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- Thank you received: 1967
The honking of geese (a notebook)
When can we expect the finished full version to hit the library?
- Uberposter par Excellence
Ulterior Motives is not forgotten! Circe's Cup kindly delivered a much needed Gib-smack to the back of my noggin in the form of simply asking me what was wrong - and trying to answer the question shook more loose than weeks of staring at the story directly. While I'm not returning to it immediately, I understand where the snag occurred - despite the order I've posted pieces in, there will be a section added that precedes rather than follows the last installment. Doing that sequence as a recounting of events instead of letting the readers live through those events directly was dumb, and made me choke up every time I tried to script it that way.
Sorry for the mental gymnastics for the readers, but that's the price of seeing text before it's what I'd consider "Library Ready". Hopefully the look inside another writer's process is of value in it's own right .
In the interim, the muse has been teasing me something fierce with two stories with very different Origins and themes. I'm trying to write out what I think will be the shorter one quickly before I lose my grasp on either thread.
“Copy, Control. Liberty 4 Breaching now.”
Two FBI agents sighted in on the door’s heavy hinges with their under-barrel shotguns. There were a pair of precisely synchronized ‘BANG!’s as they pulled their triggers. Before the echoes even started in earnest in the long barren concrete hallway of the underground passage the two had stepped out of the way and two more agents replaced them, slipping long steel pry-bars into the resulting jagged-edged craters. The sheer formidability of the inches-thick reinforced security door marked this particular chamber as very out of the ordinary in the warren of subterranean storage spaces. But with the hinges blasted away, the steel and leverage quickly bypassed a massive array of locks. Somebody had gone a lot of trouble to keep people out... or to keep something in.
They went radios silent, the squad of eight filing in, two-by-two. The last two covered the hall for a long moment before bringing up the rear, "FBI" in white block letters on the back of their tactical vests.
Daniels and Corey were on point as the squad advanced. The space seemed to have been retrofitted as some kind of dense-pack barracks. It was clean and orderly, but cramped. Well lit by modern LED fixtures. They were popular with tech-savvy criminals because of the low electrical draw and almost non-existent thermal signature.
Whimpering could be heard from further inside. Feminine whimpering, from multiple throats.
“Shit!” Daniels whispered under his breath, still loud compared to the creaking of body armor that was the squad’s only other sound. He looked to his partner. “Sounds like our intel was right. Fucking slavers...”
Tina Corey, agent in charge and a 7 time veteran of raids just like this, could have given the command by handsign, but opted to voice it just to emphasize the importance: “Stay sharp everyone. Full IED sweep. The Deveron Cartel’s been known to slaughter their girls rather than see them go free. Edwardo, Finn: hold and clear. Beck, back outside and ping control. We need ambulances on stand-by for up to... ten, no eleven.” she announced, counting the tightly stacked bunk-beds.
Daniels meanwhile began to push aside a makeshift curtain covering the entryway to an inner chamber with the barrel of his carbine...
Only years of FBI range practice kept him from pulling the trigger in shock and causing a tragedy as a tall, beautiful, Latino girl burst from the space beyond the curtain and wrapped herself around Daniels, weeping tears of fear and joy. She wore only a thin white smock. hardly more than a nightgown. She might have been old enough to drink.
As if a sign had been given, more young women emerged from the tiny chamber they’ve been cowering in to throw themselves on their rescuers. It was a typical mix for the Southern California ‘white’ slave trade, with a quartet of Latinas, one black girl, three different extractions of Asian and three Caucasians, looking to range from fifteen to maybe twenty. Hooray for the Los Angeles melting pot. This gilded cage was obviously one of the cartel’s high value "jewelry-boxes", as all of them appeared well-fed and possessed of almost eerily good looks and voluptuous figures that strained their simple smocks. Figures so exaggerated in fact that it was likely they’d been hand-picked from thousands and then handed off to plastic surgeons in preparation for being placed on the auction block. Premium product for the Deverons, certain to bring in at least a quarter-million dollars each, likely considerably more. The only physical sign of their captivity was their long, lank hair, which was a soft grey better suited to 50-year-olds.
Finn saw the slave-pen was equipped with some pretty serious free weights. The lengths the cartel was willing to go to keep these girls in peak condition before their sale made her want to puke. The place was better furnished than her apartment, other than being bolted in and forced to cohabitate in a tiny space seemingly modeled on an attack submarine's cramped quarters. She continued to check for booby traps before the black girl hugged her hard enough she actually was being trapped by boobies. The blubbering young woman was kind of ridiculously top-heavy. Sick fuckers had worked her over good and somewhere there were sicker bastards waiting to buy her like it was the goddamn colonial era all over again.
“Daniels, show some restraint...” Corey complained even as she was being mobbed by a sprightly young white girl, her steel-grey hair in actual pig-tails. The youngster had stripped off Corey's helmet to kiss her repeatedly in thanks.
“Trying, boss. Girl’s got a hell of a grip...”
Which would be the last full sentence from Liberty 4 on the recording.
Because after that the screams started.
Daniels may have realized he was in trouble first as the woman clinging to him flexed her arms and crushed the air out of him like an anaconda, but it was Corey that died first. The smiling fifteen-year-old clapped both her hands against the sides of Senior Field Agent Corey’s exposed head, crushing her skull in with a single blow. The rest of the team, also in close quarters with the prisoners lasted only seconds longer. Beck, who had stepped back outside to check-in died last, squashed against the far wall of the hallway like a runaway truck had come roaring out of the slave-pen and hit him dead center of mass. While the forensics showed shots had been fired by Liberty 4, the follow-up team found no blood spatter.
The second team arrived under 10 minutes later at a dead run, their other lead in the vast warehouse complex having turned up empty. The girls – no one was quite willing to call them prisoners anymore – were gone and had seemingly taken Daniels with them. Possibly alive, thought they'd left his vest.
Drives recovered from their vest cams showed the youngest girl bursting the heads of three more agents even after they were dead before the first girl, the tall Latino that appeared to be both the eldest and the leader, finally discouraged her by throwing her across the dormitory one-handed. Sullenly, the girl had fallen into line as the group neatly grabbed what appeared to be go bags and filed out, stepping casually over the corpses of seven FBI agents.
It was, in a word, a fiasco. Human Trafficing handed the whole mess off to Pandora, those weird fuckers up on the 9th floor. Pandora was the FBI’s newest iteration of the X-files, only with a real budget for a change.
And surprisingly decent coffee, Agent Kenneth Monroe decided, still uncertain how he’d gotten called up to the 9th floor.
“So, Agent Monroe... can I call you Ken? What do you see with your keen investigator’s eyes? Any insights to share on our little ambush?”
“Not a lot, other than it’s not an ambush. I’d also say it’s still Agent Monroe, ma’am. I never Ken on the first date.” He smiled softly taking most of the sting out of his refusal to adopt a more casual conversational posture.
Karen White, senior operations director for Pandora seemed to take the rebuff in stride. “Certainly, Agent Monroe. And let me reiterate how glad we are you could join us on short notice from the Hong Kong office. What makes you say it’s not an ambush?”
With a few quick exchanges with the techie running the main monitor he wound the Daniels vest-cam footage back to less than two seconds after he’d cleared the outer door.
“There.” Monroe pointed to the door of a mini-refrigerator swinging shut. At his gesture the footage crawled forward and the door finished closing. It had been sealed before the second pair of agents entered, leaving no sign on any of the other video tracks. “Some or even all of them were just in the main living space as Liberty 4 breached.”
“That would support the ambush scenario. Their reactions were pre-planned. Highly practiced even.”
“If it were an ambush there would have been no need to react. They’d have been in on the gag from the outset, likely with cameras on Liberty 4 even before they reached the outer door. No, they followed a script all right, but only after events were in motion. Liberty 4 walked into a nest full of killers, but not an ambush.”
“That’s an interesting hypothesis, Monroe. But where does it lead?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe some sort of elaborate honey-pot? I mean, you only have to look a them to know they were going to be sold on sex appeal, but with their skills, maybe the cartel was going to rig the auction, insert sleepers into other organizations.”
“That seems a bit far fetched, don’t you think?”
“I do, actually. It's crazy. I’m just speculating on about 6 minutes of looking over the raw video, and I have to admit I’m still severely jetlagged.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, kindly. “Well, if you can still pick up things like that refrigerator when you’re wiped out we’re doubly glad to have you...” This time it wasn’t inter-office formality.
“If I may be candid, ma’am: I still don’t know why I’m here.”
“I don’t want to spoil the scene for you. Look at the main spool again. I’m sure you’ll see it this time.”
He watched the slaughter of his fellow agents again, as the women with nubile bodies and old silver hair fanned out to distribute themselves amongst their rescuer’s before they struck with terrifying strength...
“Oh. Oh, that’s very bad.”
“You do see it. Good. Welcome to Pandora, Agent Monroe. I won’t even have to read you in. You drew the Grimms murder in Hong Kong, and probably know even better than we do what we’re up against here...”
Because Agent Kenneth Monroe had been the investigative lead on the death of American citizen and notorious underworld boss Albert Grimms... a powerfully built man known for his casual brutality and street boxing prowess who had been torn limb from limb in his high-end hotel suite. And while Kenneth had yet to close that case, he’d built a solid trail back to an unknown Asian woman with a Barbie-esque figure and steel-gray hair. A woman that had seemingly eluded pursuit by leaping off a 14 story roof without leaving a bloody smear on the street below. A trail of evidence that had done his career no favors. He'd spent half a year trying to put it out of his mind, to focus on other cases that wouldn't lead down Alice's rabbit hole.
Some kind of superwoman.
And here were eleven more of them.
If the Asian woman with the grey hair still haunted him, this girl’s dark eyes peering up at him from the glossy photos pierced him to the core.
He began to read, growing more and more astounded at what his own agency had known and buried:
Rose Cassel, Daughter of David and Margareta Cassel. Heiress to a junior branch of the Cassel Steel fortune, IQ 140+, likely a victim of grossly unethical biological research and maybe a living bio-weapon. Her father had been a reclusive but brilliant metallurgist working with his family’s companies, while her mother was a world-renowned doctor and virologist, famous in humanitarian circles for her interest in stabilizing conditions in Africa.
Rose had been under intermittent surveillance for years. Her father had been killed in front of her in Africa when she was 12, an accidental brush with local warlords during one of her mother’s many inspection tours. It was a tragedy that caused her and her esteemed mother to withdraw from the public’s eye. Her mother had also made a few public statements about ending the world immediately after her husband’s death that had put her on watch lists in 23 countries. While it was likely just the grief talking, Margareta Cassel had a skill-set that could turn threat into alarming reality.
By 14, photos taken of Rose at the family compound showed her hair had turned steel-grey, though such a thing was hardly noteworthy at the time - the girl had experienced more than enough trauma to cause such physical signs of distress. By 16, Rose’s burgeoning adolescent growth spurt saw her body evolving into an anime sex-idol which only continued to improve as time when on. Again, not precisely a red flag. Some kids were just lucky that way after all and the immensely wealthy Cassels certainly had access to the finest trainers, teachers, and dieticians. At 17 her mother had hosted a coming out party in Bern that had become a pivotal turning point in the secret economies of decadence in the West and the grimiest underbelly of the East. It was believed that the Bern Gala had been staged to spread rumors that her daughter’s spectacular appearance had been deliberately engineered. Without the use of crude surgical techniques. Those rumors had brought Margareta Cassel to the attention of international slave-trade rings. Many believed Margareta had used her own daughter as a test bed for a revolutionary new beauty-treatment process. One which all signs now said were being employed by the Deveron Cartel to amplify the value of their product. By 19, Rose - even more exaggeratedly beautiful if such a thing were possible - had been linked to 3 of the richest male scions of Europe... Simultaneously, which was simply beyond all credence given the size of the egos in play.
She was also currently a person of interest in four murders and had been cleared of wrongdoing in two other deaths. Justifiable homicide in self-defense. An assassin and mugger had both found out that the beloved ‘Dark Princess’ of Europe was an accomplished judo-ka. The princess part was obvious, despite her merely industrialist bloodline. Dark, because she always wore black in public. Audio surveillance during one of the multi-million dollar parties she attended in Monaco suggested she saw it as a gesture to her absent father, a small trace of mourning him still incomplete.
It had grown dark outside. His jetlag felt a like a dog gnawing at the bone of his ability to process, but he couldn't stop reading.
“You knew...” He finally looked up. The director had continued working on a hand-held device, but she'd never left him. A powerful gesture coming from a woman of her lofty rank in the agency.
“Not precisely. Human Trafficking had some chatter that the Deverons had acquired high-grade medical support and were using it to produce a superior class of sex-slave. Remarkably docile and extraordinarily attractive. But they certainly didn’t have any reason to make the connection to the Cassels. All signs are Margareta should hate slavers like the Deverons. They have ties to the savages that killed her husband and wrecked what looks to have been a truly happy life. And speculations about Rose’s... enhancement. I’m sorry. You have an open mind from your own experiences in Hong Kong, but that sort of thing is exactly what gets flushed down the X-files chute around here because nobody wants to think somebody would actually play Doctor Jekyll with their own daughter.
White continued, “But really, we couldn’t begin to put it all together until the Liberty 4 disaster. And what we saw there...”
“That was no beauty-treatment. Those girls were strong,” Monroe looked pained.
“Not just strong.” Director White agreed. “Ruthless. Kind of reminds you of Rose, when you think about it.”
“Strong... but not like my case in Hong Kong. My perp was crazy strong. Order of magnitude higher than what we see in the Liberty footage.”
“May be some variation in the success of the treatment. There’s still a TON we don’t know.” she acknowledged.
“This Doctor Cassel hasn’t screwed up in eight years. Even though she'd still actively on a dozen watch lists. Unless you’ve got another folder to show me, we’re miles away from an arrest.”
“You're right . But we do know enough to put you on the Cassels. So you’re gonna get about 3,ooo miles closer to making that arrest.”
His grin was feral. Unlike the people that should have had his back in Hong King, it was clear Mrs. White had actually read the reports he’d been filing about the murderous superwoman he’d stumbled over. Read them, and believed them.
“Oh joy: more jetlag.”
She wasn’t fooled for a second. He WANTED this hunt. “You’ll be worming your way into a criminal aristocracy. There’s folks already on the ground in Switzerland to get you started. The slush fund is deep for this, but not infinite, so do try to save your receipts. They may help me keep my job when some over-zealous senator comes sniffing around.”
“And remember: we’ve got seven of our own on slabs and one still missing. You will not be the only Bureau hotshot looking for payback, but you’re the only one with a Pandora perspective. Get. These. Bastards.”
I'm also really intrigued by Last Bouquet. It's a little on the dark side, which I personally like. Can't wait to see more of this one!
Jane fucking hated Las Vegas.
It was hot. It was really hot. It was Africa hot. She smirked at the old Mathew Broderick line, so perfectly encompassing this hellhole-on-Earth.
It was also a moral cesspool, which ultimately made it the perfect backdrop for a conference to discuss the growing crisis in the FBI’s Human Trafficking division.
Because for six months the FBI had been at war.
The Deveron Cartel had swallowed or bought out not one or two but four of their longstanding rivals, securing an unprecedented grip on the flow of slaves all the way around the Pacific Rim. If they’d been a legit enterprise they’d still be in the crosshairs for horizontal and vertical monopoly violations. As an organized crime syndicate they were perhaps the largest monster of the modern day.
They were also killing cops and Feds left, right, and center. Every time someone reached for an example of “things haven’t been this bad since...” they trailed off with a pained look. It had Never been this bad. Even in the bad, bad old days.
She was bringing HT division’s Director down to the 4th floor for another closed door meeting, this time with Army Intelligence. For any part of the DoD to become involved in what was nominally a policing issue told you how bad things had gotten. Hell, she’d even be obliged to act nice to the CIA.
They were just approaching the sweeping three-story escalators that connected the upper hotel rooms with the huge foyer at the center of the conference complex when she got a ping on her ear bead.
“We’ve got an incident in the main entryway, Corey. Some kind of fight’s broken out and there are civvies AND suits down. I don’t have eyes yet but it sounds like a whole damn riot...”
In a way she was thankful for the timing. She hated that escalator - almost 100 feet of no-options pathway and terribly exposed on every side. They’d gotten the word before reaching it. 10 seconds later and they’d have been sitting ducks if the mayhem downstairs was a diversion.
“Copy, Powell. We’ll withdraw the principle to the room. Discretely.” They couldn’t ignore the threat, but they could keep HT’s Director from looking like he was jumping at shadows as they did it.
She nodded to her seconds on the three-man detail. “Sir, trouble. Please shelter against the pillar, there. I’ll clear an elevator and we’ll return to your rooms until we get the all clear.”
The older man nodded. He had the good sense to let his people do what they did best. He sidled over to the broad concrete pillar beside the top of the escalator, making a good show of needing to check something in his briefcase before going downstairs rather than having cozied up next to the heaviest cover in any direction for 25 meters. One of his guards positioned himself between the director and the escalator, ready to intercept anyone coming up from below, while the other took up station in directly front of the principle, nonchalantly blocking the maximum field of view from the side not blocked by feet of concrete. ‘Not optimal. But serviceable as long as the threat didn’t escalate,’ Jane decided as she turned to trot briskly back towards the elevator cluster.
