The Quintessensual Subjugation of One Doctor Harleen (Or the Art of Never Giving Up)

[curioussparky]

NOTE: This is a sequel to my previous 2 stories: Selina Kyle and the Venus Thigh-Trap , and Barbara Gordon: The Lab-Bat. It can however be read as a standalone.

Dr Harleen Francis Quinzel, Neurologist, MD pulled up outside the hipster cafe. It said something about the level of wealth in Gotham’s Diamond District that her purple Vaydor wasn’t the fanciest car in the street. The Brooklyn noise-punk blaring from the speakers turned a few heads though. A few more turned when she got out. She’d swapped her medical scrubs for a pair of tight, ripped denim shorts and a white tank top, her blonde hair tied into two girlish ponytails. When at work, she took a secret thrill in knowing her provocative leg tattoos - the black hearts and jesters and bubble-gum-blowing nymphs - were hidden beneath her scrub trousers. Now they were proudly on display, vivid against her milky pale thigh skin in the midday light. She ignored the solitary wolf-whistle from a builder on the building opposite and strutted to the outside seating area of the cafe.

It took her a minute to identify Pamela Isley. The young biotech entrepreneur was hunched inconspicuously at the back, under a GOTHAM CITY IPA table umbrella, nursing what looked like a bright green herbal tea of some sort. In contrast to Harleen’s come at me provocative attire, Pamela was wearing a green hooded shawl, long white gloves, and dark aviator glasses. In fact, she was only really identifiable by a stray lock of red hair which had fallen in front of her face. It’s almost like she’s trying to hide her skin, thought Harleen as she sat down in the spare seat opposite her. And I can guess why...

“Pamela! It’s been a crazy long time since med school….”

“Indeed…” said the other woman, who pointedly did not get up to greet her, instead simply adding some sort of powder to her green tea, then raising the cup to her thin lips in the English style popular with Gotham’s wealthy. Harleen noticed an organic tote bag with Ivy Pharmaceuticals printed on it by the other woman's sandaled feet.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I’ve been quite the fan of your work over the last…”

“Harleen, let’s cut the crap.” Interrupted Pamela. “I know you’ve been sent by them.”

Shiiiiiit. “Who’s that, puddin?”

Pamela counted off on her gloved hands. “My competitor, Bruce Wayne, for one. I know that old money family has been trying to move into pharmaceuticals for years, and sees casting me as some sort of villainess as their chance. That obstructive Commissioner, who sees corruption where there is only natural purity. That boy scout Dick Grayson, who sees himself as an American Eagle but is really more of an irritating sparrow. That criminal Selina Kyle, who broke into my warehouse and damaged my orchids.” Cats out the bag, then thought Harleen. “They think I know something about the disappearance of Barbara Gorden, don’t they?” continued Pamela. Something about Pamela’s posh, Gotham Academy accent really irritated Harleen, but she kept her cool.

“Well, do you puddin? Because you know you can tell me, what with us being such good old medical colleagues and all…”

“Don’t call me “puddin”, I’m a doctor and scientist. As for Barbara, maybe she got tired of that gang’s moralising, their obsession with punching the poor while while the planet dies. Maybe she’s found a better calling.”

Harleen cackled. “You’re a clever girl, Pamela. We were all in awe of you at med school. But your rich, liberal-elite saving the planet act won’t wash with me. I actually grew up poor in Brooklyn, and while we detest the likes of Bruce Wayne and his wealth, at least he’s honest about what he is. You act like your libertarian antics - Pherractract and the like - are about women’s rights or saving the environment, but even you can’t just act with impunity. We’re seeing a twenty percent rise in admissions at Arkham Asylum due to the side effects of your love-pills. Assaults on women are up. Fights between men over women too. You need to accept some responsibility, honey. And then there’s that whole business with Selina Kyle. So the old cat broke into your greenhouse, but what you did to her...and now Barbara…”

Harleen trailed off as she noticed the arrogant smirk of Pamela’s face had only grown as she’d been speaking. “Is something funny? Cos’ even I’m not laughin...” said Harleen, feeling the blood rush to her face.

