Jones spent a pleasant night, the naked, chained figure of Slave Carey pressed against him. All too soon, he was woken the next morning by a chime. The room included a small clock on the nightstand. It said it was 6:30 in the morning.

Jones rose from the bed, disturbing the girl sharing it with him. She squirmed, rattling the chains securing her hands and feet, but Jones ignored her, heading to the small bathroom attached to the bedroom. He showered and shaved, then donned his robe. As he was heading to the door, he noticed someone, Mike he assumed, had stuck a small note to it. “Head to the lab to get suited up, then head to the training area.” It read.

“No rest for the wicked…” Jones thought. Below an additional note had been added “Be sure to unchain the slave when you’re done with her.”

Jones turned back to the bed, where Slave Carey was now squirming quite a bit, grunting into her gag to get his attention. Grinning, he returned to her. Looking around, he found a set of keys on the nightstand, alongside the handcuffs and leg irons the slave normally wore.

“Nnnttt oooh sssstttrr…” She slurred around the ballgag in her mouth as Jones unchained her from the bed, resecuring her wrists and ankles with the shackles. As Jones turned back to the door, he heard Slave Carey shuffled towards the restroom as fast as the chains allowed.

Jones, meanwhile, left the bedroom and went to the lab. By the time he got there, John and Peter were already there, in the process of zipping their suits up. Jones hurried to grab his, dropping the robe to the ground where one of the slaves would pick it up later, and put his suit on. He then followed the other two back into the makeshift training area.

The slavers ran through the plan ‘dry’ as it was, without targets, simply going over each step, pantomiming the grabs, ties and such. Jones had gotten a familiarity with the layout last time, but this helped refresh his memory, so he would have it memorized by the time they did this for real. Mike and the others also pointed out several spots where he had had trouble the previous day and gave some pointers that would help out.

By the time they’d gone through this a few times, the three slave girls had finished preparing breakfast. They brought it into the training area in several containers, so the slavers could eat there. As there was no furniture in the mock-up museum, the girls served as tables, getting down on hands and knees so the trays of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs and toast could be placed on their backs for the slavers to munch, occasionally passing a morsel or two to their obedient tables.

Fast broken, the training resumed, now with the three girls to serve as living targets for the slavers to practice on. They’d gotten a bit better at predicting the slaver’s pounces and at ducking away, to try and delay their inevitable drugging and binding as long as possible, but the slavers had gotten even better at stalking and grabbing the girls. As before, the times the girls managed to avoid being grabbed for more than a second or two were few and far between.

Around eleven, Mike called a break and dismissed them, the slavers to relax in the common room, the slaves to the kitchen to prepare their lunch. After they ate, Jones expected they would train the rest of the day. To his surprise, though, after another hour or two running drills, Mike called them back into the common room.

“Last night, Jones suggested to me that the training we’ve been doing, as vital as it is, isn’t sufficient.” Mike told the three slavers. “He thought it would be a good idea to give these suits a proper field test, under real world conditions, to identify any potential problems and get some experience using their full range of abilities. I got in touch with our local outfit here, and they’ve suggested a place where we can get it.”

Mike went to one of the screens in the room. Pulling out a remote, he held it up and pressed a button. The screen flashed, bringing up a photograph of a large, suburban house. The angle of the photograph suggested to Jones it had been taken covertly, from a Slaver’s Guild surveillance team as they drove by. Visible on the door were several Greek letters painted in white.

“329 Themyscira Lane.” Mike said, gesturing with the remote. “Home of the local chapter of the Beta Lambda Sorority from Metropolis University. It’s been on the guild’s radar for some time, but we’ve avoided it due to the large number of Supers in the nearby city, and recently a desire to avoid drawing attention in anticipation for this job. However, it should serve our purposes nicely for a training exercise. The house is isolated from the rest of the neighborhood,” Mike pushed a button and the screen changed to an overhead map of the neighborhood, “and the large number of targets should give the suits’ capabilities a good workout. There’s a long weekend coming up, so hopefully no one will notice their sudden disappearance for a couple days, until after the Museum job. As for the targets…”

Mike pressed the button again and the screen changed once more. More than a dozen faces, likely taken from school ID photos, appeared on screen, all of them female, young, and very pretty. “They’re definitely quality material. As far as we know, all of them should be present at the house right now, so with luck we’ll make a clean sweep. We’ll be going late at night, to minimize the chances of visitors, but odds are, there will be at least a few additional girls staying over. If that’s the case, well they’ll just have to join their friends in the dungeon, just their bad luck and our good.” Along with the other slavers, Jones grinned, already looking forward to getting the dozen pretty girls on screen, plus a couple of their friends, stripped and bound in front of him.

