She tugged for the thousandth time against her restraints, a muffled whimper escaping past the object in her mouth. Just like every time before, the fabric material stretched but didn’t break. The velcro straps held, the little bits of plastic buried in the coarse fabric holding fast. She should have been able to break through easily. Anyone could have torn free of her flimsy cuffs, and for someone as powerful as she, they should have posed no challenge at all. How long had it been since she had bent metal chains ten times as thick as the ribbons binding her now?

Bent, but not broken, and she realized she did not know how long it had been since they’d first restrained her, wrapping her powerful form in those very chains she’d managed to bend. It hadn’t been long enough that she’d forgotten the sound of metal on metal, clanking and creaking as she flexed and strained. The frustration as just when she felt like she was making headway, escape was in her grasp, a dozen musclebound, masked goons had jumped in to hold her down, two of them fighting her thrashing head and holding her in place while they put the mask over her face. The explosive hiss of powerful knockout gas being rushed into her lungs drowned out her screams into the thick leather gag they had forced in her mouth.

Her struggles weakened as the drugs coursed through her system. If she’d been allowed a little longer, maybe she could have done more than bend the metal. She could have broken them, snapped the links and burst free to throw off the men piled on her. But she couldn’t defeat the gas, and eventually, inevitably, she passed out, only to awaken later finding herself back in the same position.

Not exactly the same position. Had it been the fourth or fifth time that she’d noticed there were less men guarding her. It was getting harder and harder to keep track of how many times she’d been through this. There had been twelve the first time, she was sure of that. She wasn’t sure if they’d gradually diminished or suddenly jumped to a mere eight thugs to keep her in line and drug her back to sleep when it looked like she might break free. It still took two big burly brutes to get the mask on her, but they did it with more ease than the first time, one grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking back so the other could easily slip the gas mask over her muzzled mouth and nose. They were getting better.

Or she was getting weaker.

She’d tried to entertain the former for as long as she could, believing that her guards dwindled because they getting more practiced at restraining and subduing her. That got harder to believe as the diminishing of her restraints got harder and harder to ignore. They were thinner chains, at least they looked thinner, but her super strength didn’t stretch their bonds any more than it had the thick links she’d been bound with before. And even if the smaller chain links were a figment of her imagination, a desperate attempt to convince herself that her strength wasn’t failing her, the fact that there were less chains was obvious. Where she’d once been practically mummified by the heavy lengths, fastened tightly by heavy duty locks, she then had strategically placed ribbons of chain around her, binding her ankles, thighs, waist, and less practical than the others but clearly more for aesthetic, above and below her breasts, framing both her tits and her rapidly fraying costume.

Her once proud and pristine uniform was becoming dirty and tattered. Rips and gashes torn during her furious struggles widened to reveal her flesh beneath, sweaty and dirty as she flexed and strained, exposing more and more of her skin even as her skimpier bondage revealed more and more of her body. More and more of her costume disappeared, becoming tattered remains clinging by threads to the parts still straining to protect her modesty. One time, she barely struggled, worried her boobs were going to fall free, bouncing about as she struggled, providing quite the show for the six men still left to guard her. But they’d still eventually drugged her back to helpless sleep. And while she was out, her costume had been removed.

It almost would have been better if she’d been naked the next time she awakened. They’d redressed her in civilian clothes. Nothing special, just something a normal, non-superpowered person would wear. It started with jeans and a shirt. So plain, so pedestrian. An outfit for a normal person. And like a normal person, the ropes now holding her prisoner could restrain her easily. There had never been a rope in the world strong enough to hold her, not before, but now they bound her more easily than the chains before them. Where the chains had creaked as they bent with the strain of her might, the ropes just dug into her bulging muscles as she flexed and raged. The knots just out of her reach only grew tighter as she pulled and struggled. Her captors, there were only four of them now, took their time, watching her wriggle against her bonds in a desperate but ultimately futile attempt to escape. She watched them savor in her plight, chuckling at the muffled curses she tried to hurl at them through the mouth stuffing and tape she’d been gagged with this time, the sticky stuff wrapped all the way around her head, clinging to her hair. But she wouldn’t be awake when they ripped it off. No, it was back to sleep for the helpless heroine. They finally bored of watching her wear herself out in a losing fight with some well tied ropes and finally advanced on her, one of them pouring liquid from an amber bottle onto a white cloth. One of them grabbed her legs and another her torso, fondling her breasts through her sweaty shirt and bra. The one with the cloth grabbed the back of her head with one hand and pressed the sweet smelling rag over her nose. The fourth one didn’t even have to help. He just watched as his buddies held the rapidly weakening damsel and chloroformed her. Her muffled protests got quieter and quieter as she was inevitably sent back to dreamland.