“Oh, its just you sound just like them, moralising over my actions. But I know about you, Dr Quinzel. I wonder what the Gotham County medical board would do if they knew you were having a relationship with one of your patients....”

Harleens mouth dropped open. Closed. Opened again. Damn.

“Yes, that’s right.” continued Pamela. “I know. And if you don’t call off your little investigation into my affairs, everyone will know about yours. Give up your pursuit of the bat-girl. Tell the Commissioner she’s gone on a gap year or something. Have a good day, Harleen.” and with that she stood up to walk away. As she did, Harleen reached out and grabbed her gloved hand, and looked up straight into those vivid green eyes.

“One thing you should know about me, puddin. I never give up.”

Pamela rolled her eyes at this, pulled her hand away, and walked off into the wealthy beatnik crowd swanning their way up and down the Diamond District street. Harleen watched her go. Underneath the feet-length shawl, she could just make out athletic legs and a toned ass. Sassy bitch, thought Harleen. But while Pamela had been issuing her theat, Harleen had managed to steal her diary from the tote bag. Her days on the streets of Brooklyn still came in handy occasionally! Let’s see where you’re going, she thought to herself.

***

The truth was, Dr Quinzel hadn’t been lying when she’d said to Dr Isley that she’s been a fan of her work. When she’d first seen the x-ray of Selina Kyle’s fractured skull, Dr Quinzel had begun doing some research. She’d found that Ivy Pharmaceuticals had applied for a patent on a specific type of snake venom to be used as a muscle enhancement. From there, it hadn’t been too hard to order in a batch through a black market supplier. She’d been microdosing herself for some time before Bruce had approached her with the proposition. Now, it was time to test the results.

That evening, Harleen sat in the bath at her apartment, watching as the soapy water drained away. She looked down at her skin, looking for tell tale signs of the slight green tint that the snake venom would bring.
As the last of the water glugged into the plugole, Harleen looked down at her bare, tatooed legs. She’s always had long, thin, attractive legs - dancers legs really. But now, there was definitely a green tint to them, and what looked like an extra layer of muscle underneath. Two can play at this game, Dr Isley thought Harleen as she reached over the side of the bath, and picked up a watermelon. Placing it between her thighs, she applied just a bit of pressure….and it exploded.

“Whooo!” She laughed girlishly to herself as fruity pulp sprayed over her naked chest. Impressive. But she needed something more….realistic. She reached back over the side of the tub and picked up a human skull. He had given it to her as a gift at the Asylum. It seemed a shame to break it, but she had to know…

“Sorry, honey…” She said to the skull as she positioned it between her legs. The hollow sockets stared back at her. She tensed, bracing her newly augmented thighs against the sides of the skull. Something creaked alarmingly inside it. Harleen gripped the sides of the bath, and squeezed.

There was an alarmingly loud CRACK as the bone buckled under the pressure. The jaw slid out of line, and two cracks spread like lightning bolts down the top of it. Laughing, Harleen leant back in the bath, feeling almost orgasmic as she applied yet more pressure. This was power. She looked down, and was pleased to see a rippling underneath her skin as her legs powered down. The tattoo of a jester on her right thigh seemed to wink cheekily as her legs trembled with new power. There was another crack, then another, then a POP as the skull imploded under the sheer pressure. Fragments went flying round the room.

Harleen exhaled, then reached over the bath once more, producing Dr Isley’s diary. Circled on today’s page was Gotham Dockyards’s, Quay 4, 10pm. She grinned as she got out of the tub. I’m coming for you, Pamela.

Moving into the bedroom, she opened her wardrobe. If she was going to break into the docks, she’d need to look like a street thug in case any cameras caught her. She knew Pamela’s lawyers would be down her throat about this and her illicit relationship if she got caught. She also needed to disguise the green tint on her skin. Grabbing a makeup brush, she smothered herself in white foundation powder. Next, she pulled on a pair of fishnet tights to cover her long, newly strengthened legs. Finally, she put on a tiny leather mini skirt and tight Brookyn punk rock t-shirt. A pair of high heeled boots topped off the ensemble. She removed a baseball bat from the utility room and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like one of the Brooklyn street punks from her youth.

