Jones eyes went wide, for a moment unable to believe what Mike had said. “A superheroine?” He asked, incredulously. “We’re going to bag a superheroine? Which one?”

“Not one…” Mike replied, teasingly. He grinned slyly, raising one hand with three fingers extended and the other open palmed.

“Eight!” Jones shook his head in disbelief. “You must be crazy! How are we going to do something like that.” Instead of answering, Mike pointed to the blindfold in Jones’ hand. With a sigh, Jones raised it up to his eyes. “Fine. Sooner we get there, sooner I can find out this crazy plan of yours.” He buckled the blindfold on. A moment later, Mike took him by the arm and led him out of the plane and down the stepladder.

From the sound of things, they were in a small, private hanger. The flight crew were still nearby. Jones could hear the quiet murmurings of gagged women close by. From the sound of clanging metal, the slaves were being locked into cages for transport to the nearest dungeon, to wait until they were needed for duty by their master again. Meanwhile, Jones was led past them, to where a car was waiting, its engine on and idling. Mike guided Jones into the backseat of the limo, getting in on one side of him, one of the implacable men on the other. After all were buckled in, Jones requiring some assistance from Mike, the car pulled out of the hanger, down a small, winding road and then onto the busier one. From the sound of traffic, Jones guessed they were in a major city, or near one anyway.

This ride was a repeat of the one before. The implacable men remained the same, brilliant conversationalists as before and even Mike had clammed up, apparently enjoying the look of confusion and curiosity on Jones’ face. Sure enough, inside his head, Jones’ was boggling at what Mike had said, capturing not just one superheroine, but eight, all at the same time.

Superheroes were just a fact of life, for Jones and everyone else who made a career on the wrong side of the law. For Jones’ at least, he’d never had much trouble. One benefit of sticking to the suburbs, away from major cities like New York, Gotham or Metropolis, you rarely saw capes out in the burbs. As long as he kept a low profile, nabbing the occasional housewife or her daughters, and didn’t put on a costume himself, running around as “The Masked Slaver!” or some nonsense like that, Jones didn’t have to worry as much.

The Slavers Guild, on the other hand, was always annoyed at the activities of the supers, breaking up their auctions, putting agents in jail and freeing valuable merchandise, plus how their presence kept the Guild out of some of the best slaving territory in the country. There was also the ever-present temptation of bagging a superheroine.

Every slaver, Jones included, couldn’t watch news footage of Wonder Woman or Supergirl or any other heroine, their fit toned bodies excellently shown off by skimpy, skin tight costumes, in action and not dream of getting even one of them naked and chained in their dungeon and getting a taste of some super puss. The ones who’d tried, though, had mostly ended up beaten up and tossed in Blackgate…or Arkham given a slaver’d have to be criminally insane to try and nab Wonder Woman or Super Girl.    

Either Mike had taken a sudden bout of insanity, or else he’d figured out some way of grabbing the slaver’s holy grail. And depending on which it was, Jones was either about to end up in prison himself, or become a slaver legend…

Again, the car ride seemed to stretch on far longer than it should have. Either it was due to the disorienting effect of the blindfold, or the car was taking an intentionally circuitous route, to help hide their destination from him. Or foil anyone observing them, Jones added mentally. At the end, he felt the car pull off the street, over a couple of bumps and onto a downward incline. They wound down a spiral ramp for what Jones assumed to be several stories before finally coming to a halt.

“Ok, guess you can take the blindfold off now.” Mike conceded, with exaggerated reluctance. Jones immediately reached up to pull the damn thing off, so he could get a look at his mysterious location. His initial look was…not much. They were in a parking garage, underground he assumed. Besides Mike’s limo, there were several other vehicles, plain, unmarked cars and vans that were ideal for avoiding suspicion. Mike assumed at least some of them were modified to serve as transport for the slavers and their future captives.

“Ok. Now will you finally tell me what the plan is?” Jones asked, grunting in annoyance as Mike waved a hand at him.

“In good time…” Mike said, opening the door. “First, I’ll introduce you to your partners for this mission.”

Jones frowned but followed. The other men remained with the car as the two walked across the garage to a door. Mike pressed his hand against a reader, which beeped, and the door slid open.

