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The honking of geese (a notebook)
It burned in the hearts of berserkers, allowing them to drive themselves beyond mortal limits, to fight and kill despite wounds the should have sent them crashing to the ground to bleed out in minute.
Fury. Hot as an inferno.
It led heroes to rise above themselves, to press on when love and truth and even hope were dead. A purifying fire that stripped away all considerations but to do what must be done because it must be done.
But there was another kind of fury. One so cold it drove even the kindest soul to not just contemplate, but to orchestrate murder. Murder. And no matter how cold the blood, it could only hint at the stygian chill of the fury that lurked beneath it.
Candace welcomed that fury back. An old friend whose caress she had not felt for many years.
Eight years, in fact. A third of her life since she’d felt it last. It had all been about Jessie then too. Candace’s hands clenched unconsciously in remembered fury. Looking down at Justin, she was very much considering murder. Because that’s what it would be to allow him to just keep laying there. To walk away and pretend she’d seen nothing until she found him dead on her back doorstep.
It would be vastly simpler than any of the alternatives.
So she considered it. Coldly.
On some levels she understood his betrayal. She’d felt it too, the overwhelming presence of her sister. She’d succumbed to it too. But he’d still... ‘Fucked’ wasn’t a savage enough word for it. Thrown himself into the depths of Jessie’s childish trap like the village idiot.
It had only faded after Jessie had left. It was some kind of smell. That was important to remember. Because she didn’t want to become Jessie’s mental sock puppet again right as she made her move.
She looked down at her not-so-soul-mate-after-all, lying quite still.
“Ok, sis. My move.”
She had to get him medical attention, but she couldn’t afford to have police crawling all over the house either. Fortunately there was a private clinic nearby. A place families like hers relied on over larger hospitals. One where the Moore family name would assure discretion. Without a gunshot wound they wouldn’t be required to notify the police. A little lost ID and it might be days before his family were finally notified.
With an outward calm draped over her inner glacier of rage, Candace went around the side of the house and retrieved a gardening cart from the groundskeeper’s shed. After rolling it back to the rear entrance she worked herself under Justin’s limp form and stood up with him hooked over her shoulders, suddenly thankful for every hour she’d ever put in at the gym or the studio as she rolled him off her shoulders and onto the waist-high cart. Only then as she was rolling him down the side access and out to the sidewalk did she call the clinic and summon an ambulance. While she described the injuries to the alarmed dispatcher, she refused to speculate as to their cause. Within minutes the private ambulance rolled up and Justin was on his way to medical care, Candace assuring the paramedics she’d be along when she could.
One problem down. And hardly a drop of fury used up.
Next she got on her computer and started making reservations. Four of them. Paid with her credit card and deliberately non-refundable. Then she reached for her phone and speed dialed number 2.
“Oh, mom! — Yes, its good to hear from you too. No, no all good here. — uh huh. Look, Jess and I had a wild idea. Family weekend in Vegas. — Yeah, I know, right? — Look, I already booked the tickets. You should be getting the itinerary in your email right now. — Round up dad and head out tonight... — No, Jess and I will catch up tomorrow, but I know how you two adore the breakfast buffet at the Mandalay Bay. My treat, really. What? — No, your flight’s in a little over an hour. —Yes, I know. It was the best seats I could find with the weekend coming up and short notice. — Mom, his name’s on the building, I’m sure he can leave an hour early for his darling wife. — Yes. it’ll be great. So we’ll see you tomorrow then. — I love you too. Gotta go. — Huh? Yes, that thing with Jessie. — No, no. it’s all good. — Ok, see you then!”
She hung up. Two problems down and now the board was largely clear. Remaining supplies of fury? Full tank from her toes right up to her scalp. Because she hadn’t been lying. Not to Justin, when she said the only thing holding her back from opening the bottle of liquid opals hidden in her room and taking her chances at becoming something more than human was the thought of losing him.
The fury calmly pointed out that just simply wasn’t an issue any more, now was it? Time to drink up, and then see where she stood with Jessie. ‘Cause clearly all the time and care and love she’d been pouring down that black pit for years had been leaking out on the ground somewhere. For all that she’d tried and ignored the concerns of friends and family alike, Jessie was a hollow shell, filled only with petty spite. What Jessie had done wasn’t a game. That was pure malice and Candace did not respond well to malice. Not even from family.
And now Jessie was some kind of Super Naiad. Like the Denikens, modern Goddesses rising out of a backyard pool. The fury assured her there was only one way answer that blackness. Damn the risks. If she turned into a homicidal super-powered maniac with only hours to live, well, at least her parents would be out of town before the worst of it. Truthfully she was kind of hoping she did. Finish out this awful day with one good, clean orgy of total destruction she’d never have to live with.
She opened up the hidden compartment in her desk. The one old Uncle Nick had made for her years ago with his thin, clever hands. From inside she pulled out the sky blue crushed velvet bag, her favorite color.
Candace flinched. Somewhere downstairs another splintered window pane had finally given way with a crash of breaking glass.
She took out the slender vial with is silver cap. Liquid opals. Hard to believe something so pretty could have such awful side effects. She’d been so relieved to hear Justin had meant to dose her with Cloud Nine. The newer formulation was safer not because it was more powerful, but because it was less. The weird random powers had been turned down to a dull roar. Cloud Nine was still new, but it seemed like it offered a steady medium of beauty, strength, and toughness. Unless you were Jessie... Then who knows what the fuck had happened.
The house creaked, setting on its jostled foundations. She thought of Jessie again. How powerful, how beautiful, and how totally unworthy of Candace’s fantasy she was. Unworthy of her love too.
Yeah. Cloud Nine was the new hotness, but it was also consumer grade. Sell out. Homogenized. But this? This was old school. It could give you any color from a rainbow of awesome. And all that extra vividness would cost you was your life. Sometimes. Maybe. If you were very unlucky.
Or very lucky, Candace supposed, depending what you wanted out of life.
She closed her eyes. Even now she could smell the faint odor of wanton insanity that had surrounded her sister. Some lingering swirl stirred up by the afternoon breeze. God... she going to have to burn the house down to finally be rid of the stink, wasn’t she?
Steeling herself, trying to reassure herself that if it had worked for Jessie she’d be fine, she tipped her head back.
One chance in eight. Eight-ball. Corner pocket.
Candace started to pour and found herself holding only empty air.
The Amazon porn star that had replaced her little sister was standing next to her holding the vial, her long finger over the open end so she hadn’t spilled a drop.
“You’ve had a bottle of Eight-Ball this whole time?! Seriously, sis. In what universe did you not jump at the chance to be THIS?” Jessie ran her empty hand over her lavish curves to hammer the point home.
Goddamn, she was sex appeal incarnate. Stupid fucking smell was doping her up already, Candace thought, trying to pull her fury around her like a blanket.
Even so, years of being the guardian, the protector, were not easily set aside. So it was no ploy but a sincere desire to prevent calamity when she cried out, “No! Jess! It’s not safe! What you drank wasn’t Eigh—”
Jessie held up a hand imperiously, cutting her off. “Sis. I never thought I’d say this, but you’re a wuss. Here: let your little sister show you how it’s done.” And with that she tipped the vial up and drank the whole thing in a single gulp.
“Mmm. Kind of minty.” Then changing the subject like this whole scenario was a perfectly normal chat between the sisters, Jessie suddenly blurted out, “So you must be really mad at Justin...”
“I–” In that moment as all her fantasies for revenge turned to empty glass and shattered like the used up vial Jessie dropped on her floor and crunched under her foot for good measure, Candace suddenly saw how to hurt her sister the most. It wasn’t super powers, or a body out of man’s most primordial wet dreams. It was to be herself. The thing Jessie never could be.
She found an old smile in a mental sock drawer and plastered it on her face, no matter how poorly it seemed to fit. Looking up at her now much taller sister she said, “I’ve decided to give him a pass. You’re the poster child for extenuating circumstances.”
Jessie looked like she’d been slapped, her cat with the canary expression blasted right off her face. “No! He betrayed you. They always betray us. All of them.”
Candace was crowing on the inside, but she didn’t dare let a more victorious smile crack her facade of sisterly patience with her childish sibling. “Jeeze, Jessie. You’re supposed to be the smart one. They always betray you. They only ever betray me for you. What’s the common element here? Still, I think Justin and I will be ok. I mean really. The slutty way you rolled up on him? And never once did he take a step forward, did he?”
Jessie grew more agitated. “No! Men suck. And you... You can’t possibly be that nice.”
She was on a roll now. Years of ‘always look out for your little sister, Candace’ fell away. She was FINALLY fully entitled to be a bitch just like Jessie. “Don’t worry, little sis. Someday we’ll find a guy for you. Someone who can overlook the bile you’re filled with the way I do. I mean, William tried, but you know your soul is just so black sometimes...”
“William!? What do you know about William!!?” Jessie lunged forward, completely enraged now.
She snatched up Candace by the throat using both hands and lifted her up over her own very tall head.
‘Nope, pretty much nothing going the way I hoped today.’ Candace thought with irony, only her icy fury keeping her from blacking out already as Jessie’s hands twitched more than squeezed. But those twitched were still agonizing.
Jessie’s hands loosened, not because of any once-in-her-lifetime impulse for mercy, but because she began to look around the room with growing puzzlement.
Finally she set Candace down, nearly forgotten, so she could raise her hands to bat at the air like a cat playing with strands of yarn. “Where did those come– Candace... are you seeing these things?”
Candace would have liked to say she didn’t but she did see a soft blue arc of Saint Elmo’s fire play across Jessie’s hands. Candace couldn’t see it, but her sister was clearly interacting with something...
“They’re everywhere... threads of light. All side-by-side like a loom...” Jessie said with growing wonder, her previous anger slipping away. “And they tingle.”
She closed her eyes, raised her arms high overhead, and turned around in the center of the floor. Candace could now see the little blue sparks didn’t move at all, it was just an illusion that they had moved. It was Jessie moving through them.
Suddenly the tall Supergirl swept her hands down like she was swimming, trying to reach the surface. And like a swimmer, her whole body bobbed upwards, her pointed toes leaving the floor behind. She hung there effortlessly in the unseen web.
Her eyes snapped open, wide as saucers. “Oh, fuck! I can fly!!”
Candace wanted to scream, but decided the better part of valor was rubbing her throat and hoping Jessie continued to all but ignore her. Really, that you almost killed your sister hardly even merited consideration compared to finding out YOU COULD FUCKING FLY!
“Wait, there’s a bigger one...” Jessie reached out like a mime and grabbed something running through center of the room, seemingly rising up at a shallow angle towards the south wall.
Jessie's awkward skirt tore open and fluttered to the ground. From her angle beneath Jessie, Candace could see her sister was growing, her body changing and ripening again as the Eight-Ball tried to make a Naiad out of a woman... only it was starting with a Super Naiad already.
“Ooo! That one’s really tingly.” She reported. Then she got a wicked gleam in her eye and pulled herself forward through the air, mounting her invisible strand like she was draping herself low over a motorcycle where she could grind the frame right into her–
“Oh, fuck. YES YES YES!!!” blue sparks burst in a torrent from her already dripping snatch, filling the air with the smell of ozone and her sex-scent.
Suddenly Jessie was a whirlwind, a combination of breathtaking control and heart-pounding wild abandon. Her whole body spun in the air above Candace’s bed and she twirled like a pole dancer act turned almost on its side, rubbing her furiously sparking clit with desperate need against the invisible pole like it was the most important thing she’d ever done.
She looked down, “Oh God, Candace. It feels so good! Oh, and something... something in my muscles...” A wave of trembling rolled up and down he half-naked body. Her muscles tensing, tightening, and resettling on her bones. Whatever it was, she looked stronger now. Another powerful seizure struck her, as if the unknown prcess that hand just transpired, having tested the waters of what Jessie's enhanced body could withstand, repeated itself a hundred more times in rapid succession. Her arms and legs twisted up behind her, her back arched and her amazing breasts thrust nearly into Candace’s face. Her gray hoodie was on the verge of erupting trying to contain the even larger and heavier boobs now gracing her figure as Jessie swelled into a double-decker super deluxe Super Naiad. One with the old-school abilities, now. Flight at the very least, and so much more, Candace suspected. Eight-ball sometimes gave the woman what could only be called a super power. But it looked like Jessie's already Far-more-than-just-a-woman body was getting all of the powers. Painted with the entire rainbow of awesome.
Obviously out of control as her body absorbed the effects of Eight-Ball on a level no one had ever been able to before, Jessie slid slowly up and way at an angle, dragged off by her own approaching divinity. She was still looking down at Candace with the most beatific expression of sweet pleasure as she continued to twist and shake, as if she were a complete innocent, caught up in the maelstrom. As if some gentle and worthy soul had been touched by God, who said, "lo, here is a champion for all the world. Rise, Jessie Moore, rise and become SUPER."
Jessie's long gymnast-like arm shot out and she caught hold of one of the bronze orbs that decorated the bedposts at the corners of Candace's bed, trying to halt her own rise. She squeezed desperately, clinging to the heavy bed. The little lost balloon that didn't want to fly away. The corner of the heavy piece of furniture hardly had a chance to rise of the floor before the pressure from Jessie's five slender fingers melted the solid hunk of metal. Hotter and faster than any industrial press, hundreds of times the force required to lift the front end of an SUV. Like the strongest of the doomed Eight-Ball women ever, "punch through a building strong."
The supergirl struck the high ceiling without stopping, her animal need to pump against the hidden strand overcoming her fear of heights as she remained a passenger on an escalator towards Heaven. She plowed right through the drywall with slow, relentless, lazy power. Roof beams cracked across her flailing limbs, sending sharp fragments raining down in a trickling shower.
Oh... ohhhh.... OH!!! Again. Fuck me again!” She wailed as she burst through the roof tiles and out into the afternoon sky, riding some current visible only to her that was blasting raw pleasure into her pussy even as it supported her mass. For a moment she was so filled with bliss she couldn't see, white hot stars filling her vision. Everywhere she looked, whether at the grassy slope below their house or at the buildings on either side of her home, the white stars in her eyes seemed to be followed by browning and charring, long scorched lines left in the wood and grass. Decking and house paint toasted golden brown by her regard. The tiniest of movements drew her attention and she saw with unexpected, almost telescopic, clarity the same squirrel that had chittered mockingly at her in the pool as she'd been drowning in strawberry scented foam. She narrowed her eyes, the stars in the center of her vision growing even brighter.
A second later the squirrel was nothing but a blackened skeleton in the middle of a cheery grass fire. She blinked quickly a few times and the stars were gone. But she knew they'd be back if she wanted.
"Really? Oh hell yeah!" she whispered, the softest sounds she'd made since her toes left the floor behind forever. Then grinding her hips on the luminous thread between her thighs, Jessie inhaled until she felt like she was swallowing the clouds and let out her biggest scream of pleasure yet, the still girlish cries echoing across the whole valley and rolling across the larger urban basin more powerfully than thunder. Using the same words, because they'd seemed so right the first time:
Yes! YES!! YYYYYEAAAAASSS!
With hearing as sharp as her unexpected visual acuity, she heard her favorite sound: breaking glass. For miles around this time. A crystalline symphony of entropy, all for her.
Literally left behind, Candace looked up through the hole in her ceiling. Standing on tip-toe she could still just make out Jessie drifting 'up, up, and away!' to the south. Her sister pole dancing in thin air again, pleasuring herself like some kind of pornographic balloon as the whole empty blue sky fucked her eager and even-more-glorious body, handing her little sister orgasm after orgasm on a silver platter.
“Fuck you, Universe.” She announced tiredly, the last of her furious energy leaving her for now. How could such power even exist?! And what idiot twist of fate had given it to a nineteen-year old monster that looked like a girl? Then Canadace slumped down onto her own bed, heedless of the bits of plaster and ceiling beams scattered across it, and wept.
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I can't help but fall for the evil one and Jesse is precisely my favorite target for superpowers infusion : spoiled, rich, uncaring and incredibly hot!!
Nice touch for the fan the way you integrated the Cloud-9 and 8-ball into your current AUGoose universe by referencing the Deniken sisters...
Right from part 1, describing Jesse and the relationship dynamic between the two sisters you had me hooked.
But that part 3... I was happily surprised with the switch to Jesse POV. I was feeling that you were about to unleash upon us your signature UBER-UP sequence and man was I right! This transformation part striked me hard, on a "Best day ever" level of hard! I told you many times now but it's really incredible how you manage to craft those detailed, organic, vivid, breathtaking, orgasmic uberification sequence!
And this last part... all this writing set-up for Candace powering up robbed from her at the last moment by Jesse, was the best homage to Marknew stories I can think of.
Can't wait to see how Jesse will end up when she'll be done r(e)aping this intriguing blue strand of power of all of its juicy power.
I also want to say that the 3d renders you made and especially Jesse in this two-pieces bikini really made my imagination spinning and adds a new layer of visual hotness to your story.
Thank you for this amazing work, Santa Goose has been really good to us this year!
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Monty wrote: Goose, I've just spotted something about the older sister and a certain number... Don't want to hit a potential spoiler - I may be way off track anyway!
Clever, but no. I renamed Janice to Candace because I liked the sound of the name, it seemed sufficiently fru-fru for the daughter of a wealthy white family living in the moneyed part of the LA Basin, and because several of the meanings for her name seemed charmingly appropriate without being full-on prophetic.
Now their family name? That is prophetic .
Also, while I don't generally post to only call out edits, I will say there's a somewhat substantial addition to the end of part six I posted just now. Start from the moment the Eight-Ball gets used if you want to skip directly to the changes.
He wanted to hold his brother’s hand, to tell him it was going to be alright.
Half-brother, technically, but they were closer than many full siblings.
But he couldn’t. His brother’s hands were wrapped up in gauze and pins like some sort of deranged snowman. The bones crushed nearly to sand inside his pork sausage flesh. A million dollars of damage to what might one day have been million dollar hands.
His brother was a big man. A strong man. And a brave one. Despite unimaginable pain he’d gotten to his knees and tipped his own refrigerator back off the bloody mess at the end of his arms with his shoulder. Then he’d called Randal, his big bro. With a spoon held in his teeth.
