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PART IV
ZATANNA
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/e/ee/Zatanna-hughes.png
Zatanna didn’t know how long she had been chained in the dark room. It might have been days, or even weeks. There were no windows, was clock to keep track of time. There were only two ways she was sure that any sort of interval had passed. One was when they came into the room and injected her with a syringe which they told her was sustaining her body in lieu of eating and drinking. They never removed the gag from her mouth at any time, knowing that if she were able to speak for even a few seconds their sick little scheme would be undone. Her power to alter reality with her magic was virtually limitless, but she need to vocalize her thoughts in order for it to work, saying the words backwards in accordance with the strange mystical rules that governed her power.
The other way she knew time was passing was by the number of times they had raped her.
Zatanna’s clothes hung off her in tatters – torn fishnet stockings and a bow tie hanging askew around her throat, and her magician’s coat with tails ragged and torn in places – one sleeve was completely gone. The waistcoat she usually wore was also gone, and her white shirt was grimed and open to the waist, revealing her full breasts in the scant remains of her black lace bra. Below the waist her black leather thigh high boots were still in place, but her panties had been ripped off and tossed into the corner, leaving her womanhood was easily accessible to the animals who came to rut in her.
The female hero’s long dark hair was dishevelled and matted, and she could feel the slight prickle between her legs that told her that the hairs of her pudenda were starting to grow back past the usual slender black line that she allowed above her cleft of her sex. She supposed that must mean she had been her at least several days.
Her bondage was a simple affair. She lay on a metal table some three feet off the floor and about four feet wide. It was long enough for her head and body to rest on it, but her legs hung down at the knees over the lower corners. Lengths of polymer cord around her ankles were tied to the tables central support to keep her legs spread, while an identical cord went around both her wrists where her arms were pulled up over her head to hang – elbows bent - down over the top edge. With her arms drawn up her c-cup breasts were pulled higher and fuller, which the mystic heroine knew was intentional, while her belly was flattened down between her sternum and the soft mound of her sex.
Zatanna moved in her bondage, trying to ignore the chafing around her wrists. One of her white gloves was still on but it gave her no comfort against the pull of the cords. Her thighs ached as well from being kept stretched apart for days [weeks?] but even more from the merciless pounding she had received between her splayed legs.
Tears welled up in the girls blue eyes, despite her best efforts. The pain of what they had done to her was matched only by the brutal humiliation of it. The rapes had been systematic and delibertate in their cruelty, with sometimes as many as half a dozen men present in the room. Zatanna had quickly learned that those times would be the worst – not just because with so many men eager to fuck her the session would last for much longer, but also because the men waiting for the chance to push their cocks into her snatch would amuse themselves in other ways.
Some were happy simply to stroke their dicks while they watched her moving to the forced rythym of their comrade, but others liked to play, and often play cruelly. If she was lucky they would only rub their dicks against her breasts or her face, or slap their members against her while they called her a whore. Some of them forced their stiff cocks into her hand, squeezing her fingers around them and making her stroke the penis for them. She had tried once to grab the offending dick and twist if off, but all she accomplished was a gagged scream of pain when the angry man had seized one of her fingers and yanked it back at right angles to the back of her hand, then shoved it forward again. When he pushed his cock back into her palm, she allowed him to wrap her slender fingers around it and give him what he wanted.
But some just liked to hurt her.
They would slap her breasts, or pinch and twist them. Some bit them, clamping the soft smooth skin between their teeth and gnawing on it while she shuddered and moaned. A couple liked to use her tits as punching bags, slamming their fists into them while she gagged. One time they had been with her together and had spent an hour pummelling her chest globes until she passed out, only to wake later with her breasts so swollen they were like throbbing beach balls on her chest, and she howled hopelessly when the first man of the day used them for handholds for leverage as he raped her.
They spat on her, came on her. Sometimes they slapped her pussy before they fucked it, or during, to get her to move more.
She didn’t know how often her cunt had been filled with the rapist’s foul semen. After a while they had started flushing her pussy out with a saltwater solution. The abrasions from the men’s forced use of her burned like fire when the brine washed over them and she had jerked so hard with her curved and sexy body that the man flushing her would always rape her again straight away when he was done.
Zatanna felt her will close to crumbling. The endless cycle of rape eroded her spirit despite her efforts to resist. She considered escape plans, but none of them were viable. She clung to the belief that rescue would come, but after days of suffering she now doubted there would be any release, short of death.
Sometimes she wished they would kill her.
The door hissed open, and Zatanna felt herself trembling. She fought desperately not to wonder at what was coming this time – one man, or a group? Simple forced sex, or something more twisted. She tried to control her breathing, to focus on her training with the Justice League. There was a way to escape this horror. There had to be.
A single set of footfalls sounded as the door closed. One man was crossing the room towards here. Only one. She could handle what one would do to her. She would endure it, and survive until help came. It was only one man.
He stepped up to the table and looked down at her. Zatanna’s eyes widened, and she forgot how to breathe.
“Hello, Zatanna.”
She looked up at him, mind reeling with horror. His black bodysuit had a faint sheen to it, but there was nothing reflective in the eyes set into the bearded face. They studied her with a kind of glee, but it was a cold, dark pleasure, totally devoid of any human empathy. Looking into those eyes as they gloated over her helplessness, Zatanna felt herself trembling uncontrollably.
Dr Light leaned over her and smiled wider. “I know,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to start, either.”
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