Superbabes: Cancelled Order

BY : KorgTheOrc
Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman
Dragon prints: 3946
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, or any DC character used. Orders and all Superbabes characters belong to @SnowWolf25. This story is parody and does not depict real-world people or events. I make no profit.

Superbabes: Cancelled Orders

 

Cancelled Order #1: Harley Quinn

 

DISCLAIMER: Harley Quinn & Penguin are property of DC and Orders & the Superbabes are property of @SnowWolf35. All events are fictional and not based on any real-life person or event. This story is parody and intended for persons 18 years or older only.

 

 

 

 

 

            “I don’t see why I can’t plan the birthday party.,” Veronica said indignantly, tugging pieces of her costume into place in front of her locker.

 

            Yaya, currently on her lunch and flipping through channels on the break room TV, didn’t miss a beat. “Because we would actually like to CELEBRATE Sierra’s birthday, not just cram as many frat boys into her apartment as possible.”

 

            Veronica frowned, readjusting her ample bust behind purple patches of stretchy fabric that somehow passed for an outfit. “How is that not celebrating?”

 

            “It’s not a party for you, that’s how,” Alice chastised her, fastening the snaps on her cloak next to her best friend of many a year. “Unlike you, we might actually wanna do something BESIDES fuck the entire time.”

 

            The redhead gasped like Alice had said some particularly filthy curse word. “You mean there might not be any sex?”

 

            Yaya gave a snort from her chair, having settled on some kind of reality show. “Please, it’s Sierra. Knowing her, we’ll probably end up ganging up on poor Tom after slathering him in birthday cake or something.”

 

            “Actually, that’s what we’re doing for HIS birthday,” The Power-Girl-lookalike said as she traipsed into the break room, plopping down in a seat near Yaya. “And besides, Jackie is planning the party.”

 

            The rest of the girls groaned, as if that was almost as bad, except for Veronica, who perked back up again with a smile.

 

            “With Brittney’s help,” she added, clearly no one’s idiot. “We’re doing kind of a small, family-friendly thing in the day, then the big party later in the night. Best of both worlds. Orders, you coming out wi-“

 

            Sierra stopped, looking over at her boss who’d been silent the whole time. She looked like she was about to stare a hole in her glasses, her gaze glued on the office phone like it might explode at anything second.

 

            “Orders?” Alice ventured, the attention of the assembled employee now on her. “You OK there?”

 

            Their bespectacled boss put a hand up to her temple and started to rub idly. “I’ve got an itch.”

 

            Several of the girls looked at each other, but it was Veronica who eventually managed to pipe up first. “Like… somewhere you can’t scratch in public, or…?”

 

            “No, it’s…” Orders started, trying to find the words to describe it. “It’s like an itch that hasn’t happened yet. Like you think about the word itch and the concept of what itching is and then you get an itch from thinking about it too much.” She paused, adding, “Except in your brain. And not really an itch.”

 

            None of the women currently on shift were metahuman in any way, but they knew enough about Orders’ precognitive abilities to hazards guesses at what she meant. Visions could come in gentle laps before they came in huge waves.

 

            After a moment or so, Sierra broke the silence. “I mean, maybe it’s just your imagin-“

 

            *RING, RING*

 

            Everyone, including Orders, seemed to just stare for a second. It was eerie every time.

 

            Orders’ eyes flashed purple and a path lay out before her…

 

 

 

 

TIME: 8:31pm (5 seconds into the future) PLACE: Gotham (Superbabes)

 

 

 

            *RING, RING, CLICK*

 

            “Hello, Superbabes. We now deliver.”

 

            “Ah, felicitations. I have perused your menu and find myself in requirement of your finest, er, ‘Harley Meal’.”

 

            “That’s a hot dog with everything on it, side of fries, a pudding pack, and a soft drink.”

 

            “U~ugh, er, yes, that is correct.”

 

            “Will there be anything else?”

