The Superheroine Experience

I do not own DC Comics.

All characters are 18+.

- - -

Extended Synopsis:

Hidden in the heart of Gotham City there exists an exclusive club for men of wealth and influence. A place where, for a pretty penny, they can enjoy the company of the world's premier superheroines.

- - -

Heeled boots clicked against the sidewalk. There was a chill in the air, prickling at Zatanna's skin even through her long, dark coat. Or maybe it was just her nerves. She was antsy, true. But it was from excitement, not worry.

She had a gig tonight. And from a venue she'd never heard of before. All new place. All new audience.

Zatanna Zatara wanted to make a lasting impression.

The young witch smirked to herself as she continued further into the heart of downtown Metropolis. More than one of her fellow Leaguers had asked her why she bothered to still do magic shows. Doing double duty as entertainer and superheroine had to be exhausting - and it's not like she needed the money, what with the generous Justice League stipend. Zatanna would always shake her head. None of them would ever truly

get

it.

Sure, scheduling shows between stretches of League business was often tricky - and ate into her free time to boot. But Zatanna was a showwoman at heart. If there was anything in this world she truly, truly loved, it was dazzling the masses.

Enchanting

them, really.

Already she was getting into the groove. Even her walk had changed. She was

strutting

now - long legs carrying her forth in a well-practiced, enthralling march. She'd learned to use

everything

the almighty had given her, including the allure of her natural gifts. Her

mystique

, as some of her friends had put it.

Zatanna was no stranger to having eyes on her. It came with the job. Hell, it was desired. Captivating an audience was a rush like no other. And if setting one or two tongues wagging in the process gave her that extra edge...

She could feel eyes on her even then, strutting down the sidewalk. Her coat may have been long and dark, but it clung to her tightly, giving a faint glimpse at the figure hidden beneath. And nothing could hide those boots of hers, nor muffle the sound of her heels. Surely, her long black locks were bouncing with each step.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The Mistress of Magic was enthralling even incognito, Zatanna noted with some pride.

Eventually, she came to a stop. She had reached the address as directed. The raven-haired witch narrowed her eyes as she took it in. Briefly, she wondered if there might have been a mix-up.

She had expected a theater, a hotel perhaps. Any sort of venue, really. But what stood before her was a regular building. Nondescript, even among the modern office towers that rose up around her. Gray steel and dark windows stretched five stories up, supported by pillars of smoothed concrete.

Zatanna fished the business card from her coat pocket. She read out the address twice just to be sure. There was no mistake.

This was the place.

Zatanna chewed on her tongue. Then she stuffed the card back into her pocket. A gig was a gig. And she'd given shows in stranger places.

The witch went on, enjoying the stirring in her gut.

There were two doormen who awaited her. Both were on the larger side, looking more like bouncers - if not for their red uniforms and short-brimmed hats. Thick-necked and hard-faced were both fellows... but they seemed to

light up

when they saw her. The recognition on their faces was clear. For the celebrity heroine, it was more than a little pleasing.

They pulled the tall, heavy doors open for her. Zatanna gave them a smile and wave as she passed.

"Gentlemen." Her tone was sweet. There was the tiniest hint of flirtation, too. Something that would no doubt lift their spirits.

Inside, she found a lobby. Nothing that screamed

event

or

theatrical

, though. But it was much fancier than she was expecting.

The atmosphere was classy, verging on ritzy. The warm hues of the walls and lighting fed into an air of coziness. But the furniture, the sleek, polished tables, and the fountain... the clash with the drab exterior told a story of money.

Big

money and

big

privacy.

Zatanna found herself smiling again. This was getting more and more interesting.

She scanned her surroundings. A few people were lounging about. All men. All dressed in sharp business attire. A couple of them glanced her way. One even seemed

especially

interested.

She let their eyes meet... and let the contact linger for a moment before moving on. He'd keep his eyes on her for the whole damn show, for sure.

These were high-end clientele. And she was in the business of high-end performances.

There was a receptionist desk at the far end of the lobby, staffed by a lonesome, pretty blonde. Zatanna started on her way... but she only made it half the distance before another figure smoothly swept into view.

