ILSA, QUEEN OF DEBAUCHERY III:
SUPERTWAT
By Svengali
The following story borrows Wonder Woman, Wonder Girl, and Supergirl from D.C. Comics, Ilsa from the cult exploitation film "Ilsa, She-Wolf of the S.S.," and Dr. Orloff from Jess Franco's classic film "The Awful Dr. Orloff." I also must acknowledge my debt to "Videodrome," a brilliant and very twisted film, directed by David Cronenberg.
"Behind this door," said Ilsa, sounding very much like a carnival barker, "are two utterly debauched beings. Hardly more distant than yesterday, these gurgling animals were paragons. Mortal embodiments of Athena—as beautiful within as without. They were stars it would seem no one could reach, so perfect, so heroic, and so unsullied were they."
"And yet, you reached them."
"It became my experiment to see how great an ocean I could make between what these heroes were, and what they are."
"An ocean?"
"Such a one as no one could again cross. The giant which departed now is a dwarf, hardly able to cross a room, much less the ocean of her total defilement."
"What are you saying? The drama of your phrasing is beyond me."
"I have radically alterred my adversaries from what they were. My experiment was to see how total a change could be made."
"Show me these animals, Commandant." Doubtless, the disguised Supergirl thought, Ilsa had been envious of their beauty, and that was why she had done what she had done. The commandant was no longer young, and although she was statuesque and was a sight to see in her uniform, she had a face a pig would laugh at.
"With pleasure," Ilsa said. The cretin-faced guard produced a key, fitted it in the lock, a heavy, echoing clank of metal ensued, and the door was opened.
Supergirl stood framed in the doorway, and gawked at what she saw. A prison cell, and in bed, two grotesquely obese women in the midst of some bizarre act. She supposed it was sexual, for they were nude and joined. She was a virgin, and quite ignorant of sexual matters. Lesbianism appalled her. She had heard of cunnilingus, but it seemed that this was not it. The younger of the two whales straddled the other. The other lay down with her face buried in her lover's enormous ass. Her stomach was a mountain of tender, bloated flesh.
The younger woman's eyes were buttons. Some drug had utterly divorced all sense from them. She suddenly farted quite loudly, and the other woman sighed and groaned as she pressed her lips to her lover's anus.
Supergirl realized that it had not merely been a fart. Matter had been expelled, which her eager partner had eaten. This creature had grown fat on a steady diet of elimination.
She was horrified. She refused to believe it. "Tell…" she moaned, overcome. Supergirl clutched Ilsa's shoulder and recoiled. "Tell her to stop."
Because she had turned away, she didn't see Ilsa's smile. "Only so she may tell you her name."
The guard entered the cell and pried the two women apart.
"Shiteater," Ilsa commanded, "tell Hitler's daughter your name."
Supergirl turned. The massive pervert turned towards her. Her eyes were mad. Her fat face was flushed with the ecstasy of doing what she loved. But her voice was slurred, corrupted by lunacy—the gurgling voice of a child. "Wonder Woman," she said in mindless sing-song, a piano out of tune. Her teeth were brown with shit.
Supergirl's eyes widened with shock and terror. "Mockery…" she whispered with shrill fear. But she realized it was so. Wonder Woman was greatly changed—in body, mind, and attitude, but it was unmistakably she. "God… What have you done…?"
"And her partner of course is her beloved sister, Wonder Girl," Ilsa said. "But the poor wretch no longer knows this. And although Miss Prince is able to say that she is Wonder Woman, I rather doubt that the name means anything to her, Supergirl."
"Su…!"
"Yes, daughter of Hitler, Supergirl."
A green gas suddenly seeped from a wall vent. Kryptonite gas! Spots danced before her eyes, and everything in the room seemed to disassemble. Supergirl crumpled to the floor.
Supergirl lay unconscious in a room bare of furniture, except for the table on which she lay and a small table which held two bottles of wine. She appeared to be unharmed and unmolested, but Ilsa had removed her disguise. She now wore her customary blue shirt with the S on the front, her red cape, red skirt, and red boots. But there was something different: Two small discs, seemingly metal, rested on her forehead, one over each brow.
"Supergirl." A godlike voice filled the room. It was Orloff.
Supergirl's eyes opened. She remained where she lay. Her eyes were full of rage, but her body was not her own. His was the voice of command, and she had to obey.
"You are thirsty, Supergirl. Say that you are thirsty."
"I am thirsty," she said robotically.
"Then rise. Get up from there and go to the table."
Supergirl sat up, got off the table, and walked over to the other table. She waited.
"Do you see the bottles on the table?"
"Yes."
"There is no glass. You must drink straight from the bottle. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Drink from the bottle on the left. Drink it all."