Randal thought it was incredibly badass, and right on level for his brother. The one of them that was going to go places. Get out of the hood. College ball.
Only that would never happen now would it?
“Bitch...” He hissed in his mind.
Randal would never leave the streets. He was a big man too, but not in stature. Power. Connections. Voice. When Randal spoke, dudes lined up to do his bidding. Like the two waiting silently at the far end of the hospital room. When a pair of hardcore motherfuckers stood there and didn’t move a fucking inch while you wept openly for your baby brother, you were somebody not to fuck with. Take that as a given.
When he’d arrived at his brother’s house long acquaintance with dirty cops had told him instantly he was looking at a frame up. One call later and four brothers of the coloration variety were on their way to scrub the whole place down while Randal drove his brother-by-blood to the hospital. The other two met him there, because a man moving in Randal's rarified circles needed sharp eyes and bloody hands around him all of the time.
“I’m going now, Will. You just rest.” But he knew his brother was already out. Strong as he was, he’d still needed morphine to sleep. And he needed to sleep. He’d be in surgery in the morning. Because not all drug money goes to evil ends.
Randal stood up and nodded to the door. The other two headed for it, only to meet a nurse coming in to check on the patient. With perfect, gentlemanly manners they stepped out of her way and whispered, “Pardon, ma’am.”
You simply did not start shit in a hospital. There was no percentage in riling the people that might stitch you up one day.
The three black men regrouped outside and stalked out of the hospital in a tight bundle. Heads on a swivel, eyes watching everything. Urban predators. Pack hunters. Killers.
In the parking lot Randal paused, handing the other two a slip of paper he’d written on in the hospital room while he'd been talking to his brother in hushed tones they couldn’t hear. “I want Alphonse, Rico, and Benji to go to this address. Tell them to kill the woman that lives there. Tall blonde bitch. Warn them: she’s strong, spooky strong, so gun her down cold. No chit chat, no message. And no swinging dicks on this. This is an execution. She knows what she done.”
One of them looked at him. “This is personal, man. Where you gonna be?”
Randal spun on him like a snake. If there had been skulls reflected in his eyes it would have been no clearer of a sign what was about to happen.
Immediately the henchman recognized his mistake, putting up his empty hands in complete surrender. “Whoa, whoa man. Chill. I’m not judgin’. I just thought you’d like to be there. Bitch hurt your brother, man...”
“I gotta deliver a message, but its not for her. William wanted me to go an’ apologize to his woman, Aisha. Said he done her wrong and wanted to make it right. Today, right now. Because ma' brother is a gentleman. He’s better than the three of us put together.”
The other thugs nodded agreeably. That was righteous cause.
“Don’t call me when it’s done. I’ll hear about it on the news. Now make yourselves useful while I go buy something pretty. We still have a business to run.”
And with that the three went their separate ways.
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(Yes, I'm kinda exhausted. Exhilarated, but exhausted.)
This would be the agonizingly boring setting exposition that nearly killed this story once before. I apologize, and promise it won't happen again -- at least in this tale.
Lauren Breckt almost missed the most important page of her life.
Her laptop, the personal one, chirped as a new ‘account’ opened up. Another Eight-Ball Naiad out there in the city somewhere. That would be subject number... She didn’t know. Something in the 220’s she thought. After eight months it all kind of blurred together. And really, her focus had moved on. Plus she had a lecture she was hosting for her mentor, Professor Zolenski, bearing down on her and she needed to pack up and go. After the emergence of over two-hundred of the Los Angeles Naiads, the parameters were pretty well understood.
A genius, a biomedical pioneer, and an inheritor of all the tales of scientific hubris western culture had to offer, Lauren was determined to move only forward. The Eight-ball experiment had been informative, but it was over. And filled with examples of poor judgment on her part. She should never have incorporated the Greenstone sequences. To mix her metaphors, she’d built a cantilever out over the abyss of the unknown on a foundation made of sand. A bit of petty revenge-in-the-moment that had killed more than twenty-five innocents. That their sacrifices were “for a greater good” only worked some nights. For the rest of those dark hours there was lots of vodka.
While there were still a few final samples out there on the market, Cloud Nine had eclipsed Eight-Ball. More reliable. More predictable, and less likely to be the next bleeding wound in her conscience. Because for all that she did occasionally practice her maniacal laugh in front of a mirror (because laughter is good for the soul, and well... tradition!), Lauren had never meant to kill anybody. She was going to change the world, and she intended to break the bare minimum number of eggs along the way.
She looked around the facility, seeing a handful of other aides and assistants puttering. The work on livestock enhancement still inching forward. After a year of keeping this all under wraps she had a new understanding of why so many mad scientists kept an 'Igor'. It was lonely work. Doubly so while holding down a day job. Like the lecture she should be getting to. Still, she never would have come so far without indulging her boundless curiosity. She opened the portable terminal up and provided the three layers of identification to access her private study.
And beheld the impossible.
Greenstone was active. All of it. Subject XX-227 was firing on all cylinders.
Which should have reduced the subject to a cinder about an eighth of a second later.
Without taking her eyes off the screen for a moment she fished out her phone, dialing her undergraduate counterpart by touch alone. The data coming in was incredible. So incredible it was more likely a failed diagnostic receptor than real conditions in the subject's body.
She lifted the phone to her ear, still not looking away from the slender thread of data rolling in. Damn her moments of principle. She’d designed the feed to be as small of a violation of privacy as she could manage. She didn’t even know where 227 was. Other than a vague radius based on the cel-tower it was checking in through.
“Matt, I need to you take Zolenski’s lecture.” She announced almost robotically, her attention at least 94% elsewhere.
“It’s your turn Lauren, I’ve got plans...”
“There’s two grand in it for you.” She said, her voice still flat.
“Plans which can obviously wait.” Matt always was quick on the uptake. She wished she could have been more certain of his discretion. He might have made a decent Igor. And she really wished she had someone she could talk to. Someone who would at least vaguely understand what she was doing and why.
She hung up. He knew she was good for it, if not why.
Greenstone was active. Impossible.
When the first two “Seventh Heaven” incidents happened, the FBI had come knocking on her door within days. Or more specifically Professor Zolenski’s lab door. They seemed absolutely convinced he was somehow responsible. And in the heat of the moment the suit-&-tie interrogators had dropped the word “greenstone” more than once. But, being in fact innocent, he’d put up a spirited defense of his honor citing numerous instances of his having turned down massive budgets for exactly such human augmentation research. Eventually the fervor died down and the eyes of the government moved on.
But still it had been months before she dared resume her own experiments. Months instead spent tracking down Greenstone.
Hooray for the freedom of information act. It gave her access to more completely useless documents than she could sift through in a lifetime. Needle in a haystack would have been a relaxing vacation from her search.
But hooray for computers too. She’d burnt the haystack to the ground and was combing the ashes with a magnet. She’d been able to build her own sieve and strip down the deluge of documents on a closed system. A black hole information went into and never came out of as far as the internet knew.
Eventually she began to find them. Bits and pieces. Partial sequences from Greenstone. And they seemed to fit perfectly into her nanites. Impossibly rich with possibilities, many of which she didn’t even understand. Such tantalizing clues.
One particularly excited report suggesting Greenstone could put a tap on the Earth’s magnetic field, a shunt drawing energy from a bank created by the rotational momentum of the entire planet. Limitless power. With minor bi-products like “omni-directional motion, suspended in the geomagnetic matrix.” Flying, once you removed the ten dollar words. Bunk, of course, but still a ripping yarn. 50’s science was like that sometimes. The dawn of the Atomic Age had been an era of scientific romance. “Radiation could do anything!” the battle cry of her philosophical ancestors.
They'd killed a few people too, along the way.
Lauren's search continued and she’d known she was on to something when she’d found Zolenski’s name in one of the partially redacted logs... Except that the document was from thirty five years ago. It had taken her another day before she’d realized it was her Zolenski’s father in the logs. Professor Zolenski – the one she worked for – must have been drawing on knowledge his father had secreted out of the program. Maybe for decades.
That lead her to hacking his files. He was a biotech genius, but not nearly paranoid enough or computer savvy enough. And why should he be? He usually relied on Lauren to manage the lab's digital assets. She already had most of the relevant passwords.
And there it was. Greenstone. The whole thing had been there in her own lab the entire time. A mountain of biological data. A treasure trove of protein-folding templates. Most of it seeming to originate ten years before the genetic code was a twinkle in the eyes of Franklin and Wilkins. Greenstone had been floating around in government labs for more than seventy five years. Buried and resurfacing across decades.
Suddenly everything fit. The reason Greenstone seemed like it was made to run on her hardware was because her nanites – actually Professor Zolenski’s creation – had been made using ideas from Greenstone. The professor had being going back to that well every time he hit a stumbling block.
No wonder the FBI had been all over him.
As a big ‘fuck you’ to the Men-in-Black who had put her work back months, she’d folded all of the Greenstone sequences into her next generation of nanites. Governed by a capstone program she’d written to determine how much of Greenstone the subject could incorporate. Lesser minds out the warrens of military-industrial laboratories hadn’t been able to make it work for more than seventy-five years and she, Lauren Breckt was going to show them all!
Cue the evil scientist laugh: muwaha-wahahah.
Heck. It had even worked seven times out of eight. The capstone usually determining the subject should get almost nothing from the vast library of parameters at its disposal.
But it really sucked if you were number eight. Oops. Have some cockamamie DNA strands straight out of Alice in Wonderland and a trip to the morgue. Sorry.
Thoughts returning to the present, Lauren pulled out a burner phone she kept locked in her desk. There was only one number she ever dialed with it. The other end picked up, but didn’t speak. “Something’s wrong with the final shipment of Eight-Ball.” She lied. Odd, how easily that came now. “I want to do a recall. I’ll buy it all back.”
Getting into the drug trade had been easier than she’d expected. She’d just given out the first twenty dose for free all over the city. Reputation established, she’d looked up drug runners in the city’s public police blotters and made contact not with a distributor, but a carrier. She offered them her product and a chance to be the sole link in the supply chain and things went forward from there. Couriers were still armed of course, but they seemed a lot less tetchy than the front line sellers and their overlords. As far as the dealers would ever now, the manufacturer was somewhere over the ocean in the Orient. After that it was like printing money, and her production costs were measured in gallons of ice cream.
The numbers favored male users initially and the first few women who had rolled the dice had all lived. She hadn’t realized the magnitude of the problem until it was far to late to withdraw from her obligations.
“I’m sympathetic, Ms. Opal, but I have commitments.” a harsh male voice answered. “Your product has put my clients into some very high class venues.” That was a understatement. One vial of Magic Eight-ball was a key that would open almost any entertainment establishment's door. Eight-ball only went out one vial at a time. But while her terms had been both severe and precise as to how often and how much the vials sold for, the carriers were welcome to sell whatever else they might have brought with them too.
She needed to build sample size for her data sets, not transmute every party girl in the basin. Truth was the delivery system, the whole process top-to-bottom, left her feeling ill. Dealing with criminals, being a criminal, when she was only trying to create the tools to build a better world. Unfortunately to do that she needed money. Lots and lots of it. Fortunately, she had a pretty sizable bankroll now.
“I understand. I’ll buy back whatever you have left at twenty-thousand a vial. That should help defray your losses. But if this batch isn’t working as advertised, both our reputations suffer.”
She could tell he was wavering, but not convinced. “And I will replace each vial one-for-one with Cloud Nine. The Eight Ball is old stock. None of us will miss it.”
“I can hardly refuse such a beautiful lady with such a beautiful offer. I will start the recall immediately. When can I expect to exchange it for my replacement product?”
“It will take no more than three days. I will call again when It’s ready. And thank you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Opal. It has always been a pleasure dealing with someone who does not have... shall we say, ‘a criminal mind’?” The line went dead.
Lauren started to type with furious speed. The Eight-Ball experiment had suddenly become very interesting indeed. But variables... variables needed to be controlled. No new subjects while she looked into this aberration. She had to find XX-227. And take precautions, she realized, in the unfortunate case she needed to kill it.
- SWM - Senior
- Posts: 301
- Thank you received: 412
Listening to the Moana soundtrack as I write. One of the best sets of songs out of Disney in ages, and do not fool yourself, Moana (the title character) is a super-heroine of the finest sort. Athletic, wise beyond her years, beautiful, and breathtakingly courageous. I HIGHLY recommend the movie to anyone who wants to see a woman kick much ass as she comes into the fullness of her power. She bends the whole world to her will and earns her happy ending brilliantly. Seriously, it's excellent.
“...Oh my God. That was amazing...”
Jessie hung in the air high above the whole of the LA basin, the sun sliding towards afternoon. Alone of course, because no one else was as amazing as her or ever could be!
The wild, drunken sensitivity that had had her cumming with every passing breeze had faded. The threads of light had faded too. She could still sense them, swim through them, flit back and forth along their length like a fish in a stream. But like the burning stars in her eyes, the maze of threads no longer intruded on her vision.
She looked down, tanking in the whole of her city. Los Angeles. Thirty million assholes living cheek-to-jowl and all of them laid out at her feet. As it should be. They’d all look up and worship her soon enough.
Even the planes were below her now. Just flitting around down there by the Ontario airport. Her vision seemed to automatically bring everything she looked at into focus, and in an instant she had a close-up of one taking off. She could only admire how fast and hard and long and... ooooh. Why had she never heard penis jokes about planes before? It was so obvious from up here what they all looked like! The distant rumble of the jet engines stroked her ears. Not as good as breaking glass, but it was definitely the sound of muscular power. She had always liked muscular power. Especially between her...
She HAD to have one. Feel it throbbing between her thighs. Like sitting in a really expensive car and feeling the motor shake you, only a thousand times bigger and better.
She spotted one coming in from the east, the tiny glint of sunlight reflecting off it better than a flare for attracting her attention. It was still almost as high as her but not quite. She raced towards it, heedless of the sonic boom she left behind.
Before she got so close that they’d see her she looped upward and then landed neatly on the top just a few feet behind the cockpit. She didn’t want the pilots to see her naked. They’d just stare at her bigger, rounder Jessie 3.0 super tits and crash or something.
She walked barefoot down the spine of the plane back towards the tail, the three-hundred-plus mile an hour winds hissing over her skin and making her long blonde hair snap around her face. She laughed at the momentary inconvenience of those golden strands whip-cracking against her cheeks hard enough and fast enough to cut through steel girders. The wind sheer over her laughing mouth should have yanked her lungs right out of her chest but couldn’t even chap her pink lips. She was actually flying with the plane, but to her, the fixed orientation seemed completely ordinary. So casual for her to maintain, she didn’t even notice she was doing it. Winds that should have flayed her down to a wet skeleton just tickled her invulnerable body. Just a girl out for a walk in a beautiful clear sky. Completely innocent.
Halfway to the back now, Jessie felt the vibrations under her feet intensify where the slim, blade-like wings joined the main hull. “Looks like this is the spot,” she said, her words instantly ripped away in the hurricane force winds. She spun to face forward, her head dropping down even with her hips and her arms stretching out behind her in an unconscious imitation of the Spirit of Ecstasy, golden hair streaming behind her now. The wind biting full into her cleavage had her nipples hard as diamond again in an instant. She was really doing this! Riding a plane like a hood ornament, naked, and 25,000 feet up! Droplets of her sexual juices snatched from between her shaking thighs were already flicking back to splash off the tailfin that rose like a shark behind her.
She bent her knees until she was kneeling on the roof of the plane, then spread them wide, sinking lower against the hull, relaxing into it as her flexible legs spread wider and wider. Even with more than an inch of air between her exposed labia and the skin of the plane, the vibrations flowing up into her pussy had Jessie whimpering, a rainbow of sexual arousal roiling behind her closed eyes. Her powerful outstretched arms snapped forward, hugging herself as she indulged in her new favorite, the double nipple tweak. Prolonging the moment before her legs split even wider and the metal – humming with 60,000 horse power – kissed her on the lips. Those lips.
Best. Vibrator. Ever.
“OH MY GODDDD!” Jessie screamed, her knees clenching and the frame of the airplane instantly buckling between her thighs. The tortured metal snapped and tore, driving up sharp spurs of broken airframe into her dripping cleft that only made her pleasure grow.
Her cry rolled across the heavens, driven by lungs hundreds of times more powerful than had shattered the windows of her home. So high up it would take long seconds for profanity to reach the ears of the startled people below.
Jessie’s hips beat against the roof of the plane uncontrollably, each battering impact driving the plane downwards, the entirely of its more than seven hundred thousand pound bulk unable to counter her strength. She could hear the passengers screaming with her inside, obviously having the ride of their lives too.
Her orgasm reached a crescendo as one of the engines fighting their forced decent burst into flames. The ragged turbine beat out of tune with the other three and the disharmony drove a spike of pleasure up through Jessie’s spasming crotch and right into her brain.
Still massaging her huge tits in her hands, Jessie’s wails turned into a long moan. Her knees loosened their hold on the plane. Even after having burrowed almost a foot into the plane’s upper service-spaces, the wind ripped her loose and she tumbled ass over tea-kettle down the remaining length of the jet-liner.
Here and there a flailing elbow or heel punched small random holes in the plane’s slick skin as Jessie’s limp body flickered past, still groping herself. But the real excitement came when the tailfin tried to pit itself against the wet sack of meat of a nineteen-year old girl’s body. Even a Naiad would have burst like an oversized seagull against that blade of aluminum-sheathed steel.
The tailfin lost. Spectacularly. The results much closer to a mid-air collision with a missile than a birdstrike.
Jessie came to moments later, in freefall and surrounded by half a ton of metallic debris falling with her. Still unused to flying it took her even longer moments to put the sky back up and the ground back down. Then she looked up at the receding plane that she’d just been riding, her eyes once again bringing the distant craft perfectly into focus. One wing was leaving a line of smoke and the tail section was all but gone.
“Oh shit!” Jessie blurted out. That was totally not what she’d meant to happen!
She looked down. They were still over the mountains surrounding the basin, so maybe, if she were lucky, there weren’t any campers right below her. Still to be sure she blinked her eyes and stared at the wreckage falling away from her. Raking the stars in her eyes back and forth she cut the largest pieces into fist sized chunks in instants. Hoping that would be enough she launched herself after the stricken airplane that had already lost almost half the altitude left to it.