“This will be your home for the next few days.” Mike said. “You will only leave on official business. Don’t want you trying to cross the street when a bus comes around the corner like Kevin. Fortunately, the accommodations are first rate.” The door slid open, with a pneumatic hiss. No sooner had the two men stepped through than it hissed closed again.

The room they’d entered could best be described as a ‘lounge’. In contrast to the bare concrete of the garage, the walls and ceiling were paneled in finely carved wood and the floor covered in plush carpet. Scattered around were a number of comfortable armchairs and small tables covered in magazines and other bits of light reading. There were a couple of flat screen televisions hanging on the walls, one off, the other playing the news, muted. In one corner, Jones smiled, was a liquor cabinet that appeared to be as well stocked as the one on Mike’s plane. Too bad it didn’t have Slave Ginger standing by in her cap and heels and not much else, ready to serve him a drink.

“This is the common room, for general relaxing between training exercises.” Mike explained. He pointed to several hallways branching off. “Down that hallway are the bedrooms. You have one to yourself. In that direction is the kitchen and dining area. Down that area is our armory and the mockup of the target location. Get used to spending most of your time down there, as we’ll be running drills nonstop to get you up to speed and used to working with the two other members of the team.”  

As they stepped into the lounge proper, Jones noticed a small plume of smoke rising from behind one of the armchairs. “And here’s one now.” Mike said, leading Jones around the side. “Peter, this is the new man, Jones. Jones, Peter.”

Jones stepped around to see a short, hunched man seated in one of the chairs, holding a newspaper in one hand and a cigar in the other. A glass of scotch was balanced on the arm of the chair beside him. The man’s hair was grey, receding slightly, and his face was lined. Nonetheless, Jones recognized the man immediately.

“Peter Knotts!” Jones exclaimed. Peter Knotts was one of the top ‘recruiters’ in the Slavers Guild. While Jones himself had carried out or assisted in the abductions and enslavements of more than a hundred young women and girls, no one knew how many young ladies found themselves on the auction block courtesy of “Master Knotts.” He’d been bagging girls back when Jones was tying up his babysitters to take pictures of them naked. “It’s an honor.” He said, extending a hand.

“Well, I certainly hope you’re up to the task, young man.” Knotts replied, taking a hand and shaking it. “I’m afraid you’ve got your work cut out for you, to get up to snuff before zero hour.”

“I’m sure Jones is more than capable.” Mike replied, patting Jones on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have picked him as our backup otherwise.”

“Speaking of work cut out, I still don’t know what, precisely I’m supposed to be doing.” Jones told Mike. “Frankly, I don’t see how three slavers…good as they are…” He added quickly, nodding to Knotts, “are expected to take down more than half a dozen superheroines?”

“That, I can explain to you when we get to the armory.” Mike replied. He turned to Knotts. “Where’s John?” he asked.

Knotts jerked his head in the direction of the armory. “Playing with his toys, what else.” He snorted. “I see why they’re necessary, but I don’t like these newfangled gadgets. In the old days, all I’d need was a whiff of chloroform and some stout hemp rope…” He muttered, returning to his paper.

Mike took Jones over in the direction of the armory. In contrast to the comfortable, hominess of the lounge, this place was all business, and high-tech business at that. The walls were steel, with metal mesh underfoot. Along two walls were banks of computers, while the third held a long workbench spread with tools and a variety of parts.

The most prominent feature, however, were four glass cases. Inside each was a suit, hung on a frame. The suits were black, of some material Jones couldn’t identify, and though not skintight, looked to fit snug. When worn, they would cover the wearer from the group up, with a face concealing hood. Attached at various points were a number of gadgets Jones couldn’t identity, most of them around the wrists and hands, while around the waist was a utility belt of sorts.

“These are the suits you four will be wearing for the job.” Mike said. “Made of some super-carbon nanofiber whatever-weave…”

“Hyper Carbon Nanotube Dispersion Weave.” A man said, coming through a door at the far end of the room. He was a short, slender man, with dark hair, going grey and a short goatee. In his hands were several parts he’d brought from the supply room.

“Yeah, that.” Mike said. “Anyway, stuff’s bullet proof, shock proof, acid proof, you name it. The material absorbs the force of blows and disperses them. You could get punched by Superman in this thing and not feel it.”

