If you don't like a single thing that I'm saying,
If you're offended when I demonstrate,
Don't mean a damn to me and I shall continue,
Hope you won't mind if I control my fate.
"Freedom", Blues Traveler
Under Their Thumbs
Like a cat lying on a window sill, basking
in sunlight. That's how I felt. The world was
gone, and I was just "there", somewhere,
nowhere, surrounded by light and warmth and
love. I felt free and safe.
All of Heaven was open to me, ready to
receive me, if only I knew how to enter, if
only Heaven were more familiar.
Then, not quite suddenly, the white light
that surrounded me took forms, and the love
that filled my heart was not so anonymous. A
voice spoke my name, my true name, and I melted
into a tear.
"Daddy!" I cried out in a new language
that was neither English nor Kryptonian. Zor-el
looked just as he had always looked, his hair
long, his beard unshaven, because he was always
working, it seemed, sacrificing all his time
and finally his life to save his daughter.
"Kara, we've been waiting for you,"
replied Zor-el, as he held me tight. "Your
mother is waiting to meet the child she has
never known. Your friends from home want to
hear how you survived the Abyss. You even have
a friend from Earth, her heart overflowing with
forgiveness. My beautiful Kara, you have spread
love throughout the universe."
I held to him tightly. "Oh, Daddy, I've
missed you all so much! Where is my mother?
Where is Pam?"
"You'll be with them shortly, but first
will you do something for me? " Zor-el said
mysteriously, then he paused to smile at me.
I smiled back and kissed his cheek.
"Anything, Daddy."
Then his eyes frowned slightly. "Would you
please put some clothes on?"
My smile dropped. "What?" I asked in shock
...
Something changed. I heard a crack of
thunder. Zor-el's bright face disappeared
behind clouds, and his warm embrace turned
suddenly cold, leaving me alone and shivering,
my whole body tingling and aching, as if in
withdrawal from his love.
I opened my eyes, and I could barely see
the three men who were standing over me.
The first man blinded me with a penlight,
saying, "Hello, there. How are ya doing? Can
you see this light."
I tried to respond, but I don't think I
said anything.
Another voice said, "You might as well ask
her if she saw the light of heaven, because
she's been dead for almost an hour. It's a
miracle."
"More likely the fires of Hell," continued
a third man, his voice severe. He wore a black
suit with a funny collar. "She lived a life of
sin and has earned a sinner's fate."
Suddenly that man was pulled away, and a
familiar face filled my vision. "Linda! Linda,
oh thank God, you're alive! Are you OK? Do you
want anything?"
I closed my eyes, as all the horrors and
pains of living came back to me like a tidal
wave.
I longed for the warm bright sunlight and
that wonderful sensation of love. I reached out
with my hands, and I don't know why, but I
cried out the name of my cat, "Calvin..." before
I fell into a deep sleep.
I tossed and turned for some time, falling
in and out of sleep, but never fully conscious.
I heard many voices talking frantically, but I
couldn't make out what they were saying.
"Hello, my sweet little muffin," Officer
Brian O'Neil greeted me with a great big smile
on his face when I finally opened my eyes.
I smiled back at him, though smiling did
not come easily. I felt terrible. My body was
slick with sweat, and the flimsy hospital gown
I was wearing irritated my skin. I tried to
turn my head, but something prevented me. I
glanced up and saw braces holding my head
still, and an IV drip above them.
Brian, catching my confusion, explained.
"The docs tried to attach the IV to your arm,
but they couldn't push the needle through your
skin. It's amazing how such soft skin can be so
strong. Anyway, they had to use the two holes
Jim poked in your neck. You really had us going
there, sweetie. The doctors were franticly
guessing at how to treat you. They wasted about
fifteen minutes bickering that they didn't have
any Kryptonian blood, before they tried regular
old type 'O'. Worked like a charm."
'How did I get here?" I asked wearily. I
couldn't think or see clearly, and I could
barely understand what Brian was saying.
Everything was a blur. What was that he said
about my neck?
"I found you," Brian replied solemnly,
"after someone called into the station this
morning, complaining about a disturbance
outside of their apartment. I saw the red cape
first. For a sec I thought ...Well, it doesn't
matter what I thought. You're alive and you'll
be beating the crap out of bad guys again in no
time. That's all that matters, now."
"I'm sorry, Brian," I said wearily,
embarrassed that Brian had to rescue me.
He took my hand in his, and I was alarmed
to see how white and anemic my skin looked
against his healthy tone.
Memories of last night flooded my brain.
Pam was dead. Murdered. Jim was there for me,
comforting me, making love to me, taking away
my pain. His eyes were so kind at first. Then
hungry like a wild animal. What did he do to
me? I had trusted him totally, and he was so
gentle. At first. But then he attacked me. I
remember feeling a sharp feeling at my throat .
. .
Oh God, he was the killer! It was so
obvious! Now I felt really ashamed and afraid.
I had been so weak. I should have known, and I
should have protected Pam from him. Instead, I
nearly chased her into the grave.
Why couldn't Brian just let me die?
Everyone I loved was already dead. My life was
shattered. Why bother living anymore?
"Hey, hey, it's OK, munchkin!" Brian
whispered, when I started bawling like a baby.
"Really, everything will be fine. Here, maybe
this will brighten you up." He reached down
below the hospital bed and struggled for a
moment. "You don't know how hard it was to get
him by the doctors!"
When Brian put Calvin on the bed beside
me, I stopped weeping. My poor little cat
looked up at me with concern, more for his own
well being than for mine. Calvin was a house-
cat, and this was the first time he had been
out of the house since I had adopted him. I
knew exactly how he felt. Uprooted.
Disoriented. Insecure. He burrowed under the
blanket and nestled between my arm and my
chest. I wanted to surround him with my body as
if I were a cocoon and kiss him and whisper
sweet nothings into his ear, just like I wish
someone would do for me, but I could barely
even move my head. At least I could pet him
and feel his warm fur between my fingers. His
dependence on me made me feel stronger.
I smiled at Brian, tears streaking down my
cheeks. "Thank you."
He smiled back.
The door to the hospital room opened.
Three military officers were standing outside,
holding reporters back, while three other men
hurried through, closing the door behind them:
Clark, Andrew and a doctor.
I squirmed nervously.
Clark was wearing his red and blue. His
eyes were filled with pain and anger, and I
prayed that he wasn't angry at me. I started to
say his name, wanting to apologize without even
knowing if I had done something wrong yet, but
he covered my mouth with his hand, protecting
his identity from the doctor.
Andrew already knew Superman's alter ego,
as did O'Neil, who had ties to the SSA. But
the doctor was apparently on a need to know
basis.
"Well, look who's awake," smiled the
doctor with all the sincerity of a politician,
as he took my hand and felt my pulse. "Hmm,
your pulse is finally down to normal. You gave
everyone quite a scare, Supergirl."
"What about my skin?" I asked him, showing
him my hand. "Why is it so white?"
"Your skin color and strength will return
to normal in a few days," the doc replied with
confidence, as though he'd taken care of
Kryptonians throughout his career. He looked me
over. "You already look much better than you
looked just fifteen minutes ago."
I wanted to ask him a few more questions,
like how long I needed the IV in my neck, or if
I could get the brace removed. But Clark
interrupted.
"Thank you doctor," Clark said, while
urging him towards the door.
"No problem. I'll check on her frequently
during the next few hours. Oh! And the
cafeteria is putting together a special diet
high in iron for the girl of steel." he said,
smiling brightly at the play on words.
Clark smiled back perfunctorily and then
closed the door behind him.
Suddenly the room was quiet, except for
the dull clamor of reporters yelling outside
the room, demanding to know what was going on.
Andrew, Clark and Brian were all just staring
at me, shaking their heads.
"What does the media know?" I finally
asked.
"They know that you were injured," Andrew
replied, while flipping out a notebook.
"Supergirl, that is. They don't know about
Linda Lee or your moonlighting as a stripper,
but they may figure it out when they put all
the pieces of the puzzle together. Quite a
crowd gathered around when the ambulance came
to your rescue, and they all saw that you were
naked and bleeding. An hour later, it was
reported on the news. Rumor has it that you are
hairless down under, but that kind of news only
gets around through the grapevine, so no one
will take the rumors seriously in a week or
two. A few people saw your face, and others
claim that you had light brown hair.
Fortunately, no one took a picture."
"That reminds me," Brian said, and a
moment later, all I could see was a drape of
blonde hairs covering my face. Brian carefully
adjusted the wig, looking at it from all
angles, making sure that not a single brown
hair leaked out, while gently caressing my face
at the same time. "If the media somehow manages
to sneak past our guards, they should see a
blonde haired Supergirl."
I watched Brian as he worked. I knew that
his lust for me was only matched by his
affection, but he never once asked anything of
me. He never judged me.
If only my other friends were like that.
I didn't want to look at Clark, whose
glare was so intense I could actually feel the
heat on my skin. I didn't want to imagine what
he might be thinking of me.
Clark never knew. He never knew anything!
He never knew about my adventure with Catwoman.
He never knew about my lesbian relationships
with Pamela or Carol. And he certainly never
knew about the Luscious Linda Lee at the
Kindling Klub. He thought I was just a sweet,
vulnerable orphan who happened to have an
aversion to panties. That alone should have
told him something.
Andrew continued consulting his notes. "A
few cops at the scene recognized you, but they
agreed to keep it hush-hush. O'Neil, I'm
counting on you to keep them at their word.
They seem eager to brag. This is a real mess.
We haven't told the media a story yet, but we
are thinking something close to the truth,
like: you were attacked--"
"Why did you dye your hair?" Clark
suddenly asked, interrupting Andrew, as though
it was a critically important question.