The place was still a security nightmare with thousands of guests milling about. Far too many of the FBI’s potential allies had to be baited in with a sweet weekend boondoggle in Vegas. She passed retired couples, kids in pigtails making their way to the pool, and fit young urban professionals that she instinctively searched for concealed holsters... because the difference between a yuppie and a Russian mobster lying low was something you didn’t want to discover only after the ironworks came out.
Jane whipped out a special key on a long chain and with a twist took control of elevator 3, summoning it directly to the 7th floor. She looked down at her outstretched hand. The edge was stained black like she’d had an accident with a copy machine. Moments later her eyes darted to her opposite sleeve, and again she found a broad smudge of black particulate.
“What the hell did I get on m–”
Jane had a premonition of doom. Some agents trusted their gut. She trusted her ‘disaster sense’. Not as versatile maybe, but she was still alive to be proud of it.
Agent Corey’s brain shuffled back through the last 30 seconds. The girl in the sundress with long black hair in pigtails had brushed past her arm, grinning with childish glee. A girl with a face Jane knew almost as well as her own. Only the girl she dreamed so often of strangling to death with her bare hands had steel-grey hair... The girl in Los Angeles who had killed her sister Tina at the very start of the current crisis.
Jane yanked her override key from the panel even as her wrist came to her mouth. “Poe! Kane! Girl coming from the elevators, black pigtails, yellow sundress. DO NOT ENGAGE. Take the principle and you RUN!” Jane was already running herself, a shiny new agency Glock materializing in her left hand like a magic trick.
But even as Jane began to speak in their ears, Agent Poe had deftly grabbed the arm of a smiling, skipping teenager and started to turn her back away from her near collision with the HT Director.
Without turning to look at him the girl flicked her whole arm in a circle like spinning a hula-hoop on your wrist. The motion translated back up the beefy bodyguard’s arm as a spiral twisting that broke all three bones between wrist and shoulder and then flung him onto his face, muffling the scream that followed. Her near foot lashed out at the second guardian and her dainty one-inch heel instantly punctured not only his vest but the abdomen beneath. He crumpled, black blood oozing from his gut. Kane was down too, and likely fatally wounded. Piercing the intestines and allowing feces into the abdominal cavity was a slow and horrible way to die, beyond even 21st century medicine's ability to reverse.
The director had the good sense to bolt, but he hadn’t gotten more than a single step before the still smiling girl caught him not by the neck, but actually cupping the back of his skull. She hopped forward, putting all her weight on him and driving his head down almost even with his knees. Through a momentary gap in the crowd Jane had a painfully clear view of the girl’s whole body winding up for a bone crunching throw.
Jane continued to lunge through the crowd, her weapon still pointed at the floor, ‘no shot, no shot... find the shot...!’
With people being thrown to the ground left and right as she raced towards her boss, it was no surprise the attacker saw her coming. The girl looked right at her. A innocent face out of Jane’s nightmares. “Don’t you love the sound they make when they pop?” The girl taunted her.
It was her... It was absolutely fucking God-give-me-strength HER.
The girl that had killed the elder Corey sister... by crushing her skull.
The girl windmilled in place, slamming the director’s head against the massive concrete pillar that should have been his protection. Jane had to admit there was an awful and very distinct ‘pop’ as his brains were splashed across the tawny stone.
For every action, an equal and opposite reaction. The girl was thrown back from the impact, rolling over the railing and dropping down through the narrow gap beside the top of the escalator and the pillar.
Without hesitation Jane threw herself after her. She was sliding face-first and belly down on the slick metal at the edge of the up escalator. Only her right hand and the top of one foot hooked over the rubber handrail was keeping her from plunging to her death as she slid down the narrow strip of polished steel. Even so she searched the ground below for the blood smear that should mark the spot with the girl had fallen. Her left arm dangled over the abyss, still holding her gun and sweeping for a target.
Something! Movement! The predatory part of her brain identified the impossible: The girl was up and on the move. Jane’s hand lashed out and seeing no one in the way, she squeezed the trigger.
Blood sprayed from her prey’s calf and the assassin’s headlong sprint converted into an awkward hobble.
Jane eased up on the pressure her foot and hand were exerting, increasing her risk of falling, but also increasing her speed. As the floor came up at her she let go entirely... Falling away from the escalator, she executed a forward roll off her free hand and came up running. Bystanders still startled by the sound of her single disabling shot must have thought she was a Terminator in hot pursuit of Skynet’s enemies, but Jane knew it was just years of parkour. She hadn’t made the FBI’s elite guard detail by being anything less than amazing in an urban environment. And she had never, ever been so motivated to catch someone.
Like a good agent, she’d recused herself of any involvement in the Liberty 4 investigations. She wasn’t investigative material anyway. If she could trust her fellows with her life, she could trust the agency to put good people on that bloodbath. They’d bring her sister’s murderer to justice.
But when God Himself delivers your greatest enemy into your gun-sights and hands you just cause... She’d already made her bleed. Next she was going to make her die.
The girl had bolted into a cul-de-sac, a lounge area pressed up against tall windows overlooking the courtyard and beyond the fabulous Las Vegas Strip. They were still four stories up.
She was still limping aimlessly toward the glass when Jane caught up to her, one of several low couches between them.
“FREEZE! FBI!” Some habits die hard. And besides, there’d been ten other murderers in that tiny box. Plenty of vengeance to go around if the girl talked.
The girl didn’t freeze.
‘And that’s when I shot her, your Honor...’ Jane thought to herself. Even straight-laced Tina would have sworn it was a righteous kill.
Jane squeezed the trigger.
The bullet nicked the girl’s ear before punching through the floor-to-ceiling window, causing the entire ten-by-ten panel of safety glass to convert into a crazy crackle pattern. She hadn’t meant it as a warning shot, but something inside her had baulked at the last instant, the moment when she would be the one making heads pop. She wanted to have nothing in common with her sister’s killer.
“I. Said. Freeze.”
The girl slowly pivoted behind the couch, her hands coming up. One furtively touching her bleeding ear for a moment.
“You move, you die, little girl.” Jane was so completely done with playing around.
The girl grumbled. “I’m not a little girl. I’m almost as old as Tia. My birthday’s next month. I’ll be 19.”
"Nineteen!" She repeated forcefully, as if that was the most important thing in the world.
“Awesome.” Jane answered with a sneer. She knew she shouldn't address the perp, but she was so damn angry. “For a second there I was worried we wouldn’t be able to try you as an adult.”
“That’s when the Mistress says I'll BLOOM–“
Jane heard the tension in the young woman’s voice build, telegraphing some hostile intent. It was warning enough: she had just enough time to fall flat to the ground as an entire couch came flying at her. The youth had kicked it at her without ever dropping her hands. It flashed over the length of Jane's body so close the wind of its passage plucked at her clothes. She heard screams behind her as more than one tourist wasn’t so lucky. Jane had to clear her field of fire before shooting. Her enemy had no such compunctions.
Forgoing the action movie one-liner that came unbidden to her lips, Jane popped up with a one-handed push-up and was already firing. The first bullet went wide, blasting another diner-plate sized gap in the window. She winced, having to trust to luck that the tumbling projectile would spend most of its energy before reaching the distant street beyond. Two, three, and four all found various points along her sister’s killer’s torso and crimson bloomed on her yellow sundress.
Jane’s grin was probably not strictly professional, but it felt good!
Seemingly unaware that the script said she should crumple in a heap now, the diminutive killer snatched up a second couch and swung it in a full arc around her before launching it at Jane hammer-toss style. The back side of her turn knocked the majority of the shattered glass out into the open air, allowing a hot wind to come roaring into the air conditioned sitting area. Jane heard distant shrieks as the mostly harmless bits of glass sprayed whoever it was below.
Jane had already made a roll forward and to the left, the second couch-missile going wide. She came up shooting again. Internally she swore, ‘fucking 9mms!’ The FBI’s new service pistol might be easier for someone with little girly wrists to manage but she’d always preferred the heavier .40s. Precisely because they hit harder. Still, emptying the magazine usually had the desired effect and Jane did not hesitate to empty the sidearm this time.
Five more splashes of crimson appeared on the woman's torso along with a red streak across her girlish face as a bullet grazed her cheek deeply enough to draw blood. And still the assassin failed to go down. She seemed dazed though. But she also looked like she was shaking it off... fast. In fact she was already reaching vaguely for another piece of furniture to hurl... Jane was getting the premonition of doom again.
Lacking any other credible weapons, she hoped that maybe this time gravity would take her side. She sprinted at her foe and at the last moment threw both of her feet forward in a sacrifice kick...
Jane’s ankles screamed in agony as all her momentum was transferred into the smaller woman’s body. Instead of being properly flung away, the killer only stumbled back and Jane fell to the floor as if she’d slammed into a bronze statue of a woman, far heavier than anyone should be.
Fortunately that 'statue' wasn't actually bolted down. Arms wind-milling, the little bitch rocked back one more half step and found only air under her foot. Without even a scream, she went over backwards and vanished from Jane’s line of sight.
The courtyard below was already in chaos. The diversion on the first floor that had been meant to lure her away from the principle was no small thing and there were dozens of injured and dead already being triaged on the broad sunlit concrete.
The frantically busy EMTs turned at the sound of the girl’s impact, but didn't make the connection that she’d fallen from one of the higher floors rather than stumbled out of the front door and collapsed.
"Unresponsive, multiple lacerations... no pulse!!" A female EMT had been the first to reach her and called out for help. One of the casino’s security guards brought an emergency kit to her at a run. Attractive girls tended to shoulder their way to the front of the line in many triage scenarios. Because cute actually is a survival trait.
They switched places, the burly guard starting compressions while the medic unpacked the kit. The big man had only delivered a dozen or so of the often rib-breaking blows to the patient before she had the defibrillator charging. At her insistence he took a pair of sheers and cut away the right shoulder and side of her bloodstained dress, revealing half of an elaborate corset. He pulled back with startled embarrassment, quickly revising his estimate of the girl's age upwards. Despite the baby fat on her face this was no child. Good lord, she was buxom...
The undergarment was heavy, broad, designed to minimize her figure and contributing to her earlier childlike appearance. It was too thick and too wide to get the paddles placed properly. The medic urged him on with a glare: "Get it off her!" Emergency sheers made short work of it and the guard's blush deepened as he revised his estimate of her age upwards again. She was very womanly.
The EMT checked the side of the unconscious woman's throat one last time. “Still no pulse!” The distinctive whine of capacitors charging reached its steady peak tone. “Clear!” the paramedic warned, pressing the metal plates to her blood-spattered flesh above her sternum and against her flank, bracketing the formidable sphere of her exposed breast and aiming the current path through her heart. She thumbed the trigger built into the handle...
The young woman’s back arched like she’d been electrocuted, which was appropriate, because she had been. Only instead of falling slack again after the discharge, she stayed locked in the rictus position, her body beginning to glow blue where the paddles had pressed against her skin.
“What the...?” the paramedic whispered as the blue glow rapidly spread over the small but shapely woman’s rigid torso.
The only answer she would ever receive was the woman's small hands lashing up to grab both sides of her head before crushing it against her chest with a single jerk. The naked breast hardly compressed at all as the paramedic's skull burst against it. The guard fell back and away from the bloody-handed monster, shouting in terror. She ignored him as she awkwardly climbed back to her feet, idly running two fingers through the brains smeared across her pert boob.
The blue glow continued to spread from those two initial patches. Whatever it was, it was filling her with incredible pleasure! Her belly clenched over and over, her chin lifting in little jerking thrusts as the spreading glow reached her loins. "Mmmm...MMMMMMM!" she purred behind tight, smiling lips. She lifted her fingers to her mouth dreamily, her tongue flicking out to lick the grey-red ooze off them before announcing "MMMMmmmmmm... oh? Huhhff. OH!! OOHH!!"
The pleasure washing over her as the glow spread lifted her up on tiptoes, arms swinging back, torso arched like she'd been electrocuted a second time. The cool light was coming from every part of her flesh now. Thin bright bolts of electricity began to arc randomly from her body into the ground or dissipating into the air. Her shoulders rolled back and she inhaled, spreading and lifting her ribs, thrusting her oversized breasts at the sunny sky so hard her whole body followed... And failed to come down, six inches of air beneath her tattered shoes. She levitated in a crackling field of electric discharges, her torn and tattered dress dripping with blood and worse. She cried out again with the most extreme pleasure yet as an electric arc leapt from her bare nipple to a nearby light pole, causing a shower of yellow sparks as the bulb exploded. People screamed again, but she couldn't have cared less.
The black toner powder she'd used to disguise her metallic hair burned away in the electrical heat rising from her, revealing not her usual steely grey, but a shimmering silky white. Nine bullets plinked to the ground, forced from an equal number of small holes in her body. A happy byproduct as her flesh did far more than just re-knit itself. The baby fat still clinging to her body was consumed from within as her muscles visibly tensed and grew. She clenched her small fists and the tendons in her forearms creaked. The blue glow surrounded her completely: a warning that this body was now infused with terrible power! She trembled in the grip of a 'full-body' orgasm before she came with a roar that cracked windows on every side of the courtyard up to the tenth floor!
Above, an exhausted Jane was also picking herself up, the post-fight jitters making her knees tremble. She shuffled on her hands and knees towards the edge of the broken window in agony: one, possibly both her ankles broken. She wanted to look down and confirm the kill. She needed to see the bitch's body. Know the job was done.
In the midst of this harrow journey she heard a distinctive ‘skull pop’ from the courtyard below, followed by the renewal of screaming. And then incredibly loud cries of growing feminine ecstasy rising into a crescendo of raw-edged sexual gratification that shook the building. What? The Fuck?
She reached the edge and stood, leaning lightly against the unbroken glass panel next to the opening, looking down only to find a blood-streaked pixie with rather prominent tits looking back up at her. A pixie with murder in her eyes and an eerie blue halo surrounding her body. The girl-woman from her nightmares looked entirely refreshed and all too eager to start Round Two.
“This is not happening...” Jane declared as the killer’s wrath seemed to lift her up. She launched at Jane with a feral grin like some kind of demented Peter Pan. The agent managed two punishing steps away from the brink and then fell backwards onto another couch as the petite woman alighted on the edge of the broken window, an oversized and utterly deranged faerie with milk-white hair. Tinkerbell’s psychotic second cousin maybe.
The killer took a step towards Jane, her tiny foot smashing a small crater in the carpet-covered concrete with the hollow boom of a pile driver at work. The impossible stacked on top of the surreal. No one could be so strong.
This wasn't- it couldn't be happening! Death only seconds away, Jane felt a momentary pang of disappointment: she’d felt no premonition of doom. Maybe it had always been just her imagination. A broken fragment of a children's tale flashed through her mind, as close of a fit to what she was seeing as she could come up with:
“I don’t believe in faeries!”
The blue aura surrounding her sister's killer flickered and went out. The Pixie of Death took another step closer... and fell down dead at Jane's feet.
Jane laughed, more than an little hysterically, until darkness took her too.
The first part is still pretty crucial... the luxurious description that the reader should be armed with going forward so I don't have to word-worship Hannah's super-body every time . The lunch scene had a couple of problems already raising an itch for me... I've gone back and made a few changes that may make it a little more fun in the last day or so. Better word flow at the very least. We get a lot of takes on uber-sex around here so I did actively want to show how other power-sets might amuse themselves. No one but me could be expected to re-read this stuff as often as I tweak it, but you might give part 4 another chance at some point . The good news is a full re-read on my part to apply edits is also a necessary step to refreshing my feel for the character's different voices.
The Last Bouquet briefly ran off the rails with my first try at the next scene being too focused on bringing forward Rose's big debut. Definitely one of those "No... Stop. What does the story and the reader actually need next? You can trot out Rose any time." Sometimes the desire for immediate feedback on a finished scene tries to club dramatic pacing over the head :. A more correct scene is brewing, but there will probably be no update today. Part III did get a pretty extensive polish pass starting from where Jane catches up with the killer, getting a full transformation sequence that should foreshadow a lot of what's to cum. -er, come.
I love throwing of furniture. And I love the pacing of the action -- was a real page turner.
I've also updated "The Lioness: a tactical superheroine" with some much needed edits. Its not a new story, but if it's been a while, you might check in. Hopefully some of the concerns with the back and forth journey though memory have been addressed.
And a small ditty that came to me while out running errands. No idea if I'll repurpose it for another story, add to it, or just enjoy the moment. Either way, I need to write more, so I'z trying to write more.
The thug on the right pulled a knife. The blade wasn't especially big, but still scary in the tight confines of the alley. Scarier than he already was, looming over them. “Ok girls, hand over your wallets and cellphones. And anything good you've got in that pouch, miss.” For a mugger, he was actually pretty polite.
Sophie started digging worriedly in her purse. Their earlier conversation in the diner and the effects of the strange white nugget of metal forgotten in her panic.
