Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Super Girls don't cry

   On a cold November night I was out having a walk, like I sometimes do to
clear my head, when suddenly I found myself craving a beer.  I don't
usually hang out in bars, but on and off I go to one to have a drink.  I
love to sit there in the dim light, sometimes chatting with the bartender
or watching a woman smoking and drinking.  But as there are times and
places when the bartender is a moron and there is no attractive smoker to
see, I don't do it very often.

   That night I chose a smaller watering hole called "Andy's".  The front
of it consisted only of an old battered door with a small blinded window.
Inside there was a room with a curbed bar and a couple of tiny round
tables, each with two chairs.  The whole place had an air of decay and
seemingly hadn't been cleaned up for years.  Only the bar was made of steel
and looked clean and shiny.  Two younger guys were sitting at a table the
far corner and one woman at the bar.  I chose a stool at one side, leaving
a space between me and the woman.  I ordered a Bud and took a gulp, letting
my eyes wander around.

   The woman at the bar had looked quite unobtrusive at first glance, but
as she was the only woman in the room I gave her a better look.  I had been
distracted at first by the process of ordering a beer from the guy behind
the bar, "Andy" himself probably, but now I saw the woman take a cigarette
to her lips.  Apparently it was a filterless one and I could make out in
the ashtray in front of her several butts of the same kind, with traces of
lipstick on them.  Her cigarette was already smoked down to less than an
inch.  After she took quite a drag from it, she reached for her purse and
took out a pack of Pall Malls, ripped it open and with the typical tap
against the bent index finger she made some cigarettes slide about an inch
out of the pack.  With her long nails she extracted one, tapped the bottom
of the pack on the counter to make the rest of the cigarettes fall back in
again and left the pack on the counter in front of her.

   After a last nervous drag from her nearly spent cigarette she took the
fresh one between her lips and lit it from the stub of the other.  Then she
stubbed out the spent one in the ashtray.  Andy swapped the ashtray for a
clean one.  She had a small glass with some colorless drink in front of
her. Now she gulped down its content, tossing her head backwards and then
pushed it towards Andy for a refill.  He took a bottle of Rye, filled the
little glass and placed it in front of her.  Obviously she was a regular
customer, as neither of them had spoken a word and no money had changed
possession.

   I watched her smoking for a while and noticed two things.  For one, she
had a slightly peculiar smoking style, almost mechanical.  Her motions of
taking the cigarette to her lips, dragging, inhaling and exhaling twice,
seemed to repeat in an identical way.  It was like I saw a video loop of
them same sequence over and over again.  Of her smoking style, her exhales
were the best part.  Her drags weren't remarkable in any way.  She dragged
briefly and then, after she opened her lips to remove the cigarette, she
inhaled swiftly, sucking down all of the smoke.  After a pause of maybe
five seconds she would then open her lips just a bit and blow out a thin
but dense stream of smoke.  A second smaller stream would follow and
finally two thin streams would come out of her nostrils.  While I killed my
first Bud and started on a second one, she smoked constantly, lighting
every cigarette from the butt of the first one.

   As she chained her Pall Malls and I drank my Bud I studied her face and
what I could see of her body.  She had a round doll-like face with rosy
cheeks and full lips.  Her nose was straight and just a tiny bit too big to
look perfect.  Her mouth was broad and she had full slightly upturned lips.
She had the looks of a woman over forty, even though her skin was still
smooth and lacked the waxen gray quality of a long time chain-smoker.  Her
age showed merely in the sad tired eyes and the sagging corners of her
mouth.  As much as I could tell, she was of athletic build, quite heavy,
with strong hips and broad shoulders, but she had a trim waistline and firm
flesh.  She had middle sized breasts that gave the impression of being
stone hard, somewhere in the range between cup B or C.  Her hair was dark
blonde, straight and full, flowing smoothly over her shoulders.  Apart from
her smug look, she may have been worth a try.

