A/N: Request inspired from an AO3 story called i'm not a saint, but i could be if i tried.
WARNING: This Story contains non-consensual themes and violence. Please read at your own discretion!
Canary Cry
Steam from storm drains and dim flashing lights from bars that wanted to bury their presence on a cold Gotham night foliated her view from atop an abandoned warehouse in Burnley. A crater of a borough used to run a stream of the most grizzly and unhinged gangs and mobs in Gotham. The area had a suspended silence about it, as if it could scream any moment, but withheld due to a knife at its neck. Yeah, she was in the right place.
Something Dinah had come to realize since living in Gotham was that there was no fluctuation or change in the amount of crime this city had to offer, only of the category. From calculating white-collar crime that festered in the hearts of sociopathic businessmen, to the degrading, hellish crime that could only be born from the dirtiest gutters and the most twisted minds.
She had a preference of course. Everything about her screamed what she preferred. Her collar-studded leather jacket and her black biker boots endorsed it. She was trouble…looking for trouble. Since Batman had left Gotham for problems that far exceeded the scope of street-level thugs, descendants of his stature jumped into action, cracking down on justice not as brutally as their mentor but just as swiftly.
On nights like this, Dinah would often patrol and follow leads with Batgirl but the redhead had awkwardly told her last week that she had "family stuff" to deal with.
'So I go it alone.' The blond crouched next to the scuffed and outwardly sprouting glass where she could effectively survey the entire scene below. A bunch of thugs. Two-sides. Most of them with a hand in their jacket, an antsy finger twitching on the trigger no doubt. One guy was wearing a suit so glossy that she thought that the color was reflecting off his greasy, slicked-back hair. Irish Mob for sure.
No one moved, but the tension was something she could feel through the glass. The mobster raised his hand and beckoned something forth from behind him. A forklift, carrying a palette with a large, green, armored box on top slowly rolled into view.
'Arms deal.' More guns on the street to kill civilians and each other with. A thug on the other side raised his chin at his cronies and they moved accordingly. Two went to unlatch the back of a still-running, nondescript moving-truck that they would use to transport the goods while another walked forward with what she guessed was a briefcase full of untraceable funds. She had seen enough.
'Showtime.' With a low, disciplined kick down, the skylight glass shattered onto the D-list villains below.
"What the fuck!?"
Superhero-landing on one of the thugs made the thick crunch of his spine echo louder than his scream. Dinah grinned. She didn't particularly get any enjoyment from brutally beating the scum of the earth like she suspected some of her other crime-fighting associates did, but thought of it as a reckoning for only using her fists and her voice to defeat her foes.
"It's dat' bird bitch!" One of the goons shouted as he trained his gun sideways on her.
Dinah rolled her eyes, 'He's not gonna hit shit with that form.' His, equally as dumb friend, gripped his tech,
"Dummy, they're all fucking birds!"
Still in her superhero landing pose with one knee digging into a surely snapped spine, she parted her naturally pert lips confidently. The crate full of the guns was loaded onto the truck, creaking the rusty suspension before spinning rubber and letting the large vehicle grind paint against the loading-dock doors, not caring for the possibility that the goods slid out the haul. The mob boss scrambled to the exit with one of his men.
"Get Bruno!" He yelled at the man beside him before running out the door. Probably to where Dinah had scouted a blacked-out Escalade a couple of streets over.
Even with five glocks aimed at her head, she was determined to not let them get away.
"I know I'm wearing black, but do I really look as ridiculous as someone in a spandex bat costume?" Superhero One-O-One: Always have quips ready. That, aaand it was always fun to bring attention to just how misplaced she looked when fighting crime.
A dynamite blond babe with shivering blue eyes that was packaged in a black-lined, blue bustier that accented her breasts and hung-on for dear life from the black straps that crossed over her collarbone seductively. If she were to lose the leather-studded jacket, Dinah was sure that the blushed skin of her back and slim shoulder blades would drive these dopes crazy, long enough for her to lay them out.
