Previous hero: Batman |
Next hero: ??? |
Nightwing and Robin had been on a suicidal mission for weeks. Batman, transformed into the deranged Harley Quinn by LexCorp's toxin and the Joker, had turned Gotham into a carnival of crime and madness. While Red Hood carried the Bat's mantle and held the city together as best he could, Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne tracked the origin of the Joker toxin back to LexCorp. It was predictable—after all, the same thing had happened to Superman, and Lex was responsible.
They knew infiltrating alone was nearly impossible. LexCorp’s facilities were massive and heavily guarded. Assembling a large assault team would raise too many suspicions, so three people would be enough to slip in and find a cure. They needed someone with divine power and advanced combat experience. Fortunately, there was one heroine who fit that description perfectly. That’s how they contacted Diana Prince.
Wonder Woman accepted immediately. Not only for Bruce. Deep down, she burned to rescue Clark, who had been missing for months after his own fall. Together they designed a flawless plan: nighttime infiltration, absolute stealth, no alarms.
Diana, however, could not ignore the feeling of danger crawling up her spine. Her Amazonian instinct screamed that it was a trap. Still, there was no time for doubt. At nightfall, the three heroes set out.
The infiltration was anything but easy. They had to neutralize three elite patrols, disable Kryptonian-level security systems, and bypass force fields. Robin was wounded in the shoulder, and Nightwing had to use his electrified batons to clear a path. Diana smashed three reinforced doors with her bare hands. But they made it. They were too far in to turn back.
They entered Lex Luthor’s private quarters, and there—under red lights and surrounded by obscene luxury—was him. Superman, the symbol of Earth’s hope, reduced to a broken figure. Kneeling on a huge bed, wearing only lingerie that barely covered his feminine body, he moaned uncontrollably while touching himself. His eyes, once filled with justice, now reflected only empty pleasure. Diana felt nauseous, then approached with her lasso ready, her voice trembling with contained rage.
“Clark… Clark, it’s me. Diana. Look at me. Fight.”
But the woman only arched her back and let out a louder moan, oblivious to everything. Nightwing clenched his teeth and rested a hand on Diana’s shoulder, trying to offer comfort. “Diana… there’s nothing left of him,” he said. Those words were true, and that only made it harder for Diana to see her old friend in that state.
Damian and Dick rushed to Luthor’s terminal and hacked the system. As they reviewed Lex’s files and research, they discovered something that left them stunned. What they found was worse than they imagined: it wasn’t just a gas or Kryptonite. It was a curse—a spell from Circe amplified by LexCorp technology. Magic specifically designed to corrupt the divine physiology of the most powerful heroes. For heroes like Superman, it was fatal and extremely effective. For more ordinary heroes like Batman, the effect could be reversible.
They didn’t have time to copy the data. The doors slammed shut with a thunderous boom and the lights became blinding. Lex Luthor and Circe appeared in the center of the room, flanked by an impenetrable force field.
“Welcome,” Lex said with a cold smile. “I knew you’d come for your beloved Superman… or what’s left of him. What I didn’t expect was that Wonder Woman herself would deign to enter my home.”
Circe laughed with that seductive, venomous voice.
“Diana of Themyscira… the great defender of female power. What delicious irony that you should be the one to fall today.”
The three heroes attacked in unison. Diana hurled her lasso with all her divine strength. Nightwing and Robin moved as one, coordinated by years of training. It was a brutal fight. For a moment, it seemed they might win. Diana managed to break the force field. Robin wounded Lex in the arm. Nightwing nearly reached Circe.
But the sorceress had prepared everything.
She activated LexCorp’s artifact: an amplifier that multiplied her magic a hundredfold. A violet explosion of light, more powerful than anything they had faced, engulfed them. The power was overwhelming. Diana felt her own Amazonian essence—the gift of the gods—being attacked directly. She screamed in pain as her body twisted. Nightwing and Robin fell to their knees, fighting the magic invading their minds.
When Diana opened her eyes, everything had changed.