I knew he wasn't really thinking about my
hair, but I answered the question, anyway.
"What difference does it make? I had to wear a
wig one way or the other, either as Linda or
Supergirl. Women dye their hair all the time."
I didn't want to tell him that when I perform,
men touch my hair and see it up close. They
would notice a wig right away.
"Why did you do it?" Clark yelled
suddenly, startling me. He said the word 'it'
like he might say the word whore or
abomination. "Doesn't Andrew pay you enough
for his assignments? Surely you know how
dangerous it is."
I shook my head. "It's not that dangerous,
really. I can't catch any of their diseases,
and they can't catch--"
"Haven't you learned anything from last
night?" Clark cut me off, shaking a finger at
me and pacing around the room. His muscles were
bulging through his costume as he held back his
immense temper. He scared me. Andrew and Brian
wisely stayed out of his way. "You are playing
games with your powers. Andrew told me the
kinds of stuff you do on stage, so late at
night. Playing around with Kryptonite would be
safer. If I ever hear about you doing that
again . . ." he trailed off, as his anger
evaporated.
I wanted to object, but Brian beat me to
it, saying, "Maybe Linda should keep stripping
for just a while longer."
"What?" Clark said, flashing him a glare.
"As bait to a trap," Brian continued
bravely. "We still have a killer vampire out
there on the loose, and we have no clue where
to find him. Jim's very smart, and he's hiding
his trail. But maybe we don't need to find him.
Jim was screwing up the past several days,
since he met Linda, and I think she touched him
in some way. He was very attracted to her.
Obsessively so, don’t you think, Linda? Sure,
he tried to kill her, but he regretted it, as
evidenced by the way he covered her face when
he thought she was dead. Now, that he knows she
is alive, he'll want to see her again. I think
part of him wants to be caught. If Linda goes
back on stage, I bet he'll come back to see her
and we can trap him."
Andrew nodded, "Hmm, sounds like a good
plan. The best we have, anyway. Just so long as
the vampire never gets close to Linda. If she
has to use her powers to defend herself, the
whole world will know her dirty little
secrets."
"Don't talk like that," I objected. "You
were a part of some of those secrets,
remember?"
Andrew adjusted his tie and glanced at
Clark. "I'm sorry, Linda, but this is business.
It doesn't matter what we do in private; the
media is gonna be looking for any dirt on
Supergirl that it can find. You'll need to be
the perfect lady in public, and as modest as
Mother Theresa. I'm just trying to protect
your image."
"I don't want your protection. What
difference does it make? Maybe everybody should
know the truth. Just line up a bunch of
reporters in the hall, and I'll do a show just
for them."
Clark looked at me sadly. "Oh, Kara, what
would your father think if he heard you talking
like that? You are disgracing the memory of
Krypton."
His words hit me harder than his fist ever
could. "What do you know about Krypton, Kal?" I
lashed back, "You -- you barely even know the
language. And you never knew my father."
Clark touched my hand with his. "I'm sorry
Linda, I'm just really concerned about you."
"Go away," I said, pulling my hand away
and choking on my tears. "All of you. Please.
I'm really tired. I can't do this anymore."
Confused, afraid, sad, lost, dizzy. So
many emotions, none of them good. I didn't need
to feel angry as well.
How could they come in here and attack me
like that? I felt like they were hitting me
when I was down.
At least I have you Calvin, I thought. He
purred loudly as I rubbed his neck and head,
and his purring made me feel better. I decided
that pets were better than friends, but I
didn't want to believe it.
A few minutes later, a nurse named Janine
rolled a TV set into the room and handed me the
remote control. She was very nice -- not fake
like the doctor was. She wasn't gonna write
this experience up in some journal. She wasn't
sucking up to people in authority. She was just
doing her job -- helping people. She told me if
I needed anything at all, even if it was just
to talk, to call her. I smiled and thanked her.
I decided that strangers are better than
friends, but I didn't want to believe that,
either.
As soon as I clicked the TV on, I saw a
stock photo of myself on the news, and I
discovered what happened last night -- what
Clark, Andrew and Brian neglected to tell me.
"A stalker still haunts Metropolis by
night, but the stalker is not a panther! Police
confirm that the animal responsible for four
deaths in the past week is in fact a vampire.
Tragedy was narrowly averted early this morning
when Supergirl confronted the vampire -- and
lost! Her body was stripped naked and left for
dead. She has been in critical condition
through most of the morning at Metro General
Hospital, but just minutes ago her condition
was upgraded to stable. Details are sketchy at
this time. Was she sexually assaulted? How
could a vampire defeat someone so powerful? Why
were fibers of panther fur found on the bodies
of every victim. Police have declined to
comment."
That was all the information the news crew
had about last night. For the next fifteen
minutes they retold the same story three
different ways, and interviewed "experts" who
made educated guesses. The anchor woman
interviewed a psychic who had insisted for many
years that vampires were real, and delighted in
saying "I told you so" before dropping the
topic altogether and prophesying about the end
of the world.
After that, the network returned to the
regularly scheduled soap opera at that time
slot, but abruptly interrupted again with
breaking news. "We've just acquired a video
tape that sheds some new light on the events
happening this morning."
The ten seconds of video tape looked like
it was filmed by someone on a pogo stick. It
was a series of brief images and blurs. The
network played the tape first at normal speed,
then in slow motion. The first clear image was
of a cop trying to push the camera man away
from the scene. The second image showed the
alley where Jim attacked me. The playback
stopped on the final image and zoomed in,
showing me on a stretcher. My face was blocked
by a paramedic, but I was stunned to see my
bare breasts filling the TV screen -- filling
the screens of half the TV sets across the
nation.
Of course, people looked at my bare
breasts every night at the Kindling Klub, but I
never expected to see them on public TV for
every man, woman and child to see. I didn't
even think it was legal, but the network
actually freeze framed it there. Maybe the
image was so blurry that it passed the censors.
Or maybe they were willing to challenge the
rules for high ratings. The anchor man reached
across my breasts onscreen with a pointer to
indicate the two puncture marks on my neck, and
a smudging of blood on my shoulder. I put
my fingers to my throat and felt the rough
surface of a cloth bandage, and then the
smooth, cool plastic of the IV tubes. When I
touched them, something shifted under my skin,
unsettling me, summoning up memories of last
night. Of Jim's face, his mouth opening, baring
his teeth. Of his hot breath on my throat. Of
his teeth, under my skin.
I turned off the TV set. That was enough
catching up for now.
"Well, how is my favorite patient
feeling?" said my doctor with his patented
plastic smile, as he carried in a tray of food.
I wondered if doctors usually delivered room
service themselves, or if I was getting special
treatment.
"I'd be feeling better if people would
knock before they come in," I replied.
His smile barely wavered, but I knew he
didn't like me any more than I liked him. "Very
spirited, aren't we? That's a good sign."
He pressed a button on the side of the
bed. I felt my head lifting up, and soon I was
sitting fully upright. Then he swung a small
table into place over my lap and placed the
tray of food upon it.
I wasn't hungry to begin with, but I was
even less hungry now, looking at my meal:
Spinach, some kind of awful looking meat that I
later found out to be baked liver, a stale
white roll, and small glass of yellow juice.
Calvin peaked over the tray to sniff at
the liver. As far as I was concerned, he could
have it.
The doctor walked around my bed and
reached to grab Calvin, who hissed at him. "Bad
cat!" he said with a sneer. "He shouldn't be
here in the first place."
"Leave him alone!" I yelled. The doctor
was so startled he leaped backwards. He was
afraid of me, even in my weakened state. I
stroked Calvin gently to calm him down, and I
said more quietly, "He's not a bad cat. He's
just acting naturally."
"That's what being bad means, dear girl,"
the doctor replied as he headed for the door.
"Enjoy your meal."
Calvin looked worried as I put him in the
pet carrier, but I was smiling. Not a thin
polite smile. Not a half-hearted humorous
smile. No, a big white toothy smile. Because I
was going home from the hospital. And for the
first time, even my doctor's smile seemed
genuine.
I had been at Metro General for only three
days, but it seemed like much longer than that.
I hated having the armed guards at my door. I
hated the hospital food. I hated Andrew's and
Clark's frequent visits, since all they did was
attack rather than comfort me. I hated
everything about this white, lifeless, sterile
place. The nurse Janine helped me get ready for
my departure -- she was the one bright spot of
this whole experience. I gained one friend. I
might have lost two.
The most important thing was that I was
feeling better, and I didn't look deathly ill
anymore. The "type O" blood was doing the job,
but it was like putting economy gasoline in a
Ferrari. It wasn't quite the real thing. My
powers were iffy at best. My skin was
impenetrable, but I was swelling around my
joints. If I really concentrated, I could
probably bend steel, though I'd rather just lie
down and do nothing. It would be several days,
maybe even weeks before I was at 100%.
I dressed up as Linda and slipped past the
media outside the hospital without notice. My
first thought was that I'd sneak into an alley,
change into my costume and fly home, but I felt
dizzy, like I might faint. I glanced back at
the hospital, thinking that maybe I should stay
a while longer, but just the thought of the
doctor's smug face calling me "his dear girl"
renewed my resolve. I hailed a taxi.
The ride home was more interesting than I
hoped for. The driver was Arabic, and he didn’t
speak English well, but he sure talked a lot.
Maybe he thought conversation was part of the
job. He complained every mile between the
hospital and my driveway about how lonely it is
here in America. People didn't understand him,
no one spoke his language, and he felt like an
outsider. I found myself sympathizing with him.
I remembered how hard it was to learn English
and to make friends, especially outside of
college. But the cab driver lost my sympathetic
ear when he rebuked me for under-dressing. He
also lost a good tip.