   I love female smokers.  I love how their lips taste when I kiss them, I
love the way they smell and their breath smells and above all I love to
watch them how they suck in the rich spicy smoke with lust into their lungs
and how they hide behind a haze of dense smoke.  The sight of an artful
exhale of dense creamy white smoke leaving a woman's mouth can make my
little brother bulge in my pants, screaming for instant relief.  On the
rare occasions when I wind up in bed with a smoker, I only need to sniff
her breath deeply through my nose and wham, there comes my orgasm.

   Watching that woman in the bar smoking her way through a pack of Pall
Malls caused some conflicting emotions in me.  She was a dedicated smoker,
but her non-filters made me hesitate.  I had till then never been close to
a woman who smoked non-filters.  All the women I had dealt with had smoked
filter cigarettes and I feared that maybe the non-filter ones would smell
unpleasant and her breath would not turn me on.  On the other hand I was
dying to find it all out.  Yet she didn't even seem to notice me.  How was
I to make a move?  Also I wasn't sure if I liked her looks.  In my eyes
there are three kinds of women.  The best are the "queens".  They look so
good, I don't care if they smoke or not.  Of course if they also smoke, all
the better, but they make my little pal twitch simply by being sexy.  Then
there are the middle ones.  I only get interested if they smoke.  Then I
find them sexy and attractive.  The third category are the dull ones.  They
don't do anything for me, no matter how much they smoke, much less if they
don't smoke.  I cannot say what makes a woman attractive to me, beyond the
obvious, like big boobs and shapely butts.  I'm not in for a particular
hair color and size doesn't really matter.  It's just a matter of liking or
not.  This woman at the bar was clearly of the second type, the one that
had to smoke to impress me, but in doing so she could indeed raise my
interest.

   While I was pondering things on my mind, not sure I wanted to make a
move, she suddenly stood up, picked up her lighter, pack and glass and sat
on the empty stool near mine.  She spoke with a deep throaty voice, hoarse
from long time smoking and drinking.  I loved the sound of it.  Made me
think of Marlene Dietrich.

   'Can't make up your mind if you wanna hit on me, buster?'

   'Oh, well, err...' I stammered, taken by surprise.

   'Hey, no problem, I'll help you make up your mind' she almost whispered
but her words sounded like drum beats in my ears.  I hadn't expected
anything like that.  Usually, the women I picked up in bars, on the rare
occasions I even went to one, were a hard prey, needing lots of talking and
soothing till they finally agreed to take me home.

   I was still trying to catch my mental breath, when out of the blue a
sort of quiet comfort swept over me.  I felt elated and hot on the dame at
once.  Oddly enough my little pal went to sleep, sparing me of an
embarrassment, but I felt I had only to touch her and he would rip right
through my zipper.  Now that she was sitting close to me, I could better
smell the smoke she spread and as she talked to me face to face, an
occasional whiff of her breath came my way.  I can't say the smoke as such
smelled particularly good, but it was bearable and might still be an
enticement if blown right into my face.  Her breath actually smelt very
nice.  No question that if we should indeed flock up, her breath would be
one hell of a turn on.

   She now looked straight into my eyes and her gaze had an intensity I had
never experienced before.  Everything except her face looked somehow
blurred.  It was like those eyes would try to suck me in.  My mind went
blank for a moment and all there was were her words.

   'I can feel you haven't had a lay for quite a while and that goes for me
too.  Let's not fuss about it and go to my place.' All I could do was nod.

   She paid her bill, collected her cigarettes and lighter and we were out
on the street.  Se took me to her car, a pretty expensive shiny sports car
and we climbed in to drive to her place.  She kept chaining her cigarettes
all the time, filling the inside of the car with haze.  I didn't care.  All
I felt was apprehension and determination to do what I could to satisfy
her.

   She turned on the CD-player and it played "Supergirl".  I like Reamonn
and enjoyed the song.  She parked the car and we went into her house.  More
and more a sort of numbness took possession of me.  At the bar all I had
were two Buds, so it wasn't the alcohol.  Things felt somehow unreal, but
it didn't bother me. She unlocked the door and we entered her living room.

   She simply said:

   'Let's get it over with,' and dropped her clothes to the floor.