She was no longer the invincible Amazon. She stood nearly two meters tall, with a masculine, broad, and muscular body. Her breasts were gone. Her arms were thick and veined. Between her legs hung a heavy, thick cock. Wonder Woman’s armor lay shattered on the floor, and any hope of victory vanished.
Circe had been very specific with her curse, and Lex had perfected it with technology:
“Your divine strength has been torn away,” Circe explained with pleasure. “You are no longer an Amazon. Your DNA has been rewritten as that of a simple mortal human. At least you have a bit more charm in this form. Without the blessing of the gods. Without power. Just flesh and blood… and a body made for crawling, not for protecting.”
Diana roared with fury. She lunged at Lex with everything she had left: pure rage and training. She landed two blows that made him stagger. But without her Amazonian strength, Lex—enhanced by his own serum—knocked her out with a brutal counterattack. Nightwing and Robin, still conscious but weakened by the magic, tried to intervene. They didn’t get far. Circe’s second wave left them unconscious.
[Hours later]
When Diana woke up, she was in a luxurious, isolated room. Her new body sent signals her mind rejected with disgust: heat, pulses, primitive urges. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt deep shame. She repeated to herself in her thoughts: *This is not me. I am Diana of Themyscira. I am Wonder Woman. I will not let this… thing control me.*
She tried to meditate, breathe, use Amazonian mental control techniques. But every time she looked down, her cock responded. Every flex of her new muscles sent a wave of treacherous power.
The door opened and a curvaceous woman entered, dressed only in black lingerie. Her face was flushed, her movements forced and sensual. Her face, though very beautiful, also felt familiar. When she approached, moving sensually, she managed to speak.
“Diana…” she said with a trembling voice, fighting every word. “It’s me, Dick. Circe did this to me… she forces me to move like this, to… to desire this. But I’m still here. We have to resist. We have to get out.”
Diana felt an immediate, painful erection. Her body reacted against her will. The scent of Nightwing, the way her breasts moved, her hips… it was torture. She wasn’t used to these male urges, she didn’t have full control of her actions, and aware of the danger, she tried to warn Nightwing.
“No…” Diana growled, backing up until she hit the wall. “Dick, stay away. Don’t make me… I’m not this. I’m not a man. I’m not… an animal.”
Nightwing was also struggling. Her eyes showed terror and shame, but her body moved closer against her will. She began to sway, rub against her, and moan softly. Every movement was an internal battle.
“Diana… please… fight it…” she begged, tears in her eyes.
But Circe’s curse was cruelly designed: it didn’t just change the body, it amplified male impulses until they were almost irresistible—especially for someone who had never experienced that level of hormones. It was a calculated humiliation down to the smallest detail.
Diana resisted for nearly ten minutes. She fought, dug her nails into her palms, repeated her Amazonian vows, and tried to tie herself with what remained of her lasso, but it was useless. In the end, the body betrayed the mind. With a growl that was half fury and half desire, she grabbed Nightwing, threw her onto the bed, and fucked her with savage force. Every thrust was an act of rage against herself. Every moan from Nightwing—who was also fighting but couldn’t contain herself—fed more of her shame… and her pleasure.
Hours passed. Hours of brutal sex, sweat, and conflict. Diana changed positions as if punishing the universe, using Nightwing’s body as an outlet for her own humiliation. Nightwing moaned, cried, and begged at the same time, torn between her hero’s mind and the body that betrayed her.
Circe and Lex watched everything through the cameras.
“Now,” Circe whispered. “They are at their most vulnerable point.”
She unleashed the third and final wave of magic: a mental corruption spell aimed specifically at their identities.
Wonder Woman, the defender of female power, felt her Amazonian pride twist. The curse didn’t erase her all at once—it corrupted her. Now she saw her new body as a “gift” of superiority. She believed her mortal strength was proof that men were made to dominate. That women existed to serve. It was the perfect humiliation: turning the greatest defender of women into the macho male she had always fought against.
