Dark Supergirl Part 02
Written by shadar :: [Monday, 21 January 2013 19:19] Last updated by :: [Tuesday, 22 January 2013 08:30]
A Dark SuperGirl Arises - Part Two
By Shadar and Tex Beethoven
(Originally drafted in 1995 for the Aurora Universe. Updated in 2012.)
More than a year has passed since then, and Deb and I have been together every day. We even took advantage of the new same-sex marriage rules and said our vows. She was my wife as I was hers.
She comes with me when I travel on business now, even though she still hates my work. She remains convinced that capitalism is a corrupt system. Given I'm a high-tech entrepreneur, we have some very good arguments about the morality of capitalism and markets.
I actually think she's starting to see a few things my way. According to her, our theme should be: Techno entrepreneur supergirl falls in love with radical communist queer girl.
I kept telling her that no self-respecting communist would enjoy staying in five-star hotels as much as she does, but she just rolls her eyes and tells me that the real game is much bigger than politics. That the hotels she loves so much are but a triviality in the grand scheme of things. She's proud that I'm raging against the machine too, just in different ways. Instead of trying to stop the evil machinery of capitalism, my evil machine is the Arion Empire, something only a handful of humans even know exists. She wants to fight beside me now, even as I explain that I'm not supposed to be fighting at all. That fighting is Kara's job.
We decided to start this particular weekend off at the hotel's beachside bar. The late-afternoon sun was lighting the shoreline of Monterey Bay with a golden light as the blue sky slowly shifted from gold to purple. I’d ditched my business outfit for a flowery bikini and a long, hot-pink beach coverup that swished behind me like a cape. Of course, I wore my usual gold choker to dampen the flow of Orgonic energy.
I stood on the beach while Deb ordered us some drinks, trying to ignore the stares I was getting from men. Standing 6'2" with the looks of a supermodel (and then some) not to mention wearing a bikini, I was naturally a magnet for everyone's eyes. As usual, I enjoyed the attention, knowing as I did that whatever wild fantasies were racing through the men's heads, none of them were exotic enough to encompass the insanity of my creation. No one would imagine that I'd been deliberately engineered from bits and pieces of exotic alien DNA that had then been overlaid on a human genetic matrix to create someone powerful enough to mate with a god. Male, lusty gods who would have intimidated the comic-book Superman.
I pushed those strangely wandering thoughts back into line as Deb returned with our drinks. We kicked off our shoes to dig our toes into the warm, white sand as we watched the sunset. The house band started crooning some old James Taylor songs as they created an intimate but casual atmosphere. We were just a couple of very hot but very queer girls who were totally into each other. Not so uncommon in the San Francisco region.
We quickly found the bottom of a bottle of my favorite wine — a ’92 Napa Valley Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon — so naturally I ordered another bottle. At $400 a pop, I wasn't about to put those on my fading company expense account, so I flashed my hyper-exclusive Amex Black card. While I'm invulnerable to any drug or poison when I'm super, alcohol affects me almost as much as a human when I'm gold dampened. I was enjoying the pleasantly growing buzz from the excellent wine when I looked up to see a familiar face staring at me from across the bar. I blinked and looked again. Holy shit… it was Mark Edwards.
Mark and I had broken up two years ago. He was one of a small handful of people who knew that Sharon Best wasn’t just a Marketing Director in some struggling high tech company. He knew a great deal about the forces of good and evil that were spread across the breadth and width of the Milky Way galaxy. He knew that I was one of the good guys, and to his credit, he knew how to keep a secret.
Characteristically, he had a drop-dead gorgeous girl on his arm. She moved gracefully, like a dancer, which given her tight body and trim hips was likely her profession. She had long lustrous black hair and blue eyes that sparkled with humor and intelligence as they lit a truly beautiful face. Her high cheekbones contrasted nicely with rounded cheeks that crinkled with cute dimples whenever she smiled. She looked very sexy in a white, lacy dress that was short enough for an after-hours nightclub scene. Her long legs and that ultra-short hemline drew every man's eyes to her backside as she leaned forward over the bar. I was reminded that this had always been Mark's favorite position when we were together.
Mark was one of those men who absolutely loves women, and not just in a sexual way. He was truly sensitive to emotions and he was remarkably quick and intelligent. He also had a wonderful sense of humor. Thanks to his daily beach workouts, he also has the kind of tight, hard body that belongs on the cover of a Romance novel. I once described him as having a woman's mind in a man's body, yet there was nothing effeminate about him. In contrast, he was your classic bronzed southern California lifeguard type. The combination of traits constantly drew women to him, any one of which he could bed if he wanted.
But that's not the real secret to his success with women. My nose was sensitive enough to detect that he is one of those very rare men who give off pheromones. While human scientists still debate whether pheromones even exist or how they function in humans, all the scientists really had to do was to watch the way women fall hopelessly in love with Mark at the first hello. Whether they are sixteen or sixty, married or single, straight, bisexual or lesbian, it didn't seem to matter. It even affected even me at first, and that led to my discovering that his tactile pheromones are even stronger than the airborne ones.
Its a truly superhuman power, but he just laughed it off, claiming I was the only one with tweaked genes. He claimed he just gave off some vibes that women liked. He used to tease me, saying I had a man's brain in my head while he had a woman's. That if we switched bodies we'd be perfect. Thankfully that's impossible. Man's brain or not, I liked being female.
Deb saw where I was staring and turned to glare at Mark. She obviously remembered my describing both his pheromic and physical talents. She wasn't bisexual like me, but was an honest-to-goodness Gold Star girl, the lesbian slang for a girl who had never been with a man. Her eyes held Mark's for only a moment before moving to his companion. Deb smiled sexily at her — she's so flagrantly queer that she embarrasses me at times.
Mark saw Deb's gaze shift and rose to walk over to proudly introduce his new friend, Mandi Olson. I could hear Deb’s heart racing beside me. She’s a total sucker for a pretty face and a smoking body. Mandi had both. She's devoted to me, but she had this kinky thing for threesomes, which I wasn't really into unless the third player is a guy. A place Deb is never going to go. Instead, we sometimes gave each other a hall pass, so to speak.
That said, instead of chatting up Mandi as I'd expected her to do, Deb began talking with Mark. That in itself was notable given Deb isn't usually all that friendly around men. Deb is truly gorgeous, but she hates getting hit on by guys. So like a lot of attractive lesbians, she makes it abundantly clear right up front that she doesn't like men. But strangely, she wasn't acting that way with Mark. Obviously Mark's pheromones were hard at work. That and the fact that they had something in common — me — and Deb had always been curious about my former lovers. I love her dearly, but this wasn’t one of her more endearing traits.
Instead of listening to them gossip about me, I focused my attention on Mandi. I told her about my job and my company, trying as always to make myself sound like a normal person. She claimed to be an aspiring actress, which was hardly a news flash given her looks and the fact that she lived in LA, but was mostly a dancer. She said she was one of the pros on Dancing with the Stars. Given I never watch TV, I wasn't impressed. I only knew the name of the show from some news articles I'd seen.
“It’s never fun when old lovers meet, is it?" she whispered to me "Everything they talk about seems outrageously funny to them. Pretty hard not to think its at your expense.”
I turned back to meet her mesmerizing eyes, one eyebrow lifting. I swore she'd just read my mind.
“You and Mark are a lot closer in age than we are,” Mandi continued. “You probably looked really good together.”
