Varied response to be honest

Yasemin was not happy about the new arrivals. She was already working rather hard to keep her master's attention with just the current three girls around her. Though she would in the end be victorious, unlike the last competition she lost in. Though ironically this one was far more important than that one despite no bullets being involved this time.

She remembered her death and what had led to it. She has been an arms dealer selling weapons to rebels and mobsters for millions for over a decade. Then she got caught, and her skills as an expert marksman got her recruited into the suicide squad. She has been an expert marksman because she has practiced since she was a little girl, and it has helped her business. Nothing quite sold people on buying a specific gun when it had been fired by a hot chick with great accuracy.

Everything had gone wrong, and that was before her death. She'd panicked and run early in the suicide mission; it shamed her and made everyone else see her as weak and a liability. It was bad enough to be on the suicide list, but to find wanting of its low standards hurt her in ways words couldn't convey. So she tried to redeem herself by challenging Deadshot to prove who was the better marksman. She got shot with rapid fire in the chest before she finished her challenge.

Now though it was different, she was reborn in a better body and braver than ever before. She looked at the girls around her, gaining an eager smile. She was going to prove that by going to levels of depravity the others wouldn't think of much less attempt. Her thoughts went into very dark and dirty places about what she would do for her new permanent boss.

Mica looked at Yasemin with a bit of pity. She'd seen the earnestness to prove herself in Yasemin's eyes. Mica had been the hired muscle for years and understood how things worked for them. They weren't people to their boss, and that was fine. In the end they were his tools, and so success wasn't measured in how they outdid each other but in how well they served him. Which was great with her, as before she had to prove herself by committing violent crimes successfully.

Now she got to use her body to please her boss and master, which was much safer and very enjoyable as well. Her master wouldn't remember her face, as she had changed it several times to give her master more pleasurable forms to use. All together her life was much better than before. She died being 7 months old on a suicide mission. Just a meat shield for another more powerful villain; now she was working the bedroom, not a gun, and was loving every second of it.

She knew jealousy was to be expected, but in the end they all served the same master, so in the end their own usefulness would prove their worth, not how they one-upped each other. Though Mica knew that was a lot to ask of women who lived in a cutthroat environment like they had. Though in the end they all would come around to her way of thinking it was simple and easier life that way.

Leah Wasserman looked to her follows who were bent over and shaking theyr naked asses for their master. She was happy with the other three and even more happy when three more showed up. They were all working for the master they were all his bitches. She'd been a rebel without a cause and an assassin for hire. She had hoped that suicide squad would be the home she never had.

It mdidn't work like that in the end. She did earn the trust and respect of her peers when she stopped Captain Boomerang from getting too handsy with her female teammates. In the end it hadn't amounted to anything she been left behind trying to be rear guard for the group. She was gunned down for her trouble. Now back there, there was no looking for her place; she had one.

She knew where she belonged and what she was supposed to do. Her only desire was to serve her master and bond with the others as she did so. The more her little family of slave bitches grew the better it was as far as Leah was concerned. She honestly hoped that her master would allow her to find and bring others in so they would know the peace and belonging she felt.

Martha Wayne was dealing with the fact she was both happy and sad with her life at Wayne Manor. She was happy to be united with her son and met her grandson in person. Sad about how in the end how different it all should have been. She was back from the dead and able to live her life as a mother, wife and lady if charity and the arts. Though no doubt there were several people who would point out the redundancy in lady of arts and charity. As art was often a charity case to began with.

What made her sad was a combination of things. Her master was not here and that took the wind from her wings. As she was now waiting on her husband coming up with a way to bring him back before she could serve him once again. The other things were the same thing that made her happy, ironically enough. She was back with her son but he wasn't the one she'd left.

Her bruce had been happy child. Now he was effectively a war veteran with more scars then skin both physically and emotionally. Her grandson was trying but she could see he was more comfortable with running people through with a katana than having nice family moments with her. Her husband was still dear to her but her master would always be the number one man in her life.

