Back at one of the secret entrances, the slavers paused. Jones took a breath to steady himself. Even with the gas, even with the suits, it seemed crazy going after ten superheroines in a direct fight but he knew they didn’t have the time to skulk around, picking them off one at a time. By that time, they’d start to notice the effects of the gas and, once John’s makeshift jammer burned out, the heroines would have no trouble summoning aid to end this whole operation, even if the gas knocked them out immediately after.
“Alright. Looks like they’ve split up a bit. If we hurry, we’ll avoid having to deal with them all at once.” John said, checking the security cameras through his suit’s mask. “Go through in...three...two...one...now!” At his prompting, Jones and Pete both threw open the secret door. All three slavers rushed into the room at once.
The superheroines, spread around the room, looking at different parts of the exhibit dedicated to junior heroines, reacted with shock as the three slavers suddenly appeared among them. There were six heroines in the room at that time: Black Canary and Zatanna by a case holding a replica of Batgirl’s costume, Phantom Girl and Light Lass were looking at an exhibit on the female members of the Teen Titans, and finally Saturn Girl and Duo Damsel at a display on Supergirl.
They reacted quickly though, no doubt expecting some sort of supervillain interference on this day and moved to counter attack the slavers as they approached. The heroines were therefore taken completely by surprise, both by the capabilities the suits give their opponents and by the subtle ways the gas they’ve unknowingly been breathing in had weakened their own...
As John rushed Black Canary the gorgeous blonde opened her mouth to let loose a stone-shattering scream. Instead, a perfectly ordinary scream escaped her lips, turning to one of alarm as a black gloved hand, wet with chloroform, clamped tight over her mouth, pointer finger and thumb squeezing her nose shut so she had no choice but to breath in the drugged fumes.
Jones charged the two heroines by the Titan’s exhibit. He opened up by swinging a fist at Phantom Girl. The dark haired heroine laughed, preparing to turn insubstantial and avoid the blow, only to find herself unable to quickly enough, her still completely solid face meeting Jones’ very much solid fist straight on. As much from surprise as the force of the blow, the heroine crumpled to the ground, temporarily out of the fight.
Light Lass, meanwhile, managed to summon a few sparkling crackles of electricity and directed them at Jones. They hit him dead in the chest, as he turned to face her, but weakened as she was, the attack didn’t have enough power to break through the insulation of his suit. Jones gave a laugh, advancing on the heroine. Panicking, she tried to reverse her gravity and fly away, but was too slow. Before she’d gotten far off the ground, the slaver grabbed her by one ankle and pulled her back down. One of Jone’s hands went around her chest, pulling the squirming heroine to himself while his other hand clamped tight over her mouth, deploying more chloroform to knock her out completely.
Pete headed for the two remaining heroines at the Supergirl exhibit. The first was Saturn Girl. The heroine turned to face the slaver, raising her hands to her forehead. Whatever she was trying to do, however, failed, as she found it too difficult to concentrate in her drugged haze. Pete’s hands, however, functioned perfectly, reaching forward to grab the heroine. As his hands closed around her sides, he activated the shocker feature on both, causing the heroine to give a cry of pain, just before she slumped to the ground, knocked out cold.
Behind her, Duo Damsel concentrated a second and split into two girls to rush him. Weakened by the gas, however, their fists didn’t have the strength to do more then amuse the slave, safe in his suit. He simply grabbed both copies across their mouths and noses, one in each chloroform soaked hand. Despite their frantic struggles, both soon swooned, collapsing to the ground, unconscious.
Meanwhile, John had moved on from Black Canary to chase Zatanna. The magician had given up trying to wrap her head around the backwards syllables of her spells with a head full of the Triple-X gas and was fumbling for her JLA communicator. “Mayday! Mayday!” She cried into the receiver. “We’re under attack at the Super Heroine’s Museum…” Unfortunately for her, all she got in reply was static, courtesy of John’s makeshift signal jammer. Before she could try anything else, the slaver was on her. The heroine fought and squirmed as she was grabbed, but couldn’t stop the hand that clamped over her mouth and nose. The communicator slipped from her limp fingers, shattering against the stone floor.