Another woman, slightly older but no less gorgeous. Dark brown hair was done up in a sleek, tight bun, pulled away from an elegant face. Vibrant turquoise eyes met Zatanna's, colored with subtle satisfaction. Her flowing dress was a dark, shimmering red, cut low at the neck and split up to her thigh. Much was on display - but this woman had

much

to work with.

"Ms. Zatara." The woman greeted her warmly. "You're right on time. I must say, it's a privilege to host you at my establishment."

"The privilege is mine, Miss..."

"Sinclair. But you can call me Veronica."

"Then you can call me Zatanna. A pleasure." Zatanna offered her hand.

Veronica took it, smiling. Then the woman stepped back and gestured towards another set of doors, just past the receptionist station.

"Would you like me to show you to the dressing room?" Veronica asked.

Zatanna shook her head.

"No need.

Egnahc otni wen tiftuo!

"

It happened in an instant. The rush of magical power came like a gust of wind, whirling around her, through her, putting Zatanna at the heart of a swift, arcane storm. Her clothing, her coat, her dark pants, all turning to ribbons and vanishing into thin air. And at the very same time, new ribbons came to replace them, seeking her body, clinging to her skin. Almost every scrap of clothing changed. Only the boots remained. For Zatanna, it was one of her favorite parts of the job. For Ms. Sinclair, it was over and done with in a flash of light.

Zatanna stood, garbed in her showtime threads. White blouse snug to her chest wrapped tight under a cream corset. Black bottoms of thin fabric cut high on her waist - barely more than panties. And her legs, long and toned, poured into fishnet stockings - though the pair she wore today only came up to the middle of her thighs. Held up only by thin strips of fabric hooked to a garterbelt.

It was decidedly more racy than her usual magic show getup. But something told Zatanna that tonight's audience would be a bit more mature than the usual all-ages crowd.

The enchanting witch did a little spin. A showing to let Veronica know that she was indeed getting what she paid for.

"Impressive." The woman said, giving a polite little clap.

"The benefits of mastering the arcane." Zatanna wore a proud smile, coming to a stop with her hands on her hips.

"But only you can make it look this good." Veronica appraised. She turned and motioned for Zatanna to follow. "This way."

The Sinclair woman led her through the next set of doors, then another. Soon they were in another sort of lobby. But this new room was more like a chamber. The architecture had changed. There was more elegance to the design and more extravagance as well. Opulent cushions and velvet curtains hung from the ceiling. Reds and purples and pinks. Exotic scents filled the air. The atmosphere was thick, warm. Inviting.

Sensual.

And the people...

There were men as before, dressed sharp - or they had been. The ones Zatanna could see were far more relaxed here in this new lounge, with loosened ties and rolled up sleeves and unbuttoned shirts. Unbuttoned

pants.

Near every gentleman had a drink in hand, bourbon, vodka - maybe even a cigar, smoldering. They were there to kick back. To enjoy the finer things.

The women with them

were

the finer things. They were half-naked or mostly naked - in some cases they were fully naked. Some were curled up into a man's side or sitting in his lap outright. Others were dancing on tables, offering up a tantalizing show of skin and sensuality. And others still were going far beyond that. Zatanna couldn't see them but she could hear them. From behind drawn curtains rose the music of moaning and panting and wanton cries of delight.

The scent of sex was heavy in the air, rising even over that of smoke and alcohol.

Zatanna didn't see anything out of the ordinary. She simply smiled and kept on Veronica's tail. She was there to do a job. She was there to put on a show. She was there to captivate, to mesmerize. And she was going to make damn sure her audience remembered her better than even the juiciest pair of tits.

Finally, Veronica brought her to yet another doorway - single this time.

"Right through that door." Veronica told her. "Your audience awaits!"

And then it clicked for the young, beautiful witch. Or rather, she finally remembered why she was booked tonight. The stirring of excitement spun and spun in her belly, but there was also comfort. Comfort brought on by familiarity.

Silly girl

, Zatanna told herself.

How could you forget?

There was no crowd behind that door. Waiting for her on the other side was an audience of one. Tonight she would perform a private show. Just like last time. And just the way Jack liked it.

Zatanna Zatara breathed in, feeling a tingle dance down her spine.

"Showtime."

Her body was buzzing as she opened the door and passed through that threshold. Waiting for her was a familiar face, one that brought a smile to her face and a warmth to her heart.