Perfect she thought, as she grabbed the keys to the Vaydor and headed out into the night.

***

Harleen arrived at Quay 4 and killed the engine. The wharf was identical to the many others lining the docks at Gotham’s river port, although no ship appeared to be docked there - just a few shipping containers, piles of crates marked “Ivy Pharmaceuticals” and a lone loading crane. The night was cold, but she felt pumped as she strutted towards the waterfront, baseball bat slung over one shoulder. She hadn’t felt this alive since her days on the streets of Brooklyn.

The lights of Gotham sparkled on the opposite bank. A feminine figure stood silhouetted against the cityscape, facing the water. Harleen walked down a row of crates, dragging the metal tip of her baseball bat along them as she did so. As she reached the end of the row, the figure turned round.

Pamela Isley was wearing a skintight green wetsuit. Her damp red hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Harleen quickly realised what was happening. The biotech entrepreneur was planning to dump all these crates in the river using the crane, which would cause chaos in Gotham and the surrounding counties.

“Nice night for a swim.” Said Harleen, as she lightly slapped the baseball bat into her left palm.

“Hello again, Dr Quinzel.”

“Hello yourself, Dr Isley.”

“I guess you don’t think I carry out my threats. I’m going to tell the whole city about your illicit relationship with your patient, even as they become addicted to their own lust.”

Harleen grinned. “Well in that case, I’ll just have to make sure you don’t walk out of here alive.”

Pamela rolled her eyes. “A threat. How amusing. Do you know how many cocky, wannabe heroines I’ve had to deal with this week? I’m a very busy woman. You seem to think you can just waste my time. Give it up, last warning.”

“Oh, I’m not wasting time. I’ll get straight to the point.” Harleen tapped the top of her bat. “You're going to tell me where Barbara Gorden is. And then you’re going to die. And I told you before, puddin, I never give up.”

With that Harleen started to close the distance between them. Pamela looked unphased, and reached into a crate next to her, removing something. Harleen’s eyes widened when she realised what it was - Selina Kyle’s powerwhip! Dr Isley must have taken it when she crushed the cat burglar in the greenhouse. No sooner had she thought this, Pamela flicked a switch on the side of the device and the the whip extended, wrapping itself around the top of Harleen’s bat. With a jerk of her wrist, Pamela pulled the bat out of Harleens hand and hurled it along the dock, sparks flying from where it skimmed the concrete. This done, she threw the whip to the ground, like it disgusted her.

Harleen just shrugged, and assumed a kickboxing stance. “Ok, we do this the old fashioned way. Fight me.” She beckoned the wetsuited woman, who assumed a quiet, confident smile.

“Gladly.”

Harleen’s bet was that the Academy educated Pamela Isley wouldn’t be able to fight like a Brooklyn raised girl. Sure enough, Pamela stepped forward and twisted her petite hips, easily telegraphing a high roundhouse kick. The force behind the thing was impressive, and Harleen was pretty sure it could have taken her head off….if it had connected. But Harleen knew that while roundhouses look impressive they come at the expense of balance. She dropped to the floor as the kick went sailing over her head, and broad her own fishnetted leg around in a sweep kick, intending to take out Pamela's other foot. Harleen got a shock though - Pamela’s planted leg didn’t budge an inch. It was like kicking a tree trunk! Switching tactics, Harleen lurched forward before Pamela’s gorgeous roundhouse could get back down, and football tackled the other woman, securing her in a cross body pin. “Down girl.” Said Harleen, deadpan.

For her part, Pamela grit her teeth and tried to throw her legs up, the green limbs snapping like an angry alligator trying to crush it’s prey, but Harleen was two far up her body. “No you don’t…” she said, but the resultant bucking motion did unseat her slightly, and suddenly the two doctors were a tangle of limbs as they went rolling onto their sides. Harleen had been raised as a scrappy brawler without many limits, and went to rake Pamela’s green eyes with her blue painted nails, but the rich brat managed to grab her wrists and powered on top of her, pinning her to the oily quayside, while her legs tangled with Harleen’s own.
“Nice effort.” Said Dr Isley. “But I think it’s time to clip your wings. Welcome to my grapevine…..”

