"Supergirl Gets Lex'd"
by J.D. Savanyu
Sexy Supergirl soared gracefully through Metropolis airspace on a frigid New Year's Eve. Her long red cape and shiny blonde hair fluttered alluringly in the breeze, like a Norse valkyrie. It was supposed to be a joyful time for the biggest city in the world, but the mood was dampered by the recent death of Superman. Earth's greatest hero from Krypton finally met his match in battle with Doomsday, a hideous genetically engineered reptilian monster.
Superman was laid to rest two days ago in the middle of Central Park, with thirty world leaders in attendance. Supergirl kept a straight face in the front row while crying on the inside, wishing she'd been there to help Superman defeat Doomsday. She was eight miles away at a fancy Fifth Avenue hair salon, getting dolled up for an important meeting with LexCorp executives while the Man of Steel got clobbered relentlessly in the Bronx Zoo.
That bodacious alien beauty flew over Times Square, looking down at thousands of revelers in stupid pointy hats that advertised a nationwide health club chain. She feared the streets of Metropolis would soon descend into chaos without Superman around. Villains were already realizing they could just double-team the weaker Supergirl, and run the ball easily into the "end zone."
She swung northward over the Central Park reservoir and landed in front of a thirty foot-high bronze statue that captured Superman's likeness in bold alpha male glory. Staring defiantly toward the Empire State Building with one metallic fist against his muscular hips, and the other fist stretching straight outward. A bronze eagle rested on his forearm, symbolizing his patriotic legacy. His metal cape alone weighed over a ton. An eternal flame rose out of the granite pedestal, just like JFK at Arlington. His trademark S emblem was carved in stone, directly above: "TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND THE AMERICAN WAY."
The worst thing was, she never got to fuck Superman. Wouldn't it make sense for the last two survivors of an exploded planet to hook up and play "Hide the Salami?" His mild-mannered alter ego "Clark Kent" never worked up the courage to ask "Linda Lee" out on a date, and she didn't have the balls to ask
him
out, despite being a hardcore militant feminist icon. Crushing grief over his demise was making her so damn horny. She needed to get laid by a hunky human dude, ASAP.
As she gazed up at Superman's hulking statue, her powerful Kryptonian senses detected danger up in the sky. The distant muted sound of crunching metal and a man screaming in terror. She immediately took off like an all-american eagle, racing toward the midtown skyline. Veering around the Chrysler Building and spotting a helicopter that was spinning out of control with a broken tail rotor. The main engine cut off, and it started freefalling toward thousands of screaming people in Times Square, packed together like sardines in a tin can.
Supergirl swooped toward the billboard-infested plaza with amazing grace, noticing a LexCorp logo on the helicopter. She grabbed the landing skids and pushed her flight energy as hard as she could toward the night sky. Five seconds later, the copter finally came to a stop, just five feet away from turning a bunch of Metropolitans into street pizza. Loud cheering erupted from the relieved crowd.
"U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!"
"SU-PER-GIRL! SU-PER-GIRL! SU-PER-GIRL! SU-PER-GIRL!"
"Oh my, what an amazing heroic moment here in Times Square!" Ryan Seacrest beamed into a microphone on Dick Clark's New Years Rockin' Eve. "Supergirl just prevented a horrible tragedy, catching a falling helicopter just in the nick of time, with millions of television viewers watching in awe."
"Simply incredible!" exclaimed co-host Rita Ora. "The ball drop will seem very anticlimactic after this."
"Yes indeed. Superman is dearly missed by everyone, but we're still in good hands with this wonderful woman."
"I wish that atomic blonde was around on 9/11," some guy muttered nearby.
Supergirl slowly raised the copter upward, giving everyone a nice upskirt view of her red latex panties. She carried it gracefully toward the iconic LexCorp tower. The cockpit door slid open right above her, and Lex Luthor poked his bald head out in her direction.
"Oh my god, thank you so much Supergirl! You just saved my ass, and prevented a real PR nightmare for the biggest company in America."
"Just doing my job, Mister Luthor. This is a good reminder to inspect your rotors and cables on a regular basis, and keep them well-lubricated."
"Yes ma'am. I tend to skimp on the lube, like most men."
Supergirl gazed up at him with awkward admiration. She had a crush on that charming CEO ever since she went to his VIP cocktail party six months ago at the Rainbow Room. They flirted for two hours, surrounded by clueless charismatic one-percenters. Shooting the breeze about fine art and the need for international cooperation in the military industrial complex to fight crime and corruption. The mass media outlets labeled Lex a "crazy rich right-wing nutjob," but Supergirl believed he was a misunderstood corporate genius. The next Elon Musk.