What was he even complaining about? I
mean, my skirt was almost knee length, and my
blouse was loose fitting. Well, OK, I wasn't
wearing a bra, but it wasn't all that
noticeable. I knew I shouldn't let his hang-up
get to me.
It was just that when he said that, he
sounded *so* like my father. . .
Zor-El was the most loving man I've ever
known, and I loved him dearly, yet throughout
my teenaged years, we were always fighting. We
fought about how I dressed, what I did with my
friends, and how little he cared. But it never
really seemed like we were fighting with each
other. It was more like we were fighting
against fate and the shadow of the Abyss. We
knew exactly when we would all die, right down
to the hour, and we faced this knowledge in
very different ways.
I didn't understand the concept of
"generation gap" until just a few years ago, in
Psychology 101. Social Sciences were a new idea
for me, as was "formal education". No one saw
any point for that in Argo City, since
resources were so low, and everybody knew we
had no future. So why go to school? We were the
lost generation.
My generation grew up on a mining
asteroid, with little food and diminishing
resources. It was a miracle that we were even
born, but it was a forgone conclusion that we
would all die within seventeen years, whether
from running out of food or from a meteor
shower that everyone knew from day one was
gonna hit. Somehow, we managed to make the food
last, but we could not stop the meteors. My
generation lived our lives without any kind of
hope. We accepted our fate, and we lived life
to the fullest until the day of the Abyss
Daddy had lived a very different kind of
life from me. He came from a rich, proud
family, living in the palaces of Krypton, and
worshiping a god named Rao. He studied with
famous intellects, who all preached the supreme
power of the mind, and the ability to overcome
every obstacle. To him, accepting our fate and
enjoying life in the shadow of death was
unthinkable.
I don't know why I never listened to him.
He was, after all, the reason why many of us
survived on Argo City for so many years. When
he promised me that I would survive the
starvation and the meteors, he wasn't just
trying to give a desperate girl false hope.
Maybe I didn't listen because I didn't really
want to survive, not without him, and not
without my friends or the only life I'd ever
known.
I didn't want to die, but I wanted to face
the Abyss like everyone else. I wanted to hope
the same crazy hopes that there was something
wonderful and marvelous on the other side.
In a way, that's exactly what happened. I
faced my Abyss for several weeks in a tiny
capsule, losing my mind in grief and loneliness
and fear, until the capsule finally opened, and
I was born into this new terrifyingly beautiful
world, called Earth.
I had always been afraid to wonder if my
parents and friends ever made it through their
Abyss, into their afterlife. Yesterday morning
I found out -- unless I was only dreaming. But
it seemed so real, so overwhelming, I could not
possibly have imagined it. When my father
rebuked me for being naked, it sounded so like
him, as real as if he slapped my face.
"This your home, lady?"
"Huh?" I said, suddenly remembering where
I was. "Oh, yeah, thanks."
The cab driver pulled into my driveway,
and I climbed outside. Calvin meowed excitedly
in his box. I shared the sentiment. It seemed
like I was gone for more than just three days.
And, oh, was ever I looking forward to taking a
long, long bath!
"Very nice little house. Very pretty,"
said the cab driver. "I wish I could live in a
place like this."
I smiled, forgetting how the driver had
offended me earlier. I gave him a big tip.
Then I snagged two Daily Planets up from
my porch and opened the door.
Newspapers were not meant to be read while
taking a bath. It was simply impossible to keep
the paper dry when the front page story
continued on page 24. But I couldn't stop
reading the article:
"What Really Happened to Supergirl" by
Clark Kent.
In short, Clark told the biggest lie he
had ever told -- other than that he was just a
mild mannered reporter, anyway. The story was
100% damage control. He dismissed the accounts
from eye witnesses who saw my brown hair and my
shaved pussy as pure fantasy. The lady who
called 911, thus saving my life, later told the
press that she heard moans of pleasure, but
Clark ridiculed her interpretation, saying that
moans of pain were easily confused with moans
of pleasure.
Then Clark totally pissed me off by
fabricating a story about that night, with no
basis in truth, and claiming that *I* was the
source of the information! Presumably, I was
searching for the panther that night, when I
encountered a man in apparent danger. But he
was a vampire, not a man, and he allegedly
lured me into a trap, involving, of course,
kryptonite. Then he tore off my clothes and
brutally attacked me, raped me, and left me for
dead.
Oh, Clark, why did you have to lie?
Whatever happened to journalistic integrity?
Whatever happened to Truth, Justice and the
American Way? Was that just a cruel joke? A
slogan?
I knew that Clark was jeopardizing his
reputation to protect me, but I wished he
hadn't. I never asked him to, and I didn't
appreciate being put in his debt. He had always
let me live my own life and make my own
decisions, but now he was making decisions for
me. He was trying to protect me from myself.
I dropped the newspaper beside the tub and
closed my eyes, trying to relax. I reminded
myself that Clark was only protecting me
because he cared. I should have been used to
that, because my father tried to shelter me
throughout most of my life. But instead of
relaxing me, those thoughts made my blood boil
and my muscles itch.
I climbed out of the tub and stood naked
in front of the mirror. While drying myself
with a towel, I looked my body over. My skin
was a little red from the hot water --
something which never happened when I was a
full-blooded Kryptonian - but otherwise I
looked in the peak of health. The swelling at
my joints was gone, and even the bite marks on
my throat were healing nicely. A touch of make-
up would hide them.
If I wanted to hide them, that is. My
first impression of the scars was that they
were ugly, but now I found myself admiring
them. They were attractive, in a sick sort of
way. Through these holes, Jim entered my body.
From these holes, Jim drained my life. Into
these holes, I was given new life. I stroked
them lightly with my fingertips -- and
shivered. I realized the scars were erogenous
zones. So it would be criminal to show them in
public, I thought with a sly grin and a feeling
of unease in the pit of my stomach.
Whenever I would meet someone as
Supergirl, they would glance at my neck, hoping
to see the vampire's signature. But to actually
let anyone, especially a stranger, see
something so erotic, so personal, so
terrifying, so meaningful, would be obscene.
There were no laws against exposed scars, but
any decent person would have enough shame to
hide them.
Shame is such a dirty word. My life was
full of it, and just the idea that someone
should do something out of shame disgusted me.
I was always proud of my body, even before I
had a "Super" body. It was my one true gift,
and I wanted to share it.
I smiled as I thought how my erotic antics
kept Clark and Andrew, who were considerably
less proud of my body, scurrying to quell a
rumor or hide evidence, and replacing it with
the "official truth".
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I
tried to reconcile what I saw with how the
world saw me. I felt a horrible wave of anxiety
rush through me, as though suddenly I didn't
recognize myself.
Did the world know that my nipples
hardened when I touched them? Did they know how
easily my juices flowed in my officially
recognized blonde-tressed pussy?
Did they want to know?
I slipped my red micro-skirt over my
officially recognized blue panties. My nipples
officially didn't peek through the "S" on my
blue and red top. I debated whether to wear the
wig, since my hair was still officially blonde,
but I chickened out and wore it anyway.
Then, in full uniform, and with a
dangerous state of mind, I opened the window
and leaped up into the sky, un-officially back
in action.
Maybe I was rushing my recovery, I thought
as I nearly crashed into a tree. I was like a
bird trying to fly with clipped wings. But I
quickly adjusted to my handicapped powers and
gained some altitude.
Supergirl was an everyday sight in the
skies over Metropolis, yet today many people
stopped what they were doing to stare at me. I
wondered what they were thinking. Were they
happy to see me? Or maybe all the rumors and
"official truth" were making them suspicious,
as they would be of any celebrity.
I didn't want to think about that right
now, so with a surge of energy, I climbed into
the sky, above the clouds. I didn't descend
until I was well outside the boundaries of
Metropolis.
The land was much more beautiful here in
the quiet suburbs and rural areas. I swooped
down low, as if surfing over the green hill
tops which grew ever larger as I neared the
Appalachian mountain range.
The population out there was sparse so far
away from the big city, and I didn't notice
anyone looking up in the sky watching me. I
felt like I had total privacy and freedom and a
chance to settle my chaotic feelings. But that
all ended when I arrived at Midvale.
There I saw two older women waving at me
with both hands. They weren't waving "hello" to
me. They were trying to catch my attention. One
of the women was calling out, "Help us,
Supergirl."
I spiraled down and landed on the 50 yard
line of the Midvale High School football field,
as the two ladies and a few dozen tittering
young men in football gear rushed up to greet
me. A moment later they were joined by the
kids' parents and other fans, who were
scurrying off the bench seats alongside the
playing field, to meet the visiting hero.
Everything seemed perfectly normal, almost
Norman Rockwell-ish about the scene. The school
looked very old, as if from the last century,
although the football field was new, with
sections still under construction. The only
thing that struck me as odd was the music
playing on the loudspeakers of the announcement
booth, sitting atop the scoreboard.
"What's wrong?" I asked the lady who
appeared to be in charge. I assumed that she
was the principal of the school. Her name tag
said simply: RODIGER.
"Do I have to tell you?" Principle Rodiger
sneered, as she glared disapprovingly at my
costume, but she was too upset with her own
problems to give me grief. "Are you deaf?"
I listened for a moment, but all I could
hear was that strange music. I think I heard
the song before; maybe one of the strippers at
the Kindling Klub danced to it. It had a loud,
angry beat, and the lyrics repeated over and
over again:
*Now ya do what they told ya; you're under
control.*
"You mean the music?" I asked.
The lady covered her ears dramatically.
"Darned right I mean the music! We don't play
filth like that at our sporting events. A few
delinquents locked themselves in the booth.
Those . . . rascals are holding us hostage to
this noise! I swear, they'd do anything just to
stir up trouble."