As Zatanna was lowered to the ground, the three slavers paused, taking in their handiwork. Another half dozen superheroines lay on the floor at their feet, unconscious. The men turned, looking to each other. Though the masks covered it up, they knew each of them was grinning enormously, pleased with another lovely catch of beautiful super women.
“Ok,” Pete said, after they’d wasted a minute or so, “Get this bunch secured, then it’s time to deal with the rest of them.” Chastised, John and Jones hopped to it, dragging the limp women over towards the corner with the secret entrance. John went and retrieved some more of the special straps used to secure the heroines. Their booted feet were strapped at the ankles, then the unconscious captives were rolled over onto their bellies, so their hands could be crossed behind their backs and strapped there as well. Despite the need for hurry, the slavers couldn’t help but slap asses and breasts, barely covered by the skimpy, skin tight costumes they wore.
“Can’t wait to unwrap these presents.” Jones teased, giving Saturn Girl’s large breasts a few playful slaps. The heroine continued to slumber in spite of this, lost to the power of the chloroform and knock out gas. Along with the rest of the heroines, she had no idea yet of the peril they were all in now.
While the two were busy, Pete had moved to the exhibit doors and peeked around the corner, looking for the remaining heroes. Just as Jones finished yanking the straps tight around Black Canary’s wrists, he turned, his whispered voice coming over the radio. “We’ve got another heroine coming this way. Probably looking for this lot.” He nodded to the pile of captive heroines.
Beside Jones, John brought up the security cameras to check. “Yep. That’s Mary Marvel. Supposed to be one of the big hitters.” Behind his mask, he grinned. “Course, how hard she’ll hit after breathing the gas for twenty minutes, who can say?”
Jones shared the grin. After taking down so many other superheroines, what was one more, even a big name like Mary Marvel? Their success had made him and the other slavers more confident in their ability to deal with the heroines.
Moving quickly, the three took up positions by the entrance, screened by a pair of large pillars on either side. They waited, John keeping track of the heroine’s approach via the security cameras. A minute later, she came around the corner. For a few seconds, she was smiling and happy, enjoying her visit to this museum, celebrating her achievements and those of all the heroines. That all changed in an instant, as she saw the scene in the gallery in front of her: six of the heroines she’d arrived with unconscious, lying limply on the ground in a pile, their hands and feet lashed with tight rubber bands.
Then, before she could decide whether to help them, or to run and warn the remaining heroines of the danger, three strangers, in all concealing black bodysuits appeared from hiding behind her, cutting off her escape from the gallery. In spite of that, the young woman actually smiled. She was an experienced super heroine, had bested countless villains, both mundane and super in combat. Shocked though she was seeing her fellow heroines laid low, here were the culprits right in front of her. All she had to do was vanquish them, and everything would be fine again. And these three unknown intruders, whoever they were, didn’t seem to pose much of a threat. Taking them down would be easy enough…
Or so she thought. The young woman lunged forward, her fist flying at Jones in a punch that, while lacking in proper boxing technique, should nonetheless send him flying across the room and take him out of the fight in a single, super strong blow. Instead, unknowingly weakened by the knockout gas, her fist connected with all the force and strength of the untrained adolescent girl who was throwing it, that is to say, not very hard at all. Inside the padded suit, Jones barely felt anything. He grinned behind his mask, pulling his fist back for a return blow.
Surprised by her own punch’s lack of effect, Mary Marvel hesitated. She didn’t seem too worried as Jones wound up for his punch, confident in her invulnerability to protect her from any harm. It was only in the few seconds before his fist met her gut that is occurred to her that her invulnerability might have been suppressed somehow, just as her super strength had been. Before she could act on that realization, however, Jones’ fist connected with her gut. Unprepared, she gasped, more from the shock of the blow then the actual force. Though far more vulnerable then she’d expected, Jones still found punching her to be like punching a concrete wall. She stumbled back a step, while the three slavers surrounded her.