“Try it!” Snarled Harleen, and sure enough Pamela jerked her thighs outwards, trying to wrench Harleen’s legs aggressively open as she had done to break the bat girl last week. Except this time, nothing happened. Harleen watched the realisation spread across the other woman’s face.
“What’s the matter, Pammy-Puddin? Is it not working?” She said, while resisting with her own augmented legs. The squeaky sound of wetsuit grinding against fishnet echoed over the waterfront as four thighs battled for dominance. Feeling the strain even though she was managing to resist, Harleen decided to use Pamela’s momentary surprise to strike. While the other woman was still desperately trying to force her legs apart, the scrappy Brooklun brawler jerked her head forward, and headbutted Dr Isley right on her freckled nose.

Pamela’s head jerked back with a satisfying crunch, and the incredible strain on Harleen’s legs slackened. Not wasting a second, she flipped Pamela over, untangling their legs and scooting up onto her wetsuited chest. Pamela bucked lightly, but this only put Harleen where she wanted to be: perched right up on the other woman’s breastbone, her legs pinning her arms, looking down into the freckled, bloodied nose of the other woman staring up from between her thighs.

“Treat me like a game and I’ll show you how it’s played.” She smirked, taking a moment to cheekily flick Pamela’s forehead with her finger. Then she compressed her thighs inwards, mashing her fishnets against the other woman’s cheeks. The green eyes went wide, but still had that look of clinical amusement. We’ll soon squeeze that out of you thought Harleen as she reached down and grabbed a handful of red hair, and started to pull the younger woman’s head up into her crotch. While doing this, a movement caught her eye and she looked up to see….

“Barbara Gordon??” Harleen had been enjoying kicking Pamela’s ass so much that she had almost forgotten the entire reason for this little escapade. Now, the Commissioner's daughter was sitting right in front of her in a wheelchair. She looked tired, and a little afraid with no make up, and was wearing what looked like a white lab coat with the Ivy Pharmaceuticals orchid logo on the breast. She was also holding Harleen’s baseball bat. Harleen barely got her hands up in time as the other woman swung it at her head from her seat in the wheelchair. “Hey!” She yelped, managing to block the shot but toppling off of Pamela as she did so, losing her grip on the entrepreneur’s head. It was all the opportunity Pamela needed.

As she fell to her side, Harleen watched as the other woman scrabbled out from her legs, and then quick as a flash, grabbed her foot and wrenched it between her wetsuited thighs for a leg bar. Harleen quickly flexed her muscles to resist. “You think that will work? I’ve taken your venom!”, but Pamela’s attention was on Barbara now. “Quick, Lab-Bat! The antidote!” Before Harleen knew what was happening, the crippled Barbara had thrown what looked like an epipen to Dr Isley. Harleen tried to pull her leg free, but Pamela flexed her own thighs, holding her leg in place in a neoprene rubber grip, and then plunged the epipen into Harleen’s fishnets just above the knee.

“Nooooo!” Screamed the Brooklyn girl as she felt a numbness spread up her leg, even as Pamela transitioned to leglock her other leg and did the same.

“Down girl.” Smirked Dr Isley, even as Harleen tried to scramble to her numb legs only to collapse back down onto the hard dockside on her back.

“Fuck you Pamela! That’s cheating!”

“No, stealing MY thigh venom is cheating. Lab-Bat, grab her other leg - we’ll take her to the container!” As she said this Pamela grabbed one of Harleen’s now dead fishnetted legs, while Barbara grabbed the other and hauled it onto her lap while working the wheelchair with her other hand. Together they dragged Harleen towards the open mouth of a shipping container. She screamed the whole way and tried to grip the floor with her nails, but got nowhere.

Once inside, Barbara shut the door. Two white halogen bulbs gave the interior an ethereal glow. Harleen noticed that there was a pile of odd looking equipment in one corner, and that canvas mats of some sort had been laid out across the floor.