“Well, not Superman…” The other man said, “Not at full strength, but they will protect against most other superhumans.” Setting his tools down, he walked over to join Mike and Jones. “I’m John.” He said, extending a hand to Jones. “John Redfield.” Jones nodded, taking the hand. Another legendary slaver Jones would be working with.

“You want to help Jones get a taste for the suits?” Mike asked.

John shrugged. “Why not. We’re going to have to calibrate it to him before we can do anything else.” He went to a case. Jones noticed his name had been added to the front, covering up the name of the man he was replacing. John took the suit out and handed it to Jones. “You’ll need to take off all your clothes to get a proper fit.”

“Is there a changing room?” Jones started to ask, but Mike interrupted him.

“For god's sake Jones, I’ve watched you rape slaves before. I know what your junk looks like.” He teased. “And believe you and me, between you and the slaves, I know who I was ogling…”

“Fine.” Jones started unbuttoning his shirt. Reluctantly, he stripped down. John then helped him step into the suit. The material was slick and a little chilly at first. As John zipped it up, Jones noted the fit was a little loose, the suit was somewhat too large for him.

“Alright,” John said, walking over to one of the computers. “I’m going to turn the suit on and calibrate it to you.” He tapped the keys for a moment. Jones wasn’t sure how, but the whole suit suddenly felt different, almost animated. A moment later, the suit began to move for real, adjusting itself to fit Jones contours. In seconds, it had gone from a baggy fit to one that hugged him like a second skin.

“Take a look at the monitor.” John pointed to the screen. On it, a window had popped up, showing an outline of the suit. On one side, Jones’ vitals, heartbeat, pulse, temperature, were recorded, while below were several lists of “suit assets”: gas dispenser doses, ‘shocker’ charges, flashbangs, smoke pops…

“Put the hood on.” Mike told him. Jones reached behind his head and grabbed the hood. As he pulled it over, he noted the hood didn’t have eye or mouth holes and wondered how he was supposed to see out of it. To his surprise, when he pulled the hood over his face, he was able to see through the material perfectly. The hood also seemed to project a similar display to the screen into the corners of his vision.

“Now, to demonstrate some of the nifty features of the suits, we’ll need a test subject to demonstrate.” John said, looking over at Mike, who nodded. John pulled a small remote out his pocket, covered in buttons and pressed one of them. The three men waited. After a minute, Jones heard the light rattling of shackles approaching. A moment later, the door to the armory opened and a slave girl shuffled into the room.

The girl was a cute blonde, with shoulder length hair tied back in a high ponytail, about 22 or 23 Jones guessed. She was wearing the usual slave uniform: a steel collar and nothing else. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and she had on a pair of ankle fetters, which jangled as she crossed the room. Reaching the three men, the girl sank to her knees, moving smoothly despite the chains she wore, and bowed her head.

“How may I assist you, sirs.” She said in a quiet, submissive voice.

“Jones, this is slave Carey. Slave, this is Master Jones. He’ll be staying here for the next few days. Obey him like you would any other master.” Mike told the girl. He turned to Jones. “We have a trio of girls here, to do the cooking, cleaning…and other services.” He added with a grin. “The other two are most likely in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.”

Turning back to the girl, he ordered. “Slave, help demonstrate the suit’s features to Master Jones.”

“Yes sir.” Slave Carey replied, somewhat hesitantly, apparently having served this purpose before. She rose to her feet and shuffled forward, feet and chain rattling on the metal grate, until she stood in front of Jones, about three yards away. With a resigned sigh, she turned, so her back was to the slaver.

“Jones, walk up behind Slave Carey.” Mike instructed. “When you get behind her, touch your left pointer finger to your left thumb, then press your hand over her mouth.”

Somewhat confused by this, Jones crept up behind the slave, who remained standing still, although tense, nervous about what was coming. As he moved, Jones was amazed how quieter his footsteps were compared to hers. The padded feet of the suit absorbed the noise of his footsteps, all but silencing them.

As he got up behind the girl, Jones did as Mike instructed, touching his left pointer and thumb together. There was a flash on the suit’s HUD and the words “chloroform deployed.” Bringing his left hand up, he noted the palm was now wet, a small nozzle having dispersed a small amount of liquid. Through the weave of the hood, Jones could smell the unmistakable odor of chloroform.