 

            “I require it delivered to my address, post-haste, as I fear I cannot attend to retrieve such a… sumptuous repast myself. I am informed I can request the nature of my erstwhile courier for an additional stipend?”

 

            “… You want it delivered by Harley Quinn.”

 

            “Ah, we have an understanding.”

 

            “We expect her back in 60 minutes or less or the police will be informed. You will be charged upon completion of your delivery. Name, address, and choice of soft drink, please.”

 

 

 

 

TIME: 8:55pm (24 minutes into the future) PLACE: Gotham Docks (Warehouse #7)

 

 

 

            Anyone who had been throughout Gotham for any extended period of time knew that some areas just never really improved. At the top of that particular list was none other than the Gotham Docks. The fishing industry was, no pun intended, floundering with the sheer amount of chemical pollutants being pumped into the bay by Ace Chemicals and Dagget Industries, and most seafood either had to be caught far out to sea or just shipped in from out of town. And while the import & export business of the city did OK, everyone knew the real function of the docks was for the various shady activities of any number of criminal lowlifes. More people in cement shoes were tossed off the pier than fishing lines.

 

            So it certainly didn’t instill Harley with a great deal of confidence that the delivery address was a large warehouse on the waterfront. It’s only identifier from the dozen or so identical ones along the pier was a sign reading “CC FINE IMPORTS” with a logo that looked like monocle nestled against a top hat.

 

            Harley shivered a little in the cool night air, the breeze off the ocean practically slicing through the thin fabric of her red and black jester get-up of hers. Well, with any luck it’s a security guard looking to kill an hour with half his paycheck, she thought. Working at someplace with “fine” in the name probably added a zero onto most salaries.

 

            Her heels clacked loudly in the relative quiet of the docks, toting the bag of food as the sexy clown girl made her way to the warehouse’s front door, those thick hips of hers moving with that alluring sway that came naturally to her. A true ‘hooker walk’ if ever there was one.

 

            Her gloved hand rapped on the door a few times. “Superbabes…”

 

 

TIME: 8:57pm (27 min. into the future) PLACE: CC Fine Imports

 

           

 

            “… Special Delivery… Service?”

 

            Not seeing a face as the door creaked open, a cough directed her attention downward to where a short, rounded gentleman in what looked to be fine evening wear stood. Not simply the nice clothes of a wealthy man out on the town, he looked almost like someone’s idea of fancy from years gone by, sporting a top hat and monocle not unlike the sign on the building.  His features put her in mind of birds in general, an elongated nose that seemed almost beak-like (her mother, ever the diplomatic one, would have referred to it as a ‘fine Roman nose’), and his rounded appearance gave the suggestion of a human-sized owl.

 

            Although maybe she was thinking of a different bird entirely. After all, it wasn’t quite what she was expecting, and it had her momentarily flustered.

 

         “Ah, echante, my dear. I commend your operation for a most prompt response,” the stout little man said in a voice that seemed just dripping with dignity and refinery.

 

            “We aim t’ please, puddin’!” Harley cheerfully handed him the food, making a show of leaning down considerably so that her chest was at eye level on him to do so.

 

            The rotund little man took the food and held it at arm’s length as if it were radioactive. He gestured her inside to what looked like the front office of the warehouse, closing and locking the door behind him. “I must admit, your thespianism is most efficacious, my dear. Your voice alone does justice most fine to the dear Miss Quinn.”

 

            Harley couldn’t help but giggle a little. The short man talked like he was lecturing to a crowd of academics, or possibly museum visitors. She wondered if it was for her benefit or if he actually talked like this all the time. Running a hand along the side of his face and trailing it to his chest to toy with his bow tie, she gave a slight bite of her lip for effect as she spoke in that Brooklyn accent. “Oh, for the next hour, you have lil’ ol’ Harley herself. Miss Quinn, if you’re nasty.”

 

            Her short customer chuckled in apparent appreciation, giving her hand an affectionate pat. “A resounding temptation worthy of Sisyphus himself, my dear,” He said, turning briefly to the trash can and succinctly dropping in the bag of food with a rustle of plastic. “Alas, I am afraid I am not your particular quarry for the evening, but require your services all the same.”

