Dealing with Collateral Damage

An awkward silence loomed over the assembled members of the Justice League, gathered on the highest roof in Metropolis. It was the highest remaining roof in Metropolis, at least, which wasn't saying much. None of the skyscrapers or high-rise buildings had escaped the incredibly destructive defense of the city. Not even the Daily Planet's famous rooftop globe remained atop its original mounting. Ringless, that sphere slowly rolled along the streets, crushing everything in its path. At its speed, bumping into a single car probably would have stopped it and saved the city millions on replacing hydrants, trees on the medians and the occasional street sign.

There wasn't a single car or truck left in Metropolis. The Justice League were the only life for miles around the destroyed city. Batman had foreseen the extent of the day's chaos and had made sure it was evacuated well in advance; the few stragglers were removed by Superman and the Martian Manhunter as they were found. Not a single human had died in the terrible destruction, and not a single one of the invading aliens remained. There just wasn't much of a city left in the aftermath.

"Well," the Flash spoke up, finally breaking their five straight minutes of silence. "That could have gone much worse." Someone chuckled wearily at that, though most of the group grunted or sighed. The red speedster wasn't wrong and they were all grateful for the averted crisis, but most of America wouldn't be patting their backs for a job well done. Usually governments quietly took care of the collateral damage left by the League's heroes, but when it got to this extent... they had to take responsibility for their actions. It was just the right thing to do.

Except most superheroes didn't have vast amounts of wealth at their immediate disposal. Many of them didn't deal with money at all, having their needs provided by the League or some other sponsor. In a pinch, any one of them could walk into just about any restaurant under their protection and get a free meal without anyone asking them to pay. Most of their costumes, after all, left nothing to the imagination and very few places for them to keep a wallet.

Almost all of the League's heroes were warriors and peacekeepers. None of them liked taking time away from the areas under their protection to try and figure out how they would pay for massive collateral damage. Early on in the League's history, they decided to simply write their names down and pick one at random out of Batman's cowl. Whomever had their name drawn would be responsible for fundraising. These days, Cyborg used a complicated algorithm to pick a name at true random.

(Actually, he Googled a random number generator and numbered his allies by when they joined the League. He left one name off that list, naturally.)

Everyone's attention slowly drifted to the man of the moment, who closed his eyes for several seconds. "Alright," he said as he popped them back open. "Wonderwoman's turn."

Diana didn't mind at all. "I'll see to it at once," the Princess of the Amazons declared confidently.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-**

Metropolis' municipal government got back to Diana quickly with their estimate. They would require seven trillion dollars to rebuild the city, a truly staggering number that made her eyes widen in surprise. That was... far more money than she thought it would be. Far more money than she could even conceive, truthfully. How many warehouses could you fill with seven trillion dollars? Were they literally going to rebuild the city with recycled one dollar bills?

"That can't be right," she told the bored pencil-pushing clerk when she had gotten over that surprise.

What Diana never learned was that she was right -- it wasn't. Metropolis' mayor had given the clerk simple instructions: start at seven trillion. Expect the Justice League to haggle. Accept nothing less than two trillion. The city spent an obscene amount of money on insurance because of Superman's presence; the Man of Steel accidentally destroyed whole city blocks as easily as anyone else might step on a snail on a rainy day. If they were being honest with Diana, they would have told her off the bat that the repairs were a little less than a trillion and completely covered.

The mayor had good intentions, at least. Two trillion dollars would cover a lot of new social programs for the city, programs that would genuinely help people. The money would house and feed the homeless, improve schools... too many programs to count. It would also guarantee he won the coming election, where he was currently polling terribly.

"Sorry," the clerk said with a shrug, disinterested in the conversation or even the haggling. "It is what it is. Maybe you should be more careful next time." That earned him a hard look from Diana, and in her costume that drilled right through his boredom. He swallowed and began to capitulate. "Look, I'll--"

"It will take some time," Diana said, too proud to even consider haggling, "but Metropolis will get its money." Though there was a hint of irritation in her expression, she didn't express it any further than that.