Her punk leather short-shorts didn't pull any punches either. While they were surprisingly good for wearing when breaking noses and kicking dudes in the nuts, she also secretly loved the way it gripped her ass. The black choker around her neck was…idiosyncratic. Yeah, that was it. Definitely not a symptom of an identity crisis that incited hypersexuality between who she was as Dinah Lance and the femme crimebuster known as Black Canary.
No, that was solely reserved for the fishnets that burst from her shorts and hid in her metal biker boots. Even in her mid-twenties, she was sure she was the poster-child of every father's worst nightmare…or their most uncomfortable dream. Dinah knew what she looked like and was comfortable with it. It was on the edge, yeah, but way better than what she saw other costumed vigilantes attired in.
A sharp whizz of air that tickled her cheek followed by a loud pop that pierced her ears. 'No more daydreaming.' She sprung into action with a leap off the one of the goons and took a deep breath. The powerful sonic screech that busted their eardrums was only a fraction of the damage she could really do. She watched them instantly drop their guns, one even accidentally shooting himself in the process. They writhed on the debris addled ground, gripping at their unprotected ears before passing out from the pain.
'Easy.'
Dinah ran out the warehouse door in an athletic sprint. She rounded the corner of a sleeping neighborhood and darted into a shattered bulb-lit alleway. On the other side of the dim alley, she could see the boss' shining blue suit shimmer against the moonlight. He was pointing at her while yelling at someone hidden just beyond her view.
The hero licked her lips, the electricity of battle and ultimately being victorious danced on her fingertips. She rushed forward, her hair like a whirlwind behind her. The boss stepped out of the junction and in came an actual behemoth of a man. He wasn't muscular per se, but was wide, tall and round.
Dinah smirked, he wasn't the biggest enemy she had ever dropped. Her boots pounded against the puddles of rainwater and litter before lunging from both feet and connecting his chest with a flying kick. It felt like she was kicking against a metal statue. She pushed off and back hand springed away to create distance.
"As long as no boy bat. No batman, and Bruno be okay. That's what boss say." The man lumbered deeper into the alley, mumbling incoherently as he got closer. One statement did unfortunately manage to prick her ears
"Boss say, when I win. I can play with bird."
Dinah's eyebrows furrowed, it wasn't the first time she had been objectified and sexualized by invalids, hell, female heroes were deeply immersed in this sexual atmosphere and the Black Canary practically leaned into it. Kicking ass and looking sexy while doing it got her blood pumping and thrilled her to a degree that she would never admit.
As who she guessed to be Bruno stepped under the light, Dinah observed him. Dirty clothes, red, curly hair in the design of male-pattern baldness, and a mindless stare that shook even her. The worrisome part was what looked like some sort of cutting-edge, thick, black hearing aids that wrapped around and penetrated the huge man's ears.
"Won't let me go to funhouse with others. Says I scare girls…Birdie not scared though." His strabismus ceased and aligned just to drink in the woman before him. It made Dinah squirm.
She attacked again, this time a quick punch to his chin, he had no neck. He barely flinched. She whipped a short roundhouse at his knee. Like steel. She had time to duck under the sluggish swipe at her head but not the fist to her gut that made her feel like a bowling ball had just been thrown at her.
"Oof!" Black Canary was flung off her feet with brute force, skidding on her back and drenching her jacket and hair in the miscellaneous liquids of Gotham's slums.
"Fuck this." Dinah wasn't sure if the aids around his earlobes were specifically manufactured to combat her, but she would find out. She breathed in through her nose and let oxygen fill her lungs before releasing her patented Canary Cry!
The promiscuously-dressed hero made sure to hold back, delegating to not destroy the outer brick walls of the small businesses that dare try to make a living in this part of town. A mistake she wouldn't get the chance to rectify. Like a slow moving boulder up a hill, Bruno stalked towards her, eardrums in-tact and weathering the fury of her mid-level strengthened metagene.
A massive bear paw of a hand clamped onto the Black Canary's mouth, effectively halting the powerful scream.
"Saw scream on TV. Girls scream too. Scream hurts ears," Bruno said, his grip bulky and firm on her face. He tightened his grip and Dinah could feel her cheekbone and jaw creek. He lifted her with one hand and slammed her into the side of the building. When the back of her head met brick, she lost her bearings, eyes unfocused.