With a robot's grace, Supergirl reached for and took the bottle, lifted it, and put it to her lips. She tilted the bottle upward until it was upside down with her lips around the end. She gulped down the wine. It sped down her throat. Her stomach filled with wine. It tasted very strange. Supergirl did not drink, and therefore was completely unaccustomed to beverages of this sort.
The bottle was empty. She replaced the bottle on the table with a loud thump. She was drunk. She let out a long, moist belch and laughed. Supergirl felt rather dizzy.
"You are still thirsty, Supergirl. Say that you are still thirsty."
"I'm still thirsty," she said, smiling foolishly. Her eyes had become watery. For some reason (She did not know why), she found the sound of Orloff's voice quite amusing. This is a fun game, she thought.
"Drink from the second bottle. Drink every drop."
She took the bottle. The movement was not graceful. She encircled the end of the bottle with her lips and upended it. She gulped the wine down. It sped down her throat and filled her stomach. She drank every drop, until the bottle was empty. Feeling very mirthful and odd, she set the bottle down forcefully on the tabletop. But she was very clumsy now, and the moment she let go of the bottle, it tipped over, striking the other bottle. Both fell over and rolled off the table. They fell off the table and smashed. Supergirl laughed at this. She was very drunk.
"Are you thirsty, Supergirl?"
"No." She giggled, and swayed unsteadily on her feet. She smiled very foolishly. Suddenly she lost her equilibrium, and staggered across the room. The wine gurgled about in her belly as she careened and fell into the wall. She collapsed in the corner, sliding slowly down the wall. Her descent ended, and Supergirl sat on the floor, propped up by the walls. She grinned very foolishly.
"What a cheap date _you_are," Orloff said.
Supergirl laughed out loud, hiccupped, and made a strange face. Turning to the side, she leaned over and vomitted very copiously. Then her head bowed and she blacked out.
"Supergirl."
She looked up, very drunk, grinning stupidly.
"You are no longer drunk."
She sobered up instantly.
"Stand up."
Supergirl stood and stepped away from the wall, waiting.
"How beautiful you are, Supergirl."
Sober, she was defiant, and angry. She smirked, and would have said something very biting, but the discs on her forehead did not permit it.
"I've just said something nice, Supergirl! Give me a smile and say 'Thank you.'"
Against her will, the anger in her features melted, so that even less of Supergirl was hers. She smiled. It was a beautiful smile. "Thank you," she said, as if she meant it.
Orloff trembled. Beautiful girls like Supergirl broke his heart and made his mind dance. If he were not mad, he would address his predilection as any smitten man would. But this was his way.
"I think I like superheroines," Orloff said. "So statuesque, so fit. And all of you wear such wonderfully form-fitting costumes. I love your capes, your boots, and your masks. We will have to lure more of you here."
She wanted to tell him to go to hell. She was unable to. However, no more superheroines would be lured here. She would see to that. This madman and the diabolical Ilsa were no match for her. All she needed was…
"Remove your costume, Supergirl. I want to see the woman beneath the crimefighter."
You filthy pig, Supergirl thought but could not say. Without hesitation, but with eyes full of contempt, she unfastened her flowing, red cape. Folding it neatly, she placed the cape on the table.
Orloff knew from the skintight shirt she wore that Supergirl had exceedingly nice breasts. Her generous orbs strained with a sensuous urgency against the S. And now, pouting coldly at her invisible spectator, the blond teen crossed her arms before her and took hold of the bottom of the shirt. The blue garment came untucked from her skirt, revealing her winking navel and washboard stomach. The garment climbed, revealing a naughty, red bra. Then the shirt was over her head and off and Supergirl folded it and placed it on top of her cape.
Who but the devil could have inspired such fastidiousness in the girl? Perhaps she showed her scorn in this way, or was trying to buy some time. Orloff thought it was very sexy.
The bra was transparent. He could clearly see her big, creamy mounds and pink nipples inside the cups.
"Naughty girl," he jeered.
She scowled as she undid her skirt and let it fall down her shapely thighs and muscular calves. Her panties were also red. She stepped out of the skirt, folded it, and placed it on the table.
Then she turned and stood there, waiting, in bra, panties, and boots.
"Remove your bra and panties."
This was abominable, and very nerve-wracking. Supergirl had never undressed in front of a man before. Of course, Orloff was not in the room with her, but he might as well have been. For all she knew, he was even recording this episode on film. Reaching behind her, she undid the strap, and the bra fell away from her breasts. She bared them. They were very beautiful—quite big, but, at the same time, very perky. Of course, she was only seventeen. The nipples on her breasts hardened instantly, for it was chilly in the room.
"Marvelous," Orloff said. "Excellent tits."