Bree on the other hand was giddy at the prospect of having someone she could rough up in good conscience. The sandy-haired pixie’s heels lifted and her shoulders hunched as she dropped into an exaggerated boxer’s crouch. “You dunn messed with the wrong girl, arseholes. Here comes the lightning...” She threw three respectably fast jabs with her right hand. “And the thunder!” She threw a left cross at the air and mimed an uppercut. Naturally, since she'd never actually boxed a day in her life it all looked a little silly.
Sophie, still scared out of her wits whispered far too loudly, “I thought the saying was 'bring the thunder', then the lightning?”
Bree stood up slightly and turned to her friend confused. “What? No... Lightning always comes first. That’s what makes the thunder... doesn’t it?”
"I think you hear the thunder first..."
“Either way, ladies,” The thug on the left drawled, “Any time a guy’s dumb enough to actually say that in the movies, he’s about to get his ass kicked.” He started to move closer, knife held low.
“Well this-” Bree stepped closer to the alley wall and threw a hard straight punch at the bricks... Which exploded in a shower of dull red gravel and dust. “Ain’t the movies.” She turned back to face them and in the process her hip grazed the side of a trash dumpster. Metal squealed and Bree, trying to cover her clumsiness, leaned into it on purpose now. When she finally stepped away it looked like the bin lorry had misjudged the distance and crushed it against the building.
The two thugs were a matched set: jaws hanging agape. One dropped his knife and stepped back without even knowing it - the smart one.
“Look boys...” Bree reached into the crater she’d made and pulled a mostly intact brick out, holding it up in her open palm level with her eyes so they could see it. “I’m having a really nice day.” She clenched her hand into a fist and the brick simply vanished into a cloud of grainy dust with a kind of sad 'pop'. She wanted to blink because of the grit in her eye, but it would totally blow the moment if she did. “So why don’t you just move along... and nobody will have to get obliterated." Oh yeah! That weird piece of white metal had done a number on her, and she was loving it! She could pick these two up by the scruff of the neck like kittens and there wouldn't be a damn thing they could do about it.
"Sound fair?” She grinned at them. Quite wickedly, she thought.
One of the muggers nodded. The other just stared at her hand, streaked with red like dried blood. He wasn't sure what 'obliterated' was, but it sounded bad. The nodder grabbed wide-eyes’s shoulder, dragging him off with awkward haste.
“And get a haircut!” Sophie shouted after them from behind Bree's shoulder as they vanished into the warren of access lanes behind the row of storefronts. She turned to Bree “That... was... AWESOME! Pick me up. You can do that, right?!”
Bree rolled her eyes. She'd already told her the first thing she'd done after touching the nugget was push her way out from under tons of toppled racks of old museum bric-a-brak. Sophie wouldn't feel any heavier than one of her Cadbury's Crunchie bars now.
"Fine, fine." She held out her cupped hand at knee level, inviting Sophie to step into the stirrup of her palm. "Use the walls for balance. I still don't know why it didn't do anything for you..."
"I know, right? Maybe Sylvia will have a better idea than holding it in your hands and saying 'Work, dammit!'" Their American roommate was good with puzzles. Sophie chuckled at her own inability to get a response from the odd little lump. Maybe the awesome was all used up on Bree? Bree had gotten lot of awesome. She was like... like super-hero strong!
As if Bree were reading her mind, she said "Well you know she's gonna swoon when she sees how strong I got. She loves that super-hero stuff. I'm just glad it happened when it did. Otherwise I'd be a pancake right now, smushed under all that old junk the Royal Museum's throwing out. Ready? Allez up!"
Sophie's head rose like she was on a lift, balancing on one foot. Bree could have lifted her faster, but the idea was to have fun, not toss her friend onto the roof. Or higher... She felt so strong she might've accidentally tossed her all the way up into the path of an oncoming jet-liner or something.
For her part, Sophie giggled like a child. She lifted her other leg back and leaned forward spreading her arms like she was an airplane. A bit on the rotund side, she still had a dancer's balance. Bree obligingly trotted into the maze of alleyways with Sophie held aloft in one hand. Sophie made 'woosh' and 'zoom' noises like an old-time RAF Spitfire as they turned each corner or circled back after reaching a dead end. After a couple of minutes playing she asked to come down. Bree whipped her hand out from under Sophie's foot and then caught her under the armpits, lowering her to the ground. Bree continued to marvel how light she- no, how light everything felt to her.
Bree pulled the white nugget out of her fanny pack and unwrapped the old newspaper she'd cushioned it in, needing to gaze at it again. "Ok, we've gotta show Sylvia this thing. Maybe she can figure it out." It certainly seemed like something right out of the 'comics book' movies that were so popular now.
Sophie gestured she wanted to look at it again and Bree passed it over. "You are so strong! I'm not exactly svelte..." the chunky college student admitted with a sigh turning the nugget over in her hands and watching how it sparkled like mother-of-pearl. "I mean it's great that you got all crazy-strong just when you needed it, but really I just want to lose a few pounds." In her head she envisioned a lot more than a few pounds sliding off her. She wanted to be an actual babe. A real boy magnet. Ok, if she was honest, she wanted to be something like Scarlet Johansen's hotter younger sister. Only with her own almost-red hair, 'cause she did have great hair. She dieted and worked out, but she just didn't have the genes. Or the willpower to say 'no' to chocolate chip cookies. Or cake. Or candy bars...
She saw Bree's eyes getting wider and wider looking at her.
"What? Did I get snagged on something and now my butt's hanging out?" She turned to look back at her butt. Still big. "Stop with the googly eyes already..." She shimmied her whole body self-consciously and Bree flopped back, making a bench out of a stack of loose wooden palettes while still looking up at her with voiceless awe.
"Ok, Bree. Now you're freaking me out."
Bree worked her mouth a few times like a goldfish out of water, then finally "Look at YOU!!"
One side of Sophie's now gorgeous face quirked up in a huge 'huh?' expression. 'The hell was Bree on about? Still there was a parked delivery truck just down the alley and she went and looked in the big side mirror.
Bree saw her friend, now a total Hollywood bombshell walk - no, with those legs you had to call it sashay - over to the nearby truck... and heard her scream. A scream of absolute delight.
Bree found her way back to her feet, still a little dazed by Sophie's metamorphosis. She'd been in no position to observe her own and seeing Sophie's body shimmer and flow like water until she became someone else was as much of a shock to her as anyone. She softly laid a hand over her roomie's still shrieking mouth. She also gently plucked the nugget out of Sophie's slack hands before she dropped it down a sewer drain or something. If they lost it before showing it to Sylvia... That would be a rotten, unfair end to the best day ever.
As the breathtakingly beautiful girl stilled in her grip, Bree said with a smirk "Well it worked. Finally."
Sophie just nodded dumbfounded. Bree slowly took her hand away.
"I guess you just have to know what you really want...?" Sophie breathed, still unable to take her eyes off the face in the mirror. It was like a dream. Even draped in her now baggy clothes, head to toe she was incredibly pretty.
"you wanted to 'lose some weight' huh?"
Sophie blushed and on her innocent face it was adorable. Bree felt her knees going weak again. She might be superstrong, but Sophie had become supercute. Fighting off the urge to just gobble her up, Bree instead hugged her gorgeous friend with one arm. This day was getting better and better!
Breaking the hug reluctantly but before it got awkward, she started to wrap the nugget up again. She paused, eyeing the lump closely. Was it smaller now? She didn't know how big it was before she'd been zapped to compare or confirm her suspicion. And the little yellowed paper sample tag in the box had only said "Fictionite - .98 pure" in a kind of elegant handwritten script you never saw anymore.
Sophie's creamy brow wrinkled in concentration, thinking back to what Bree had been saying just before she'd gotten Awesom-ified too. The intensity of her expression didn't detract from Sophie's movie-star looks at all. If anything it made her eyes twinkle. "I think we'd better hurry then if you want to show Sylvia your rock. She's got a party or something tonight and I don't know where. We need to catch her before she leaves the flat. You think you could use it to, um, get ‘run faster’ powers?”
“Superspeed” Bree corrected, just about exhausting her stock of geek lore absorbed by osmosis from their roomie. “Dunno. I’ll try it."
She held the nugget directly in her fingers, and suddenly realized how ridiculous Sophie must have felt sitting in the diner trying to make this work. Winding a fork around her finger hadn't been a really convincing display of strength but had been all she'd been able come up with in the diner that wouldn't send the rest of the patrons screaming for the door.
The two times it had worked, neither of them had said anything, they’d just wanted it. So she tried wanting superspeed... 'Faster. Faster. I want to be faster...' she thought hard as she could.
Nothing happened some more.
“I got nuttin’” Bree declared. There was a feeling, a little burst of warmth when it was working.
“Let me try?” Sophie asked permission, still thinking of the nugget as very much Bree’s.
“Sure!” She passed it over without hesitation. She’d already gotten a great deal. Not-squished-like-a-bug first and foremost in her mind. Nothing was gonna dampen her spirits on the best day ever!
Sophie had her supercute 'I'm concentrating' look again. Bree was still shocked by how great she looked. Stunning, even. Something like Scarlet Johansen's hotter younger sister.
More nothing happened.
“Maybe its out of juice?” Bree wondered.
“Maybe it only works once per customer?” Sophie countered.
“Hmm. If so, we’d better warn Sylvia before she has her turn. Tell her to choose wisely before she touches it.”
When Bree had touched it that first time in the crushing dark, she'd had felt it: an energy coming from the lump of metal. A warmth. If she hadn't been so terrified she might even have enjoyed it. She hadn't even seen the nugget at first. She’d already been pushed down into a little cranny of space left when the shelves went over on her, her hand just about crammed into the old wooden box it’d been tucked away in. Geological samples from who the hell knew where. The old pre-digital properties always missed some details. Really she’d panicked - she just wanted out from under the pile. Then the warmth had flowed into her from her fingertips and she got stronger and stronger until she didn’t just push the heap off herself, she exploded out of the tumble of shelves and samples and taxidermy animals and the remains of other old displays.
Getting super strong had also made Bree super horny. She couldn't stop touching herself in little stolen moments as she went around standing all the shelves back up. Superstrength just felt so gooood. Scaring off those thugs made if feel even better. Like she could do anything. Being powerful was an incredible rush.
“Well, we’d better hurry.” Sophie reminded her, seeing Bree deep in recollection. They’d lost valuable time getting nothing to happen.
“Yep, yep!” Bree agreed and they ran at quite ordinary speed for the bus stop. They just missed the big red bus, but one look in the mirror at the tardy supermodel waving to him from the last stop and the driver had backed up most of a block to let them board. They were on their way with more than a few stares following them. Or following Sophie at least. Bree didn’t mind. She might not be crazy-hot, but she’d handled those thugs like shooing away flies with her 'crazy-strong'. She wondered what kind of crazy Sylvia would wish for...
This stupid costume was driving her crazy. She'd tamed the boots and leotard... Even the wig was cooperating. But the amount of padding you needed to carry the bust line... One errant breath and you’d go from an artfully lifted bosom to being revealed as a cheap stuffer. Her gloves were good too, but without a helper she'd have to put them on last.
There’d be professional photographers at the masquerade tonight and Sylvia was NOT gonna blow this even if nothing human could ever live up to the figure she was trying to portray. Hell, Jessica Rabbit would be hard pressed. To do it right she’d have redo the padding from scratch. Use more of the heavy, supple foam that always made her think of petting a dolphin. And glue them in this time. Because she WAS going to be sporting the most powerful rack in comics tonight. Fake or not, she couldn’t wait to rub them right in a couple of her rivals' faces. Gina had actually called her stitching rubbish. Gina of all people! That sow couldn't sew if her life depended on it.
She heard a key in the front door, which was a little strange. Bree should still be at the museum on a Friday afternoon and Sophie rarely cut class. She shrugged, and then cursed, her white leotard slipping again. More spirit gum. This would be so much easier if she had the body for it. 'But damn, what a body that would take.' she thought again. 'No mere mortal figure for me, we're talking Super Sylvia!' She curled her arms and pushed her shoulders back, envisioning two battle ship class cannons on her chest plain as day even if she could never have it. But that's what made cosplay fun - being what you wanted instead of who you were.
“Who’s there?” She called out from her room, the door half open. Originally from California, her accent was a source of unending amusement for the other two. She sounded like she'd just stepped out of the American movies.
“We both are.” Sophie announced cheerfully.
“We’ve got something to show you...” The normally quite serious Bree sounded uncharacteristically giddy. Oh no... had her flatmates brought home a puppy or something? Sylvia stood up, still glowering at her flat chest in her mirror. She had another hour before she had to leave, but she knew she was shaving it close.
In the shared living room Bree and Sophie were only half-successfully suppressing their giggles. Sylvia was going to be so blown away at how amazing they both were. After what they'd gotten from the nugget she'd be hard pressed to catch up with them. Bree was already eyeing the couch as something she could lift and make Sylvia’s eyes bug out. Much more effective than bending silverware.
They’d come in single file, wanting to hide Sophie’s new look while they explained what they’d guessed about the nugget. Sylvia might have only one shot. Bree had pulled it out again and half unwrapped it, a necessary prop for the crazy story they were about to tell their roomie. "Come on out." Bree called. They heard Sylvia rustling in her room. Bree strode forward to meet her half way.
Bree, never as graceful as Sophie even before her metamorphosis, stepped awkwardly on a hand-weight one of them had left out on the floor in the living room, almost twisting her ankle even as it was bent down into a ‘U’ by her strength. She stumbled and the nugget flew out of her hands, hitting the hardwood floor with a clatter and sliding almost all the way to Sylvia’s door.
Attracted to the sound, Sylvia came to her doorway and reached for the palm-sized white lump. “What’s this?” She asked leaning forward, hand reaching out. Her head and shoulders swung into view as she bent down. It looked like she had one of her cosplay outfits on, getting ready for the party maybe.
“No. Wait! Don’t touch that!” Bree vaguely recognized the white costume Sylvia was wearing.
Too late. Sylvia's fingers closed around the glinting metal. There should have been a flash of light. A peel of thunder. Something dramatic. Because the world had just changed. Sylvia wouldn't just 'catch up' to her superstrong, supercute roommates.
She was going to completely blow them away.
A confused Sylvia stood back up, now fully outside her doorway in her Power Girl costume. She looked curiously at her roomies still wondering about them being home as she idly rolled the nugget between her fingers. Bending over had caused the leotard to slip again and she cursed. "Seriously... I need Power Girl's tits." she muttered, imagining herself filling out the costume properly. Nothing but big beautiful Super Sylvia curves under there. A properly epic Kryptonian figure. Then she caught a glimpse of Sophie still half hidden behind Bree, all but unrecognizable when she wasn't speaking “Who's your new friend, Bree? And where's Soph- Owwwww!" Sylvia crumpled inward like she'd been punched in the gut. The nugget in her hand heated up like a rock in the desert sun. A warmth ignored as a far greater heat bloomed in her chest.
“OOHHH!” Sylvia grunted again, collapsing to the floor, leaning half against the wall, her bare legs splayed before her and inadvertently giving her roomies quite a view of the inner flanks of her white-clad crotch from across the room.
"What's happening to me?" she asked no one in particular, her gawking roommates all but forgotten in the rush. She felt like she was dying and being born at the same time. She looked down at her chest and watched in a daze as inside the white one-piece her slender bosom ballooned into cabbage-sized SUPERBREASTS in a matter of seconds. She must have hit her head harder than she thought. Because she's been imagining pretty much exactly that all afternoon and nobody got that lucky.
Even shaped and tailored to contain her outlandish foam falsies, the leotard was no match for these new mammary-monsters. Rounded girl-flesh filled and then overfilled the white fabric cups until the flank seams tore wide open, giving her some much needed breathing room! Still unbelieving, she shimmied her torso and watched them sway and bounce, mesmerized. The way they jiggled was almost cartoonish. So pert and full! She lifted her arms again and flexed, the twin globes rising and spreading in answer. They stood straight out from her chest, the biggest of the big guns! With armor-piercing ammo, she noticed. The thin white material was visibly beginning to fray from the rasping of nipples which had become rather more than just 'rock hard' now. And the way it felt as her nipples wore through the tight weave... Like they were more vivid, more real than the entire rest of her body. she could feel it as each thread snapped in microscopic detail! "Ohhhhhh..." Fuck, it was equal parts disorienting and amazing.
Concussion or not, they were really hers!! Every time she shook them she could feel the taut fabric begging for mercy that would never come, straining to contain her giant tits and losing. It wasn't just her nipples. She could feel every thread pulled tight over the huge globes of smooth skin, hundreds of time more sensitive than her own petite assets. That's when she knew: they weren't just impossibly firm and massive woman-breasts... She was sporting REAL 100% Kryptonian boobies! A wish come true and every bit as fucking hawt as she'd dreamed!
She looked down again, and frowned through the haze of pleasure.