   Naked she looked classy.  She had a perfect athletic body with smooth
golden tinted skin.  Her breasts were indeed medium sized but very firm and
her arms and legs were strong but not thick.  She had perfectly round
shoulders and her rump looked almost like an inverted triangle, narrowing
towards her waistline.  I slipped out of my stuff too and stretched on the
carpet.  I had no idea why I did this, it just seemed appropriate.

   Without a word, she placed her cigarettes, lighter and ashtray near me
and then mounted me like horse.  She took my erect dick in her hand and
with an expert move held it upright and lowered her basin directly over it,
making it slide into her vagina.  She wasn't really wet, just a bit moist,
but the sensation was ok.  While she started to rock up and down she
continued to chain her cigarettes.

   Something eerie happened to me.  I realized that something was amiss,
that something from the outside tampered with my brain, but in that
particular moment I didn't care.  I felt my climax rise way too early, but
then I drifted into a state of continuous agony, a thing I've heard of only
in women.  Spasm after spasm rolled over me long after I had spent all my
sperm.  Finally she gave a sort of growl and I could feel her vagina
contract repeatedly.  At the same time something exploded in my head.  A
sensation impossible to describe swept over me and I passed out.

   I woke up in a bed, covered with a blanket.  She was kneeling at my side
and our heads were at the same level.  She gave me a tender peck on my
lips. For a change she had no cigarette with her, but still while she spoke
I could smell the residue of recent smoking on her breath.  I felt like my
old self again.  The way she smelled was pure delight to me.  I could feel
my little brother slowly swelling again.

   She looked totally different than before.  Her face had an almost
girlish expression, soft and tender and I could see the concern over my
wellbeing in her eyes.

   'How do you feel?' she asked.

   'A little dizzy, but otherwise OK'

   'No headache, no blurred vision?'

   'No, not a trace'

   She sighed in relief, sending another load of her delicious heavy
smoker's breath my way.  One more breath of hers and I would be ready for
the next round.  Already my little partner showed clearly under the
blanket. Then she stroked my head with her nicotine stained fingers.  I
loved that too.  She noticed the swelling under the blanket and blushed.

   'Oh my, you really are something.  I very nearly killed you before and
you ask for it again.  Didn't that scare you?'

   I gave her a blank look.

   'Look, I know for sure that you have noticed something ever since we
left the bar.  You felt it.' She said with a somewhat guilty expression on
her face

   'Felt what?' I asked her in confusion.

   'That's a long story' she said with a tired sigh.

   'I'm in no hurry.' I replied, as she had made me really curious

   'OK, what the heck.  I may as well tell you everything.  You will
probably run out of here after I'm through, or you'll want to call the cops
or the spooks.'

   I looked at her even more confused.  Then she turned on a little
CD-player and again I heard Reamonn singing about his Supergirl.  Then she
fetched her cigarettes, lighter and ashtray and climbed on the bed to lay
down beside me, her head propped on a pillow.

   'You know what I like about that song?' she asked.  I shook my head.

   'He's right.  We super girls don't cry'

   'So you're a supergirl?' I asked ironically.

   'No, not quite.  I'm not A supergirl.  I am THE Supergirl.'

   'You mean, like in the comic-strips?' What was she talking about?  Was
she a lunatic?

   'Yes and no.  I am something like that, but not exactly.  In fact I am
Superman's daughter.'

   'Comic-strip Superman?'

   This was beginning to turn weird.  However I remained quite calm.  I
should have been uneasy or furious, hearing such nonsense from this woman,
but instead no emotion whatsoever stirred inside me, except mild curiosity
perhaps.

   'Yes and no again.  You see, he had somehow inspired the birth of that
comic strip, but he wasn't at all like in the comics.  His powers were
different.'

   'In what way?'

   I felt like somebody else had made the decision that I would play her
game and hear her out.

   'For one, he couldn't fly.  He had enormous muscular power and he could
jump off a plane and land safely on the ground, but he couldn't fly, not
really.  He could just jump up maybe 100 feet but that was about all.'

   'What about his laser-eyes and all that?'



   'That was pure nonsense.  He could move things by willpower, but he
couldn't do anything special with his eyes.  He could see much more with
his eyes of course and his hearing was enormously better than that of an
average human.'

