt short of breath. Her arms were pinned to her sides. She was being drawn through the pipe by a powerful vacuum, and the constant twists and turns meant that she could not use her flying powers to resist the vacuum’s force. The walls were covered with a smooth carbon-fiber coating, which made it impossible for her to use her hands and feet to slow herself down. After a minute or so she could no longer reckon her position relative to the buildings in the complex, and she could barely tell which direction was up or down. Her heart was racing and blood surged through her temples.
Supergirl’s journey through the tube lasted about five minutes, though it felt to her like much longer. Abruptly the tube shifted from a diagonally upward direction to diagonally down, shooting her into a large room where she landed head-first on the carpet, with her cape bunched up around her shoulders. Supergirl lay prostrate for a few seconds, her head still spinning and her vision blurry, then lifted herself slowly onto her hands and knees.
The room was warm, hushed, with a musty smell of old wood and cigar smoke. Images sharpened and resolved themselves. She was on an oriental carpet, probably very expensive. She stood up, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her cape. Mahogany-paneled walls held framed maps and pastoral landscapes, a window overlooked the ocean. Behind a large oak desk covered with papers and two computer screens stood Lex Luthor and two younger men, wearing neckties and dress shirts. They were oblivious to her, absorbed in discussing a report which Luthor read through rimless reading glasses.
In a year spent battling different parts of Luthor’s sprawling empire, this was the first time Supergirl had actually seen the man in person. He was stocky and completely bald. Images of drug-addicted children and suitcases full of cash, of blood-spattered limousines and raped and beaten women sped through her mind, and a fierce anger welled up inside her. She advanced on him with her hands on her hips, shouting, “All right, Luthor, you’ve got some explaining to do!”
Luthor looked up from his report with a calm smile, arching one eyebrow. He pressed a button on a small console at the side of his desk, causing a panel to open in the ceiling. A large net made of green metallic fibers, weighted at the corners with iron balls, fell on Supergirl, and she crumpled to the floor. “Yes, little girl,” Luthor said in a quiet voice, “there’s a lot you need to learn.” He started laughing, a slow chuckle at first, then louder and heartier as the two younger men joined him.
Supergirl struggled under the net. She felt very warm, and she experienced a painful, burning sensation in places where her skin had direct contact with the fibers. To her astonishment and terror, she could not manage the simple task of throwing the net off of her body and standing up. Instead she found herself rolling this way and that, straining to lift arms and legs which felt suddenly weak. Panting heavily, she tried to drag her body forward with her hands, but only became further entangled in the terrible, burning net.
“It’s called Kryptonite, Supergirl. A friend of mine just sold me a nice, big stockpile of the stuff. We have many things to discuss. But first, this is for sinking two of my boats.”
Luthor got down on one knee and punched her twice, hard, in the stomach. The pain made her curl into a tight little ball. He laughed again, then stood and pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Yes, she’s here now,” he said briskly. He and the two younger men put on their suit jackets and left the room.
V.
Something else that Supergirl had learned in her independent research was that, while she was resistant to radiation originating in star systems centered on a yellow sun, the radiation emitted from certain isotopes from other star systems could negate her powers and even, in concentrated form, cause her considerable pain. She had found trace amounts of these isotopes in the spaceship in which her adoptive parents had found her, suggesting that people on her home planet probably did not fly or possess super strength. The fact that there was something that could make her as weak and slow as an ordinary Earthling disturbed her, but she kept it in the back of her mind, confident that no one else knew the secret. In any case, those materials probably did not even exist anywhere on earth outside the wrecked spaceship in her parents’ garage.
Now it turned out that, not only had Luthor known about her weakness for some time, he had used this knowledge to defeat her. For the first time in her life, she felt small, weak and helpless.
Six women with long blonde hair, wearing leather corsets, leather thongs and thigh-length high-heeled leather boots, entered the room. They were very tall and had stern, unsmiling expressions. Each had a riding crop hanging from her thong at the hip. One of them pressed a button on a small remote control device that she carried, and a hook came down from the ceiling. They attached the four corners of the net to the hook, with Supergirl inside, then raised it again. Wrapped in the net, she swung about in Luthor’s office like a sack of potatoes.
With a jerk the hook then started to move along a track in the ceiling, carrying Supergirl out of Luthor’s office and then down a lengthy corridor. The blonde women followed. Offices opened from the corridor on either side. Employees – mainly engineering types – hurried through the corridor, occasionally glancing at the captured superheroine gliding along above their heads. At one point, Supergirl saw a large, glass-enclosed room on her left, with rows of computer terminals facing a huge map of the world. There were seven dots on the map: two each in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, one in the Indian Ocean, and one close to each pole. One of the dots, corresponding to where she was now, was glowing red; the others were dull.
The women and their cargo turned off the corridor into a smaller room, uncarpeted and lit by fluorescent lighting. They lowered the hook and carefully placed Supergirl, still covered with the net, on her back on a low padded table.
Briskly, wordlessly, the women went to work. They removed Supergirl’s cape and boots. One of the women opened a small lead-lined box that stood on a nearby shelf. She took out an open metallic ring, glowing green like the fibers of the net, snapped it shut around Supergirl’s neck, and locked it with a small key. Then she placed a gag with a large green ball in Supergirl’s mouth and buckled the strap behind her head. For a moment, the kryptonite radiation in her mouth and throat gave Supergirl the feeling that she was choking. She reflexively reached for her neck, prompting one of the women to slap her cuffed hands away sharply with her riding crop. After a few minutes, Supergirl found she could breathe using short, shallow breaths. This made her feel light-headed. The kryptonite in the gag and collar did not seem to be of the same purity as that in the net; they weakened her and negated her powers without directly causing pain.