Given that Mark was in his late-thirties, her seemingly kind-sounding words were actually a direct challenge. Young women in LA love to put down women who they think are burning the other end of the candle — an age that seemingly arrives during the mid 30’s. Mandi had no clue that I was actually older than her great-great-grandmother and that I wouldn’t truly look old until her great-great-grandchildren were senior citizens. We Velorians are more or less immortal when we live off our home planet, assuming of course that some Arion doesn’t kill us. Dying of old age is unlikely to be my fate.
Despite the visible age differences, or more accurately because of them, Mandi and Mark were a typical LA movie-land couple. Many young, aspiring actresses became the passion of successful, older men in the movie business. It was a tradeoff that benefited both parties and many first roles in movies are earned this way. Which made me wonder how well Mandi really knew Mark. If she truly was ambitious, her time would be far better spent getting to know casting directors and working actors who were further up the food chain. But then, there were those infamous pheromones of Mark's. Maybe she just liked the sex.
Deb, of course, was as impetuous as usual. Her discussions with Mark grew louder and more boisterous. Everything she said or did came from her heart and not her head, and before long I overheard her inviting Mandi and Mark to join us for dinner. I grimaced as I saw Mark’s eyes light up. I’ve left some wretched wrecks behind me, Mark being one of the worst, and I don’t need to relive any of those. Mark and I had been very good together until I’d screwed it all up.
I have a long history of screwing up relationships. Being a Velorian living among humans, I sometimes feel like a hungry tigress who's gotten loose in a pet shop. It's almost a predatory feeling, although it's purely sexual instead of carnivorous. I couldn't begin to count the number of lovers I'd had in my long life. It didn’t help that most men behaved like proud bulls when they were around me, all dripping with testosterone and enthusiasm. They had no idea that I could actually stop an enraged bull’s charge with a single finger if I wished, human or bovine. They also had no clue that their weak bodies and limited equipment could never impress me in the way they hoped. Instead, I was drawn mostly to a man's sense of humor, his intelligence and his willingness to connect emotionally with me. Unlike the men on every other planet I'd visited, the men here on Earth have this endless enthusiasm for romance and raw passion, not to mention some outrageous kinkiness that's sometimes amusing. Its like some kind of primitive sexual beast lives inside them, some throwback to their primitive past who gives them their lust.
That pretty much makes up for the fact that human men are phenomenally fragile and weak. Even while wearing gold, my trick has been to find a lover with the confidence to challenge me mentally and emotionally who also had the robust vitality needed to survive the quickening from my pheromones. Very few men can survive a night in bed with me without stroking out or suffering a heart attack or some other serious malady. After all, I never get tired or sore and I fully expect to experience many dozens of orgasms over a long night of lovemaking, and unlike human women, who are very clitoral-centric, my best orgasms come from very deep intercourse, thanks to the Galen rewiring us to place a very dense network of nerve endings near our cervix, along with some really strong rings of muscle. I've never met a Galen, but story has it they are very super in all the ways, which explains the rewiring job they did on us. Its a very rare human man who has the longitude to explore those latitudes, if you get my drift, and because of the way my pheromones increase their strength, vitality and endurance, heart attacks can be a risk. Continuous exposure to our pheromones also causes priapism, which can be dangerous. Basically, a man goes into overdrive. Which is very nice for me but not so healthy for them.
Women are much safer, and sometimes I frankly preferred a lithe, sexy jaguar like Deb, especially given all the oversized sex toys that one can buy these days. Ones that more than make up for the limitations of many human men. Like all Velorians, gender isn’t a big deal for me when it comes to lovers. Also, Deb is a latent thanks to her Swedish genetics, and her strength has increased dramatically since being with me. Mutagenesis is one of the powers of any high-caste Velorian, although there is still debate back on Velor as to whether it was ever a goal of the Galen or simply a left-over from our own enhancement. Clearly the mutagenic retrovirus in our blood doesn't work on everyone, and very rarely on human men, who the Galen have little regard for. Deb's maybe fifty times stronger than she should have be at this point, but I've heard of human women after mutagenesis who are as capable as a Velorian Brava, with strength indexes in the couple of hundred range. Mark, despite our two years together, has maybe five times the strength that he should have given his build and he's not nearly as resistant to injury as Deb, who can turn a bullet with her bare skin. But his endurance is legendary.
But such is the story of my life -- I always fall for the weak ones. Other than Jamie, but that was very long ago (if you consider the 1870's as long ago). But in matters of the heart, it's all about closeness and honesty and trust for me. Just as long as a Velorian Messenger comes around often enough for me to get my nethers scratched from time to time. Velorian men may not have much going on in the enthusiasm and passion arena, but picture a blond version of the comic-book Superman, with all the equipment you'd imagine Superman might have, and you’ve pretty well got a Messenger. As their job title suggests, they bring messages to far-flung Protectors. They also bring comfort to Protectors but they'd normally never step low enough to service a Scribe. But given my Prima-1 birthright, I'm an exception. But as far as the lesser Velorians go, especially the Matra and Brava genetic classes, forget it. That would be beneath a proud Messenger.
I blinked away my strangely wandering thoughts as I found Mandi staring deeply into my eyes, almost like she was looking through me. I had no idea why I was thinking of things like this tonight. It wasn't like me. That thought was still crossing my mind when Mandi smiled softly as she rose to walk around the table to sit beside me, touching her fingertips to my arm. I found that a bit uncomfortable at first. I’ve lived on Earth long enough to develop a very human sense of personal space. But there was something about her touch that made me tingle very strangely inside. Like all Vels, my libido is barely below the surface, and it is always looking for any excuse to come out and play. But not with an Arion. That's not only forbidden but its dangerous. There are too many triggers in both our DNA. Buttons that should not be pushed.
Speaking of buttons, Mark and Deb were leaning their heads together like old friends as they giggled insanely as they shared a cache of very risqué blonde jokes that featured the foibles of the Velorian race. The way they were touching each other, they looked like lovers. Deb was obviously getting a full dose of Mark's tactile pheromones. Amazingly, my infamously gay man-hating Gold Star lover was falling under Mark's spell.
Mark and Deb were the only people on Earth who knew that my supermodel looks and my physical abilities were widely disparate. They also know I can be a bit of a klutz at times, and while I’m smart and have a photographic memory, I’m not very good at picking up on emotional nuances. I’m also terrible at playing the usual dating games, and my body language is weird enough to confuse people. People chalk it up to my being foreign in some undefinable way, and I encourage that by speaking with a Velorian accent. Most people say I sound vaguely Nordic, but the real Nordics are dazzled and confused around me. They also respond more strongly to my pheromones than other people, thanks to us sharing a lot of underlying DNA.
Looking at me, no one was going to guess that I was born with the very unfeminine ability to punch one of the Army’s main battle tanks into tomorrow, something I’d once done to impress Mark. That old M60A1 tank had weighed 50 tons, but my single roundhouse punch reduced it to so much twisted junk by the time it landed a quarter mile from where I stood. Despite being flattened and briefly deafened from the shockwave of my punch, Mark thought my super-strength was incredibly hot.
Of course, it didn't hurt that the blast from my supersonic punch had blown most of my clothes off. Human men are ridiculously impressed by simple things.