As good as the felt, they looked ridiculous on her. Totally out of proportion with her scrawny frame and worse than fake. Heavy too. Unreasonably dense for something so soft and springy and -- she moaned again -- so very, very sensitive. She doubted she'd even be able to stand up, having become so top-heavy. Because unlike her, the 'real' Power Girl wasn't just stacked. She had muscle to go with it. Super muscle! These cannonballs of girl-flesh would never look good on her unless... well, unless she had the complete package of course. They'd look great if all the rest of her was Kryptonian too... The coin or whatever it was in her hand squirmed, responding to the edict of her imagination. It trembled, eager or maybe terrified to finish the job she laid before it, to remold her as a living Power Girl from head to toe with all the limitless power that implied.
A second wave of warmth rolled over her whole body and Sylvia crooned... or meant to at least. "ooooohhhh...” What she'd intended as a sultry whisper came out as a sexy roar, her soft voice amplified enough to fill an entire stadium as her lungs took on the first hints of the power that would soon be hers. "Oh yaahh... uuuuuhhhh!" She rattled the whole house with another low moan of pleasure. The hypersensitivity her breasts enjoyed was spreading out across her skin like ripples across a pond. It was happening! She was gonna be super all over and it felt so good! As the heat sank into her loins, her sensitivity launched without warning to the same superhuman levels, her tiny clit swelling to the size of a plump grape, a rounded invulnerable nub delivering sensations more powerfully erogenous than twenty Sylvias filled to the brim with throbbing pulsating cock at the same time... "Oh Fuuuuuck!!" She cried out even louder as she came like nothing she could even describe... except maybe as fifty-five times more mind-blowing than anything she had ever felt before. The sharp bark of ecstasy didn't just shake the house this time... the ground moved with her. The shaking became a drumming like thunder, rattling windows for blocks around as Sylvia's right hand slapped the ground over and over. The explosion between her legs proved to be not a momentary burst but a burning silvery-sun that kept on shining in her brain. Her dainty palm was crashing into the ground like a pile driver, only unlike a pile driver Sylvia was growing multiple times stronger between each earthshaking impact. And each new tremor sent vibrations back into her spreading hips, starting the cycle all over again.
The unbroken chain of orgasms came on so hard and fast it knocked the wind out of Sylvia. Unable to breathe and desperately trying to catch her breath, she managed only a series of tiny choked gasps, each one enough to make your ears pop as the pressure in the room dropped sharply. Sophie clapped her hands over her ears and Bree had just enough time to pull them both down behind the couch before Sylvia's next panicked gulp of air imploded all of the windows in the house.
Then the warmth smoothed. Steadied. A clean silver glow filling her body from the inside now. Instinctively Sylvia knew she wasn't dying... She was changing, becoming something WONDERFUL. That insight gave her a moment of calm that loosened the fist crushing her chest and finally allowed her to breathe.
“HHHhhhhhhuHH!” able to breathe again at last, Sylvia inhaled deeply, consuming all the air in the room like a living black hole as she sucked in everything around her not nailed down. With one breath she set a new high water mark for the mess in the living room as shelves collapsed and Bree's television flipped off its stand. The shards of glass that had been ripped from the now-ragged window frames were sucked into the vortex, becoming a horizontal fountain of razor-edged death lunging across the room at her. The torrent of glass scoured the battered white leotard right off her body, freeing the ivory globes crowning her heaving chest and baring her plump maidenhood. But even the softest parts of her skin shed the ripping, tearing flood without so much as a scuff mark. Proof of the invulnerability of her newly Kryptonian skin. The not-so-deadly-after-all hail splashed against her recumbent figure, ricocheted off the outrageous curves of her bosom, and scattered mostly upwards. She wanted to laugh, it was so beautiful... SHE was so beautiful! Instead, Sylvia struggled to release the seeming ocean of air inside her slowly and without blowing the whole house to smithereens...
For a moment Sylvia fantasized about cutting loose, screaming out in pleasure so loud she knocked the whole Earth off its axis. A fanciful thought that made the nugget in her hand pulse with warmth and shrink further. Another fantasy now placed firmly within Sylvia's grasp. She was becoming power incarnate. And she knew it too, the pleasure in her mind growing to match the unparalleled pleasure of her body. She was becoming a supergirl! The most fucking sexy 'woman of steel' ever! Not just cosplay this time... for real! She was going to be awesome!! She trembled from head to toe, every bit of her skin alive and tingling with pleasure like she was hundreds of feet tall and somehow compressed into this beautiful package. She was already awesome. But she was also determined to be MORE AWESOME. She closed her eyes and imagined more...
No longer held aloft in the indoor tornadoes spawned from her super-lungs, the bits of glass fell around Sylvia like glittering rain. She was still firming and swelling, her increasingly muscular figure elegantly displayed on a bed of glinting shards as her ass and hips raced to catch up with her chest and her waist became the definition of 'hourglass'. Every curve a mirror of her imagination running wild, and Sylvia imagined herself irresistibly gorgeous. The pleasure of swelling up, of growing, of feeling each moment of creation as new Sylvia-flesh was added to her frame was exquisite beyond words. But Sylvia put wishes to words anyway, moaning again. "Bigger. Bigger... I want to be able to look Diana in the eye! No, BIGGER!! I want to be the envy of Amazons!" In her mind's eye she saw herself ducking slightly to fit through her doorway! Her body seemed to like the idea because moments later every part of her began to stretch... Sylvia grew much, much taller, easily reaching 6' slowing only as she reached 6'4". Her blue boots burst off of her meaty calves while the legendary shelf of her Power-bosom scaled up even larger to match her new height, the playfully bouncing volleyballs becoming... Wrecking balls. And yet they were still perfectly fitted to the muscular bounty of her body-builder frame. The ultimate woman, her sexuality unchained and multiplied to the highest degree: She. Was. Built. To. Fuck.
As she grew, the blonde wig she'd worked so hard on flopped to the floor, rendered moot by her own thick mass of rich gold hair, similarly trimmed into a loose bob. The feathery yellow tufts were made up of fine strands stronger than bridge cables and artfully framed a classically feminine face that once seen could never be forgotten: half Sylvia, half comic book perfection. Skin smooth as a racecar, eyes bright as gems, and a perfect heart jawline. Even her lips were sexy, full, and moist. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the outside of her door. Her face was gorgeous... She was gorgeous! "No mere-mortal body for me, I'm Super Sylvia!" she declared in bliss, echoing her earlier thoughts aloud. Letting the world in on the joke. The world knew it had better laugh with her and she climaxed again.
Buzzing with pleasure from multiple layers of orgasms thundering through her that no longer needed to stop or even take turns, Sylvia reached down between her spread legs to stroke the now sleekly defined ridges of her inner thighs. The cords of muscles were a roadmap leading you to her equally extravagant labia majora. Major majora now, her smooth lower lips firm and strong enough to devour I-beams and spit out bullets. Her calves and thighs gently bulged with superhuman might. Until now she could only have imagined this view: so firm, so chiseled. So strong. Because if what she thought was happening to her was true, the little spasms that shook her so delightfully were in fact powerful enough to throw an aircraft carrier into orbit. A mental picture which stacked another orgasm on the growing pile while drawing another pulse of warmth from the nugget in her hand. She pictured herself: first lifting 100,000 tons... then launching it with a swift jerk of her mighty arms. Then squatting down on a second impossibly massive weight and crushing it to molten slag between her long thighs. She imagined the feeling as hot metal gurgled up inside her pussy, unable to cool or harden as she continued to squeeze and twist it with her inner, deeper super-muscles. 'Yes...' she thought. "Give it to me." she whisper-bellowed aloud. "I want it ALL..." She began to build a mental catalogue of Power Girl's many outrageous powers and even a few she made up. Every one of the illustrations in her catalogue sexy as hell. The pulses of warmth in her hand became a continuous heat, the shrinking nugget glowing like an ember. But even that wasn't enough for Sylvia, because she also wanted to share. To pass on at least some of what was happening in every part of her body with the roommates who had done this wonderful thing to her. "SUPERTITS!" she yelled, seemingly at random, but to herself she added '...so super, they make other girls super too!' Because Sylvia wanted to do unto others, to make demigoddesses in her image. To hear their voices lifted in squeals of overwhelming bliss!
Bree peered out from behind the edge of the couch. Sylvia was still half-reclining in in the corner, leaned against the cracked and crumpled linen closet door. She had her legs spread, knees lifted to eye level. The most casual of slouches. It was a pose Bree knew well: that was how Sylvia watched the telly, usually cradling a big bowl of popcorn on the couch. Usually with more clothes on and without sporting the most magnificent breasts the Earth had ever seen. Sylvia wouldn't even be able to see the screen over them now without sitting up. Her line of sight blocked by three dimensional, living, breathing, jiggling, moaning Power Girl titties. And not a scrap of foam padding anywhere to be found. Sylvia's first and most important wish come true.
Bree smirked. If acquiring just superstrength had made her unbearably horny, then Sylvia's eruption had to be taking her on the ride of her life! Not quite what Bree had expected when she'd decided to share her discovery, but you couldn't argue with the results. Sylvia was working it! Bree felt an unexpected surge of pride. She might only be in the audience, but it was still the best day ever.
Sylvia moaned again and you could hear a dozen climaxes in the warbling tones. Girl wasn't on Cloud 9, she'd eaten it like cotton candy and gotten all over herself in the process. Bree tried not to laugh and failed utterly. This was exactly the kind of crazy she should have expected from Sylvia. She'd been an odd mix of shy and eager little sex-ferret as long as Bree had known her. Sometimes to the point of embarrassing herself with how bad she wanted sex but not quite knowing how to get it. She'd told them once she wished she could have been a cave woman: club a guy over the head and drag him off without all the courting. For Bree's geeky friend the nugget was a ticket to Nerdvana. There'd be no holding her back now!
At the sound of her laughter, Sophie finally dared poke her head out too, gasping at the sight of Sylvia’s sculpted and overwhelmingly womanly body topped by a face as beautiful as hers if not more so. Sophie's newly re-imagined face lit up - it was lust at first sight.
Sylvia, still shuddering, finally looked dreamily at the nugget clutched in her hand, now consciously aware of the source of the warmth filling her with glory. While it had always felt firm to Bree even with her massive strength, when Sylvia cupped her hands together around it she squashed the nugget into blistering hot ooze in an instant. She ground her palms together, spreading the molten metal evenly across her hands before rubbing it into her mountainous breasts like pearl-white skin cream. Her fingers lingered on her cherry-sized and cherry-red nipples as she rubbed in the thick white droplets and then continued flicking and teasing them. Sylvia's eyes narrowed, intent on absorbing every last molecule of the fictionite into herself, but also shaken by the overwhelming intensity of the pleasure flooding through her from her Kryptonian super-hooters. Then what she'd just done hit her: she'd just bathed them in molten metal! Could she be any hotter? Pun totally intended.
MMMMMMmmmm! the naked supergirl purred like a cat crossed with a jet engine as she worshiped her own tits. Kneading them like loaves of bread, shaking them side to side just to laugh at how long it took for them to stop swishing back and forth, finally lifting them to her lips where her long pink tongue could tease first one engorged nipple then the other, tasting herself. Bree and Sophie had front row seats to watch the sizzling metal dissolve into her flawless skin, giving off hundreds if not thousands of times the power they’d received as the energy being released flowed into the template laid out by her deepest desires as clear and pure as diamonds. Diamonds she knew would crack and splinter against the softest bits of her Kryptonian hardbody when she cupped piles of them in her hands and ground them against her tits. Just... like... this... She ground her palms deep into her breasts, crushing the imaginary diamonds into dust against the bulging pillows. Her mouth dropped open in a silent cry and an inner glow of silver-white light could be seen through the soft 'O' of her pink lips. The fires of transformation raging inside her. The nugget had vanished entirely into her flesh, giving everything of itself. Warping and bending the world around it, fulfilling Sylvia's thirst to match or even exceed Power Girl’s every fictional ability and make them real! To make them Hers!
Bree and Sophie had gotten what they needed and wanted respectively. Sylvia was getting everything she dreamed. They were witnessing the birth of a literal Goddess in their living room: their nerdish flatmate reincarnated as the Last Ultra-Babe of Krypton in her own ongoing NSFW series! Her hands slapped against the inside of her knees with a clap like thunder and she spread her legs wider, moaning again as she opened herself to their hungry gazes. Silver light leaked even from her pussy, almost as if to say, 'see? I'm super there too!'
It was kinda hawt.
They watched mesmerized as their roommate-gone-Goddess worked herself up to another incomprehensibly powerful orgasm. She saw herself flying to the guy's dorms night after night for months to come, prying open a window sash chosen at random still stories above the ground, slipping silently inside so her awesome silhouette was backlit in the half-light of the streetlights far below. They'd wake from their beds to discover her hanging weightlessly over them, her breasts just tickling their chests. "Hi. We're gonna fuck now." She'd announce matter-of-factly in her American accent before they became twisted into a single grunting mass. She'd ride them pressed against every wall and even make out on the celling. Jocks and virgins, timid and bold all falling into her, unable to resist and not even trying. She'd ravish each young stud completely before vanishing into back into their dreams. ...Ok. Maybe two a night. Or three... It was a big campus after all and she certainly had the energy.
Sylvia squealed and squirmed, becoming an urban legend in her mind, the bestest kind of "alien abduction". Millions of men desperate for her attentions, standing with pant's bulging before world maps that tracked the sightings, recorded the slow expansion of her hunting grounds to global proportions. No hunk or nerd on Earth was safe from her now!
Back in the real world, steam rose from her body and the glass around her softened and even started to melt as long graceful fingers moved on from her up thrust breasts to explore and then service her every erogenous zone, moving faster and faster until they became fondling blurs. Sylvia's hips bucked wildly as the blurs began to focus between her thighs. She was plunging into herself at several times the speed of sound, creating muffled sonic booms inside her vagina (which feels even better than it sounds, if you're Sylvia). The orgasmic rumblings spread as she became the epicenter of another unintentional earthquake. Her shivering muscular buttocks chewed through wood and concrete alike while the last remains of her costume burnt away like flash paper. The quivering, wordless cries became quieter but even more unbearably sexy as Sylvia discovered and then mastered level after level of divine pleasure only a goddess like her could achieve. She would have destroyed the whole house and much of the surrounding block if her control hadn't finally started to catch up with her power.
"ya? ...Ya? ...YAH? Is there any more?" she cried out in the thrumming voice of a God. "Can anyone be more? ...ohh... I can. Yes! I CAN! ...yesss! I CAN BE MORE! I... can be.... AAAAAALLLL!" Her flatmates went down together, writhing at the mere sound as Sylvia explored new realms of mega-ecstasy that had opened up to her still-growing supersenses, her superspeed compressing weeks and months of fiery orgasmic pleasure into moments. She was vast and glorious.
The eyes of a Goddess snapped open, twin threads of furious red-gold light leaking from them, lancing through their roof and out into space as Sylvia came like a supernova at last, every cell in her body an engine both creating and experiencing pleasure. A blast that would have shattered the world if it hadn't all been so neatly contained within the package of Sylvia's wonderfully touchable skin. The stellar cataclysm within the silken glove.
"ooooohhhh..." She sighed at merely mortal volume this time. "That was nice." At least for certain values of nice that might include infinity. Sylvia had changed fundamentally, recreated herself as something new and bright. A sweet and generous young woman who only happened to also be a GOD. But inside her was a shimmering galaxy. 'A galaxy inside me...' That was a good metaphor for her power, Sylvia thought.
Satisfied... for now... the nubile Goddess rose from the shallow crater she'd dug with her every twisting, thrashing spasm. She didn't just stand up. Sylvia flew into the air, gravity no longer able to ensnare her divine flesh. Floating in the center of the room she stretched and flexed, spreading her legs wide and running her slender hands over every part of herself. She marveled at and relished the long lines of her perfection. Lines adorned with enough muscular heft to finally bring balance to the big-as-her-head superbreasts that had started it all. In fact, she might have overdone it a little. Toes dangling a foot above the floor, she pinched one of her Nipples of Steel and shivered uncontrollably. A little? Maybe a lot. She decided she'd just have to live with being slightly non-canon. A more lusty XXX Power Girl. Sylvia's glorious figure was that of the very best adult fan art brought to life. The product of an artist with no shame in their love of her voluptuousness, her strength, her primal beauty.
She squeezed harder (an extremely relative term for her) and a little lightning storm of pleasure crackled in the back of her skull. First the lighting, then the thunder, right? Every spark was an orgasm waiting to happen if she would only concentrate on it, sink down into it and lose herself. Ecstasy on demand. Yeah, this grown-up version of Kara definitely had advantages over the comic book version. Namely she was going to have sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Her roomies came out from behind the couch, looking rather disheveled after their own bout of sympathetically induced heavy petting. Fragile little Sophie was gonna have to be careful hanging around two girls who could pop the top off a tank like opening a can of soda. One of Sylvia's pinkies curled and twitched. *pop* she thought, seeing the turret sailing hundreds of feet away in her mind's eye. One pinky.