Pamela then started to strip. Slowly, she undid the zip at the front of her wetsuit, and emerged from it like a butterfly from a cocoon. Harleen’s mouth dropped open and she actually stopped struggling for a second. There was no denying it, the petite geek had one hot body. Like, beach-ready, athletic hot. Underneath the wetsuit, she was wearing a neat green strapless bikini adorned with a leaf design. For the first time in forever, Harleen actually felt a little jealous. Pamela seemed oblivious to her staring, as she started to pick up one of the odd bits of equipment from the corners of the room. One was a necklace with a jewel of some sort on the front and back. Another was a sort of broach with clipped onto the back of her bikini bottoms.

“W-what are those?” Said Harleen from where she had been dumped on the floor.

“These?” Said Pamela. “These are cameras.” With that she started to put on what looked like a pair of steampunk high heels, lacing holding straps around her perfect calves. Harleen managed a nervous laugh.

“Are you going to lapdance me to death?”

“No such luck for you.” Said Harleen. “There are cameras in these heels too. You see, I haven’t had the opportunity to test the Venus Thigh-Trap as an interrogation tool yet, at least not against a formidable opponent.” She turned to Barbara, who hung her head in shame. “No offence, Lab-Bat.” Turning back to Harleen,she said: “These augmented bodycams will capture in realtime the moment when you break.”

Harleen stuck her chin up and tried to look defiant. “As I said before, Puddin. I never give up.”

“Oh I’m counting on it.” And with that, Pamela stepped over to Harleen, turned around, and slowly squatted over her chest. As she did so, she appeared to Harleen like a green, dominatrix goddess in the low halogen light of the shipping container. Harleen’s arms were free, so she attempted to send a double kidney punch to Pamela’s back, but she was too slow. The other woman had already placed her hands on Harleen’s parylysed knees, and now kicked her legs backwards. Harleen’s fists ended up hitting Pamela’s thighs, and it was like punching a brick wall. She cried out as her wrists bent from the impact and her knuckles just bounced off Dr Isley’s ass cheeks. The fronts of the other woman's thighs forced her shoulders down, then Pamela neatly hooked her heeled left calf behind Harleen’s head, encircling it in her legs in a perfect reverse sankaku-jime.

“Y-you won’t get away with this….” Blurted Harleen as the world became a knot of green limbs. “When I get out of this, I’ll….I’ll…” She stopped when she saw the redhead had turned round to face her, and the green eyes looked predatory.

“Harleen. Shut the fuck up.”

And with that, Dr Pamela Isley slammed her legs shut.

Dr Harleen Quinzel’s medical knowledge meant that she knew what was happening. At Pamela’s command, the redheads’ adductor muscles had ballooned up and formed a deathly tight seal around Harleen’s neck. At the same time, Pamela’s calf curled inwards, forcing Harleen forward so that her face was pressed against the bikini material of her nemesis’ ass. Just inches from her eyes, the lens of the broach-camera stared back at Harleen from the cleft of her bikini, recording Harleen’s humiliation. And it must have looked quite something, as Barbara Gorden was looking on in horror.

“Doctor….Doctor Isley…”

“What is it, Lab-Bat?” Pamela wasn’t even looking at Harleen anymore, in fact, she appeared to be nonchalantly ignoring her. This enraged Harleen, but any attempt to speak just seemed to result in a sort of hoarse clicking from her adductor-captured throat. Instead, Barbara seemed to be trying to mediate on her behalf. The bat-girl, of all people!

“It’s just….she looks...you’re going to kill her, Doctor! I thought you said it was an interrogation...but her eyes are coming out of her head, and…”

“Lab-Bat. How about I manage the thigh trap, and you just watch and take notes? Unless you want to take her place….”


“No….no! I didn’t mean that...you carry on….”