"Uh... sure." The clerk stared after her. It took him a few minutes to get over what had just happened, but eventually he picked up his phone and called his boss to give him the good news. The mayor heaped praise upon him for his hard work, of course, and expressed his gratitude further with a chunky bonus and a promotion.

The new treasurer of Metropolis felt guilty, but not so guilty that he didn't go on to abuse the position he had absolutely zero training for.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-**

For the next two months, Diana busted her ass to raise the seven trillion dollars she needed to make everything right again for the people of Metropolis. If she had gone to the rest of the League and had given them the figure, their wealthy members probably would have raised it for her overnight. Whether or not it was Diana's responsibility to raise it thanks to Cyborg's absolutely and truly random number generator, seven trillion dollars was a lot of money. Her pride wouldn't let her do that, nor would it let her breathe a word of her plight to her family. They could and would have made it so with simple ease.

If Diana had one sin in abduncane, it was her pride. It was her job and she was going to see it through one way or another. Her first two weeks were spent visiting philanthropists and powerful CEOs to see what she could fundraise from them. Most of them were happy to hear her out and most of them were just as happy to make a pledge, but in the end her work amounted to no more than nineteen million dollars. It was a lot of money. She was happy with it until she considered just how many millions went into a billion, and how many billions went into a trillion.

Going door-to-door would not be enough. Every last person who lived in Metropolis before its destruction would be long dead from old age by the time she raised the money. It was clear that she needed to put aside her work as a hero and focus exclusively on raising money. It was time for her to focus on capitalism for the sake of Metropolis' citizens, who had really done nothing to deserve an alien invasion and the world's strongest heroes duking it out across their city.

She started small. A book deal where a ghost writer would author her memoir. Some celebrity appearances here or there. An hour on one talk show and then an hour on the next. Co-hosting a true crime podcast where she gave her unique insight on mundane criminals (it bombed). When that wasn't enough, she moved back towards those powerful CEOs and corporations. The world already knew Wonder Woman's face, but she became a daily part of everyone's lives when she became the face of Nike's commercials (the actual Nike made her drop it).

Gatorade, McDonalds. The iPod. The PS5. It felt like every other day she was shooting a new commercial for a new product. Each brought in a hefty payday with recurring royalties, but it still wasn't enough. By the end of her first month, she had raised just shy eight hundred million dollars, which was great if not for the fact one trillion dollars was one thousand billion dollars. Her days became packed. Between shoots, she'd use her smartphone to shoot quick videos for customers on Cameo. She scarcely had a moment to breath. It sucked, but Diana was too proud to complain. She needed to keep at it. She needed to do this. She needed more money. Not for herself, but Metropolis.

The goal was nowhere in sight, but one day after the two month mark she got the call that changed everything.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-**

"So, guys. We've got a special treat for you here today at Kunk, your number one stop for all things bondage and BDSM on the web," the velvety feminine voice behind the camera all but cooed as they began the shot. Diana swallowed down her nerves, determined not to let them show. "A world first, in fact, with a very special newbie," the camerawoman said as she panned it towards where the Princess of the Amazons sat on a black sofa. "The first known superhero to shoot porn in costume: Wonder Woman. Say hi to everyone, Diana."

Diana stared at the camera for several seconds before remembering to smile, her full red lips spreading to show just how perfect it was, lighting up her olive-skinned face. "Hi, everyone. I'm excited to be here today. Any money I make will be given directly to the people of Metropolis. If you'd like to donate to--"

"Can't talk about that on camera, Diana," the camerawoman interjected, catching the demigod off guard.

"Oh, well-- yes. Sorry." Diana cleared her throat, then paused. "Could we start over? I thought we agreed that you would only call me Wonder Woman."

