The Villain III
Part 1: Rules were made to be bent
The best thing, Electron had decided, about being in a superhero team was the fact that he was surrounded by beautiful, powerful, athletic, women. This was made even better by the fact that most of them tended to subconsciously compete with each other for attention. Over time, even the most determined feminist among them ended up cutting farther and farther back on the opaque portions of her poly-fiber-titanium fabric armored costume until they were barely legal by civilian standards of legal decency.
Of course, paras were subject to a different set of laws than norms. For the most part, those laws limited the freedoms of those with unusual capabilities. In a few cases, however, they allowed for a bit more lenience. Of course, in this case, it was probably because the people who ran the world, generally straight white men and
always
normals, were misogynistic enough to want to ogle the women who had just saved the world.
Electron wasn't about to complain. There were five women on his team and all of them had been around long enough to have costumes that would make the skimpiest bikini blush in embarrassment. He'd long ago lost count of how many times he'd rubbed one out while fantasizing about any of them. He couldn't even say that he had a favorite to masturbate to. They were all hot beyond imagining and each had a different enough personality that they each had their own merits.
The downside to being part of a team was that liaisons were frowned upon. They had to work seamlessly together and those kinds of complications could lead to jealousy and other hard feelings. Given that Electron probably ended up brushing up against one or more of his scantily clad compatriots daily, and the ensuing reaction he needed to suppress, he ended up servicing himself daily. On particularly stressful days, it could become multiple times.
Some heroes and heroines sought their release away from the team. He often half-jokingly hypothesized that sex was the only real reason why a para would find the need for a secret identity. If you weren't satisfied at home, you had to go out and find somewhere to make up for the absence.
"Except, strictly speaking, they
could
be satisfied at home." Electron nearly choked on his soda as he sat bolt upright in response to the unexpected voice. A voice that responded to his very thoughts rather than anything he'd said out loud.
Dammit! You know you have to be careful of even what you think around here. You shouldn't have let your shields lapse like that!
Electron turned slowly around on the couch, to look behind him. The intruder was exactly who he'd expected it would be. Memnos stood in the doorway, hand on her hip, with her chest slightly thrust forward. The blond bombshell's breasts, that perpetually seemed like they should spring free of the deceptively tiny outfit, were one reason she factored highly in his fantasies. The thread that passed between her legs seemed equally at risk of slipping played a much larger role than the overall skimpiness, however, in her placement of his desires.
"Don't worry," her sultry mezzo-soprano soothed, "I didn't need my powers to know what you were thinking. The impressive bulge in your jeans spoke volumes."
Electron was acutely aware that the bulge had grown with only seconds of exposure to his teammate. A few more seconds and he was likely to be fully hard and painfully constrained within his tight pants. Memnos wasn't out to help the situation any, either. Her hips swaggered back and forth as she entered the room and navigated around to the front of the couch.
His breath shortened at the sight of her walk. Each sway of her hips threatened to expose the luscious mounds barely hidden between her legs. He'd never seen it, never seen any of his female companions truly naked, but the transparent armored fabric left little to the imagination. That little bit, however, was more than enough to consume a majority of Electron's thoughts.
It didn't dawn on Electron that he was still slouched on the couch until Memnos sat on the coffee table right in front of him. When she placed a leg on either side of him and settled down, his knees were all but pressed against her crotch. The way only his head and shoulders were elevated left him looking down the length of his body and directly at the enticing woman and her scant costume.
Electron tried to explain away his thoughts, or at least his now-obvious physical reaction to her presence, but all that escaped was a slight mewl of pain. As anticipated, his pants were now far too tight for the straining form within. The curled corner of her lips proved that she understood exactly what he felt, even without the pointed looks she kept shooting between his legs.
"I just read through the rules governing team decorum and it doesn't actually strictly prohibit relationships between team members. It
cautions
against them but doesn't forbid."
Electron was too shocked, initially, at the thought that she had read all the way through those rules to really notice what she'd said. After all, the manual was something like three hundred and fifty pages of tiny print. No one but a computer, or someone with a photographic memory, could keep them all straight. He suspected that the scope of the minutia governed within the rules was so that, at any given point, the norms who monitored every team could always find
something
of which agent was in violation.
Then the reality of what she'd said sank in and Electron felt a fresh surge of blood flood his already strained manhood. Could the goddess of lust personified have just read through the entire manual and come to the conclusion that she could fuck any team member she wanted? More importantly, he was the first person to whom she had brought this information.
"In fact, the wording is careful enough that it seems to openly allow for
casual
liaisons." She continued. "I suspect that's actually the real reason that they are so explicit about the fact that handlers have no technical authority over their charges. Without that, they can't be accused of exploiting their power."
Everyone knew how much bullshit that particular section of the laws was. They'd had to be careful when writing the laws, or else paras could be viewed as slaves to the norms. Especially the norm agents assigned to monitor their activities. In reality, however, the appraisal of a handler meant the difference between accolades and imprisonment.
What Memnos implied, however, made sense. A lot of the people who ended up in those positions of implied authority were bigots. Like so many throughout history, the prejudice covered up a secret infatuation with something that they felt was socially unacceptable. They'd claim, if cornered, that the misuse of power was nothing of the sort because they barely even saw the objects of their lusts as human beings.
In this case, the technicality that they left open for themselves worked in the favor of those they watched over. All the handlers had to do was emphasize the sections worth of disapproval and fail to note the lack of actual rules that prohibited it. In order for anyone to know the difference, they would have to read through every page to make sure they hadn't missed anything.
And if anyone had been thorough enough to accomplish that, it was certainly Memnos.
Electron's breath became even more shallow as the full implications hit. He felt lightheaded with elation. He feared his mental shield had begun to crack under the strain. What would happen if she caught wind of some of the fantasies that had floated through his mind over the past year?
The mischievous gleam in her eye suggested that nothing bad would come of such revelations. In fact, her own breathing had begun to deepen. A fact he noticed even more prominently because she leaned forward, slightly, to more prominently display her impressive cleavage. Cleavage that had begun to strain even more against the sparse cloth of the costume that held it.
Something about that thought niggled at Electron's mind but he couldn't grasp it fully. In a moment, even the attempt was beyond him when she reached out and took his hands in her own. She guided his hands towards her voluptuous hips and left them there while hers returned forward to rest on his.
Electron marveled once more at the miraculous fabric that protected them all. It could be made in any color, or even completely transparent. Furthermore, while it could protect them from a high-caliber bullet, it allowed enough sensation through that he could feel everything as if it were his own skin. He'd never thought the same applied to the outside of the material, however.
Memnos' eyes drifted halfway closed when he began to run his hands up and down her silky sides. She moaned slightly. Electron barely noticed. His attention was mostly stuck on her heaving breasts and the delicious "v" of the junction of her legs.
He couldn't stand it. A small part of his mind screamed that this was too good to be true. He must have drifted off to sleep while watching TV. The heat came because it had certainly been too many days since he last masturbated.
"If this is a dream, which one of us is dreaming?" Memnos asked in a contented purr.
Electron's hands froze. She'd read his mind. There was no doubt this time. Every other time before he could have believed she read his body language, but that had been too specific. For that matter, as a mistress of the mind, how could he even be certain that this wasn't a dream? One that she had joined him in.
"I'm sorry. I can't help but read you right now. What you're doing feels
so