Mary Marvel managed to put up a final, frantic struggle, but surprised by the sapping of her powers, and hurting from the first, unexpected punch, she had no chance at all. She swung her fists, inexpertly, trying to fend off the three men as they crowded around, grabbing at her limbs, holding her down. A few managed to connect, even strong enough to knock the slavers back a few steps, but the suits did their job, absorbing the force enough to protect the men inside, allowing them to get back up and jump back into the fray.
Eventually, one of the men managed to get a hand across her mouth and nose. The chloroform was deployed, flooding her mouth and nose. Her eyes went wide for a second, as it dawned on her that she was about to become another captive of these men, just like the other heroines, then they began to flutter close, the drugged fumes overwhelming her and she passed out…
As soon as she went down for the final time, the slavers lifted their newest captive up, carrying her over to the pile of heroines back in the corner of the room. Mary Marvel joined them, her wrists and ankles lashed together with more of the cables, the skirt of her costume yanked up to the slavers could playfully grope and slap her smooth, round ass.
“Just three more now…” Pete said, straightening up.
Jones nodded. “Supergirl, Powergirl…” he grinned. “And Wonder Woman.” The holy grail of slavers.
John accessed the cameras to scan for them. “They’ve moved into the atrium.” He said after a moment. “Looks like they’re waiting for their friends to finish touring the exhibits.” He chuckled. “Why don’t we go and show them where the other heroines have gotten to?”
The three moved to the door, silently, and out of the exhibit. There was a corridor, running around the square of the museum, with a large atrium in the center, screened by rows of columns. In the atrium were a few more display cases, information desks, empty at the moment, banners and signs directing people to one gallery or another and comfortable couches and seats for people to rest between exhibits.
The three remaining heroines were seated at one of these rest areas, chatting to one another, carefree and content, having enjoyed the visit, the ceremonies and the displays immensely. Knowing they were running out of time before the signal jammer burnt out and now confident in their abilities to handle the superheroines, the three slavers didn’t bother sneaking around. As soon as they reached the atrium, they charged directly towards the heroines, each splitting off to take one of the women on separately.
The three supers saw them coming in time to get to their feet. Like Mary Marvel, the two Kryptonians and the Amazon did not seem worried. Why should they be? They were the three strongest women on the planet. Together they could easily handle any villains out there. Like their friend, now an unconscious, bound captive, they were in for a huge surprise…
John headed towards Power Girl, fighting off the urge to oogle her cleavage window long enough to throw a punch. The kryptonian didn’t seem too worried at first, until the fist connected with her abdomen, the unexpected blow taking the wind out of her. Again, the effect was more from surprise then any actual damage, but it rocked her back none the less.
“Kryptonite!” She cried, partly in surprise, partly warning to her fellow Kryptonian. She stumbled back, looking around for the tell tale green rock, not knowing the real source of her power loss was the invisible, undetectable gas she’d been breathing in for the last hour or so. Before she realized that, she tripped over one of the couches falling across it. Before she could get up, John was on her, a hand going to her mouth and nose. He clamped it tight, for just a second before she smelled the drugs and shoved him back, sending him flying back several feet, but that brief whiff, aided by the gas saturating the air, kept sapping more and more of her super strength. John leapt back to his feet and charged, spraying concentrated gas in her face until she went down.
Supergirl, meanwhile, had charged Pete as the slaver came onto her. She’d just heart Power Girl’s warning, a second too late as the flurry of kicks and punches the heroine threw at Pete quickly told her her super strength had been robbed. The older man ducked a blast of her heat vision and grabbed the caped girl and throwing her onto another of the comfortable armchairs. It became much less comfortable for her as he jumped onto it as well, his knee pressing into her stomach, pinning her down. She struggled briefly before the chloroform pads on his palms did their job and put her down for the count.