He raised a hand. “What are the chances some of those friends will be guys? Boyfriends paying their girl a visit?”

Mike shook his head. “Possible, but unlikely.” He pointed the remote to one of the pictures, which enlarged. The woman in the photograph, a pretty brunette, was a few years older than the other girls. “Miss York is the sorority mother and from the reports of the surveillance team, she’s pretty strict about that. All the girls in and all the boys out before curfew. One of the girls might have snuck her lover in, but there’s not a huge risk. Now…” He hit the remote a couple more times, the rest of the girls flashing across the screen, providing names and what information the guild’s spies had been able to gather about the sorority girls. “You’ll want to be careful with these girls, they’ve had some self defense training, nothing you guys can’t handle, just don’t get sloppy.”

“Any chance one of these girls is a Super?” John asked. “We’re close to Metropolis. There’s plenty of capes flying around. We’ll be really sorry if we run into Supergirl or Wonder Girl before their big day.” Jones nodded. It was always unlikely, but there were plenty of ‘whatever-girls’ and ‘what’s-it-women’ flying around, all with secret identities. You never knew if the mild-mannered woman you were planning on grabbing might turn out of spend her nights in tights and a cape. It never happened to anyone Jones knew, but you always heard stories, a colleague of a colleague roping of a nice-looking piece of merchandise, only to have her snap the cords like twine, grab him and fly him off to jail.

Mike shrugged. “If that happens, we’ll all be very sorry, but I think it’s a small risk and one worth taking. Now, here’s the layout of the house.” He brought that up on screen. “I’ll give you three a couple hours to work out your plan of attack. Remember, this has to be a clean sweep. Anyone gets away, raises a fuss about slavers with high tech suits pulling off kidnappings close to Metropolis, it puts this whole operation into jeopardy. When you’re happy with your plan, then we’ll get going…”   

Late that evening, the three slavers rolled up the street towards the Beta Lambda sorority house. They were in one of the Slavers Guilds’ standard “recruitment vans”. Dull grey and a boring logo for a fictitious repair company on the outside, inside loaded with rope and straps and gags, for securing and transporting unfortunate female ‘recruits’ to begin their new lives as the Guild’s merchandise. Jones and Peter were in the back, going over the layout of the building one last time, while John was driving.

“Looks simple enough. All the bedrooms are upstairs, so we’ll sweep the ground floor for any girls still up, take them out quietly. You’ll go in the back door; John and I will come in the front. After securing anyone we nab, one of us will guard the stairway while the other two head up and go through the bedrooms, securing each in turn. Got it?”

Jones nodded. Standard guild procedure for dealing with a large group of captives. Secure entrances and choke points, doors and stairways, with part of the team, while the other half moved in to subdue and capture. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d run this sort of plan at different places; an office full of hot secretaries, a women’s gym or locker room, not to mention several sororities like this one. The key was to stay stealthy as long as you could, then go in hard and fast once the shouting started. The women wouldn’t have a chance to consider using their numbers to overpower the intruders. Their only thought would be a panicked attempt at escape. Running blindly for the exits, they would be easily taken down by the second group guarding those points.

“We’re here.” John called back. He parked the car and climbed into the back. He was wearing his suit underneath a jacket. Jones and Peter had theirs on already as well. All three put on their masks. “Testing…” Jones said, keeping his words at a level below audible vocalization, but loud enough for the sensors in the neck of the suit to pick up and transmit to the other two slavers. Quickly, they ran through the rest of the system checks, while loading their belts with zip-ties, coils of rope, tape and gags to bind the coeds with.