 

            Harley cocked her hip a bit, resting a hand on it and studying the short man. “Aw, didja go and get me as a gift? You must be a heckuva friend.”

 

            “A ‘heckuva’ employer, actually,” He said, readjusting his bow tie and gesturing to the luscious jester woman to follow him to one of the desks. “Your client works at my behest, and I feel they deserve a consideration in light of low morale in hard times. They do however have some… proclivities.”

 

            Opening a desk drawer, the fancy little bird-like man produced what appeared to be a length of high-quality nylon rope. Harley was no stranger to being tied up, but he must have seen her expression change slightly as he added, “Of course, if that is a problem…”

 

            “No, no. If a trussed-up Harley is what’ll make a good gift for a workin’ man, I can handle it, puddin’!” She said, turning around and holding her wrists out to the man and looking expectantly over her shoulder with a playful grin.

 

            He gave a short, bark of a laugh that sounded almost like WARK, all smiles at her willingness. “Truly, you are a credit to your craft and profession, my dear. The utter echt of Harley Quinns, through and through!”

 

            Taking up the rope, the small man began to tie together her wrists with efficiency. Harley felt something crawling at edge of her mind, a vague sense that she’d seen or heard of the stout customer somewhere before. Maybe one of the other girls had ordered him before and talked about him? There was certainly shorter of strange customer stories from working in Gotham. She’d have to ask when she got back.

 

            When he had finished with his knots, Harley gave an experimental tug, finding that the rope held firm. “You’ve done this before,” she teased.

 

            “Practice makes perfect, and perfection is pride in one’s work, my dear,” he said with all the dignity befitting a philosopher. “Now come. Musn’t dawdle on such a limited time table.”

            He took hold of her bound wrists from behind and marched her down a hallway past a set of double-doors. Things suddenly looked much less office-like and more industrial, the carpeted floor giving way to cement floors that once again made her heels clack loudly. An enormous door at the far end of the hallway was rife with warnings signs about “EMPLOYEES ONLY” and “HAZARDOUS MATERIALS”. His escorting of her soon became more akin to a forced march of the painted-up jester woman, to the point that when he pushed through the door, he was gripping tight enough to be painful on her bound wrists.

 

            Just beyond was a massive open warehouse area, the sound of multiple voices emanating from within. As he quick-stepped her over to a railing, multiple men could be seen milling around with one task or another. Each of them to a man didn’t look like the sort of person you’d want to meet in a dark alley, a few working shirtless unloading or crating up items with prominent prison ink on display. If that wasn’t unnerving enough, several seemed to be carrying around menacingly large automatic rifles as others worked, as if ready to start shooting at the drop of a hat.

 

            A top hat, most likely.

 

            Harley suddenly had a sour feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t as if all of their clients were saints, but this was certainly not feeling at all right. Especially since she’d only been ordered for one customer. “H-hey, so, maybe we could do this somewhere el-“

 

            “GENTLEMEN!” The well-dressed man shouted over her, his voice carrying considerably and causing the several dozen thugs to stop what they were doing and look over to him. “I am aware profits have been down lately due to an abundance of… vermin complications,” He said, his voice seeming to practically growl out the last two words. “However! In light of these setbacks, I promised incentive, and incentive you shall have.”

 

            The collection of men seemed to slowly move into one teeming crowd, a swelling group that became only more animated when one of the intimidating looking thugs pointed up and exclaimed. “Holy shit… holy shit, the boss did it! The boss got Harley fuckin’ Quinn!”

 

            The crowd suddenly became alive with shouts and wolf-whistles, which seemed to please the short employer as much as it worried Harley.

 

            This is bad, she thought. Maybe if I can run, I can make it to the car. And what, drive with my hands behind my back? This is nuts! What’s wrong with this weird little fancy, bird-looking…

 

            Her mind stopped and hovered on the last bit. A fancy bird.