He was Jack Harris, a senior partner for some consultant firm that Zatanna couldn't remember the name of. But she remembered Jack. The further Veronica led her into the bowels of this exotic club, the more Zatanna remembered. Jack was her number one fan, her extra special customer. And wealthy enough to afford an extra special performance from her. One on one. Just between the two of them.

Zatanna couldn't begrudge such an enthusiastic fan. Especially when they looked like Jack.

He was a bit more than the average business professional - white, modestly handsome, sharply dressed, and surprisingly fit for a man in his early 40s. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, styled and swept back from the defined lines of his face. He was clean-shaven which only served to emphasize his jawline. Physically, he wasn't quite at the level of some of Zatanna's male hero colleagues. But he was a

man

. And for Zatanna, he was more than enough.

Jack was seated when she walked in, an empty tumbler set on a small side table. He smiled when he saw her and stood. Zatanna almost giggled.

So respectful.

She looked past him and took in the rest of the room. Familiarity came rushing back once more. A large space colored with lights of warm red and feminine pink. There was a small stage taking up one side of the room with dark curtains that covered the wall behind. It was a basic platform, only elevated six or so inches from the carpeted floor. A stage meant for one and an audience of one. The only other furniture was the king-sized bed set against the opposite wall. For the aftershow, of course.

She knew this place - in fact, she'd been in that very same room quite a few times before. A room where she had taken part in more than her fair share of revelry. She saw Jack approaching her then. And in his eyes, Zatanna saw he was keen on a repeat performance.

"About time." He said, chuckling. He took her in, his appreciative gaze covering her from head to toe. "I was getting restless."

Like the men in the lounge before, Jack had loosened his attire to relax. He was sans his blazer - it was tossed over the back of his chair. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his chest, enough that Zatanna could see the beginnings of his chest hair. His sleeves were rolled up, snug around his forearms. She noted the faint definition of muscle there... and remembered all the ways he'd swept her into his arms.

She always drove Jack crazy. It was flattering, really. And it brought the young witch more than a little delight. The power to make a common man lose control, to drive him mad from sheer desire... there was nothing else quite like it.

"The anticipation is part of the fun." She said, passing him. She brushed against his shoulder only slightly, but she knew it would stoke the fire that was brewing within. She tossed a look over her shoulder, fluttering her lashes just so. "And you know I'd never skip out on my number one fan."

Sure enough, the glint in his eyes darkened. Where there had been excitement, there was no hunger. A craving for Zatanna.

"That's why you're worth the wait." Jack breathed. The businessman sat back down, resting upon the cushioned recliner like a king upon his throne. He wore a pleased grin. "I'm liking the new outfit."

Zatanna knew he would. She gave a spin, just as she did for Veronica. But this one was slower. She wanted him to see, to drink in every inch of her. When she came back to face him, the hunger in his eyes was even greater. And that

delighted

her.

"What can I say? I'm a crowd-pleaser."

"You're an

everything

-pleaser, sweetheart."

Jack reached out, his fingers grazing just over the side of her calf. Through the fishnets, his touch was electric upon her skin. Then his hand began to rise, sliding up her leg. Past her knee, more than just his fingers now. His palm was moving over her full, lush thigh. And Zatanna allowed it. His touch was soft but also possessive. Warm and familiar. It

thrilled

her.

"God, your legs..." The man muttered, brushing his thumb over the swath of thigh that her fishnets didn't cover. It was delicious fire upon her flesh, making her heart race.

It was clear he wanted to do much more than touch. Zatanna was even of a mind to let him. However, her professional spirit won out. She did have a show to perform after all.

Zatanna drew back out of his reach, wagging a finger at her bold, naughty fan. The smirk she wore was even more teasing, but she made sure her eyes offered wicked promises in turn.

"Save that for later." She told him in a sing-song voice. "For now, sit back and enjoy the show."

Jack relented. He leaned back into his cushioned throne.

Zatanna took to the stage. Her heeled boots clicked against the hard surface. She stood at the center of the platform before her audience of one. Her outfit felt so snug then, constricting a vibrant, lush body that yearned to bare itself. Zatanna took in a deep breath, snuffing out the urge to rip her blouse open. To touch herself. To grope herself. Her entire being was thrumming with desire.