Supergirl blushed, and hated him. She had intended to bare her breasts only to a man she loved. She loved no man, but had a picture in her head of her knight in shining armor, and had often thought of that day of disrobing. It was to have been a beautiful and sacred time, and now it was finished. Instead it was Orloff who saw her. He had destroyed her dream, and she hated her body now, because he was looking at it.
Hooking her thumbs beneath the waistband of her panties, she took them down, revealing a blond triangle of hair. Her underwear followed the same path her skirt had. They tumbled around her bright red boots. Orloff felt that no sight was sexier than the panties lying on top of her boots, and would have loved it if at that point she had kicked her underwear across the room with slutty abandon. But it wasn't in the stars. Instead, she removed her panties with the same cool dignity with which she had removed the rest of her clothing, and placed them on the table.
Supergirl turned. She was completely nude now, except for her boots. Orloff looked her over, savoring the sight. Long blond hair, pink nipples, and blond curls between her legs.
"Beautiful," he said. "Just beautiful. But put your cape back on."
Supergirl rolled her eyes. What a pervert. She gathered her cape from the table and put it back on. Orloff enjoyed the brief sight of her delectable tush when her back was turned. Now he had the pleasure of seeing the superheroine in nothing but her cape and her boots. She looked terrific.
The door to the room suddenly opened, and a guard entered. He carried a briefcase and a small bag. The soldier stood for a moment, admiring Supergirl. The nude blonde growled. He gave her a wink, then went to the table where the wine had been, and left the briefcase on it. He went to the table where Supergirl's costume was. He collected her panties (They were still warm) and placed them in the small bag. His work done, the man departed.
Perverts, she thought.Vile, disgusting animals. Not only was she now without underwear. Who could say what sort of debauchery her unfortunate panties would undergo? The evil doctor would probably place them inside a kaiser roll and eat them for lunch!
"Go to the table and open the briefcase."
What now? she wondered, immediately complying.
To her infinite surprise, there was a service revolver and ammo inside.
And what am I to do with this? I, who can bend steel in my bare hands? She had never handled such a weapon. Perhaps he would have her put it to her temple and fire. At least then she could frustrate him by not dropping dead. The bullet would bounce harmlessly away and put a hole in the wall or ceiling of this stupid room.
"Take the gun out."
She took the sinister implement from the elegant case. Supergirl had held guns before. Having disarmed naïve, would-be assailants, she had taken the still warm weapons in her hands and twisted them into pretzel-shaped mockeries of menace. But now she was forced to show respect.
It stung her pride, for her great powers, and her lofty pledge to use them heroically made guns seem petty and primitive. It was with this ugly piece of metal that criminals struck fear into everyday people. All one need do is train one of these on a hapless soul, and suddenly an exceedingly little man was in command. But this ceased when Supergirl became involved. A gun was a hateful and ignoble thing, which it offended her to hold. She wanted to destroy it, but he commanded her hands.
"Load it."
She didn't know the first thing about loading a gun, but found that she did it as effortlessly as a serviceman. Apparently, he did not command her merely through vocal instructions. She was a marionette, he the puppeteer.
He had her raise the gun and hold it, as if ready to shoot.
"You are no longer in a room," Orloff said. "You are in a wood, with Adolf Hitler, and he is standing against a tree, and you are standing some distance from him, holding the gun. There is an apple on his head, and he smiles perversely at you as you point the gun at him."
Supergirl was totally convinced that she was out of doors, in the woods with Hitler. There was a gentle breeze, a nearby brook babbled, and small animals warbled and scurried. She was still nude, except for the cape and boots. Hitler wore lederhosen.
"Shall you kill Hitler?"
Hitler grinned, amused by the idea, fearing the gun not in the least.
"Shall you shoot the apple from his head, or aim considerably lower, and put a bullet in his balls?"
He sent a warm pulse to her naked snatch. Pleasure lit her eyes, and she had a curious feeling. Did she want to shoot Hitler? He seemed game. She thought perhaps she _would_like to shoot him. Wasn't the smiling German himself a kind of fruit? She imagined a sweet and delightful juice spurting from the wound. This pistol was not an instrument of death, but instead quite an innocuous gardening tool. It merely relieved one's partner of sap.
Yes, I will shoot him, she thought, as she grew even wetter between the legs. The apple, or somewhere on his body?
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
The door opened, shattering the fantasy, and she was in the room again. The guard had returned, and stood precisely where Hitler had. Seeing her holding the gun as she was, he thought she was going to shoot him. He gave a start, and reached for his sidearm, but it was too late. She fired, and the bullet hit him square in the chest. He fell back through the door and fell sprawling.
Supergirl couldn't believe it had happened. She never meant to shoot him. It wasn't in her instinct.
But, then, it hadn't been her, had it? Good God…
"You're a trigger-happy maniac," Orloff said mildly.
She was horrified. She wasn't a killer. He was worse than a murderer. How could he do it?