“Grab her quick, the chloroform evaporates quickly.” Mike told Jones. Spurred into action, Jones stepped forward, experience of countless kidnappings guiding his actions as he smoothly stepped directly behind the girl, one arm going around her waist to grab her torso and arms, pulling her back against him, even as his other arm came around, his hand clamping tight over her mouth and nose. It felt odd to be doing this without a pad of cloth, but Jones adjusted.

Slave Carey put up slight resistance. Even knowing what was coming, knowing she couldn’t do anything about it, the girl was still reluctant to be drugged into unconsciousness. Eventually, though, she had to breath in, taking in the drugged fumes. Moments after, she slumped in Jones’ arms. When he was satisfied she’d gotten a full dose, he lowered her to the ground, limply.

“Very good.” Mike said, walking over. “Of course, we can’t have slaves lying around like that. Do the same thing, but with your right hand.” Jones obeyed. This time, the word “Shocker Activated” appeared. “Don’t touch anything else.” Mike told him. Press your palm against Slave Carey.”

Jones did as instructed. As he did, he felt a minor tingle, as electricity shot from the suit through his palm. Slave Carey felt even more. In an instant, the slave jerked up, giving a brief cry. “On your feet, slave.” Mike ordered. “We’ve got a few more fun toys to demonstrate.” With a weary sigh, the girl rose to her feet and prepared for the next fun toy…

After running through all the suits features, a much-relieved slave Carey was released back to her duties. John returned to his work, tinkering with an impressive mix of gags, hoods, restraints and a wide range of dildos, plugs and other sex toys. Still in the suit, Jones was led out of the armory and down another hallway. “And here’s what you’ve been waiting for.” Mike said, pausing in front of a door labeled “Training Room.”

“We’ve built a full-scale replica of the target area to run drills in. In a bit, we’ll run you through some, but for now, I’ll show you and go through the details…” Mike opened the door and ushered Jones through. Jones entered a large, open area, two stories tall and at least the length of a football field, maybe more. He could see little more of the room than the spacious, dimly lit rafters above, though, because the floor of the space had been filled with a hastily constructed frame of bare boards and plywood walls, laying out the rough floor plan of a building. The room they entered seemed to be a small storeroom, of some kind.

Mike led Jones through the cut in the wall for a door. Beyond were more rooms of bare plywood with cutouts for doors and windows. Here and there, on the walls or on the concrete floor, the team had spray-painted notes, pointing where objects would go; bench, fountain, glass case, or instructions for the operation they would carry out: “Clear Left first”, “Move 1st set of captives here”, or “Watch upper gallery.”

“Looks like a museum.” Jones said, trying to convert the crude reproduction into what the actual location would be like.

Mike nodded. “I wouldn’t have picked you if you weren’t clever.” He gestured around to encompass the whole training area. “This is the floor plan for the Metropolis Museum of Superheroines.” Mike explained. “For the last eight years, a number of philanthropic and charitable organizations have been lobbying for a museum celebrating the female heroes who protect the world. About a year ago, they broke ground, now the building is just about completed.”

Jones nodded. He vaguely remembered hearing a bit about the museum on TV, something about it being close to opening but at the time he hadn’t much cared or given it any thought, really.

Mike grinned. “What you probably didn’t know is that some of those groups were secretly funded by the Slaver’s Guild…along with some wealthy backers with an interest in this project. Through them, we’ve been able to…’influence’ the final design and construction of the building.” As he said this, he paused a moment, pointing to an opening leading to a small space tucked between two other, irregularly shaped rooms. Spray painted on the wood nearby were the words “Hidden Entrance”, “Starting Space.”

“Three days from now, the museum will have its grand opening.” Mike explained. “In attendance will be a number of heroines: Wonder Woman, Hippolyta, Supergirl, Power Girl, Wonder Girl, Mary Marvel and Zatanna.” He rattled the names off on his fingers. “They’ll be expecting a tour of the museum, followed by a little award ceremony, speeches and a nice luncheon. Instead, your team will subdue and secure all eight.

Jones was amazed. He’d figured when Mike said “Super Heroines” it meant they’d be knocking off some D-List, JLA reservist super gals, ones no one would really miss but some masters would still get to enjoy the prestige of owning a super slave. But these were the big names, the cream of super heroines.