I don't enjoy being reminded of my limitations, but they kept a useful and healthy damper on my ego, and to a lesser extent my wandering libido. I’m not beyond admitting that while we Velorians look like goddesses and have most of the powers of one, we’re still very human inside. Wisdom and restraint and propriety aren't exactly Velorian attributes. The concept of sexual fidelity is completely foreign to our culture, whether married or not. We don't even have words for sexual fidelity (or the lack of it) in our language, while humans have all kinds of words that cover that space. Promiscuous, slut, whore, cuckoled, unfaithful, the list went on and on.
As a rule, I never talk about old lovers, but there was something about Mandi that compelled me to talk about Mark. We began comparing notes, starting with his seemingly endless endurance in bed. Not to mention his so-called longitude. That and the way he always seemed to know how to do or say the exact right thing.
Mandi claimed he'd been introducing her around LA and he’d promised her that he could help get her a role in an upcoming movie.
I carefully avoided popping her bubble. Mark was obviously still Mark. He played the age-old movie business game very well, the one where powerful, connected men offered beautiful young women a way into their world. That entrance always came with a very sexy price tag, but some young and ambitious women were more than happy to pay the toll. After all, power and influence is an age-old aphrodisiac.
I rationalized my silence by telling myself that maybe Mark really could help her. While he was only a small-time actor and former lifeguard and general character in Hermosa Beach, he knew hundreds of people in the movie business. Unfortunately, most of them were extras and walk-ons, stuntmen, scenery designers, roadies, grips and dollies. The stars and the moguls and the directors lived at far more expensive addresses than Hermosa Beach, and very few of them counted former lifeguards among their friends. Other perhaps than some leading ladies who liked private, sexy flings with a man who was legendary in the sack.
The more we talked, the more I began to suspect that Mandi wasn’t as innocent as she pretended. Despite her very polished ingénue act, her eyes had the kind of intense, challenging look that came from experience. Her irises looked midnight blue one moment and then sky-blue when the overhead lights caught them. Every time they settled on me, a flurry of misplaced fantasies flitted through my thoughts. Fantasies I had to quickly chase away before I got too wet.
Looking back now, I should have known what my infatuation meant, but it was as if a veil had been drawn over the obvious. Even after her hand daringly slid under the table to rest on my bare thigh, her fingers tracing the outline of my unusually toned quads. I had to bite my lip to maintain some semblance of self-control they marched delicately upward under the hem of my dress in the way a bold woman’s can. She was playing me like a familiar old guitar, plucking just the right chords to get me squirming in my chair. I knew I could stop her, that I should, that I must, but for some reason, I didn't.
Instead, I found myself staring across the table at Mark as I held my face in my hands, my eyes soft and unfocused as Mandi's dancing fingers took me to the very edge. Part of me desperately wanted her to finish what she'd started, but the other half of me was horrified that she would. My orgasms are dramatic to say the least. It would be a Meg Ryan Moment and a whole lot more.
That thought had no more than crossed my mind when Mandi withdrew her dancing fingers. My mind and body reeled from a combination of regret and longing and disappointment and relief, all those feelings turning into anger as I realized she'd just been teasing me. Still, I couldn’t take my eyes from her as she rose silently from the table to walk across the room, the fading glow of her warm hand slipping away making me shiver. I breathlessly wanted her back, I wanted to somehow find a way to continue where we’d left off, but she just leaned against one of the rustic poles that decorated the western bar and began to talk to some men, confident that my eyes and thoughts were still focused on her.
I blinked as I struggled to pull myself together. Was I intoxicated by her pheromones? Unlikely for she was only a Betan. I scanned her from head to toe, using my gold-weakened Tachyon vision to look through her clothing. Surprisingly, she wore nothing beneath her dress. She was too firm to need a bra and her tastes in lingerie apparently didn’t extend to wearing panties. She was slender and tall, but not so tall that it would limit the male actors she could work with. Her hair was a lustrous ultra-black, very much like that of an Asian woman, yet her lightly tanned skin and perfectly oval face and bright blue eyes said Scandinavian mixed with Spanish. She was unmarked by tattoos or vaccination marks or even the usual childhood booboos. Her boobs sat nearly perfectly round and high on her chest and her abs were gorgeously toned. Her sinfully short hemline highlighted legs which were both shapely and gorgeously lean — the legs of a professional dancer. She was the most desirable woman I've seen on Earth.
I caught myself in that last thought. That was the last thing I should be thinking while sitting a few feet from Deb, who actually deserves those accolades. Besides, I’m not some blushing virgin who doesn’t know what its like to be attracted to someone. I’ve lived on four different planets before coming to Earth and I’ve known more lovers than I can count. Yet I hadn’t felt this way since being with Jaime, my first female lover, and she’d been a full-blooded Velorian Protector.
And that’s when it finally clicked. It usually only takes me a few seconds to pick out the Arions in a crowd of humans, but this time the softness of my thoughts had strung that time out to nearly an hour. My heart dropped to my toes as I realized what she was: the enemy of anyone born Velorian. Even worse, she was a member of an evil Empire that was committed to enslaving all humans. A woman who could kill every human in this bar without breaking a sweat.
My pulse raced as I squinted harder, struggling with all my gold-weakened power to look through her flesh. As expected, the six-chambered heart that beat behind her breast bone was much like my own, and a further confirming glance inside her limbs revealed muscles that were vastly denser than any human’s. Yet by the simple virtue of being able to get a Tachyon image of the inside of her body, I knew that she was only a Betan and not an ultra-powerful Prime.
The Arion High Command had placed hundreds of Betans like her in deep cover positions on Earth. Maybe thousands. They were each stronger than a dozen men and their skin could resist bullets from ordinary guns and even withstand the heat of a blow torch. A Betan could deliver a punch that would penetrate a man’s chest and rip his spine out the back. They could also crush a man between their strong legs during ecstasy, which is something female Betans loved to do. They find human males weak and disgustingly under-endowed, suitable only for manslaughter during sex, which is the sick way many of them got themselves off. But given Mandi was living under deep cover, and obviously sleeping with Mark, she'd managed to conceal who and what she truly was from him. He'd never have brought her here if he'd known.
Arions were even better at spotting Velorians than we are at spotting them, so I had to assume she recognized my true nature the moment she laid eyes on me. They have to be aware of us, given that we were so dangerous to them. But could she actually know that I was only a Scribe and not a Protector? That I was bound by law to refrain from combat unless it was to save my own life?
Whatever was the reality of the situation, Mandi clearly wasn't acting anything like an Arion. She came across as natural, unaffected and approachable. She was warm and supremely confident at the same time, which was an intriguing combination of traits. She clearly enjoyed being the object of men’s attention, yet she wasn't acting haughty or arrogant or prideful like other Arions. I watched her working the men in the room like she'd worked me, her playful laughter carrying as she stood at the bar, gently touching men in ways that they secretly wished to touch her. She giggled girlishly as they whispered in her ear, only to dance from one man's arms to the next, leaving behind a transient vision of overwhelming desire.
There was no doubt about it: she was ready for Hollywood, although I'm not certain Hollywood is ready for her. She would always be beautiful, she would never get tired or have an off day, and her pheromones would make her romantic opposites in movie scenes forget that the camera was on them, ensuring a realistic performance. Her strength and relative invulnerability were bonuses which gave her a hugely unfair advantage over other women.
The only question was why she was with Mark. I mean, she could have any man on the planet. Why some small-time actor and former lifeguard who was perpetually broke?