Sylvia smiled down at them over her massive tits without the slightest bit of modesty at their stares. 'Let 'em look' she thought with pride. She'd finally nailed the silhouette she'd been chasing all damn day. She was PERFECT. She flew down and hugged them both to her ample chest, her feet still never touching the floor. “Way better than a puppy,” she announced, planting a sisterly kiss on each of their foreheads. Her new voice was resonant with deeply feminine mystery, tempered by carnal experience beyond mortal imaginings.
“What?” Sophie asked confused. She was in awe, but dared to lean in and nuzzle her cheek against her floating friend’s breast anyway. So soft... so strong... so beautiful.
Bree gave her a funny look too, then wriggled out of Sylvia's grip with surprising strength of her own.
“Oh, nothing.” Sylvia cupped the breast not being rubbed by Sophie's face and lifted it for emphasis. “I like what you had to show me.” she said to Bree, dead panning her infinite gratitude as if maybe they'd brought home some new plates and bowls for the shared kitchen. Sylvia couldn’t resist squeezing her epic mound gently while Sophie attacked the other with greater enthusiasm if less effect. Fuck! That was a feeling that wasn’t going to get old before the heat death of the universe.
She looked at them both again more carefully. “Looks like you definitely took a taste too...”
“Not like you!” Sophie cried out in rapture before burying her face in cleavage again. She didn't seem to mind Sylvia's good fortune at all.
“A bit.” Bree smiled, before she picked up her broken TV with both hands and crushed it into a golf ball.
Sylvia pried Sophie off gently but firmly and set her back a step. “Well, as much as I’d like to stay home and finish wrecking the place with wild uncontrolled sex, I’ve got a masquerade to go to.” ‘...and a certain Gina to watch choke,’ she thought to herself. Then her eyes went wide.
“You should totally come!”
Sophie squealed with glee and would have launched herself at Sylvia again if Sylvia hadn't laid a palm against Sophie's forehead holding her at arm's length like an over-anxious 4 year-old.. "Well I assume that's one 'yes'."
Bree shook her head. “You know that’s not my thing, Syl...”
“Ah, come on, Bree. You’ll make a great Jessica Jones to Sophie’s Black Widow. Look at her, she's made for it.” Sylvia smiled.
Bree had watched that show at Sylvia’s insistence. The superstrong PI had kinda kicked ass. And she'd love to find a hunk to play Luke Cage for her. 'Black Widow' she only knew from the movies, but Sophie certainly would look the part.
“Maybe.” 'It could be fun? Just once?' she thought to herself.
Sylvia put some of the lusty moaning back in her tone. “I’ll make it up to yoooouu...” At which point the already overstimulated Sophie collapsed to her knees.
“Fine! Fine...” Bree grimaced, trying not to cum on the spot as Sylvia’s sexy-voice licked more than just her ear. She wondered if that was really one of Power Girl's powers in the comics? She had the feeling somewhere along the line Sylvia had cheated.
“Great!” Suddenly Sylvia was gone and most of the house seemed to blur. A random, wild wind tugged at Sophie’s strawberry-blonde hair and the house flickered around them in a sort of 3D time lapse.
When Sylvia re-solidified almost two minutes later the whole flat had been tidied up, there was cardboard cut to shape and taped over the windows, and she held out hand sewn costumes for each of them (hand worked, because there was no way her machine could keep up with her now). The floor was still a write off, but she'd have to learn carpentry before she could fix that or the crazy squiggle she'd burnt through the ceiling. Sylvia was now clad in a glistening long white dress trimmed in gold with a matching white scarf draped across her arms. something like a gold '8' was centered high on her chest, outlining two broad openings that revealed an awful lot of her curvaceous and silky skin beneath.
“Th-that’s a Power Girl costume?” Bree asked, unable to look away from rise and fall of bare flesh peeking through the cutouts. You could hide an entire Christmas pudding in the deep cleavage Sylvia had on display. Sophie pounced on her new clothes and raced off to her room to change.
Sylvia rolled her beautiful pale blue eyes, then raised her arms in a double bicep curl that tensed her bare arms and lifted her breasts, just about launching them over the top of the low-cut dress. “Adam Hughes, you heathen! I want to wow the judges, not give them heart attacks.”
"I'm thinking that's still a possibility..." Bree muttered. Sylvia heard her perfectly, of course, and laughed with her.
Sylvia looked down at herself. "Really, I should have gone with this one in the first place." ignoring the fact it showed off even more bare breast than the traditional keyhole leotard had. "So elegant..." she said softly, her dress starting to tent over her stiffening nipples. Sylvia vanished and her door slammed shut. There was another earth tremor before she reappeared in front of Bree, not a hair out of place and her dress strategically reinforced at the bust against further wardrobe failures.
"Heehee." she said timidly, her face flushed and knowing Bree wasn't fooled for a second.
"Think that's gonna keep happening a lot? We may need better insurance..."
"Fuck, I hope so." Sylvia stretched luxuriously after her little bit of exercise, floating right up off the ground again languidly. "Best. Day. Ever."
Bree had to agree. Sylvia vanished again and this time the front door flew open with a bang. Bree heard the distant thunder of multiple sonic booms from high over the city before Sylvia reappeared, panting hard this time like she'd finally had a real workout. Whatever she was doing up there, she was getting better at it as she settled in to her new body. Bree laughed at Sylvia again, who only blushed deeper.
"Well, you'd better learn to share after you used up all of my fictionite like that..." She hmmphed softly like it was nothing more than a minor dispute over who ate the last of the peanut butter.
Sylvia looked at her impishly. "That seems fair." she said as she slid up to Bree and started rubbing her whole body against her. "I'll share as much as you want... as much as you can stand..." She knelt down and tore the crotch out of Bree's pants with a quick nip of her teeth. "Say when..."
Seconds later Bree realized as strong as she was, she wasn't even as firm as jelly before Sylvia's lascivious probing. Her knees buckled but she didn't fall, her entire weight held up on something hot and wet and so very strong. Powerful arms slid up between her knees, smooth hands cupping Bree's buttocks as the unyielding span of Sylvia's shoulders pried her legs wide open so Sylvia could plunge the long pink cone of irresistible muscle that was her tongue deeper into Bree's cleft. Sylvia began to flick and churn insider her, ramping up from the slow and tentative exploration of her first time eating pussy all the way up to almost hypersonic frequencies as she got the hang of it Power Girl-style. In return Bree clamped down on her with the second most powerful muscles in the world, finally able to exert herself to the fullest against something that didn't have to yield. Her resistance only inspired Sylvia to greater efforts. Bree was lifted up by a hurricane of licking, nuzzling, and fondling as Sylvia fucked her from every direction at once. The sensations as the ever-so-imaginative Sylvia invented all-new super-girl-on-girl techniques one after another... it all came together to hit her so hard she couldn't even breathe. Bree's last thought as she blacked out in orgasmic pleasure was 'I should have read more comics...'
She came to already dressed as Jessica Jones. She even had a long dark wig on. Sophie was kneeling next to her watching over her in a splendid Black Widow outfit. She had a flush to her skin that said she might have had some fun of her own too while Bree was out cold. More of Sylvia's sharing. She'd always been generous to a fault.
Still laying on her back, Bree raised her arm like a student in class with a question. "When." She announced. Sylvia burst into laughter from somewhere over her shoulder. "I'll go slower next time."
Sophie smiled dreamily. "Faster for me, thanks. And longer. ...And higher."
As Bree clambered back to her feet, Sylvia asked, “all set?” Her loins were still achy from her super roomie's attentions, but overall she felt pretty good. Strong, confident, and sexy, even in the company of her two bombshell buddies. It was still Bree's best day ever even if Sylvia had gotten the grandest of grand prizes.
Seeing all was in order Sylvia announced, “Then it’s party time! And we’re traveling in style!” They shuffled outside, locking the door like ordinary people out for an evening. Then Sylvia scooped them up in her smoothly muscled arms and launched into the sky. Sophie didn't stop screaming out her joy as they flew a hundred times higher than she had in the alley less than an hour ago. This time Bree let her as they wooshed over block after block, people looking up in confusion and growing amazement at the costumed trio. They couldn't really have just seen that, could they?
Finally Sylvia couldn't stand it any more, the girlish cries of glee setting her own body quivering.
"Ok, I was going to save this for later..." She tossed the both up into the air. Then she was rising with them, her top untied and her whole bare chest on display. As sure and graceful as a juggler she caught each of them in the crook of an arm and pressed their faces to her breasts as they continued to rise.
Bree took about a second and a half of coaxing, before she relaxed and started to suckle. Sophie of course didn't hesitate. So it was a hiss of genuine surprise that escaped between Sylvia's teeth when it was Bree's hand that slipped through the long slit on the side of her dress and inserted itself in her like a plug in a wall socket. Only Sylvia was the lamp that got switched on as the pad of Bree's thumb ground against her clit with a force she'd despaired of ever feeling again without doing it herself. She felt Bree's lips leave her for a moment, to whisper so softly only a person with superhearing could make it out: "Say when..."
Sylvia's head snapped from side to side, her mouth open in a silent cry as her friends simultaneously sucked her Supertits. She came instantly, filled not just with the awareness of every crease and ridge of their lips locked on her big nipples, but with the pleasure of giving as she felt the tiniest bit of the galaxy of silver light inside her flow into them both, the last traces of fictionite stirring with very different results.
Bree hung heavier even in Sylvia's all-powerful grip, becoming stronger, denser... more concentrated. A mountain in the form of a young woman. Integrated. Unstoppable.
Sophie's toes curled, and then her knees, rising like she had a thousand balloons tied to her ankles until they pulled her whole body up to the horizontal, level with Sylvia's chest. Sylvia let go and Sophie hung there still, spreading her arms wide like and airplane. Flying under her own power now and moored to Sylvia only by her sucking lips. She started to hum, making muffled plane noises that softly tickled Sylvia's chest. Her pleasure multiplied and grew, her body subtly tightening, growing more super by the moment as she continued to suck. The resulting unchecked orgasms rolling through her had her face gently butting against Sylvia's round tit. She could fly! She could fucking FLY!!
Soon they were underway again, cutting across the evening sky in a line. Bree hung in the center now, outstretched arms clasping hands with the other two. Sylvia used her free hand to do up her top again. Even so, the feel of the wind over her bare chest had been so delicious she knew she'd go flying naked again soon. ...through a star. Sylvia was just that kind of Power Girl and this was still just the first and very best day!
Hours later Bree reluctantly had to agree costume parties were good fun. At least they were when you secretly had real superpowers! She was a bit surprised Sylvia asked her not to show off her strength. She was keeping her abilities on the down low too. "It wouldn't be fair, at least until after the contest is over." Sylvia's definition of fair seemed a bit flexible to Bree considering how quickly their outfits had sprung into existence, but she didn't quibble. In fact, hiding her massive strength as she danced in a crowd was a brilliant game. 'Maybe that was why 'secret identities' were such a thing?' she wondered.
Once the voting was done, a certain sow-like Gina got to spend the rest of the evening looking scandalized: Sylvia had won best costume by universal acclaim, with Sophie taking second and Bree third. A clean sweep for Sylvia's creations. And really, no one had ever seen a better Power Girl. Sylvia's victory smile was so radiant some of the men actually looked at her face. Occasionally.
Seeing how these things were done now, Sophie insisted that next time she be Supergirl to go with Sylvia's Power Girl. And that they do a skit... so she could show off her powers just enough to make the judges wonder... Sylvia didn't see how she could say 'no', shaking her head and smiling. She'd created a cosplay monster.
At the end of the party, award plaques in hand, the trio slipped away without anyone the wiser how right they were about Sylvia being the Best. Power Girl. Ever.
- SWM - Senior
- Posts: 301
- Thank you received: 413
Honestly that was a great read. I'd love to see more of the trio exploits. Man you've realy been firing on all cylinders lately, hitting one out of the park after another.
- SWM - Junior
- Posts: 251
- Thank you received: 46
B.D.E. built off of a couple pleasing gags (the thunder/lighting confusion at the beginning was really why I started writing it down at all). It's also just about 100% plot free, which gives it fewer hooks to hang from . Really, there's only sex and jokes simmering in this pot and sometimes that leaves the soup a little thin for me. I liked the slight element of bait-and-switch that it starts with an ubergirl, hero of her own story, but then things escalate madly. Surprise! But initially Sylvia's transformation was... routine.
I'm probably over 30 hard 'read-through's into it now, trying to punch it up or sanding down bits that don't sound right in my ear (and fuck me blue, the typos, they're everywhere!). One problem with my prolific phases is I remember what I've written lately. And since one of the rules ground into me somewhere along the line is don't repeat yourself (unless specifically evoking echoes) I start getting boxed in not just by that story but by all those others too. I don't want to cut-and-paste Ella, even by accident, no matter how much I enjoyed her little upwelling . So the initial draft was pretty brief. All the little quirks I could think of in the moment.
As frustrating as typo hunts are, the re-writing is definitely where this story started to perk up. It's taken a few days for it to take on a more pleasing heft. Emphasizing the initial awkwardness of a wish poorly thought out. Letting Sylvia exercise her imagination more even while the core process had pretty much only one destination all along. Giving the roomies a few more moments in the (silver-white) sun.
I will point out the two things in it I enjoy the most. They'll probably reveal me for the oddball I am, but here they are .
Sophie gestured she wanted to look at it again and Bree passed it over.
That's just about pure "AuGoose" right there. I love non-verbal cues and non-verbal communication. A two-way exchange with no words at all. Score! Watching how people move and communicate is fascinating to me because I -don't- have an instinctive sense for it. If you want to see AuGoose spazzing out, just watch me watching television -- So. Damn. Often. I see actors and not characters because they're saying "Trust me" or "This is what happened" and they are shaking their heads in negation. The mouth says 'yes' and the rest of the body screams at me 'not even a little bit'. Because they're acting. Lying. That kind of mismatch drives me into a frenzy. One that occasionally makes me do or say stupid shit all out of proportion. Things I'm still apologizing for . Other people enjoy the show just fine. It's idiosyncratic to me. I'm the point of failure in the exchange.
The other highlight of B.D.E. for me is the gag I'm most proud of. "Say when..." "When." Mostly because it was unplanned, revealing itself mid-way through the edits. The lead in is just Sylvia's verbal style. A mix of mischievous and thoughtful. The counter bubbling up organically from Bree's more subdued wit. It's always great when even a little bit of a story writes itself, but when the jokes write themselves even the author gets to honestly laugh. A nice pay off for hours toiling in the word-mines .
Grayface wrote: I'd love to see more of the trio exploits.
...That's always tricky. In part because that begins to get into world building, which is exercising a very different skill set and appeals to a very different sensibility. By request I took up a continuation for Kneel Before Zoe, and while I'm pleased with the results, sometimes I think it was a mistake to do so. I'm not sure folks actually want to see an evil supergirl the way I would explore the concept (a nagging doubt as I continue to scribble down notes for The Last Bouquet). As described in other recent threads on the process of uberfication, the sweet honeymoon phase the characters experience is reflected in the audience. It is a tough act to follow, and hats off to those who take up that gauntlet.
I've got a couple of time consuming projects coming up for the next few days, so I'm not expecting to get much writing in. Expect me when you see me . And thanks again.
Update: A quick shout out to Red Five for his able assistance in localization for Best. Day. Ever. Thanks!
...So, my first piece of DC erotic fanfic. Odd.
She was arching her back, accentuating her breasts. “Notice anything different?” She wheedled. She’d known how to push his buttons almost from the moment she’d arrived on Earth as a teenager. The years had made her a young woman, but she’d never lost that infuriatingly bubbly spirit. Or that ability to get under his cowl with her carefree attitude.
“I see you’ve gained 3mm at the bust line.” He said automatically, having observed and catalogued that fact reflexively. Then the importance the question -- and answer -- had for her struck him. “Congratulations,” he added sincerely, if not warmly.
“I know! Its great. Karen’s teaching me.” She rolled her shoulders back, lifting her quite lovely curves right in his face. Actually she had to leave the ground and rise 7 inches to really fill his field of view, but she could do that too. Super. Girl.
He stepped around her smoothly, still intent on getting a meal. Then what she’d said hit him. “Teaching you... what? Exactly?”
“Duh,” she said, thrilled to know anything he didn’t.
“Don’t gloat, Kara.” Power Girl called out from inside the large room. “He couldn’t know. And let the man eat. He’s got monitor duty in an hour.” While she was ‘Kara’ too, she’d always allowed the younger twin to use the name when they were together, sticking with Karen.
“...He’s gonna need it” she added, cryptically.
Batman began loading a plate from the steam table at the side of the hall. They had a chef for the designated meal times, but there was always hot food on hand. The life of a global champion didn’t always stick to a clock. The mass of meat, carbs, and grease would have killed most men, but he had a rather active lifestyle helping him burn it off.
He sat down with Power Girl, who also had an alarmingly hearty platter in front of her. But like every other part of her life, she attacked it with gusto. Between mouthfuls she explained.
“Kara wanted to figure out why we’re so different. Emphasis on the ‘figure’ part.” she joked.
He only nodded, still chewing. She smirked at Batman. Their “differences” were something of a running gag world-wide. Most people didn’t even know they were actually dimensional twins.