Flying underneath it now, pacing the plane, she looked around. The pilot had lowered the landing gear, but she thought if she grabbed one of those it would surely snap off. She already knew first hand the skin was too flimsy to not buckle if she gave it a real push. What she needed was something stronger, like the spars that had poke up into her when she’d... Ohh...
“Focus, Jessie!” She yelled at herself. ‘More sex later.’ she added silently. She was suddenly much less comfortable with having been such a complete super-slut since she’d become so ‘all grown up’. Goddamn ‘super needs’. She thought she’d been making it up when she’d told Justin that.
She looked up at the plane again and suddenly she was seeing... through it? Into it, maybe? There was something behind the skin of the plane, almost like she could sense where the heavy ribs supported the skin were. Weird, but she wasn’t complaining just then.
The thickest of them seemed to connect the wings. ‘That makes sense’ she thought. ‘They’re what hold it up, right?’ So she eased herself up under the plane, touching it now. The passengers were still screaming inside and now it didn’t seem nearly as cool.
She did get one little laugh though: at first she started to lay against the plane facing it... before she realized not only would she not be able to see, but her front wasn’t exactly a smooth surface – her boobs had started to press two big cannon-ball imprints into the metal.
Oriented face down now and with the biggest spars she could sense resting on her calves and the backs of her forearms stretched over her head, she started to lift...
The plane groaned, a deep and not at all sexy moan. Cold metal pressed into her broad back and the wind tickled her nipples again, the sense of power flowing through her turning her on again like a light bulb. But with three engines still working, the extra lift seemed enough and the aircraft leveled off.
‘Oh fuck....’ she thought. It was at least as sexy as before, the whole plane relying on her – her awesome power – to survive.
Jessie stayed with it for long minutes as they limped to the edge of the Ontario runway. The distinctive “CHHUUUT-UUUF!” of the landing gear tires meeting the pavement around her was louder than she’d ever heard.
Emergency vehicles were rolling along both sides of the runway, some already spraying foam on the burning wing as the plane slowed, its three remaining engines reversed. Their subsonic howl poured into her through the plane’s skin against her back and the air trembling around her until she was dripping again.
‘All right. Everybody’s fine. Now sex, Jessie. You earned it.’ she giggled, kind of maybe sorta ignoring the fact she’d nearly caused the crash in the first place. But she knew, and promised herself she’d never be so careless again.
Then she saw a line of news vans rolling along beyond the fire trucks and ambulances. ‘Ooooh no.’ she thought. ‘Not happening.’ As awesome as she’d just been, she wasn’t ready to come out to the world yet, and definitely not wearing only her birthday suit, nice as it might be.
As her fast-zooming eyes swept up and down the line of vehicles, she did a double take at a fireman hanging from the side of the truck. What. A. Hunk!
She was leaving, but if take-out dessert was gonna offer itself up on a platter like that, who was she to say no?
She shot out from the shadows under the plane, and like a hawk snaring a mouse she plucked the delicious looking he-man right off his truck and landed them both on the nearby terminal rooftop. Nothing more than a blur to the cameras focused on the smoldering plane and the passengers sliding down from the open hatches now.
The life support system for the dick she had claimed seemed a little startled at first, but he quickly got into the spirit of things as the naked Jessie tore off his turnout gear and inserted him inside herself. Unsatisfied with the view, she lifted them both into the air, and twelve feet above the gravel and tarpaper roof they fucked like weasels, watching the rescue and recovery operation on the runway. Jessie was more than a little amused that all the reporters eyes were looking 180° the wrong way to see the real story unfolding as the evening gloom closed around the city.
Edits and clean up after the down time. Happy New Year! *Honk!*
Candace wandered around the house, numb. So numb she barely noticed she’d cut her feet on the chips of broken safety glass that covered the dining room floor where Jessie had walked in through the glass twice now. She’d heard Jessie’s approach right before losing the Eight-Ball and hadn’t even realized it at the time.
What a mess. A catastrophe, really. Cat. Ass. Trophy.
She strolled alongside the pool. Admiring her Super-sister’s handiwork: scorching the neighbors’ houses. Too bad she'd lost her top. The "big S" would really suit her now.
Looking over the low planters at the edge of the deck, she could see the fire crews still putting out the last of the flames licking the dry hillside below. Rough day all around.
Turning to go back inside she poured a measure of the amber liquor into the pool for absent friends. Then jumped back startled as the pool began to bubble and hiss like the Tequila was acid.
“What the f–“ She began, and then stopped. Could it really be?
Candace had studied the Deniken sisters and their transformation for months. She had more than enough money to ferret out even the slightest of clues, buying the amateur documentaries and bribing attendees (many of whom went to her school) with a gourmet lunch and a smile. She even had the DJ’s damn playlist. She’d been that thorough. It was actually how she’d met Justin: he’d been at the very first party. Along with pumping him for information she’d discovered she liked pumping him in other ways and what had started a calculated exchange of favors had blossomed into real love.
So Candace knew better than anybody – literally anybody, including the cops or the FBI – the details of what had happened that evening. In fact she’d made the exact same punch as had gone into the pool when the two idiots had started the second, larger wave of transformations. She’d made it more than once for her own (much more sedate) parties. It was practically her signature drink. She had all the ingredients in the bar in the living room right now. And plenty of ice cream in the big freezer in the garage.
Then like a medieval knight in his moment of despair only to be found worthy by God Himself, Candace spied the Holy Grail. Her Holy Grail anyway: A Max’s Styrofoam cup tucked behind one of the lounge chairs, all but for gotten.
She stole up to it, cautiously, like it was a deer and might startle. Was it? Was it empty?
She peered over the top, the plastic lid gone who knows where.
The bottom of the cup was still red. Maybe half an inch of shake left in it.
“Oh my...” her lips trembled. She reached out then drew back, not even daring to touch the Grail. She tipped the tequila bottle’s mouth against her fingertip, collected a single drop on the whorls of her skin, then held it over the cup...
“Oh fuck YESS!” she cried out, but only after taking three steps back from the sacred vessel. She wasn’t going to let anything happen that might spill it before she was ready. She practically sprinted back inside. She cut her foot again, and while it hurt, she didn’t care at all, leaving bloody footprints all over the wooden floor as she collected her cookware, ingredients, and raided the liquor cabinet.
Only a minute later she was back out on the patio on her knees before a huge soup pot. In went gallons of ice cream scooped out of three containers. Bottles of rum dark and light followed. Maybe not the same amount or the exact same proportions, but close. So very close. She stirred the mixture into a pale creamy foam with a wooden spoon.
Then with genuine reverence she picked up the Max’s cup tenderly, and held it over the pot full of punch, pouring it in slowly so it wouldn’t spatter or dribble.
Waiting as it hissed and bubbled was the hardest thing she’d ever done. She knew that there’d been almost fifteen minutes between when Justin had spiked the drink and when Jessie must have drank the life-altering concoction. Let it steep. Let it stew. Recreate everything as closely as possible...
When it stopped gurgling she couldn’t stand it anymore. Five minutes would be enough? Wouldn’t it?
She stood up, lifting the big pot in both hands, again thankful for her own exercise-honed strength. She backed up to the edge of the pool. Patterns. Life was full of patterns and she didn’t have to understand why it was important to know it was important that the miracle take place in the water.
She tipped the vat to her lips and drank, the pot so deep the bottom rested on her elbows. The fiery alcohol she expected was gone, replaced by a tingling fizz. She tipped it higher, guzzling the brew. Drinking more than three times what would have fit in the milkshake cup. Not knowing Jessie had drank less than half the cup...
Her gut full to bursting she poured the whole vat over her own head. Rivulets and streams of foamy white nanites covering her entire body in moments. Like a centerfold model doused in milk or carwash suds. Five times the volume and with fifty times the fuel compared to the earlier highlight of the day. In seconds Candace skipped ahead though all the gradual ramp up of pleasure Jessie had experience and went straight to her first goddess-gasm. She was surrounded by crystalline music, angels singing in her ears.
Not knowing why it was important, but recognizing the patterns that had created the other goddesses, she took a step backwards into the empty air above the pool and fell in even as conscious control of her body boiled away in searing white waves of ecstasy.
The pool nearly exploded.
Again the nanite program glitched and Candace floated spread eagle on the surface of a maelstrom of boiling water. The singing in her ears was in her blood now. Music, precise and mathematical.
Where 'Super Jessie' had been built on a slip of a girl, Candace had sacrificed a full grown woman on this watery altar. Where Jessie had burned in the fires of evolution for minutes, Candace floated in the pool for more than an hour, the sun setting as gallons of alcohol fueled thousands of additional iterations in her body. The well-fed nanites checked and rechecked every possibility as her evolving body reached ever higher towards ‘infinite reproductive readiness’.
And where Jessie’s crude fondling had unleashed a single shriek of bliss, Candice’s more mature skills reached deep inside to tap an eternal wellspring of pleasure that flowed through her like all the oceans. Deep as the sea and irresistible as the tide. No screams at all, just wave after wave of soft light carrying her mind towards unknown shores.
When sanity returned from its tropical vacation, it found Candace clinging to the edge of the pool, her legs spread in easy splits, her thumb-sized clit directly in the blast of water from a circulation jet, an underwater fountain of nanite infused waters fluttering her firm, powerful labia. A soft but insistent liquid cock pushing into her depths. She kept having to shift her grip on the edge as the concrete lip crumbled in her hands each time a fresh climax made her fingers clench. Continuing notes in the symphony that infused her being. The scientific song of all feminine beauty she was swept up in. Iterating.... iterating...
At last the bubbling subsided and a tall womanly silhouette waded through the steam towards the submerged steps. The pool issued forth its second divine being for the day, tying the previous record.
From inside the house, beyond the steam-fogged broken windows a rough voice called out, “There’s the bitch! By the pool! Waste her!”
The trio of thugs rushed out of the dining room onto the back patio, coming side by side through the huge opening where a glass wall had been only this morning. They couldn’t see well through the steamy mass hovering over the pool, but they still opened fire with reckless abandon. The silhouette seemed to twitch and jerk slightly, but failed to go down. Instead of screams, the most pleasurable feminine moan imaginable issued from the cloud. “Oh, that feel’s great. Do it again.”
They cheerfully obliged. Boss said 'execution' and they were here for blood.
The woman, tall as expected but with hair of spun silver in the twilight took the last step up out of the pool. Really tall. Like an Amazon, water draining over bronze skin over sleek muscle. They continued firing but she just kept coming towards them, sometimes jerking back when a bullet crushed itself against her instead of ricocheting away. Despite the hail of lead she paused only once, to coo when a bullet struck her rigid nipple directly. The two pink nubs weren’t exactly small targets being almost the size of plums, but they weren’t what the trio of killers were aiming for either.
With three attackers, the fire never let up. They changed clips at different times as the weapons ran dry. Unable to imagine any other outcome than the victory of their trusted weapons, they never took a step forward or back. Naked bitch was going down. That's just how the world worked. Pull trigger, watch them bleed and die.
Except she wasn't bleeding... Suddenly the woman leaped forward like a tiger, those firm muscles not just for show, her flashing eyes as cold as death. She caught the closest by the head, palming his face with her large hand. Up close, now they could see she was even taller than Benji who was not short. She flicked his head away and it bounced off the wall behind him before he slumped to the ground. The second she side-kicked in the gut, sending him crashing through the last remaining glass pane to slide across the blood-slicked floor. He didn’t get up.
Two of them were down in moments. The last dropped both his pistols and held up his hands in surrender. “Ey, lady. I give.” It was maybe ridiculous, but so was this whole scenario. She should be deader than dead. Road kill. He didn't have better words for it.
Unashamed of her nakedness – understandably, as she was glorious – the woman asked “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Maybe not the most clever opening line, but the scenario was new territory for her too. And just like her sister had described, she had some blisteringly hot Super Needs warring with icy cold fury for her attention. You simply couldn't have a body like this an not feel the need to use it.
He closed his mouth and set his jaw. He was no bird about to sing. Snitches get stitches. He knew: he'd given them often enough.
The next thing he knew, he pressed against the ground, the Amazon squatting on top of him and grinding his arm in the broken glass that was everywhere. Someone had trashed the place even before they had arrived. They'd been about to give up and leave when he'd spotted her out back.
She pressed down on his forearm and shards dug into the meat. She dragged his arm sideways then, deliberately severing most of his tendons. He'd never pull a trigger again, not with that hand. He hissed, biting back the scream. She looked into his eyes with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen, then lifted her pointed chin towards the other arm meaningfully. Just a double-flick, still looking at him to see if he got the message.
He got the message. “Mary, Mother of God, Woman! Enough! You messed up a friend of ours. Boss said you had to die. Payback.”
She laughed in his face, that beautiful countenance pulling back from his as she sat up, her whole body filled with mirth as the laughter shook her torso and set her breast bobbing. Candace let go of his arm, then rose up off of him, scooping up his guns from where he’d dropped them. For a moment she looked around confused, as if she were listening to a distant radio and couldn't quite place the tune.
“Woman, you loco...” He should have maybe had a go at the crazy supermodel during her space-out but he was too busy trying not to bleed to death. That's what he told himself anyway. His balls, however, were hiding in honest terror. Cringing despite her beauty, and a smell like honey and warm bread...
Her green eyes regained their cold focus. “Do I look afraid of you? Of your guns?” She caught his throat and dragged him to the dining room table where they could sit like adults. She flung him into a chair before sliding into one of her own.
“Let me get this straight.” She leaned over the table towards him, her pendulous breasts an amazing sight as the largest nipples he'd ever seen dragged on the smooth wood. “You thought you’d come after me for something Jessie did? What, are you some kind of retard?” Candace said in a low, deadly voice. “Not that I don’t see the appeal of killing her. She IS quite aggravating...”
The thug looked at her and shivered, aroused almost despite himself. Then he looked at the precise but bloody work she'd made of his arm. World-class ta-ta's and some expensive perfume didn't change the fact this bitch was stone cold. “I don’t know no Jessie.” His eyes started darting from side to side as he looked for ways to turn the tables. She had his guns, but she wasn't holding them by the grips. More like she had a bird or rabbit in her hands. Delicate like. “We was just supposed to off the blonde that lives here. Spooky strong.” He looked at her again in the better light. The woman in front of him's hair was plainly silver, not blonde. “Guess that's why the boss sent three of us. Thought that was overkill until now. She's some kind of Super Bitc–”
He stopped talking, his eyes going wide. Candace was folding one of his guns in half with her bare hands, bits of the coating on the grip snapping off as the frame twisted. “It runs in the family, asshole. Thing is, Jessie may be a spoiled brat–”
“Oh shit. The blonde’s you sister, isn’t she? Really... It was nothing personal against you. My bad...”
She ignored his lame attempts to make nice. “Listen, now. What I was saying before you interrupted me is that she’s a spoiled brat, but she’s no killer.”
Candace’s arms lashed forward to catch him in a two-handed grip on the back of the skull and in one smooth motion she slammed his face towards her into the edge of the table. He hit hard enough to split his skull like cracking a boiled egg. A tooth flew away with a 'ping!' Her fingers tightened and bones continued to crack. She kept tugging and grinding until the table edge had put notch most of the way through to the back of his head like some kind of blood-spattered Pac-man.
“She isn't, but I am.” She exhaled slowly. “You absolutely picked the wrong sister to ‘it’s not personal’ with.” She assured his corpse as it slid to the floor. She assumed the last wet wheeze coming from his shattered face was him agreeing with her.
Eight years since the last time... Another walking prick out to kill her sister. This was getting repetitive. Candace looked down at her once-again bloody hands to see if her fingers were trembling. They weren't.
Then she looked up at the other two intruders, the lust in her loins seeing them only as meat crossed with opportunity. Big men, both of them. The one on the patio groaned, as if responding to her considering gaze. Or maybe it was to the intensification of her musk as the heat in her breasts pulled ahead of the ice in her eyes.
“Told'ja you got the wrong sister... Jessie only fucked her first guy half to death...”
Definitely some mistaken identity going on . A rather serious mistake at that.
jumperprime wrote: Waitasec.. Candace is blonde, isn't she? And Candace and Jessie live in the same house. Damnit, looks like Candace may be about to be murdered on account of being mistaken for Jessie, just one last screw you from the brat sister to the nice one, and this one'll be completely unintentional.
I've had to bite my lip a few times. Both possibilities quite correct, you just mixed up the order .
jumperprime wrote: Well, the first time it happened, some water from the pool was able to be used for one repeat elsewhere before it got too diluted, so if they can either take some of the water to another pool or refill and chlorinate that one without Superbrat interfering....
And if that fails, she apparently has a vial of Magic Eight-Ball she's been waffling over.
The funny thing about crafting a literary surprise is that ultimately you want the people paying complete attention to be able to guess correctly (or nearly so). Their enjoyment in puzzling it out and being vindicated is worth more than your enjoyment of pulling one over on them. Its a cheap twist indeed that doesn't provide you enough clues to slap your forehead with delight when the pieces fall into place. The exact words in part 3 the last time the shake was seen were~
"Setting the nearly empty cup down"
(which I haven't had to go back and edit because... planning! )
But really, I hope the revelation of Candace's darker side is the better twist .
- SWM - Junior
- Posts: 100
- Thank you received: 27
Fortunately thanks to the "reader's copy" I amassed just before taking a break, I -think- I have all my changes to Side Effects May Include... except for tweaks I made to part 9 between posting it and the site's hiccup. That's a little daunting, but so far it's been below the "I'm gonna scream, throw up, or both" threshold that's accompanied some of my more catastrophic losses of work in the past.
I'll be reposting part 9 later, once I steel myself to figure out how many goofs/typos there are I thought I'd already fixed ((groan)). My plan is to repost parts 1-8 as a block rather than going back and pasting over each section individually. However I suspect this will exceed a character limit for each individual thread post, so I hay have to break it back down into chunks. Or it may simply prove better to hold that updated content until eventual release into the library.
In any event, despite this disruption, writing continues apace.