"Go," he said. "See the damage that you have done."
She was crazy to have thought, just a moment ago, that there was some humanity in him. It was difficult to pinpoint what had made her feel some small thing for him. She hated herself for it, but now any thought that she was dealing with a human being was gone.
It was mad. Here she was, their prisoner, exiting the room, following, as it were, the path of escape, and, yet, it was no good. For it was he that moved her. There was no Supergirl. She wasn't here, but was instead confined in a tiny cell inside her. He could make her do horribly destructive things, and surely would. But no. Before he turned her into an annihilator, she'd raise all the crumpled will she had and turn it inward and instead destroy herself. All would grow still within her, or ruptures and hemorrhages would erupt, and the maid of steel would fall. Blood would spill from her lips, and she would cease to goosestep and destroy, and Orloff's evil game would be finished. None of his godless alchemy could raise her.
What nonsense. This grotesque opera she performed in her mind was merely her distracting herself from what she approached. She had opened the door (It wasn't locked), and now crossed the threshold.
He lay directly without, before her, like the dying soldier in the trench in All Quiet on the Western Front. He lay on his back, his face contorted with pain, his arms raised, his hands clutching at nothing. There was blood on his lips. Her lips, although bloody in her fantasy, were clean. She stood over him, and he looked up, and the pain on his face turned to anger, and fear. His shirt was drenched with the blood from the terrible wound in his chest.
"Bitch," he growled, spraying his chin with more blood. "You shot me."
_I'm sorry. Please don't die._But she could not say these words. She reached for him sadly, wanting to comfort or to help him, but his eyes widened in terror.
The gun went off. _Gun?!_She was still holding the gun! The hand of comfort had been armed! Orloff had fooled her.
There was an ugly red notch in the guard's forehead where the second bullet had entered. His eyes were the eyes of a dead man. They no longer saw. His mouth lolled open in its gasp of fear. He would never again close it.
_Monster! Horrible villain!_He was insane.
"You are displeased?" the voice in the room called out. "I don't think so. You're merely deceived."
She went back in.
It was a teary-eyed Supergirl who reentered the room. She sobbed quietly. For the moment, Orloff didn't deny her that.
"You weep," he mocked, "but not merely from your eyes. You're wet. Do you deny it?"
She could not deny it. Despite her grief and horror, despite the hatred that she felt for Orloff and herself, her pussy was alive with a remarkable, buzzing warmth. She had forgotten her state of undress, but Supergirl was now keenly aware of it. She was especially aware of the nakedness of her sex. Naked, it was a thousand times more sensitive, seeming to be a lodestone of desire.
"Touch yourself," he said seductively, clearly aroused himself. "Use the gun."
She had not relaxed her hold on the gun since she had taken it. It seemed like an extension of her hand. The barrel brushed her cunt like a metal penis. It was cold, but the contact immediately sent a thrilling ripple of euphoria through her. She was surprised.
"Go on," he coaxed, with a gentle insistence. "Enjoy the pistol."
Supergirl parted the moist folds of her labia with the metal tube and gasped. Her lower mouth thirsted. It salivated. She never knew it could be like this.
"Put it in," Orloff said. "Slip it inside you."
She wanted to. Her pussy tingled with such a delirious intensity it made her dizzy. Carefully, she pushed the gun barrel into her hot and hungry twat. "Ooooo…" she moaned, puckering her lips. Her cunt tightly embraced the tube. It sank in deep, tearing her hymen, and she gasped again, and bled on the tube. "Ohhhh…"
"Slide it out. No, not all the way. Now push it back in. That's it. In, and out. In, and out…"
Supergirl created a rhythm, slowly at first, fucking herself with the gun. "Ahhhh…" she sighed very breathily, and leaned back against the table. "Ahhhh…" She picked up the pace. She was very wet and very receptive. Her juices coated the barrel. Everything was forgotten. There was nothing except this delicious ecstasy.
The gun barrel bore no similarity to a penis. It was crueller than flesh, and not intended for the tender cunt. But Supergirl loved it. She loved the feel of it inside her and loved thrusting it into her pussy.
Orloff was delighted. He masturbated at his console. "Tell me…" he said. "Tell me true. Do you like having it inside you?"
"I love it," she answered breathily.
"Where do you love it?"
"In my cunt. I love it in my cunt…"
She fucked herself with superspeed. Her hand and the gun were an amazing blur of lightning movement as she brutalized her voracious cunt. Her breathing quickened. She was in heat.
"All your body is a sexual engine. You're a hundred percent twat. Anywhere you are touched is an ecstasy."
"Yes…. Yes…"
"Stick it in you. Stick it in deep and hold it there."
Supergirl ceased to move the pistol in and out of her pussy, and simply held it inside her, waiting. Her wet cunt walls hugged the tube, feeling every inch of it. She hissed.
