Wonder Woman: Hell in Paradise (Part 2)

Part II

 

Birds of Prey

 

 

As Lady Blackhawk, and as the current pilot for the Birds of Prey, Zinda was used to flying, but usually it involved a plane.  Flying across a storeroom and coming to a bone-crunching halt against the far wall was far less pleasant.  Slumping to the stone floor, she rolled over with a groan, tossing her long blonde hair back over her shoulders. 'You’re gonna pay for this dance, darlin’,’ she grunted, clutching her ribs.

 

She pulled herself up, using the wall for support, feeling the pain of what was probably bruised ribs still but getting up to stand straight against her attacker.

 

My Daddy didn’t teach me to lie down and roll over, pal.

 

She was dressed in her flying gear, a tight black leather top buttoned down one side and with her old squadron insignia, a black hawks head filling a yellow circle, over her heart.  Her black pilots hat had the same symbol over its visor.  The belt around her waist sported two holsters, now currently empty, while below that her outfit was made of up a sable skirt that barely came down below her shapely thighs and a pair of high black boots. All in all, she looked more like a World War 2 caricature of a female pilot.  Which was ironic, since a World War 2 fighter pilot ace was exactly what the gorgeous blonde woman was. 

 

During the war against Nazi Germany Zinda had joined the allied fighter plan group led by the dashing Blackhawk, after which the squadron was named.  Being the only female in the group, she had quickly been dubbed “Lady Blackhawk” by the flyboys they fought alongside. Zinda understood enough of this later decade into which she had recently been thrust (by a totally unlikely series of events) to know that most modern women would have blanched at that name and were scandalized by her uniform, decrying it as denigrating to her gender.

 

That was usually just before she pointed up at the sky and asked the same women if they ever complained about guys like Superman getting around in body-hugging spandex and bright red underwear.

 

Since arriving in this later time, Zinda had availed herself of the changes in the world, mostly in the form of enjoying the incredible breakthroughs in aircraft design.  That was how the woman named Oracle had found her and offered her a job, chief pilot to a group of female crime-fighters calling themselves the Birds of Prey. The name alone was enough to peak Zinda’s interest, and soon she found herself accompanying Oracle’s field agents Black Canary and the Huntress on missions all over the world, most lately to the island home of the Amazons.

 

Zinda had often heard of the exploits of Wonder Woman during the war but had never had the chance to meet her in person.  This had seemed like a perfect opportunity.

 

That idea might need some reviewing, she thought as she swayed to her feet.

 

She squared up against the man approaching her, noting his powerful physique and waiting to the best possible moment to throw the haymaker that cracked him across the jaw. The white gloves over her hand did nothing to blunt the force of the punch that had laid out both German stormtroopers and overly-friendly allied troops with equal ease.

 

But this time it was the blond pilot who gasped in pain. She drew back her hand, cradling it instinctively as she felt the knuckles under her glove fracture. 'Son of a whore!' she exclaimed in a hiss.

 

‘So, you thought a little girl could hurt one who wears the uniform of the third Reich?’ the towering figure asked her in thickly accented English.

 

Unlikely as it seemed, the man facing her was dressed even less politically correctly than Zinda herself. His ‘uniform’ consisted of a bright grin body-hugging suit, decorated with braided gold epilates across his broad shoulders and with a high, stiff red collar. He was square jawed and had blond hair like herself, but his was styled in a severe flat-topped cut. Also like her, he wore gloves, though his were a flamboyant yellow affair, and upon his impressive chest was emblazoned a white swastika on a black circular field.

 

The green costumed man stood smiling at her, but his bright blue eyes were as cold as winter. There was no compassion or mercy in that gaze, only the willingness to do violence and the twisted morals with which to truly enjoy it.

 

Zinda stood steady and regarded the man who has tossed her twenty feet as if she had been no more than a rag doll. 'Third Reich?’ she murmured, feigning confusion, then broke into a mocking smile of her own. ‘Yeah, I remember some fancy boys calling themselves that a while back.’  She eyed his costume up and down. ‘You must be the only one didn’t kill himself, huh?'

 

His face was filled with hate, but also with a terrible anticipation. ‘I may be the last true soldier of our glorious Reich, but I am good enough to teach you respect and fear,’ he replied.

 

'Oh darlin’, I should tell you straight up,’ she said, smiling coyly, ‘I am one slow learner.’ And with a lightning move, her knee was rising up and smashing into his groin. Zinda stood back, waiting for him to fall.

 

Nothing happened. The two adversaries stood staring at each other for a silent moment.

 

‘Nuts,’ she said at last.

 

Zinda leapt sideways, trying to get some distance, but her battered ribs slowed her. His gloved hand flew out, catching her easily around the neck and holding her. She gasped, grabbing his hand and trying in vain to pull it loose. ‘Your pitiful skills are not match for the uber-might of Captain Nazi, Amercian whore,’ he sneered.