   'So that was all?'

   'No, not quite.  He had a capability that nobody knew about.  He had
mental powers.  Not that he could actually read minds or project words into
other people's minds, but he could read emotions in other minds and he
could tamper with people's minds too.  It's hard to put in words, though.
You can think of him as a sort of super-hypnotist.  He could control the
willpower of other people and influence them.  This was the power he had
used most.  He had to use his mental power all the time, to make people
ignore his physical powers.  The only people he hardly used it on were me
and my mother.  As hard as he tried to, he couldn't avoid giving away his
identity on occasions.  Like the comic-strip hero, he had a good heart and
always jumped in to help others in critical situations as good as he could'

   'What about that part of the story, that he was from another planet and
raised by ordinary people and all that?'

   'That was pretty close to reality, except his foster parents were
actually scientists.  He came from outer space, quite true, but most of the
rest, like the stuff with the planet Krypton and the Kryptonite and all
that were simply crap.  Actually he always avoided to talk about his true
origin.  The only thing I know is that he was a sort of hybrid,
incorporating both human and alien genes.  Besides, apart from his powers,
he was quite human, he wasn't even overly intelligent and certainly no
intellectual genius.  Even his hormones worked quite like those of every
other male'

   While she said that, I felt something change again in my mind.  A part
of my true self seemed to be acting again, so I asked her:

   'You're controlling me now, aren't you?'

   'I have to.  If I wouldn't, you would think I'm a lunatic of sorts.  But
I try to do it as gently as possible.  It makes no sense telling you all
this if you don't even listen to me.  Right now I have eased the control a
bit.  I don't need a dumb slave'

   I sat there brooding over what I've heard so far.  One thing struck me,
so I asked her:

   'Let's assume for a moment this is all true.  You are Supergirl and all
that.  How come you smoke cigarettes and alot too?  I mean Supergirl is
supposed to be an example for all mankind, clean and healthy and nice. 
Your smoking doesn't fit in here.'

   She gave a loud laugh, interrupted by a coughing fit.  It took her a
while to calm down.

   'Look, I told you that comic stuff is pure nonsense.  Apart from the
mental stuff, I have inherited little from my father.  Physically, I'm not
really special.  I am no stronger than any well trained woman can be.  Only
my immune system is superior.  I don't have to fear cancer or other
ailments caused by smoking, except for the smoker's cough and bad breath of
course.  That I am a chain smoker has other reasons.  It began while I was
still an embryo inside my mothers belly.  Because my father was only partly
human, something went wrong in the second month of pregnancy.

   With his powers he could watch over the development of the embryo.  He
felt that something went wrong, but it took the help of his human parents
to find out what was amiss.  It took them quite a while to figure out how
they could help my mother and me.  It turned out that my mother had to pick
up smoking.  I know it sounds absolutely weird, but it did help.  Else I
wouldn't be here.  Both my mother and father were shocked.  They had both
been the kind of clean sparkling individuals that wouldn't even drink
coffee or tea, because it contained caffeine.

   My grandparents were pretty much of the same make.  Imagine what a
shock, to find out that the only thing that could help my mother carry her
pregnancy out was to start smoking.  It turned out that it had to be quite
a lot too.  She told me all about it when I was six years old and wanted to
know why she smoked three packs of cigarettes a day.  In my memory, I see
my mother always with a cigarette.  She told me that at first even with the
mental help of my father she was so revolted that she had to drag in that
filthy stinking stuff into her lungs, she almost gave up.  My father loved
her dearly and he only could bring her to do it by promising he would
support her to quit as soon as it was possible.

   After a while however, she started to enjoy smoking.  She got used to
the harsh taste and her throat wasn't sore anymore.  In the first days, my
father had to wake her up a couple of times in the night, as he was afraid
that whatever my mother was getting from cigarettes that helped me grow,
would fade away over night, so he took care that she smoked at least a
cigarette every hour.  After a while she woke up by herself and because she
couldn't go without sleep, she would smoke two or three cigarettes, then
sleep two hours and so on.  She kept that rhythm even long after I was
born. She fed me from her breasts of course and in that time she had to
smoke even harder.  She had started on maybe thirty cigarettes a day during
pregnancy and after I was born, she increased to sixty or more, to get
enough of the residues in her milk.  When I was about a year old, my father
dared to make a test and it turned out I could do without the smoke ridden
mother's milk.