That just left Wonder Woman, who approached Jones, a little more warily, having seen two of her friends taken down so easily. Still, she wasn’t deterred, believing whatever new form of undetectable kryptonite the slavers may have found, surely it wouldn’t sap her own Goddess-Given powers, right? She came forward towards Jones, swinging several punches. Had she been at her full strength, unaffected by the gas filling the building, they would have been too quick to dodge and strong enough to send Jones flying, suit or no suit. As it was, they were slow and uncoordinated, as if she was moving through deep water. Her eyes went wide, boggling, as Jones easily sidestepped a few of her punches, her brain struggling to follow him through the drugged haze she was in. Those that connected knocked him back several feet, but weren’t enough to overcome the suit’s dampeners, allowing him to get right back up and come at her again and again.
Jones, on the other hand, was in no way hindered by the gas. He laughed, dodging around the clumsy punches Wonder Woman sent his way. He waited for an opportunity to strike. It came as the heroine, disoriented by the drugs now pumping through her adrenaline heightened body, threw one more wild punch and became off balanced. With a cry of alarm, she began to topple forward.
Jones was waiting and caught her before she hit the ground. His arms went around her torso, pulling her close to him, so her back was pressed against his body. He grinned, enjoying the feeling of her fit, toned figure rubbing against his own as she realized her predicament and began to struggle. He was having so much fun, it seemed almost a shame to end things, but he knew they would have a lot more fun to come, once she was under and secured with the rest.
Reluctantly, he let go with one of his arms. The woman in his grasp struggled harder, realizing this might be her last chance to break free, but she was now so weakened her frantic squirming had little effect. “Chloroform.” Jones said and the suit complied, discharging a small amount into the palm of his free hand. He raised it, clamping it tight over Wonder Woman’s mouth and nose.
Her eyes widened as she recognized the distinct smell of the chloroform and she held her breath, intensifying her struggles, but she wasn’t going anywhere and the more she struggled, the more she needed to breath, to keep from passing out anyway. Lungs burning, she had no choice but to suck in a deep breath of air, and with it the chloroform fumes. Combined with the effects of the earlier gas, the knock out drugs took hold quickly. With a final, long moan, the Champion of All Women swooned, slumping over in Jones’ arms. He held her a second longer, making sure she’d breathed in enough to ensure she stayed down for the time being. Finally, he carried over and set her down, alongside the unconscious Supergirl and Powergirl.
Then it was all over. For a long moment, the three slavers just stood there, their eyes moving from each other, to the three unconscious heroines at their feet. Their thoughts strayed to the other, equally unconscious, equally helpless heroines scattered around the museum; in the hidden tunnel, the Junior Heroine exhibit… It seemed almost unreal to have them defeated, knocked out like this. Fourteen of the strongest, most famous heroines.
Slowly, the reality sank in. They had done it! Visions of the money this would bring Jones and the other slavers flashed before his eyes, along with the equally beautiful thought of the heroines, once they’d been relieved of their costumes and put in their new uniforms as slaves: restraints and nothing else. “There should be music playing…” A part of Jones’ mind thought, abstractly. Ode to joy, perhaps, or maybe the 1812 Overture. Something celebratory, heavy on the brass and percussion…
“We fucking did it!” John said with a loud whoop!
“Not quite yet…” Peter reminded him. “We’ve got to get these bitches locked up and out of here. Last thing we need is for fuckin’ Superman to get bored and decide to check in on his cousin’s big day. Find all of us humpin her and the rest. Now come on. Let’s get these bitches strapped up and ready to go…” He put action to word, bending over to pick up Supergirl. The slaver slung her over his shoulder, casually. He put his hand over her bottom, to hold her steady. Almost automatically, it slipped under her crimson skirt, hiking it up to reveal red panties with her ‘S’ logo on them.
Jones hurried to follow, grabbing Wonder Woman up from where she had fallen and tossing her over his shoulder as well. And like Pete, his hand went, as if drawn by a magnet, to her firm round ass, squeezing and groping it as the three men carried their limp burdens back to the gallery and the entrance to the secret tunnel. Along the way, they reported their success in to an ecstatic Mike. The three heroines were deposited on the table, beside the other two Amazons, and two of the heroines from the future. Their wrists and ankles were strapped like the others.