“We’re different ages of course, vagaries of the phantom zone. But by our best guess I’m only 3 years older... but at her age I wasn’t nearly as...”
“You can say it: flat. Scrawny.” Supergirl said while picking at a salad. She looked at the lettuce as if it might be the culprit.
“I’d have said ‘trim’, dear.” She put a hand on her smaller ‘sister’s head and ruffled her longer hair fondly. Letting it grow out like that was something she’d never been able to master.
Batman held in a smirk. Kara was anything but flat or scrawny. She was a beautiful young woman in her own right. Athletic and well-formed. Along with being one of the three most incredibly powerful aliens on Earth. Those words fit her poorly in any context save one: standing next to Karen. But since Karen’s arrival from a parallel world, Kara had been in her company weekly, often daily, and the comparisons had to weigh on her. Doubly so after they’d confirmed she was another Kara-el, identical right down to her DNA. Just... bigger.
“So that’s not it.” Kara went on. “We started comparing other things. Little stuff. It took us a few days to suss it out...”
Bats resisted the urge to ask, masking his growing curiosity behind another mouthful of meat. She’d tell him anyway.
“Turns out her version of our mother hadn’t gotten around to telling her about the ‘Birinees and the Buzzles’ before sending her off.” Karen explained with a flourish.
He suppressed a smile with long practice. It still amazed him how even on worlds half a galaxy apart, certain turns of phrase seemed almost universal. Though Clark’s description of Kryptonian reproductive practices had sounded rather more... sterile.
In a flicker, Supergirl was suddenly between them, rubbing her chest against Power Girl’s, making the comparison more than obvious. Karen kept on eating like she'd hardly noticed the sudden closeness that was pretty much the definition of lascivious. It was a reminder to Bruce that the two of them really did have a genuinely alien sense of personal space. Unlike Clark, they’d been raised in an entirely different culture, one literally not-of-this-Earth.
“I’m not getting enough sex.” Supergirl summarized.
That made him choke and sputter on the hunk of meat he was chewing. A sight so rare Supergirl immediately burst into laughter, having had no idea her many powers included the ability to make the Dark Knight blush. Then the realization she DID have some small power over him brought a flush to her cheeks.
Karen reached around Supergirl and thumped him on the back gently as he coughed up the half-chewed morsel. “I have sex every day, of course. But that’s just maintenance for me. I could get bigger with a real push.” She turned to face Supergirl. “So could you, naturally. Same genes, after all.”
“B-bigger?” Supergirl stammered, surprised by this new revelation.
“Sure. And don’t worry: I won’t mind. You probably should try it, at least for a little while so you can decide on where you want to settle at.” She leered at them both. “Make an informed decision. You might like ‘em HYOOGE. Its not like we’d get back pains here on Earth...”
‘This has to stop,’ Batman decided. It was cruel. “Karen, stop teasing her. Sex does NOT make your breasts grow. That’s just an urban myth.”
Karen corrected him. “It’s not a myth on Krypton. We’re more evolved than humans, Bruce. Our bodies respond to the demands we place on them. Kal would never be as strong as he is without all the fighting. He rises to the occasion. You must have seen that pattern. But it extends to more than just muscle for us. So these-” She hefted her world famous bosom, “-are like your muscles. If you train, they get bigger. Same for us. Hips too. If we’re reproductively active, we get more reproductively ready. And if we work out harder...
“...They get bigger!” Kara finished, all smiles. She was practically in his lap now. She cupped her own pleasant but hardly large assets. “That’s the difference! Compared to her? I’m a couch potato.” She added plaintively “Mom didn’t tell meee anything. ...And Kal hasn’t said a word...”
Karen smiled. “He probably doesn’t know, dear. He was only a baby. And he’s a guy. Its not like he grew up around Kryptonian girls...” She rolled her eyes. Lois was a lucky lady, but Kal really should have had more time to explore his heritage before settling down.
“But he’s got all the files. In the Fortress.” Kara insisted, half-certain that somehow this had all been a conspiracy against her.
Batman added, “Clark said that Krypton had moved beyond natural selection and biological maternity. That your babies were designed and gestated in exo-wombs.”
“You’re a detective, Bruce. Do you usually listen to one guy’s side of things and assume that’s the whole story? Probably a quarter of Krypton still had babies the same way as they do here right up to the last day." She gestured down at herself, then rubbed her hands over her broad powerful hips. "You think I can't have a baby with hips like these? And just about everybody still enjoyed intimacy. Its Sex, Bruce. We’re not neutered drones. Jor was like the high priest of the ‘no-touchie’ faction. There may be a teensy, tiny bit of bias in the reading library he sent on with his son...”
Kara giggled, “He always did seem a little stiff. Mom used to tease him but I never knew why before...” She reached out and wiped a bit of gravy off Bats' lips, before sucking it off her finger. It might have looked like she was teasing him, but he recognized she was still working up her own courage for something more direct...
He looked sternly at Power Girl, trying to head off the likely consequences of Kara’s growing confidence... and assertiveness. “Can she... Can she address the matter in private?” While Karen had obviously tended to her affairs with more discretion than he’d realized she was capable of, Kara the Younger would be the focus of world-wide objectification if word got out she was... active. About to be Highly active by the sound of it. Hell, there’ be lines forming to help her 'exercise'.
“On Krypton, sure. There’d be alternatives. They call them Buzzles for a reason. And certain ointments. But nothing that can be reproduced here. No, it needs to be with men. Or women, I suppose. And given her complete inexperience, partners in peak physical condition, at least for the first few months. Know anyone like that around here?"
She couldn’t be suggesting...?
Karen's eyes narrowed, her pupils dilating slightly and her own long nipples beginning to live up to the moniker "maid of steel" as she remembered her own earliest conquests. "Its a safety thing, Bruce. She will break anyone less than fully prepared. I know I did the first few times.” The words wore almost husky now.
A small smile crossed his face faster than he could suppress it. Just a flutter of his firm lips. Somewhere, somewhere an unsuspecting young man had slipped between the sheets with a much more slender teenaged Karen... turned out the lights... and discovered he'd have been better off finding an actual Bengal Tiger in the bed.
Seeing only the smallest cracks his entirely predictable reluctance, she switched to another tact.
“Come on Bats, you have to know, intellectually at least, that every minute of every day, somewhere in the world there’s a woman pleasuring herself thinking of you. 24/7. Those replica Batman costumes people sell or make, those aren’t just for Halloween. They’re for the bedroom, more often than not. You're... iconic.
Batman nodded, grudgingly. He’d looked into the trend, but had put it the on a mental shelf, irrelevant to his mission. Uncertain what to do about it other than see that the royalties went to worthy charities.
“The odds of a woman thinking of you, they go way up when they’ve seen the Bat in person. And again if the Bat has spoken to them, more if you've saved them... again if trained them.”
It was maybe the first time she’d ever seen him squirm, so tiny you’d have missed it without super-vision.
“So is it really such a surprise Kara’s one of them?”
His eyes widened inside the cowl, just the slightest bit. “No...”
“I’ve heard her, Bruce. How do you think she got those 3mm this week? It was fantasizing about you as she limbered up. You’re the second most powerful man in her world, Bruce. The tall dark and handsome gravelly voice of experience. You’re also maybe the only man she’s ever met or will meet that knowing the full extent of her power -- really understanding what she could do -- still isn’t intimidated by her. Hand her off to Grayson if you must, they’ll make a cute couple. But the first time? Its gonna be you.”
“It really is,” Supergirl announced, reminding them that no amount of whispering would actually keep their conversation private. Then she was in his chair with him, pressed so tight she was tearing gouges into the armor covering his chest with her achingly perky breasts as she moved up and down against him. State of the art alloys vs. her super nipples was no contest at all, though she liked the way it tickled and the way it made him pant for her. She was irresistible and she damn well knew it.
He grabbed her slender wrists, straining to pry her off with moves that would have sent Killer Croc flying in a howl of pain. She ignored him, peeling apart the heavy armored pads she’d already shredded, revealing his broad chest. Her own top had vanished somewhere during the process and he'd never seen her move.
She licked him from the base of his sternum to the hollow between his collar bone and neck before looking him closely in the eye, scanning his reactions with the precision of a polygraph -- a skill he'd taught her. “Don’t you want me to grow? To be a big girl now? Karen says is pretty fast if you’re aroused enough." She snuggled closer, pressing her breasts into his chest. “...I’m. Very. Aroused. In fact I think I feel it starting...”
He didn't need to look down to know she was right: he could feel it. But he glanced at the swell of her breasts anyway, impressed by their softness despite their ability to shed bullets. But she wanted him to be sure, so she pulled his hands to her chest. It was almost comical, how much smaller and weaker she looked while controlling his every movement with absolute ease. Millions of times stronger than him. Super. Girl.
She licked her lips and coo’d when he didn’t let go. Karen had promised it would feel good but this...!
She tore his sleeves off next, ripping down from the shoulder seams. “You can squeeze harder. ...Harder! You can’t hurt me Bats. Not my body anyway. But you’ll hurt my feelings if you keep saying ‘no’." She felt his hands tighten. Rao! He was so puny, and yet it felt so good. Her whole body shivered. She could feel her metabolism ramping up in a way that catching bank robbers or punching through asteroids had never gotten her pumped. "I want you. I’ve always wanted you...”
'...You and her big tits' Kara silently amended to herself, arching her back even more. Lucky her: they were a package deal!
He managed to stand, but only because she allowed it. He started to back away, but Power Girl appeared behind him, pinning him in place with her immovable closeness. She whispered in his ear “She’s of age, Bats. Here and on Krypton. And she can make her own choices. Hell, this time next year she’ll be drinking. I’ve already asked J’onzz to take your shift. You’re not getting out of this.”
He’d been right about the ambush, he just hadn’t realized it was Karen’s. Kara would never have been so bold if Karen hadn’t put her up to it. But now that she'd started, there'd be no stopping her. The dilation of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the blood engorging her lips and nipples. She was giving off every signal he knew. She was going to have him...
Kara turned her back to him and bent forward, a suspiciously convenient breeze flipped her red skirt up. Before her could get a good look at the rounded treasures beneath she was grinding her ass against his groin. “I’ll let you do anything to me... Anything. I want you to.” Her voice still so innocent, a girl mouthing the words without really knowing what they mean, no idea what 'anything' was code for. She clenched her butt cheeks, ripping the carbon fiber crotch out of his leggings with a single shrug of her rounded buttocks before she turned back to face him. She looked him deep in the eyes again before dropping to her knees before him.
“But after that, I’m gonna do everything I want to YOU!” When she said it, 'everything' was code for everything.
She took him in her mouth and started to suck. It wasn’t skillful, but it was certainly effective. It didn’t help Karen had wrapped her arms around his bare chest and was playing with his recently bared man-nipples like she knew a lot about teasing nipples. Hers were a pair of railroad spikes pressing into his back.
“My... Quarters.... Now.” He hissed through his teeth.
In a moment of sympathy for his dignity, Power Girl peeled Supergirl off of him and flew them both to his Spartan quarters in the blink of an eye. She even shut the door in deference to his human sensibilities. The humm of the Watchtower reactors dropped to less than a whisper. He had excellent sound proofing she realized, wondering what else he might have gotten up to in there.
Supergirl, now entirely naked, spread herself out on the bed, opening herself to him like a pale flower, its innermost petals pink with the hot blood pounding through her. Her clenched toes pointed like arrows at opposite walls of the room, her strong thighs spread wide enough to make even a cheerleader cry. Then unwilling to limit herself to Earth-girl levels of enticing, she floated three inches up off of the bed, defying artificial gravity as easily as she did the genuine article. She waited, offering herself and gazing at him longingly, but she wouldn’t wait long. The new hormones seething in her system wouldn't let her.
Still he held back. Pride more than any intellectual objection. In some ways pleased -- all of this was only happening because she trusted him. Trusted that he wouldn't ever hurt her...
Karen laid the heel of her palm against his tailbone fingers down, she slipped a finger into the crack of his ass, the last joint penetrating him with gentle but irresistible pressure. The tip of her finger vibrated inside him at the lowest note he could hear and in moments he was rock hard again, the muscles of his whole torso seizing with pleasure. Then using him like an oversized finger puppet, she slid him into Kara’s waiting loins.
The blonde sylph exploded into orgasm with the first plunge and Bats wasn’t far from doing the same. She grabbed her breasts and began mauling them, willing them to grow as she moaned, overcome by the feeling of his meat inside her at last. She came, and came, and came, and then sensing what it was doing to her body, to her TITS, she came again . Thankfully with her stamina, she could collide head-on with several million more orgasms and never need to stop. Super. Girl.
A small, detached part of Bruce’s mind duly noted Kara had already gained another 3mm. Fifteen seconds of coitus as effective as a week of masturbation, apparently. And as promised, her hips were widening. 'Remarkable, though early gains in any training regimen were often the greatest.' he thought, wrapping himself in cool logic as if he were watching the whole scene on a screen in the Batcave. A technique usually reserved for resisting torture. His body might be a cock-puppet in Karen's hands but his mind was his own. The Batman never gave in.
Power Girl’s lips were at his ear, whispering, “I’m not kidding Bats: you owe her. You owe her at least a dozen nights for your behavior when she first arrived. Make it right.” She continued to work his hips one handed while the slimmer Kara squealed in delight.
The older Kara felt his inconsequential but determined resistance fade. She’d gotten through to him. Obligation was something he understood. Reciprocity. He held up a commanding hand, signaling her to stop. He might be just a man and she a Kryptonian goddess, but even she ignored such instruction at her peril. This mortal had ended gods before. Karen trusted his gesture was simply a sign he'd become a willing partner and released him from her grip.
He slid sinuously out from between the cage of spectacular legs, slim and light, beefy and curvaceous. “We.” He slid off his gloves and began unbuckling his boots - all that was left of his costume now. “Will never speak of that again. The Batman is not a toy. Not even yours.” Naked now save for the iconic cowl, he reached into a closet, perfectly placed for maximum efficiency like everything in the stark room, and drew out a long black robe. It was like a piece of the night, without monogram or identification. Tens of thousands of dollars of the finest silk. An extraordinary extravagance for the relentless crusader and out of character with the grim warrior Karen knew him to be. Despite the color, it was something she’d never have guessed he owned. It seemed too soft, too decadent to belong to the Batman.
Draping it over his shoulders hid the worst of the scars on his arms and chest, while concealing nothing of the thickness of his broad pectorals, the cobbled power of his abdominals, or the flagpole-worthy length of his rigid penis, still slick with Kara's juices. He left the front open, untied.
Even Karen's breathing grew shallow at the sight. He was an awesome specimen of masculinity, an apex predator on a hundred different planets, she thought. The years and the wear only adding to his appeal. A worthy participant in her ‘little sister’s’ first real foray into Kryptonian womanhood. And what a first time it would be! Rao have mercy! Just the smells wafting off of Kara had her quivering. Kara's cells had to be fizzing, like deliberately shaking a can of soda before you opened it. At this rate no human was going to believe what she'd look like by tomorrow...
At last he slipped off the cowl, undoing even the most clever latches with long familiarity. A complex task that had cost many villains their consciousness and even their freedom for attempting.
He cast it to the ground, never taking his eyes off Kara. An ancient symbol of complete separation. And total commitment to the task at hand. If it had been a sword scabbard it would have signaled a duel to the death. He was that serious about what came next.
He ran his broad, powerful hands over his face, smirking briefly at the stubbly feel of the five o’clock shadow usually so completely concealed. For a moment he ruffled his cropped black hair, returning it to a more natural fall over his large skull. The most casual gesture Karen or Kara had ever seen him make. Even the legendary Batman got ‘cowl-hair’ it seemed.
In a flickering rearrangement in the tension of his facial muscles the years of wisdom, of mentorship, and hard-earned respect fell away and a softer, more pleasant man was revealed. A full grown man whose eyes still twinkled with boyish mischief. All but unrecognizable as being the same person despite the lantern jaw the two men shared.
“...However” A gentle, even kind voice went on. “I personally would like to apologize to you my dear. For past offenses. And to do everything in my power to bring out your... maximum potential. We have what? I’d say about 382 millimeters to go. We can try for another ten centimeters, right now. I mean, really make sure you have to throw out all your old bras, right? That is, if you're up for it.”
Kara just stared. Shocked beyond words. Was he... was he taunting her? "Oh, I'll SHOW YOU what I'm up for, buster!" she half-shouted, the fires in her loins burning hotter than ever now. 'Old bras' indeed! Like her puppies ever needed one to keep from sagging! She was gonna get so big she could drown that man in tit!
Power Girl snickered, watching Bruce throw Kara around with emotional judo as easily as he tossed most people with his hands. Then she realized he'd simultaneously been speaking to her, teasing that he’d eyeballed her bust to within a millimeter, maybe less. Rao's dangling nutsack! She KNEW Bruce had been ogling her same as the rest! The man just couldn’t resist showing off. He was working them both over, his revenge for her little challenge to his dignity. The bastard even smirked at her, having foreseen the exact moment she'd work it out. She growled. Now she wanted to fuck the smug out of him almost as bad as Kara was going to!