   My mother could have stopped smoking now, but she refused to.  I don't
know if she was mad at my father for doing this to her, or if she simply
decided that she enjoyed smoking so much she wouldn't give up, but she went
on smoking her fifty to sixty cigarettes.  My father hated it and I'm sure
their love life suffered from it, but he was a decent guy, so he accepted
it.  After all he loved her dearly, so he had to give in.  All went well
till I was about six years old.  The symptoms my father had detected in my
early embryonic state returned.

   Now there wasn't much my mother could do to help me.  All the blood
tests my grandparents did, pointed into one direction.  I had to be taught
to smoke myself.  So my mother helped me to start smoking at the age of
six. I hated it at first.  It made my throat burn and I felt sick from it.
But after a while I started to enjoy it and soon I was smoking a pack a
day. My body did accept it and it did indeed help me grow.  The only
unpleasant side was that I developed this nasty smoker's cough.  But I got
used to it somehow and now I guess I would miss it if it were to disappear.

   At the age of ten I was smoking thirty cigarettes each day, at fifteen I
was on three packs of full flavor cigarettes and at eighteen I turned to
nonfiltered ones.  Now I need a box every other day and I love it.  I don't
even know if I couldn't do without them, but I don't care.  It certainly
doesn't improve my love-life, but there are other strings tied to that one,
so it doesn't really matter.'

   Of course hearing that story made me quite horny.  A pregnant woman
smoking heavily and then a woman who smoked from her sixth birthday!  In my
frustrated fetishist dreams I had always longed for someone like that and
now I was confronted with my dream in flesh and blood.  She must have
removed most of her control over my mind, as I felt quite my old self
again. However, with her next words she dampened my excitement.

   'You see, my love-life is enormously difficult.  Remember how you passed
out today, when I had my orgasm?  That was no coincidence.  The problem is,
when I have my orgasm, my mental powers run wild and I flood my partners
with mental energy.  Once in my teens, when I started to go out with boys,
I nearly killed a poor guy with my first orgasm.  The poor fellow is in a
mental facility for the rest of his miserable life.  After that incident my
father had to train me, so I could at least manage not to crush the mind of
a sexual partner completely.  Still, it's awkward for me because I have to
keep strict control and I cannot let myself fall.  The best I can come up
with is a sort of shallow climax.  I do masturbate a lot, but that doesn't
really help much.  Dildos aren't much help either.  I have yearned all my
life for the kind of relationship my parents had, but that seems out of
reach.  Besides, how can I fall in love with someone, when I see all his
emotions on his mind.'

   She had talked herself into a state of deep depression.  I could see
that without mental powers.  Her eyes were swimming and she even stopped
smoking for a while.  I turned to her and took her in my arms, as it seemed
the natural thing to do.  She responded eagerly, squeezing me tightly and
we stayed that way for a while.  I couldn't help but seek her lips and we
started into a heavenly French kiss.  I loved her smell and taste.  The
bitter tar on her tongue, the sweet sour smell of her breath, all that made
my hormones boil over.

   Abruptly she drew away and looked into my eyes with a puzzled
expression.

   'You enjoy kissing me, you really do, don't you?'

   'Do you mind?'

   'Oh, I do, but that's not the point.  What surprises me, is that I don't
have to do anything to make you like it.  I mean, with my chain-smoking,
most men find the way I smell and taste disgusting, so I have to fiddle
with their emotions to make them like it.  There were men who smoked
themselves and they wouldn't mind, but then I did.  As much as I enjoy
smoking, I hate to kiss a man who's smoking a lot himself.  I tried, but to
no effect.  So bending men into ignoring my smoking habit turns them into
robots and while they do what I want them to do, I can't feel any real
emotion in them.