"I want you to shoot yourself. I want you to hold the gun deep inside your twat and pull the trigger."
She leaned back against the table. It cut into her rump. She leaned her pelvis up towards the gun. The barrel was buried inside her.
She pulled the trigger. There was a muffled explosion inside her, and searing heat. The bullet struck the nearest gut and immediately ricocheted, and ricocheted again, and again, skipping and rebounding inside her at a very high speed, as if she were a pinball machine. "Arggghhh!" she cried. "Ohhh! Oh, no!" She clawed desperately at her chest and torso as the insane activity continued within. She staggered around the room, not unlike a cat with a firecracker tied to its tail. Finally, she fell, and writhed on the floor, grunting and groaning as the ricochets continued. Each time the bullet skipped against her, it was like the astounding touch of a god. She cried out repeatedly, "Ahhh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!" It made her cum, and she came repeatedly and relentlessly as the bullet rebounded again and again inside her. Her eyes rolled up in her head as she convulsed on the floor. Abundant froth bubbled from her gasping mouth.
Gradually, the glancing rebounds slowed, and finally the bullet dropped, its mission complete. It happened to drop into a convenient pool of stomach acid, in which it speedily began to dissolve. Supergirl lay there, panting, and drenched in sweat. She was exhausted. Her head was spinning, and she did not feel at all like herself. Supergirl exhaled, and smoke exited through her nostrils, as if she had just enjoyed a cigarette.
Orloff had come all over his console. He'd never seen such a thing, and he had seen a great deal. "Christmas day," he said, quite overcome. "You are certainly a super girl, Supergirl."
She lay on the floor, blinking vacantly, still quite dazed.
"Arise, maid of steel. I'm not through with you yet."
She complied, although she was unsteady on her feet. Supergirl felt dizzy and confused. Her gun hand hung down at her side, relaxed, the weapon forgotten.
The door opened. It was a man. He wasn't a guard. He appeared to be a prisoner from the camp, for he was bare-chested, and wore the bottom half of a prison uniform. He was perhaps forty, and not unattractive. He was unshaven. Beneath bushy eyebrows were the intelligent, dark, and exotic eyes of an Israelite. Although this man had suffered a great deal, when he saw Supergirl in nothing but her cape and boots, amusement colored his eyes.
"What manner of perversity is this?" he asked.
Her arm rose, and extended toward him, the gun in her hand. Unlike Hitler, he did not smile, but he wasn't afraid.
No! Supergirl screamed in her mind. Don't make me shoot him!
The horrible gun still glistened with her juices. It stank of cunt. She could as well have given birth to the murderous thing. The prisoner saw the anxiety in her eyes. It puzzled him. Did she have an inner conflict?
"You needn't kill me if you don't want to," he said dryly.
She pulled the trigger, and the hateful blast filled the room. The prisoner staggered backwards, an angry wound in his shoulder. But simultaneous with the gun's thunderous discharge had been a hot, wet explosion between her legs. It nearly staggered her. Her inner thighs were wet with cum. She was horrified. What did it mean?
She poked at her throbbing cunt with the warm gun. The touch was electric, and it was all she could do not to groan loudly.
"You're insane," the man grunted.
Her arm rose again, and snapped back into its horizontal position. Another shot rang out. The prisoner staggered backwards again, and fell against the wall. There was a matching wound on his other shoulder.
There could be no mistake. Shooting him made her cum. Her pussy was very wet, and her thoughts were disordered. She was horrified. It couldn't be!
She might as well be shooting him with her cunt. Each time the gun went off, it had felt like a massive cock had blasted into her pussy. She was tremendously excited. She wanted to shoot him again. But no! That would be horrible! She couldn't do such a thing! But in her mind she saw Hitler grinning encouragingly, mocking reality. Go on, liebchen, he said. Pull the trigger…
No! She resisted with everything she had. It was monstrous. She couldn't imagine anything more nightmarish than this.
The prisoner eyed her with hatred as she approached. He ought to have known. The weird ones, like this girl, were always the most cruel. He did not have any fight left in him. Let the Nazis do as they wished. He had died long ago.
And yet, he grabbed her wrist and surprised himself with his frantic desperation. Twice shot, what he was doing was impossible. How he could lift his arms was beyond him. It was all adrenaline. Ignominy was what it was. He had sworn he wouldn't fight and look like a fool. But what was this?
He couldn't budge her. It was like trying to bend marble. Far from knocking the gun away or twisting from her grasp, now she held him in a grip like iron with one hand while she held the gun right up to his head with the other. He had never seen such strength in a woman before.
Perhaps I really amdead, he thought, as she pulled the trigger.