Midnight slowly came without my discovering answers to my questions. The crowd thinned until it was just the four of us, plus the bartender and a waitress. Normally, I'd never leave Deb this near an Arion, but for some reason that worry didn't cross my mind tonight. Looking back now, it was obvious that Mandi had been messing with my head from the start.
Mark and I wandered over by the huge windows that overlooked the water to talk about our boat, a forty-two foot O’Day schooner that I owned but he captained and often lived on. He had some ideas about changes in the galley that he wanted my approval for. He also wanted my funding to put the boat into charter service from Catalina down to Baja. It was another Mark Edwards get-rich scheme. One that required my boat and money along with his charm with the guests — who I’m sure would all be wealthy women.
I reminded him that he wasn’t a very good sailor but he dismissed that minor point by reminding me that I could always save him and our boat if he got into trouble. I told him in no uncertain terms that rescuing him wasn’t in the cards. If he went to sea, he had to find a way back to land or go down with the boat. He just smiled. No doubt I'd get a frantic call from his cellphone someday. A call I couldn’t ignore no matter how much I wanted to.
We switched to talking about Deb and finally Mandi. Smiling knowingly, Mark began kidding me about the fantasies I’d once shared with him after he’d learned that I'm bisexual. He'd always fantasized that I would introduce him to Superfemme, and he was confident enough to think that if he could share my bed, then he'd be able to charm Kara as well. He was probably right. She wore gold almost as often as I did.
“Have you ever been with her?” he asked now, giving me that innocent but intrigued look that he was famous for.
I felt myself blushing at his open verbalization of something I'd often longed for. As much to keep our conversation private as anything else, I leaned closer to Mark. He wrapped his arm tightly around my shoulders just like he had a thousand times before. “You know that Kara doesn’t like me, Mark. She thinks Scribes are just excess baggage given we won’t actively help them fight the Empire. The only thing we do is report what happens, which she considers useless. Even worse, part of my job is to ensure she doesn't violate the Prime Directive too badly. She doesn’t like useless people or snoops and busybodies who…"
I stopped in mid-sentence as I caught myself verbalizing my private thoughts to Mark. I’d never discussed this openly when we were together and he no longer shared my world or the intimacies of my life. Yet strangely, it felt so familiar and comfortable to snuggle up to him this way. The whole room felt cozy and warm as I drank in the security of being with my trusted lovers. For a moment, it felt as if the last two years had never happened. Mark and I had been good together back then, as good as it had ever been between me and a human man, almost as good as it had been with Kaltlakarst.
I stared out at the soft reflections in the windows, the fireplace filling the bar with its warm glow, the lighting low enough to reveal the distant Santa Cruz lights winking at us from across the bay. My thoughts remained uncharacteristically vague, which I chalked up to the process of unwinding from the stress of my long week of meetings and all the wine I'd just drank. We both watched the lights dance across the bay, neither of us daring to speak further for fear of changing the mood. I was hardly surprised when Mark leaned closer to touch his lips to my cheek. Then down to the insanely sensitive place on my neck that he knew so well. He traced a finger along my gold choker -- his little reminder that he truly knew all my secrets.
I reached up to gently guide his hand away from my neck -- this wasn't the place and he was no longer my man -- only to have this wild and crazy impulse come over me. Why not take the gold off? Mark had always marveled at the way my body felt when I was super, as does Deb, and I hardly had to pretend to be human around the two of them. Given the way the wine was going to my head, it might be wise to sober up. Drugs and alcohol have no effect on me when I’m super.
"I'll be right back," I whispered as I rose from the couch. "Don't go anywhere."
It felt so right to become who I really am, but I obviously couldn’t do it here. My transformation can be rather dramatic. Thankfully the woman’s restroom was empty. I jammed the door closed behind me as I reached up to undo the clasp at the back of my choker. The second it came undone, my hands began to shake, so much so that the solid-gold choker dropped into the sink with a clunk. Closing my eyes, I leaned over to grab the edges of the sink as that familiar heated rush began spreading outward from my center. It started as an infuriating itch between my legs that was so strong that I started to squirm, then it became this wave of tingling heat that pushing me to the very edge of ecstasy as it raced up and down my vagina in waves. That wild, sexy rush was quickly joined by a hot glow that began deep inside my chest and radiated outward to fill my body, bringing with it an overwhelming sensation of raw strength. My nipples engorged as they began to both tingle and itch in a maddening way, demanding to be touched.
I stared into the mirror as liquid fire flowed through my veins as my body began metabolizing Orgone again. Every muscle became tighter, even the microscopic ones in my skin. My hair appeared fuller as the follicles stood up straighter, and my eyes began to give off a faint blue glow. The slight teardrop shape of my boobs disappeared completely, my flesh now beyond the pull of gravity. But more than everything else combined, I thrilled to the sensation of my physical strength soaring out-of-this-world.
I hung onto the sink as I waited for the powerful rush to pass, closing my eyes tightly. This was hardly the place for an unintended flash of heat vision. The heat in my eyes faded quickly, and I opened them to see the most beautiful women imaginable staring back at me. The massive sense of raw power that had filled me was now joined by memories of the erotic possibilities of being so beautiful, so perfect. I began to writhe as I pressed myself against the hard edge of the sink, remembering the best times when Mark and I were together, my eyes fluttering and I came before I even felt it coming. The porcelain sink crushed to powder in my grip as my body fully awakened from my gold-induced sleep, my soft little orgasm radiating pleasure all the way to my toes as it filled me with the most wondrous feeling. Like all Velorians, I'm always hovering on the edge of an orgasm when I'm fully empowered.
It took an effort of will to pull myself back to the other side of orgasm. My reflection in the mirror was both the same and different than moment's before. My irises were a darker shade of blue and my skin was more golden, but both changes were within the range of differences that room lighting could explain. My blonde hair was a different story. It was glowing honey-blonde, almost as if each strand was lit from inside, and it was so much fuller and less controlled than before. Wild looking. I stood there, my mouth dry as I reached down to pick up my gold choker with fingers that were now inhumanly deft and confident. The brush I took from my bag did not crush in my grip as I used it to restore some order to my hair. I was once again in control of my strength.
As always happens right after I go super, I found myself floating on thin air, and had to concentrate at first to keep my feet on the floor. I released the badly damaged sink and turned to walk out the door. Pausing just before I opened it, I ensured that my feet were now comfortably touching the floor, even though I now weighed but a few pounds. I took a deep breath and walked through the door, only to see every male head swivel my way. I don’t look all that much different in a photograph when I’m super, but the subtle differences in my muscle tone and the brightness of my eyes and hair and the way I move always mesmerizes men. Mark claims I have this faint aura that surrounds me when I’m super, although I've never seen it and it doesn't photograph.
As opposed to an aura, I claim its the Goddess Gene. That's what one scientist famously declared while remarking on SuperFemme's effect on people. He claims that men were genetically programmed to worship goddesses back before the time before records were kept. Which knowing the Galen and the way they pushed humans over the boundary from ape to man, wasn't all that impossible.
All of which made me suddenly wonder why I’d taken my choker off? This wasn't like me. I'm normally obsessed with staying under the radar screen.
Instead, I was on everyone's radar as I glided back to Mark's side, my movements smoother and lighter than any dancer could aspire to, my body moving with a liquidness that started at my hips and spread upward and downward. I wasn't trying to look sexy, but when I'm this strong and flexible my body simply moves differently, especially when I'm trying to keep my feet on the floor. I wasn't really walking, I just appeared to be.