I stared at her in disbelief, then I
looked around me. Most of the football players
were still laughing, but not loud enough to
risk earning detention. A few of the parents
looked as upset as the principal was, while
others smiled in amusement.
This was the happiest group of hostages
I'd ever seen.
"Well?" She demanded.
"Well what?" I didn't like where this was
heading.
"Well, are you gonna put a stop to this?"
She yelled, now as angry at me as she was at
the kids.
Damn, I was hoping she wouldn't ask me
that. I didn't want to have anything to do with
this, but I was trapped. I was angry at this
principal for trying to use my powers for her
own agenda. This wasn't a job for Supergirl. I
was supposed to save lives and stop crimes, not
punish some rambunctious kids.
Who was I to punish anyone, anyway? To
tell the truth, I admired these kids, whoever
they were. They had guts.
But part of my deal with Andrew was that I
would help out people in authority, whoever
they were. And for that, I was paid $800 per
day.
As I walked to the announcement booth, I
listened to the words of that song again:
*Now ya do what they told ya; you're under
control.*
Not me, I thought. I may do what they tell
me, but I'm not under control.
"Why don't you just fly up there?"
Principal Rodiger complained, as we stood
directly under the scoreboard. She covered her
ears as if the song was physically hurting her.
"What are you smiling at?"
I didn't answer. I was lost in thought, as
I stared at the only entrance to the newly
constructed booth -- a scaffold which hung out
over the football field. The floor was made of
widely spaced metal links. I wondered how the
hell I was gonna get inside without everyone in
the football field seeing up my skirt.
This was hardly a new problem for me. It
was a problem I always enjoyed solving, and
when it got too easy, I compensated by
shortening my skirt, until finally, I simply
couldn't shorten it any more. If I wasn't
wearing my cape, my ass would be partially
exposed when I walked. So, of course, I
shortened my cape as well. If one of these
curious teenagers ducked, they'd find me out. I
was surprised they didn't try.
It was all part of a game I played -- a
game that drove Clark and Andrew crazy. Every
month or two, I changed my costume slightly. I
wanted to test the limits, and see just how far
I could go.
After experimenting with various, ever
shortening skirt and cape lengths, I worked on
the upper part of my costume, replacing my
modest cotton shirt with something so sheer and
close-fitting that when I first wore it, many
people thought I had tinted my skin and went
topless. The corners of the "S" just barely
covered my nipples, so technically, I was
decent, if not appropriately dressed for all
occasions.
While the public was still debating the
merits and desirability of my tits, I literally
thinned the veil over my pussy as well. I
searched far and wide for just the right
fabric, until I found a deep red, partially
transparent gauze. When I pulled the front of
my new miniskirt flat, my pussy was clearly
visible behind it, but since the skirt fell in
folds, the view was distorted.
Still, it was quite obvious to look at me
that I wore nothing underneath. At least *I*
thought it was obvious. It would be obvious to
anyone seeing me up close.
Then Clark wrote an article, defusing the
controversy, somewhat. He claimed that I wore
flesh colored panties under my skirt, and he
actually used as evidence the fact that no one
could see any pubic hair! Under certain
lighting conditions, the outline of my pussy
lips was visible and was even caught on camera,
but Clark dismissed that as a combination of
distortion from the skirt, features of my
panties, and imaginings of dirty minds.
Of course, some people expressed their
dismay that I would encourage dirty minds in
the first place with such a suggestive if not
obscene costume.
Other people were surprisingly
complimentary. The women's magazine "Her
Choices" complimented me for my sense of
fashion. Apparently, in some circles, exploring
the rules was admirable.
But as I looked up at the scaffold, I
reminded myself that breaking the rules was
condemned.
If I tried to enter the booth the normal
way, a hundred witnesses would get a long,
lingering look at my pussy.
On the other hand, my pussy was aching
from thinking about getting caught. If I didn't
move quickly, my excitement would be dripping
down my thighs and staining my skirt, and I'd
be caught that way.
I had to consider a further complication:
My excitement level was so high that the crowd
around me would be feeling it as well. They
probably believed their feelings were based on
intuition or that their own dirty minds were
getting the better of them. I was utterly
exposed to their minds, if not to their eyes.
They were already looking at my thighs,
suspecting, wondering, anticipating . . .
Part of me savored the moment. I closed my
eyes and absorbed the attention. The primal
beat from the offending music only added to my
debauchery, which seemed to know no bounds.
But part of me did feel some shame. I knew
I could wait no longer. I squeezed my thighs
together and hovered up to the scaffold, hoping
for the best. Someone might catch a glimpse of
my ass, but after a few days, Clark and Andrew
would have the public believing that the
reported ass sighting was really just a weather
balloon.
The door to the observation booth was
locked from the inside, but even in my weakened
condition, I broke the lock in just a few
seconds. I hurried inside and closed the door
behind me.
The two villains cringed in the far corner
of the tiny booth, just five feet away, and
they stared at me as I entered. They were both
15 or 16 years old. Not quite boys. Not quite
men, though each of them were taller than me.
They were totally confused. They glared at me
with a hatred they felt towards all authority,
while at the same time, the bulges in their
pants told me they recognized my status as a
hot babe.
One of the teenagers was naked except for
a slight bathing suit and a row of rings in his
ear. The other wore torn jeans and looked a lot
like a young Dennis Rodman. By contrast, my own
clothing didn't seem so extreme.
"Leave us alone!" demanded the Rodman look-
alike. "We haven't hurt anyone."
"Do you mind if I turn down the music?" I
asked, looking at the large amplifier in the
middle of the tiny room, trying to decide which
of the many knobs was the volume control.
In a panic, they threw their bodies in
front of the amp, guarding it like a sacred
relic. I stepped back in surprise. Their eyes
glinted with a religious fervor as they turned
up the volume and chanted along with the lyrics
of the song.
"FUCK YOU, I WON"T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!"
"FUCK YOU, I WON"T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!"
"FUCK YOU, I WON"T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!"
. . . over and over, gaining strength and
conviction each time . . .
. . . until I found the plug and pulled it
from the wall.
"I'm sorry," I said, "but I want to talk
with you. I really like your song, by the way.
That was 'Rage Against The Machine', right?"
They looked at each other in shock that
any adult would recognize "their" song, much
less like it. I could almost see them thinking:
Hey, this babe's got good taste.
I held my hand out to them. "Maybe I
should start again. Hi there, I'm Supergirl."
"Name's Mark," said the young man with the
ear rings, as he shook my hand. His eyes never
met mine. He couldn't get them off of my body.
He breathed in my scent in one long breath.
I felt my body react, and I had the
strange sensation as if the tiny room was
shrinking even smaller. I had to remind myself
that he was just a kid.
"And I'm Curt," said the other with the
orange hair. His eyes drifted down. I thought
he was looking at my breasts, but then he said,
"Is that where the vampire bit you?"
I shivered. I wished he *had* been looking
at my breasts -- I was used to that. But I
wasn't prepared for the way he was looking at
my neck. I had almost forgotten about
everything that had happened the past few days,
and now the memories flooded back. Memories of
Jim tearing into my throat. Memories of that IV
line invading my body.
I nodded. My heart was beating way too
fast.
"Pissa!" yelled Mark, with all the
sensitivity of Beavis or Butthead. "Can I see?"
My heart skipped a beat. I had the same
feeling a car driver might have if she turned
the wrong way down a one way street. But I
didn't slam on the brakes.
I tossed my hair aside and pulled back the
collar of my cape, revealing the two bright
pink spots on my neck. Mark and Curt gawked at
the symbol of my weakness. My knees trembled,
and then I realized I wasn't ready for this. My
emotions ran deeper than I thought. I felt
completely exposed, like I hadn't felt in a
long time. I felt like I had opened up my very
soul. It was terrifying, embarrassing, and very
exciting. My pussy was so swollen, it actually
hurt. If Mark and Curt weren't so entranced by
my scars, they might have seen several drops
running down my thigh.
But my excitement was contagious, and they
couldn't help but feel my heat. I learned from
my job as a stripper that I was never horny
alone. Even men who said "she's not my type"
could barely keep their dicks in their pants
when I danced on stage. My psychic impulses and
my super-natural feminine scents carpet bombed
their defenses, pounding them into submission.
What chance did these boys have? They were
just learning how to handle those feelings. So
I couldn't blame them for what they were about
to do. I had to accept the responsibility for
their actions.
"It's getting really hot in here," I said,
as I leaned into them. They nodded in
agreement. I could barely stand on my own, and
the boys were all too eager to hold me up. I
felt Mark's hand slipping under my thigh from
behind.
I slipped away from their groping hands
and reached for the door. I thought my best
plan of action was to get them out of the
observation booth and then get the hell away
from Midvale before the flames burned out of
control.
As I opened the door, I felt Curt's arm
wrap around me from behind, seeking out my
breast. I brushed his hand away. I was so
distracted that I forgot to prepare my skirt as
we stepped out onto the scaffold. So ended the
controversy over whether I wore panties or not,
as a hundred witnesses got an eye full.
But all sorts of new controversies would
start over what happened next.
Curt and Mark were burning with passion
for me, but when they saw the school principal
staring up at them, their passion combined with
rage. I never did find out what their gripe was
with the principal or the school, but I became
an integral part of their revenge.
Before I could fly off and end this public
relations nightmare with a minimum of damage,
Curt wrapped his arms around me and tore open
the "S" in my costume, exposing both breasts.
If I flew away even then, the damage would
have been minimal. The public would realize
that I didn't break the rules -- these kids
did. *If* I flew away, that is.