The slavers made two more trips, hauling back the remaining heroines. In the end, fourteen of the world’s strongest, most powerful women lay bent over the long table, hands and feet tightly strapped together, their bottoms thrust into their air, skirts hiked up. John and Pete headed further into the tunnels, to collect the rest of the gear from the back areas where they had stashed them. They would need it to fully secure the heroines, to keep them helpless after they’d left the museum and the gas had worn off.
Jones, meanwhile, slipped out of the secret tunnel and back into the galleries. He crossed the rooms, not bothering to hide. The heroines who’d come in for the tour were now all unconscious captives, back in the tunnels and as for the rest of the guests come to the grand opening…
After a minute, Jones reached the event room where the rest of the visitors had been directed, to wait, with drinks and refreshments and more tedious speeches while the heroines had their private tour. While the X-13 gas did its work. Unlike the heroines, the mundane people here had never had a chance. Once the critical heat threshold had been reached and the gas released from the paint in the walls, the women, and handful of men, in this room had started dropping almost immediately. Most hadn’t had a chance to realize what was happening. Only a few had lasted long enough to try to rush for doors or windows, or to fumble for a cellphone, but none had gotten far enough.
The moment Jones and the others had reported in, saying the heroines had been secured, another team of slavers had arrived and immediately gone to work. Dressed in grey jumpsuits and wearing gas masks, the dozen slavers had already begun processing the crowd of unconscious figures with mechanical efficiency.
Three of them were going through the crowd, sorting out the women who met the slaver’s criteria: young, female and hot, from the men and older women in the crowd. Those rejected were dragged over and dumped, unceremoniously in one corner of the room, where they would presumably be found by whoever came by to investigate some hours from now.
Those ‘lucky’ girls chosen for enslavement were taken to the center of the room, where another trio were busy at work, stripping the captives naked. Blouses, skirts, pants, underwear, shoes, were stuffed into large trash bins, for later disposal. Purses were searched for any cash before being tossed in and the money, along with any jewelry, was set aside, to be divided among the men when they were finished.
The now fully naked women were rolled onto their bellies to be secured by another set of slavers. Their arms were pulled behind their backs and zip-tied at the wrists and elbows. Legs were placed side by side and strapped the same way at the ankles and knees. Ballgags were crammed into open mouths and strapped tight. Finally, the fourth trio of slavers loaded the newly captured, though still blissfully unaware, slaves onto carts to be wheeled out of the room and to a waiting slave truck.
The slavers worked happily, and who wouldn’t with several dozen choice female captives laid out in front of them, all of whom they would get a cut from their eventual sale. Not that Jones begrudged them that. His own cut of even one of the heroine’s slave prices would dwarf the take from this bunch of women. He waved to the other slavers when they saw him and, satisfied everything was well underhand here, headed back to the secret room with the captive heroines.
By then, John and Pete had returned, wheeling several large plastic trash bins, inside which several black duffel bags with the slavers’ gear had been stashed. The two were busying themselves stripping the heroines completely naked. Jones eagerly joined in, stepping over to where Supergirl lay across the table, still limp, unconscious, and began to pull down her skirt, followed by her panties, revealing a pair of soft, full lips, crested by a small patch of light blonde fuzz. He grinned, giving it a pat.
“Careful with the costumes.” Pete warned Jones as the slaver started to hastily pull on the heroine’s stop, eager to get a look at her busty chest. “The people who are going to buy these bitches might want the costumes to go along with their new slaves. Could easily add another thousand or two to their price. He indicated the large clear plastic bags in which the other two were depositing the clothes of the heroines they were stripping.
Jones nodded, taking a bag and a marker. After writing “Supergirl” across the top, as if there was a chance they wouldn’t remember which heroine the costume with the large golden “S” went with, he carefully folded up the skirt, panties and top and placed them inside, followed by her boots. Setting the bag in the growing pile, Jones moved onto the next girl in line: Wondergirl, and began removing her costume as well.
The slavers worked quickly, eager to see each new heroine stripped and revealed in all her naked glory. The only disappointment, to Jones’ mind, was the heroines unconscious obliviousness to what was going on. He would have loved to savor their reaction, their looks of outrage, of indignant rage and shame as they were slowly stripped naked, their most private areas revealed to the slavers’ leering gaze. Still, he was smart enough to remember that, until they could take the right precautions to keep the new slaves obedient and under control, it was better the heroines remain asleep, unaware of their new status as slaves.