"No, it's fine. We'll just go on and deal with any issues in post," the camerawoman breezed on in a much more bubbly voice. "I'll keep calling you Diana just because it's easier. We'll swap it in post. Really, they just do magic in post." They did not, in fact, swap it out in post. She continued the quaint interview before Diana had a chance to get another word in edgewise, going over the scene, the safe word and several other things.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-**

The bank was filled with unpaid extras, each playing their own part as a civilian or an employee. Their only reward for participating in the evening's 'festivities' would be the catering service across the hall from this set. Diana had to admit it was an impressive spread. She also had to admit it really wasn't their only reward: the extras would get to watch Wonder Woman get fucked right before their eyes. Once again, she pushed down her nerves and watched as the stunt cocks set the scene, donning masks and brandishing fake (but admittedly realistic) guns from their duffel bags. Blanks fired, the extras screamed, and before long the faux-robbers had everyone sitting in the bank's lobby.

"Alright," the leader growled as he tossed an extra bag to one of his lackeys. "Start filling them up. We need to get this done and over with before the cops or one of those damn heroes shows up." It was showtime. Diana waited for the lackey to disappear into the bank's vault, then kicked the door in and stepped inside; the criminals turned to face her, and one immediately opened fire. Another blank, of course - still, Diana made a show of blocking the bullet with one of her bracers, then put her hands on her hips.

"I'll give you boys one chance to stand down and let these people go," Diana declared with her usual confidence, her chin raised high. Her pose emphasized her perfect body, her athleticism in true equilibrium with her femininity, neither overpowering the other. They insisted on her wearing her real costume, and that was fine by her. It would keep her comfortable throughout this ordeal. She was less than thrilled about how the producers bubbled over how slutty it already was, but that was neither here nor there. "You have five seconds before I come over there and spank you like the naughty boys you are."

The masked men glanced between each other, wary, before the leader made a decisive call. "Alright," he said as he dropped his rifle, starting to walk towards Diana. With him being disarmed, she was supposed to let him get close and not stop him from reaching into his pocket. If Kunk's producers cared about realism, they'd let her stop him, but no. Diana waited, smirking confidently, ready to accept his surrender.

He removed a bottle of a softly-scented jasmine perfume and spritzed it in Diana's face. This was going to be the hardest part for her, but once she got past it the rest would be smooth sailing. She was sure of that. So, she got over her immediate reluctance and let her confident expression go dull, her smile fading away and her jaw going slack. At the same time, her fingers slid down her hips until they hung at her sides; she let her eyes lose their focus, staring blankly ahead rather than at the leader's mask.

"Holy shit," one of the gang members muttered as he and several other members of the group closed in around the 'hypnotized' Diana. "That hypno-spray actually worked? No goddamn way. I thought that weird little doctor was just a quack."

The leader affected an equal surprise, tossing the perfume bottle aside. It looked like fancy glass, but the plastic bounced off the floor. Diana didn't watch it roll away, instead keeping her body loose and her expression utterly stupefied, even as the leader got his masked face right in hers. "Only one way to be sure," he muttered to himself, before clearing his throat and looking Diana right in the eye; she was dimly aware of the camerawoman getting behind her to line up the perfect shot of his expression, but she couldn't take her eyes off him for the sake of the shoot. He was clearly loving this.

"Alright, Wonder Woman. When I snap my fingers... you're gonna be our personal slut. You're done with being a superhero. You want to help us get rich for the reward of good, hard cock. You love any cock you get, but you can only cum with my permission," the leader said, though he didn't snap his fingers immediately like the script called for. Instead, he reached for the low-cut top of Diana's costume and yanked it down over her breasts, revealing their full swell with a small but delightful jiggle. She gasped softly but did her best to limit her reaction to that; she couldn't let her surprise ruin the shoot. As much as she hated how stiff this was making her nipples, she couldn't let that affect her performance either.

Behind the leader, members of the gang whistled and exchanged high-fives, quickly figuring out who among them would stand guard while the others had some fun with their personal super slut. Rock paper scissors didn't seem like the best way for bank robbers to figure that out, but --

Diana gasped again when the leader slapped her across the tits, then wrenched her top further down so her rippled stomach was equally exposed. This was actually about to happen. He stepped back from her and then lifted his fingers. "And when we're fucking you, you're going to feel everything like a normal woman would. No superhuman endurance, no inhuman resistance to pain. Nothing like that." He snapped, and Diana blinked a moment later, letting her expression begin to reset as she returned her hands to her hips, making sure to arch her back to thrust her ample chest out as the camerawoman had advised. Her previous confidence was undercut by the wanton way she bit down on her bottom lip, waiting.