 

            Oh shit.

 

            “I’m sure there are few and far between among you that have not suffered at the hands of the erstwhile Miss Quinn or her lamentable former paramour, so let this be a firm reminder that loyalty to me is always rewarded, unlike the paltry few traitors who sought to defect to other employ.” He gave a slight sneer and added, “Shortly before their brief swimming lessons several miles from shore, that is.”

 

            Harley started to panic a bit, the gravity of the situation sinking in at last. “W-wait, I’m not…!”

 

            A shove from behind cut her short and sent her sprawling a few feet onto the warehouse floor below, knocking the wind out of her momentarily and leaving her at the forefront of the thirty or so vile-looking men that quickly swarmed upon her, shouting and jeering.

 

            Above on the nearby walkway, the well-dressed Mr. Cobblepot seemed to give a mocking wave. “Adieu, Miss Quinn. They say all true artists suffer for their craft, so consider this an educational experience, if nothing else.” He then regarded one of the armed men who snapped at attention to the tuxedoed crime boss. “Let them have their fun, but we move out in 45 minutes to the main safehouse.”

 

            Leaving the delivery girl to her fate, he began the trek back to the office area, producing a slim phone from his pocket that probably cost a small fortune and speed-dialing someone. “Lark, get Raven. I need you to move a car out front…”

 

            Harley meanwhile felt utterly pinned down under a sea of muscled flesh, hands roaming, groping, and pinching at her all the while. She struggled on her stomach, but with her hands tied tight behind her, it was an effort in futility to try and get free of the press of men.

 

            “Remember me, Quinn? Your clown boyfriend shoved me off a roof!” A muscled brute snarled at her, grabbing her by one of the ends of her jester cap, as well as some of the hair tucked into it. “Took me eight months to recover, you bitch!”

 

            Harley was in a full panic, eyes wide. “Please! I’m not Har-GALK!”

 

            Her words were cut off as a hefty cock was hauled out and forced into her pleading mouth, her cries muffled as the prison-tattooed thug began to roughly pump away at her painted face. “Yeah, suck it, clown-bitch! If I feel teeth, I’m gonna smack ‘em outta that crazy mouth of yours!”

 

            The terrified jester girl couldn’t seem to find her rhythm to the vicious assault on her mouth, choking and gagging as her tongue futilely worked to try and push against the invading member. “ULKULKULKULK-AWGL!” The wet sounds were dragged out of her throat as the man thrust away without care.

 

            A crack of flesh on flesh echoed out, a stinging pain exploding along her curvy backside as hands started to smack against the cheeks through the fabric of her form-fitting leggings. “MRRPH! NUHR! STUHP! GLRG-ULK!”

 

            “This is for when you cracked my ribs with that fuckin’ mallet, you bitch!” One of the men sneered behind her, delivering spank after spank on her heart-shaped ass, stopping only so he could tug down on the fabric and begin delivering them to her bare flesh. “How do you like being the one gettin’ beat, huh?!”

 

            “Hah! Crazy bitch loves getting smacked around. That’s why she stayed with that painted up freak for so long,” The man riding her mouth and throat said, giving the side of her face a hard slap as he continued to pump between her lips. “Ain’t that right, crazy?”

 

            Tears were starting to run down, smearing Harley’s makeup with black trails of eyeliner, both from the effort of trying to take the cock in her unwilling throat, and from the sheer violated feeling and helplessness of her situation. “NNUUUH! GAWLG! ULK! ALK!”

 

            If her eyes could have gone wider when she felt someone spread the cheeks of her plump ass and spit onto her snug little hole, they would have, but all the surrounded delivery girl could do was thrash against her captors even as she felt a large, fleshy warmth prod between her cheeks. Her protests were muffled against the cock that was currently treating her throat like a sex toy, not that anyone would have heeded them anyway as the man behind didn’t just push, but slammed into her rounded ass with a punishing drive.