One of the women held Supergirl’s hands together above her chest as another attached a pair of kryptonite handcuffs to Supergirl’s wrists. They then pulled her arms above her head, and attached the cuffs to a ring at the head of the table with a short length of iron chain. The net, now unnecessary, was taken off her and rolled up neatly. Her skirt and panties were removed, leaving her dressed only in her blue costume top. Another, larger pair of kryptonite shackles was placed on her ankles, and these were chained to the foot of the table.
With Supergirl now stretched out on the table like a piece of raw meat, the women went to work on her body, examining and discussing various aspects of it with one another in soft tones. They brushed her hair, manicured her nails and applied various oils and lotions to her skin. They lifted her top and, using a gun-like device, pierced her navel and both nipples; with each piercing Supergirl stiffened and pulled on her bonds with a muffled “Mmmff!!” They inserted kryptonite rings in her nipples and a small kryptonite stud in her navel, then pulled her top down again. They trimmed her unruly patch of light-brown pubic hair into a small, neat triangle. They closely examined her shapely legs, shaving them in a few places. “But I just shaved them yesterday”, Supergirl thought. It felt like a lifetime ago that Linda had sat in the bathroom of her tiny student flat, carefully depilating her legs. Then, she had used a laser-based device that she had invented when she was sixteen, having found that conventional razors did not work on her. Now she was vulnerable to an everyday women’s disposable razor. Not to mention, she guessed, knives and guns.
Her ankle-cuffs were detached from the table and from one another. With two of the women holding her legs apart, a third closely examined her sex with the help of a surgical speculum. She made a brief comment in a language Supergirl did not know, and the other women nodded and murmured in response. Blushing deeply, Supergirl thought, “Yes, that’s right, I’m a virgin. Please, please stop.”
Their work done, the women reattached Supergirl’s ankle cuffs to each other, lifted her from the table and connected her handcuff-chain to a hook that came down from a track embedded in the ceiling. The hook was raised until she was just barely standing on her tiptoes. The women tidied up and left. Supergirl hung from the ceiling, naked from the waist down, handcuffed, gagged, and bereft of her superpowers. Terrified thoughts about what might happen next raced through her mind.
VI.
Supergirl hung from the hook in silence for twenty or thirty minutes, with pain shooting down her arms and into her shoulders and back. Then she began to hear people entering the room on the other side of the wall. Out of habit, she tried to glance through the wall with her x-ray vision, but found she could not. She heard snatches of conversation: “… can’t believe they would try that shit … redeploying our force structure in that theater … short option position on the mezzanine tranches … brought 70 keys up from Cabo … calibrate the telemetry with the local bandwidth …” and phrases in French, Arabic, Russian, Chinese. Lex Luthor’s voice rose above the chatter, calm, assured: “All right, if you would take your seats, ladies and gentlemen.” A shuffle of feet and squeak of wheeled chairs on the thick carpet.
“Welcome, and thank you all for coming,” Luthor began. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your visit. Before we get into our meeting, I’m pleased to report to you some good news: the trials so far have been a complete success.” Murmurs of delighted approval and scattered applause filled the room.
“Wait, I have even better news,” Luthor continued. The murmurs died down. “Throughout the life of the Aqua Project, we have tried to anticipate and address every possible contingency. With foresight, planning and the right resources, we’ve been very successful at that. But there was still always one threat which had the potential to disrupt our project at any moment. Try as we might, we could never fully remove the risk that it – or should I say, she – would show up on the scene and cause the kind of disorderly mischief that several of us are already familiar with from our other lines of business.
“Well, I’m happy to announce that, as of about an hour ago, that final risk has now been eliminated. Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to introduce you to our unexpected but very welcome visitor – Supergirl.”
With that, the wall panel in front of Supergirl opened, revealing a large meeting room with expensive carpeting and mahogany panels. Perhaps forty people sat on elegant wheeled leather chairs around a U-shaped conference table, with Luthor at its head, directly opposite her. The blonde leather-clad women stood at attention against the side walls. With a mechanical hum, the hook from which Supergirl was hanging rose, lifting her feet clear of the floor, then moved swiftly along the track in the ceiling, directly towards Luthor. It stopped when she was in the middle of the room.
Swinging gently on the hook, Supergirl felt forty pairs of eyes boring in on her, drinking up every detail of her half-naked body. There were mostly men in business suits, though a few wore military uniforms, and there were two or three women. To Luthor’s right sat a tall, ruggedly handsome man in a dark green robe – just like the men on the spaceship she saw on Mars. His glance conveyed command, ownership. She felt a hot throbbing sensation between her legs.
“Supergirl came to visit our facilities this morning, and caused some collateral damage,” Luthor continued. “She then obligingly walked into a trap that we had set for her. And thanks to some items provided to us by our friend Tarraq, she is now quite a bit less than super. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Luthor took off his suit jacket, placed it on the back of the chair, and walked around the table until he was standing behind Supergirl. One of the blonde women came to Luthor and gave him a large bullwhip. Then she fastened the chain at Supergirl’s ankles to a ring on the floor.
He raised the bullwhip and brought it down, with a sickening “crack”, on Supergirl’s right shoulder blade, causing her to twist abruptly to her left. . It was the most horrible pain she had ever felt in her life, but her attempted scream was muffled by the gag. Then he struck her left shoulder blade and she jerked to the right
“Ah, Supergirl,” Luthor said, “it sounds as if you want to tell us something. Tanya, would you please?” The woman reached up and removed her gag. Supergirl wanted to say something clever or defiant, but her mouth was dry and she could barely speak. Luthor whipped her upper back again, and she screamed. She felt the fabric of her top tear apart.