But it was not to be. The last of the trio of assholes who thought they’d barge into her house and kill her spasmed between her thighs and died. His heart unable to keep up with her body’s power over him. His pathetic failure to be a real man leaving her still unsatisfied and wanting more.
The one out on the patio had died the same way.
‘Dammit.’ Candace groused. “I’m gonna need a better class of men in my life. Ones with some actual stamina.’
She’d heard music each time she’d touched one of them. New music, but similar to each other. But as they had died the music became muted, just notes filling the bars on a page rather than actively playing. The song of who they were minus the songs of living, eating, breathing, fucking.
How do you explain color to a blind person? Music to the deaf?
Through the skin, which feels warmth and light even when the eyes are dark, which can buzz with beats and melodies even when the ears are silent.
Candace knew it wasn’t music she was hearing. It was something far deeper and richer, but which she could only grasp as sound. Maybe like Jessie and her threads of light. Power, mapping itself onto a brain that was never meant to do such things.
She shifted off of the body between her thighs, already feeling it cool and seeing his lips turn bluish as the blood began to settle to his back.
She looked down indifferently. Fucker had lost his breathing rights the moment he’d shot at her. Never mind that it had come no closer to killing her that showering her with ping-pong balls. It’s the thought that counts.
But in death he stood more chance of hurting her than he ever had in life. Too many loud noises on her block for one day. At some point the cops would have to come.
She ran her hands over him, instinctively, feeling a little silly like she was playing at being Harry Potter. It still felt right. Her fingers traced his outlines from brow to toes, picking out every note still in his body, and hearing the echoes of her own music pressed into him by their intimate touch. Spreading as she touched him again.
With a sharp jerk she closed her fists, silencing the notes. All the notes.
His body twitched. There was a faint but growing hiss of steam, a kettle on the stove just starting to boil.
She squeezed her fists harder, willing every lingering part of his melody to die along with the rest of him.
Inside Alphonse’s body, Candace’s cracked and sputtering nanites chopped every bone, every cellular membrane, and every last strand of DNA into undifferentiated goo. Then burned that goo for fuel. A body blasted beyond any possible recognition in moments.
His flesh turned bright red, an instant sunburn or cooked from within. Moments later a thick cloud of hot black mist boiled up from the corpse and the body shriveled in on itself, reduced entirely to powdery ash. Gross, but incredibly handy under the circumstances.
She carried the bodies of other two intruders to the far edge of her raised deck, one under each arm. Light as pillows to her now. She’d be able to feed their dust to the wind there. She repeated the ritual, more confident now in what she was doing, in the being of sorcery she had become.
Candace had a feeling whoever had sent them wouldn’t just be ringing up the cops to complain their pet killers had gone missing in the middle of a job. Still, finding out who had done something so incredibly rude and stupid was definitely on her to-do list now.
Watching the dust blow away over the dry grass of the hillside below her home, Candace’s stomach gurgled. She was famished. Apparently magic was hungry work.
She resisted her hunger long enough to clean up the pile of formerly murderous ash in the living room but after that she hit the refrigerator like a ravenous beast. Fortunately it was FULL of leftovers. Exotic nibbles brought home from a wedding she’d been to the previous Sunday. She attacked half a wild goose in orange sauce, savoring the rich fat and the sense of soft jazz it brought to her ears. Feathers and wings, navigational instincts. A loose sheaf of page music learned in the first couple of bites. A low dirge came to her as she consumed a slow-cooked pork dish. Hooves and a curly-Q tail, a sense of smell that could find mushrooms under twenty inches of wet soil. She heard a folksong as she dipped into the container of braised beef. The placid size and power of cattle. And while the handfuls of tropical fruit she gobbled down were sweet and refreshing, they carried no music for her.
‘Just animals,’ she thought. ‘Songs of the flesh.’ Whatever the Cloud Nine had done to her, it didn’t seem to care much about plants. Interesting.
Her hunger satisfied at last, Candace went upstairs to wash off the last traces of stink from the touch of the men she’d turned the tables on.
Seeing herself in a mirror for the first time when she reached her room, her breath caught. She was a dream. Better, because she’d never been able to picture herself quite so clearly as this. Her long limbs slung with athletic muscle, her breasts rising proudly from her svelte chest. Her own body scent clean and commanding, rising from richly tanned skin smoother than satin sheets. Her hair had turned stark white and made her already elfin face even more fae. Lending her a haunting, not-quite-human beauty. The princess of some lost tribe of elvish porn stars.
Standing in the hot shower, she’d never felt more alive. She turned the temperature all the way up, a sizzling blast that would have blistered and cooked her only hours ago. The steaming water flowing over her new body was more real, more intense than she could put to words. Turning in the spray from a nozzle that was just a wee bit low for her now, letting the steaming water carry blood, scraps from her hasty meal, and other less savory juices away.
Her shoulders loosened in the pounding water. She could finally let go of the fury. And why not? Even if Jessie was off flitting around the sky like some sort of comic book character brought to life, Candace had achieved her dreams. She was BEAUTIFUL. And even if she’d said it only to spite Jessie, she did look forward to Justin’s recovery and his eyes popping out of his head at the creature she had become. This little game of “Bet’cha I can take him” was going into overtime.
That thought had her nipples hard as shot glasses again and in moments she was grinding her ample breasts into the water-slicked tiles of her shower. Literally grinding, as her clawed fingers dug into the walls of the stall, her aching nipples cracking the marble slabs. The rasping crackle as stone broke against her nipples instantly setting her off while near-boiling water sprayed down her broad back. Sizzling droplets following the contours of her lower back, gathering in the crack of her spectacular ass and setting a fire in her loins.
“Oohhh!!” She wailed, busting the few windows left upstairs her sister hadn’t destroyed earlier and crushing another handful of black marble into gravel.
Oh shit... she was so strong now, the enormity of her new strength finally sinking in. Becoming real in a way that hauling around the bodies of two grown men hadn’t been. Her cold focus on survival had masked it before.
She leaned out of the shower and snatched a solid metal towel rod off the wall, the bracket popping loose in an instant. She squeezed... While the metal didn’t melt like it had for Jessie, it still twisted, taking on the shape of her fingers. Oh, damn! That was soooo cool. Her hands slid up her torso until she grabbed both her own breasts again, squeezing as hard as she could, turning all that delicious strength on herself. The almost forgotten bit of metal gave out a tortured squeak as it was squashed between her hands and her spherical mounds. She clawed at herself, her erect nipples thrusting out between splayed fingers, her long digits unable to fully surround her new mass. Needing even more stimulation her turned back against the wall and let her nipples conquer the water-warmed stone once again, gouging vertical tracks in the marble like a pair of diamond-tipped drills.
“How can anything feel so good? This is ME!!” She cried out. “I really am a goddess!” Her knees nearly buckled, but the experiment told her what she’d hopped. What the rain of bullets had hinted. Her breast were completely unmarked by her mauling and their collision with the shower stall walls. She was still soft and sexy, but also tougher than steel. In the rematch between her tits and solid stone, the stone had lost again.
That brought her to the climax she’d been craving all along since rising from the waters of the pool. “A REAL GODDESS!” She shouted, shaking the roof.
Candace found herself in a loose ball reclining in the bottom of the shower stall, the water spraying her shining wet breasts no longer boiling. The hot water had run out while she’d lay there cumming over and over. Dazed by the intensity of her own minutes-long orgasm. She might not be on Jessie’s level, but she was more powerful, more invulnerable, more sexy, and more sexual than any of the other Naiads. Her every cell rebuilt to carry and multiply this feeling. To make her irresistible. All she needed now was one little sip of Eight Ball. Just a taste of her own. Who knows... She might just win it ALL. Powers suspiciously like a Superman comic. The whole planet kneeling at the feet of Candace the Super Goddess.
She thought she’d make a pretty good ruler of the world.
Certainly better than “God-Empress Jessie”. Now there's a terrible idea.
A little nugget of lingering fury reminded her she’d still have to tidy up a few other unsightly reminders around the house that wouldn’t fit the narrative of a home invasion gone wrong. Followed by a fight between thugs over the many treasures the high-class home contained... But that was later. Right now? She needed a drink. And not a repeat of the ‘alone in her trashed house’ pity party she’d been throwing earlier.
All of which meant really only one place would do: Mount Olympus. The basin’s top Naiad Club, and the most reliable of all the places the drug sometimes appeared. It was Friday night and the elder Moore sister was going clubbing. Some drinking, some dancing, and then maybe fuck a guy who was a little more interactive. One who hadn’t just dropped by her house unannounced to say ‘hi’ and then kill her. And maybe if she was supremely lucky a little vial of liquid opals would come her way...
Getting ready to go out, Candace had a momentary pang of sympathy for her wayward, wild sister. Becoming a Super Naiad did put a real strain on your wardrobe options. A second boutique catering to the growing population of maximized woman in LA had opened up just last week but it was an hour away if traffic were good, and traffic was never ‘good’ on a Friday night.
Fortunately she was better prepared than most. In the darkest corner of her closet was her “hope chest”. A plastic bin filled with oversized clothes for when she imagined herself growing into something like this. A game sometimes shared with Justin and other times strictly for her own amusement.
Pulling out and unpacking her make-believe finery, she found she wasn’t a well prepared as she though. She was inches taller than she’d ever hoped and her breasts were straight out of a fairy tale. But there were still shoes, shirt and a top that could be pressed into service. A mix of deep sea blue and black. And if the cut wasn’t quite as stylish as she’d hoped, the curves underneath more than sold the overall package.
Mount Olympus was as unique to Los Angeles as the whole Naiad phenomena. Details were hazy, but the secretive owners seemed to have an agreement with city hall. Cops only came when they were called. When a Naiad showed up they got more than free drinks. The police looked the other way as the randy supergirls occasionally let it all hang out on the dance floor, giving the audience an impromptu live sex show that couldn’t be beat anywhere else. Some Naiads had moved on to Las Vegas, Monte Carlo, or even to the harems of oil sheiks in far off Dubai. Becoming millionaires. But this was IT. Ground zero for the evolution revolution and the floor at Mount Olympus was always open for new Naiads to make a splash if the mood took them.
It was also the number one spot for new Naiads to be created. Eleven of them caught on video and rumors of three more in the private rooms. The favored home of the Eight-ball dealers.
Even a North Ridge princess like Candace had never been able to get in before. The cover charge was embarrassing and really it took more than just money. You had to be somebody. But now they’d welcome her in with open arms. In fact...
Candace stepped out of her car, making the act of unfolding her long legs into a show all its own for the long line of hopefuls she was about to jump. With hardly a glance she handed the keys to a valet who was pretty much exactly eye-level with her nipples.
Rather than a tip, she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Don’t scratch it, ‘K?” then she laughed just for him. She wasn’t sure whether to be offended or impressed that he kept his composure, the gleam in his eye promised her car wouldn’t have a speck on it when he brought it back around.
She sashayed up to the doorman with a stride fit for a fashion show catwalk. The burly guardian of the Gateway of the Goddesses nodded agreeably. There was no question Candace was going in. Still, rather than leave the long line feeling entirely snubbed, she wrapped herself around the big man and tipped him back like the were doing the tango... only she was leading. As her breasts rubbed up and down his chest she felt the bloom of heat, the hard-on between his legs tenting his slacks. A reaction that didn’t offend her at all. She kissed him on the cheek, tasting his songs and noticing her own music drifting through him. Quiet notes that slowly faded away.
She set the man back on his feet and paced into the club like she obviously owned the place. Letting her hands brush over the jostling bodies male and female still negotiating the foyer. Drawn by the beating pulse and the darkness within.
As Candace worked through the crowd that was too tightly packed to realize they should make way for a demigoddess, she realized she was leaving echoes of herself on everything she touched. Most faded quickly. But it lasted longer in other people and longer still where it found alcohol. Patterns. Again patterns. Familiar ones. She must be practically oozing Cloud Nine or something like it. Echoes in every caress and breath.
But there were other sources of music too. Not just the songs she heard only when she touched a person or an animal. Actively singing out. Other symphonies like hers.
‘The other Naiads in the club,’ she realized in a flash of inspiration. She could hear them faintly even without touching them. Some wavelength shared by them all. A thrumming in the air, as if the invisible strings Jessie had seen were being gently plucked. There had to be a dozen of them here tonight. Drinking in the adoration of the masses and true groupies. Men and women like Candace used to be. Hungry souls who wanted to bask in the dream girls’ reflected magnificence, even if they never actually touched it.
Clubs like this were all about being seen in the right company. Her plan had been to come and see if she could claim tonight’s one and only dose of Eight-ball. But now she realized just being here was going to be a joy. A chance to be worshiped. To be one of the heavenly bodies she used to only orbit.
A young man deep into his cups, broke out of the crowd with a lurch. “Oh, look. Another whore with Ekaterina’s ta-ta’s.” He draped himself over Candace, his hot breath reeking of beer.
“Get off me, pig!” Candace growled, feeling the music rise in her and an echoing verse from inside his alcohol-soaked blood.
Pig, pig, pig, pig, pig...
She tasted pork again, from her earlier meal. The taste blurring into a string of notes. The notes blurring into an image of pigs in a muddy sty. Vertigo striking her as her mind twisted, trying to absorb a sensation for which there was no name in any human language.
She shoved the drunk away. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t place it. She’d seen him somewhere before.
A large man with a sporty, powerful build and a carefully neutral expression emerged from the crowd. One of Mount Olympus’s bouncers. The man quickly caught the stumbling drunk at the shoulder and the back of the belt, easily steadying him while also controlling his direction, preventing any secondary collisions. Already duck walking the offender towards the door. He flashed Candace a deeply apologetic look. In a club whose reputation was built on Naiad’s choosing the venue as their safe and special place to party, behavior like that simply wasn’t tolerated.
“That’s it Bart. Third strike. You’re banned. I’ll show you out– what the fuck!!?”
The drunk – “Bart”, evidently – struggled in the bouncer’s grip and actually squealed. It was a guttural porcine sound. His nose was bent up into a distinctly piggish snout. His small, beady eyes darted around in sudden terror at what was happening to him, even as his hair grew coarse and dark. He held his hands clutched oddly as if the fingers were stuck together in a permanent Vulcan salute, the fingers tipped with heavy nails well on their way to being called hooves.
Bart was also a lot less drunk, the alcohol in his system having been burned to fuel his sudden stumble down the evolutionary stairs. “What did you do to me? You BITCH!”
The bouncer redoubled his efforts, hauling Bart bodily out into the foyer. Shocking as it was, all the staff were accustomed to human transformations. Though usually only among the female patrons and mostly desirable.
The few other guests that had seen the whole encounter subtly gave the ‘blue witch’ in their midst an extra measure of personal space. More than happy to look on from a safe distance. Many quite pleased: tonight was gonna be a memorable occasion. You could smell it in the heavy air.
Candace burst into laughter. Now that was a useful spell! Circe herself would have been proud. Asshole-to-Pig.
Still buzzing with the discovery of a new power, Candace hit the main floor like she owned it. Her milkshake stroll across the central space quickly swept up the eyes and imaginations even of a crowd jaded by the regular appearance of Naiads. Regular naiads anyway. One glance at Candace and you knew she was something special. A call back to the Deniken sisters, the true apex predators of LA’s new breed of women.
Candace drank in the gleam from three-hundred hungry eyes. Oh God, yes. This was her new life now! Exactly as she’d imagined or even better. She was getting fiercely horny. Super Needs.
The crowd flowed over her and she not only allowed, but invited the timid caresses and the brief, assertive groping of her unbelievable body before the currents of writhing flesh pulled the hands away. It was only right they’d want to touch her, to confirm the vision of beauty wasn’t just a mirage in the darkness and flickering lights.
“Well, well, well. We have a new sister!” A woman’s powerful voice called out from overhead. Candace looked up to see a beautiful woman – no, a Naiad, for certain – lifting her long legs one at a time to step over the railing of the second floor balcony. Then with a collective gasp from the patrons she let go entirely, stepping off into the air... without falling an inch.
She was wearing a cream outfit so pale it was almost white. Almost shocking in the sea of vibrant hues and the basic black most of the revelers wore. It was cut for a pixie princes, the short skirt showing off her endless trim thighs. Offering tantalizing glimpses at what lay beyond when seen from below like this.
Well chosen for a woman who could fly.
Candace would have recognized her instantly, even without the gravity defying display. Cindy Stone. The only woman to not burn out after gaining that particular power. Flight. Or floating, really. The languid motion she was displaying now seemed to be as fast as she could go. After seeing Jessie in action, Candace knew this woman’s power was a drop in the bucket compared to what was possible. Jessie’s array of powers put even the strongest burnouts to shame.
Cindy drifted down gently, an angel descending with all eyes now turned to her. “I don’t recognize you. Where’d you take the plunge?”
“It was a private ceremony.” Candace offered coolly, not quite ready to give up the spotlight or her secrets.
“Well I have to say it looks wonderful on you. Welcome to the club.” Cindy landed lightly, offering her outstretched hand. She kept her heels raised even in her low flat boots. Candace tried not to look too eager as she clasped the outstretched fingers.
Music bloomed in her mind. Most quite familiar, but with new haunting phrases and passages that hinted at what Cindy had just done. Flying. Candace was sure it was in there somewhere, the secrets of her all but unique power. But it would be so much better if she could ‘hear’ Ms. Stone actually using it...
“Thank you. It’s been a dream of mine since last year.”
“Its been a dream for all of us.” Cindy added softly, “But...”
‘Ah. Here comes the other shoe,” Candace thought. ‘Alright. Let’s play games...’
“You know, not all Naiads are created equal. Some of us? We’re better than the rest.” She drew out the last word even as she rose back into the air. Securing her place as the most spectacular being present even if Candace did outshine her in the physical charms department. She reached down to stroke Candace’s soft cheek.
Candace didn’t hide her look of triumph this time. There it was! The song of levitation, singing clearly in the other woman’s cascade of notes, clear as a soprano soloist. A song she now knew by heart.
A song once learned she could play in her own body.
“Maybe you can come up to the loft later. Have a drink with us.” Cindy went on. “I’m sure someone can show you where the stairs are.” She began to slowly rise, the tips of her fingers tracing up Candace’s perfect heart face. The Angel returning to heaven, having put even the most beautiful of mortals into their place. Pecking order established.