He said as much to Mike. “I know those suits will help…” He nodded back in the direction of the lab. “But I don’t see how a couple suits will help the three of us take down a bunch of amazons and kryptonians, to say nothing of a magician or two.”

“The suits will help.” Mike reassured him. “But they’re not our only trick here.” He led Jones through several of the false rooms to a corner of the training area. Among a collection of power tools, spray cans, sheets of plywood and boards, were a couple cans of paint. Mike hefted one up and turned it so Jones could look at the label. Jones shrugged, the label was just so much meaningless, scientific sounding gibberish to him.

“Triple X-13 Gas.” Mike told him. “This stuff is the best. Ten times the strength of chloroform, it’ll drop an elephant, but the best part is, it’s impossible to OD, so there’s no risk of overexposure. The more a girl’s exposed to, the longer she stays asleep is all. Through one of our front operations, we slipped it into the supply of paint used for the actual museum. By now, the walls are saturated with the stuff. It’ll be strong enough to significantly weaken, if not take out, the heroines directly. Once it does its work, the suits will only be needed to clean up things and secure the super bitches.”

“If the place is soaking in super-chloroform,” Jones asked, “why haven’t the builders started dropping like flies? Wouldn’t some have noticed before now?”

Mike shrugged, sheepishly. “There’s a reason the suits’ gas emitters aren’t using this stuff. It has one significant drawback. In its normal form, the gas is completely inert. It requires an ambient temperature of around 90* in order to activate. The plan is to slowly raise the temperature once the heroines arrive, slowly enough they don’t notice. Once the gas starts having its effect, you and the others will pop out of your hidey hole and bag them.”

Jones nodded. “Ok, so we’ve got super gas to make the gals all sleepy. But what happens if we’re tying them up and Superman bursts in the door? I don’t think the gas will stop him fast enough to keep him from kicking all of us into orbit. Or what about any of the other heroes?”

“They’ll all be on active duty at the JLA watchtower.” Mike explained. “Since eight of the heavy hitters will be occupied at this event, the rest will have to stand guard in case a major event should occur. Not to mention…” he winked conspiratorially. “I have it on good authority that the Legion of Doom will be trying something…on the other side of the planet, while the ceremony is going down. Should keep them distracted long enough for us to make off with eight little super cunts. Still, you’ll need to move fast, to prevent any of them from getting a distress call off. It doesn’t take that long for Superman to circle the globe.”

Jones whistled. “How’d the Guild pull that off? Getting the Legion to help out.” He thought a moment… “Unless…”

Mike nodded. “One of our ‘interested backers.’”

“I guess he’s also providing the nice suits and the gas.” Jones added.

“Yep, they’re LexCorp Specials. Top of the line from his RD staff.” Mike replied. “Let’s just say there are a couple of Kryptonian bitches who’ve already got an owner lined up…”

“Damn…” Jones joked with a laugh. “And here I was hoping to take one of them home to cook my dinner and suck my cock…”

Mike led Jones around the rest of the layout, running him through the plan. Jones paid close attention, knowing he had less than four days to memorize the layout and plan. After the opening ceremony and speeches, the eight heroines would be given a private tour of the museum, with the curator, a woman named Helen Knowles, and some of her docents. The rest of the crowd would be moved to a ballroom for refreshments in the far wing. It was also treated with Triple X-13 Gas, but a less potent mix, to ensure they didn’t start collapsing before the heroines had gotten a good, strong dose.

“We’ve arranged for most of the guests here to be young women.” Mike explained with a grin. “A separate team will see to them. It won’t be as good as bagging a bunch of super heroines, but the Guild will never say no to a couple dozen choice pieces of merchandise.” Meanwhile, Jones and his team would emerge from their hiding place and secure the heroines. They would try and split up the heroines, to avoid having to deal with all of them at once.

“After that, bring the unconscious heroines to this storage room…” Mike pointed. “Strip and secure, load them for transportation through the sewers. We’ve set up a secret entrance from the sewers to this facility where we’ll hold the heroines while dealing with their powers, arranging transportation for the Kryptonians and auctions for the rest of the super slaves. Any questions?”

“No, think I got it.” Jones replied, confidently. After listening to Mike’s explanation, he was ready to get started, already looking forward to getting his hands on the eight heroines.