Only Dinah's instincts forced her to claw and clutch at the unbudging forearm. With a heave, she thrust her knee right into the wide chest. She felt it compress and stop. Now Dinah was scared. She'd kick him in the balls if her foot could reach under his prominent gut.
"Not like other girls. Very pretty." Bruno used his other large hand to pat against her fishnet-covered thighs as he marveled at how her plush skin was encased seductively within, each tight square hugging just enough to accentuate her form.
Dinah fought harder now. No one touched her like that. The more she fought, the more control she felt herself relinquish. Her skull was starting to ache.
He threw her to the ground in front of him as if he was spiking a football after a touchdown and Dinah felt her brain rattle inside her head.
'F–...Fight. I have to…,' She couldn't think. Bruno lifted her by her wet and muck coated locks. She opened her mouth, ready to let out another Canary Cry and contempt with turning his already plodding brain to mush. Or at least Dinah would have, if she had seen the brutal headbutt coming.
A sharp CRCHH resounded from only one-half of the two noggins involved. A defeated Black Canary tilted and folded backwards, this time not feeling when her head smacked against the ground.
Dinah could feel the familiar and warm rush of blood start to wash and bubble at her hairline, definitely coloring her sunshine strands in flames. She was still conscious but couldn't move. She attempted to raise her arm but its only response was a slow twitch.
Dinah's heart beat at an irregular pace. Not from physical exertion she would usually spend on lengthy missions or from the jolt she got from leaping rooftop to rooftop in tight skin-revealing clothes. No, what now propelled her heart was coldblooded fear holding and pulling from the pain she was feeling. She let out an agonizing moan.
Birdie tough and pretty. Don't break." He flipped the paralyzed woman onto her stomach, her beautiful, usually resplendent, face dipped sideways into a small puddle below. The sewage smelling water clogged her nostrils and entered her mouth. She could barely breathe.
Closer and closer the Black Canary knew she was rapidly approaching what Batgirl had gone on and on about (rather dramatically she might add). A "Gotham Special". It wasn't meeting your end in any particular way, but a promise to reach your expiration in a horror unimaginable, unique to the underworld of the shrouded city.
A boot larger than her head stomped next to her face. He was standing over her and she was completely helpless.
First was her jacket.
'Wha–?'
Cold, muggy air bit on the exposed skin of her back, making it prickle in chicken skin. Then the weight, 'A fuck-ton of it!', Dinah thought, plopped down on her hips, compressing her inner organs to the absolute max. She started to panic when she heard the faint but familiar clamber of her zipper. An experience allotted to women everywhere.
'No…No!,' Dinah cried out inside her head but all that escaped her throat was a raspy gasp. Big, sausage-like fingers groped at her naked back childishly, like they had just stumbled upon a new toy in a dune of sand.
Dinah wasn't stupid. She knew where this was headed if she didn't do something quick! She thought this was possibly the farthest thing from what a "Gotham Special" should be. Of course felons who had never conceived the concept of right-and-wrong would jump at the opportunity to tear her buxom body apart and completely degrade her form to something as nasty as a used condom draped over the rim of a piss-stained porta potty. That wasn't creative at all but perhaps just as scarring. The actual event was much more lucid than the thought of it after-all, Dinah could now confirm.
Had the Black Canary finally been caught? Had she been fighting crime all these years alongside allies, 'alongside Ollie', just to one day run into an opponent that possessed the power and the foul resolution to rape a member of the League?
Dinah pushed the question away, afraid of what might be uncovered if confronted with things darker than brutal and physical street-level crime.
The beefed-up crony stiff-armed her face into the soggy gravel under her as he pulled at the straps over her shoulders. It cut at her face, but the means were justified when her black straps snapped.