It was an interesting situation to be in she knew and an aggravating one that would be made easier with the return of her master but that was off the table for now. So she made her way to an art room she had on a less traveled part of the Wayne Manor. She entered quickly into the room and got everything set up to draw. She got paint, paint brush, canvas, stand and then made a phone call. Her model soon arrived and got into position.

The woman's name was Marcela Nicholson She had dirty skin, brown eyes, and shoulder-length, straight red hair that was a mess. She was mostly home with very little meat on her bones. Her clothes were more rags than clothes, with more holes than actual clothes. All together a mess of a woman. "Take the clothes and the proper position." Martha commanded, and Marcela quickly obeyed.

Marcela quickly took off her rags and put on a barely together dress made up of vibes. It had been woven from vines taken from the site of Condiment Wizard's plant attack on the art galla. Once in the primitive outfit she possessed with her tits forward and her ass back. Martha quickly began to sketch the model. Which was a strange thing to consider, considering she was obviously a barely surviving homeless woman and not someone typically to model for a thing, like a photo for charity to demonstrate the plight of the homeless.

Marcela had been brought to Martha through one of her many charities to help the homeless. Martha painted her in lewd ways in return she get food, clothes and other things she needed. Marcela was eager for the work and help. So Martha drew without reservation hoping to have many lewd images drawn by her lords return for him to peruse at his will.

It was something she had realized she could do to serve her lord and master. So she took to it with gusto. This painting session went for an hour before she was done, but in the end she had her painting done. A rushed but good one admiring the painting, she allowed Marcela to go to one of the cabinets that was in the room. Inside was filled with food, drink, and other needed supplies. A backpack and a purse were in there, and so she quickly filled both with the rest of her reward.

With her model rewarded for the first painting martha called out her next set of instructions. " Now put on the next outfit." Martha said calmly an encouraging smile on her face. Marcela always eager for more supplies quickly did as she was told putting on lewd version of one of Martha's own outdoor dresses. She has a prop gun in her hand as well. Martha had her pose with her chest forward her tits and the pearl necklace on display with the gun clearly ready to be drawn in an hour it was in done.

That painting done for the moment she moved onto the next one. Marcela obeyed her next instructions and got in a dominatrix outfit and took a difficult pose. Her pose was having a knee high in the air while her hands were done gripping on something that wasn't there clearly snapping something on half. In another hour it was done giving Martha a third painting.

For the fourth and final hour of painting for Martha she had Marcela get in a sexy female clown outfit and handed her a plastic fake crowbar. She had her make repeated motions like she was smashing something below her again and again. It was very difficult to capture the motion but Martha believed she was able to pain her in the motion of crushing something below her.

Now that the painting session was done. Martha told Marcella to leave with the rest of the her payment which was waiting outside if the room for her. Though before she could fully leave Marcela was stopped by Mrs. Wayne. "Are you good to pose again later?" Martha asked, her eyes not leaving her work. Marcela stopped completely, then turned and bowed to Martha with respect before responding. Martha was shocked a bit by the formal bow but was able to focus on what Marcela's response was.

" Yes! Of course I'm ready and eager to pose again for you, Mrs. Wayne, whenever you want!" Marcela said eager and happy to serve. Martha was not surprised a woman as desperate as Marcela would do anything to get out of her situation. She could have given her a cheap necklace and Marcella would happily let Thomas, Bruce and Damian run a train on her in return.

Lucky for Marcela, she wasn't that sadistic or perverted. Martha wished her a good day and sent her on her way. Martha made a few adjustments with her painted canvas painting plenty of bats on certain positions. Then once she was done, put it with a dozen others. " Oh Brucey don't you see you can't beat master this paintings prove it. I only hope master see's this paintings and realized your too much of a failure to be a threat." Martha said in whisper hoping her master would take before this paintings and her son would not endanger himself trying to defeat someone so far above him.