Mark smiled broadly as I curled up lightly beside him on the couch, my bodyweight barely ten pounds. He was very aware that everyone was staring at us. He boldly wrapped his arm around me, thrilling as he aways did to the silky steel of my Orgone-fueled body, his fingers holding my upper arm to send his usual cue. I responded by tightening my fist, tendons creaking softly. The sharp-edged tendons of my hand and arm looked impossibly strong now as I channeled nearly a hundred tons of strength through them. My super-defined biceps filled his hand as I rested my steel-hard fist boldly in his lap.
Mark’s own type of steel quickly rose to meet my challenge. Mark had always found it kinky when I gave him a blow-job when I was super. I just had to be very, very careful, super-lungs and all, but given I never had to come up for air and the way I could vibrate… I caught myself falling into that erotic thought, realizing I was a hair away from giving him a blow job right here in the bar. I quickly looked away as I tried to clear my thoughts.
What was wrong with me?
Instead of coming back to the hear and now, I found myself thinking further back, to the day when I’d first shown him my true self. The misshapen, knotted barbell still hung on the wall in Gold’s Gym in Redondo Beach where it had become a piece of treasured Superfemme folklore. What they didn’t know was that Mark had been staring at me, eyes big as saucers, while I bent the bar into that shape. Or that I'd been standing nude in the changing room as I did it, my strong shoulders and toned arms flexing with inhuman power as I effortlessly tied that inch-thick bar into knots as if it was little more than stiff rope.
Mark recognized the bright desire in my eyes that had ignited when I took of my gold. He saw the way my every movement had become an invitation. My pheromones filled the room with warm honey to drive him crazy. Most men would have been my slave at that point, but not Mark. He understood the danger of submission, and astoundingly, he was able to keep thinking despite the siren song of pheromones. He already knew what a Velorian was, in concept at least, for he'd read the conjecture that had been printed about SuperFemme. And like all men, he was both infatuated with her beauty and intimidated by her power.
Intimidation won with Mark, at least at first. He had a hundred questions, which soon turned into requests as his fantasies started pouring out. Fantasies that he knew could now become reality. He asked me to show him the flying, the heat vision, my ability to see through things, the strength to bend steel, the invulnerability. It was both exciting and frustrating to show myself off this way when all I really wanted was for him to fuck me. Something I tried to forget was impossible unless I put the gold back on. Yet I didn't want to become muffled and softened again.
Instead, I channeled my sexual power into physical power.
I still blush whenever I think of that long weekend in the desert as I burned off my out-of-control desires in every way but the one I wanted. Mark's friend, whose house we were staying at, was a gun enthusiast, and once I'd opened his gun safe with my bare hands (which Mark found exciting enough given it was a very good safe) he took out a Model 29 Smith&Wesson, the actual gun used by Clint Eastwood in the Dirty Harry movie. His hands shook as he loaded the huge .44 Mag rounds into that collector's piece. I walked over to stand at the end of the indoor firing range as I put my hands on my hips and stood tall, directly facing him. Mark followed me down the range until he was standing a mere ten feet away -- too close. If he shot me in the wrong place from that range, the ricochet could take his head off. There was only one safe way. I unbuttoned my blouse as I eased the fabric to the side to bare my boob, telling him he must shoot me there.
The look on his face was priceless as he stared down at my offered breast, slowly shaking his head. I was so turned on now that my nipple was huge. Licking my lips as I struggled to hold myself back, I explained that the bullet would be briefly contained by my softness and that would soak up its energy. There would be little rebound. He slowly shook his head only to stop when he envisioned that. Then he shook his head even quicker, rejecting that image. His hand was shaking so wildly that I had to step closer, pressing myself against the end of his barrel until it was buried in my boob. Then I reached out to push the trigger back with my finger.
The powerful round slammed into me, sending a wave outward the edges of my boob, then back inward, my flesh undulating for a scant fraction of a second. The bullet rebounded with just force to knock Mark off his feet but not to enough to penetrate his clothing. He came up rubbing a bruise on his chest as he stared at the powder smear on my boob. He dropped the gun and rushed forward to hold me, trying to brush it off, convinced that he'd hurt me. His fingers felt so good on my nipple that I had to bite my lip and plush him away, telling him to just go down the range and just keep firing. Something, anything, just as long as he stayed far enough away from me. He would not survive my passion if I allowed it consume me.
While most men would have seen that as rejection, Mark understood my nature from the start. He knew what I wanted, needed even, but couldn't have. So instead of leaving, he excitedly loaded up an Israeli Uzi 9mm automatic with an obscenely large, specialized magazine that held a hundred rounds. He had this grinning, half-crazed look on his face as he sprayed me down with the Uzi, the hail of bullets tearing my clothing to confetti and shreds. My the time his Uzi was smoking hot, I was wearing only strips of ragged fabric. I asked him to shoot the strips away, and that excited him even more. It took a great deal of shooting to leave me completely nude, the bullets sending wild thrills through me whenever they struck my sensitive nipples. I pointed downward, and that crazed look came back into his eyes as he aimed where I really wanted to be touched. By the time a half dozen out of hundreds of bullets fired had actually found their way inside me, the powerful hungers in my body could no longer ignore. I told him to aim only there, and to keep firing as long as he could.
My screams of passion blew out the windows and nearly took his hearing with it.
Strangely, while masturbation isn't something I care for, I'm not beyond using a host of artificial means to find pleasure. Just as long as someone else is controlling it. That's pretty much a universal Velorian thing, so I suspect its another of the Galen's bag of tricks that they implanted in our DNA. They wanted their Procreators to always be ready for them and them only. They also made us grow stronger and less controlled the closer we came to orgasm, with all self-control fading at the ultimate moment of passion. That was either to ensure that the men of no other race or species could steal our virtue (if that's what you could call it), or simply because a Galen's sexual power required it. Or maybe just their hungers. Whatever the reason, its both a wonderful release and a most dangerous seizure.
I shivered with desire as the word "Galen" echoed around inside me. That was the single sexiest word I knew -- thinking about the Galen made me so hot. I held that thought as Mark continued firing, my body dancing before the artistry of his aim.
He eventually ran out of bullets, and I cooled off and came back to my right mind. There was now a new look in Mark's eyes. Enthusiasm, even love, they were still there, that wild-eyed mischievous kinkiness had grown strong, but there was also a hint of intimidation. Talk about a Bridge Too Far. I still can’t believe I was dumb enough to get off that way right in front of him. That I'd fed myself so strongly into some wild fantasy that he'd long had. That I'd done this to a man I hadn't even fucked yet. How unVelorian.
Our first night together after I put the gold choker back on was legendary. This time he used but one gun, the one so very firmly attached to him. Like all men, my pheromones stimulated a wild excess of hormonal production in his body. He became a bull in all the ways, including lasting from sunset until dawn. I made sure I was wearing my heaviest gold choker. It dampened my libido enough to not fuck him to death, and thankfully stopped all Orgone metabolism in my body, allowing my strength to drop back to nearly human levels. It turned him in to a bull who could last from dusk to dawn.
The night was so legendary that it took Mark eight hours to regain the ability to walk that next morning, and two days to get back to normal. Good thing about pheromones, they rapidly increase healing. Without them, he might have required traction to straighten out his spine and weeks to recover.