Blood and brains splattered Supergirl's face. She released him, and he crumpled like so much spaghetti.So aroused! She couldn't believe it. She was so turned on! Supergirl staggered back from the corpse, and drove the fingers of her free hand into her sopping cunt. Her pussy tingled wildly with a furious thirst. What was more, she had found it supremely erotic being splashed with gore. Blood had sprayed her lips and tongue, and the blood was like a wonderful liquor. It made the room spin. She licked her lips and fingerfucked herself. It was horrible, but she couldn't help it.
But it wasn't her. It was Orloff putting all of this in her mind. She had to fight it, or at least realize that she didn't really feel this way. It was merely his diabolical hypnotism.
But what an ecstasy to pull the trigger and hear the shots ring out. The gun and her twat were one. She was losing her mind.
The room went away. She was back in the forest. She was completely naked now, and the sultry breeze caressed every naked inch of her. The gun was gone from her hand, and yet, there was a funny feeling there, as if the gun was hiding inside the bones of her hand. It could come out at any time, like a cat's claws. There would be no pain—only the chilling ache of delirious release.
She loved herself. She was so gorgeous. She had such a tremendously fuckable body. She had such fat and beautiful tits. Supergirl cupped her generous mounds. They were warm and soft in her hands. They filled and overflowed from her hands, and her lovely, pink nipples grew very hard and poked her caressing palms. "Fat tits…" she murmured wantonly, as she massaged her pillowy melons and pinched her nipples. "Beautiful tits…" She cupped and twisted her hot and huge orbs roughly, moaning and grinning lustfully.
She was such a slut. All she wanted was to fuck. Fucking was a wonderful activity. If only a tribe of sex-mad bushmen could at that moment ambush her from every side and stick their beautiful cocks in all of her orifices. In her cunt, her ass, and her mouth, and drench her in cum. Supergirl wanted to become a prick pin cushion.
Her hands descended, sliding over her stomach to her thighs, which she caressed with circular movements, before they dove towards her crotch. She masturbated herself with both hands, tickling her twat and manipulating her clitoris. She parted the tender, moist folds of her labia and entered her cunt with both hands.
"Hungry twat," she groaned, rolling her pelvis around as she humped into her driving hands. She was so wet!
"Ooooo!" she cried. "I love it! I love fisting my slutty cunt!"
Her hands thrust into her voracious, raw cunt in a blur of unbelievable speed. The maid of steel was practically invulnerable, but when she attacked herself, couldn't she harm herself? She never dreamed of such a thing. She was lost in the furious attempt to satisfy what could not be satisfied. For she was growing more aroused by the moment, and was nearly delirious.
"Stop!" a godly voice commanded. The sky trembled and the earth shook. This was His domain. She obeyed instantly.
It was Der Fuhrer. He was invisible but vast. He was outraged. "How dare you selfishly and sluttishly pleasure yourself when there is work for the Third Reich to be done?"
"Forgive! Forgive!" she cried in a slurred and foolish voice. Supergirl removed her hands from her pussy. Both were wet with her abundant juice. Her right hand ascended like an independant thing, as if it were bereft of gravity. It underwent a change. It turned brown and swelled, and changed its shape. It became an enormous handgun.
"Now you are beautiful. Now you are the Reich!"
Pride and ecstasy swelled in her as she waved the magnificent weapon through the air. The arm which housed the strange gun was considerably more muscular than her other arm. The arm of her gunhand almost looked like a man's arm.
"Let the beautiful instrument speak. Mistress of the Gun, let your master speak!"
She fired the gun. Wonderful, deafening thunder shook the forest. The sky and the ground trembled. The gun's mighty discharge soared down like a comet from inside her arm, as if her arm were a hollow barrel. The bullet's departure was an ecstasy. The tremendous blast of the gunfire was an ecstasy. The awesome tremor which shook the world was an ecstasy. The sopping mouth between her legs vomitted cum. A huge amount of her juice poured out and splashed on the ground, as if someone had overturned a large bucket. Her legs were drenched, and a huge puddle of cunt juice surrounded her like a moat.
She slipped on the wet. Her feet utterly lost their purchase, and she crashed down on her rump in the puddle. As she struck the ground, the gun went off again. Once again, the forest trembled from the awesome explosion. And the explosion was an ecstasy, and she came once again. Cum fountained from her pussy, spraying her legs and her stomach. The amount which geysered out was unbelievable. Her juice splashed noisily on the ground, splattering her with even more cum.
"Ohhhh…." Supergirl moaned. "It's too much… I can't take it… I cum and cum and cum… I'm so turned on… So fucking turned on…."
She looked down at her lunatic twat. Juice continued to drool out of it. She shook her drunken head, not knowing what to do. Her arm flew upward. The gun pointed at the sky. Supergirl lay down. Her arm remained raised, like an erect penis. "Please don't make me do it again…" she moaned helplessly.