“Good!” Mike grinned. “In that case, we’ve got no time to lose.” He raised a remote to his mouth. “John, Peter. Get suited up. We’ll run the Op a couple times before breakfast…”

Run it, they did, pausing briefly for a quick breakfast before returning to the drills straight away. Jones grouped up with the other two slavers in the “start room”, Mike relaying instructions through the suit’s headsets.

Slave Carey and the other two girls, Slaves Joan and Rebecca, served as stand ins for the actual heroines. The long-suffering girls were repeated grabbed and restrained, knocked unconscious with the chloroform only to be zapped back awake. They were encouraged to resist capture as long as possible with the promise of an hour of free time each time they were able to avoid capture for six seconds, roughly the time Mike estimated the heroines would need to get off a call for help. With three experienced slavers, though, there was little chance of them actually claiming that prize.

Still, Jones found himself lagging behind the other two slavers. They went through the motions of the plan with mechanical efficiency, having drilled through this countless times before Jones had arrived. They knew every corner of the building, every nook or cranny they could duck to hide, letting the slaves, posing as museum visitors gawking at pretend displays, pass by and grab them.

Many times, Jones was caught out of place when the girls came around the corner, or went the wrong way, letting the girls caught a glimpse of him before the slavers were ready to pounce. The slavers’ skills, and the power of the suits they wore, made up for these minor lapses, letting them take the slaves down time and again, but Mike was far from happy.

“Still too sloppy.” Mike said, shaking his head and the three slavers trudged back to the starting zone while the three groggy slaves picked themselves up and steadied themselves for another rough capture. “You take that long grabbing Wonder Woman next time; the entire justice league will be coming down on your heads.” Jones two partners, as well, grew more and more irritated at being required to run the drills they’d already mastered with a new guy who kept messing up, forcing them to start over again.

Slowly, though, Jones improved. His shaky understanding of the floor plan solidified into a perfect mental map. He got the steps down rote, following the other slavers through each as smoothly as if he’d been training with them all along. His take downs, already skillful, became more confident as he got used to moving with the enhancements of the suit.

“Good job, everyone!” Mike said, late that evening, after the team had run through the drill flawlessly for the third time in a row. “Let’s call it a day.” With relief, the three slavers made their way from the training area back to the rest of the base. The slaves followed them, dispersing to return to their endless duties as the slavers went to the lab to get out of the suits. Jones found his clothes had been taken away, but there was a cotton robe with his name stenciled on the breasts. He put that on.

“You did good, Jones.” Mike said, patting him on the back. “I’ve got to be the hardass in training, lord knows you’ve got your work cut out for you, getting up to snuff in time for the Opening, but I just wanted to let you know you’re making good progress. I’m glad I brought you into this operation.”

“Thanks.” Jones replied. “I think we keep training like this, we’ll be more than ready, only…” he shrugged.

“What? You think there’s a problem, speak up.” Mike asked, serious.

“Well…” Jones waved a hand, looking for words. “Running through the motions of this is all fine and good, but it’s a little too rote, don’t you think? What if something goes wrong and we need to change things on the fly? Besides, using the slave girls for target practice is fine enough, but they’re too predictable. They know it’s coming and react the same way. You’ve grabbed your share of girls, you know how the bitches can act when they’re grabbed for the first time. You never know what will happen. Besides…” he grinned. “I’d love to be able to give the suit a proper testing before the real thing, really get to know all of its abilities.”

“Hmmm…” Mike thought a moment. “You bring up some good points. Let me look into some things. I may have a way we can take care of that. In the meantime, rest up. We’ll be training just as hard tomorrow.” He smiled. “Since you did so well today, there’ll be a little surprise in your room.” With that, he turned and walked away.

With that news, Jones eagerly left the lab and hurried across the base, through the common room, to the dormitory marked as his. He was not disappointed. Slave Carey lay spread out across the bed in the center of the room. Her limbs were stretched wide, courtesy of a quartet of steel shackles at the corners, locked around her slender wrists and ankles. The small tuft of gold hair just above her spread sex danced teasingly to Jones as the girl squirmed in her restraints, mumbling a greeting around the rubber ball strapped between her teeth. Her large, soft eyes and delicate lashes looked up, invitingly as the slaver stepped into the room.

Grinning, Jones untied his robe, letting it fall to the floor as he climbed on top of the slave…