We were incredible together for six months after that. Mutagenesis was working on him, so he grew stronger with ever increasing endurance. He was soon as strong as I was when I wore gold, so much so that there wasn't anything in Gold's Gym that could challenge him any more. He started working out with me. I could definitely challenge him.
All was well until that week when a Messenger came to Earth to visit Kara. Messengers are Velorian men who carry messages around the galaxy to the many Protectors. Inevitably, they also bring a bit of home-town comfort, if you know what I mean. I explained to Mark that he'd come for Kara and not for me, but I just couldn't resist the opportunity to check him out. I had walked out the door planning to be gone for two hours. I came home two days later.
I realized right away that I'd screwed it all up. I should know better. I've read enough to know that the entire history of human evolution involves the strongest, healthiest and most virile men mating with the alpha females. Alpha on alpha. Natural selection.
Unfortunately, Mark was very much an omega when it came to me. Hell, he wasn't even on the map, physically speaking. To overcome that, I tried to explain that I need different things at different times. That all sex is good for me, even when wearing gold. That I didn't always need a superman like that Messenger. But sometimes…
Talk about dumb. No human man can handle that kind of honesty. Not my Mark. Not anyone. Proud men can't walk around imagining the difference between themselves and Superman, knowing that he was sharing his woman with such a man. Of imagining all the things I'd been doing with the Messenger, even more, of what the Messenger had done for me that he couldn't. It started to gnaw at him, it shrank him, it weakened him.
He tried to handle it. He really did. Mark was used to being around exceptional people, weird ones too, but he'd always been the dominant player. We were living among the acting community in LA, a community of souls who would have gotten themselves arrested in Iowa or Kansas or most other places if they’d behaved there the way they did every day here. When they got high on good pot or cocaine, even on booze, their crazy exhibitionism was something even I had a hard time understanding. And I’ve seen some pretty bizarre things during my travels. The Bargs on Delphi 3, each with their six penises and their fascination with group sex that sometimes connected a hundred lovers tother in a huge mating mob had nothing on Mark's nutty group of over-sexed friends.
Mark seemed to know every aspiring and half-starved out-of-work actor. Every character, both good and bad. Hundreds of hot looking guys and gorgeous young women swirled through his life and through our house given it had become one of the waypoints on many people’s journey to the circus that is named Hollywood. Once I found him in bed with three blonde wannabe starlets who looked a lot like me.
He freaked out, assuming I'd be angry or disappointed. That I'd break up with him. But it didn't bother me. I figured that he'd found a way to restore some of the manly pride that I'd managed to drain out of him. While he could never be my ultimate man, with his supernatural empowerment, he could be those women's sexual superhero.
I gave him blessing, only to wind up having a drink with his best friend, Harry. One thing led to another as they always do with me, and we slept together. Like any Velorian would do with a man she liked.
To my surprise, Mark was incredibly angry when I came home at breakfast and told him about my wild night. It was apparently one thing for him to mess around with some floozies he hardly knew, but his best friend? That was out-of-bounds.
That angered me enough that I blurted out my belief that sexual fidelity is illogical. In any case, it was completely foreign to Velorian culture so he had no right expecting it of me. I said that I'll sleep with anyone I want to, any time. Nobody should get jealous about sex, only about emotional betrayals. Love and loyalty were important, but they didn't include my sexual life.
Talk about a completely alien concept. Humans can't separate those that way. Their biology won't allow them to.
Things between us held together for some time after our big fight, but it all came to a crashing end when Mark laughed outrageously at what he thought was a ridiculously oversized dildo in this sex shop we’d visited on a lark. I blithely replied that it was “almost” life-size for a Messenger. If it had only been made of steel and not mere rubber, that is.
I saw him wilt as soon as the words left my mouth. Not being able to completely please me was one thing, my going to the arms of men of my own race was barely tolerable, but knowing that Messengers were so well hung was simply too much of an assault on the remnants of his once powerful ego. Only yesterday, I'd come home looking like I'd just been fucked half to death, which was about right. I was only half in my right mind, enough so that I said: "you should have seen the Messenger -- he was limper than a Frail's dick."
That's an old Arion saying that I use in jest (they call humans Frails). It was something I'd say to another Velorian. Never to a Frail.
It was one screw up too many for Mark. While I didn't care one bit about the Messenger, hell, I'd already forgotten his name, Mark drove me crazy with his jealousy.
That's the one emotion I absolutely cannot deal with. Jealousy in any form. Our arguments got louder and louder until I blurted out that it was just a matter of size. That's all. He stared at me. So I told him how the Galen had messed around with our sensory nervous system, specifically placing our densest array of nerve ends at a place that only a superman could reach. That the orgasms I experienced during Ples'tathy, possible only with a Supremis man, simulates sex with a Galen man. The men we were designed for. That Ples'tathy was a hundred times more pleasurable than any normal sex.
Mark stared at me for a long moment and then turned and walked out the door. That was the last time I'd seen him until today.
Now, something had apparently changed given he was being friendly and affectionate again, even now I'm fully super. I felt this strangely misplaced, uncomfortable yet warm, fuzzy feeling that made me want to be close to him. I didn't even object when Mark’s free hand found its way under my top. Instead of stopping him, I thought it was great that he was no longer intimidated by my inhuman firmness.
Strangely, it didn't bother me that Deb was still here -- in fact, I began to wonder if I should suggest that we all get intimate together. But Deb wasn't paying any attention to Mark or me as she and Mandi talked enthusiastically as they held each other. That much was normal enough for Deb. Still, I grew more and more confused by the sea of misplaced emotions and forbidden pleasures that increasingly filled me. A small part of me knew I was acting outrageously, that this wasn't right, but the rest of me just wanted to keep going down this old pathway, wherever it led. It was like I was a little drunk and very stoned at the same time. Even more, like I’d taken some Ecstasy. My self control faded completely away. I just wanted to be loved and to love.
Things got even muddier when I felt Mandi leaning over my shoulder, her smaller hand slipping beneath Mark's, her warmer and firmer embrace sending an even wilder tingle of desire racing through me. I knew I should fly away so as to protect them from myself, but I was frozen in place, seemingly devoid of any free-will. And not caring.
Mandi leaned closed to touch her lips delicately to my ear. “You may be inhumanly strong, Ms. Sharon Best, but your Velorian mind is no stronger than anybody else’s on this backward planet. My thoughts are controlling your thoughts, my desires now your desires, my love your love.”
Instead of alarming me, her words sent an even warmer glow of contentment flowing through me. Yes, this was as it should be. I was born to feel this kind of heat. This raw desire. I had been created to be a Procreator. To be the ultimate lover for the ultimate man. To be worshipped by lesser men. I was supposed to feel this way.
My eyes focused on the reflection of the bartender in the glass wall, his body now frozen in place, a beer glass hanging motionless and unsupported in mid-air. I couldn’t see Deb, but I assumed that she was in the same timeless state. Somehow the world had stopped for everyone but Mandi and me. Yet even that didn't bother me. I just wanted to stay right here, like this, forever. To feel like this. To have everyone in the room wanting me. Everyone in the world. They could all have me.
“Sharon, my dear,” Mandi whispered as her lips teased my sensitive earlobe, “as you can see, I can control even the perception of time in this room. You and I, along with your current and former lovers, are going to proceed up to your room. And once we are there, you shall give me the gift of power that only you can bestow. You are going to make me as powerful as you are. After that, I will leave this planet under my own power and cross the gulf of space until I find a planet to call my own.”