Still radiant with the pleasure of victory, Candace stood up on tip-toe as if hoping to prolong the flying woman’s caress. Balanced in a posture of need and praise. But then her toes parted company with the ground and she lifted up into the air, rising until she was eye level with the startled woman who had foolishly thought herself Candace’s ‘better’. Eye level, but her toes still closer to the floor. Making the comparison plain while showing off her greater size and longer legs. Candace was once again the center of attention and the room’s true center of gravity.
“You can’t imagine how glad I am you came tonight.” Candace purred, her words filled with absolute sincerity. “Maybe I will join you on the balcony later. Don’t worry about me getting lost though. I’m sure I can find my way up there with or without the stairs.”
The woman looked positively crushed as Candace drifted back to the smooth dance floor, turning her back on the former queen of the establishment and walking away. Headed for the bar as soon as her feet found traction. She’d have liked to drift over, but she didn’t want to blow the moment by flailing around in midair the way her sister had when she’d first started flying. She could fumble with her new ability in private later.
Changing herself had noticeably diminished the volume of her own internal music. She needed to refresh. Recharge. And to think. Because what had just happened opened up a whole world of new possibilities for her. The implications...
Maybe she didn’t need the Eight-Ball at all. Instead, she could just touch Jessie and learn all of her songs. Then she’d control her own metamorphosis, a steady hand on the volume knob instead of praying the drug wouldn’t burn her out and kill her.
One thing about being the city’s premier transformation club: they didn’t have to skimp on the staff. The bartender was a delightful example of the breed, looking exceedingly dapper in his dark vest and white shirt. No doubt he’d enjoyed the passionate attention of several of the club’s star attractions since coming to work there. Just looking at his handsome face had her licking her lips. For a moment she felt guilty, thinking of Justin. But the moment quickly passed.
She looked deep into the bartender’s pretty blue eyes before laying a trio of hundred dollar bills on the illuminated glass that separated them. “I need a great big banana split like most guys need sex with me. Right now. I don’t care where you get it or how. If its good, I won’t be needing any change. In the mean time...” she pulled out two more bills. “Rum, and keep them coming.”
He slid the smaller stack of bills back toward her. “Your beverage comes with the compliments of the house.” He swept up the larger pile with a flourish. “Your special request I’ll see to personally, my lady.” He strode away, pausing only to whisper in the ear of his second, an effervescent pixy of a woman in a matching bartending outfit. She took off like a shot to round up Candace’s drink order.
Candace emptied the first tall glass like water, feeling the alcohol fiz to nothingness as the motes of music inside her consumed it. The second went just as fast. The third she nursed, eyeing the crowd trying to subtly eye her back and wondering where her ice cream was.
Turning away from the churning crowd she found the lead bartender already waiting for her attention. “Your ice cream, my lady,” he announced, presenting her with a glittering crystal parlor-bowl specially shaped for the banana split piled high on top. With swift, clever hands he laid out the bowl, a linen napkin, and two spoons before replacing her drink with a full glass.
She put her hand over his on the side of the glass, tasting him in the brief contact of flesh on flesh. A charming tune added to her collection.
He was definitely keeping the change. One spoonful of the multi-flavored treat and she was in heaven. She attacked it with gusto, music quickly spreading from her moist lips to the spoon and into every corner of the cut crystal bowl. Strong as a dozen doses of Cloud Nine.
Putting her spoon down after another few bites she turned to watch the room again. There’d been a subtle change in the sounds behind her, an inhalation of breath as if something were about to happen. She spun on the stool and instead of a view of the dancers she expected, Candace found a bundle of squirming girl leaping onto the seat with her.
“Well look at you, little miss Moore!” a familiar voice cried out in genuine pleasure. Not that she could see the speaker with a pair of firm leather-clad breasts covering her face. But she didn’t need to see to know that voice (or those boobs).
The same bouncer as before materialized, her guardian angel it seemed. But Candace waved him off, laughing. This was one full body glomp she’d gladly endure.
“Wendy! So good to see you!” She cried out, hugging her best friend close, kissing her full on the lips. Then she held her back at arms length, looking at the incredible dress her friend was wearing. Tight and shoulderless in a mix of red and black panels. She had on matching long gloves and thigh-high socks of opposing colors. There was also lots of her creamy pale skin showing. A mix of cocktail dress and Harley Quinn costume. For some reason her feet were bare. Practically daring the other dancers to step on her toes (at which point she would undoubtedly knee them in the balls...)
But that was Wendy in a nutshell: beautiful and fearless.
“How did you even get in here?” Candace asked, still stunned to find her there inside Mount Olympus. She’d have guessed the odds were exactly zero that she’d know anyone here.
“I’m a plus one. Senator’s son I think. He’s down in the Hades Room trying to get his knob shined by a dream girl. I’m up here with you.”
“A senator’s son?!” Candace blinked. She wasn’t sure if she could swing that even now...
“You know my favorite sport...” It was a line from the pilot episode of Royal Pains and it had been Wendy’s mantra for years.
“Extreme social climbing!” They blurted out together, laughing.
Candace looked crestfallen for the first time in hours. “I should have called you immediately. Then you could have been my plus one and not hanging off some suited up dick...”
“Don’t be mean. He was nice enough. Just not that in to me when you consider the competition around here. Like... you. Because damn. I know you’ve been in the hunt all year but you hit the jackpot.” Wendy’s eyes swept up and down the perfect body whose lap she was still perched on. Drinking it in. Wendy had always been gorgeous. Tall, full figured, long red hair, and light blue eyes guys drowned in. By far the more beautiful of the pair and they both knew it. But next to the New Candace she looked like a little girl on her mother’s lap.
“I did!” Candace agreed. “Believe me, good as it looks it feels ten times better. Better than anything you hear in the interviews. My body is just so... vivid. And sex! The way I cum now... Just... Damn.” Candace's body squirmed between Wendy's thighs just remembering how it had seemed to go on and on forever...
Wendy’s eyes slowly widened, her breath growing fast and short. Swept up in the smell of bread and honey rising from Candace now. Her tight dress was giving away other pointed signs of her growing excitement. The hungry awe in her eyes...
Suddenly Candace was terrified. What if she were jealous? What if Wendy hated her for becoming all this and leaving her behind? No... She’d never let that happen. Wendy was her best friend and she couldn’t let this come between them. She wouldn't!
“Wendy? If you trust me...” Candace started, timidly. “I think I can share this. These Changes. With you.”
Wendy deflated slightly, shaking her head. “Can’t happen, Candace-mine. Alas. Even if you’ve got the money, there’s no more eight-ball. Word’s it’s all been destroyed. No cloud nine this evening either. So I guess it’ll just be your show for tonight...”
“We don’t need ‘em. I can give you better than either one.” Candace insisted, whispering now.
Wendy looked at her, a mixture of skepticism and hope in her eyes.
Candace nodded, promising it was true. “So... want me to make you a Naiad, Wendy?” Candace grinned, ready to see Wendy swoon. The Naiads had always been Candace’s obsession. But Wendy certainly knew that as pretty as she was, she’d been rendered last year’s model by the advent of a new standard in sexy. Gentlemen didn’t prefer blondes - they preferred goddesses. She hadn’t stalked that prize like a big game hunter, but she wouldn’t say no to it being dumped in her lap either. Candace was certain of it.
Instead Wendy affected the most casual indifference to the offer of a lifetime. “Naiad? Nah... those are a dime a dozen here. I’m sure I heard you say you can do better.” Wendy said coyly, egging Candace on, as she so often did.
Candace willingly took the bait. It was an exciting prospect for her too. “So make you more like me then...?”
She undulated her body on the stool, placing every one of her curves on full display, causing no less than three collisions around the dance floor as waiters and dancers walked into posts, chairs, and each other. All gawking at the nubile goddess and the lesser hottie on her lap at bar. They’d already kissed once and now the way they were whispering, it looked like the scene was about to heat way up. Watching a Naiad go at it was the dream at the heart of the place. Mount Olympus’s most tantalizing lure.
“Because that can be arranged.” Candace grinned again, thinking she’d raised the stakes more than adequately.
Wendy’s eyes widened despite her best efforts to play it cool. “Better. Much Better. But that’s your thing and you make it look so good. No. If you can do what you say...”
She leaned in whispering in Candace’s ear, “I want you to go wild.”
She leaned back, taking Candace’s shoulders in her hands, staring deep into her emerald eyes with her own baby blues. Then she lifted her arms over her head lazily, nearly pulling her cute breasts out of her top. “I’m already beautiful. Make me something men worship.”
Candace smirked. Challenge accepted.
She could already hear the music inside Wendy. Her own music colonizing another woman’s body. But for something like this it would need to be louder. Much louder.
“Finish off my ice cream. And lets order some shots. We’re both gonna need a couple of doubles for this spell.
“I don’t know what else to call it. It sounds like music and it works like magic. So yeah, ‘spell’. Now eat your ice cream.” She commanded with a smile.
Wendy obeyed with far less than her usual obstinacy, sliding off of Candace and onto her own stool at last. Candace could hear the music in Wendy’s body rising. Both from their earlier kiss and gaining more depth from traces in the ice cream she’d partially eaten. Echoes becoming concentrated in Wendy. Ready to be guided and shaped by her own storehouse of songs.
Their shots arrived and they downed them quickly. Half a dozen each.
‘Something men worshiped’ ...Oh. Could she really? Because that would be wild. And Wendy would simply love it. Not just another boring Naiad at all, but something unique. She already knew just the tune...
She turned to Wendy, who was feeling the alcohol far more than Candice ever would again. “You might want to take off your dress. It’s not gonna fit you anyway.” Heh. That was an understatement.
“No way.” Wendy slurred, looking scandalized.
“Feeling shy? You’re going to be more beautiful than you know what to do with, Wendy-mine.” Candace teased. She’d cued up everything that had happened to her own body for Wendy’s little playlist download. Thousands of 'optimize everything' iterations. Layered over the redhead’s own natural curves and it was gonna be breathtaking...
“Me? Ha! If I’m gonna outgrow my wardrobe you have to watch it burst off of me. Hell. I want people to record it!”
Candace grinned wickedly. So be it.
“Hey, boys!” She called out, her powerful voice cutting through the soft din and the harder music. The DJ dialed the dull roar down to a purr.
“Get out your cameras. ‘Cause my friend here’s just tipped back an Eight-ball we’ve been saving and you all might want to watch!”
Candace inhaled long and deep, making a dramatic production out of it as her ribs spread and her massive breasts lifted until her tube-top was at the breaking point. Then she pulled the still reeling Wendy to her and kissed the smaller girl, slowly exhaling into her mouth, inflating her like a balloon.
More like a blow up sex doll, actually. Because while Wendy’s lungs were filling with air, the rest of her body was filling out far, far faster. The many zippers holding the panels of her dress together began to tug and pull, the whole garment finally peeling open at the top like a flower in bloom as Wendy’s already sizable assets grew to epic proportions. She'd always been more chesty than Candace and soon she would be again.
Having fully exhaled, Candace let her friend go. Wendy resembled a balloon in more ways than one: she started to float up and away, the third woman in the building that evening who could fly.
The men and women behind the camera phones let out a squeal of shocked surprise as feathers sprouted from Wendy’s bare back, quickly blossoming into long, broad angel wings. No one had ever seen a Naiad transformation do THAT before! A sea of arms holding up phones turned to track her passage overhead, a whole new level of worship well underway. Wendy captured the imagination of the entire crowd. Divinity in their midst.
The rising angel clapped her hands over her bare breasts and moaned, feeling them swell in her hands, feeling her own pulse pounding under her skin as she skipped to the punch line of what had taken Candace's nanites an hour to figure out in the laboratory of her body. While she heard no crystalline music, she was heir to many other more than human traits. Wendy was already five times stronger than a champion weightlifter and could survive being hit by a high-speed train with nothing more than a few bruises.
"Oh, yes! Oh my body!" the Wendy moaned, fingering her long nipples. "Ohhh, make me a real woman.... Make me so much more than that!" Wendy's libido was racing to catch up with Candace's too, the first rush of Super Needs boiling in her loins. Fuck! She'd never been hornier. Her date was gonna feel like a fool for having left her! Her body outshone every Naiad in the building save one... and then it was more a matter of taste: Wendy still being fairer and more rounded than her best friend. Her reproductive fitness had been catapulted past the mere dream girls to become a goddess in her own right.
Wendy's eyes snapped open with a feral gleam. "Ohhhh yeeess... Somebody's getting fucked!" she cried out. Several of her most fervent new worshipers fainted at the prospect. Nearly forgotten at the bar, Candace smiled. She knew that feeling well.
Wendy shook her head, fighting off the feelings of pleasure and confusion swirling in her skull. Then she jerked, realizing she was looking down on the whole room. A gentle swishing sound was coming from behind her, accompanied by soft gusts of wind that plucked at her braids.
She looked over her shoulders to find long feathered wings waving back at her. Her eyes traced their curves back down to her own shoulder blades... Her eyes widened in astonishment before she surged forward, darting through the air like a fish, crisscrossing the whole room twice before until pausing to hover before Candace’s throne, l looking down at her friend in awe. “You... Did you steal an angel’s wings? For me?”
A half smile quirked Candace’s face. “They’re from a goose, actually. Scaled up a little.”
Wendy finally figured out how to come down, landing softly as a pillow in front of Candace. “They’re... I’m... Wow.” A funny smile crossed her face. “I thought I’d be needing to find a ride home. But maybe I’ll just fly!” Wendy grinned ear to ear.
“Go play. Find some worshipers. This is YOUR night now. I'm just here to watch.” Candace insisted, shooing her friend away with a grin nearly as wide. While most of the cameras turned to follow Wendy, a few lingered on the blue witch, whispers starting as people put two and two together with the pig-man incident earlier.
Wendy mouthed a silent "Thank. You." her hands lifting her new breasts for emphasis before turning back to the still awestruck crowd. The living angel strode out on to the dance floor, dominating the field completely. Even the bravest men were cowed by her wild half-naked beauty. Her dress continued to slowly unzip itself to pieces as her miraculous body grew only rounder and taller. The Naiad-Angel reached up and slowly unwound her braids, setting her long red hair free. Here was a beautiful young woman being reborn into something so much more. And ready to put her new body through its paces.
With no takers, Wendy had to choose a partner herself, pointing to an attractive young man she spied huddled in a wall booth, urging him to join her as his friends cheered him on. He drew into a frightened ball until his companions finally shoved him out of the booth to stumble towards the Angel of Lust calling to him.
He stood before her, afraid to even breathe. She took his hands and started to dance, pulling him along in her wake. The DJ sensing her mood brought the music back up and the crowd began to turn around them as spotted lights swished back and forth over the packed mass of lithe bodies.
Finally convincing her toy she wouldn’t bite, Wendy moved closer and closer until she was grinding her magnificent bare breasts all over his torso, their hips bumping and rubbing. Nature reminding him of his role in this ritual after all. Just as his hands finally rose to caress her astounding chest, her wings folded in around them, giving them near total privacy for whatever would happen next.
Even muffled by goose down the audience heard the grunts and moaning, smiling knowingly as the long feathers shivered like the woman’s body they were attached to. Then the ball of wings rose from the sea of dancers, revealing four legs entwined and two girlish bare feet curling in growing ecstasy. Pieces of the young man's torn clothing fluttered to the ground. She'd ripped them off of him with ease.
The cries in the air grew louder. Suddenly the seed-shaped cocoon of Wendy’s wings unfurled. Both naked now, the redheaded angel held her new lover between her legs as she worked him in and out, her sweet cries rising in speed and volume as the two pumped faster and faster in the air above the dancers. The crowd roared with approval, having never seen the like, even in this den of super-sexual antics. Cindy Stone had never been so brazen or willing to share.
Wendy finally came like a bomb going off, not a scream but a burst of breathy whimpers, her orgasm sending a trickle of angelic honey running down her long legs, spattering a few people below who didn’t seem to mind. Still shaking with the more-than-human pleasure from head to toe, her knees uncurled and she gently released her first partner of the evening, his exhausted body dropping into the waiting hands of the crowd below who ferried him away, holding him overhead like a mosh pit, to deposit him back at the booth with his friends who were looking at him with a mixture of awe and jealousy. Wendy went right on cumming without him.
She shook out her hair and pivoted above the danced "Yes! Oh, definitely yes. Again!" She demanded. Despite her orgasmic display, Wendy seemed fresh and ready for more. The smolder in her eyes promising she was ready for MANY more. With narrow, inviting eyes she stared at the upper balcony. Directly into the eyes of Cindy Stone, who was looking equal parts furious and horn-dog. Completely upstaged.
“Cindy?” The new center of gravity in the room called out. “Why don’t you come here and we’ll show these people what two angels can do?” Wendy offered, more than a little excited by the idea of a partner whom she wouldn't have to worry about slipping and falling.
Seeing a chance to gain back some of the ground she’d been losing all night, Cindy literally leapt off the railing at Wendy’s offer. Once again all eyes were on her, even if she was sharing the limelight. The music began to rise and the crowd began to churn again. Just another glorious night on the slopes of Mount Olympus, two mythical super-hotties taking the place of a mirrored disco ball. Wendy's powerful new love-scent infusing the whole room with her lust.
Candace was so happy for Wendy she couldn’t stand it any more. She could have fingered herself to a full-on detonation of pleasure just watching her friend, but why should she have to with so many willing partners about?
She eyed the bar and then started to climb over it before remembering she didn’t have to climb over anything anymore. With a little twisting hop like a martial artist on wires, she bounded over the narrow slab of thick glass, landing lightly. The talented bartender who’d been serving her so ably was in for a huge tip if she had her way. And she didn’t mean money either.
“Miss?” He asked, startled to see her standing on his side of the bar.
She looked at him seductively, then took a long pull from her glass, feeling the rum fizz in her mouth. The she reached out a hand and pulled him to her, pressing his face against hers. He didn’t resist. She kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his mouth while the liquor in her mouth passed to his. Still gripping his neck she pulled back, listening to his songs and the sound of her own magic invading his body, charged up by the rum she’d shared.