Prepared for the night’s work, Jones got out of the car. Since he was coming in the back door, he didn’t dawdle but set off, creeping around the side of the tall, dark house. As they’d driven up, Jones had been relieved to see the coeds weren’t having a party tonight. If that had been the case, about all the slavers could do was keep driving and head back to base. Scrubbing a mission due to such bad luck wasn’t uncommon, but they still would have lost half a day’s practice for nothing and, given Jones had come up with the idea, he would have felt bad for it.

The Sorority house backed up against a wooded area, which helped screened Jones’ approach from the distant neighbors. There was a small patio area, with deck chairs, a table and a grill for outdoor events, and past that a pair of sliding glass doors. Jones slipped up beside them and peered in. The doors led in to the kitchen, dark and empty at the moment.

“We’re in position. Disabling the alarms now.” John said over the suit’s comms. “They’re down. Working on the locks here.” Jones went to work as well, testing the back doors. They were locked too.

“Lockpicking.” Jones subvocalized, activating one of the suit’s systems. From two tiny compartments in the wrists, the suit deployed a set of lockpicks into Jones’ hands. At the same time, the suit began to scan the door lock. In the hood’s display, the lock went transparent, allowing Jones to see the movement of the parts and tumblers as he inserted the picks. “I love this thing.” Jones said, making a note to get the suit included as part of his share of the proceeds from this job.

The door lock was a standard, civilian key-lock, nothing complex. Even without the fancy sensors, picking it would have taken Jones only a few minutes. As it was, in mere seconds, the lock turned and Jones slid the door open, returning his tools to their compartments. “Moving in.” Jones said, stepping silently into the kitchen. The others called back, saying they were moving into the hallway, ready to begin their sweep of ground floor.

The suit popped up a warning, a second before Jones’ mundane ears picked up the sounds of approaching footsteps. Acting on honed instinct, Jones found the darkest patch of shadows in the room and crouched down into it. A few seconds later, the door to the kitchen opened and a young woman padded inside. To Jones’ relief, she didn’t bother turning on the kitchen lights as she headed to the fridge. With the suit’s lowlight vision enhancements, Jones was able to get a good look at this midnight snacker, while she remained oblivious to his presence.

The coed was dressed in pajama pants, snug against her curvy hips and a pink t-shirt with “Princess” written on the front, stretched across an ample chest. Her light blonde hair was tied up for the night, leaving her pretty, round face, dimpled cheeks and button nose clear. Jones recognized her from the briefing earlier that day, and if he hadn’t, the suit’s systems helpfully brought the file up. “Kelly Mitchell, age 22, Chemistry major.” She bent into the fridge, rummaging around looking for something to eat.

Meanwhile, Jones debated whether to grab her now, or let her finish her snack and go back to bed before he moved on. After a second’s thought, he settled on the first and rose from his hiding place. By the time Kelly realized someone was behind her, Jones was already moving. His right hand went to her shoulder and pulled the coed back. At the same time, he touched his left thumb and index finger together, triggering the suit to deploy chloroform to the palm of his hand. Kelly had time to get a look at her attacker, a black outline against the dark room, before Jones’ hand clamped tight over her mouth, cutting off her abortive cry for help. Jones held her for a second, as she bucked and struggled, letting the knock out drugs take hold. Pretty soon, her squirming ceased, her eyes slid shut and she went limp in Jones’ grasp.

The slaver slid his latest victim to the ground, checking to make sure she was out cold and not faking it before he removed his hand from her mouth. “One target down in the kitchen.” Jones alerted the other slavers. “Securing her now.” From his belt, Jones grabbed several plastic zip-ties. One went around Kelly’s wrists, and other around her ankles. A third joined them together, hogtying the coed. A ballgag in her mouth completed her bondage, for now. Jones slid her across the floor, to what he assumed was a pantry. She’d be less likely to attract attention in there, while the slavers were busy capturing the rest of her sorority sisters.

“Got it.” John radioed back. “We found a pair of little bookworms ourselves, up late studying in the common room.” As he said this, Jones could almost imagine he heard a muffled whimper of fright coming from somewhere on the other end.

After closing the pantry door, locking the still sleeping Kelly inside, Jones worked his way through the house, following the sweeping pattern they’d worked out. He ran into no one else downstairs until he reached the stairs heading to the second floor.