I stood completely still and closed my
eyes, awash in the attention, as though this
were a performance at the Kindling Klub. But I
knew this was so much bigger than that. I was
breaking all the rules. At long last, all the
lies were finally shattered. Wasn't this what I
had always wanted? I had slipped out from under
Clark's and Andrew's control. God, was I
messed up! I actually thought this was a good
thing!
I wanted to just tear off my clothes and
all my inhibitions, but I was paralyzed. I was
too terrified to give, but I was ripe for the
taking.
I threw my head back as Curt planted his
lips over the scars on my neck, teasing them
with his tongue, as he kneaded my breasts with
his soft, inexperienced hands. He pulled me off
balance, and I lifted my leg in reaction.
Mark tore my flimsy skirt away with one
quick yank and tossed it into the crowd. A few
football players fought each other to catch it.
Then holding my knee up with one hand, Mark
sank his fingers deep inside me and opened my
pussy wide, as much for show as for his own
enjoyment.
I turned my body slightly, so that I could
spread my legs wider, and share my need. I
resigned myself to whatever might happen next.
I was gonna come for all these young men and
their parents, and I would enjoy doing it,
without even thinking of what it meant to them.
My pussy was like wet fire. I was at critical
mass. If I went any further . . . meltdown.
Why didn't it feel like an emergency? Why
was I turning up the heat?
I heard the principal yelling up from
below. "Get down here this instant, young men!
Don't make this any worse than it already is!"
Curt stopped kissing my scars and yelled
back, right next to my ear: "Fuck you, I won't
do what ya tell me!"
I glanced down at Mark, who smiled
wickedly as he dropped my leg and abandoned my
pussy for a moment. He lowered his bathing suit
to his knees and prepared to show me a really
good time. His dick was already leaking.
I looked out into the crowd, and I could
almost swear I saw my father out there, shaking
his head . . .
That's when I finally slammed on the
brakes, for what it was worth. This wasn't
right. I wasn't making the decisions here. This
wasn't my fantasy. This wasn't the message I
wanted to send to the world. But more
importantly, I was afraid.
Somewhere in my handicapped, lust-ridden
body I found the strength to fly away. I flew
up high above the clouds, which would be my
only clothing until I got home, now that my
cape and shoes were all that remained of my
costume.
How were Clark and Andrew gonna explain
this situation away. Mass hypnosis? Maybe this
wasn't as big a deal as it seemed. I laughed
nervously. Who was I kidding? How could it be
any worse? At least I kept my wig on.
"Hi, Linda?" Andrew answered the phone. He
sounded a bit hurried. I must have caught him
at a bad time.
"Yes, Andy," I said, then paused. I hadn't
called him Andy since that night with Selina in
Leesburg almost a year ago. We hadn't been on
as friendly terms since then. He was my boss,
and that was that. But right now I really
wanted to be his friend again. "You asked me to
call you before I went back to the Kindling
Klub, and I'm getting ready to go there
tonight."
"Uh . . . " Andy delayed. I must have
caught him at a *really* bad time. I could hear
him whispering to someone in the background.
"Don't worry about me," I said, suddenly
sure that I was being foolish. Why did I even
think that we could be friends again? I felt
sure that as soon as the news got out about
what happened at that school, he would never
want anything to do with me again. "I'm heading
out right now. Goodbye."
"Wait! Hold on a sec, Linda! Are you sure
this is such a good idea? I mean, hell, you
just got out of the hospital this morning.."
"I don't know, maybe not," I replied
honestly, "but my hormones are going crazy. I'm
not thinking straight. I haven't had any
release in almost four days. You know me and my
appetite. If I don't do something about it,
I'll end up fucking the walls."
Andy laughed, "That might be tough to do.
Fucking a chair or railing might be more
satisfying. Why don't you just do what the rest
of us do when we're stuck? Give your hand some
exercise."
He knew better than to suggest that, so I
ignored his advice. Masturbating was the very
worst solution for me. When I came alone, I
would sink into the worst kind of the
depression. I shivered just thinking about it.
Pamela thought it had something to do with my
telepathic powers -- that I needed some kind of
psychic feedback, as she liked to call it. Or
maybe it was purely psychological, rather than
psychic. Andy never understood that, or maybe
he just didn't believe it.
"I really have to go tonight," I insisted,
choking on my words. I could barely talk. "I
can't keep making mistakes by trying to keep my
feelings bottled up."
"Keep making mistakes? Did something
happen already, Linda?"
Suddenly I started crying. I didn't
realize how distressed I was until just then. I
was terrified that I had already blown
everything. Tomorrow, whatever respect Andrew
or Clark might have had for me would be gone.
All of Earth would wish me dead, so they could
spit on my grave.
"Hey, Linda? You there?" Andy asked.
I nodded, forgetting that I was talking on
the phone. He sounded concerned, and that made
me feel a little better.
"Listen, Linda, it's OK. We'll meet you at
the Kindling Klub in a half hour. Okay???"
"Yes, thanks," I said, while wiping my
tears away, and I hung up the phone.
I took off my wig and cape and the remains
of my shirt. I stood naked in front of my
mirror and saw myself as if from a distance. I
watched my pussy swelling and oozing, like it
had a mind of its own. My nipples were hard as
steel, just waiting to be touched. The scars on
my neck were red and on fire. My whole body was
flushed with blood and tingled like a live
wire.
For the longest time, I was rebelling
against Andrew and Clark, but I didn't realize
that my real master was this body. I always
obeyed it's will and fed it's insatiable
appetites, and now it had led me to ruin.
I shattered the mirror with my fist. Seven
years of bad luck didn't sound so bad, knowing
my life was already over.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Lou, the
owner of the Kindling Klub (and my other boss)
spat as soon as I entered the building.
"I was sick the past couple of nights," I
replied.
"Too sick to call in?"
"I was *really* sick," I insisted. "I'm
sorry."
"Jeez, you know you and that fucking
vampire really screwed me this weekend?" The
boss waving his finger in my face like a gun.
"We lost a shit-load of money!"
I slapped his hand away from my face.
"Listen, Louis, I said I was sorry, but I
really was sick. If you want to fire me, then
just fire me."
My boss just glared for several seconds.
He was so pissed that I thought he really might
do it, but he had just enough intelligence to
hold back. "You're on the side stage tonight.
Get to work."
That was the only way he dared punish me.
The side stages meant less control, fewer
customers, and less money. I could barely move
much less dance on the five foot square table.
While I didn't feel up to center stage tonight,
I still took offense.
I stormed past him, past the bar, straight
to the dressing room. I slammed the door
behind me and paused in the middle of the room,
closing my eyes. I felt my emotions boiling
over.
What did I expect, anyway? Lou was a real
asshole. He never really liked me. He just
liked the money I brought in.
*Oh, no you don't, Linda!* I closed my
eyes and shook my head. *You aren't gonna cry
here! Not over this! It's time to take command
of your emotions. Stop being a slave!*
"Are you OK, Linda?"
I was so upset, I hadn't noticed Tina
standing there, just a few feet away, applying
her make-up. We were not friends. My success as
a stripper often came at her expense and at the
expense of the other strippers, so her show of
concern surprised me. I must have seemed in
really sorry shape to bring out her kind side.
I nodded. "I'm OK, thanks. It's just that
. . . that *bastard!* He's stuck me on the side
stages tonight."
"Oh, that's all? Now you know how the rest
of us feel most of the time." Tina said
laughing, but then she put her hand gently on
my shoulder. "But really, don't get so upset,
the side stages aren't that bad. And everybody
knows you're the best; you'll be back in the
spotlight tomorrow night."
I felt my anxiety melt when Tina touched
me, and I knew she could feel my reaction. I
could see the confusion in her eyes. I've
learned to recognize that look. People never
know quite what to think when they've just read
my mind.
"Thank you. You've made me feel a lot
better," I said with a smile and a sigh of
relief.
"You're . . . welcome," she stammered,
before heading for the door, suddenly in a
hurry.
I was rather surprised myself, not so much
that she read my mind but that just feeling her
touch could ease so much of the pain and
loneliness I was feeling. Was this evidence of
that psychic feedback that Pam talked about? Or
perhaps I just underestimated the power of
normal human touch and how much I needed to
feel appreciated.
It occurred to me that's really why I came
here tonight. My body was aching to have sex,
but I didn't have to go on stage to fill that
need. I needed something deeper, something more
emotional. Maybe I was sick for feeling this
way, but my fans always made me feel loved and
appreciated.
But how loving and appreciative would they
be if I greeted them looking like this? I
thought as I looked at my reflection in the
mirror. I couldn't remember ever looking so
tired and pale. Apparently the secret to my
beauty was in my Kryptonian blood.
A five minute hot shower put the color
back in my skin, and a touch of makeup helped
liven me up -- and hide the scars on my neck.
Then, after squeezing my body into a
bathing suit that made my former Supergirl
costume seem like a Sunday school dress by
comparison, I smiled at myself in the mirror.
I thought that if I could just smile, I
could forget the disaster in Midvale. If I
could just dance, I could forget all about
tomorrow.
I was ready to perform. I opened the
dressing room door and headed for my stage.
I wasn't ready.
I stopped dead in my tracks ten feet away
from the stage, but it was too late. Andrew was
waiting for me at the side stage, as he
promised me over the phone. But he brought
Clark, Brian and Selina with him, which I
didn't expect. We noticed each other at the
same instant.
What was going on?
They knew! Of course, they knew, I
thought. How could I be so stupid! Andrew had
all kinds of intelligence at his disposal.
Clark was a reporter for a major paper. Brian
had his police connections. It wouldn't take an
hour for a school principal in Midvale to call
the police or the Daily Planet.
My body went aquiver, right down to my
bare feet. Were my friends all ganging up on
me? Were they here to arrest me?