   You see, because of my mental powers, I cannot help but see inside
people's souls, whether I want it or not.  So I always know if somebody is
sincere.  All of my life I have longed for the kind of feeling my mom and
dad had for me, but I have never detected it in somebody else.  Some men
got aroused, but all they were interested in was having sex.  Not one of
them really felt something for the person I am.'

   She took a deep breath and asked:

   'You mind if I smoke something else?  I'd love to have a cigar right
now, if it doesn't bother you too much.'

   'No, please go ahead.  I'd love to see you smoking a cigar.'

   There it was.  I was close to admitting my fetish to a woman, a thing I
had tried to avoid all my life.

   'You keep surprising me.  You love the way my mouth and my breath stink
from my smoking and now you're actually excited by the prospect of seeing
me smoke a cigar.  What's the matter with you?'

   'All right, I confess.  I am a smoke fetishist.  It always turns me on
when I see a woman smoking.  The harder the better and I get particularly
hot on nonfilters and cigars.  All my life I have longed to see a woman
smoking a cigar.  That makes me horny as hell.'

   She gave me a long look and then took a cigar out of a box in her
drawer. It was quite a sizeable one.  She took a clipper, chopped off the
end of the cigar and then lit it with an oversized match.  She puffed a
while till it had a uniform glow on its end and then took an endless drag
from it.  With the cigar clenched between her teeth, she inhaled through
the nose, taking in some of the smoke she held captive in her mouth, then
opened her lips to inhale through her mouth.  She removed the cigar and
after a couple of seconds she released a huge plume of bluish smoke, in a
slow sensuous exhale.

   'You are enjoying it.' she commented.  'Cute.  And you're real horny. 
Let me smoke my baby and we will do something about that.'

   She felt my doubts immediately.  She had told me of the consequences of
her having an orgasm.  So naturally, as horny as I was, I was worried too.
A cleft appeared between her brows.  I almost felt her concentration.

   'Look, I promise I will hold back.  The way you recovered from the first
time makes me hope you're pretty robust mentally.  Maybe we can work it
out.'

   I felt her mental caress working on me and soothing my worries.  It felt
incredible, beyond description.  I began to believe that her mental powers
did have some good in them.  I wondered how it would be if she really
wanted to make a man feel good.  I watched her dragging again on her cigar.
This time she took a straight inhale.  She filled her mouth dragging
endlessly with caved in cheeks, then removed the cigar while already
inhaling, not to waste the tiniest whiff, inhaled with expanding breast and
then held back a while.  This time she did her usual triple exhale, but in
a slow languid way.  She really did enjoy that cigar.

   I was already excited beyond control and she sensed that of course.  She
turned her head towards me and, gave me a long thirsty kiss.  It was the
first time I kissed a cigar smoker and boy, what a sensation.  The smell
had another quality, sweeter and a bit fetid, but it was pure delight to my
nostrils.  I sniffed in her smell and felt I was close to an orgasm.  A new
wave of sensations flooded my brain.  In a matter of seconds I jerked off
like a teenager.

   She withdrew her lips and gave me a peck on my half closed lips.

   'Sorry, hon, but I couldn't resist the temptation.  When I saw how
excited you were, I just wanted to make you happy.  It was fun for me too,
you know.  That is what my father always told me, but I couldn't
understand. He said he could have the mental equivalent of an orgasm
without any outside symptoms.  I did want to believe him then.  All my life
I had a deep desire to be just human and nothing else.  I tried hard to
feel like humans and have the same kind of emotions, in vain of course, as
my mental eye always interfered.  You however have taught me that I can use
my powers in a different way.  I have pushed you up to your climax, true,
but I have also bathed in it, receiving a pleasure better than anything I
felt before.  Thank you so much, my darling.'

   She kissed me again, gentle and sweet.  The smell on her made my
hormones bubble again.

   'You won't wait till I've finished this.' she said lifting her cigar a
bit. 'Well, if you don't mind drowning in my smoke, let's give it a try.'