In no time, fourteen hot, naked women lay stretched out across the long table. Again, Jones lamented they couldn’t have any fun with the heroines before they had to sell them, but he knew, fun as it would be to be the first to take Wonder Woman or Supergirl or any of the others, to introduce them to their new roles in life, it would be an expensive pleasure. There were men who would pay millions for that privilege. And since a portion of that money would be going to Jones, he would just have satisfy himself with looking, and casual touching of course.
While Jones and Pete were looking, and doing some touching, John had returned to the bin with their gear. From inside one, he pulled out a large metal case. Setting it on the table between Light Lass and Shrinking Violet, he opened the case. Inside were a pair of injectors and a dozen or so vials of green liquid.
“Good thing we brought extra.” John said, loading the first gun with one of the vials. “Hopefully one will be enough to keep Wonder Woman and the other power hitters down. Just be careful not to drop it.” He warned, handing the device over to Jones. The other slaver took it. From one or another of the endless briefings in preparation for this mission, he knew the vials contained one of the most powerful sedatives the Slavers Guild and their, secretly affiliated, research labs had been able to come up with. Dubbed “The Finisher” it would, theoretically, keep even the strongest of heroines down for several hours, at least.
Turning, he lined the injector up with Wonder Woman’s perfect, round bottom, pressing the end against one pale cheek. As he’d done with other woman, though using a much less powerful concoction, Jones pulled the trigger. There was a loud snap, like a mousetrap. Despite the knockout gas and chloroform, the young woman reacted, jerking up sharply, giving a yelp. It was short lived though, the fast acting drugs went to work, quickly putting her under again before she could react, or even really notice, her present predicament.
“Sleep tight, slave.” Jones teased, patting the once more sleeping captive on her bottom, where a tiny red dot marked where the needle had pricked her. He went to the case for another vial, which went into Hippolyta next. John used the second gun on Black Canary and then Zatanna. They worked their way through most of the remaining heroines. Most of them reacted with slow, muffled grunts of pain before sinking back into unconsciousness.
A few, among them Shrinking Violet and Phantom Girl, spasmed for a few long seconds, crying out in pain before they went under again. Their captors cared little for any suffering the heroines suffered. Cruel by nature, the enjoyed seeing the heroines in pain, enjoyed the thought that the heroines would suffer much, much worse, in their new lives as slaves. All they did, once the girls had dropped into unconsciousness once more, was give their vitals a quick check, to make sure they were still breathing normally, their heartbeats slow and regular. Dead slaves didn’t bring in any money, after all…
The twelve vials went quickly and twelve of the heroines were put down for at least the next six hours. The only two remaining were the kryptonians, Supergirl and Powergirl. With their alien physiology, there was more risk of the drugs not working, even assuming the needles could penetrate their skin which, despite the gas, remained as indestructible as ever. Fortunately, the slavers had come prepared.
“Courtesy of one Lex Luther…” Pete said, pulling another case from one of the bins. Though smaller than the one with the injectors, it was never the less heavier, giving a loud thud and making the table groan as he set it down, thanks to the lead lining the inside. Opening it up, Pete pulled out a pair of polished steel slave collars. The collars were about three inches tall and were segmented, with one inch bands the entire length. In the center of each was a larger piece, covered in another layer of lead foil.
Jones grabbed the Kryptonians, first Supergirl, the Powergirl, by their blonde locks, lifting their heads up so Pete could slip the collars around their necks. The free ends met perfectly at the back, forming a solid ring the exact diameter of the girls’ throats. Turning the limp slaves over, the lead covered fronts were visible just beneath their chins.
“Cover your groins.” Pete joked, reaching down to tear away the foil. Beneath were two large gemstones, cut round and faceted. They glowed an eerie green color that seemed to give off a faint light in the gloomy tunnel. Though still unconscious, the captives reacted to the reveal of the kryptonite with anguished moans...