“You wouldn’t mind... servicing me... would you? After watching my friend, I’m feeling a little.... needy.”
He shook his head, still stunned. Despite her earlier speculation, he’d never had one of the nightclub’s most wondrous patrons give him anything more than orders. Drink orders. This was one of his most deeply held fantasies unfolding before him. He’d been here since the place opened, dreaming of this every shift he worked. Watching the newly minted Naiads cavorting on the dance floor, fucking whoever took their fancy. Their bodies the stuff of dreams. But always other patrons. The staff never seemed so lucky. Except now that it was possibly happening, it was with a woman that exceeded even the lofty standards the regular clientele had brought to his fantasies. As if his countless patient prayers had been granted with interest.
For her part, Candace reached into her library of songs, collecting a few ‘greatest hits’ from the dozen or so men she’d sampled that day. She pushed them into him, listening to the echoes as they began to reshape him from a fine specimen to a damn fine specimen of manhood. With a cock and balls that just might owe a little something to a longhorn bull whose eventual fate had been braised beef at a wedding reception.
She watched him already starting to bulk up, his pants straining to contain the monster she was about to unleash. “Here’s the rules: when I say ‘start’, you start. When I say ‘stop’ you keep going. When I say ‘Oh God, you’re too big...’ you go faster. Believe me, If I really want you to stop, I’ll make you stop and it won’t be by asking. Are we clear?”
He nodded, sweat running down his face. His insides felt like a furnace. He plunged his hands into the ice bucket by the taps, the cubes melting at his touch but giving him blessed relief. Unbeknownst to him, his growth accelerated, the repurposed nanites in his system taking advantage of the momentary heat sink.
She leaned over the bar. Her legs so long she had to spread them wide to lower her belly to the cool glass. Her torso so long her heavy breasts hung completely over the outer edge. She reached back and unzipped one side of her skirt, flipping the back panel up to reveal that panties were something she hadn’t been able to find in her new size.
“Ok... now start.” Her green eyes gleamed merrily.
He slid up to her and into her at the same time. Turns out ‘hung like a horse’ sounds good, but hung like a fucking bull had its own charms. His girth was already enormous and she could feel his hot shaft still growing insider her.
“Oh!” She grunted. “Ok that might be a little bit more than I expected...”
He simply laughed, grabbing her thighs and driving himself in deeper. There’d never been a male Naiad before and he was happy to be the first. He was happier still to show this beautiful creature all that he could do to her. He began pounding her dripping hole in long deep strokes, able to pump in and pull out a full foot while still leaving his rock hard tip lodged firmly in her steamy darkness.
Candace’s growing cries were all but lost in the din as Wendy and Cindy spiraled in and out together over the dance floor, having pulled another lucky guy up out of the crowd. They looked like a Cirque du Soleil, stacked up in the air in an impossible configuration. Wendy was floating on her back, the eager volunteer straddling her waist, his dick buried between her breasts while another ambitious soul was sitting on a buddy's shoulders, raising his head high enough to dive between Wendy's legs and eat her out with his hands cupped over her smooth thighs for balance. Wendy was having a meal of her own, licking and nibbling Cindy's pussy while Cindy tongue-wrestled with the man getting the titty fuck of his life. And the throbbing music played on, keeping time.
It was a testament to the quality of service at Mount Olympus that the sylph-like second bartender and an attentive busboy both managed to pry their eyes away from the spectacle and rush to answer the call when Candace met their gazes and hooked a finger at them. The human jackhammer pounding her from behind was making her heavy tits jiggle and sway. In moments she'd pulled her top down and had the pair kneeling before the bar, sucking on her dangling nipples while her own hands reached back to spread her ass cheeks wider. Their lapping tongues gathered up the shining music on Candace's skin, causing their bodies to begin to flow and shift. Accidental blessings from the goddess moaning above them.
With Candace’s strange senses linking them through the invisible strands, she and Wendy came in unison, a sparkling firestorm of lust and sensation that had every other Naiad in the building crying out too. Those echoes poured back into Candace and her climax turned into a single shivering note reflected in every nervous system in the building, driving everyone in attendance into spastic bliss. Revelers and Naiads alike swept up by the sounds of Candace's godlike passion.
"uff, oh, ohh, huff, oh, OH! ...I'm gonna... Oh! cumming... I'M CUMMING!! "
The music continued on autopilot, but the DJ was down in a twitching heap. The dance floor looked like something between a terrorist attack and an orgy. There wasn't a dry crotch in the house. Candace's multiple orgasm affected everyone. From the booths to the bathrooms, people were sprawled limply where they'd collapsed.
Candace came around first, with Wendy already starting to stir. She looked down at the pair who had received her accidental bounty, slumped on the floor beneath the bar. Both were now yummy enough to eat.
She snapped her fingers at them a few times until both looked up, still dazed. “Ok, you two. Listen close. You go play with the angel over there next. And when she’s done – completely done for the night – you see her home to her very own door or all this will vanish like mist come morning. Are we clear?” She didn't know if she actually could reverse what had happened to them, but it seemed like a pretty convincing threat.
The two looked down at themselves, their sleekly powerful bodies, their very evident sexual features. Without sugar, cream, and alcohol the effects were more limited than a full dose of Cloud Nine, but it was still formidable. Bodies on par with Olympic athletes, if not actually mythological creatures. Especially fortunate for the busboy, whom the drug normally would have entirely skipped over. They looked back up at their obvious benefactor and nodded. Hell of a deal.
Candace stood up, catching the lead bartender as he slid off of her, having collapsed over her back. For the first time she looked upon her works and judged them good. His sharp uniform shredded by the Chippendale muscles that had bloomed within. Total. Fucking. Hunk. Even flaccid, his dick was as thick as a coke can. She peeled an eyelid back but he was out cold. Just as well. She wasn’t sure she could keep a straight face asking him if he knew of any back doors in this place. It was a good thing she was bulletproof inside and out: he'd given her a savage reaming with that monster tool.
She waved to Wendy, already looking around for more after her second super-massive orgasm of the night. Gravity and exhaustion both having learned not to bother her. Candace might have dialed the explosive quality of her climaxes up just a little bit higher than her own... Though Wendy had always cum like a river in flood. Seeing Wendy wave back, she pointed down at the two enhanced club staffers still clambering to their feet. She mouthed an exaggerated “For. You.” to Wendy, pointing at them again and pointing at her friend.
Wendy put her hands together between her breasts like she was a cute little girl praying and not a six foot something porno-angel surrounded by a hundred people flattened by divine orgasm. “For. Me?” She mouthed back, batting her eyes. Smart ass.
Candace gave her a thumbs up, then started creeping towards the service entrance, the 'Blue Witch' trying to make a discrete exit. Fun was fun, but she’d had a revelation as the massive pumping cock she’d created had filled her until she thought her eyes would pop out.
If she could change people, maybe she could heal them too.
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I've also added two smaller images in-line in part 10 in the post above. just for reference .
Edit: After some discussion I decided to tweak Wendy's presentation slightly.
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To summarize one of the key minor adjustments, ALL Naiads have a fairly powerful 'lust aura', whipping those in extreme proximity into a highly aroused and mildly suggestible state. Men taking the drug also gain this aura, but only for a couple of days, while Naiads enjoy it indefinitely. Unsurprisingly Jessie and Candace both take this to an extreme both in range and impact.
I've also wanted to make some significant changes to Jessie's encounter with Aisha, and that resulted in a substantial rebuild of part 9. This was the part partially reverted by the site implosion a while back so ultimately rather than deal with the demoralizing crater, I mostly built a new trail around it. Hopefully the story is better for it. I think it is .
Again, this is a revised Part 9 and thus comes before Candace's trip to the club. Sorry for the not-quite-chronological presentation. I'll get it sorted on the backside when it gets shelved.
She put a finger to her lips and winked at her little fireman doll. Our secret.
He smiled up at her and gave her a salute. With his hand this time. He’d been saluting her in other ways since before the sun had gone down. And then with more aplomb than she thought men could have, he turned away from her and started rummaging through the pile of his torn gear looking for something to wear. Instead of just staring at her like a drooling idiot.
‘Nice’ she thought. Might have to visit him at the airport again. Take him on a ride with a little more altitude... But she had places to go and people to see.
Or did she? Seemed like her social calendar was actually pretty clear, assuming she put some of the most petty antics she had in mind on hold. She thought back to the events of the day. Her earlier schemes for payback didn’t seem nearly epic enough for what she’d become.
...Oh, that’s right: Aisha. She actually kind of wanted to find out if she could really turn a confident, composed straight girl into a Naiad-sucking slut. The odds seemed favorable.
“Because you never know until you try!” She threw her fist up, striking a Supergirl pose midair and giggling. The guy below her crumpled to his knees.
“Shit!” she muttered. Must. Not. Break. the Pretty. Dolls. She shot away to the west. Her phone was toast hours ago, probably having fallen out of her hoodie at 20,000 feet somewhere. but she found she could remember Aisha’s address from the quick glance earlier. Her brain not so much enhanced as sitting at the top of a temple to good health, all her systems incredibly clean, like a well-oiled machine. Her brain felt so sharp she wondered if she could even get drunk or high now.
She shot west at casual lope – a mere three-hundred miles an hour – and barely a dozen feet up. Sticking so close to the ground she flew under the overpasses instead of over them. The few times a dangling nipple (her two lowest ‘points’ flying stretched out like that) grazed the top of a truck or van she left a gouge that looked like it had been cut by a laser: the scorched razor-sharp line decorated with a spray pattern of liquefied metal. When she realized the source of those momentary bursts of heat at the tips of her breasts she started flying even lower, putting scars on the roofs of even regular cars with her faster-than-a-speeding-bullet passage across the city.
And if the car had a sunroof? Boom! A tinkle of breaking glass and the whole thing was ripped up and out to follow in her wake for another block before her relentless speed left the glittering hail behind.
The daytime news shows went wild. Digital cameras in the hands of hundreds of Los Angelinos documenting Jessie’s journey as a collection of creamy-skinned blurs. The police began to mobilize, wondering almost-correctly if this was the beginning of another Burnout rampage.
Jessie landed in a small but neat backyard. Still naked and avoiding the street at the front of the small house. Half of the space was filled with a working garden and Jessie breathed in deeply. Soil, flowers, vines, peppers... LIFE. Green and growing. Her own concrete patio suddenly seemed so drab. Barren and acrid with the remembered scent of the pool.
It was with an unanticipated sense of humility she crept up on to the back porch, only remembering she could fly when a chipped and peeling board creaked under her. Old wood and new paint, beeswax and dried fruit. It smelled like... Wisdom.
Jessie tried the door, thinking the lock would snap easily in her grip, but it was unlocked. ‘Who leaves their door unlocked in LA?’ she thought. She slipped in silently, hearing someone humming from deeper within the small home.
From the kitchen she spied Aisha puttering around a large bed in the center of what was most likely the living room of the small house, arranging small items and then adjusting a good sized camera on its tripod. In this day and age that camera was either very old or very professional to be so large. She came back around, and then looking up from her task saw Jessie looking back at her and startled, stumbling backwards and sitting down on the bed.
They looked at each other silently. Aisha was wearing provocative white dress, shoulderless and cut down to her navel. Below the waist it had about half the length needed to call it a mini skirt. Which still meant she was 100% more clothed than Jessie.
“Aren’t you cold?” Aisha finally asked, breaking the silence.
Jessie cocked her head. ‘What?’ she thought. ‘It doesn’t get cold in LA.’ Then she looked down and saw that she was naked. “Oh. That.” She laughed. “I don’t think I can get cold anymore...” She answered, surprising herself as she realized she really hadn’t felt any discomfort since coming out of the boiling water. Boiling water itself being kind of a clue that she was pretty all-weather now.
“Well that’s got to be nice. But if you’ll like something to cover up with, I might be able to scrounge up something in a size oh-emm-gee. I’ve got a sewing machine too.”
“You don’t seem as mad as I was expecting...”
Aisha gave her a sharp look. “Oh, I’m mad. But mostly at myself. Mama always said what goes around comes around.” She struck a pose on the edge of the bed and Jessie’s eyes went wide. The white garment made her skin seem even darker, with her crinkly hair bound up out of her eyes in an elegant up-do. Quite the contrast to Jessie’s wind tattered yellow locks. Here was a woman who knew how to use what she had. With a skill that made Jessie hungry for that power. “You think I haven’t bullied other girls off the field with my looks?” She laughed once, but not with mirth. “You’ll meet a bigger fish too, some day.”
Jessie cringed. She’d spent her whole life being the smaller fish and she dreaded going back to that place. But now that she was SUPER, that wasn’t possible now.
Jessie walked over to the bed, sat down beside Aisha, and eyeing her carefully tried to mimic everything about the languid, sultry pose. It certainly looked good on her, clothes or not.
Aisha’s breathing grew faster, her eyes narrow, Jessie’s pheromone charms starting to bite into her brain. “Well... you’re looking even finer than when I met you. Come for lessons or to make me a lesbian, then?”
“Can it be both?” Jessie whispered hopefully.
Aisha rolled her shoulders deliciously and then shook her head, loosening up her neck. Her hand slide up Jessie’s back to her shoulder and pulled the larger girl’s torso down into her lap. “I don’t see why not.”
“Wait....” Jessie looked at the cameras and a remote laying on the broad bed in the center of what would normally be a living room. Props and toys in racks within arms reach of the bed. “You’re a cam-girl?”
Aisha smiled and nodded.
“Is... Is that on?” Jessie waved at the glistening eye of the camera, suddenly shy.
“Not live. I was getting ready to record something spontaneous. You had kinda put me in the mood already.” Aisha rolled across the bed, playfully elbowing Jessie right in the boob as she climbed over the bigger woman. She peeled off her dress and tossed it over the camera.
“No... I’ve changed my mind. Turn it on. Let ‘em watch. Special guest star episode and the best ratings you ever get!”
Aisha couldn’t deny that.
Aisha started slow: hot oil rubdown, gentle teasing, kissing Jessie in unexpected places. Jessie had never gone farther than French kissing with another girl and Aisha’s silky touch was wonderful and new to her. And the bed! The crimson satin sheets whispered across her skin, quickly becoming spattered with her oozing golden honey. The smell was intense, and Aisha was moaning softly even as she continued to restrain herself, pleasuring Jessie while asking nothing in return. Finally she rolled Jessie’s unresisting body over and began to eat her out in earnest. Lapping directly from at the fountain of Jessie's non-stop stream of juice. Slick juices running down her chin, the black woman peered up at Jessie from between her leg and moaned, cumming without even touching herself. “OH! Oh, Goddess! Make me like you… Make me the tiniest bit like you!” She pleaded, and then not waiting for a reply when back to speed bagging Jessie’s engorged clit with her tongue.
Jessie only squirmed. She didn’t know how many times she’d already orgasmed, or if that was even the right word for what she was feeling now. But after such an exquisite performance, she’d grant this worshiper’s wish if she could. Aisha had appealed to Jessie since the moment they met.
While Candace was the master of all things Naiad, Jessie was a Supergirl fan par excellence. And that included the erotic stories. If any of those were to be believed, Aisha guzzling her juices was already her best bet. But there were ways to up her odds…
“Be like me? Then you’ll need to come up here and suck Supergirl’s tits. Suck them hard, girl!”
Aisha climbed her body like she was on a mission. Just before her head bobbed down to take one of Jessie's obscenely long nipples in her mouth, she asked, “You’re Supergirl? Really?”
“Close enough…” Jessie managed to get out before her jaw locked with pleasure and all she could do was hiss. Fuck. No matter what else, her nipples were just beyond sensitive. And Aisha was no novice. She nipped, twisted, flicked and chewed with an enthusiasm no horny guy could match. And with a woman’s insight, she popped up at the moment Jessie most desperately wanted more, leaving her teetering on the edge of total meltdown.
“Then you need a costume. I’ll make you one, my Goddess…” Aisha promised before diving in on the other breast and spinning Jessie up to the brink all over again.
Jessie gently tugged the woman's head up, freeing her nipple with a wet pop before looking Aisha in the eyes. “Fuck me one-hundred ways and I’ll make you the tiniest bit like me.” It was an offer with no real promise, but Aisha wasn’t exactly in contract lawyer mode. Instead she leaned in, and kissed Jessie full on the lips, sealing the deal way better than a handshake.
For the next hour Jessie got a master’s course in luxurious sex. Tools and techniques no one in her little universe would have or could have shared with the youth. Aisha gave them freely, laughing with the girl each time she startled like a yearling doe that women could do that!... and THAT?! No? Oh! Ohhhh yes! No... not that too? Only Jessie's superhuman stamina kept her from passing out from each new experience, as the pleasure that washed over her was more than any ordinary girl could withstand.
Confident now that she was getting the hang of Aisha's many lessons, she wanted to show teacher this student had more to offer than most. Jessie pulled Aisha's wide dark hips to the edge of the bed, letting one of the older girl's legs hang down, the other going up over her shoulder. Then she leaned in, the bulk of her heavy breast spreading Aisha open wide like a soft but irresistible wedge. But not all of Jessie's breast was soft... She began to rock, pushing herself in deeper with every stroke. Just like with the airplane, Jessie could see inside Aisha, and directly visualize when she was stimulated and how much. Guided by this preternatural aim, Jessie’s long and diamond hard nipple began to alternate between penetrating Aisha’s labia and grazing against her clit, the mismatch between their size as hilarious as an ocean-liner ramming a speedboat. Or a pleasure ship colliding with a fireworks barge. Her confidence growng as her enhanced senses let her read Aisha's body like an erotic instruction manual, Jessie began to speed up. Aisha’s soft cries did the same.
Almost instantly the already primed Aisha was reduced to desperate, squeaky gasping. Jessie's rhythm and aim were perfect, a more spectacular lover than she'd ever known before. The student now the master, and utterly destroying her. It took Aisha almost a minute to catch her breath enough that she could finally form words. “My gaaawd.... hhh? What are you doing to me?” Her pussy was so over stimulated it was a wet, twitchy mess.
Jessie looked up from licking Aisha’s belly, still grinding her chest into the woman’s sopping groin. “Who, me? I’m titty fucking you, silly girl.”