   She mounted me and guided my hardened cock into her dripping wet slit.
She began to rock up and down in a steady rhythm, puffing away on her
cigar. I felt in heaven.  Something went over my mind, like a soft breeze,
then again and again.  Her emotions were on the loose and when she started
breathing and groaning very heavily, those waves grew stronger and
stronger. Somehow they made me feel ever better, lifting me on levels of
ecstasy I had never known

   before.  Finally we both reached our climax.  This time I felt the
explosion coming and was prepared.  It swept over me with an incredible
intensity, but instead of knocking me out it made me cry out in elation.  I
felt my sperm shoot out with the speed of light hitting her vagina hard. 
She convulsed and almost choked on her cigar, but then managed to breathe
regularly again, dragging in a satisfied way on her cigar.  Then she seemed
to wake up and I felt the emanations of her brain evaporate.  She gave me a
worried look but then she smiled happily.

   'Wow, you enjoyed it just the way I did.  I thought I clobbered your
brains out.  You see, I lost control again and gave you the full load.  But
it didn't harm you this time.'

   She radiated pleasure now.

   'Harm me?  You gave me a superfuck worthy of Supergirl.  I don't know
about other men, but I enjoyed it beyond description.  I might as well drop
dead the next minute and for this one moment I wouldn't regret to end my
life.'

   It came from my heart and she, of course, felt that.  Exhaling a big
plume of dense smoke right into my face, she lowered her upper body till I
felt her erect nipples rub softly against my chest and then she bent down
her head and gave me another juicy cigar scented deep throat kiss. 
Something cool but pleasant passed over my mind, like the refreshingly cold
hand of a mother on the feverish forehead of a child.  She worked on my
mind again and I enjoyed it.

   'You can feel it, when I touch your mind, don't you?'

   'Yes, I guess I can feel it sometimes'

   'That's odd.  Nobody did that before.  And you don't mind?'

   'No, it feels good.'

   I didn't lie.  There was no point in lying.  She would have sensed it
immediately.  That was a new sensation to me, dealing with a woman who
could read my emotions right away.

   'Wow!  All my life I was afraid someone would find me out.  Whenever I
felt somebody was on the verge of figuring out I was no normal human, I
immediately took care he or she wouldn't want to remember me.  But now you
popped out of the blue and you can feel my mind almost like I can feel
yours.'

   I saw and at the same time felt a wave of joy flowing over her and
flooding back to me.



   'I feel like locking the door and chaining you to my bed, so you won't
ever run away.'

   'Well, what kind of moron would that be, to have the chance to fuck
Supergirl and run away?' I said with mock seriousness, although, I did mean
it.

   'So let's hope you're smart enough to stick to my side.' She grinned a
naughty smile.  Not wicked, just naughty, a promise of more pleasant
surprises.

   'After what you did to me right now, how could I ever find pleasure in
an ordinary woman again?'

   Knowing she could see into my brain helped me to say what was on my
mind.

   'And you're not worried that this may be all my doing and that actually
I am an old ugly witch, enchanting you so you see an attractive woman in
me?'

   'Even if you were actually that, I wouldn't care.  I love what I see now
and as long as in my eyes you look like that, to hell with reality.'

   'OK, I was joking, you see all there is to see.  My power doesn't go
that far.  So do you feel up to another round?  I warn you, now that I know
I can have the real thing, I can't get enough.'

   'Suits me baby.  Let's go.  I might need a hand to get my little pal
working now and then, but I'm always willing and I'm not tired yet.'

   Well, off we went.  She had been riding me both times, but now we
started into other ways of making each other happy.  As soon as she was
sure I could take that supernova-like mental shockwave she generated when
she had an orgasm, we launched into all sorts of experiments.  Whatever
position allowed for my cock to penetrate her vagina, and eventually
another place nearby, we used it.  Of course I needed to rest now and then,
but with her mental help I could do with no more than three hours of sleep
and start all over again.  She learned quickly that her smoker's breath
turned me on and so she would breathe into my face whenever she felt I
needed a little extra encouragement.

   Epilogue

   We live together now for a couple of years and Supergirl doesn't cry
anymore, she just flies.......  and often we turn on Reamonn and scream at
the top of our voices those lines, even if we know they're meant in a
different way:

   You can tell by the way, she talks that she rules the world. You can see
in her eyes that no one is her chain. She's my girl, my Supergirl, and
Supergirls don't cry..............
   THE END