 

The blonds’ eyes grew wider, but not from the grip on her airway.  ‘Captain Nazi?! That’s…what you call yourself?’ She dragged more air into her lungs through the narrowing windpipe.  ‘Geez…did you…loose a bet…with old Adolph?’

 

 The Germans’ burned a little brighter and his grip tightened. ‘How do you feel now?’ he said to her as he dug his fingers around her throat to throttle her. Wheezing sounds came from his victim.  ‘Still vant to make jokes, pretty girl?’

  

'You...you’re a real pain in the neck...know that sport!' she hissed, as her breasts under the tight black leather uniform top rose and fell fitfully. Her long legs jerked in the air as she struggled to break free. Still smiling, he took all her effort in stride, even when she twisted enough to bring her elbows smashing into his stomach. The move hurt her more than him as her ribs sends waves of pain through her.  Zinda cried out, dreadfully aware the power in his hands – had he wanted to, he could snap her neck like a twig.

 

‘Good hit bitch,’ he said wiping at this green uniform where she had connected. Then with horrible ease he twisted her so that she was facing away from him, pulling her  close with the hand around her neck and using the other to wrench the arm she had struck with up behind her back with brutal force ‘If you go on with this, you will damage yourself more then I will.’

 

Again she tried to pull away, glaring at him. ‘You ain’t never gone hear me beg, Nazi,’ she spat. ‘That’s a promise!’

 

‘That’s vat they alvays say, at the start,’ he smiled, and smashed her back to the wall.  She cried out, her body crashing into her bricks, driving the air from her lungs as inside her leathers her breasts were flattened against the hard surface. As crushing pain flared in her chest he released her and stood back. Zinda staggered around, spitting a little blood, folding back to lean against the wall behind her.

 

‘Hmmm ... it seems that you’re a real brave fighter, eh? So stand up straight and I  vill show you who’s the best,’ he said to her, his face both angry and happy.

 

The blonde pilot tried to breathe but the pain was intensifying as she stood up slowly. The green costumed Nazi stood in front of her and watched her with sadistic pleasure, noting especially how her full breasts moved fitfully inside her jacket.

 

‘Hey, you gonna look at my top or fight' she said insolently, then spat another gobbet of blood on the swastika on his chest. ‘Cmon,’ she beckoned with her fingers, ‘show ol’ Zinda the good stuff.’

 

His only reply was a cruel smile, and then he moved faster than she could follow, smashing a high kick at her breasts.  His boot slammed into the yielding curves and mashed them, the pain horrible for her as she felt another rib broken despite the cushioning of her chest. Zinda screamed, driven back into the wall and then clutching her boob, tears running down her face.

 

‘Yeah, see now...that’s…that’s the spirit Fritz,’ she moaned, eyes closed.

 

‘I shall break every bone inside you before I kill you, woman, I promise that,’ he said flatly.  ‘You will lie at my feet like a broken doll and plead for death.’

 

She opened one eye to Look up at him. 'Bring it, don’t sing it,’ she sobbed.

 

‘As the lady wishes,’ he said in a mockery of respect. He went forward ignored her hammer punch to his jaw to grab her by her throat front of her jacket, lifting her up off her toes. ‘Now you can lord it over me,’ he chuckled, and then his other fist was slamming into her chest. One again agony flared in her breasts, her twin mounds throbbing with pain as he jerked in his grasp.

 

‘AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!’

 

Her body was twitching delightfully in spite of his comments on her appearance, the hem of her skirt barely concealing the space between her two thighs. Fighting against the pain throbbing in her breasts Zinda brought up her booted feet and drive her heel into his jaw once, twice.

 

‘I shall send you to a hell that you never could imagine,’ he said, as he shifted his head back around to face her. He pulled her down close to him so he could look straight into her eyes, then he rammed his knee up between her dangling legs.

 

‘EEEEEEEAAAAAAAARRRRRHHHHHH!’

  

The woman pilot’s scream was piercing. She felt her womanhood ablaze with pain and sobbed in anguish, her head thrown back. ‘That is the music I vant to hear,’ Nazi laughed. Her hands clutched his arms holding her as she thrashed in his grasp

 

‘Oh God!!!’ she moaned brokenly. Her pussy…her pussy felt ruptured. Explosions of pain were going off behind her eyes like flashes of artillery shells. ‘More is on the way,’ she heard his sadistic voice promising, as he opened the grip and let her fall. She collapsed in front of him, curling into a ball with her skirt askew over her shapely ass while she held onto his boot, sobbing quietly. With a contemptuous laugh he rammed his boot against her ass so she was pushed flat to the ground.  Zinda fell forward heavily, her boobs belting a new rhythm of pain as she hit the hard floor, then yelped as she was jerked to her feet then by his gloved fingers wrapped in her hair and pulling her up easily.