Now the blows came more rapidly. She twisted and turned sharply in her bonds with each one, causing bruises on her wrists and ankles. Her back was criss-crossed with lines of burning pain. Her top was hanging from her shoulders in shreds, and she imagined that red stripes must be visible through the torn fabric. For variety, Luthor would sometimes strike her ass, then aim sideward blows at her waist, hips and thighs. She screamed desperately, uncontrollably.
After some ten minutes, and more than a hundred lashes, Luthor calmly gave the whip back to the woman he called Tanya, then returned to his seat. Supergirl hung panting in her bonds. “As you can see,” Luthor said, “Supergirl is no longer a concern of ours. In fact, I propose that we allow her to remain present at our proceedings this afternoon. She is a delight to behold. Let me assure you, each of you will have a chance to become better – acquainted – with her this evening.”
What did that mean? Then Supergirl understood exactly what it meant. The worst was yet to come.
VII.
“So much for the opening festivities. Let’s get to work,” Luthor continued. “First let’s hear Professor Bergstrom, of Gotham University, who will report on some technical issues.” A gray-haired man with wire-framed glasses and a distracted, scholarly air cleared his throat and began talking about ionization rates and energy quanta.
Just a week ago, Prof. Bergstrom, a Nobel laureate in physics, had come to a seminar where Linda presented her latest theoretical results. He asked intelligent, piercing questions. After the seminar, he approached her and complimented her on her work, suggesting she apply for a postdoctoral position at Gotham when she finished her degree at Metropolis U. He even hinted that they could collaborate on a research project or two. Her heart beating rapidly, Linda had been flustered and stammered out her thanks to one of the leading physicists in the world. Did he recognize her now that she was hanging just a few feet away from him, bound, whipped and naked except for the shredded remains of her costume?
As her eyes slowly cleared, Supergirl looked around the room. Besides Prof. Bergstrom, there were two more Nobel prizewinners, one in physics and one in chemistry. She saw two CEOs of huge global banks, a hedge fund manager, three heads of giant engineering firms. There were six generals and two defense ministers, representing the world’s top military powers. The head of NASA was there, along with the heads of the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, Interpol, MI6 and the Russian Federal Security Service. One of the world’s leading experts in robotics and artificial intelligence. Two heads of global media conglomerates. The heads of the world’s leading Islamist terror networks, one Sunni and one Shia. Five global crime lords. And then there was the alien, apparently named Tarraq. There were only four or five that she could not recognize either from her crime work or from news reports.
This was apparently the governing board of the Aqua Project. Luthor had brought them together to ensure that his gigantic project would go forward with maximum secrecy, minimal outside interference, plentiful financing, and the greatest possible expertise. The room pulsated with power. But why had they all agreed to take part?
One after the other gave a report on some aspect of the project – technical, financial, security. The media titans explained how any news reports even tangentially relating to the project would be stifled or, if reported by someone not in their organizations, disputed, discredited and ridiculed through the media outlets they controlled. The terrorist leaders described how they had engineered insurgencies that had installed friendly Islamist regimes in countries that provided the huge stocks of uranium ore needed to power the reactor.
“Now let’s hear from the general counsel,” Luthor said. Sitting to Luthor’s left was a strikingly beautiful redheaded woman, perhaps thirty, with smooth, creamy skin, wearing a fashionable beige business suit. She spoke about international laws and treaties. The island, as an artificial creation unclaimed by any sovereign power, was outside even the minimal obligations to respect international treaties on the environment or the use of outer space. Just to make sure, she had secured letters guaranteeing the island’s sovereignty from the world’s leading powers, who were represented around the table. She referred to “establishing precedents” a few times – implying they planned to start more projects like this one. Throughout her speech, and indeed throughout the meeting, she stared at Supergirl with as much direct, undisguised lust as did any man in the room.
VIII.
Supergirl’s body was bound and broken, but her mind was as sharp as ever. She absorbed all the data presented by the technical experts, using logic and estimates to fill in the blanks.
The beam that had first knocked her out of Earth orbit was a kind of dress rehearsal for a more sustained water-transfer operation, which would take place next summer when Mars and Earth were again in conjunction. She was awestruck at the project’s size and scope.
Yet some things did not add up. For one thing, they were speaking as if the gun was working at maximum capacity. But in her dash through the reactor and the base of the ion gun Supergirl had learned that the gun could send water to Mars perhaps fifty to a hundred times as fast as it was doing at present. Second, the experts were assuming that this facility was the only one that would operate. But the general counsel’s reference to “precedent” implied that there might be several more ion guns. So did the map she saw in the control room next to Luthor’s office. So did the financial figures. None of the technical reports seemed to take account of these possibilities. The project was, at least potentially, far, far bigger than anyone at the table knew or assumed. Except, no doubt, Lex Luthor.
She ran a small thought experiment in her mind. What if there were six more ion guns like this? What if they all operated at full capacity, drawing water from the oceans and shooting it to Mars, for three months?
The Earth would lose roughly 70% of its water. Forests, fields and meadows would turn into deserts. The remaining water, and the Earth’s atmosphere, would evaporate and drift into space. The reduced mass would cause the Earth’s orbit to shift away from the sun, causing surface temperatures to drop hundreds of degrees. Life on Earth would end, except perhaps for a hardy bacterium or two inching across a cold, barren, windswept landscape.
“Thanks a lot, everyone,” Luthor said. “It sounds like tonight we’ll have good reason to celebrate. But before we adjourn we have two more things to do. First, our friend Tarraq, who tells me he’s been working at mastering this funny Earthling tongue called English, wants to say a few words.”