John and Peter were waiting for him. Lying on the floor, at their feet was another coed, a hot, athletic redhead in basketball shorts and a tank top. John was finishing binding her wrists and ankles. A ballgag was already strapped tight in her mouth. “Rebecca Brooks, 22, Health Major.” The two slavers told Jones they’d surprised her as she was coming down the stairs, probably in search of a late-night snack, like the girl Jones had grabbed.

“I’ll stay here and keep watch.” John told the other two, straightening up from their third captive. He had the most experience with the suits, having helped the LexCorp technicians design many of the features that would most help a technologically minded slaver and had even done a few real-life field tests of the suit before, snatching a couple other women here and there, while the Superheroine job was still in its planning stages. Peter and Jones would get plenty of experience tonight, though, working through the remaining coeds and the sorority mom.

The two went upstairs. From the upper floor landing, there were two hallways heading in either direction. Down each of them, were four bedrooms, two on each side. According to the intel, the coeds shared rooms, while Miss York had a room to herself. The two decided to go left first, each of them taking one side of the hallway.

Jones went to the first bedroom. It was locked, but again, the suit’s sophisticated sensors made picking it child’s play. He tested the knob and hinges, to see if either would squeal while opening. Deciding not to risk it, Jones pointed a finger to each hinge in turn. “oil.” Jones subvocalized. From a small reservoir in the wrist, a few drops of lubricant dripped out, greasing the hinges. When Jones tried the door again, it swung open silently.

Jones poked his head inside, scanning the dark room through the suit’s enhanced low light vision. Two beds on either side of the room, a slumbering figure in each. Two desks as well, textbooks and notes scattered haphazardly across them. The floor was likewise messy with discarded clothes, bags, shoes here and there where the coeds had dropped them. Silently, the slaver picked his way across the room to the first bed.

When he got closer, he was able to identify its occupant as: “Lizzie Smith, 20, Accounting major” from the op files. As with his first victim, Jones dosed his palm with chloroform and clamped it tight over the slumbering girl’s mouth. She stirred awake, for a moment, but Jones’ other hand kept her down in the bed, stilling her squirming while the knock out drugs went to work. After a moment, she subsided, slumping down, asleep.

Leaving her for the moment, Jones turned to the other bed, crossing the room as quickly as he could without making noise. Though his takedown of the Lizzie had been as quiet as possible, it had been enough to rouse her roommate, “Alice Holden, 20, Pre-Med.” She’d started to rise but was still too groggy from her disturbed sleep to recognize what was going on and the danger she was in until Jones was on her, clamping the chloroformed palm to her mouth and nose. She fought his grasp, briefly, before succumbing as well, to the drugged fumes.

When both were unconscious, Jones paused a second, straining his ears, and the rather more sensitive ones of the suit, to detect if the brief struggle had woken any of the other coeds, but everything in the house remained silent. Satisfied everything was going to plan, Jones grabbed a coil of rope from his belt and went to work, yanking the sheets back from Alice’s limp form, rolling the unconscious coed over and crossing her arms behind her back so he could get started lashing her wrists together. He did the same with her ankles and knees, then wrapped a few bands around her chest, pinning her arms to her back. Rolling her back over, Jones popped a ballgag between her teeth, buckling it tight, then went over to do the same to her roommate.

When he had finished tying up both of them, Jones was tempted spend a moment fondling his latest captures, especially as it turned out Lizzie’s sleeping clothes consisted solely of an oversized t-shirt, which had ridden up enough during her brief struggles to reveal a skimpy pair of sky blue panties, but his professionalism won out. “Plenty more girls to bind tonight.” Jones thought, moving to the door. “There will be time enough to have our fun after they’re all secured.” He radioed in, reporting both of the girls captured without trouble so John could mark them off the dwindling list of free coeds and onto the growing list of brand new slave girls…

Jones left the bedroom just in time to see Peter disappear into his second bedroom. Mildly irked at being shown up by the veteran slaver, Jones went to his second bedroom as quickly as he dared. This one contained a single occupant, who must have been the roommate of one of the two girls now bound and gagged downstairs. Jones slipped into the room, moving a little quicker than before. He wasn’t as quiet either, or perhaps this girl was a lighter sleeper than the others. Halfway across the room, the brunette rolled over in bed.