 

            “NNNNNNNNNNNNGH! NUUUUUUH! DAWWWWP! NRGH! ULK! NUUUUH!”

 

            “Fuckin’ circus-bitch’s ass is tight!” The man that had forced himself into her snug little hole snarled, showing his appreciation for Harley’s ass by delivering another vicious slap across her already red and stinging cheeks while riding her, hips slapping with every vicious thrust he sent her way.

 

            She could feel hands ripping along her two-piece costume, leaving pieces of her exposed to view as more and more men around her shouted and jeered at her debasement.

 

            “Fuckin’ slut!”

 

            “Clown boy can’t save you now!”

 

            “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, bitch!”

 

            She could feel the tears flowing down her face even as it was shoved over and over again into the burly criminal’s crotch, her throat spasming from the abuse. She wanted to tell them they were wrong, that she wasn’t who they thought. But all she could manage through her thoroughly filled mouth was:

 

            “AWGH, AHUH… AHM… ULGULGULK…. NUHHH HURRREEEHEEHEE….!”

 

            Unfortunately, the attempt was met with less than clarity.

 

            “You’re not sorry, huh?! Not sorry your ex killed half the guys we worked with? Not sorry your beat the shit out of us? Well how ‘bout we MAKE you sorry, bitch!” The man fucking her from behind said, pumping his hips faster as he tried to truly take out every grievance he ever had with her namesake on that wobbling ass of hers, slam-fucking her against the cold cement floor.

 

            Cheers rang out at this new intensity out of their comrade, but her attention was drawn to the jarring thrusts of the man in front of her as he reached his limit. Grabbing tight to her head with both hands, he held her face to the hilt on his shaft as thick shots of cum began to pump against the back of her throat, her attempts to fight for breath causing some of that seed to snort out of her nostrils obscenely. Her only options were to swallow or choke, and so her throat worked hard, trying to keep up with the torrent of semen forced down her gullet.

 

            As if this indignity wasn’t enough for the man, he yanked his prick free of her now lipstick-smeared mouth and let his last few shots blast across her face, stinging her eyes as some landed while the rest mingled with her streaking face paint. She coughed in rough hacks, cum falling from her open mouth as she fought for air.

 

            The men were egging on their fellow thug who was raping her ass with fervor, the smacks of their hips, along with the slap of her body against the ground, ringing out through the warehouse as she tried to plead with him.

 

            “Pl-please, nuh-no muh-moooore…!” She managed between sobs, that faux Brooklyn accent abandoned, not that anyone could tell with the hitch in her voice.

 

            “Ngh… lots more clown! This… mmf… is just.. fuck… round 1…!” The hired goon said, grabbing at the coxcombs of her jester’s cap and tugging back on them and the hair tucked inside like the reins of a horse. Pulling her body back by her head in a painful arch, he mercilessly kept up those punishing thrusts in front of the crowd until finally a hot surge of cum began to slop into her ass. He seemed to refuse to loosen his grip as he came, keeping her head and back at that uncomfortable angle for nearly a minute as he finished off inside her.

 

            Harley could barely see straight from the blurriness of her tears mingling with the cum she couldn’t reach to swipe out of her eyes. When she felt the man pull free of her, his cum leaking from her ass, she could only think of one thing to plaintively sob. “Ahuh… ahhhuh… I’m nuh-not H-Ha-Harleeeeeheeheeee!”

 

            Another rough, calloused hand grabbed at her, this time clutching her chin and tilting it up to look at a face that immediately spit onto hers, making her wince. “Yeah, sure. It’s all ‘Doctor Harleen Quinzel’ on that little show of yours now, right? Well when we’re done with you, it’s gonna be ‘Doctor Cum-Dump’, you fuckin’ cunt.”

 

            Harley could only look up at the myriad of scowling and leering faces, the collected mob of ex-cons and bruisers all having zero sympathy in their gaze for her. Her lip trembled as she started to sob again, it turning into a squeal as greedy hands descended on her once more.