“Thanq you, Leqx”, said the alien. He spoke with a strange accent, featuring glottal clicks such as are found in some African languages. “I just wanted to say how thanqful we of the planet Anqvina are for the generosity of our friends on Earth. The water you send to us will maqe deserts bloom and restore our parkched world to the gkreen beauty it once enjoyed. It is truly inspiring to see so much qooperation aqcross the gkalaqxy.” He had a deep, proud voice, which only increased Supergirl’s involuntary attraction to him.
“And thank you, Tarraq” Luthor replied. “We’re pretty thankful, too – and we’ll be even more thankful in a few minutes! Yulia, will you bring the tray in please?”
One of the blonde women stepped out of the room and came back carrying a large black tray, on which stood about forty small blue velvet bags arranged in neat rows. She walked along the inside of the conference table, giving a bag to each person present. Some put the bags discreetly in their briefcases, others eagerly opened the drawstrings with trembling hands, pouring their contents – huge, glittering diamonds – onto the table in front of them. Each stone was at least the size of a marble, some were many times that size.
“I assure you that the bags are identical in terms of the number, size and quality of the stones they contain,” Luthor said. “But the bags are numbered, and we are keeping track of who has which one. If we all sold our diamonds at once, the market would collapse. So our friend Mr. Oppenheim” – Luthor nodded towards a smiling, pink-faced South African – “has drawn up a schedule stating when the owner of each bag is entitled to sell a given stone. You will find this in the binder in front of you. If our contacts in the international diamond market inform us that someone has sold a diamond out of turn, the consequences will be – serious,” Luthor said. No one needed to ask what he meant by that.
“And this is, of course, only the first installment, right Tarraq? Tarraq tells me diamonds are as common on his planet as coal is on ours. Well, all I can say is, keep the coal coming!” Luthor said with a big grin.
“So this is what the destruction of a planet looks like,” thought Supergirl, wondering whether Indian tribal chiefs grinned like that when white men showed up with trunks full of beads.
IX.
The meeting adjourned. Participants stood and milled about, chatting. A few of them continued to stare at Supergirl, but most of them ignored her. The blonde leather women disconnected Supergirl’s ankle-chain from the floor. One of them tapped instructions into her remote control, and the hook turned and brought Supergirl, still hanging by her wrists, out of the room, through the corridors, and down two flights of stairs to what was apparently the ground floor.
She glided through a grand, elegant ballroom with crystal chandeliers, where a string quartet was tuning up. A mild sea-breeze came through large open windows. The hook brought her through double-doors decorated in gold-leaf to a small windowless room dominated by a king-sized bed with white satin sheets. Dildoes, whips, chains, and other bondage equipment were standing on shelves and hanging from the walls on hooks. Her red cape hung spread wide on the wall at the head of the bed. Metal rings were attached to the walls and ceiling at regular intervals. Supergirl marveled at how many things in the complex – the twisting vacuum tube, the ceiling panel in Luthor’s office from which the net had dropped, the track on which the hook moved, the different holding rooms – had been built with the sole purpose of capturing, manipulating and confining her.
The hook was lowered so that she could stand on the floor, and her wrists, still bound, were removed from it. She was taken into a smaller side room containing a toilet, sink and shower. The blonde women removed her ball-gag, but something in their expressions made Supergirl decide it would not be a good idea to engage them in conversation. At least six feet tall each, and wearing three inch heels, they towered over the 5’ 2” Supergirl. They cut the last scraps of her costume top off of her with a small knife. They led her to the shower – the chain connecting her ankles was long enough that she could shuffle along the floor, but not run – and washed her with perfumed soap. They treated her skin with lotions and oils, rubbed soothing balm on the red stripes raised by Luthor’s whip, and applied eyeliner and lipstick to her face. The oils and balms made her ass and upper back sting, then tingle. They placed small daubs of perfume on her temples, on the sides of her neck, between her breasts, and on her pubic hair. When they were done preparing her body, they led her to the bed and laid her on her back, then fastened her handcuffs to an iron bar at the head of the bed. Then they left the room.
Supergirl lay on her back, her wrists chained above her head, feeling drowsy and light-headed from the smell of the perfume. She could still hear the string quartet practicing outside, and the occasional sounds of waiters and workmen preparing the ballroom for the evening’s celebration. A seagull screeched in the distance. Her body felt soft and feathery against the satin sheets. I’m about to be gang-raped, she thought.
Another of her early research projects had been on her own biology. She had learned that her eggs could not be fertilized by human sperm. At the time, this fact seemed vaguely disappointing, but now it gave her a huge sense of relief.
X.
She lay in the bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Normally she could go days or weeks without sleep, but the abuse and the kryptonite made her weak and tired. After two hours the doorknob turned, and Lex Luthor entered the room wearing a tuxedo.
“You look lovely, Supergirl,” he said. “Green goes well with your eyes. So much better than red and blue.”
No time for banter. “Luthor, your little project is going to destroy life on Earth. You’re committing suicide.”
“Whoa, sweetheart. Let’s slow down a little.” He removed his jacket and sat on the bed next to her, caressing her round, white breasts with his meaty hands, bringing them together and apart and playfully flipping her nipple rings up and down. Then he ran one hand up her arm to where one wrist was chained to the other. “The Earth might be in for some trouble. I’ll be OK.”
What did that mean? Supergirl found it hard to concentrate. Luthor’s attentions brought forth small red bumps on her areolae and waves of tingling warmth spiraling outward from her hardening nipples, through her breasts and into the far reaches of her body. She had to swallow and catch her breath before she could speak again. “But there won’t be any water … or air …”
“What makes you think I’ll be on Earth?” he asked. He stood and began to undress.