I took a step back as they approached. I
was on the edge of panic. "What do you want?"
"What do you think?" Selina frowned. "My,
do you look like a cat in the corner.
That's exactly how I felt. I stood
paralyzed as she reached out to me, hypnotized
by the twinkling of her diamond necklace. She
was overdressed in a stunningly beautiful black
silk dress and four inch heels. She towered
over me. When she touched my cheek, I leaned
into her, to feel her embrace and to seek her
protection from the wrath I feared was
imminent.
"You're not playing fair, sweetie," she
said, stroking my hair with one hand and
holding me close with the other. "You know I
have a soft spot in my heart for helpless
looking strays. That vampire really must have
scared you."
I looked up at her hopefully. "Is that why
you are all here? Because of the vampire?"
"Mmmm, yes and no," she said with a sly
smile, and her hand slid down from my shoulder
to rest suggestively on my hip. "Andy invited
me out to a comedy club tonight. You know Andy
-- he's either trying to get me in jail or get
me in bed. Anyway, I was about to turn him
down, when you called. Watching you strip
sounds like so much more fun than listening to
some buffoon do Eddie Murphy, and besides,
Andy's pretty useless in bed without you
around."
Andrew glared at Selina. "Will you get
your mind off pussies and cats already? We are
here to catch a vampire, not for the sex show."
"Blah, blah, blah, vampires. Just another
man pretending to be a rodent pretending to be
a bird. Don't worry, Lin, I've dealt with these
bat-men before," Selina reassured me, as she
slid her hand over my ass.
"She wouldn't have to worry, if she'd just
keep her pants on," Clark muttered, staring at
Selina's hand. "And you aren't helping."
Brian cut in, "You don't have to worry
anyway, Cupcake. He won't even get close to
you. We've got cops near every entrance, armed
with holy water and wooden stakes. We think if
he strikes at all, he'll strike tonight. He
won't be able to resist for very long. He
hasn't fed in over eighty hours. "
Clark finally looked at me. I could feel
his anger, but I didn't know if it was directed
at me or at Jim. "If he sneaks in somehow, I
won't need any stakes to pummel his sorry ass.
Whether it's your Kryptonian blood or your
Kryptonian pussy he craves, he won't getting
any. I'll rip his heart out first, and ask him
questions later."
I wondered if he was trying to make me
feel better or worse.
"He can't help what he is," I said, then
paused as Selina's finger tips lightly stroked
up my spine. "He couldn't control his hunger.
Why don't we just put him in jail, where he
can't hurt anyone?"
Brian's eyes opened wide in shock. " How
can you feel sorry for him, after what he did
to you? He certainly didn't give you the same
consideration. He's not even human, therefor he
has no rights. We ought to destroy him while we
have the chance, in my opinion."
"Hey, Linda!" yelled Louis, my boss, from
halfway across the club. "You were called on
stage five minutes ago. Get the fuck up there."
This was very strange and awkward.
Standing on the stage, my first thought was to
cover myself, not to throw off what little
clothing I had on. I felt shy at the weirdest
times.
Undressing before friends was harder than
undressing before strangers, especially when
one of those friends was like a brother or a
cousin to me. Especially when that one friend
might never forgive me for the things I've
done.
But just being on stage started my juices
flowing. I felt naughty at the weirdest times,
too.
Maybe that was because Selina could barely
keep her hands off me since we met, and now
that I was on stage, she was pondering me like
I was catnip.
I looked at her, away from Clark, as I
unclasped my bra, leaving it dangling in the
air, as I covered my tits with both hands. It
was a typical stripper pose, though I covered
them out of embarrassment rather than for
effect. My nipples were very hard, like twin
rubies.
I tried to ignore Clark, and what he was
thinking about me, and what he would think
about me tomorrow, as I set my breasts free.
Likewise, Clark was trying to ignore me.
He chatted with Andrew and Brian, as if I
wasn't there.
How could we ignore each other? He was
sitting at the edge of the tiny stage. He was
watching me out of the corners of his eyes. I
could feel it. Didn't he know that I could read
his mind, too? I could sense him smelling me.
We listened to each others' hearts as they
raced.
If I could feel his reluctant yet firm
attention, no doubt he could feel me igniting
in reaction. He could see my skin blushing with
his mind -- he didn't need his eyes.
Still, Clark pretended I wasn't there. He
was staring at Andrew, arguing passionately
that Holy Water would never work against a
vampire. It couldn't put out his fire.
I pretended to pretend he wasn't there,
but he was foremost on my mind and he knew it.
I gazed past Selina at the flashing colored
lights, as I peeled away my bikini bottom,
wondering if Clark and Andrew were watching.
They were. They stopped talking. I stopped
breathing. Selina purred.
I closed my eyes, and I saw what Clark was
seeing. All of his attention was focused on one
drop, hanging from my pussy lips, like a little
boy watching ice cream drip from a cone.
I could feel him getting harder. He could
see me getting wetter.
And for one brief moment, we both knew
exactly what the other wanted.
All I could hear was the song playing on
center stage. Tina's song. Something by the
Police -- a popular band in this club. Sting
was singing, "I'll be wrapped around your
finger."
Mmmm, that sounded like a good idea. My
inhibitions were burning up in flames. I kicked
the damp bikini bottom into Selina's lap, then
pivoted on one foot, landing on my knees with
my ass facing Clark. I spread my legs slightly,
so I could peek at him from between, like
looking under a bridge. That's what Brian and
some of the guys called it: The bridge pose. I
traced inside the arch with my fingertips,
starting with my ankle, quickly past my calves,
then slowing over my inner thigh, and settling
on my wet pussy lips. Clark was looking right
at me, right at my fingertip, imagining that my
finger was his finger, imagining that my finger
was his tongue, imagining that my finger was
his dick. I closed my eyes and opened my mind.
I let his imagination guide my finger.
He started off slowly, gliding around my
sex like he was learning to use a Ouija board.
His touch was light as a feather, as he
traveled from my asshole, around my triangle,
spreading my juices in his path, until he found
direction, and fastened onto my clit.
I took a quick breath, as my belly
trembled. Clark could sense the flood starting
in my core before it flowed from my pussy lips.
I could feel Clark's mouth watering. The
sensation was so strong, it was like I could
taste his mouth. He raised his hands to touch
me, to join his fingers with mine.
My hand jerked, as if in reflex, and then
I felt two fingers, his or mine, it didn't
matter, plunging deep inside me, trying to fill
me. I cried out, "Oh, yes!"
My legs collapsed, and I tumbled over onto
my back, with my feet falling off the edge of
the table, to either side of Clark's shoulders
"Linda's bridge is falling down," I
whispered, giggling. It was a bad pun that
usually earned smiles from my audience. But
this wasn't my usual audience, and it just
sounded stupid at the moment.
Clark's eyes were ravenous and his hands
were trembling, as he stared at my pussy
shining up at him, like dinner was just served.
Is everything to your liking, Sir? Do you like
it rare? I opened my pussy with two fingers,
showing him how pink and tender and juicy I was
inside. Do you like it alive? Be careful, the
food is very hot! "Oh..." I sighed, reaching out
to Clark with my other hand. I wanted to be the
best meal he ever had.
But I was pushing him too hard, and I
could feel him pulling away.
"She wants you," whispered Brian in
Clark's ear. "Go ahead."
I could almost hear a door slamming shut,
as Clark glared at Brian.
In one second, the heat of his desire
turned to anger. The power of his emotion hit
me like an explosion. He grabbed my legs and
pushed me back several feet on the stage. Any
normal woman would have been injured by the
tightness of his grip or the impact of his
attack. He did no harm to my bones or my flesh,
but the intense wave of his fury collapsed on
me, crushing my heart like a vice. I rolled
onto my stomach and closed my eyes.
"Hey! Settle down!" Andrew and Selina
said at once to Clark.
I could feel his stare burning my back. I
could feel his anger marching through my mind,
now that I had let him inside, trampling out my
thoughts.
"Hey, Clark, snap out of it!" Andrew said.
I felt for the edge of the stage with my
hands, afraid that I might fall off.
After several seconds, Clark replied, "I'm
. . . I'm alright."
I pulled my knees up to my chest. I heard
a new song playing on center stage. I tried
think of the words. I tried to hum the music.
"Hey, sugar-cookie, you OK ?" asked Brian.
I shook my head, not knowing how I felt.
Selina climbed up on the stage and sat
down beside me. When I didn't move, she
whispered in my ear. "Did he really hurt you?"
She held my shoulders and pulled me up into her
embrace.
The first thing I saw when I opened my
eyes was Clark staring at me. He was still
fuming.
Tears streamed from my eyes, as an
upwelling of pain and fears tore into me,
replacing the shock, and I wept in Selina's
arms like a child.
No one spoke for a long time, until Clark
finally said without a trace of anger in his
voice, "Common Kara, don't cry, I'll help you
off this stage." He reached out to take my
hand.
I slapped his hand away and yelled so loud
that everyone in the bar could hear, but in a
language only Clark could understand. "You want
to help me, Kal-El? You only want to help me do
what you want me to do. You want me to give up
my life and stop embarrassing you. You want me
to hide from the world. You don't care what I
want."
"You don't KNOW what you want!" Clark
yelled back.
Several patrons of the club were migrating
to the tiny side stage, curious about the
commotion. Andrew was visibly concerned. "Now,
Linda," he said firmly. "You are upset. Don't
say or do anything you'll regret in the
morning."
I buried my face in Selina's shoulder.
"It doesn't matter what I do now. None of it
matters. I'll never be able to show my face or
look at any of you again."
"What do you mean?" Clark asked.