It went off again. The orgasmic thunder. A third ocean of cum blasted out of her insane cunt. "Ohhhh!!!! Ohhhhh!!!" she cried, as tidal waves of pleasure washed out of her. She gasped again and again. The gunhand fell, and her arm dropped down behind her head, and the arm rested on the ground. She looked up at the sky, not really seeing it, as she panted.
The sky was blood red. She had shot it, and it bled profusely. The sky was one red—an endless wound. It thundered. It was unlike the thunder of the gun. This seemed like ordinary atmospheric thunder, if there was such a thing as ordinary here. It will rain, Supergirl thought. This will be good. It will bring relief.
The sky opened up, and red rain poured down. There was no relief. The sky was bleeding. It was raining blood. Christ, she thought, it sounds like ordinary rain. But it wasn't. The red rain poured down onto the trees, onto the ground, and onto her. The red rain was warm. It felt very, very good. She lay on the ground and let the rain rain on her. She loved how it felt. She felt like she was melting. She and all of the forest were turning into a crimson soup. Everything was melting away…
"Bastards! You bastards! Let me out of this!"
She was back in the room. She was naked, except for her boots. Her cape lay in a drenched heap on the floor. She could not quite follow how this was so, but her mind told her that her cape was saturated with her cum. There had been a lake of cum, and she had removed her cape, and used it to wipe up the mess she had made. Sanity rejected this, but she knew it was so. And so, that part of her crime-fighting uniform was ruined.
On the wall before her, another prisoner was chained. He screamed and struggled in the shackles, but of course it was no use. He was older than the first prisoner, and seemed crazed. "What is that twat going to do to me? Finish me, you bastards, but stop these games!"
She held a machine gun. Supergirl approached the screaming man, who rattled his chains and watched her with wild eyes. "What is this?" he shouted. "A prison camp, or a brothel?"
The gun came to pulsating, noisy life in her hands. As the prisoner screamed, he was riddled with countless bullets. In seconds, he was covered with wounds and slumped over lifelessly in his chains. Supergirl staggered before him with the gun, insane with lust. The sensations which washed over her were beyond her capacity to withstand.
The man moved away from the wall. A strange machine lifted him, in his chains, up above her towards the ceiling, until he was suspended over her, like a macabre chandelier. She dropped to her knees, and the machine gun dropped from her hands and clattered to the floor. She looked up at the bloody corpse in its weird assembly. It was raining again. Blood dripped down onto her from his myriad wounds. She groaned and let her head fall back. She opened her mouth wide to catch the falling rain, and blood dripped into her anxious mouth. "Blood…" she groaned. "Beautiful blood…" She cupped her naked breasts. There was blood on them. She massaged the blood into her breasts. Blood dripped down her stomach towards her groin. The prisoner's blood ran down onto her pussy, and her hand dove between her legs, and she fisted her wet cunt as the blood continued to drip onto her from the corpse. She felt the drops strike her head, drenching her hair with blood. She felt the blood drip down her cheeks and onto her neck. She felt the blood strike her naked shoulders. It was a wonderful shower.
Supergirl opened her eyes and looked up at the corpse which dangled over her. He wore a shirt, so she could not see his chest, but she saw the weeping red holes in his forehead, his cheeks and his throat. It was a dead face which looked back at her. Its features were frozen in fear and outrage. His left eye was in tact. His other eye was a gory hole, having caught a bullet as if it had been a bulls-eye. She hungered for him. The dead do not bleed. Soon the rain would stop. If only she had a sword with a huge blade. She would slice him open like a bulging bag of gifts, and all his blood and guts would pour down onto her.
She was mad. She must resist this. Had there been a mirror in the room, she would have died had she seen her reflection. She surely looked like a blood-soaked anthropophagus. All that she had been was gone. Orloff had made an utter mockery of it. She was a depraved, blood-drinking whore. She could no longer answer to the name Supergirl.
Have mercy, Orloff. I'm disgusting. Please cleanse me.
He took the room away and put her near a beautiful lake. It lay at the foot of a vast mountain. At the opposite side of the lake, a waterfall cascaded down, feeding the lake from its lofty source. To Supergirl, it looked like heaven. All of the debauchery could be washed off in such a wondrous lake. He was merciful.
With a joy-filled heart, she quickly pulled off her boots and left them on the shore. She ran towards the water and dived in, and the cool, blue world engulfed her in its soothing embrace. She dove down deep, to the lake's floor, and touched it. It felt like she had laid her hand upon God's brow, so pure and true did the sensation seem. Had she her druthers, she would remain in this underwater garden for the rest of her days, and could, indeed, remain there, if she chose, for a long time, for her lungs were as supremely powerful as the rest of her.