That meant – Luthor must have cut a side deal with Tarraq. As the Earth shriveled and froze, Luthor would be light years away, no doubt surrounded by dozens of nubile young sex-slaves. Tarraq would get his water, and billions would die. The audacity of it all astonished her. Having schemed, murdered and raped his way into becoming the most powerful criminal, indeed the most powerful man, on Earth, Luthor was now abandoning the Earth to its fate so he could spend his retirement years amidst endless alien pussy.
Disinterested, as if perusing a picture in a book, she surveyed Luthor’s body. She had expected him to be overweight and flabby, but in fact his stout form was firm and powerful, with layers of muscle. His cock stood forth proudly, perhaps eight inches long and very thick. He reached between her legs and pressed one, then two fingers between her labia. To her shame, she realized she was dripping wet, and found herself squirming desperately at his touch.
With a knowing smirk he mounted the bed and knelt between her legs, pushing her thighs apart with his hands. Should she offer resistance? Could she? Now he lay on top of her; Supergirl felt the breath of her enemy, the man who had captured and beaten her, who was about to destroy the world, on her face, his hands grasping her defenseless breasts. “Be … gentle” she pleaded in a small voice. His dick probed her secret place, then forced its way roughly into her. She felt her insides being ripped apart, and screamed.
He began pounding away at her. The pain, at first, was unbearable. Soon she found an area of warmth within the pain, and then the warmth grew until his every stroke seemed to expand a ball of fire in the lower half of her body. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him on, again to her shame. “He is evil”, she told herself, “evil … he whipped me …” but the pounding continued and the fireball consumed her. He erupted inside of her with a deep groan. She could feel the hot spurt of his semen in her belly.
Luthor lay on top of her, panting. She felt the patter of his heartbeats. At last he pushed himself up on his hands and knees, withdrawing his dick, which was covered with the blood of her deflowering. She felt a void – she wanted him to stay. He went into the small bathroom, where she could hear him shower. He returned and dressed again in his tuxedo. “Welcome to the world, babe,” he said to her, again with a smirk, then turned and left the room.
Supergirl felt a desperate need for release. She tugged at the chains holding her wrists, and rubbed her wet thighs together, to no avail.
XI.
The blonde leather-clad women wordlessly returned. They unchained Supergirl from the bed and led her back into the bathroom. Some of them washed her body, while others replaced the blood-stained sheets on the bed. Then they placed her back on the bed, with her wrists chained above her head as before, and left.
A few minutes later Tarraq came in. He was taller than she had realized – perhaps seven feet – and his face was thin and angled. His dark eyes scanned her body with a hard stare that seemed to burn into her. She was an object, and he was calculating all the ways he could use her. He started undoing the clasps that secured his robe.
Again, no time for pleasantries. “Why, Tarraq?” she asked. “There are so many other sources of water, just in this solar system alone. You could take the ice from a comet, or a dozen comets. Or the moons of Jupiter. Why destroy a planet full of living things?”
He looked surprised – apparently women never spoke to him unless spoken to. Then he laughed and smiled. “Your sympathy for our water supply is toutching, Kqara,” he said. How did he know her Kryptonian name? “But, lukqily, we’re well-supplied with water right now.”
“So why … ?“ The story kept getting stranger. He opened his robe, revealing a lean, sinewy, bony body and a dick that was rapidly coming to attention.
“As the water kgets drained from Earth, that will open up – opportunities,” he said.
Opportunities – to take women. Of course. As crops failed worldwide, natural disasters multiplied and societies collapsed, Anqvinians would be able to swoop in and enslave as many Earth women as they wanted. And, judging from the slice of society she saw aboard the spaceship at the Martian pole, the needs of Anqvinian men were insatiable. “So the spaceship I saw on Mars was a decoy?”
Banter with a woman seemed to be a delightful novelty to him. “Why spend so much on an expensive space mission just to fill a few water tanks? But we noticed that you were very – interested in what went on in the spaceship.”
Supergirl blushed hotly. Of course the spaceship would have an external camera, which no doubt recorded every detail of her self-pleasuring. Lying naked and in chains, she nevertheless felt embarrassed and exposed. But she was also curious.
“Um, tell me,” she ventured. “If space missions are so expensive, why transport so many female slaves?”
“So the crew feels at home.”
Supergirl’s eyes grew wide. “Your whole planet is like that?”
“You see,” Tarraq replied, “thousands of years ago, a geneticq mutation tooqk place in one of the tribes on our planet, which qcaused nine baby girls to be born for each baby boy. After a generation, the tribe’s neighbors attacqked them, defeated them in battle, and raped their women – but that just meant the mutation was passed on in the new tribe as well. Soon, everyone on our planet had the mutation. The old monogamous societies broqke down. Ordinary men began to have five or ten wives, while kqings and princes had hundreds. Roving bands of slave traders appeared, who qcaptured and sold unprotecqted women. This cqaused the women to cqling even more desperately to those men who could guarantee them a modicqum of safety and dignity. Eventually a society evolved where everyone knew their rightful place: men granted women food, shelter, and safety, while women gave their masters unrestriqcted pleasure and unqquestioning obedience.” She thought of the women on the spaceship, how they jumped and ran so eagerly to fulfill every whim of their male masters.