“Jen isssat you?” She murmured sleepily.

Instead of answering, Jones pounced, clamping his hand to her mouth. She kicked and bucked for a moment, “Mary Haddon, 19, Art Major” was one of the girls Mike had mentioned in the briefing as being a potential trouble maker, having taken both gymnastics and karate in Middle and High School, but taken by surprise, tangled in the bed sheets, the only danger she posed was potentially causing enough noise to wake the girls still free who, at this point, were all on the other side of the house, too far away to hear her frightened cries, weakening as the chloroform took hold.

When she was out again, Jones took his time, careful to make sure this gymnast wouldn’t be able to wriggle her way free of the ropes. He bound and wrists and ankles, followed by her elbows and knees. Then, she was lashed into a tight hogtie and finally anchored to the foot and head of the bed, to keep her from wriggling anywhere when she eventually came to. A ballgag completed her bondage.

Jones reported in the successful capture. As Pete was still working on the two girls in the room across the hall, Jones didn’t feel guilty about unbuttoning May’s pajama blouse, baring her breasts, or pulling down her pants and panties to get a look at her cleanly shaved snatch. The unconscious coed only murmured into her gag, unaware of anything that was going on, as Jones teased her slit. He smiled, looking forward to doing this to her when she was awake, introducing her to her new life as a slave.

Much as Jones hated to cut short his exploration of the young woman’s sex, he knew he could only spare a few seconds for fun. Even if he had only one captive to Peter’s two, “Master Knotts” wouldn’t take forever securing two more lovely captives. Jones gave the unconscious girl another playful pat before heading for the door. He timed it right, coming out at just about the same time as the other slaver. Exchanging glances, they turned to the other side of the house and the remaining bedrooms.

As Jones picked the lock of the next bedroom, he could hear rustling sheets, a buzzing sound, quiet feminine giggling and periodic moans. Cautiously, Jones poked his head in. Through the darkness, he could see one of the beds was empty. Again, its occupant was likely one of the girls held captive downstairs.

Across the room, two young women were embraced on the other bed. Both were completely naked. The one on top, Jones recognized; a short, slender Asian girl named Amy Wong, 19, Computer Science Major. The girl below her wasn’t a match for any of the targets listed in the briefing. She wasn’t part of the sorority then, just a guest who picked a bad time to spend the night with her girlfriend.

To Jones’ surprise, the visitor, a tall, blonde coed, was bound, with colorful scarves tying her hands and feet, and another scarf knotted between her teeth. The Asian was straddling her, rocking back and forth as she teased both her captive’s naked sex, and her own, with a vibrating wand. Her other hand was clamped onto one of the blonde’s breasts, groping and caressing it playfully as both moaned in pleasure.

For a moment, Jones worried how he would get across the room and surprise the girls before they spotted him coming, but as he crept into the room, it became apparent both girls were far too preoccupied with their fun to pay him any attention. Neither noticed him until he was right beside the bed. Finally, the blonde noticed Jones looming over Amy, glove at the ready. Her eyes widened with fear and she grunted into her makeshift gag, but it took the Asian coed a second too long to realize her friend’s muffled murmurs had gone from playful to terrified and that delay doomed both of them. Before she could react, Jones clamped the glove tight to her mouth and nose. The chloroform did its work. As Amy slowly sank into unconsciousness, Jones looked down at the blonde, who was frantically squirming and fighting against her bonds without much luck.

“Just give me a second. I’ll see to you soon enough.” Jones whispered to her, which only increased her terror fueled struggles. Her efforts were in vain, though. Once Amy was unconscious, Jones moved onto her girlfriend. Squirm as she might, shaking her head violently, she couldn’t stop Jones from pressing his hand to her mouth and rendering her unconscious like the other coed. In spite of her terror, Jones noticed the girl give a shudder of pleasure, just before she slipped into unconsciousness,

When both were out, Jones took a second to look through the pile of clothes on the floor of the bedroom. Finding a pair of jean shorts that seemed to fit the blonde’s curvy hips, he felt through the pockets for a wallet. A student ID inside gave the blonde’s name as “Sarah Dennis.” Jones made a mental note to mention the two girl’s predilection for bondage games, particularly Sarah’s potential submissive nature.