But she ought to ascend. The lake had drunk up all of the blood and cum which had coated her body, and she was now sparklingly clean. She swam up to the surface with a dolphin's grace, and emerged in the sun, with a blue sky overhead and the beautiful mountain behind her. She brushed the water and her blond hair away from her face and squinted up at the sky.
"Supergirl!"
"There she is! Imagine such a thing! We were worried about her, and all of this time she has merely been swimming and enjoying herself."
Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl were at the lake's shore. They were only slightly miffed. Primarily they were very glad to see her. Neither young woman was the obese mockery she had been when Supergirl had arrived at the castle. The sisters never looked lovelier, or more admirable in demeanor. Supergirl had completely forgotten the fat versions of her friends. In fact, her entire time at the castle had vanished from her memory.
"How's the water?" Wonder Woman asked. "Perhaps we'll join you." The raven-haired beauty reached back to unfasten her bustier.
"No, don't," Supergirl said. "Wait. I have to talk to you."
Her friends waited for her as the superteen left the water, rising like Aphrodite from its embrace, naked, wet, and shining, made love to by lake and sun. Neither woman saw the gun in her hand. It had suddenly appeared in her grasp like a hallucinated weapon, but it was as real as Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl were.
Supergirl, upon seeing her friends, was overcome with the desire to destroy them. She wanted to see each beauty explode in gory fireworks. She wanted to see their blood. She wanted to hear them scream and see them flail before the water in pain and anguish, and then fall like murdered goddesses. With superspeed, she lifted the gun, pointed it at Wonder Woman and fired. The bullet smashed right through Wonder Woman's tiara and into her skull, and the superheroine fell to the ground. Wonder Girl screamed, ran toward her sister, and crouched at her side.
But Wonder Woman was dead. Her eyes were sightless. They still wore a calm expression. She had never seen the gun, and was dead before she had the chance to realize that she was in danger. Wonder Girl cradled her sister's head in her hands. "Diana!" she screamed. "Diana! No!" She whirled on Supergirl. "You monster! How could do do it? Are you mad?"
Supergirl stood over her, nude, wet from the lake, and holding the gun. Cum dripped from her glistening twat. She shook her head and smiled. "It isn't real, Wonder Girl. You mustn't worry. This is only my dream."
"What are you talking about? You killed my sister!" She tensed, ready to pounce on the ghastly murderess, but it was no use. Supergirl shot her, and Wonder Girl fell over onto her sister's corpse.
It was sublime. She couldn't understand it, but there was nothing like hurting her beautiful friends. She longed for their sap. She loved their pain.
The bullet had struck Wonder Girl in her side. She groaned painfully and crawled off of her sister in an attempt to escape. "Supergirl, please! What are you doing? Why are you killing us?"
Her friend didn't answer her, but she saw that Supergirl's face burned with sadistic joy. The gun went off again, and a terrible burning tore through her leg. She had been shot in the thigh. "Supergirl, no! Stop it!"
"'Stop it!'" Supergirl jeered. "That's it! Tell me to stop. I love hearing you plead."
Wonder Girl crawled away, confused and in pain. Another gunblast tore through the air, and more pain. She had been shot in her other leg. Supergirl was toying with her viciously. The young Amazon's head was spinning. She felt like she was about to pass out. She had to get away. All she could do was crawl in ineffectual retreat.
The gun went off again, and Wonder Girl screamed as another bullet tore into her shoulder. That was four bullets in her. How could she do it? What was happening? She didn't know. She was blacking out. She had to get away. She had to find out what was happening.
A swift and cruel hand grabbed her arm and twisted her around. Wonder Girl's vision was blurred, so that fortunately she could not see how evil her friend looked. Supergirl threw her down brutally, onto her back. Wonder Girl, bleeding from several wounds, writhed on the shore, barely conscious. Blurred as her vision was, she saw the gun. It was pointed at her head. She prayed that it _was_a dream.
Supergirl fisted her sopping cunt. "What?" she panted. "Not dead yet?" She blew Wonder Girl's brains out. Wonder Girl lay still.
The room returned. Supergirl was clean. She was naked and stood in the center of the room. The prisoner still dangled in chains above her.
The door opened, and Orloff entered. He walked right up to her and removed the discs from her forehead. She remained standing there, her face expressionless.
"Kneel."
She instantly fell down on her knees. Orloff drew his pistol from the holster at his belt. "Open your mouth." She did so.
He stabbed the nose of the gun barrel between her lips. It made her wet. She closed her lips around the metal tube and looked up at him longingly.
Orloff smirked nastily and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew into her and immediately began to ricochet. Supergirl fell onto her back and writhed on the floor as the bullet bounced around inside her.
Orloff watched her convulse and groan wantonly. He laughed, and clutched at his bulging groin. "My darling Supertwat. What a kinky little slut you are."
The End