She felt her top unsettle against her tits. Dinah never bothered to wear a bra because...why would she? Instead of flipping her over and mangling her constantly on-display boobs, he tugged her belt-looped leather shorts. The ape didn't bother to undo the buckle and just kept pulling until he saw the seams strain, then tear in an aesthetic line between her asscheeks. Surprisingly, Bruno made sure not to wedge his finger in the fishnets when jaggedly ripping the shorts down to her perineum. With most of her creamy fishnet-covered butt exposed, it adumbrated what was to come. Dinah never wore panties under her fishnets, she had never felt the need to.
"Girls at funhouse wear these," He gently pulled on one of the thin edges along her ass before letting it snag back into position. "Stay on."
Dinah wriggled and twisted but it was no-use. Her bustier scuffled down as a result and now her perfect, dorm-slut jugs drooped over, making her protruding umber nipples grind against unsteady gravel and filth.
Despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite the morbid present, Dinah yelped and bucked indiscernibly when a greasy, unwashed finger stroked against her pussy.
It was all so convenient. Dinah had taken it upon herself to cut a neat hole in the undercarriage of her fishnet hose when she had begun her adventuring exploits. Easy for bathroom breaks, let her monkey catch a breather, and was great for a steaming quickie with Ollie.
The split in her leather shorts rest just below her thighs, allowing Bruno to jam his hand between the tight curve they formed and part her sweating labia with the tip of his finger. The blond bombshell imagined how the dirt from under his fingernail got glossed with her arousal.
"Hah~!"
"Girls have soggy meat. Bruno has lump meat."
He removed his digit from her slick nethers and then tore her shorts from her waist with an unhinged grunt. An impressive display of strength that couldn't belong to anything without a metagene. Her top now soiled into the ground under her stomach, its only practical purpose being a small blanket that Dinah would get thoroughly bred on.
Excluding her boots, nets and slutty choker, the Black Canary now laid stretched-out, virtually butt-ass-naked in the middle of a dirty alleyway, prepared to take dick like a dog.
The stripped woman made one last gambit. The pain, the struggle; could she really say that she had fought hard enough? Tried hard enough to not get hurt? Or was it just a mental game of cat and mouse she played with her murky conscience? What she wanted, was to lose. To be rough and broken. Black Canary wanted to be used like the shit under a trucker's boot! It didn't matter who or how. It was for her. Her own pleasure induced torment. How bad could the random thug on the corner fuck her up; she chose every time she went on patrol. She controlled what was happening to her.
She pushed herself up, ready to turn and attack her violator, not caring how her scraped-up tits swung wildly. The red-haired man caught her wrist and placed his other hand on her slender shoulder. Dinah's eyes widened at the size difference of his massive hands on the feminine slant. It slid lower until his hand completely encompassed her elbow.
CRECK
It was as easy as snapping a twig. Dinah screamed, the high-pitched squeal a far-cry from her usual calling-card.
'FUCK!' She bit her lip.
Bruno threw her to the ground again, her broken arm flopping down with her.
'I win.'
The weight was back. The fat fucker was sitting on her legs, trapping her. The clicks of a cheap belt buckle echoed through the muggy air.
PLAP
'Oh, god…' Dinah thought. The woman wasn't a stranger to dick and balls. She considered herself an admirer of sorts with all the experience she had between sloppy nights at dives with forgettable names and kinky days with Ollie in Seattle. What this doofus had hauled out though, belonged on a fucking gorilla.
She couldn't see it but she could feel it snake past her mounded assmeat and stop above the back of her iliac crest. The thick pulse of the length against her skin tricked her into thinking it was her heartbeat. It was gonna hurt, that much had already been decided. The pain and hollow trepidation-fueled adrenaline made everything too vivid for Dinah, like she was watching herself in third person.
She could see the slacken bricks of the random alleyway building begin to erode at its foundation, she could smell the gasoline in the polluted city air, she could taste the salty, bitter water that had splashed on her upper lip when she got thrown on ground like litter. Most importantly, Dinah felt the heavy, meaty club worming into her sex.
The massive cock levered its way past the hero's dry cunt lips and roughly jimmying its way inside. She felt his long shaft scrape against her walls neglectfully. Dinah bit down on her cheek. Hard. No way this fucking freak was gonna get anything out of her.