A distant part of me recognized the extreme danger of her forbidden request, but I couldn’t move a finger to resist Mandi as she guided me to my feet. My thoughts were fragmented. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted Mark to fuck me. I wanted Mandi to leave Earth. She was dangerous. I held onto that last thought. Her leaving was a very good idea. I would help her go. I would then keep both Mark and Deb for myself. They had already become friends.
Mandi wrapped her arms tightly around the liquid steel of my body as she boldly and passionately kissed me in front of everyone. I could have sent her flying across the room with the slightest shrug, I could have crushed the life from her with a casual grip of my steel fingers, but instead I lifted her gently in my arms and flew us both across the room to the elevator. Kissing her now. Instead of hitting the Call button, slammed my foot into the crack of the elevator door and effortlessly tore it open with a sideways jerk of my long leg. I pulled one hand free of Mandi as I kissed her deep yet, at the same time jerking the cables loose from the winches high overhead. The heavy cable reel and a bunch of other machinery came spiraling down the shaft to crash onto the top of the elevator car in the service basement. Mandi was kissing my nipples now. I held her lips to my breast as I stepped off into the now empty space and flew us up the ruined elevator shaft toward my room.
The small part of my mind that remained sane was screaming for me to keep flying, to crash through the roof and keep climbing until I was completely out of the atmosphere. An Arion Betan like Mandi cannot survive long in space… instead, I stopped at my floor to kick the elevator doors inward, the powerful blow sending them crashing the length of the corridor. I floated weightlessly above the smoking debris as I gently flew Mandi down the hallway to twist the handle of my locked door open.
Part of me knew that engaging in mutagenic sex with an Arion is the worst crime a Velorian can commit, but her fingers found me, slipping inside me, and my cries of passion drowned out the fearful screams, replacing them with ecstasy.
I awakened just after dawn to find myself kneeling on the floor next to what was left of the bed. Torn bed sheets and exploded pillows were scattered everywhere, along with bits of twisted bed frame and splintered wood. This wasn't the first time I'd left such wreckage behind me. But what was I doing here? Christ… who had I been here with? Mark? No. Please, no. He never could have survived this kind of destruction.
And then I remembered.
"Sev'rala!" I shouted as my loud Velorian curse blew out the windows over my head. Mandi! It was like a veil had suddenly been lifted and the events of the last night emerged into the light. Gasping in horror, I remembered lying on the bed as she took me to the peak of my passion and then held me there for hour after hour, hungrily absorbing the mutagenic retrovirus that my body produces during orgasm. A single orgasm she'd skillfully balanced on a knife edge for hours as the retrovirus worked its way deeper and deeper into her DNA. I had no idea how she'd maintained such control over me, especially given that the mutagenesis she was undergoing is usually excruciatingly painful and disabling. I was surprised she was conscious. Or even alive.
Rising to my feet as I tried to walk, I found myself bouncing off the walls of the hallway like a errant helium balloon, my head hitting the ceiling as my feet floated on thin air. Something was wrong with my self-control. I clenched my fists and concentrated, still determined to find Mandi and kick that damn mind-mangling Betan off the Earth. Literally.
I was mostly walking by the time I entered the living room, only to freeze in mid-step as I was greeted by the impossible sight of Mandi's head bumping weightlessly against the ceiling. I gawked at her as she gripped a massive security padlock in her right hand, her blue eyes sparkling with the same intense, internal light as mine. Clearly enough, she was a telepath with psychokinetic and mind-altering abilities, and now she’d gained my physical strength and powers as well. She’d enhanced herself at my expense.
I clenched my fists until my tendons creaked as I headed determinedly toward her. This had to end here. No way was I letting her loose to prey on humanity.
“My God, Sharon,” Mandi whispered enthusiastically as she saw the menace in my walk. “I had no idea that it could be like this for you. That anyone could feel this good, this energetic, this healthy, this alive, this fucking STRONG.”
I was going to end all that. Right now. I was going to tear her apart, to crush her the way Kara always crushed Arions like her, but instead I found myself mesmerized by the way Mandi’s strong hands were working the padlock. The tendons of her hands and wrists stood up like steel cables as each new squeeze added noticeably to the lock’s deformity. She finally closed her hand all the way and strained, her overwhelmingly powerful grip squishing the steel from between her fingers like toothpaste. She flicked some raven strands of hair from her face with her other hand as she smiled with the joy and innocence of a young girl.
“Do you know that I was walking barefoot on the Sea of Tranquility only a few hours ago, Sharon? On the MOON. It was totally awesome! Neither the vacuum nor the cold bothered me in the least. My bare feet kicked up clouds of silvery lunar dust as I danced like I have never danced before.”
My anger evaporated as I found myself overwhelmed by the waves of raw enthusiasm she was projecting. She was filling my head with the uncontainable excitement of a young woman who had just discovered that she was thousands of times stronger and more vital than any of the people around her. I remembered the same joy I’d felt when I’d first escaped the dampening gold field of Velor. How I'd grown so incredibly strong, how I’d experienced such joy from my powers, from my enhanced sexuality.
Mandi was staring at me so intently that my face began to warm — I’m not sure she even knew she was projecting heat vision. She wore a black leather outfit that fit her legs and lower torso like a second skin, with a lace-up top that was overfilled with large, firm, uplifted boobs. It was no accident that they were identical to mine. Given her hair color, she looked like a lethal Prime, the highest generic caste in the Arion Empire. Except she had my power of flight, something that few Primes possessed.
I was suddenly sickened from the realization that I’d unleashed a new and evil force on Earth. Part of me wanted to destroy her right then. Instead, I found myself drinking in her dark beauty as she settled down to land in front of me. I watched as she worked the padlock like it was some kind of rubber, the steel growing white-hot from the constant compression that it melted and ran down over her wrist in white-hot rivulets. She smeared the half molten steel across her firm boob, a silvery drop of liquid steel dripping from one nipple. I suddenly envisioned her caressing my breasts with those same strong hands, using that same impossible strength to please me. I tried to shake that misplaced feeling away, but Mandi reached deeper into my brain and held me. She focused her sexy gaze on me for a few more seconds while she messed with my thoughts and feelings, forcing me to my knees, forcing me to bow before her.
And then released me as she broke into wild giggles.
"Doesn't feel so good to not be able to think right, does it, Sharon dear? No, don't tell me. I can see it in your eyes."
I opened my mouth to curse her, but nothing came out. Was there anything she couldn't control?
“I can’t wait to see the CNN headlines this morning," she continued happily. "The Eagle lunar lander, the one left behind by Apollo 11, is sitting on the lawn by the front door of the White House. It’s going to be really interesting to see how CNN explains that the Eagle has TRULY landed.”
Despite my horror, despite my anger, I felt myself sexually drawn to her, the attraction so powerful it was tangible, my body stretching toward hers. This was something more personal and merely erotic. More intimate. Because she was me. Right down to the last gene. Her face and hair might differ cosmetically from mine, but her cells were reaching out for mine, wanting to merge somehow. But was that me or just more mind trickery?
I had to know. I pushed off gently with my toes to float towards her, my bright blue eyes stared into her equally bright eyes as we both rose until our heads touched the ceiling. She tantalized me by holding herself with my borrowed strength, the tendons of her wrists standing out like steel cables as a puff of smoke rose from her vaporizing leather top . She pulled her hands slowly to the side and the smoking leather disintegrated like wet Kleenex, freeing her perfect boobs (my boobs!). I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to wrap my arms around her neck to pull her close. Our lips met as she wrapped her long legs around me.