 

 

I haf not had such a nice target for a long time,’ he smiled. ‘Now, let us see vat you can take.’

 

His free hand darted forward and this time he grabbed her by her breasts, grabbed and held on, closing a remorseless fist around them like an iron claw. She shifted her grip to grab his hand instinctively, her leather jacket no protection against the terrible force squashing her female orbs. Groaning loudly she felt her boobs being crushed in his vice like grip, tighter and tighter, the leather jacket creaking as her tits were mashed inside. She heaved and tried to pull herself free, kicking him with all the strength in her legs, sobs of anguish gurgling up in her throat.

 

‘Yes, you are fighting back – that’s good for me,’ he laughed. He shoved her with her back to the wall and savoured her gasping in pain. He looked into her eyes and could see the defiance in her face, her hands gripping his thick wrists and trying to pull herself free.  He laughed aloud and listened to the woman moaning in pain as his fingers pushed deeper and deeper into her tit flesh. As the leather jacket started to tear under the abuse, he rammed his knee into her stomach.

 

‘GGGGUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNHHH!’

 

Zinda let go of the hands crushing her breasts and dry retched as her stomach was hammered, heaving pathetically as she hung by her imprisoned tits. Tears ran down her face - she was sure she could feel her boobs bleeding inside her jacket. As she hung in his grip like a pinned insect he finally ripped of her leather top, shredding the tough material like it was tissue paper. As she slumped back again against the stone behind her, her horrified mind was imagining what her two mammaries would look like – blood soaked, mangled, mutilated.

 

Seizing her courage Zinda looked down. The orbs nestled in the white bra under her dishevelled shirt were bruised and in some places red ichor had risen to the surface where Nazi had ruptured small blood vessels in her skin. With sick dread she also saw a few drops of blood dripping onto the floor from between her legs.

 

‘Your body is my battlefield now,’ he growled, watching her while she fought to find her footing with her leather booted feet. ‘Time for a proper German hug, perhaps?’ he asked her.

 

‘Pig,' she hissed. She lunged at him and he stepped back, easily fending off her attack. Then while she still had her weight forward, his arms wrapped around her body and yanked her to him, trapping her arms to her sides and squeezing the air out of her lungs.

 

Zinda felt herself crushed against his rock hard body, her breasts still full of pain and now stomach a nest of suffering. In his turn, Nazi could feel every curve of her buxom figure planted firmly against his own. Slowly he made the grip tighter while she dangled in his arms, legs kicking powerfully as she sensed his pleasure about her suffering. She hammered her boots and knees against him with all of her power left, to no avail. Instead, the gorgeous pilot felt her ribs being crushed in his encircling limbs, and the full measure of his evil pleasure was hard between her legs as he pulled her to him. She arched her back, trying to pull away from him, her breasts swollen and bulging under the remains of her uniform. Desperately she tried to use her fists against the man as they were clamped to her sides. He just smiled and slowly made his double-arm grasp tighter around her.

 

Feeling her lungs starting to burn, Zinda took gulping breaths. Her bruised ribs were grinding against each other and she gritted her teeth in pain.  She had taken a bullet before and knew about pushing aside physical suffering, but the punishment now was also combined with a quickly growing feeling of utter helplessness. Her booted feet continued flailing uselessly against his legs as her short skirt rode up to reveal her perfect ass.

 

With his mighty arms straining to compress the blonde hellcat, Nazi could feel every nuance of her ripe curves as they were mercilessly crushed against his own superb Aryan frame. He wanted to press her like piece of ripe fruit, until the sweet juices flowed out. She kept wriggling like a blonde serpent in his grip, and then…

 

CRACK

 

The sound was like a green twig being snapped inside a wet towel.  Zinda’s mouth went wide and she leaned so far back he though he might have accidentally snapped her spine.

 

In her head, the pilot was screaming. She could  feel that one of her her ribs had broken, a small prelude that promised to become more and more agonizing as the rest of her ribs broke, one by one, slow and painful.  The ends of the break ground against each other inside her, just above her sternum, and she hauled with all her strength, trying to pull free.

 

SNAP,‘…aaahhhhhHHHHHH!’

 

‘This is not the end, Darling,’ she heard him saying as he looked at her anguished features with hate in his eyes. ‘Only the beginning, ja? The woman was leaning her body back so the rise of her breasts under the torn leather rose before his eyes.

 

‘GGGGGGNNNNNNNNN!!’

 

Despite her pain and lack of breath the American woman struggled on, almost heroically - a hold-over no doubt of her own Aryan roots that were evident in her beauty and golden hair. True, she had been ruined by stupid American ideals and corruption, but feeling her vibrant body thrashing in his arms, he could think of ways she might still serve the purposes of the Reich.