Meanwhile, Harleen was drowning in thigh. While the other two women talked, she’s been desperately trying to get her painted nails into the thigh skin clenching the sides of her neck, trying to get any sort of relief from the relentless pressure. But the more she tried to dig in, the more Pamela’s thighs and ass seemed to develop a sort of green rippling beneath the surface, like some sort of deep sea creature reacting to provocation by tightening around its prey. The effect was both mesmerising and chilling, and worse, Pamela seemed to be ignoring her completely now. It was like she had just forgotten that Harleen was trapped in her legs, suffocating! In fact, Barbara had brought her an i-Pad and Pamela was now doing some sort of accounting work on it on the floor. Harleen realised she had to get the entrepreneur’s attention, or she would just die of neglect in her thighs. Reaching forward like a drowning woman, she raked her nails down Pamela’s back, beyond where the snake muscles had developed. Five neat lines of blood appeared where her claws dug in. So you do bleed! Thought Harleen. Maybe I can kill you…

The effect was instantaneous. Pamela’s head shot around 180 degrees, like she was possessed. She still had a faint pattern on her cheeks where Harleen’s fishnets had gripped her earlier, and the effect made her seem more snakelike than ever. “What on Mother Earth made you think that was a good idea?”

Everything then seemed to happen very quickly to Harleen. Pamela unlocked the sankuku-jime, and Harleen’s body spasmed as the shock of air rushing into her lungs caused her to splutter in a very unhealthy sounding coughing fit. Pamela had returned to the squatting position she had had at the start, and then like some sort of kinky frog she bounced backwards on her heels, landing on her perfect ass just behind Harleen’s head, her amazing legs kicked out in front of her. Without ceremony, the redhead brought her right calf inwards, locking it like a steel bar on a fairground ride across Harleen’s throat. She jerked in panic, and in response Pamela twisted her legs slightly, cinching the sides of Harleen’s skull with her thighs while forcing her calf still further inwards at an angle. The result was the side of her shinbone was now cutting into Harleen’s left carotid artery, and the world swam even as her body jerked in hypoxic distress.

Leaning back onto her palms, and flexing this torturous figure-four, Pamela began to lecture Barbara Gorden matter-of-factly, once again ignoring Harleen completely. “The thing is, the captive here thought that I only had the option of knocking her out if she refused to submit. But the poor thing doesn’t really have much imagination.”

A harrowing squeal that sounded like a fox having its throat cut came from someone's mouth. Harleen thought it might be her own, but Pamela just ignored this and carried on her monologue.

“Right now, I’ve got my calf locked onto Dr Quinzels left carotid artery. By flexing my soleus muscle, I am easily cutting off the blood to that side of her brain. But you’ll note I’ve left the other carotid more or less open, while applying crushing pressure to the sides of her skull with my thighs. The result is that blood is probably pooling in her neck and brain. It must feel like she’s about to have a stroke. I bet she’s wondering how he, that clown patient she’s dating, will still love her if I leave her disabled after this….”

As she said this the sense of fear and panic rose in Harleen’s chest even as her head seemed to fill with red liquid and her vision swam. The sides of her skull creaked alarmingly and she suddenly remembered the way that skull had shattered in the bath. Through the swirling halogen light of the container she could just make out Barbara Gorden in her wheelchair, looking horrified. Desperately, Harleen reached one shaking hand out over the leg prison and gasped, her voice coming out like a deflating balloon. “Pleeeeeeese….Help….Me…”

When Barbara spoke back, she was in tears. “Please, just do as she says. Just submit. It's just easier that way, for everyone…”

As if to accentuate the point, Pamela suddenly thrust her hips upwards, and jerked Harleen’s head in her thighs. Harleen squealed like a stuck pig, her hands frantically pawing at the constricting limbs for purchase. She was utterly convinced she was about to either stroke out or die, but before she could tap or beg, Pamela suddenly unlocked the hold. Harleen’s head fell back against the canvas mats on the floor of the container, and the sudden rush of fresh blood to her brain was almost orgasmic. She shuddered on the floor, her whole body feeling like it was on fire as oxygen rushed to her tissues. The feeling of relief came crashing back to Earth when she saw that Pamela was standing over her, looking down at her like she was some sort of interesting specimen. From this angle, the Ivy Pharmaceuticals CEO looked like a goddess. And lo, the goddess reached down and in a mocking repeat of what Harleen had done earlier, flicked the Brooklyn girl in the middle of her forehead.