Then he was all over Kara, sprawled waiting on his bed, Bruce Wayne, the Billionaire Playboy truly in his element. His other life, something he sometimes neglected but never forgot. And in that life he certainly hadn’t overlooked the need to be a world class lover to support the rakish reputation: one of America’s most eligible and sought out bachelors. A life so unlike his dour alter ego... and far better equipped to render aid in this case.
Kara was in heaven. He was every bit as skilled as she’d imagined. More than she could have imagined, really. The things he was doing to her! As good as his willing and able dick felt inside her, what she concentrated on most was his hands. Those big paws of his, so quick and precise. She told him she was ready for 'anything', but she'd been so wrong! She accidentally burnt an arc up one wall and across the ceiling when he slipped two fingers there. And there. And --OOO!-- Yeah, there too.
For now his hand completely engulfed her breasts, but she knew, maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon he’d no longer be able to cover her breasts with them. Not even one of her great big beautiful tits using both hands if she had her way. She'd take him again and again until he made her a Superwoman...
As requested, Bruce Wayne fucked the "trim" and "slender" right out of Kara, working her body 14 kinds of hard. Techniques from the night clubs of L.A. to the heights of the Himalayas. It was a relentless pounding that would have broken the bones of even a strong woman like Talia. He was holding nothing back with a partner who was literally unbreakable. He slapped her ass hard enough to knock a man unconscious and couldn't even leave a palm print on her muscular white buttocks. He RAVAGED her creamy breasts, and she laughed as they only jiggled... And grew. He did his worst and it only made her better. Within minutes Kara was already looking more shapely, her hips betraying a new flare and an easy 10mm further around in the bust. He paused, as much to catch his breath as to allow her to do the same... only to find she went right on fucking him during his brief mental intermission. He realized just how focused he’d been in his duties: he’d entirely missed that Power Girl was hovering naked high in one corner of his bedroom, one breast to her mouth and the other hand attending to matters further south. Watching them rut with a kind of proud delight.
“Oh, I’m sorry. How rude.” His hips still rocking as Kara continued to apply her handful of simple moves. With an almost absentminded press of his palm into the hollow above her hips, he adjusted the youth's angle 2 degrees, always the mindful teacher. Kara went rigid, her eyes rolling back in her head at the sudden blast of sensation when the tip of his dick now plowed through her white-sun supercharged K-spot, indescribably more pleasurable than a young Earth woman's G-spot. Then she was moving again, a series of hard grunts bursting from her and covering half the room in frost.
At the same time Bruce reached out a gentlemanly hand as if to help Karen down from a high step. “Would you care to join us Karen?”
She reached out to take his proffered hand, not even bothering to wipe her juices from her own. He was about to get covered in them anyway. A super-lubricant unlike anything on Earth. “Why, Mr. Wayne... I thought you’d never ask...” She might enforce his repayment of debts owed as she saw them, but she’d never have imposed on him for her own gratification. It would be too easy for her to accidentally humble the human. But like a vampire invited across the threshold, she fell upon him with barely checked passion, her rising cries mingling with her twin's.
And that is how you make a Bat Sandwich.
Outside, Superman gently nudged the Watchtower back into its proper orbit. They were really going at it in there. At first he’d been scandalized listening in on their initial exchange in the dining hall from the shuttle bay. But he’d learned it was better to just trust the older Kara on matters of Kryptonian decorum... doubly so on ‘womanly issues’. There was no winning an argument with a woman who had changed your diapers. Truth be told, he’d never even heard of the ‘Birinees and the Buzzles’. He’d long come to suspect the there was a deliberate gap in the information contained in the files bequeathed to him in the Fortress of Solitude. No mention at all of sex, even historically. No... He was pretty sure Power Girl was right: his biological father had just been a complete prude. Certainly Pa Kent had shared a bawdy tale or two from his own teenage years. The man had been a wild stallion ‘til Ma had tamed him, to hear both them tell it.
Kal had gone outside hoping to respect their privacy (while also keeping the station from falling out of orbit as they bounced off the walls in a tangle). Even so, he could still feel their cries thrumming along the hull. J’onzz had just started laughing and hadn’t stopped as he’d taken over monitor duty. He’d made it very clear he thought Bruce had needed a good shagging more than even the normally timid Kara did. “The guy’s kinda... tense.”
With a boyish smile of his own, Clark resolved to get the elder version of his cousin to have a woman-to-woman chat with Lois. Who knew what surprises she might be able to pass along for the couple to share? Birinees and Buzzles indeed!
Update: Heh. Its only been up for minutes and it's already been eviscerated by the readers paying more attention than I did. Good eye, Lojack, and thanks! (I'll fix it after some TV binge-watching I've been promising myself for days )
Zoe floated in the water. Alone.
She often came back here in the stolen moments of her life. The black swans speaking among themselves from nearby but no longer welcoming her.
She let the water support her, not calling on her power to fly. She could still float in water so however her abilities worked, it wasn’t increased density. Zoe listened with her whole body, able to make out the shimmering patterns of ten thousand tiny ripples moving across the water, stirred by an erratic breeze. Keira had given her something special. A key that had unlocked many treasures. A debt still outstanding, and Zoe hated being in debt.
Zoe had it all now. Beauty, power, freedom. The satisfaction of her work. She fucked who she wanted. Took what she wanted. Ate where she wanted. And most of all kept a grip on her most important possession: her privacy.
Plus there was the fresh tingle of a possible romantic pursuit. Neil was so very cute...
It was super being super. She’d read the stories of course, the thousand fantasies of becoming super. The devastation that men and women wrought when they were freed from all restraint – including morality.
‘Why bother?’ she thought. That she could do any and all of those things for real now didn’t make her want to. Enslave the Earth? She didn’t have to have every cell re-written with Kryptonian DNA to think “Who fucking cares about ruling over a bunch of humans?” Only a human could be so self-centered as to think a real superbeing wanted to have a bunch of primates gazing up at her in fear and awe. She’d thought they were mostly detestable creatures long before Zod started raving in the darkest recesses of her mind. She might be idly curious what a city on fire smelled like but she was in no special rush to find out. If it was to be it would be. Super-strength? There wasn’t anything she wanted to turn over that she couldn’t have blown up before. No one she hated enough to murder she hadn’t done away with long before the night in the glass tube had made her a god. Humans and their tech were powerful enough to realize most of their fantasies already, it seemed. Zoe had realized her fantasies through that power. And while flying had been great at first, at the end of the day being surrounded by miles of empty air was actually pretty boring. She might crave solitude but she wasn’t willing to exile herself into the sky to get it. Only the destination matters when the journey to almost anywhere was only a matter of minutes for her now.
And superspeed... while she could accomplish the work of hours in moments she still had to actually do it, endure every moment of the drudgery in perfect inescapable awareness. Time didn’t go any faster to her: it was still an hour’s worth of mundane crap. She thought the ability to make an hour go by faster might be more useful, really. Because for the things she did want from life she still had to wait. You did not microwave the perfect meal. It took time. Time and skills she didn’t have. Like everyone else in the dining room she had to wait. (Though waiters that deliberately delayed her usually ended up a thin smear across a nearby building- she’d learned the hard way it was better to take them outside first...)’
She was just feeling bitter, and she knew it. Flying was amazing when she just did it for the pleasure of feeling 500 mile an hour winds trying to carve into her indestructible flesh. Super-speed allowed her to pull off countless vicious pranks and remain the innocent observer. She’d been shot, stabbed and crushed (to no effect) enough times to know she’d far outlived her unenhanced life expectancy as a top shelf agent. If there was anything wrong with her powers it was her. And the nagging possibilities of what came next. Where was Professor Ames's body...?
Human technology and specifically the new quantum sorcery... That was the real problem now. She had channeled a 75 year old myth though a few billion dollars worth of computers and come out... well, like this. Divine by any reasonable standard. But the most important part of any superhero’s origin is that it be unique. Irreproducible. Even a Million-to-One shot was too easy on a planet of 7 billion people.
Her origin was not nearly unique enough.
So she’d spent the last year hammering down any nails that looked like they were even close to sticking up and catching hold of the secret of her creation. And as powerful as she was she couldn’t just fly in and wreck them thereby proving they were on to something. No, she had to infiltrate, sabotage, ruin through seeming accident, corruption, or incompetence.
It had given her a lot to do. And a lot of pleasure doing it. Using her power when needed, but not exclusively. Neither the first nor last arrow in Agent Drew’s deadly quiver. There was no honor and even less glory in winning a table so slanted it might as well have been laying on its side. Her powers were a safety net, but calling on them meant she’d lost one of the few games left to her.
But the good times couldn’t last. She’d miss one eventually and then she’d be up to her ass fighting some kind of Thor or Susano-O or even another comic book character come to life. Fanboys often pitted characters from different stories against each other. Unlike the times when publishers dabbled in such fare, the more realistic clashes were short and one-sided. She had no desire to pit herself against some Maxwell Lord analog - the stories she inherited her powers from were quite clear on her vulnerability to mind control. And magic.
Or maybe some completely unexpected super-being would rise to challenge Zoe, slap her away as effortlessly as she might swat a bug. So many of the old legends spoke of the old gods being supplanted by the new. Like the old gods, she'd unexpectedly proven capable of passing on her gifts. The media had dubbed them "Furies". Women exposed to the Kryptonian hormones in Zoe's secretions changed. Most died, gurgling as their lips turned mottled black, the alien chemistry ravaging them like a poison. The ones that smelled the least like barnyard animals to Zoe... Sometimes their bodies would try to obey the instructions encoded in the exquisitely complex bio-molecules from a race tens of millions of years older than humanity. A cascade of sudden, brutal forced evolution. While those that survived held only pale shadows of her power, they were still far more than human. Most were wild, feral creatures after their metamorphosis, little more than beasts with the bodies of centerfold models and the strength of twenty men. The newborn superwomen fucked, ate, or tore apart anything in their path, only to be finally brought down by military-grade weapons within a day or so. Or whisked away by the most secretive of secret police. The emergence -- and final fate --- of each new Fury was a global spectacle, a wholly unexpected juxtaposition between celebrity worship and bio-terrorism. The later being a more apt description in Zoe's opinion, considering she usually created them to serve as living bombs, distractions and diversions from her own agenda in the region. And despite the always-grim conclusion to their rebirth, women still flocked to places where they hoped they might be exposed to the mysterious forces that created new Furies. Risking death or worse for the slim chance of becoming godlike, even for just a little while. Maybe some day one of her unloved 'daughters' would surpass and destroy her. That was almost a risk worth taking, just to see how it would go down.
Yes, the Furies were just one more sign that Zoe would not be alone for long. The fact that she existed meant more would inevitably follow. The universe is made up of only three numbers - zero, one, and countless. The distance between ‘zero’ and ‘one’ was a lot greater than ‘one’ and ‘countless’. In her that bridge had already been crossed.
Zoe's musing and the song of rippling water were interrupted by her phone, left back at the shoreline camp. Work was calling.
She swam to shore, her awesome strength giving her impressive swiftness without calling on her flight or superspeed. There was clean physical pleasure in it that she needed. Keira had reminded her of the satisfaction to be had in that too. Swimming pushed the dark thoughts back into the corners in a way flying never would.
She rose from the water like Venus, nude and magnificent before striding ashore to snatch up towel and phone. Her silhouette in the shimmering sunlight reflecting off the lake would have brought most men to their knees. There wasn't a force on Earth that could cause her up-thrust breasts to sag. She smiled, almost warmly: "The most common super power" indeed. Some clichés were more fun than others. She ran the decryption protocols and smiled at the new assignment. Wetwork. High value target, limited window, and fashionable apparel required. The “Salamander” had resurfaced and she was needed in Monaco, ASAP.
Her boss knew what she liked.
She lay in the dark. Alone.
For the third night running she'd woken up hours before dawn, energized like she'd had the most drawn out and luxurious sleep. Like she'd overslept the perfect amount and would feel great all day. Which she had, and today promised to be no different. In between the sheets she ran her hands over herself. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed. She was... smoother maybe? He skin seemed more silken. There'd certainly been room for improvement -- as much time as she spent in harsh pool water, smooth was not a term she'd normally apply to her skin.
There was one thing -- two actually -- she could put a finger on and she did, shivering. Her nipples had been hard non-stop since dancing at the club. At first she'd been concerned someone had spiked her drink, but when she'd stayed 'perky' through a second full night she knew there was something else at work that just a little friendly Ecstasy poisoning.
Keira was both excited and terrified. While nobody dared ask her directly, everyone suspected there had to be a connection between Los Angeles's very own ubergirl "Harmony" and the Furies that popped up here and there around the world. There were just too many similarities in their abilities... Once you got over the minor, trifling detail that Harmony wasn't insane. In fact Harmony and a second super-woman in Africa were really why so many women seemed willing to risk it all. For whatever reason, the rise of a new Fury was often heralded by inexplicable, seemingly spontaneous cases of male mutilation or rape. A guy on the street, usually in the prime of life and health, would simply explode in a shower of gore. Sometimes two or three off them. It was enough to set most men stampeding away at a dead run while sad, desperate, or just foolhardy women went rushing in. What followed was usually a collection of horrifying female corpses oozing black blood from their mouths and eyes and one woman abruptly swelling up with beauty and power... Then some kind of bad movie style showdown between a whole bunch of police who were in for a very bad day and a crazy woman who could pick up a car one-handed or pinch an ex-boyfriend in half with just her thighs. Some of them could even fly!
...And Keira was pretty sure it was happening to her. Slowly, which was hella weird. Because what little footage there was and all the internet lore agreed that Furies went from zero to OMFG! in about three minutes. Not three days (or more...?)
While flying would be awesome, Keira really didn't want to go bat-shit crazy.
She'd been terrified when she'd heard of the most recent outbreak in New York. Her step-brother could easily have been one of the men battered or even killed. He certainly fit the profile, in terms of age and good health. Instead he'd been right there when it had happened, a super-rare "Double Fury" outbreak. She'd seen him in one of the you-tube clips of the two women changing. He'd told her about seeing it, and that he'd probably have a job for her later that week.
Then a couple of days later Miss Swan waltzed into and back out of Keira's life before she started... well, started changing too.
The infiltration had gone smoothly. Her cover and Agency-provided documentation as impeccable as her off the shoulders green-&-gold dress. The Mediterranean villa had a commanding view of the sea and the harbor just miles down the coast. She’d circulated with the party goers, a mix of junior branch Euro-nobles and industrial tycoons. And their many, many ‘plus ones’. Even dressed up, there were women here whose grace and vitality were enough to give Zoe quite adequate camouflage. When men didn’t know which self-styled master of the universe she was attached to, they were more cautious in approaching her. The politics here were thick and layered. Playing the demure trophy wife was a game all its own, and she enjoyed the rare challenge where her transformation was a handicap rather than an advantage.
Her mark wasn’t the host, but the Salamander was surely here to meet with the lord of the household. Arms smuggler and political puppet master sealing the deal in person. Some human interactions just wouldn’t work over the internet. People wanted to look the other person in the eye, hear the softest sigh of breath, feel the connection... whether it was over a handshake or twisting the knife in deeper. The important exchanges were always face to face.
A few sultry whispers to staff, a dozen conversations overheard from across the room (super hearing isn’t cheating when you consider how powerful modern surveillance devices have become, Zoe reasoned), and she was confident she knew when and where the meeting would take place, there would be guards of course, but the fun was in flummoxing them without overwhelming force. Only the very best would shoot a beautiful woman in cold blood. Of course, the people here could afford the very best. Lots of them too. In fact, as she unlocked the heavy wooden doors to the third floor offices with a key stolen from the host’s head of security, she noticed the distinct lack of sounds from within. Were they meeting without guards? She wouldn’t have thought that level of trust existed between the principles, but then she wasn’t convinced the home office had the best intel on these particular troublemakers...
The outer office was empty except for the bodies of two bodyguards she had already made as part of the Salamander’s retinue.
The inner office was littered with half a dozen more bodies. Someone had thrown an exceptionally bloody party and had forgotten to invite her. The kills were all knife-work and she didn’t see any bullet holes in the walls to indicate the defenders had gotten a shot off. She was impressed.
She also was not alone.
Behind the imposing hardwood desk that dominated the room and might as well have been a throne for all the authority it represented, sat a tall powerfully built black man, flanked by two taller and more powerfully built personal security specialists. Not the owner of the villa either. That man was a distinguished, older example of pure Italian stock.
She was immediately struck by his features - almost painfully symmetrical and classically manly. The thickness of his close cropped black hair and carefully trimmed beard spoke of fine physical condition and a superior diet. If the desk were a throne then a king sat upon it. The weave of the orange sash he wore over his western business suit was so complex she began to get lost in it as she stared deeper and deeper into the pattern... She shook her head taking stock with her other senses. While there were fading scents of terror and blood from the bodies on the floor, those three men gave off not the slightest hint of fear as she finished entering the room. Their placement – clearly staged – told the story: they had been waiting for her.