The next time she woke the fourth one was gone, leaving her in the more than capable hands of a mere three mortal men. They weren’t even the exceptionally big and strong ones that had struggled to hold her bucking body down a few days… weeks, ago? She had no idea how long she was unconscious after the druggings, and she was only allowed to be awake to struggle for… well it had been minutes, at least the first few times, before she threatened to break her bonds and burst free. But recently, it had felt like they’d let her struggle for hours, only putting her back to sleep after it finally dawned on her that she’d never break free even if they gave her a millennium to do it. She could have been unconscious only long enough for them to untie her and strip her before redressing her in a more humiliating outfit and tying her back up in ever more flimsy bondage. But they could be doing other things to her while she was unconscious. Something was making her weaker, sapping her of her strength and making her as weak as a normal human woman.

Maybe even weaker than a normal human woman. She longed for the times when she’d at least been wearing pants, not the dresses and short skirts she found herself in, flashing her panties at the two men who were left to watch her as she struggled and squirmed against the tape that now bound her. She really looked the part of a classic damsel in distress, mewling pathetically into the loosely tied over the mouth gag keeping a mouthful of fabric crammed in her mouth. She could never seem to shake it loose no matter how she tried, until one of the men had finally gotten up and approached the struggling damsel.

“It’s almost as if you don’t want to be free,” he told her, pulling her up off the ground and dragging her over his lap. She bucked and thrashed as hard as she could, but he held her in place. “A child could have broken free by now.”

She shook her head, mmphing in a way that was in no way convincing. She expecting the rag to come next, with him demonstrating that he needed no assistance from his cohort in putting her back to sleep. Her eyes went wide as she felt him lift up the back of her skirt. They’d been handsy with her before, initially because they were grabbing onto any part of her they could grab onto, and she had some considerable things they could get their hands on, things often accentuated by her bondage, but more recently because they wanted to, and there was nothing she could do to stop them in her helpless state. She braced herself for him to grab her panties, but instead she gave a muffled scream of shock and surprise as he spanked her.

This man actually spanked her.

And it hurt, too.

She’d shrugged off being hit by cars like it was nothing, but now a single strike from the palm of a hand across her butt, the flimsy little panties they’d dressed her in shielding her somehow vulnerable flesh even less than they protected her modesty. His second strike stung more than the first, and the third even more, his hand raining down her backside in quick succession, landing skillfully in the same exact spot each time. By the fourth she was afraid she was going to cry. She lost track after eleven spanks, but she was crying shortly after, tears streaming down her cheeks, her gag soaking up the salty droplets as easily as it soaked up the sound of her yelps. She was a mess by the time he finally stopped, sobbing into her tear soaked and snotty gag, quivering in her bonds. The other man finally approached, performing his other role besides spectator to her humiliation. Again, she expected the cloth, but instead of chloroform the second man took out a single syringe filled with clear liquid and handed it to the man who had just spanked her. She almost laughed behind her gag, a rare moment of satisfaction lifting her broken spirits. Those fools. Her skin was bulletproof. That tiny little needle could never pierce her skin.

And then her eyes widened and she yelped again into her gag. A tiny pinch on the left cheek of her bruised bottom. She looked back over her shoulder in time to see his thumb depressing the plunger, the last of the clear liquid disappearing from the vial and rushing through the needle piercing her bright red buttock, rushing into her bloodstream.