"You did something major today, didn't
you?" Andrew asked, with a touch of fear in his
voice. His eyes opened wide with shock as he
looked into my mind.
"Shhh, don't worry about it," Selina
whispered as she pulled me up and coddled me.
She held me gently and stroked my hair, petting
me like I was one of her cats. Until one of her
hands landed on my breast and teased my
nipples.
I squirmed. "What are you doing?"
"Shhh, just relax," she whispered. "Trust
me."
Selina turned my body so that I was facing
my friends, and trapped one of my legs between
hers, exposing my pussy and my tears, not just
to my friends but to a dozen other onlookers as
well. I felt like jumping up and running away,
but then suddenly I could barely see, as Selina
covered my eyes with her hands.
"What are you doing?" I asked more
urgently.
"You said you couldn't show your face to
us anymore, " she said playfully, sounding less
like a friend and more like a enemy. She
uncovered my eyes, and reached down my body
with her hands, pinching one of my nipples with
one hand, while the other pulled on my knee and
felt down my thigh. "None of us came here to
see your face, anyway."
"Are you going crazy?" I asked, stopping
her hand before it got wet, when her other hand
caught me by surprise, diving right into my
pussy. "Oh, please, this . . . Clark is looking
. . ."
The Catwoman purred, "I thought you said
nothing mattered anymore. So why not just lean
back . . ."
She slid out from behind me, and laid my
back on the hard wood . . .
"open wide . . ."
She dilated my pussy lips . . .
"and relax . . ."
She kissed me full on the mouth,
preventing any further objection . . .
"forget Clark, forget tomorrow . . ."
She made forgetting easy, when she filled
my mouth with her tongue and took my breath
away. I couldn't feel Clark's angry stare. The
only thing that scared me now was that Selina's
fingers would stop before I came. The only
sound I could hear was Tina's music in the
background, putting me under a spell.
Mick Jagger was singing: *There’s a girl
who once had me down, under my thumb...*
Selina hovered over me sideways, kissing
me while squeezing my breasts. I started to
close my legs, but she grabbed my knee and
whispered: "Let them look."
*There’s a girl who once pushed me around,
Under my thumb...*
Then Selina got up on her knees and lifted
her dress over her head, completely naked
underneath, except for her necklace and shoes.
Her body was very different from mine, with
fuller breasts, longer limbs, and a thin, black
bush. She looked so beautiful, more like a
super-woman than I did.
*It’s down to me, the difference in the
clothes she wears, down to me...*
"Now you've been such a baby, I'm gonna
treat you like one," she said, as she straddled
me, her pussy against my belly. "Now suck on
these." She lowered her nipples to my face, and
I wrapped my lips and my arms around her,
pulling her close.
*The change has come, she’s, Under my
thumb...*
"Keep your legs open," she commanded, and
she turned to face the crowd that had gathered.
"What do you guys need, a written invitation?"
*Under my thumb, Is a girl who’s just
changed her ways...*
She didn't need to tell them twice. Two
hands grabbed my legs, while someone else
attacked my pussy like a wolf, with his tongue
and teeth. I cried out, on the verge of coming.
"Oh, stop crying," Selina complained.
"Aren't my breasts enough for you? Let go of
me, and lie down."
*The way she does just what she’s told,
down to me . . .*
Selina crawled over my body, I closed my
eyes, as her bush tickled my face and my nose
slid into her damp cave. "This is what you
want, isn't it?" She grabbed me by the hair and
stuffed my face in her pussy.
*Under my thumb, Is a Siamese cat of a
girl . . .*
She purred as I burrowed inside, filling
her with my tongue, sucking on her lips,
drinking her nectar.
With my free hand, I grabbed the hair of
the man between my legs, and pulled him in
tight, wanting to drown him in my juices.
*Under my thumb, She’s the sweetest pet in
the world. . .*
Then everything got very confusing. I
felt hands and lips swarming over me, licking,
squeezing, biting. Someone grabbed Selina,
pulled her off of me, and climbed on top of
her, while someone else pulled my ass over the
edge of the stage and turned me over, and
pierced me from behind.
I could barely hear the music anymore over
the groans and heavy breathing and Selina
singing out in pleasure. All I could see for
several seconds was hands and brief glimses of
men's faces. I closed my eyes.
And then I was dragged completely off the
stage, onto the seats, and I was being fucked
from every direction, and twisted in unnatural
positions. Men were pulling on my legs like I
was a wishbone, while one lucky man plunged
inside.
Someone else grabbed my head off the seat,
and pressed his dick to my cheek. I opened my
mouth, and took him inside. He pumped my face,
while someone pumped me at the other end, and a
third person sucked on my nipples, and a fourth
sucked on my big toes. I felt someone's tongue
on my neck, tickling my scar, pushing me over
the edge. A jolt of pleasure shot through my
body like electricity. I moaned and spasmed and
my mind exploded with psychic energy.
At the same time, Selina's song reached a
crescendo. One anonymous dick slammed against
my throat and erupted, while another sprayed in
my pussy. Someone even came on my breasts, as I
shared the most intense orgasm I'd ever had
with everyone around me.
Followed a moment later by an orgasm far
more intense, as I felt my body yanked through
the air. My face fell onto the seats, cum
dripping from my mouth, and a dick crashing
into me from behind. I think I cried out either
in pain or pleasure, as this dick of steel
drove into my cervix, and his hips slammed into
my ass, faster and faster, until my body felt
like it was ripping apart.
I screamed.
Then all I could see was a bright light,
like a flash, as my heart seemed to stop, and
my body dissolved in extreme pleasure, fading
into oblivion.
I was floating in space, surrounded with
warmth and peace, like a cat on a window sill,
basking in sunlight. That's how I felt. The
world was gone, and I was just "there",
somewhere, nowhere, full of light and warmth
and love. I felt free and safe.
Then a form took shape in the light. A
voice spoke my name, my true name, and I melted
into a tear.
"Daddy!" I exclaimed with a smile, but I
shivered nervously.
He stepped out of the light and embraced
me. "My dear Kara, what's wrong? Why are you
afraid of me?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy, but I . . . I failed
you."
He smiled at me. "You couldn't possibly
fail me. What ever gave you such a crazy idea?"
"I . . . didn't keep my clothes on. I
couldn't have failed any worse. I took them off
in public, in front of a hundred witnesses. And
please forgive me, but I even tried to seduce
Kal-El." I held to my father tightly, and
prepared myself for his wrath.
Which never came.
"Oh, Kara, you never would listen to me.
You offer your love to the most callous
strangers. Your skin is invulnerable, yet
somehow you always find a way to get hurt. I
only want what's best for you, my daughter, but
if you won't take my advice, at least take my
love, and try to be happy."
I looked up into his eyes. "So you
forgive me?"
"Stop worrying about me. Forgive
yourself."
I woke up to the sound of Calvin
complaining that he was hungry. Rolling over in
bed, I glanced at the silent alarm clock beside
my bed. It was 11:55, almost noon.
My mind was in a daze, and it wasn't the
usual daze that follows a long slumber. I
couldn't remember anything that happened last
night.
I looked down at myself, and my confusion
grew. The blankets were tucked in around me,
though I usually just pull them over my body. I
was wearing a nightgown, though I always slept
in the nude.
But I felt really good. I mean, *damn*
good, like I was still asleep, and dreaming
that wonderful dream . . . what was it about?
The memory was fading already.
Then I noticed how sore my ass was, and I
had a slight bump on my head. Memories of last
night flickered in my brain, like still photos.
I cringed when I saw Clark's face, glaring at
me. Then I smiled when I thought about Selina.
I laughed when I remembered coming, and feeling
my body covered with . . .
I opened my gown and looked at my chest
and belly, but I was clean, as though I had
just bathed. How could this be? How did I even
get home last night?
The last thing I remembered was . . . I
wasn't sure. I remembered having the most
intense orgasm I ever had -- or could even
imagine having.
I stepped out of bed and walked into the
kitchen, with Calvin trailing behind me. I saw
cups half full of coffee sitting on the kitchen
table. Something else happened yesterday. What
was it?
I poured some cat chow in a bowl. "Hmm,
you sure are hungry," I said. Calvin rubbed up
against my legs, licking his teeth in
anticipation. He looked up at me eagerly.
He was looking right up my gown.
I stumbled backwards and dropped the
plastic bowl. The cat food scattered on the
floor. Calvin streaked into the other room and
hid, forgetting his hunger, while my memories
of yesterday flooded back.
I paced nervously into the living room and
switched on the TV. I bit my fingernails, as
the old set warmed up.
The sound came on first, with the voice of
the news anchor:
" . . . the Girl of Steel in a whole new
light. Several parents toted cameras and
camcorders to the Midvale football game,
recording the entire event. I should warn you,
these images are quite graphic. Here with us
today is Doctor Richard Johnson, an expert on
comparative physiology?"
"Thank you, Jack," began a new voice.
"These images may be disturbing, but they are a
boon to our understanding of Kryptonian
physiology."
The black TV screen lit up with an image
of me teetering on the edge of the scaffold,
with Curt's arms around me. The camera zoomed
in as Curt tore away my shirt, exposing both
breasts and squeezing them in his hands. I
nearly fell off my seat. The image wasn't fuzzy
or bouncing around, as was the footage from a
few days ago, when I was being carried to the
ambulance. I could even see the little bumps
around my areolas. I watched myself throw my
head back, offering up my throat in an
unmistakable gesture of passion. The two scars
were plainly visible on my neck, before Curt
covered them with his mouth.
Suddenly the camera looked down, and I
couldn't breathe as I saw my leg being lifted
in the air, and Mark tearing away my skirt,
showing me in all my dripping, aching glory.