Aisha burst into laughter. “That’s NOT what people mean when they say that.” Then Aisha explained actual titty fucking as Jessie's eyes grew wide. She looked down at her massive chest. “Ok, I could do that.” She leaned in again, once again pumping Aisha with her nipple. “So what do we call this?” She asked slyly, knowing Aisha was already on her way out of her mind again.
“Heavenly!” Aisha declared. And as Jessie once again turned the full force of her tits and her pleasure sense towards melting Aisha’s brain, the woman began to scream in savage, body shaking orgasm.
“Your nipples are better than cocks. Your nipples are BETTER THAN COCKS!”
Delighted with her new power over Aisha, Jessie crooned. “Say my name.”
“Goddess... goddess... my goddess... I don’t know?” Aisha wailed in confusion, still rolling in a deep orgasm that wouldn’t – that couldn’t – stop as long as Jessie kept servicing her.
Jessie burst into belly laughter, breaking the rhythm and giving the gasping mortal a chance to regroup. “Oh?” She laughed. “That’s right. Hi, I’m Jessie.” She reached around and shook one of Aisha’s limp hands, her smile wide, eyes twinkling.
Aisha threw her another wise smile and nod, just before cutting loose with her first inarticulate scream of pleasure as Jessie resumed her attack while lifting them both into the air. The brief pause giving Aisha the strength to be catapulted into an even higher level bliss. She'd never been nipple-fucked before, but flying sex was even better!
After screaming herself out, Aisha slipped sinuously from Jennie’s grasp. Landing on the wide bed in a soft heap while Jessie floated above her, seemingly still as fresh as when they’d started. Aisha reached up and slapped the pale ass hovering over her. “Now you’re just flaunting it....” She smiled. “Wait here, Jessie. I’ve got just the thing for a bad girl like you...”
Aisha climbed off the bed and nearly crashed to the floor, her legs still rubbery. She walked – with the exaggerated caution of the half-drunk – to her bedroom. Jessie lounged in the bed rolling herself in the satin sheets. She could hear Aisha rummaging, a soft ‘a ha!’ and a faint series of metallic clicks.
Aisha returned with sultry runway walk. There were a series of straps running across her broad hips, thighs and belly. Then Jessie’s blue eyes drifted down...
“Oh. My. God. What. Is. THAT?” Jessie asked, not sure if she should run for cover or squeal that Christmas had come early.
Aisha laughed rich and liquid. “You really are an innocent little goddess aren’t you? This...” She rolled her hips, making the enormous rubber dick hanging between her legs. “Is a two-way. Fun for all.”
Jessie’s eyes grew wider as she realized the other end was already burred deep in Aisha’s hole.
The darker woman climbed eagerly on to the bed on her hands and knees. “Now bring that divine ass over here, and if we start flying again, try to let me steer...”
“Yes ma’am. Please don’t hurt me, ma’am...” Jessie whispered, eyes still wide.
Aisha pulled her head closer, kissing her softly. “Don’t worry. It’ll be just like I’m riding a bike...”
- - - -
Randal didn’t know what the fuck he was seeing.
Hearing Aisha’s screams, he’d kicked the front door in, an almost accidental white knight. Now he was standing at the entryway of her home as his brother’s lady spun in the air above a bed in her living room, the source of her screams now obvious.
Aisha had always been one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever known, someone truly good enough for his brother, but it was a bit of a toss-up with that pale goddess she was entangled with.
The two were turning in the air slowly, like they were on a rotisserie. Their heads were at opposite ends, black hair and gold. The forks of their spread legs interlocked and a huge double-ended dildo was filling any remaining space in that junction. Jessie - because it was obvious who the white woman must be - had a hand gripping each of Aisha’s ankles and was tugging them in short jerks, powering the squishy impacts of their trembling pussies.
He was rock hard in an instant, swimming in the smells of sex.
...Which in his case were just about two neurons down the hall from the impulse for violence. He pulled a heavy .45 out of the back of his waistband. Seeing Jessie made him hungry, but not just for release for his iron cock. It made him hungry to kill. In his eyes the paired swells of her breasts only mimicked the masses of bandages on his brother’s hands.
Gorgeous or not. Flying or not. Bitch. Must. Die.
He waited for the next rotation to bring her smooth, pale face back around. Unlike some hoods who only pulled the trigger in anger, Randal had months of range time under his belt. Crack shot. He sighted in, right between her eyes.
Her angel face rolled into view.
“For you, Will.” He pulled the trigger. Not the first time he’d shot a woman in cold blood, and probably not the last. While the house still echoed with gunfire, he added, “Die bitch.”
Jessie’s head snapped back and the two women fell out of the air in a tumble. Aisha was so far gone in bliss the impact only made her moan again, her hips weakly trying to work the strap-on as Jessie’s limp hands dropped away from her legs.
Randal came forward to check on Aisha. If the bitch had hurt her like his brother he’d... Fuck. What was left? Shoot her again?
Before his widening eyes, Jessie sat up on the bed, rubbing her longest finger into the little notch where her brows joined her nose. Right between the eyes.
Randal looked horrified. Zombie Super Bitches were more tropes than he could take in one day.
Jessie curled all the other fingers of her hand, flipping him off as she opened her blue eyes on either side of the up-thrust digit. “Ok, that stung.” She turned her hand around to show him she was only rubbing off the smudge where the heavy bullet’s lead core had smeared itself across her smooth skin like a five-year-old playing with eye shadow.
She reached out and pulled him to her on the bed, about to shake him like a dog when... “Hey. You smell like Willy. You know... He was always a king in bed. And look! A bed! So, tough guy.... How do you measure up?”
Randal groaned with his whole body. Kill or fuck, he was primed. But still, his core drive was violence, not sex.
Just then a truly huge Samoan poked his head in the backdoor. Randal’s bodyguard, drawn by the single gunshot. “Randy, my man? Bullets? I thought we was here making nice with the lady?”
Jessie glanced across the room and then did a double take. “Wow! More hotties. Aisha? Did you call for delivery? ‘Cause your family-sized meat deluxe is here.” She licked her lips. As much sex as she's had already, she was entirely up for more. Her body as seemingly beyond all limits in that regard as so many others.
Doubly enraged at being ignored, Randal tried to shake off the blond girl’s grip. She was tall and athletic looking but he was a guy, an urban warrior. He should be able to bend her arm back… or at least a finger?
Taking her eyes off the new dude just come in, Jessie looked at Randal struggling in her casual grip. “What are you doing?” She asked, genuinely puzzled as he used both his hands to try and twist back her pinky. It didn't move an inch.
“Crazy bitch!” Randal shrieked, almost frothing at the mouth now. Then he spit in her eye.
It was more reflex than ill-intent that Jessie flicked her hand upwards, letting go of Randal so she could wipe her eye. But for Randal it was his last moments on Earth, as he slammed into the ceiling hard enough to crush the plaster and break his spine in three places against the stout beams. Moments later his dying body hit the bed with a ‘woomph’.
"Oh shit!" she blurted out, shocked. She hadn't meant to do that! She'd only meant to toss him away as she wiped her face. But looking up at the ceiling and the huge body-shaped dent... Fuck, she was just so strong now! Flinging the whole weight of his body away from her had been no more of a strain than tossing a penny in a fountain. It made her earlier stunts with the SUV and refrigerator seem like a child flexing and dreaming of having a real bicep next to power of a champion weightlifter.
She looked back down at the man dying in front of her. He gurgled painfully, his lungs rattling as they filled with blood. She could see inside him slightly, watching the sparkle and flutter of his nerves shutting down, his brain growing cold and dark in her enhanced perception. It was beautiful and horrible and fascinating and all very, very alien to her. Like it wasn't even a person at all, just a collection of lights. A poorly tended Christmas tree finally being taken down after the holidays. Something you regret for a few moments and then put out of your mind until next year.
The other man came forward, standing over them both now and watching with her as his employer and almost-friend paid the price for spitting on a goddess. Because even before her scent hit him, he'd recognized Jessie was something amazing. A creature out of myth. Better than real.
“You with him?” She asked, her voice carrying an empty sort of neutrality. Like she was in a dream that didn't entirely make sense.
“Yeah. Bodyguard.” He answered quietly.
“Are we gonna have a problem?” She pressed on, still absorbing that she'd killed someone with no more than a flick of her graceful fingers. Like swatting a bug. She'd deliberately crushed an ant one time, just to see it die. It had left her feeling queasy for days. This was... about as bad.
“No ma’am. …In fact, that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She looked up at him, surprised, and a growing hunger in her loins replaced the momentary sense of nausea. He was BIG. Big enough he could still loom over even her enormous new frame. He was inside her aura of course, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t the only thing making his pants strain. He gazed down at her with open longing.
Jessie, always a little attention starved, liked it. A lot. She also wanted to bury herself in his embrace and forget the last few minutes; go back to the carefree fantasy world that was her new reality.
She floated up off the bed, making his breath catch. He hadn’t made it inside early enough to have seen her do that before. Now eye to eye with him, her knees tucked under her on a pillow of empty air and presenting her full breasts just below the line of his chin she asked, “Do you want to touch them? Go on then…” and she closed her eyes.
She felt his hot breath draw closer, but was so startled she almost fell out of the air when he didn’t touch her breasts. Instead one beefy hand clasped her shoulder and another caught her elbow, and with surprising delicacy he lifted her arm and began kissing her bicep. He worked his way down the outside of her arm, worship the muscles that had just killed grown man with an errant twitch. He knew she was a hundred times stronger than him, and it filled him with lust and awe.
He released her arm and kissed the back of each of her fingers, setting her trembling with unexpected desire. She'd never been so certain a man wanted her so much. Had never experienced having a man worship her body like this. ‘God damn’ she thought. “Does everyone know more about sex than me?” she whispered aloud as his lips worked the way back up the inside of her arm and he finally went to work on her breast, pushing her gently back down into the bed. And for a change Jessie didn’t resist a man’s leading. He was both nothing and everything like Aisha, and his dick was a beast inside her.
Soon Jessie was being tag-teamed by Aisha and Jet both (Jessie only learning his name when Aisha thought to ask). Randal’s cooling corpse got shoved unceremoniously off the bed and Jessie found herself being eaten out or pumped ever so full of cock in every imaginable combination. "Oh... Fuck me more!" she cried out over and over under their assault.
A strange lethargy came over her after the thirtieth or so orgasm (because who’s counting?). Her body finally calling for rest. Not because of her exertions though. Instead she felt something was still changing within. Her body was still a gurgling cauldron of possibilities as the Greenstone genes took root and flourished inside her. She wasn’t done becoming super yet.
On the edge of unconsciousness, with Aisha promising over and over she’d never love another man, Jessie whispered, “Told’ja.” and then slept.
Was it all a dream? Where the hell was she?!?
Her hands slapped against her thighs, and she felt long sleek muscle. Almost certainly harder and shapelier than the limbs that normally greeted such exploration.
Her hands moved upwards, tracing generous hips that she’d never hoped to call her own. Signs seemed good.
Loose fingers traced the whorls and cobblestones of a tightly defined belly she would have called too hard on anyone else, but only because it wasn’t her. Now it seemed it was, and let the other people suck on some jealousy for a while. It was their turn.
Finally, her hands butted up against the twin monuments to feminine sex appeal, mountains of soft girlflesh rising from her torso. “Oh, oh you’re real! And so firm!” she shouted out, shaking the building with her honest relief as she squeezed them with superhuman force. Her hands scaled the full and rounded cliffs to find their aching peaks. She grabbed and crushed them both together, making her aching tips rub each other in a way her old tits never could have managed. She felt like her belly was melting as a muscular contraction rolled up her spine from clitoris to scalp. She might as well rename her new Eight-Ball enhanced nipples her ‘light switches’... Because all it took was one flick and she was SO TURNED ON.
“I. Am. So. Fucking. SEXY.” Jessie slowly breathed after another double-orgasms rocked her welcoming body. Nope. Not a dream at all.
She rolled on her side, still a bit disoriented to not be in her own bed. She spied a stack of clothes piled at the far corner of the pillows. There was a tray stacked on the mound covered with steaming, mouth-watering food. A folded paper card rested sat at the top, the outside marked only with “Jessie”
The note read in a graceful script “Running errands. Made breakfast (hope you like eggs (^_^)!). Made a little something for you to try on, too. I’m feeling more Super already! Eternal love xoxo”. She’d signed it with a little diamond-shield with an A in the middle.
The last gave Jessie pause. She hadn’t really meant to share this with anyone, much less her traitorous ex-boyfriend's new bitch. No... That wasn't fair. Aisha had been nothing but honest with her, in her love and hate. More than she could say about most of her friends.
That made her blond brows come together in a cute little furrow of concentration. Aisha had seemed so strong and self-possessed when they'd met. She'd hated Jessie with cold fury and had every reason to. But in just a couple of hours her Super Naiad-body's chemical aura had turned her in to a giggling romantic utterly dedicated to Jessie. Jet had lost himself in her even faster, going from professional ruin at her hands to eager sex puppy in less than a minute.
As awesome as her strength and flying and being bulletproof were, the possibility she could make anyone love her was even better to the angry and often lonely little girl.
But what had happened in her sleep? She’d been out cold. Jet was gone. Randal’s body was gone. And she felt better than ever, if such a thing was even possible. Faster, stronger, maybe even smarter? Concentrating now, she could vaguely recall Aisha sucking and licking her for hours as she’d slept, her super-fertile body still processing the multitude of gifts she’d received after drinking the vial of Eight-Ball. Who knew what was in her sweat and other juices? She might have been oozing Eight-Ball from every pore, eaach drop gathered up by Aisha’s nimble, playful tongue.
Holy shit. What if the Supergirl porn-stories she'd read on the internet were right? Was Aisha even now flying around town and flipping cars? Had she inadvertently created a rival? She was suddenly very keen to know what ‘feeling more Super’ actually entailed.
On the other hand, an only slightly empowered Aisha might make for a very entertaining repeat of yesterday. And would have every woman in the world offering up their very souls for the chance to eat her out and suck her nipples until their tongues were worn raw by her rough and impervious skin. All the while their eyes looking at her with desperate hope and unspeakable need. They'd sidle up to her, thinking they were so clever pretending to be her friend, and in moments they'd have no choice but to be her worshipers and lovers. Beg like dogs and willingly, gleefully accept any silly demands their beloved Jessie might make of them. Such wicked possibilities.
She laughed, and the silken sheets played over her, making her squirm like a puppy. A single drop of her honey glistened on her thigh. She had to get up now or she’d never get out of this glorious bed. Even realizing the peril, the idea of just laying there and cumming over and over for a couple of weeks sounded so seductively wonderful...
Enough of that.
She sat up and pulled the tray on to her lap. The food was delicious, but she noted she wasn’t ravenous like before. The meal was just pleasantly filling. Her body had found some other means to fuel its prodigious consumption of energy than just burning calories, she guessed.
Picking up the tray revealed the garments beneath. Still nibbling a piece of buttered toast, she raised an outrageously massive bikini top to eye level. It was a beautiful deep blue, but looking at it her first thought was 'no one needed cups like that!' It was a literal over the shoulder boulder holder! But when she lay it against her chest, she realized Aisha had a sharp eye for fit indeed. If anything, it would be a bit snug, showing off her puppies to marvelous effect. Beneath the top lay a red miniskirt with a shiny plastic yellow belt already fed through the loops. No… sewn into the loops. Aisha must have made or altered it specifically for her sometime during the night. Like the top, it promised to fit snugly and was so short it made no concessions to modesty whatsoever. It wasn't there to hide anything, only to tantalize.
But the pièce de résistance was under the skirt. Two over the knee high heeled boots, all in glossy red. She had no idea where Aisha could have found such a thing – and in her size no less.
The woman had taken Jessie’s pillow talk to heart, because taken together it was the sexiest 'Supergirl costume' she could imagine and still be wearing any clothes at all.
She had to try it on! And see herself. Aisha’s living-room-turned-porn-set seemed well equipped for all her immediate needs. A long mirror was set against a wall. ‘Perfect’ she thought wiggling into her new clothes with care, not wanting to shred them against her super-hardbody. But as she settled them into place she could feel them adhere to her with more than just static cling.
She stood before the cool glass, turning from side to side to admire the impossibly curvaceous profile before her. So tall and slender! At least six-three even without heels. That massive but tight ass that was drool-worthy all on its own. The narrow waist at the center of a perfect hourglass. The perky breasts that burst from her rib cage proud as charging lions. It was like every ridiculously hot weather girl in all of Mexican television had been poured into one body! Her nipples jutting out as large as strawberries. Jessie's tongue darted out to lick her naturally pink lips.
"Eat your heart out, Yanet Garcia! You're nothing but a stick compared to me!" She moaned, unconsciously copying the poised but provocative stance of the woman who had been her body ideal now that she had the assets to pull it off. Had them in abundance! Men would kill to give her curves a single caress. And topping it off her gold hair cascading down, glinting in the morning light. Her face had become a heartbreaking Hollywood starlet re-imagining of her own already lovely features. Jennifer Lawrence on her best day ever would beg her for beauty tips. Jessie’s only answer would be, “You’ll never be as pretty as me in a thousand years. But do try. It’s sad and funny at the same time.”
Her two ‘light switches’ stuck straight out, harder than any Earthly metal as she imagined the most beautiful women in the world weeping at her presence. Her hands rose up of their own accord and she started flicking them both. Her nails tapping them harder than gunshots. Hard like only she could pleasure herself. The strong fingers of a superior being, nothing like the feeble baby pawing of the two lovers she’d dallied with last night. She squeezed them both hard enough to vaporize steel and the perky little clusters of nerves simply replied “Give. Me. More!” as they fired bolts of pink lightning into her eager brain. Oh fuck, SO GOOD!
She gazed into the mirror. If the pale, gorgeous woman in the glass had been someone else, some lucky Naiad glimpsed on TV, Jessie would still have had to run to her room and tickle and tweak her pussy until she exploded. But it wasn’t. That face, those breasts, hell even that long graceful neck and the firm shoulders Jet had so obsessed over were her. That perfect woman was right here in this very room and when Jessie uncontrollably fondled the goddess, she felt it from the inside! It was still almost impossible to rectify the woman in the mirror was HER. Truly her. Her dearest wish come true. All because a stupid boy had wished this for her sister. But destiny chose her! Super-Jessie, sexual honey streaming down her leg now. And if that golden juice really was changing Aisha, it would be worth fifty thousand times its weight in golden metal.