 

 

TIME: 9:15pm (45 min into the future) PLACE: Warehouse Floor

 

 

 

            “NOOO! IT’S TOO MUCH! TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OOOOOOUT!”

 

            The crowd continued to hoot and holler and Harley was held aloft by not one, but three different men, all of whom were agreed upon by the group to be the most hung. One was a heavily tattooed Irish-looking type with a shock of red hair and beard, while the other two were a pair of muscled black men whose physiques were broad on one, tall on the other. Between the three of them was more than two and a half feet of cock split between their persons, and the current game of the crowd was to see how many of them could fit in Harley’s holes at once.

 

            Tall was currently pumping into her recently fucked ass, while Red-Hair and Broad were fighting for space in Harley’s all too snug little pussy, each of them trying to pump into it at the same time.

 

            Harley (although in truth, she felt more like Mel at this point, her cries of mistaken identity still falling on deaf ears) felt beyond full with those enormous pricks, never having been so painfully stretched even the few times she’d worked groups. Her arms were still bound tightly behind her and all she could do was writhe ineffectively as they held her aloft, raising and dropping her to try and force more of those monstrous shafts into her confines.

 

            “Nghh, much as this little slut has fucked in her day, she’s still got a cunt like a vise,” Red-Hair grunted, pulling down hard on Harley’s frame to try and get his and Broad’s shafts deeper still. Broad was particularly eager whenever Harley squealed out in pain, making one wonder what her namesake had done to him to make him enjoy her torment.

 

            “Bitch’s ass can take a pounding, that’s for sure!” Tall chuckled, hammering his hips up to drag a scream or two from Harley’s bawling mouth.

 

            “Please! Augh! Please! I’ll… UHN… I’ll fu-fuck you all AUGH… just pleEEEEASE not all at ONCE!” She sobbed, feeling her holes throb from the painful stretching as they used her like a fleshlight.

 

            “No can do, sugar-tits,” Red-Hair said, leaning in and giving her a painful clamp of his teeth onto one of her jiggling tits across a taut nipple for emphasis before popping his mouth free of it.” Gotta see if that little clown pussy an’ ass can break or not…!” He gave a nod to Broad, who seemed to yank down hard on Harley as they both thrust up, her gripping little snatch stretching all the more to try and accommodate the extra inches. Those fat tips practically began to hammer against the blonde’s cervix, bouncing off it each time they bottomed out.

 

            “No! AUGH! Please! UGHN! No more! AAAH!”

 

            The assembled crowd only seemed to laugh at this fresh hell she was enduring, a pair of voices nearby catching her ear.

 

            “Twenty bucks says she passes out before they nut in her.”

 

            “You’re on! Twenty more says she cums from it.”

 

            Harley could only choke and sniff as she was brutally bounced up and down by the men, praying it would just be over soon. But the nearly two dozen men left promised such a thing to be a hope in vain.

 

            Tall seemed to relish being able to get as rough with Harley’s ass as possible, too used to ex-girlfriends who told him to slow down or go easy with that enormous length of cock he carried. Instead, he hammered away into that perfectly thick ass of hers, making her cheeks clap nosily each time he tried to bottom out in her.

 

            Overtaken by a lurid idea, Tall gestured at another of the thugs, one of the ‘runners-up’ who was just shy of a place due to his size. Tall pointed to Harley’s bouncing backside, getting a grin from the other man as he snuck closer, trying to keep quiet.

 

            The element of surprise made for an effective and panicked screech out of Harley as a sudden fourth length began to slide against her, this time nudging at her puckered opening alongside Tall’s. “N-NO! NO, DON’T! PLEASE, THERE’S NO ROOM, THERE’S N-AAAAAAAAAAUUUUGGHHHHHH!”

 

            She wailed in agony as a second girthy member thrust up into her ass, her legs twitching uncontrollably at the feeling of being stretched to a new painful degree. The four began to haul her up, them slam her down, working in rhythm to try and rape her little holes in tandem.