“Then why raid the Earth? Don’t you have enough women?” she asked, and immediately realized it was a silly thing to ask a man, of any species. Tarraq threw back his head and laughed
“We now have a flourishing civilization, and we have aqccomplished much in science, teqchnology, philosophy and the arts. But some in the younger generation find things a little too easy. Women offer themselves to them freely and happily, but these men want the thrill of cqompulsion, of forcing women to their will. Now that we have mastered light-speed travel, I and some other merdchants have started to address this marqket niche by cqapturing humanoid women from nearby planets. My sqcheme here is part of that stratedgy.”
So that was it. The Earth was to be destroyed as part of a marketing strategy.
Tarraq let the robe drop to his feet. His erect penis was gigantic – easily fourteen inches long. It curved upwards, like a scimitar. Supergirl stared at it transfixed.
“Oh”, he chuckled. “Another mutation. Food and shelter aren’t the only reasons our women are happy to be slaves.“
Now he was releasing her wrists from above her head, while still keeping them attached to each other, and pulling her up to a kneeling position on the bed. With his large hands he brought her head towards his enormous, demanding dick. What did he want her to do? There was no way she could take the whole thing in her mouth. But he clearly wanted satisfaction, and she was in no position to refuse it. She experimented, putting her mouth over the bulbous top of it. It tasted like salted, juicy meat, and seemed to burn the back of her throat. She moved her lips slowly down one side of the shaft, until her nose was buried in the dark, musky hairs at its base. Then she licked the bottom of the shaft, bringing her tongue all the way back upwards. She felt his dick throb and widen, and tasted sticky liquid at the top – whatever she was doing, it seemed to be working. Tarraq moaned.
He grabbed her by the waist and turned her face-down on the bed, then with his large, capable hands he brought her hips upward. She felt him starting to work his huge organ into her sex. The fireball that Luthor had generated burst back into life. She rocked back and forth on her elbows and knees, grinding her hips as he slowly, methodically forced one inch into her, then two, then three. A scream started deep in her throat, then grew in volume and urgency until her body was seized by a terrifying, explosive orgasm. Now she was limp, helpless, sprawled on the bed but Tarraq’s cock continued to expand her until she felt that her body was nothing but an extension of his. When he was as far inside her as he could go, he started pumping away with ceaseless determination, and waves of ecstasy pulsated through her with his every demanding thrust. She climaxed again, as he shot and filled her to overflowing with his burning cum. They collapsed onto the bed, his cock still half inside her, and he lay behind her with one of his hands upon her quivering breasts. His cum seeped out of her and onto her thighs. Neither had the strength to speak.
At last Tarraq rose and dressed in his robe. He placed the ball gag in her mouth. “You will maqke a very good slave”, he said, and left. Supergirl shuddered – he had not said “would”, but “will”. But she also felt a strange sense of pride.
XII.
There seemed to be some kind of schedule. One after another, the men and women she had seen at the board meeting came into the room, fucked her, and left. The visits lasted a half hour each. They chained her in different positions. They fucked her on the bed, against the wall, hanging from the ceiling. Some whipped her, while others burned her with hot wax. Some, including the two Islamic terrorist chieftains, fucked her ass. The red-headed general counsel eased out of her strapless evening gown, revealing a bustier and long black silk stockings, and fucked her with a huge black leather strap-on dildo.
After each visitor, the tall blonde women came and silently cleansed her body of sweat, semen, and blood. They would treat her welts and bruises with soothing balms and oils. Sometimes they brought a tray with fresh fruit and water, which Supergirl consumed gratefully. Occasionally they would straighten her hair or reapply her makeup. She heard the sounds of an elegant reception outside her door. The string quartet played, and she heard voices chatter and laugh. Her visitors wore tuxedos and evening gowns.
She wanted to tell them that they were all being taken for fools – that Luthor was planning to destroy the Earth, that Tarraq was using it as a business opportunity to enslave the Earth’s women. But the blonde women made sure that she was gagged before every visitor came in. Sometimes a visitor would release the gag, but they were in no mood to discuss ionization rates or the intricacies of Anqvinian social structure – they wanted a blow job, or they wanted to hear her scream. Her heart jumped when Prof Bergstrom walked in and began to open his belt. She was sure he would understand her calculations. But he ignored her frantic signals to remove the gag, and instead focused on timing his withdrawal from her cunt so he could shoot his cum between her breasts. Just before he left, she thought he looked at her quizzically, as if trying to recall where he had seen her before, but then he shook his head and walked out.
After perhaps twenty hours of constant fucking, she fell asleep. She was awoken by the knob turning in the door. Luthor’s henchmen took turns fucking her. Then the technicians and other employees of the complex. Finally, the security guards came, the same ones she had tossed aside like matchsticks just a few days earlier, and exacted their revenge. Then people came in twos and threes, penetrating different parts of her simultaneously. Sometimes she would be allowed to drift back to sleep. Several days seemed to pass, but she had lost all sense of time. She no longer had any feeling in the lower half of her body – she barely noticed when people placed body parts or objects inside of her. Her emotions became numb, too, and she had to struggle to remind herself that she was outraged at her humiliation and determined, against all odds, to escape from captivity and rescue the human race.
XIII.
After several days of almost continual gang rape, she was placed, still chained and gagged, in a clear Plexiglas tube and transported to Metropolis in Luthor’s corporate jet. Two of the blonde women accompanied her. On arrival they loaded her into a black windowless van and drove into the city. They unloaded the tube in a dark, underground parking garage and placed it in a special elevator, which ascended quickly, making her ears pop. She was taken from the tube and placed in a room that was almost identical to her holding cell on the island – chains, whips, and bondage equipment covered the walls, rings were sited at various places, and a small bathroom adjoined it. Everything was clean, functional and well lit. Later she would learn that her cell was located on the 75th floor of the worldwide headquarter of the Luthor Corporation.