He pulled the needle out and handed it back to the other man before patting her butt right over the injection site, not even hitting her with a fraction of the strength he’d used when spanking her, but it was still enough to draw fresh whimpers from her gagged mouth. She could feel the drug working quicker than the gas or the chloroform before it. She didn’t even have the option to hold her breath like she’d tried to do so many times before, delaying the inevitable return of that forced slumber by, at one point minutes, but lately only seconds. Her blood carried the sedative to her heart, where it was quickly dispersed around her body. She felt her limbs go weak; her eyelids grow heavy. Even the stinging pain in her butt from her spanking dulled into a faint warmth that felt almost good before she lost another battle with consciousness and fell asleep over her captor’s lap, his words slowly drifting into her unconscious mind as he told her how helpless she was getting.

It was just him the next time she woke up. She was tied a chair this time. Not even tied to it, she realized as she explored her latest restraints. Just her wrists bound together behind the back of the chair, and her ankles tied together in front of her. Her mouth was packed to bursting with cloth, but she couldn’t feel anything tied over her mouth to hold it in. Try as she might, she couldn’t spit it out, her tongue trapped and unable to force the stuffing past her teeth. He sat across the room watching her. He wasn’t wearing the black ski mask he’d been wearing when there had been multiple of them. She didn’t realize how much their lack of identity and individuality had made them somehow more menacing. A faceless, anonymous group keeping her quiet and helpless, but now it was just a guy sitting there watching her squirm and wriggle. He was, in a word, unremarkable. Not strikingly handsome even if he was well built, though not nearly as jacked as the other men he’d once needed to help hold her down and put her back under. He was not unattractive either. He was just, average. A normal guy. A normal guy who was keeping her captive, trussed up and dressed like a fantasy damsel in distress, a big, poofy, pink dress only obstructing her feeble attempts to stand up. It should have been so easy, get on her feet, jump up and lift her arms over the back of the chair. She could snap the thin ropes binding her wrists and ankles, cross the room in three steps and crush the man’s throat with her bare hands.

But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t get the leverage she needed, her stocking clad feet sliding across the smooth floor. Her flouncy dress bounced around her legs, making her look like she was stomping her feet in frustration, throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t get free. The only thing she achieved was bouncing her breasts out of her low-cut top. They flopped and jiggled about as she squirmed, giving him quite the show as she whined and huffed into her stuffed mouth. It was the soft, supple flesh of her breast that met the tip of the needle this time. He grabbed her chin, making her watch as he plunged the needle into her boob, the tip piercing her skin with practically no resistance, and he slowly injected the sleep-inducing drug. She swooned as he groped her, staring up at her captor, her eyes batting as she mumbled incoherently into her mouth packing. He praised her for being so helpless, for being a good little girl and going to sleep.

She woke up in a straitjacket. He even undid the strap holding her arms in a self-hug after she’d proven she was incapable of escaping on her own and she’d begged him through the ballgag strapped in her mouth, her chest quickly soaked in her drool as she debased herself by pleading with this man for help. She managed to get her arms in front of her after an embarrassingly long struggle, but quickly found that having her arms loose didn’t actually help her escape the jacket’s hold. She finally gave up on escape and lashed out, meaning to wipe the smile off his smug face with the buckle at the end of her sleeve. He’d seen her attack coming, of course, her blow blatantly telegraphed and the swing weak and sluggish. He easily got his arm up, letting the strap wrap around his arm. He’d used it to yank her forward, dragging her back over his lap, the perfect position for another spanking. She was crying almost immediately, wailing and blubbering like a baby around her gag. He brought back an old standby, going back to the chloroform laced rag. She didn’t try to fight it, too busy sucking in air to release another pained yelp as he kept spanking her. She breathed deep the soporific fumes, the stinging slaps attempting to keep her awake battling against the chemicals telling her body to go back to sleep.

Sleep won.

Sleep always won.