"Welcome one and all to this very special magic show!" She announced in a cheery voice. But even that too wavered. Her blood was hot in her veins. Delicious heat flowing through every inch of her body. But the Mistress of Magic pushed on. "Saving the world is hard work. But I could never abandon my loyal fans. Tonight is a night to unwind. A night to...

release

all that pent-up stress."

Jack's smirk grew. It was clear he liked the sound of that.

So did Zatanaa. She met his gaze and matched his smile.

"Tonight... I'm going to show you how

fun

magic can be."

- - -

The actual magic show was a breeze. It always was. The routine was second nature by this point.

She hit all the good beats, curated over years in the biz. Making stuff float, duplication, the whole vanishing act, even the old reliable of pulling stuff out a hat. All done with a small dash of exotic edge. Like some of the buttons on her blouse magically coming undone - opening just enough to offer up some cleavage and a tiny peek at her lacy black bra. Or dropping her wand or top hat on "accident"... and bending over at the waist to pick them up. With her back to the audience, of course.

Jack gave a wolf whistle. Zatanna gave him a cute, little wave. She knew how good her ass looked. And her legs. The fishnets were just the icing on the cake, just tight enough to show how plush she was. The band of fabric around her thigh bit slightly into the soft flesh. She was fit - she had to be to work in the Justice League. But her magical powers allowed for some leeway. She didn't need the sort of hard body that Wonder Woman had.

And that little bit of softness to her curves went a long way. That sort of allure... few men could resist.

By the end of the routine, her movements had turned into something of a dance. A little extra umph in the way she turned, twisting her body to emphasize her figure. The swaying of her hips, calling attention to their width, their feminine swell. Then there was the expanse of her bosom, trapped behind the thin fabric. All that was keeping the good imprisoned were tiny, tiny buttons.

Hell, she wasn't even on the stage anymore. She didn't need to be. The stage wasn't the show.

She

was.

She was sitting right in Jack's lap. Straddling him as he lounged upon his cushioned throne. His was the face of a man getting exactly what he wanted, though his gaze was that of savage hunger. She could feel it, too. Beneath her, pressing through his pants and against her inner thigh. Inches from what that fat monster craved the most.

Zatanna was elated, eager, her body hot and buzzing with vigor. But the show wasn't quite done yet. She had one last trick to play.

In her hands were playing cards. A whole stack fanned out, face down. She held them out to Jack, biting her lip.

"I want you to think of a number. Any number."

"Alright." Jack looked bemused, but played along. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Done."

"Now pick a card. Any card." Zatanna felt giddy, squirming just so upon the man's lap. Heat danced in her belly, twisting and coiling and making her shiver. "If it's your number, you get a prize."

"But a playing card deck only goes up to ten. What if the number I thought of was fifty-two?" Jack asked, chuckling.

Zatanna only smirked. She held the cards out to him.

"Pick a card." She insisted. Her voice was soft and full of promise.

Jack quirked one brow but did as he was told. He plucked one of the playing cards and turned it over. He let out a scoff, incredulous and charmed at the same time. Zatanna was giggling now.

The card in his hands was a Fifty-two of Hearts.

"

Tup yawa eht sdrac.

" The witch spoke. And thus it was so. The playing cards vanished into thin air.

"Looks like you've won a prize, mister." Zatanna purred.

"Lucky me." Jack sat back, awaiting. For Zatanna, the excitement was burning through.

"Lucky doesn't begin to cover it."

Zatanna went to work quickly, her fingers playing upon the yet undone unbuttons of Jack's shirt. She hummed as she plucked them free, one, two, down and down she went. Until the man's firm and fuzzy chest was revealed to her. She planted her hands there, threading her fingers through that field of dark curls. She always loved how soft his chest hair felt, how warm his skin was just beneath. She could feel his heart beating.

She eased her body forward, sliding even further into his lap. His hardened cock, still trapped in his pants, she could feel it jerking of its own accord against her. She could feel how warm it was.

Zatanna sighed, settling into her favorite seat. Her hands rose, sliding up Jack's chest to rest upon his firm shoulders. She slid his open shirt away and he did the rest, untangling his arms from the sleeves. But all the while his focus was on her. He was mesmerized. He was

enchanted.