“W...what...are...you….”

“I presume you know what trephining is, Dr Quinzel?” Interrupted Pamela.

“I….I…..”

“As a doctor at Arkham Asylum, I’m sure you’re aware of the history of mental health treatments. As a treatment for crazyness, medics used to bore holes into the foreheads of patients. It was much more natural than modern treatments. And you are, by your own admission, a little crazy. Shall we do a little experiment to prove my point?” And without waiting for Harleen to answer, Pamela stood up, and placed the camera-pointed tip of her high heel in the middle of Harleen’s forehead.

“Wait….n...n….no…..” Spluttered Harleen, even as she gazed up in wonder. From this angle she could see all the way up Dr Isley’s leg, past the beautiful sculpted calf, towards the smooth muscle of her killer thigh. She watched, entranced as the whole limb rippled with power, a wave of muscular energy which started at the top of her thigh, shot down through her calf and into her petite foot, reaching its apex in the tip of the high heel that now pressed downwards, cutting through the foundation-smothered skin of Harleen’s forehead, to dig into her skull with ever increasing pressure. She screamed, and the sound rebounded off the insides of the shipping container. Her hands shot up and grabbed the piercing implement.

“Probably not a good idea, Harleen. If my heel slips it will end up going through your eye, and what will the clown think of you then? He’s already going to be having second thoughts when he meets your mute, half-brain dead form once I’ve scooped out half your brain with my heel.” She tossed her head back and laughed.

From the corner, Barbara squealed “Oh, please, leave her alone….”

“Maybe you’ll enjoy it.” Continued Pamela. “Maybe you and him can finally be together, both as patients!” Pamela leaned forward onto her knee, flexing her thigh like she was warming up for a jog, and the heel cut deeper into Harleen’s skull. Blood started to pour down the sides of her head into her hair.

“When I was backpacking across Southeast Asian rainforests- building up these thighs - they used to say that in the centre of the forehead you had a “Third Eye”....I wonder if you’ll find this experience enlightening…..”

“STOP!” Screamed Harleen. She could feel the tip of Pamela heel cutting through into her brain, she swore she could, and she couldn’t take anymore. “STOP! I GIVE UP! PLEASE PAMELA, I GIIIVE UP!”

The pressure didn’t relent one bit. “That’s nice, Harleen, but I can’t accept your submission. As you said yourself, you never give up, so I must continue to….”

“No….” Tears began to stream down Harleen’s face, mixing with the blood. “I’ll be good….I will give up...I…”

“You will give up or you have given up? Do they not teach tenses in Brooklyn?”

“I’M SORRY! PLEASE PAMELA, PLEASE DON’T!”

Pamela rolled her eyes, then retracted her foot from Harleen’s forehead. A light sticky pop could be heard as the heel withdrew.

“T….thank you….w...w.wait!” Any relief Harleen might have felt at the trephining being aborted was short lived. Pamela had now dropped back into a front-facing squat on Harleen's chest, and now kicked her legs out in front of her, while grabbing onto Harleen’s ponytails like she was riding a bike, and dragging the other woman’s face up into her thighs. A loud CLICK echoed round the container as Harleen heard the camera-heels locking together behind her head. Her tormentor wasted no time, slamming her thighs together ruthlessly and jerking up her hips so that Harleen’s head was suspended in the air, crushed under the pressure of the rippling snake muscle. As a silent scream from Harleen’s mouth started to drool into the entrepreneur’s leaf-bikini crotch, Pamela leant back on Harleen’s dead legs and smirked.

“What, no cocky comment?” She said as her glutes mashed inwards, compressing Harleen’s head, neck and jaw in a relentless squeeze. “No “You won’t walk out of here alive?” No “I’ll show you how the game is played?” Where’s your famous mouth now, Harleen?” Pamela’s face had now assumed a frightening looking sneer, the look of the arrogant scientist drunk on power.

“P….pl…..” managed Harleen.

“Please what, Harleen? You said you never give up, so I’m taking you at your word! So I guess what you mean is “Please squeeze harder, Dr Isley.” Is that it? Is that what you're trying to say?”