Time after time, she was allowed to wake up, just to find herself more helpless than the last time. The most recent humiliation was sitting naked on the floor, her index fingers trapped in a finger trap, a single strip of scotch tape plastered over her lips keeping her from voicing her frustration as she failed to escape the child’s toy. “Do you want to go back to sleep now?” He finally asked after she’d given up, the frustrated tears running down her cheeks and weakening the adhesive on her gag, but not enough for her to be able to get it off. She’d nodded, defeated and embarrassed. “Come here.” He’d patted his thigh like he was coaxing a dog. Like a dog, she’d shuffled on her knees over to him. She was expecting a spanking, willing to take one if it meant he’d knock her out again and she wouldn’t have to be taunted by such a pathetic restraint any longer. But she was a good girl, he explained to her as he took out the chloroform. She rested her chin on his thigh, looking up at him as he held the cloth over her mouth and nose. She didn’t need her spanking today because she was accepting how helpless she was. Her head bobbed, and she moaned softly in agreement. She let sleep come to her.

And now she was here. The soft cuffs holding her spread-eagle in what she quickly deduced was a large crib. He was there, like always, watching her as she discovered just how low he could take her. He watched her realize her only item of clothing was a big disposable diaper, plastered with colorful, babyish prints. He’d sat by her crib for hours as the desperation grew in her as she fought not to use it, even begging him through her pacifier to put her back to sleep.

“So pathetic. Look at yourself.”

She stared up at the mirror above her, reflecting back her misery. She’d been a superheroine. A being of unmatched strength and power, a symbol in her costume, of might and virtue. Now here she was, clad only in a rapidly yellowing diaper, the pacifier in her mouth bouncing up and down almost as if she was sucking it as she tried to spit it out, but even that basic task was too daunting for her. An actual baby would have been able to spit the damn thing out, but not her. She was too weak, too broken.

“There’s nothing super about you,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “You belong like this. You just love being helpless.”

She shook her head, trying to deny it. She didn’t want this, she was just, so, weak. Powerless to stop this man from doing whatever he wanted to her.

“No,” she managed to get out when he pulled the pacifier out of her mouth for her. A single syllable, her last protest before he pushed the nipple of a large baby’s bottle into her mouth.

“Yes,” he said, calmly but firmly. Her eyes crossed as she stared at the white liquid sloshing around in the clear plastic bottle above her. The first drops hit her tongue as she tried in vain to push the nipple out of her mouth, and it tasted like milk, but with a slight hint of some unknown chemical. But she knew what it was, even before she choked down the first mouthful. It was a drug, some new form of tranquilizer that would put her back to sleep.

“This only works because you want it to work.”

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. She hated being so pathetic, so helpless before this man. The milk filled her mouth, and rather than choke, she swallowed.

“Drink your bottle like the helpless little girl you really are.”

She squirmed, trying to shake her head, to dislodge the bottle lodged in her mouth, but the suction of her own latch onto the nipple held it fast in place between her lips. She sucked, drawing the sedative laced milk into her mouth and swallowing it down in greedy gulps. Her diaper warmed as she wet herself again, too weak to stop from pissing herself. All her energy was focused on sucking and swallowing. It was all she was capable of doing.

“You’re ready for nap time, aren’t you baby girl?”

She tried to remember that she wasn’t a baby being put down for a nap, that he was drugging her, that he was the one making her so small and weak and helpless. It didn’t matter. She didn’t have the strength to resist. She was getting so sleepy. She’d been struggling, squirming around in her crib for so long. It was exhausting. She deserved a good rest.

She was a good girl, after all.

Her slow blinking eyes struggled to focus on the bottle before her. It was nearly empty, and for a brief moment she worried that she would run out before sleep claimed her. Her eyes fluttered up to his face, smiling down at her as he held her bottle for her, and she knew he wouldn’t let that happen. He would make sure she got to go back to sleep.

It got longer and longer between blinks, his visage getting blurrier and blurrier until her eyes finally closed, and sleep claimed her again. But his image remained as the darkness faded in, keeping her helpless in her dreams as she slept.