From the bin, came several large boxes. John set on on the table and opened it up. Inside were a dozen large rubber prongs. Jones, like the other slavers had used similar devices on many of the women he’s kidnapped over the years. Some said it helped loosen the slaves out, get them ready to take it in the ass or pussy non stop the rest of their lives. Some thought the presence of the plugs, a constant, personal violation, helped break down the slave’s resistance, force them to accept the reality of their situation, that they were slaves.
For Jones, he liked plugging the women he captured for the suffering it caused his victims, their squeals of distress as the plugs went in for the first time, the grunts of indignation as they struggled to ignore the constant pressure of the plugs inside them… He picked one up and examine it. They were much like the ones he used, though a little bit bigger. The base was odd, there was a section that looked like it unscrewed, it looked a bit like the battery cover for a vibrating plug. But the tips of the penetrators were odd as well. The otherwise smooth, rounded tips were speckled with small holes, each a tiny needle prick.
“The plugs are special.” John explained. Jones recalled, vaguely, seeing him working on one like these earlier at their base, preparing for this mission. “There’s a vial filled with Triple X-13 gas inside.” He opened the base, to show Jones and Pete. “It warms the gas up to make it active, then releases it through the holes where it is absorbed directly into the body through the tissue.” Closing the device up again, he turned to the closest heroine, Zatanna. Spreading her limp legs, he positioned the plug so the tip rested against the lips of her sex. Without any trace of gentleness or restraint, the slaver pushed, putting pressure against the heroine’s sex until it yielded, the large plug sliding in. The three slavers grinned. Zatanna would be in for an unpleasant surprise between her legs when she woke up. All of them would.
John grabbed another plug from the box, as did Pete and Jones. Fortunately, between redundant backup spares, they had more than enough for each of the heroine’s to get at least two plugs, one in the ass, one in the pussy. A few, including Wonder Woman, Hippolyta, Supergirl and Powergirl, got an extra, with massive ring-gags being forced between their teeth, wedging their mouths open and the prongs slid through inside, pushing right up to the backs of their throats. John took out a small device and pressed a button. There was a small hiss, coming from the dozens of plugs, though the girls didn’t react, still being completely out of it.
With the last of the special preparations taken care of, the rest of the mission proceeded as it would for any mass abduction Jones had helped carry out over the years. The heroines had been untied, to allow the slavers to strip them of their uniforms. Their arms and legs were once more lashed together, at the wrists, ankles, elbows and knees, with more of the strong, flexible straps. The heroines who did not get pecker gags got ball gags, massive, jaw crushing ones. Finally, padded blindfolds were strapped over their eyes by the slavers, as if the knockout drugs and gas weren’t keeping them in the dark as is.
With the heroines now made doubly or triply helpless and secure, they were prepared for transport to their new home and prison, where they would be kept in strict bondage while the slavers worked on stripping them of their powers, breaking their wills and finding buyers for the soon-to-be helpless, obedient slaves.
One by one the slavers picked up the limp captives from the table, carrying them over to the large, rolling bins. The plan was to wheel them away, through the secret tunnels, to another building, several blocks away, where they could be loaded into special vehicles for transport to the hidden slaver facility. With the eight original heroines, it would have been a tight squeeze, not that the slavers cared much, or even the captives themselves, who remained blissfully unaware of their sorry predicament. With seven more, the slavers had to choose whether to make two trips or to squeeze in the extra women. They settled on the latter, grinning and joking to one another as the women, naked apart from their bonds, were pressed together scandalously close.
“Not all that different from any other bunch of freshly enslaved women.” Jones thought to himself, looking over the pile of awkwardly placed captives, faces pressed into crotches, naked limbs tangled together. Stripped of their bright, colorful costumes, rendered helpless by gas and bonds, there was nothing to indicate these fourteen women were some of the most powerful individuals on earth. Emphasis on were. Now, they were just fourteen new slaves, soon to be broken, trained and sold. Laughing with the others, exulting in their triumph, Jones and the other slavers wheeled the defeated heroines down the tunnels towards the waiting vehicles...