From her chair in the corner, Barbara tried once again to intercede. “Pam...Dr Isley, please be careful… With me and Selina, it was justifiable self-defence but this is….my father would say this is unreasonable force….”


“QUIET!” snapped Pamela. Something seemed to be changing about her demeanor. Her eyes had gone white, her muscles were rippling hungrily. She appeared to Harleen less like the clinical scientist and more like some terrifyingly primal snake goddess, and Harleen was the sacrifice. Once more Harleen tried to plead for her life from between Pamela’s deadly thighs. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese……..”

“Oh shut up. You had your chance, Harleen. You know what you look like now? A fucking clown. You’re makeup is running, your eyes are bulging - all three of them! Now shut up and die.”

And with that, Pamela tilted her head back orgasmiscally. The thighs rippled with green death. Harleen’s body shook uncontrollably as her hands pawed at the constricting limbs in one last, desperate attempt at freedom….

Pamela’s hips violently twisted to the side. There was an audible SNAP.

From the corner of the container, Barbara screamed.

Harleen found herself looking down from the top of the container as Pamela Isley writhed on the floor in the ecstasy of the kill, Harleen’s body twitching between her legs. She found herself being dragged upwards, towards a bright light in the Gotham night sky.

Hold on Joker baby…..I’ll see you soon…..

***

“I won’t sanction it.”

Bruce Wayne had that stubborn air of finality about him that sometimes drove Commissioner Gorden mad. They were standing in the Batcave, next to the empty case where Barbara’s graphene-Kevlar Batsuit had once been stored. It now looked hauntingly empty. The waterfall in the cave had been switched off, because of the current risk of contamination.

“It’s been three days since Dr Quinzil’s body was found by the docks.” said Gorden, gently. “Two days since reports of lust-crazed men started springing up all over the city, since someone dumped several tons of Pherratract into the river.”

Lawyers representing Ivy Pharmaceuticals were claiming that a crazed Dr Harzeen Quinzel had broken into their dockyard facility, dumped the Pherattract into the river in an envious rage (brought on by a paranoid suspicion that her Arkham Asylum lover was obsessed with Pamela Isley), and then killed herself. By snapping her own neck? Thought the Commissioner, incredulously. “The situation is out of control, Bruce. Washington are threatening to send an all-female National Guard team, but I think we should consider our other option.

“Something of a nuclear option…” growled Bruce.

“We need to contact the United Nations in Metropolis, and request assistance from Diana Prince.”

Bruce turned away. Commissioner Gorden could tell the ageing caped crusader was torn. He obviously felt guilty about what had happened to Selina, to Barbara, and now possibly to Dr Quinzel. But the Bat had an innate mistrust of the heroes and heroines of Metropolis, the globalist city. He saw his own crime solving antics in Gotham as a patriotic brutal necessity, but the often city-destroying antics of the likes of Clark Kent and Diana Prince as a step too far.

“Please.” Said the Commissioner, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “Ms Prince may be the only one who can help us. The Gotham courts can’t seem to get anything to stick on Dr Isley, we need to go above the corruption, to the UN. And maybe Diana’s lasso could at least…”


“ALRIGHT!” roared Bruce. “Fine. I’ll have Dick send an email to the UN in Metropolis. But just so you know, I still have reservations….Hang on, where is Dick? Alfred?”

Bruce turned to his trustworthy butler.

“Mr Grayson left about an hour ago, sir. Said he believed he had a solution to the current situation...”

The Commissioner and Bruce looked at eachother, and then a horrible realization fell on Gorden. There were two Batsuits missing from the case, and a prototype pheromone-shielding mask in the shape of a bird’s beak.

“Dick!” Yelled Bruce in anguish. “What have you done???”

To be continued….

[Robocop1]

Ohhhhh..... I... cant believe Harley died! Did she? And now its Dicks turn! Can anyone stop Pamela?

[jalmohnson]

This is amazing. I really like Pamela's transition into madness! She's on a real power trip now. Can't wait for the next part. Great work.

[scissorjunkie]

Another stunningly good chapter. Can't wait for the next part, well done!