Going from playful bedroom games and fantasy to 24/7 bondage and all-too-real sex slavery would be challenging for the girls to handle, but no greater adjustment then all the coeds would have to face as they realized their old lives were over and new lives as bondage slaves awaited them. Having some preexisting interest could help ease that transition and help these two make the leap to obedient slaves with a minimum of suffering on their part.

Furthermore, lesbian slaves were valued by many of the Guild’s customers, even the male ones who enjoyed watching their slaves play with each other. Having a pair that were lovers before enslavement opened a lot of options for the Guild when it came to maximize the profits they could wring out of these two new slaves.

Returning to the bed and the two unconscious girls, Jones went to work. On a whim, he decided to tie the two together. Sarah’s cloth bonds were cut away by the suit’s deployed knife. Amy was rolled over so she lay on top of Sarah, their naked chests pressed together. Sarah’s hands were pulled behind Amy’s back and bound. Amy’s hands were tied the same way. Their ankles were bound all together, as were their knees. Several more coils of rope circled the two girls’ torsos, so they would be kept pressed close together. Finally, after gagging both girls, Jones secured the vibrating wand so it would tease both girl’s sexes, securing it in place and switching it on high before leaving them to come to in their awkward position…

Jones knew something was up as we went to the last bedroom. For one thing, a light was on inside, he could see it under the crack beneath the door. The suit’s sensors picked up a draft coming from the crack as well. The window to the room was open, the night’s breeze blowing in. His first thought was the occupants of this bedroom had somehow been alerted to the slaver’s presence and had escaped out the window, but a quick mental review of the layout of the house put aside that theory. There was nothing underneath that window but a concrete drive. If they had jumped out the window, they’d have a hard time escaping on broken legs.

Cautiously, Jones unlocked the door, taking care to make as little noise as he could as he greased the knob and hinges before sliding it open a crack, just enough to peer through. What he saw gave him pause. Standing at the far side of the room was the last of the coeds, “Megan Scarlet, 21, pre-law major.” The tall, busty redhead was dressed in a light blue nightie and panties and was bent over the open closet, rooting through it for something. A second later, she straightened up, holding something. As she turned, Jones saw it was a skimpy spandex leotard, decorated in a pattern of red and blue. She carried it over to the bed, laying it out beside a half-mask and a pair of gloves before returning to the closet.

“Damn…” Jones swore, silently. Assuming this wasn’t some more kinky roleplaying going on, unlikely, it seemed one of the Beta Lambda’s was a Super after all. A minor one, Jones guessed; he didn’t recognize the costume and neither did the suit’s far more extensive database, but it still presented a wrinkle to this whole operation.

Jones’ first worry was that she had heard the slavers come in, (who knew what super senses she might possess?) and was getting suited up to beat the three of them senseless and free the rest of her classmates. A second’s thought though discounted that idea.  Megan didn’t seem in too much of a hurry as she retrieved a pair of thigh high, spike heeled boots from the closet and carried them over to the bed. The laying out of the costume seemed to have an almost ritual element to it. Between that and the open window, Jones guessed she was just suiting up for another night of crime fighting, unaware of how close the criminal element was to her at this moment.

His second worry was what to do about it now. He could just let her fly off. They could slip away, undetected, maybe even bringing the rest of the Beta Lambdas with them, but what would happen when she came back to find the house empty, evidence her sorority sisters had been abducted? Mike had been clear, there could be no witnesses left from this job. All of the women here had to be in ropes and slave collars before dawn. He had only one choice…

Jones radioed the other two, telling them about the situation. “I’m going in. Both of you move to help as soon as you can.” He said. John was still at the bottom of the stairs, a minute away, while Pete was still in the process of dealing with Miss York. Neither would be able to get there for a while. In the meantime, Jones was worried little Miss Super would either fly off, ruining everything, or worse, notice the slavers and come out looking for a fight. Even with the suit, Jones figured his best shot was to take her by surprise, sneak up while she was focused on changing into her suit and chloroform her into unconsciousness before she could fight back. With Pete and John both telling him to wait over the radio, Jones slid the door open and silently padded in, creeping up behind the super heroine...