The video kept on rolling, but now in slow
motion, as Mark's fingers pressed into me,
rubbing my clit, like it was the spigot of a
fountain, sending my juices gushing over his
hand and down my thigh.
The video slowed down to a still frame.
"Here we see Supergirl's vulva," said the
doctor, as if anyone had any doubts. "Notice
the complete lack of hair around the labia or
anywhere on her body, for that matter. We can't
even see any follicles, suggesting that the
hair was removed at the source, or perhaps that
Kryptonian females lack body hair by nature.
Also notice the slight tissue swelling here and
here, and the extreme flow of vaginal juices,
far beyond that of an ordinary woman,
suggestive of an enhanced sexual response. As
we move in closer . . ."
The video switched to slow motion, as Mark
brought both hands into the action, grabbing my
pussy lips between his fingers and opening me
up wide. Then the low resolution video tape
image was replaced by a high resolution
photograph from a slightly different angle. The
entire screen was filled with my open hole.
I was feeling dizzy. Even I hadn't seen my
pussy in such detail before, and now the whole
world was seeing the most intimate parts of me
during their lunch break.
This wasn't possible. I couldn't be seeing
this.
A pointer panned over the photograph, and
settled in the middle. "Notice these tiny pink
folds draped over the vaginal tract, and the
smooth contour leading up to the labia. All
typically human in size, shape and color, as
are the clitoris and anus, which we will see in
next slide -- there. Gynecologically speaking,
Supergirl is just like any of you women out
there, except that her sexual organs operate in
overdrive. I hesitate to guess how this might
affect her psychologically."
I started breathing again when the video
stopped, and the anchor was back on the screen,
front and center, adjusting his tie, but
maintaining a straight face. "Thank you
doctor. Now we take you to Midvale where we
have an exclusive interview with Mark
Kupperberg, whose fingers you just saw in the
last three slides. Mark, we know that Supergirl
looks like a normal woman, but we also know
that she has that invulnerable skin. We are all
wondering, what does she feel like?"
Mark's face was one big smile. "She was
totally hot, and her [bleep] was dripping . .
."
"Yes, yes," Jack cut in, "but we can't use
language like that on television. Could you
describe her in more polite terms."
Mark stared at the camera quizzically.
"Well, she . . . uh . . . uh . . . smelled
really good."
I shut off the TV, unable to watch
anymore, and I started laughing in
bewilderment. Either I was going insane or the
world was.
"It's not quite what you expected, is it?"
said a voice from behind me. I spun around to
see Andrew standing at the front door. He was
wearing the same suit that he wore at the bar
last night, and I could see from his eyes that
he hadn't slept last night. "When did you wake
up?"
"Just a few minutes ago. I think I woke
up, anyway, and I didn't just dream what I
saw."
Andrew shook his head. "Nope, it was real,
and if you think that was a trip, take a look
at the front page of the Daily Planet."
He dropped it in my lap. The headline
read. "SUPERGIRL EXPOSED", with a black & white
photo of me taking flight, wearing only my
cape. Clark wrote the story. I read the first
paragraph:
"MIDVALE: Yesterday afternoon, Supergirl
offered the world a brief glimpse into
Kryptonian biology, while at the same time
demonstrating a power she had kept secret until
now -- a super-sex drive."
I laughed with tears in my eyes, and asked
Andrew. "Would you please tell me what's going
on? "
Andrew smiled as he flopped on the sofa
beside me. "Damage control. The public
relations equivalent to the Hail Mary pass.
After what happened yesterday and last night,
we didn't have any other options. We threw up a
prayer, and it seems to be working so far."
"What are you talking about? What happened
last night, anyway?"
""What is the last thing you remember?"
"You know," I shifted in my seat and
smiled despite my anxiety. "In the bar. I
remember making love with Selina, when things
got a little crazy and turned into an orgy. Men
were climbing all over me. Then they were
cumming all over me. Makes me wet just thinking
about it. But then something really intense
happened. Someone attacked me like an animal."
A shiver ran down my spine. "Oh, my God! Was it
Jim?"
Andrew was surprised. "Jim? The vampire?
No, no, Jim never showed up last night. In
fact, there were no suspicious murders
throughout all of Metropolis. It's been several
days now without incident, and I'm thinking
that Jim may have skipped town. No, the person
who attacked you last night was Clark."
"Clark?" I repeated his name in a whisper,
as I thought about what he did to me. My ass
was so sore, just sitting felt uncomfortable.
"Yeah, the mild mannered reporter really
lost it," Andrew said casually, as he pulled a
cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket.
"O'Neil has been telling me for some time about
those shows you put on -- about how you
magically seduce your audience, with both your
body and your mind. But putting you and Clark
together was like mixing fuel and fire, and the
rest of us were caught in the psychic flames,
including some of the other dancers. Clark
somehow held it all inside him, but when you
came, it set him off, and he just exploded,
throwing everyone aside as he went for you. No
one saw what happened next. It was like a
tornado tore through the club. When things
finally settled, everyone saw Clark standing
over you, his glasses crushed on the floor, his
suit torn open with the 'S' revealed, and his
red shorts down around his knees."
I covered my mouth. "Oh, no! This is
terrible! He must want to kill me."
"Actually, that's exactly what we thought
he did. You two were at opposite ends of the
power spectrum. He experienced a power surge at
the same time that you lost all of yours. In
the end, you were lying on top of a wrecked
bench seat with a bump to your head and no
pulse. You gave us all a terrible scare for the
second time this week. But after a minute or
two, your pulse miraculously returned, and you
were breathing regularly again.
"Then things got *really* weird," Andrew
continued, and took a long drag from his
cigarette. "We left O'Neil to clean things up
as best he could in the club, while Clark,
Selina and I drove you home. With you resting
safely in her arms, Selina began raving about
what a great time she had, and how she wanted
to do it again sometime soon. Well, you know
Selina. Clark's problems didn't mean a thing to
her. He was just a 'big party-pooper' -- those
were her words.
"Clark and I went over the facts, trying
to come up with some kind of strategy. You
know, maybe we could cover it up. Many of the
club patrons were cops, and they were the only
people who recognized Clark Kent. If we could
just keep them in line, we might be able to
preserve his secret identity. But dozens of
other witnesses had already left the club, and
no doubt were running around, blabbering about
how Superman fucked a stripper to death.
"And just when things didn't seem like
they could get any worse, I got a call on my
cellular from the agency," Andrew smiled and
shook his head. He took my hand in his and
kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you Linda for
making my life so interesting. Apparently
dozens of eye witnesses were carrying
photographs and videos of you-know-what to the
networks, and NBC had just decided to show the
videos on the morning show."
I interrupted him. "Is that legal? How
could they do that?"
"Supposedly, it's totally legal because,
according to the law, you and Clark aren't
human. I know it sounds silly, but it has been
a convenient loophole that is now firmly rooted
in law. It allows you to arrest criminals
without having to stand trial or go through the
usual legal process. But it also frees you from
the decency laws. The same laws that apply to
animals apply to you, so you can stroll down
the streets of Metropolis naked and piss on
fire hydrants, if you want.
"The networks were going crazy. They had
all this video of you -- some of the most
erotic footage ever filmed, and legally it was
fair game, as long as they purported to be
educating the public, rather than serving some
prurient interests."
"Mmm, I like that word. Prurient," I said
with a smile. I squeezed his hand gently and
leaned into him.
Andrew smiled back a little uncomfortably,
and he moved his hand onto my knee. "You should
like it. It describes you in a nutshell. Your
prurient interests are causing a rage
throughout the media. Almost every network is
now showing the video. Tomorrow, they'll be
arguing about whether they did the right thing.
Then next week, the public will be taking
sides. Some people will start taking off their
clothes in public, following your example,
thinking: 'If Supergirl can do it, why can't
I?' A few months from now, the supreme court
will probably have to re-evaluate all the
decency laws. All because of your prurient
interests, and a media governed by competition
rather than common sense."
"So that's why Clark was writing about my
'super-sex' drive?" I asked in disbelief.
"Because of competition from other newspapers?"
"No, that was my idea. Damage control. It
means you weren't responsible for your actions,
that you couldn't control yourself. After what
I'd seen last night, it's clear no one in your
psychic range can control themselves, either.
In a few days, Superman will probably be in the
same boat, having to explain why he lost
control with a stripper."
"So," I began nervously, afraid to look at
Andrew. "You guys aren't angry at me?"
Andrew shook his head, as his hand moved
up my thigh a few inches. "Now why would we be
angry? Just because both of your secret
identities are in jeopardy? Just because the
SSA will probably fire me over this? Just
because you've made a mockery of the
constitution?"
I shrank away from him, as his hand
caressed my inner thigh, saying something very
different from his words. "Are you sure you
aren't angry?"
He put out his cigarette and pulled my
feet up onto his lap. "Let me put it this way.
Last week I attended a public demonstration for
a group of Nazis in Gotham, because the
constitution lets them show their hate to the
world, in all its ugliness. I felt terrible,
but it was part of my job to defend their
rights."
"I don't understand," I replied, as I
rubbed the bulge in his pants with my toes.
"What I'm saying is that I'd rather defend
your right to show your love to the world, in
all it's glorious beauty." Andrew opened up my
gown and stared at my already glistening pussy.
"Is that what this is?" I asked, as I
closed my eyes, bit my lip, and showcased
myself for him with my fingertips. "Is this
love?"
Andrew pushed my legs apart and kneeled on
the floor between them.
"Maybe not love. But I still want to
defend your right to show your prurient
interests to the world. I've been watching the
news all morning, just thinking about defending
your rights."
I giggled and then moaned as his tongue
slipped inside me. I buried my fingers in his
hair. "Oh, please, defend my rights!"
tooshoes@cris.com