And then… O God, she held me with every ounce of her strength (my strength!). For only the second time in my life, I thrilled to the power of a woman holding me with the unrestrained power of a high-born Supremis. Our blonde and raven hair intermingled exotically as our tongues explored each other expertly, strongly, passionately, our bodies molding sinuously together as we held each other with a strength that would have crushed even the hardest steel. Every contour of her body slowly merged into mine, the same hundred tight curves forming along her rippling back as mine. Her body was shaped by sensuously flexing curvaceous muscles that were so Velorian in nature. Sliding my hands down her strong back, tracing the firm curves of her deeply embedded spine, the steel edges of even harder muscles, I thrilled to her infinitely soft skin. Softer than the finest silk and warmer than merely human. I felt as if I was in the arms of a true sister again. I gasped with pleasure unleashed as her hands slid lower, momentarily grabbing my ass with my own fabled strength. She gripped me tightly, pulling me to her as she crushed her pubic bone tightly against mine, her tongue expertly exploring mine, our embrace going on and one, given that neither of had to come up for air. She touched me exactly the way I loved to be touched, the way I touch myself. For in a way, I was.
She bent me backward as her powerful legs still held my pubic bone against hers with a hundred tons of force, grinding very slow with immeasurable power. I looked downward along the sensuous curves of her lush body, finding that her flat, slightly rippling abs were beyond perfection just like mine. Her legs were long, shapely and exquisitely toned like mine. I wrapped one leg around her, pressing my heel against her tightly-rounded ass as I flexed my enormously powerful hamstring to focus a million pounds of force into my heel, holding her so tightly against myself that rock would shatter and steel would squish to liquid, yet her body did not yield. Nor did mine. Looking up into her beautiful face, my world shrank down around me until I could only see the gorgeously blue eyes of a darker version of myself in my arms.
This time I was aware of everything as we flew upward from the resort suite, blasting through the upper windows, soaring together through the salty air. Lost in each other, we careened out of control to crash into the ocean a few hundred yards offshore. The huge surf slowly washed us back onto the sandy beach as we continued to hold each other, legs now long and intertwined, our bodies half in and out of the water, conscious only of the power and sensuality of each other.
The morning sun was rising by the time our blur of continuous passion was interrupted. We flew entangled from the surf to land awkwardly on hotel balcony, arms and hair intertwined, completely salt-soaked and sand-covered. It was all I could do to disentail myself from my darker self. It almost felt as if we were somehow merging.
I shook that strange thought away as I went to get something to to wash the salt out of my mouth. I wound up drinking a gallon water. I heard voices, and headed toward the back of the huge suite, only to find Mark and Deb standing in a hallway. Mandi was further down the hallway, standing there wearing nothing but a pair of very exotic black stiletto heels. Mark was outrageously aroused as Deb wrapped her fingers around his manhood and held him tightly enough make him wince, the two of them watching Mandi pulling on a short, skintight orange-mesh top that ended at her ribcage. She followed that with a tiny black leather miniskirt that made her long legs look amazing. She finished with an orange and black jacket that suggested a high school letter jacket.
Mark gasped as Deb's grip grew strong enough to bend steel. "My God… she's…she's just like…like you, Sharon."
Mandi leaned back against the side of the hallway as she held her boobs in her hands, her eyes glowing so brightly blue.
"I think I look way better without her washed out hair, don't you think, Mark dear?" She squeezed herself tighter. "But I have to admit, your former girlfriend has an incredible body."
Beautiful wasn't the word that came to my mind. Staring at her was like staring into my dark side. Having combined my abilities with her phenomenal mental powers, she'd become far more dangerous than even those murderous bastards, the Primes. I was appalled and sickened that I’d had anything to do with her creation, voluntarily or not.
If Mark had called me his Supergirl, then Mandi was my Dark Supergirl. She was me and I was her, two people sharing the same genetic code, but with very different thoughts, at least now that she'd quit messing with my head. Both a hot and icy thrill raced down my spine as I realized how incredibly dangerous she was now. She could wipe out an entire army of humans. Subjugate an entire planet if she wished.
Deb shivered beside me as she saw it too. “Jesus… you have to stop her," she whispered in my ear.
I knew, but I knew not how.
"Don't even try to stop me, Sharon," Mandi said calmly.
Standing there in the hallway, dressed so exotically, her bright eyes flicked from Mark's to Deb's before steadying on mine. They flared with unnatural light, the blinding beams turning the moisture on my face into live steam.
Mark gasped in pain as the steam singed him, quickly stepping away from me. I raised my hands to deflect Mandi's eyes, absorbing the heat with my palms, only to have her blink her eyes back to their normal blue.
“So far nobody you care about has been hurt, Sharon," Mandi said, revealing the message behind her blast of lethal heat. "That could change very quickly."
Her threat hung heavily in the air. Heat vision is an awful thing when used against flesh. The burns from even a brief glance were deep and horrible, always third-degree. A longer gaze could blast skin and flesh and even ligaments off bone, and a really concentrated stare could totally vaporize a person down to the last bit of calcium in their bones. Its impossible to protect someone from heat vision. I couldn't move faster than a flick of her eyes.
"Understood," was all I trusted myself to say. I clenched my fists, wanting to kill her, but not seeing a way without getting Deb and Mark killed. Was that a good tradeoff to save greater loss of life? I shook my head. I wasn't going to balance the scales that way.
Mandi turned slowly around and walked down the hall and then out onto the penthouse balcony, her slender calves flexing with naked power. She spun around the corner and was gone, but I stared through the wall to watch her go, trying to think of something to safely do. There was nothing. I had to get Mark and Deb to safety first and then deal with stopping Mandi. But what about the others in the hotel?
I knew I should be asking Kara for help at this point, but I didn't dare. It was a capital crime under Velorian law to voluntarily enhance an Arion Betan. I hadn’t done it voluntarily, of course, but Kara knew nothing about Mandi's mind control. Likely she'd think it was just my own delusions and would use that as a reason to get me recalled to Velor for an inquiry. She'd use any excuse to keep me out of her backyard. Likely I would be assigned somewhere on the other end of the galaxy. I'd never see Deb again. Or Mark.
My eyes shimmered softly as I stared through the outer brick wall as Mandi walked onto the balcony. She bent down and then leaped into the sky, her long legs carrying her a quarter mile into the night sky with a single bound. Beneath her, the balcony cracked and sagged on one side, nearly tearing free of the building.
I followed Mandi with my Tachyon vision as she flew north up the coast toward San Francisco, accelerating until a circle of mist briefly surrounded her hips as she went supersonic. She was so beautiful and confident in flight -- somehow she'd absorbed my long-earned flight skills and my muscle memory. Yet disturbingly, she dropped down to fly only a dozen feet above the ground as she blasted along at hypersonic speed, her violent shockwave overturning cars on the highways, shattering windows and tearing the roofs off some buildings, even exploding a highway overpass into shards of steel and concrete as she flew through it. The shockwave of her supersonic flight alone would damage people’s hearing, even startle some people into having heart attacks. It would also make her very traceable.
Despite owning a near copy of my body, she was ignorant of many things. That was hopeful. My only hope.