 

            What was worse, she thought, as her vision went white and her mind reeled, was that as much as she hated it, her body betrayed her by cumming anyway, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the quartet of rapists who began to laugh at the state of her.

 

            Just before she passed out and went limp, she could hear someone say: “Ha! Pay up, sucker!”

 

 

TIME: 9:36PM (66 min. into the future) PLACE: Warehouse Floor

 

 

 

            Harley wished she could have stayed blissfully unconscious for everything, but she had sadly found herself awakened to the heavy slap of flesh on flesh pressing down on her. The saving grace was that she no longer had quite so many partners, but was nonetheless held in an obscene mating press by one of the most muscled men she’d ever seen. His cock was noisily sloshing away into her cum-flooded little cunt, making her wonder just how many men had come in her between her lulls in wakefulness.

 

            “Get ‘er, Coach!”

 

            “Yeah, knock the bitch up, man!”

 

            She looked up as the man fucked her with a steady, body-shaking pace, seeing what looked like military tattoos on his arms. She feebly tried to push at his chest to try and get him off, but it was like the strength had been sapped out of her after the last group. She could see that most of her outfit was gone, save her hat, gloves, and a bit of leggings up to her knees, and even that was drenched with cum.

 

            She was suddenly aware of someone standing above the two, and looked up just in time as a man kneeled down to cum all across her now only partially makeup-smeared face. Heavy shots of seed splattered across the bridge of her nose, along her cheek, some even in the hair that had come partially loose from her cap, the blonde trying to twist her head to the side as she was covered with the sticky stuff.

 

            The man stood back up and stepped out of the way, although to her horror, she saw what must have been a line of men behind him, each of them stroking their cocks to no doubt add to the mess already coating her features.

 

            The next man in line knelt down, slapping his cock against her now slippery face as she was rutted by the former military man in such an undignified position. “You’re gonna have fun with Coach here. We’ve seen him fuck dozens of girls, and I’ll be damned if every one of ‘em he hasn’t knocked up.” He gave her cheek a wet slap with his shaft, running it along her unwilling and tightly pursed lips.  “Half of ‘em were on the pill, too. That’s why we call him Coach. He gets those boys of his to make it to the end zone!”

 

            The man above her face gave a grunt soon enough and held her head in place so that he could unload with accuracy on Harley’s crying face, a thick glaze of yellow-white building up to contrast with the white greasepaint she still had on in spots.

 

            It was all she could do to not be racked with heavy, heaving sobs once more the second the man between her legs started to cum inside her, trapped in that mating press, hearing others cheering him on as she hoped to god the birth control Orders gave her held.

 

***

 

TIME: 9:51pm (81 minutes into the future) PLACE: Cargo Van

 

 

 

           “Alright, that’s everything! Boss says to roll it out before the cops get here!”

 

            Harley was hazy, her focus exhausted from the constant use and abuse, but she could hear the man shouting to others before getting into the driver’s seat of the unmarked panel van. The large crew of people had been sure to pack up some items that looked particularly incriminating into several vans while some of the others had continued to fuck her without pause. Any police that showed up on a tip about a missing delivery girl would find no trace of her car or phone, which Penguin’s personal assistants had seen to. Even if they went into the building itself on probable cause, all they would find were some moderately-priced wine and sundries on the shelves.

 

            Bent over on the floor of the van in the back as the engine started up, she gave dull grunts of protest as a pair of men double-penetrated the now cum-slathered jester woman, her perky breasts being fucked by a third man who was using the cum on them to enjoy a slippery tit-job.

 

            “We’re gonna take niiiiiice care of ya, Harls. Really keep that cute little ass of your busy for the whole crew,” He said with a malicious grin, the slick sounds of his cock pumping between her cleavage added to be the obscene sounds of the men fucking in and out of her cum-packed pussy and ass. “Who knows, maybe we’ll even let you go when we get tired of your skanky ass…!” He said, although the laugh certainly painted it as unlikely as a possibility.