He made it most of the way to her, slipping up behind her back. He activated the chloroform palm and got ready to grab and drug her with it. Maybe his last footsteps made too much noise, maybe it was the smell of the drug, or maybe she did have some sort of extrasensory power, because at that moment, Megan whirled around, a look of shock on her face as she saw the suited Jones sneaking up behind her.

Jones swore, lunging forward, trying to clamp the hand to her mouth. She bent back, trying to avoid his hand. Jones’ lunge missed her face, but as it fell short, he grabbed at what remained in reach, the front of Megan’s nightie, hoping to pull her back into range of the chloroform. Unfortunately, the thin fabric of the nightie wasn’t strong enough. As the coed stumbled backwards, cloth ripped and the nightie was torn off her slender, athletic body. Beneath, all she had on was a pair of skimpy white panties.

For a moment, Jones delighted in the lovely jiggling of the coed’s barred breasts, the look of shock and shame mixing on her face, cheeks flushed red as she moved an arm to cover herself. All too quickly, though, embarrassment gave way to anger and the super heroine pulled her other arm back, preparing to punch him.

“This is how I go…” Jones thought in the seconds as the first headed towards him. “Beaten up by a half naked super girl…” There were worse ways to end a long, profitable career as a professional slaver…

The girl’s first connected with Jones’ chest. The slaver was propelled backwards, feet off the ground, several feet. Surprisingly, he managed to stay on them. Even more surprisingly, inside the suit, Jones barely felt the punch. “Oh right…” He remembered Mike’s description of the suit’s functions the day before. The special weave of the fabric, the materials, whatever it was, absorbed the force of the girls’ blow, dispersing it so Jones wasn’t immediately floor by the punch.     

Fortunately, Megan was just as surprised by Jones shrugging off her punch as he was. She stared for a few seconds, as Jones recovered and came back at her. Rather than try the chloroform again, not liking his chances at wrestling down a girl with super strength, Jones threw a few punches of his own at her. He wasn’t too surprised as they bounced off of half-naked body without fazing her in the slightest.  

“Ok…Her powers as super strength, invulnerability…” Jones thought. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t have heat vision as well.”

The ineffectiveness of Jones’ punches had restored some of Megan’s confidence his earlier resistance to her own blows had sapped and now she came at him again. Prepared this time, Jones was able to balance himself against the punches, avoiding being knocked back as the suit negated the force of the blows. Then it was his turn to strike back again.

Jones activated both gloves’ shocker functions and grabbed for her. This had an effect on the coed, she gritted her teeth, grunting slightly as the electricity shot through her body, but far, far less than Jones had hoped for. She recovered quickly, kicking Jones across the stomach and knocking him back a few feet.

“The gas, Jones! Use the gas!” from the door, Peter appeared, having finished securing his target and come to Jones’ aid. He put words to action, raising a hand. From a nozzle on the wrist, a stream of gas shot out, catching the unprepared heroine in the face. She coughed, as the drugged fumes filled her lungs.

Jones joined him, activating his suit’s gas emitters as well, hosing Megan down with the knock out gas. She closed her mouth, holding her breath, but some of it had already entered her system. As she fought back, her blows became weaker and weaker. Pretty soon, her thoughts turned from fighting them to escape.

A second too late, Jones remembered the open window, as Megan jumped into the air, defying gravity as she floated towards the window. The slaver lunged forward, catching her by one slender ankle as she flew through the window. Jones managed to pull her back, most of the way into the room. She fought back, kicking at him, the fresh air outside giving her some strength back. Gritting his teeth against the blows, Jones reactivated the gloves’ shockers, setting the force to max. Megan gave a loud cry of pain and lost control of her flight, started to fall as Jones, helped by Pete, yanked her back into the room,  throwing her onto the floor.

Megan struggled to rise, but the two piled onto her, keeping her down as they hosed her down again with another dosage of the knockout gas. Finally, with a long, frightened cry of defeat, the coed slumped to the floor, unconscious…

Panting for air himself, glad his suit’s mask was filtering out the cloud of knockout gas now filling the air, Jones sat down on the bed, beside the defeated Super’s costume. He grinned, eyeing her naked form, prone at his feet. “Well…” He nodded to Pete. “I think we can say we’ve given these suits a proper field test now…”