The camerawoman had given Diana plenty of guidance.

"Get the rest of that shit off," the leader said with a wave of his hand at her costume, and Diana quickly complied, sliding the rest of it over the curve of her hips and dropping it around her ankles, stepping out of it and leaving herself for all intents and purposes nude. Her knee-high boots certainly weren't covering anything these people cared about; everything else she wore simply accented her body, from her tiara to her choker to her bracers. She was dimly aware of her flushed cunt getting damp under all the eyes on it, even as the gang began to snicker and chortle. The laughter spread to the hostages as well.

Diana didn't blame them. Though she kept herself trim, the producers didn't like how much hair she had. They had an aesthetician come in and shave it into her signature double-W, and it looked frankly ridiculous. A tiny flush of embarrassment began to creep up her cheeks, though she had been advised blushing would be fine for the scene and only natural. "Nice logo," the leader grunted with a smirk, stepping back into Diana's personal space and reaching up to her face. "Now come here and show the good people of Metropolis what a slut you are for criminal cock, Wonder Slut."

Metropolis? That stung more than it should have. They were shooting this in Star City. She wasn't a fan of this guy's improv, but she certainly couldn't let it affect her performance. "Yes, sir," she told him with an eager smile, gasping again when he grabbed her long black mane and yanked her forward.

He improvised again. "On your hands and knees," he ordered her, and after a solid second of staring Diana complied, sinking to her knees and then getting down to her hands. "Attagirl," he praised, tugging her hair like a leash as he led his new pet over to the hostages, her heavy breasts swaying as she moved. He paced along the line of extras, stopping before one entirely average looking man for one clear reason alone: he wore a white t-shirt with the same double-W Diana had shaved above her pussy. He smiled awkwardly at Diana -- more at her tits than her face, unsurprisingly.

This wasn't quite where the scene was supposed to go. "Go ahead," the leader said with a grin as he squatted down behind Diana, unzipping his trousers. She drew in a small, soft breath as she felt his hardness probing her pussy but did her best to keep her expression whorish for the man before her, smiling glassy-eyed encouragement to him. He reached out tentatively and took hold of one of her breasts; the combined stimulation made her moan softly and encouraged him to be more confident, starting to squeeze her tit and play with her nipple. Behind her, the leader kept rubbing his cock over her wet cunt, getting it slicker and slicker without ever penetrating her.

More and more, she wanted him to just stick it in her and fuck her like the Wonder Whore she was, a thought that should have made her uncomfortable. Instead, she lifted her hips higher and pushed back against his cock, trying to get at least its tip inside of her. He pulled back from her when he realized what she was trying to do and laughed, then reached down to her biceps and pulled her arms back behind her, bringing both of her wrists together at the small of her back. "C'mon and get this for me," the leader told one of his lackeys, who came over and clicked a pair of handcuffs just around her wrists.

The denial made her growl lowly with frustration. She could have broken out of the cuffs with a simple twitch if she wanted to, but she certainly didn't want to and not just because of the payday. She wanted this more than she cared to admit. The leader slapped her firm ass and squeezed his fingers into it, speaking over the back of Diana's head to the hostage before her. "Are you a fan of her? Of Wonder Whore?"

"Y-yeah," he said after a beat. "Did the shirt give it away?"

"No," the leader snorted sarcastically. "You've got it written on your forehead. Get your cock out, kiddo," he told the middle-aged man who just so happened to have a baby face. He did so quickly and with a soft swallow, baring himself with his hero's face right over his cock, her breath tickling over it. She really didn't like this improvisation, and this seemed like the right time to voice it. "Put your hands on her head," the leader instructed her fan, who abandoned her breasts entirely to do so. His fingers curled into her hair and Diana finally opened her mouth to protest what was about to happen. She hadn't agreed to fucking any of their audience.