She eased the broken helo onto a landing pad at the top of LexCorp tower, eight hundred feet above 42
nd
street. Lex Luthor hopped out of the cockpit and onto the tarmac, adjusting his sharp Italian ivory suit and shooting her a playful grin.
"How can I ever repay you, blondie?" he uttered suavely.
"You don't have to pay me anything, Lexie. I'm a pro bono superhero," she giggled, with a twinge of naughty desire flaring between her legs.
"Ah, but I insist. Come on over to my penthouse suite in the Chrysler Building at eight o'clock tomorrow night, for some of my gourmet home cooking."
"Hmm, I dunno. Dating your clients is usually a bad idea. You should know that as the head honcho of a company everyone loves to hate."
"You're not my client, Miss Supergirl. You're my cosplay fetish obsession. I've been dreaming about you for so long. I need you even more than Sally Simpson, my cute redhead secretary who keeps playing hard-to-get."
She giggled louder, teasing her shiny golden bangs and cocking her wide firm hips and swishing her cute red mini-skirt. "All right. I'm feeling adventurous, so I'll take you on. Your cooking better be 'gourmet' to please my super-powered taste buds."
"You bet, sweetheart. We'll have an awesome belated New Year's party. Way better than that Times Square ball breaking thing. I mean, ball
dropping
."
Supergirl giggled once again, then she waved him good-bye and bolted off into the night. Could that guy actually be her soulmate? Lex fucking
Luthor
?
"There's only one way to find out," she snickered to herself, far above the madding crowd. She touched down six blocks away on a high balcony, quietly returning to apartment 227. Immediately peeling off her skin-tight red and blue latex costume with a diamond-shaped S emblem, and diving right onto a single-size bed. She masturbated vigorously while picturing Lex pussy-pounding her doggy-style near a picture window with a great view of the Midtown skyline.
She was secretly envious of Luthor's billionaire playboy lifestyle. Struggling to resist her urges to gain material wealth and political power; like a siren call luring her away from her prime directive to protect humble earthlings from violence and oppression. Supergirl had faults and weaknesses just like Superman did. "Clark Kent" had a weakness for librarian-ish brunettes that most guys never give a second look to. Especially Lois Lane, that ditzy reporter for The Daily Planet. He probably fucked Lois while they were on assignment together in Niagara Falls . . . but he never admitted it to her mild-mannered alter ego Linda Lee.
"With great power comes great responsibility," according to a crazy homeless guy she bumped into last week in front of the Metropolis Public Library.
"Oh my god! Ooooh
yes,
Mister Luthor!"
Her fingers moved faster and faster on her throbbing clit. She slid three fingers deep in her vagina and whipped them back and forth at 200 MPH. Desperate to feel Lex's wide linebacker body smothering her compact gymnastic body. She couldn't wait for him to slam her alien twat with white-collar aggression.
"Oh shit, just like that. Nice and hard, boss!"
The pressure in her g-spot grew incredibly strong. She arched her back sharply upward and squealed harshly as an epic orgasm ripped through her body like a buzzsaw, at the exact stroke of midnight. A loud cacophony of fireworks, firecrackers and gunshots rang out across the city, matching her climactic fury. Squirting like a motherfucker, all the way up to the ceiling. She felt like Linda Lovelace in the final scene of
Deep Throat
.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next day was rather uneventful (by the skewed standards of crime-ridden Metropolis.) The citizens were too hungover to raise much hell. Supergirl stopped a few muggings and carjackings, and rescued a pussy from a high tree branch. Taboo sexual fantasies kept racing across her mind. The potent aphrodisiacs of wealth and power can bring even the noblest of females to their knees.
The sun gradually sank below the smoggy New Jersey horizon. Linda Lee exited the Museum of Modern Art and entered the last remaining phone booth in the city, donning her gaudy costume at lightning speed. She soared two hundred feet above Midtown, veering wildly through a canyon of glass and steel. Savoring the whipping wind and compressing g-forces. Like a mare in heat, galloping toward an alpha stallion.
She soon arrived at the gleaming chrome entrance to the Chrysler Building. The dapper doorman held the door open for her with an awestruck expression.
"Evenin', Supergirl. Is there an emergency in the building?"
"No emergency, sir. Just a little . . . 'business appointment,' to help make Metropolis safe again."
She stepped into an elevator and listened to crappy vintage Muzak all the way up to the top floor, 77. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her to turn back and go home, not getting tangled up in a messy love affair with conflicts of interest that could hinder her "career" as a kick-ass vigilante. Ravenous erotic hunger pushed her onward, down a gleaming art deco hallway. She knocked overeagerly on the heavy metal door of room 777, nearly blasting it right off the hinges. It opened five seconds later, revealing that forty-something charmer in a dapper three-piece tuxedo.