Nightwing, for her part, was sunk into total submission. Her tactical leader mind shattered under the weight of pleasure and magic. Now she existed only to please.
Damian, however, proved to be the most resistant of the three. While Diana and Nightwing were being corrupted in the same room, Lex and Circe kept him locked in a separate containment chamber, isolated and monitored. For entire days they subjected him to a brutal regime of psychological torture and intensive training: constant holographic projections of his own humiliation, voices repeating over and over that he was no longer Robin, only an obedient maiden, magical hypnosis sessions combined with drugs that weakened his will. His mind—forged in the lethal training of the League of Assassins—resisted longer than expected. He yielded little by little, fighting with every fiber of his being, refusing to break completely.
But his body, completely remade by Circe’s magic, could not resist. They transformed him into a young woman of delicate and fragile beauty, with soft curves and a figure that invited submission. The curse completely separated his mind from his body: deep down, Damian was still the same proud, furious assassin, wanting with all his might to kill Lex, Circe, and the beast Diana had become. He wanted to scream insults, draw his katanas, and destroy everything.
However, the only things that came out of his mouth were sweet, servile words of a well-educated maid: “Yes, sir,” “Would you like me to clean that, Master?”, “I am here to serve you.” His actions, no matter how much his mind rejected them, were completely in line with that role: walking with short, delicate steps, bowing, cleaning diligently, and spreading his legs without protest when ordered. His mind and body were isolated forever. A perfect prison.
Now, months later, Diana lives in a huge mansion guarded by LexCorp. She walks around naked all day, shamelessly displaying her masculine body and thick cock. She lifts weights in the private gym, admiring herself in the mirrors, grunting with satisfaction every time her muscles flex.
There is no longer any conflict. The curse has completed its work.
She has two women at her disposal:
The former Nightwing, always in provocative lingerie, kneeling and begging to be used.
And the former Robin—Damian—dressed in a short, tight maid uniform, blushing with her gaze lowered. Inside she burns with hatred and rage, but her mouth can only say “As you command, Master” while she cleans, serves, and lets herself be used without being able to resist.
Diana no longer thinks about the Justice League. She only thinks about dominating, fucking, and being the male she now believes she deserves to be.
[Prologue]
In his tower, Lex Luthor watches the cameras with a glass of wine and smiles. The greatest heroes of Earth had not fallen because of weakness—they fell because he and Circe had planned every detail. But his jubilation would not last as long as they thought.
An unexpected news interrupted Luthor’s satisfaction. The main screens of his tower suddenly lit up, showing a live broadcast from Gotham City. He thought it would be the Joker, but the person who appeared on the screen was Harley Quinn, with a manic smile and an improvised crown made of stolen jewels.
The former Batman, now turned into the jester of crime, had proclaimed herself Absolute Queen of Gotham. Kneeling beside her, dressed as two sexy, big-breasted mimes with exaggerated makeup, were the Joker and Red Hood—completely broken and obedient, doing everything she ordered with empty smiles.
Harley looked straight into the camera and spoke in a playful but lethal voice:
“Hey, Lexy~ You thought you could play with my toys and keep the world, right? Wrong. Gotham is mine. And very soon… the world will be mine too. So I’ve decided I’m going to turn you into my new personal clown.”
The transmission cut off.
Lex stared at the screen in silence for a few seconds… then let out a deep laugh.
“Interesting…” he murmured, swirling his glass of wine. “Looks like the jester queen wants to play in the big leagues.”
But his laughter suddenly froze.
A wet, horrible sound echoed through the room. Lex turned his head just in time to see Circe’s heart violently ripped from her chest. The sorceress fell to the floor lifeless, her eyes wide with surprise.
In front of him, holding Circe’s still-beating heart, stood a figure wrapped in a distorted yellow and red suit, with a twisted smile and eyes full of pure hatred.
Reverse-Flash had arrived.
And it seemed Lex Luthor’s plans had just become much more complicated than expected.
Comments
Post a Comment