To her surprise and gratitude, she was then left alone. Her blonde attendants gave her daily showers, left plain but satisfying meals of fruit and bread in her cell, and even gave her newspapers and magazines to read. Slowly she regained feeling in her anus and sexual parts, and her various wounds, lesions and abscesses gradually healed, with the help of the balms and lotions that were applied to them.
One morning, perhaps a week after her arrival, the blonde women started treating her with renewed attentiveness. After her shower she was perfumed, made up, and chained to the bed, where she lay for several hours. That afternoon, Lex Luthor came into her cell, removed his business suit, and fucked her. As he sat on the bed, putting his socks back on, Supergirl said, “Tarraq is going to betray you. He doesn’t need the water. He just wants to create chaos so he can harvest Earth women for slaves.”
“Yeah, I figured that was what he was after.” Luthor replied, unruffled. “But he’ll still take care of me when the time comes. I have something that he wants.”
“What’s that?”
“You”.
She stammered, not expecting to hear this. “Wh – why me?”
“Kryptonian women were renowned throughout the galaxy for their beauty. Now that there are only a handful left, rarity value alone makes a young, healthy Kryptonian woman essentially priceless on the interstellar slave market. The social status of Anqvinian men is based in large part on the number and quality of women under their control. So, if I can deliver you to him when all this goes down, he’ll become very powerful and eternally grateful. According to the Anqvinian social code, which I’ve studied, that means he’ll be honor-bound to protect me.”
“Only a handful left”? What did that mean? She had thought the only other living Kryptonian was her cousin, Kal-El, who had given up being a superhero some time ago and now lived as a hermit on the planet Titan. She’d have to look into this when she got free. If she got free.
XIV.
Life soon settled into a kind of routine. When Luthor was in Metropolis, and not jetting around the world visiting various parts of his criminal empire, he would fuck her twice a day, in the morning and in the early afternoon. Sometimes he would come to her cell in the evening and whip her, relieving the stresses and strains of the day. Occasionally he would give her to a visitor, usually another crime lord but sometimes a prominent businessman, politician or entertainer, for an hour of torture and fucking, to cement a friendship or celebrate a deal. Sometimes she would be brought to his office or to a conference room, where she would be put on display, chained to the wall or lying on the conference table, while Luthor held a meeting on some topic. He treated her as a kind of trophy, to be showed off to his business partners and rivals as proof of his ruthlessness and power. Her cape hung on the wall behind his office desk.
The constant forced sex and abuse had made her tough, hard-edged, knowing. She looked her rapists straight in the eye now instead of looking away or closing her eyes in shame. She noticed differences in ways that men fucked, and she experimented with different responses to these styles, whether to meet aggression with aggression, or to yield to the inevitable victor. She improved her fellatio technique, until she could get men to the point where a single touch of her tongue would provoke a shuddering orgasm. The blonde women taught her techniques to improve control over her vaginal muscles, and she learned to apply this skill to bring men to completion. Her confidence grew as her expertise in sex began to rival her expertise in physics.
By watching closely and asking the occasional discreet question, Supergirl also learned a great deal about Luthor’s operation. Some of the blonde women had started to talk to her, furtively; apparently this was against the rules. They had all been abducted a few years earlier from villages in the Crimea during the Russo-Ukrainian war. At first they were trained as whores, but then Luthor had decided he could use them to handle his abductees and attend to their needs – the male thugs he had used earlier were too careless with the merchandise. Now they were a critical part of his operation.
Sometimes Luthor would reward one of his henchmen for a job well done by letting him fuck Supergirl. Luthor had got rid of his old street entourage, and replaced them with smart young MBAs, who had decided that international crime offered more interesting career opportunities than consulting or hedge-fund management. Supergirl found them earnest and sweet, and she had to remind herself that they were cogs in a machine creating misery and corruption. She learned a great deal from them about Luthor’s various businesses. She learned that he had moved out of “mass market” prostitution, though he still maintained a financial stake in a number of white slavery and escort operations. The acquisition and inventory costs were just too high. Instead he focused on the ultra-exclusive high end – wealthy and powerful men, and a few women, who would pay him a retainer of several hundred million dollars a year for access to beautiful women on demand. Models, actresses, and singers, as well as girls and women that Luthor and his clients noticed on the street, would be abducted or blackmailed into service. One of his clients had been taken with a beautiful actress in an in-flight film on an airplane, and made a quick call to Luthor from the phone in his armrest. When he arrived at his hotel, the actress was kneeling on the floor of his suite, naked, bound, and gagged.
The cellblock where she was held was meant to keep the women for a few days or weeks while they were prepared for clients. Looking through the tiny window in the door of her cell, Supergirl watched a series of astonishingly beautiful women walk by, naked, blindfolded, and chained, being led to their cells by the blonde attendants. Some of them she recognized as famous celebrities – presumably, when one of these women disappeared from public view, their publicists would put out a message that she “needed some time for herself” or “was a very private person”. Once she saw the redheaded general counsel being placed in a cell. Supergirl asked Luthor about her, and was told that she had sold a diamond out of turn.
XV.
The Joker had just finished fucking her, and he and Luthor were standing in her cell surveying her ravished form. They were celebrating a business deal, which involved the sale of some judges. Supergirl had found the Joker’s dick, with its pale white shaft and green glans, and his purple pubic hair more than a little disturbing. He had cackled in triumph when he came, like a hen laying an egg,. She was also disturbed to see his bright orange cum trickle out of her cunt.
“She’s a wonderful bird, Lexie,” the Joker said. He knew Luthor hated being called Lexie. “Where’d you get her? The schoolyard? That clothing store next to the university?”