The man gestured to the wine glass waiting for her on the edge of the vast desk. “Please. I don’t like to drink alone.” His voice was deep, melodious, and cultured. And while she could tell it was accustomed to giving commands, in this case the words were a genuine request.
She glided over to the edge of the desk, looking down at the beautiful crystal glass and the dark liquid gleaming within. It smelled excellent even over the blood. “I could... or I could just kill you and go back down stairs and enjoy the rest of my evening. Obviously my job is already done.” From this vantage she could now see the owner of the villa bound and unconscious behind the desk. He wasn’t on her list. His survival suggested the man in the chair knew that...
“Certainly true. Though you would regret it.” His voice was mild. To their credit the two bodyguards did not tense at the exchange of threats.
‘Oh, there were games being played here tonight,’ she thought. He might be mistaken, but he wasn’t bluffing. He thought he had some hold over her. Just finding out what that hold was would be worth a few minutes of her time.
She looked down at the proffered glass again. The entry fee for this game seemed quite affordable to her. She picked up the glass held it. The wine within smelled superb. To her surprise she couldn’t place it.
She tipped the glass as if to drink, then paused as if a thought had just occurred to her. “This whole thing is a set-up.” She could play her role too.
He smiled, and perfect white teeth flashed in the middle of that dark countenance. It was a predator’s smile - the kind that freed up the teeth to attack by getting the lips out of the way. She liked it immediately. “Well, yes and no. I brought certain information to your agency’s attention that there would be an opportunity to get to the Salamander. But I couldn’t make them send in ‘la belle du morté’. You did your part too. Once you arrived, then it became just a race to get here first.” He gestured to the corpses, “Arranging things so the rest of your evening would be free.”
“Ruining my fun you mean.” Her narrowed eyes made it clear she wasn’t kidding - he’d intruded on her undertaking and he owed her recompense for that.
He gestured to the fallen bodies. “Oh, this would have been no challenge for you! I’m much more interesting.”
That was true. She sipped the wine and her head snapped back in shock. While it would have been all but impossible to poison her, it was also nearly impossible to find something this good. It hovered in the empty spaces between a dozen of her favorites. Not better than the best but novel, a label she had never sampled before. The body filled with complex hints of... Her eyes narrowed in anger.
“You’ve been watching me.”
“Closely,” he agreed, sipping from his own glass before toasting her silently. It really was a wonderful vintage.
“One might view this,” she twirled the glass in a small circle by the stem, “As an invasion of my privacy.”
The guard on the right tensed. He wasn’t wrong to do so, but it was still a sign of weakness. The man’s eyes flicked to the guard and she knew he shared her assessment.
His eye returned to hers and he replied, “Or as a carefully chosen gift. Someone in your line of work must know that in this modern age privacy is a illusion. Governments track everyone now. Not just troublemakers or the newsworthy. Everyone is under the watchful eye. Even the deepest shadows offer only temporary respite. ...Is that what you want? I had thought to offer you adventure, but maybe what I should offer is a cloak...?”
Fucker was entirely too close to the mark. It was time to change the game. She turned and looked at each of the bodyguards in turn, indicating she was now addressing them and not their master. “Do you know why you’re here?”
The one on the right answered immediately. “We’re bodyguards, ma’am.”
“No, that might have been true downstairs, but he,” She gestured to the boss “knows full well nothing in this room could stop me from killing him. His sense of security comes from something outside this room... so why are you here?”
The one on the left, a big strapping Irish lad, red hair and freckles galore actually looked a bit paler as he thought on it.
“You’re on the right track I think. Tell me...” She purred.
He gestured to the bodies on the floor. “We’re them. We’re supposed to die trying.”
“Mmm. Muscles and brains. You’re close. Try again.
You could almost see the gears turning in circles... and the need to look away from your own impeding death deflecting him from the inescapable conclusion. She almost felt pity. Almost.
“He brought you to make it up to me that I haven’t gotten to kill anyone tonight.”
Both of them looked at their boss and his expression didn’t deny it.
“He wants to see me make a kill. And after this exquisite wine, I’m more than half inclined to indulge him. So lets’ play a game.” Her gaze was now entirely on the Irishman. “I’ll give you 60 seconds to give me pleasure. Fail, and you don’t just die, you die badly.”
The other bodyguard had picked up a very high-tech looking bullpup carbine with a long silencer from where it had be hidden behind a potted tree. But he didn’t raise it yet. The Irishman was sweating, but he didn’t go for a gun or for the knife strapped to his thigh. He looked at her appraisingly. He might not know her, but he knew the boss and his reactions well enough to believe every word of her threats. For whatever reason this whole stupid night had been set into motion he knew it wasn’t going to end with him stabbing her.
He took a step forward, his hands coming up as if he were considering taking hold of her shoulders. She didn’t give him any signals one way or the other that she would allow him to touch her. He drew back, uncertain and feeling the last seconds of his life drain away as clearly as if he were watching a hourglass. La belle du morté was going to kill him and he didn’t even know how or why. He turned back to his boss, to the other guard and in the process spied the desk...
He snatched up the open wine bottle and graciously refilled her glass.
“Oh, ho ho...!” She smiled as she took another sip of the rare wine. She looked at the man in charge. “This one needs a raise. I don’t care what you’re paying, it’s not enough.”
The man simply nodded.
She turned to the other guard. He was a bit sturdier, maybe Russian. He looked back, a fierce gleam in his eye. “yeah... No...” He shouldered the weapon and opened up on her from less than ten feet away.
She could have dodged it of course, but even the wine hadn’t paid for that tidbit of information about her powers. Instead she crossed her arms as if protecting her face and let the spray of bullets wash over her.
She let him empty the clip. The shiny ruched fabric around her torso was shredded. Zoe dropped her arms, hands seizing the bodice of the dress to rip it open in the classic Superman reveal.. only she hadn't bothered to put a costume on under her sheer dress. Zoe let him empty a second clip into her bared breasts, feeling them jiggle slightly with every impact. She sighed, seductively. Some clichés were more enjoyable than others. If she'd thought he'd done it on purpose, to please her, she'd have let him live, because it was quite pleasant feeling each slug shatter against her softness. Turning back and forth slightly in the spray of hot metal, it was no accident she caught more than a few rounds directly on a rigid nipple. She'd almost forgotten how much fun it was to get shot on purpose. But his savage grin falling into panic told her he'd still thought he was the biggest predator in the room. He'd given her no pleasure at all -- she'd had to take it, and his time was up.
She turned back to the would-be king, entirely unconcerned with her partial nakedness. “Watch closely. You paid enough for this show but there’s only one act. You too...” She nodded to the other guard looking a bit sick watching a small taste of the fated he’d narrowly avoided. “There will be no photography during the show.” She smiled, having just destroyed the 12 cameras hidden around the room with micro bursts of heat vision. The man’s expression fell, then became intense. Whoever was running his tech support was fast. He’d learned his cameras were out almost instantly.
Zoe didn’t walk around the desk. With a little hop she jumped out of the lower part of her ruined gown onto the polished wood, revealing her long legs fully as she slid over the desk to arrive directly beside the panicked gunman. he was still struggling to reload, his movements far more jerky the second time. She didn’t bother to disarm him. Instead she grabbed both his biceps and crushed the bones of his upper arms without hesitation or warning. The gun dropped to the ground with a clatter. As he started to slump to the floor screaming Zoe caught the back of his neck with one hand and crammed the fingers of her other hand in his mouth, muffling the cry and half choking him in a single move. It wouldn’t do to have him attract any more attention to their little gathering upstairs. He tongue and teeth were both equally powerless to dislodge her slender fingers as his scream caught in his chest. When the spasms of his torso indicated the scream had bled out into a whimper she pulled her hand out and let him blubber, wiping his drool off her hand on his tactical turtleneck.
She drew her hand back from the gunman’s face, forming a ‘gun’ with her hand, two slender fingers as the barrel. She pointed it at his forehead, still supporting the bulk of his weight with the hand around his neck.
It had been a silly movie in so many ways, but in that moment she was reminded of the blue alien in Megamind. The difference between a villain and a super villain is... SHOWMANSHIP! Knowing she had an audience that she might allow to walk away made using her powers fun again. Maybe she had been sticking too closely to the shadows...
“Bang” she whispered. There was a gun-like crack as her hand broke the sound barrier, fingers flicking forward with super-speed. Faster than any bullet, Zoe’s fingers dipped less than half an inch into his skull before returning to their exact starting position, a peck far too quick for the human eye to follow. Let her host puzzle over that without the benefit of high speed cameras!
The resulting shockwave was almost exactly like a bullet blasting grey matter and bone chips across the wall.
There were a dozen more things she could have done and in fact wanted to do to the body, but she’d given away about all that she intended to for one evening. Maybe a little more in fact. She could satisfy the craving to hear this fool's joints twist apart and his bones shatter at the lightest touch of her fingers on some other occasion. There were adults present and they deserved her undivided attention.
“Satisfied?” She asked, turning to the survivors. One was stunned, pale and seeing his life flash before his eyes, knowing how close he’d come to the same fate or worse. The other’s expression had barely changed, becoming hungrier, if anything.
“I think that’s what I should be asking you.” the maybe-king answered, eyes still examining the latest corpse in a room full of death. Meanwhile the Irish bodyguard was nodding vigorously, comically, almost like a large dog.
“Marginally.” She plucked a chair from where it was half covered by cooling bodies and set it in front of the desk. If the man behind the desk was a king, she too sat regal as a queen, seemingly oblivious to her nakedness. Not that she had anything to be ashamed of, her pale skin flawless and flush with sudden arousal. As she settled into the chair she eyed the last remaining guard. “Rub my shoulders,” She invited.
He leapt to obey as she turned back to the man behind it all. She was fairly sure that’s what he’d been about to try earlier and was curious to see what a man betting his life on a shoulder rub could do.
“What’s the offer?” She finally asked, as strong thick hands began to try to knead her smooth bare shoulders.
“My patrons recognize you have pressing duties. We’d like to purchase some of your spare time...
“You want me to moonlight for parties unknown.”
Human fingers could only slightly dimple her silken superflesh, but the big lug adapted quickly, drawing designs of pressure on her muscles that were deliciously relaxing. “Mmmm. Nice. Work the neck too.” She gathered up her long blonde hair and pulled it forward over her shoulders, baring her neck while covering her boson in a thin gold curtain. Her eyes were half lidded but her finger pointed to the boss, “How do you propose to pay?”
“I was thinking further interesting gifts.” He gestured to the wine bottle. “Perhaps some unique opportunities. Maybe with hard to acquire information. And now that we’ve met, I’m sure I can dream up a few more attractive offerings. Unless you’d like to suggest an avenue to explore?”
“I’m a simple girl...”
He snorted. “Bullshit.”
She laughed. He’d watched her blow a man’s brains out with an imaginary gun, knew she was one of the top assassins in her Agency’s arsenal, and still he’d contradicted her to her face. She was starting to like him. “True, but hardly politic to say so.”
He visibly gathered up his dignity. “If you really want to dance, let’s go downstairs and dance. But surrounded by the silent dead I’d like to keep things mostly honest.”
She cocked her head. It wasn’t her philosophy, but it was a position she could respect. She looked up at her impromptu masseuse, seriously considering fucking him to death in the next few minutes. “You have a card and something to write with?” He didn’t disappoint. She wrote out a number and slid it across the desk. She then rose from the chair.
“I am officially considering your offer of employment. The offer to dance is accepted, though I’m without a decent dress thanks to your man’s incompetence. So that will have to be postponed. Call me when you’re ready to settle up on both accounts.” She pointed to the redhead. “And bring him with you.”
Relaxed and drunk on her power far more than on the wine, she strolled out onto the wide rooftop patio attached to the office and then dropped over a railing out of sight.
Connor, the surviving bodyguard, had the distinct impression of a firm kiss on the cheek as she disappeared. It wasn’t something he intended to mention in his debriefing.
But Jacob Cross teased the knowledge out of him anyway.
In Best Day Ever you really brought the eroticism of a female turning into an ubergirl to new heights. The richness of your vocabulary and your sense of metaphor just makes it extra awesome for me everytime.
Really loved your Bat Sandwich entry as well. It's so fresh and it's nice to see that you somehow kept the characters faithful to their DC universe "official personality' (especially Bat and PG) while adding some crazy-fun-sexual plot twist ! That was really hot and fun.
The last "in progress" addition of Zoe was great too. In this chapter, really like how introspective Zoe, this make me connect to the character even more. The action scenes were great as well.
I somehow regret that Zoe's quest for "more" seems pointless at this time given that she is already beyond superhuman. But I just like this character so much.
Hope you'll keep honking
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The party was a tad more tricky, it comes dangerously close to one of my most hated tropes: having a character putting herself in a less than optimal situation because she craves some kind of additional challenge. This is especially bad for characters that are built around the idea of being very efficient operative, because it's the polar opposite of field efficiency. Luckily it doesn't seem that Zoe would do that "too intentionally", so I'm good.
The chat at the end was pure gold for me because, save from the being shot moment, that entire scene would play the same with or without superpowers. This was a moment were skill and personalities counted more than powers and Zoe had a challenge that felt real because she was at a disadvantage that her powers couldn't immediately gap. Her worst enemy in this scene was herself and her needs, her antagonist had something she wanted (information and the key for her to get ehr privacy back) and wasn't afraid to gamble them against her need for a challenge.
All in all, this is a series that is still developing, but had already provided us with many excellent bits of world-building and characterization and I'm all to happy to see more.
(formerly Anon, still Librarian)
"What is the point of having free will if one cannot occasionally spit in the eye of destiny?" ("Gentleman" John Marcone)
koopa wrote: Wow... Like many, I found myself out of things to say, but those last entries are so damn GOOD.
I'm glad you're enjoying them. All three of them are actually examples of different ways I struggle, so I'm happy they seem to have come out well (or will come out well with Zoe, as there's still some primary writing to be done there before it might be library ready).
In Best Day Ever you really brought the eroticism of a female turning into an ubergirl to new heights. The richness of your vocabulary and your sense of metaphor just makes it extra awesome for me every time.
You'll (hopefully) be pleased this comment was very helpful for doing my final pass over the text before kicking that gosling out of the nest - going over it with an eye towards Sylvia's own awareness and enjoyment of the process. Her joy at being the canvass for the painting she was creating. Finding new metaphors for a couple of shared/common themes is fun, but I sometimes fret that the most commonly used word in my stories after 'the' is 'like' .
Really loved your Bat Sandwich entry as well. It's so fresh and it's nice to see that you somehow kept the characters faithful to their DC universe "official personality' (especially Bat and PG) while adding some crazy-fun-sexual plot twist ! That was really hot and fun.
I try not to fish for compliments too hard, but I'm glad to hear back almost anything on this one. It's a break from my usual style (or so I'm told) and I'm still trying to get a handle on the differences. I think part of it is it tends to lean very hard on some of the established elements of the setting it mirrors. I had 2-3 new things I wanted to say about life on the Watchtower, but just saying "Watchtower" shorthands pages of description I'd normally have to do. It also has two very specific joke it wants to tell, and it's possible that reaching that final punch line and finishing is not what the reader expects. I guess I might ordinarily carry on with the last scene to its panting and exhausted conclusion, but that's just not the point this time.
I've been advised it would help to add a few lines at the beginning the clarify which of the myriad incarnations of these characters the reader might want to put foremost in their mind before starting. There's still a certain awkwardness I feel towards it that I -think- is because its not a setting of my creation. I really dunno. May have to do more like it and see what they reveal.
The last "in progress" addition of Zoe was great too. In this chapter, really like how introspective Zoe, this make me connect to the character even more. The action scenes were great as well.
I somehow regret that Zoe's quest for "more" seems pointless at this time given that she is already beyond superhuman. But I just like this character so much.
I haven't had the time to sit down and really work this piece, but putting it up and getting some honest critique of both strong and flawed aspects has helped. Part of what was tripping me up was other chapters had built a consistent structure of three scenes each, and my third scene for this was just a rambling wreck (no, I didn't post that part). Getting into new layout and re-reading what was mostly workable gave me my missing scene - not at the end, but between the the two Zoe sequences. I started to put it up but I've had some problems with chat window behavior causing me to lose work when using the on-line editor, so I've needed to press on in my own word processor, which I just haven't gotten to yet. Its a bit frustrating -- I created this notebook because working in different styles of windows/layout is invigorating for me, and having come to be afraid to work inside this thread for fear of losing text is... Gah.
Hope you'll keep honking
I certainly plan to!
I need a new computer that renders faster .
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NSFW ~ an attempts at a pose of Fiona from How the Little Tub met Its Fate (shortly after she bursts out of the locker rooms)
Still tinkering .
(note: the yellow background is an artifact of the spoiler tag - it's on a transparent background if you download it)
Edit: Reached my winter nesting grounds, which has given me some uninterrupted time to experiment. Still sorting out lighting rigs (I was kind of over exposing everything after my 'way too dark' phase). Spent some time getting Ella's face just right. I'll probably fiddle with it a little, but it's -much- closer to what I'd been imagining. A few quick samples.
Hope you enjoy .
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