"Uhghh," the fridge-shaped man groaned. "First time with blonde. Hair so…pretty!" The oaf bucked his hips and Dinah could taste blood.
'MOTHERFUCKER! He's beating on my cervix!'
Dinah's nostrils flared as she inhaled through her nose. The blockhead's bitchbreaker equipt enough to knock the air from her lungs.
Bruno, for the second time tonight, clutched her beautiful sunshine-colored locks, before driving her face into the ground. Not a peep. When he hunched over and let the full-force of his weight stretch out and lay on Dinah's athletic form, it was a different story.
"UGHG!" Save for the part of boob that still smushed into her discarded top on the ground, Dinah's entire front, grated into the cold, uneven ground. She didn't have time to worry about the harsh bumps and scratches from the rough handler. Or more like, she couldn't take time to focus on it as the sensation of her quickly lubricating pussy widening for girth overtook her senses.
Bruno didn't operate in long thrusts. Instead, he suffocated the Black Canary with his weight and shook his wide waist shortly, like a dog humping against its owner's leg. Perpetually, this kept his turgid member against her babymaker, pounding on the slick membrane with abandon.
"AUgh!…Ah…oughh~!"
If someone were to peek into the dark, dimly lit alleway, they would the gaze upon what looked like a very large man in a kneeling plank position,hairy ass exposed to the elements and grunting doltishly while rocking back and forth. The only indication that he was currently dicking a famed heroine of wretched Gotham nights were the supple fishnet-wrapped legs behind him or the mop of blonde hair that you could just barely make out from beneath his chest.
It was humiliating.
Dinah just took it. Her body's natural reaction to raise her heart rate and squeeze around the penetrating meat made her feel sick. The undeniable truth that a part of her was enjoying her own rape seared into the leftside of her brain.
'NO! I'm not. I'm NOT! ShIT~!'
Bruno managed to scratch just the right spot. A piece of her worthless pussy that made her eye twitch and legs go stiff. Diana wanted to die. The world didn't need the Black Canary. She just came from getting raped in a filthy back-alleyway. She could understand the biological response from her body but what she didn't understand, was the unanimous decision from her subconscious and her spurting cunt to decide that this was the best sex she had ever had…
"Mph!…Uh. Uhghh~...!"
Her mind went numb from the pleasure while her poor cunny clamped down on her rapist's womb-wrecking cock. Dinah was starting to see black spots and she couldn't tell if it was because this long-johned bastard was squishing the air from her lungs, or whether her brain had decided that oxygen was a strictly reserved function for juicing big dicks, rather than breathing.
Dinah blacked out after that. It didn't matter what happened to her body next because the worst had already come to fruition.
The disgraced hero woke up somewhere dark and putrid. Fitting, if you asked her. A false exhilaration filled her. She wasn't dead. Though, that wasn't the only thing that filled her. She swiped at her abused slit and wanted to cry. Even without seeing, she could feel the dried, flaky rivulets of matter plastered onto her outer lips.
Stinking bags of garbage bedecked over and beneath her naked bisque skin got her blood running again. She was cold but hot at the same time.
'Threw me in a fucking dumpster. Where I belong.' She rustled and a bag of some sort of foul smelling liquid slid off her abdominal. Dinah stood up and hit her head on the slick, stained plastic lid of the waste container. The unforgiving Gotham sunrise blinded her as she stumbled and fell out of the garbage-green dumpster.
One of her boots was missing but her choker still fit snugly around her neck. She tilted her head down. Miraculously, her fishnet hose were still in pristine condition; the mark of an experienced whore she supposed. The Black Canary began to limp away, her head throbbing and throat sore. She didn't bother to cover-up any of her assets. What was the point? B-cup tits dangling for anyone out for their early morning jog. It was the most shameful "morning after" walk.
Dinah considered running while shielding her face but she knew she didn't deserve it. Such comforts weren't reticent for cumdumps like herself. She still felt full and could feel her vag grip at nothing, only remnants of a stranger's nasty load.
'I'll try again tonight.' Dinah couldn't decipher her rationalization from her delusion. What exactly was she hoping to happen?
A/N: Let me know what you think