Already on the verge of cumming, her whole body undulating as muscular spasms started to seize her, Jessie took it all to the next level. The highest level for her, really: she floated one inch into the air.
One inch, that’s all it took to make her entirely unique. Just an inch. Not only the most beautiful creature imaginable, but proving no one else on Earth could ever compare to her. Just by existing she made them all small. Tiny. She was the only real person in a house full of dolls. And dolls were meant to be played with. It was their purpose.
That was it. Jessie was gone, her body madly humping the mirror until it burst in a tinkling shower of razor-edged glass, the sound turning her on even more. She loved breaking glass!
Earth's only undeniable deity twirled slowly above the deep carpet, her hands playing over herself faster than any eyes but hers could follow. And hers were the only eyes that could see the threads around her getting tangled up in her spinning, dumping vast amounts of power into her body that experienced those grand forces only as more sexual stimulation than any human mind could bear. A sylph-like goddess of the Sky being fucked by the Earth itself.
The charge built up to an overwhelming crescendo, and Jessie finally found release in a single wordless scream of agonized bliss. The strings wound tight around her plucked so hard by the outpouring of energy they didn’t just resonate with her ecstasy like had happened to Candace, they snapped entirely.
The shockwave rolled out more than three blocks in every direction. A few at the very edge had a chance to flee as their bodies suddenly grew heavier and heavier. The luckiest ones instinctively fleeing away from the echoing howl of Jessie’s orgasmic screech, the house around her instantly blown to pieces by her cry.
All told, maybe six lucky souls stepped across the broad circular threshold drawn sharp as a blade around the goddess’s convulsing body. Before the full force hit. Abused and torn, gravity momentarily spiked to over ninety Gees.
A passing morning traffic helicopter captured the moment forever. The shocked reporter blathering wildly into the microphone, “It looks like a mile-tall elephant just stomped on a residential neighborhood in Culver City.” Not realizing he was making cute animal analogies about a disaster that had slaughtered almost four hundred people, most of them at home on a Saturday morning. The ground in the circle was a full ten feet lower than the surround terrain, and there wasn’t a single structure standing. Flattened by a god-like elephant indeed. There wasn’t even any smoke. The pulse had struck so fast it had smothered any fires before they could start. Eerily there was no dust either, the expected clouds instead packed firmly against the ground.
And plain as day, rising from the low mound of rubble at the epicenter was a seemingly flawless blonde woman dressed in a blue bikini top, red miniskirt, and boots. Something nearly every viewer instantly recognized: Supergirl, in the midst of a vast crater.
The girl looked around as if confused, taking in the alien landscape around her. Then as if to reinforce the Supergirl image, she raised a fist to the sky as if expecting to launch into the air. Only, nothing happened. With a shrug the girl began to trudge towards the low cliffs that marked the edge of the blast from her perspective.
The broadcast turned into a crazy tumble and series of screams ending in static as the hurricane force downdraft that had accompanied the blast spread out in an invisible secondary cloud of ferocious turbulence that snapped the tail right off the news chopper and sent it plunging to fiery destruction.
Jessie’s sharp ears easily caught the distant screams beyond the deathly silence that surrounded her and she looked up to see the plummeting chopper. She watched it fall, curious, but unconcerned. She'd been looking around to see if she could spot the aircraft that had bombed her and the whole neighborhood.
The crater she found herself in was eerie. The silence all but complete. She'd been in the midst of the most amazing orgasm ever when the bomb had struck. It was so quiet she could hardly believe there'd been anyone else in this pit with her. There were no screams, no whimpering. Not even any lingering heartbeats grinding down to a cold stop. They must have evacuated everyone before trying to kill her, she reasoned, never once considering that this devastation was her own doing.
Instead of stomach-turning horror, Jessie only felt a cozy afterglow. ‘Suck it, boys. Not one of you’ll know climaxes like mine!’ Jessie crowed to herself. She'd become better than any other woman and men could never compare to her either. After having cumm like a pocket nuke, she still felt pleasantly horny, her hyper-sexy body primed to start up again at any moment. The idea that the government had tried so hard to kill her was simultaneously scary and the most exciting thing ever.
Not seeing any kind of bomber lingering overhead the ignored the news chopper (and the rest of the devastation surrounding her). She was puzzled that she couldn’t fly. It had felt so natural and easy since the first time her feet had lifted from the floor of her sister's bedroom. Like she was born to this power, destined to become more and more powerful until... something. She wasn't sure what. She'd figure that out later. After having more fun.
But right now she had get out of this cylindrical pit.
After her hike across the circular wasteland that had bloomed in the middle of the Californian metropolis, the walls of slick, gravitationally sheered stone presented no challenge at all. She simply thrust her hands into the polished rock like it was no more rigid than water, launching herself upward with a muscular flick.
She landed like the world's most ideal cheerleader lightly on the sun-weathered street just beyond the edge of the crater, the sleepy neighborhood quite untouched by the silent blast of her sexual gravitational outburst. Jessie leaned down to dust herself off, pleased that somehow her new outfit had been spared by the bomb, clinging to her skin and seemingly as invulnerable.
She felt the difference immediately: she could fly again. Her feet rose up and her toes pointed like she was in the ballet slippers as she hovered weightlessly at the edge of the crater, perfectly framed by the destruction. She summoned her thread-seeing mode and saw smooth lines in front of her and an awful tangled jumble behind, like a kitten gone mad with a ball of yarn. Looking at them closely now, she also perceived the threads that let her fly were wound and knotted through her clothes, binding them to her against all physical forces. Sweet! “No wonder Superman never rips his costume!” she giggled.
She'd been party to a few geek arguments with about how totally wrong comics were about even the littlest things. Maybe she should hunt down her high school nerd-friends one by one and let them try to explain why she was ‘impossible’ even as her sexy smell turned them to gibbering blobs of boy-meat. There were even one or two she might let touch her. Probably still the first girl they’d ever touched, the losers.
Mmm. Innocent virgin nerdsex. That could be very fun. Their trembling hands on her perfect breasts...
Only moments from launching across the city like a missile to seek out new live and new sexual pleasures, to boldly go she no ubergirl has gone before, Jessie's contemplation of her next bit of fun was rudely interrupted:
“FREEZE!” two male voices shouted in unison. She looked up to see one police officer slowly advancing on her, while the other knelt behind the engine block of their car, his gun pointed right at her eye.
The closer one went on, “Please land and stay right there, ma’am. We need to bring you in for questioning. What is your name? How old are you. Where are your parents?...” He droned on and on, simultaneously timid and certain that he was the boss of her. Fool with a badge and a gun. Couldn't he see his bosses had dropped a bomb on her and it hadn't mussed even a single golden hair on her head?
“Jessie. Nineteen. Probably at home. Boring conversation, officer…" Boring, but he was kind of cute. "You don’t want to question me." Jessie crooned, changing the subject while popping a Marilyn Monroe pose. Jessie ran her hands over herself, knowing full well her amped up Naiad presence was already turning his brain to jelly. Men. They never changed.
"No... You want to fuck this tight little body, don’t you?” She went on stroking herself, feeling her own arousal surge and grow. Why settle for nerdsex when she could have a double serving of cop-hunk delivered?
"It's your lucky day, Officer." she went on huskily now. "Because right now I kinda want to fuck you..."
The man's gun dropped from the ready position, all but forgotten in his slack hands. There was a reason LAPD protocol said only female officers were ever to approach sexual super-predators like her without full chem-gear on. And that was just for ordinary Naiads. Jessie's presence was dozens, maybe hundreds of times stronger.
She drifted two paces forward, still talking dirty to the officer without ever touching the ground, watching the light of resistance and all rational thought going out of his eyes. “Yes. YES. You know you want my bod–”
The bullet pressed into her left breast for a moment before plinking to the ground. A perfect shot to the heart. The ubergirl experienced a pulse of pure pleasure that made even her legs tremble. The second officer had shot her! Jessie smiled wider than ever, seeing that it hadn’t even scuffed the shiny blue fabric covering her tits. Fuck those nerds in high school: this Supergirl’s costume really was bullet proof!
The second cop was clinging to his service weapon with both hands like a talisman, like he was trying to ward off evil spirits, a thin curl of smoke still rising from the barrel. But Jessie had already reached her intended prey. The first officer’s gun made a dull metallic 'klunk' and it fell from loose fingers before he began clawing at his uniform, trying to free himself from the meaningless uniform that was stopping him from feeling the magnificent body before him with every inch of his skin. He NEEDED HER like nothing he’d ever felt before, an ordinary Naiad’s natural lust response dialed up to a frothing mental breakdown. Jessie's beauty sleep had amplified that property of her sex juices to a rolling cloud of temporary insanity.
Jessie glanced over at farther the policeman still barely resisting her. “You are SO FUCKED if you interrupt me agai–”
She turned on him in cold furry. How dare he defy her? And with a gun? Jesus Christ, didn't he see what she was wearing? Did she need to carry a goddamn SIGN saying "Caution: Actual Supergirl. Don't start none, won't be none."? And while feeling bullets squash against her breast without doing more than momentarily dimpling her soft globes was a HUGE turn-on, she wasn’t in the habit of warning people twice. Hell, new rule: Super-Jessie was NEVER going to warn people twice.
She strode directly at him, landing again only so her footfalls could make the ground boom with her every step. Fortified by her personal aura, her stiletto heels were piercing the asphalt like wet clay instead of snapping off. The force of her sensual beauty was like a charging bull, freezing him in both lust and terror. Behind her the other officer, now more than half naked, reached out after her in desperate longing as he fumbled with his belt. With a leisurely kick, she launched the patrol car between them to one side. The black and white vehicle crashed into the concrete retaining wall in front of a small home. The overgrown boy with a badge fired three more times into her center of mass but she kept coming forward, undeterred. He eyes grew wider and wider with fear.
When she came within arm’s length Jessie swatted away the gun with an idle slap that broke two of his fingers. Then she coiled her own fingers and flicked him on the forehead, as delicately as a sledgehammer. He crumpled to the curb instantly.
Jeff woke up in Heaven. His painfully rigid rod was wrapped in the pulsating warmth of Jessie's unbearably tight young super-pussy as the teen-angel pumped him like one of the city's old oil dericks. Only this Heaven was a gritty sidewalk in LA, and the nineteen-year-old riding his swollen cock was still the scariest thing he’d ever seen in five years on the street. Angry, invulnerable Burnout’s had killed dozens of cops, but it was only locker room talk that more than half of them had died between a Naiad’s legs, wasn’t it? He wasn’t so certain now. Terrified or not, his hands moved with a will of their own, rising up to cup the impossibly full breasts wobbling above him, blotting out half the sky from his perspective.
“You are such a beautiful girl.” He gasped as the rolling, rocking waves of her hips sped up, sensing his return to conciousness.
“Girl?” The Goddess' torso lifted away from him. She clasping her hands over her mounds modestly, denying him his handhold on her heavenly soft pillows. “Does this look like the body of a nineteen-year-old GIRL?" She arched her back, giving him a stunning view of her underswell even as her slick pussy swallowed him whole. “I'm what a nineteen-year-old SUPERGIRL looks like. Now… Make. Me. Cum.” Then she leaned so far forward she buried his face in tit flesh. The entire time her hips never stopped pounding him against the concrete, smashing their groins together until his bones creaked.
He tried to obey her order with every fiber of his being, almost weeping for having slighted her. “Girl?” What had he been thinking? Even lost in near darkness between her breasts, she was obviously so much more than human. And to disappoint her would be the worst crime he could think of. He’d do anything to make this pleasure last one second longer. Anything she asked of him was the most important thing in the whole world, his addled brain insisted, the wedding ring on his finger and even his own baby son forgotten.
Jeff's heart began to flutter and churn in his chest as a riptide of the best sex he’d ever known dragged him out to sea. This goddess was so amazingly tight –and strong –and slick –and hot inside. She seemed to read his every motion like a book, like she could see inside him. Her innate skill as a lover was no less magnificent than her body, perfectly adapting to his slightest shift and yet always the one in control. Urging him to do more, try harder. He might have his dick in her, but she was fucking him.
And the view! The chemicals stewing in his brain conferred upon her a kind of hazy glow, an erotic halo. Every second he gazed at her was perfection almost too brilliant to bear, like looking into the sun. He finally had to look away from the Goddess or go blind forever. His eyes slid down and away until they looked past her… and while his hips kept pumping with a mind of their own, his eyes went wide in horror. The body of his partner for the last three years lay crumpled and bleeding on the hood of their wrecked cruiser, like he’d been pushed down so hard he’d been broken over the engine block. The tires had burst and the windshield was just gone. The man’s naked legs and the glossy shine of slick juices sprayed across his groin told the rest of the story. She’d hauled him up on the car and used those pile-driver hips to smash her toy lover right down into the metal… So strong, so uncaring. She was a monster! And still he’d murder his partner himself for one more second in the space between the perfect legs of the goddess.
Jessie’s lips pulled back in a child's grin, seeing the look in his eyes. “That was an accident. Honest. Your fault, really: you got me so excited with all your shooting me in the tits. That's like foreplay to me now, because it feels so good knowing You. Can't. Hurt. Me."
Her gaze focused on him again, the smoldering lust in her eyes real. “And a girl's got NEEDS, you know? But it's like you're all made out of eggshells. I start having fun and... Crack! Egg everywhere. But you… I know you’ll do better, right? You want to make me happy, right?”
She moaned, low and long and his heart pumped even faster, determined to harden his penis into a pillar of rock worthy of the goddess astride him. She sped up too, going faster than humanly possible now, sliding up and down his shaft until her hips were a blur, her breasts trembled in his hands, and her face stayed perfectly still, gazing into his eyes, watching him desperately struggle to please her even a little bit. Dying to make her happy.
He was fading in and out of consciousness, but he heard her crooning in his ear. “You can do it! Come on… satisfy me. I have to cum! I want you to make me cum so hard…” Unable to deny her anything, he thrashed beneath her with the final frenzied strength of a drowning man, struggling uselessly against her engine-like strokes and her boundless appetite for pleasure until it destroyed him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his heart burst. His mind was nothing but wordless pulses of white fire, a state of perfect shuddering bliss until the fires guttered and died.
In an instant her playful expression was gone. “See? 'So fucked'. Told’ja not to interrupt me.” Jessie remind him even as she floated up off his limp remains. God… The power she’d felt, urging him on. She was So Good at this now! Her control over her super-pussy was so perfect he'd have eaten a kitten raw while strangling his own mother for just the stray chance she'd fuck him again.
Men, so easily distracted, so easily corrupted. All so certain they were such great lovers. That poor Jessie, the little sister, would just curl into a ball and let them rule her. Fuckers. Like this asshole. Only his dying effort had made her cry out in any real pleasure; beyond that he’d been quite forgettable. Useless doll. That’s all any of them were now, compared to HER. Seven billion inferior assholes put on this Earth to worship her eternal body or die trying.
“He’s gone.” A bullhorn announced. “Open fire!”
Patrolman Jeff Daniels, Badge number 22781, might have been a mediocre lover, but he’d still been entertainment enough to distract Jessie Moore as five more black-&-whites rolled up and two SWAT vehicles pulled into the intersection behind them. They’d already been summoned to the edge of the disaster zone, and when Car 81 stopped responding, they’d circled like a gathering of sharks. They’d only waited to attack because even with one officer obviously and horribly down, there had been the remote possibility another of their own might still be saved.
They were deployed like the pros they were, spread out and clinging to the cover offered by their vehicles. The weird crushing explosion was new, but LAPD had all too much practice spotting and putting down Naiad ‘Burnouts’. It was the only police department in the world that had to have policy papers posted in the bullpen for engaging and killing sexy female super-villains. Almost twenty of the Eight-Ball Naiads gifted with more power than their bodies could withstand had run wild. The Anti-Naiad squads were a prestigious assignment, attracting some of the most skilled shooters and cunning tacticians from departments all across the country. And some really sick fucks, it being the only police assignment going where your number one job was to murder beautiful women. And get a medal for it.
Being a rich white girl from the hills, Jessie mostly liked cops, or at least tolerated them. So as the bullets began to drum against her body, she turned and greeted the gathered crowd with a grin.
“Oh. More of you 'badges' come to play?” she launched fifteen feet up into the air, again putting on a cheesecake pin-up pose as flattened bullets drizzling down from her soft, invulnerable body like leaden rain. She shuddered once as a bullet found its way up under her skirt and flicked her prominent clitoris.
It wasn’t the feeling of the bullets that had her aroused to the verge of another detonation. It was the knowledge all these men – the ‘Long Arm of the Law’ – were trying to kill her. And they couldn’t. They couldn’t hurt her, they couldn’t stop her, and they fuck all couldn’t tell her what to do ever again.
The low caliber body massage was just the cherry on the top of that parfait. Her fun was only limited by her imagination. And say what you will about her personality, Jessie had a lively imagination.
“Then let’s play!” she called out over the gunfire, louder than any bull horn, before shooting sideways at what was for her a snail’s pace (and still fifty times faster than Cindy Stone had ever flown), taunting them to follow as she headed toward the largest cluster of skyscrapers in the city.
Maybe they’d help her break some glass with all their little guns! Not her fault if they shot the hell out of one of the busiest downtowns in the world. She grinned wickedly.
"Don't you go and damage that supersuit I made you, cuz it's gonna be a good long while before I'll be able to scrape together what I need to make another"
- SWM - Junior
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Now if this were trash young-adult fiction, Aisha and Wendy would go on to be the leaders of two all-women tribes of Ubergirls and Witches locked in a shadow war hidden from mortal eyes for the next century and a half. Like Pirates vs. Ninjas or Vampires vs. Werewolves, only with more boobs. The two groups both inducting 'special' girls into their ranks to replenish their numbers until the coming of the Special-est Girl Of Them All, who obviously is both witch and ubergirl.
Which would actually be really hot.