“Wh - What do you mean? She’s – she’s Supergirl”.
“Oh, sure, she looks like Supergirl. But anyone can find a blonde with nice gazongas and put a green collar on her. Only you, Lexie, can try to pass her off as some kind of petite alien weightlifter he found in his closet,” he taunted. The Joker was very good at taunting.
“You – but no, I mean, yes, she’s Supergirl. I can prove it. You just have to – “
“Just have to do what, Lexie? Stab her tits? You’d have to take off that green jewelry to really prove she’s Supergirl, but somehow I think you’re going to say you can’t do that, or she’ll rip off your nuts and run for the hills with them!” The Joker began to laugh uproariously.
Now Luthor was angry. “I’ve had enough of this! You want me to prove it, greenhair? I’ll prove it to you! Give me a couple of weeks to build something.”
“Oh, OK, Luthor, I’ll come by in a couple of weeks. Just give me a time and a date and I’ll come to see your dog and pony show – or is it a dog and pussy show?” The Joker laughed again as he went out, leaving Luthor fuming.
XVI.
Supergirl was chained to a wall, naked, in a high-ceilinged room in one of the basement levels of the Luthor Corp building. Her back was against the wall, with her wrists and ankles attached to the wall with heavy shackles, her wrists on either side of her head and her ankles chained together. She no longer wore the kryptonite rings in her nipples or the kryptonite stud in her navel. The only piece of kryptonite left was the neck ring, which had been unlocked and was held to the wall with a kind of clamp. Opposite Supergirl, perhaps twenty yards away, stood a group of men in camouflage fatigues and body armor, carrying submachine guns. There was a window made of bulletproof glass in the wall above where the riflemen stood. Behind the window sat Luthor, looking apprehensive, and the Joker, looking bemused.
Luthor spoke into a microphone. “In a moment, Supergirl, I will press this button, and your neck ring will be withdrawn into the wall, which is lined with lead. The firing squad you see before you will then commence shooting. They will fire at you for fifteen seconds, then the ring will come back out of the wall and onto your neck. Along with the titanium shackles that are holding you to the wall, there are electric eye beams in front of your body. If you so much as move a muscle, that will break the beams and trigger the release of the kryptonite net from the ceiling. Do you remember the net? Well, you will become very well acquainted with it if you don’t behave.”
Supergirl concentrated. Timing, timing. Look, act. Timing was everything.
The firing squad lifted their weapons. The ring was withdrawn and the room filled with gunfire. Bullets ricocheted crazily off Supergirl’s breasts and abdomen. Supergirl was filled with a surge of energy, like liquid lightning being injected into her every muscle and nerve. She looked to her right, saw the wiring through the wall, and blasted it with heat vision.. She then shot up into the air, straight at the window of the control room.
Luthor angrily pressed buttons and turned knobs, to no avail. Joker fell off his chair with laughter. The riflemen were confused – some wheeled and kept shooting at Supergirl, while others dove for cover. “You fucked up, Luthor! You fucked up!” she shouted, shattering the glass of the control room window and grabbing the two master criminals by the backs of their necks.
What to do with them now? No ropes to hand – she punched through the wall and tore out a handful of electric cables, which she used to bind Luthor and the Joker. She tore Luthor’s and the Joker’s clothes off, and deposited them in the grand plaza in front of the Luthor Corp building. The Joker seemed to enjoy this thoroughly, while Luthor, his attempt to create a respectable image for himself a total failure, was mortified. Now quickly to Luthor’s office – she easily found a map with the locations of the six ion guns. With lightening speed she downloaded hundreds of incriminating documents from his hard drive and e-mailed them to Linda’s account at the university.
XVII.
Pedestrians milling around the Luthor Plaza at lunchtime, if they weren’t distracted by the two naked criminals lying in the plaza, bound by electrical cables, could have looked up and seen a small, beautiful naked blonde superheroine soaring out of a window on the 80th floor, sending glass shards flying, and into the sky. She ignored the shouts and the news helicopters. There was no time to get a new costume. The time of the Earth-Mars conjunction was drawing near, at which point the ion guns would start again, this time at full blast.
She found the site at the North Pole, lifted the huge gun off its foundations, and brought it crashing down on the nuclear complex, critically damaging both. She did the same to the North Atlantic, South Atlantic, Antarctic, Indian Ocean and South Pacific sites, and finally the North Pacific, the place that started it all.
She was circulating around the ruins of the artificial island, admiring her handiwork, when she heard the roar of two small spaceships behind her. They swooped in very fast, and for some reason she could not fly away – she seemed instead to slow down. She was caught, again, in a kryptonite net, this one stretched between the two ships.
The spaceships swooped upwards, past the Earth’s atmosphere, and entered the cargo bay of a much larger mother ship. The pilots, tall Anqvinians, detached the net and brought it into the ship, where they deposited it at the feet of Tarraq.
Tarraq stood above his quarry, who again squirmed in agony as the microfibers radiated hot poison into her body. “At last you are mine, Qara”, Tarraq said. “When I heard about Luthor’s little exhibition for the Joker, I gave him a fake kryptonite net, just to make sure you’d escape. I kept the real one. I knew that whatever happened you would head straight back here and I would be able to capture you.”
Supergirl struggled to speak. “Will you restart – the Aqua Project?” she panted
“No, too much trouble – I have some other opportunities on other planets which looq more promising.”
At least the Earth was safe. “And what of me?”
Tarraq smiled. “We will remove this net once we are past the rays of the yellow sun. Then begins your induqction into the life of an Anqvinian slave.” There was a loud hum as the ship accelerated out of Earth orbit and towards the distant stars.
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