 

            Mel thought she had cried herself dry, but someone managed one more to roll down her cheek, muttering in a barely heard whisper as she felt the man begin to add his cum to her tits. “I’m not Harley…”  

 

 

 

 

TIME: 8:31pm (The present) PLACE: Superbabes

 

 

 

             … The flash passed from her mind’s eye, immediately replaced by a piercing headache that made Orders grip the counter tight in agony. Her eyes narrowed, her entire body looking like the human personification of a storm cloud ready to unleash lightning.

 

            *RING RING*

 

            The rest of the staff said nothing, looking on at the still-ringing phone. Whatever it was, they could just tell from looking at their boss that no one was getting sent out for whatever this was.

 

            “I can get it if you want,” Veronica offered after the third ring.

 

            Well, most of them could tell, anyway.

 

            Orders whipped up a hand holding up a lone finger in a gesture that demanded silence, a demand that was readily met. She reached out and finally picked up the receiver.

 

            “Superbabes.”

 

            The girls were in an awed hush as their intimidating boss seemed to listen to whatever lay on the other end.

 

            “And what is the address?”

 

            Another pause.

 

            “I’m sorry, I’m afraid that’s outside our delivery radius.”

 

            And with that, she calmly set the receiver back in its cradle.

 

         There was a prolonged silence, everyone unsure if it was safe to speak, or if they might suffer the full fury of the boss for doing so. Yaya eventually made the gamble, asking in an apprehensive voice. “Is, uh, is everything oka-“

 

            “Alice, get me the good painkillers out of my handbag, please. Sierra, is Mel still working the floor out there?” Orders asked, her eyes currently clenched shut and her brow furrowed in extreme discomfort.

 

           Sierra was baffled for a response for a second, eventually managing a few words. “Uh, yeah, she’s finishing up a few tables.”

 

            “Veronica, go spell her so she can take her break, please.”

 

            Veronica nodded and stepped out of the break room into the main dining area, a cheer among the regulars going up at her appearance.

 

            Alice soon wandered up to toss a pill bottle to her boss, who took it with both hands and eagerly tapped out a pair of pills, slugging them down before pulling out her cellphone and typing away in a text.

 

            “Seriously, though. Are we good?” Alice asked, the pale woman arching a brow at Orders.

 

            “Yeah…” Orders said, hitting send on the special number that was reserved for a particular cowled acquaintance that tended to drop in unannounced. She had an understanding with the man, and in return for not scrutinizing the victimless crime of her establishment, she occasionally fed him leads obtained through that unnatural ability of hers. Hence the text:  

 

            CC FINE IMPORTS, GOTHAM PIER 7, WAREHOUSE #7. LOTS OF GUYS & GUNS, PLUS A ‘FANCY BIRD’. MAKE IT HURT.

 

            “I just don’t want any of you working yourselves too hard,” she finished, leaning back in her seat a little.

 

 

 

 

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       Whoo, and that’s my first story on HF & AFF done! Big thanks to @SnowWolf35 for giving me permission to do a few non-canon stories based around his setting. The idea of all the calls that Orders rejects for one reason or another was a really interesting idea to me for some stories about darker kinks & themes.

 

       Naturally I wanted to start with Harley, my favorite DC character in virtually all forms. For those curious about all the five-dollar words in the build-up, I’m a huge fan of Paul Williams’ Penguin from Batman The Animated Series, who was always so overly-eloquent despite being a total fiend, so I used that version in this instance. He would certainly never do such a thing to the REAL Harley, but a Harley impersonator? Definitely! (I also figured that the various Superbabes are from all over, so not everyone might recognize someone as prolific in the city as Penguin.)

 

 

 

If you liked this, please feel free to go check out SnowWolf35’s Superbabes series (or one of its many side-stories), or if you’re looking for more non-con superhero themes, I recommend any number of @KateTheSorceress or  @HighHeeledJill stories.

 

‘Til the next cancelled order!



-KtO



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