Notice: All characters are over 18. If you want to skip past the character set-up and get right to kinky parts, just ctrl+F for "The Altruists exited the teleporter on their space-station". Please like and comment if you enjoyed the story.
As Ameri-Man flew above the mayor's manor, he readied himself for a tongue-lashing. Goons in smashed-up power-armour lay tied up or knocked out all over the front lawn. The goons were the Dogs of War, a terrorist group with military hardware. In the middle of the green lawn of fallen villains was the seven-foot, alien Amazon herself, Fatima.
Even floating high-above, Ameri-Man could see Fatima scowling with her hands on her hips. Her golden skin was unblemished, but her traditional plate armour was scorched with laser fire.
Oh, shit, she'd spotted him.
She couldn't fly, but with her mighty legs, she leapt as high as Ameri-Man was hovering. She grappled him and let gravity hurl them down to Earth. Their impact dug a crater in the dirt.
"Where were you!?" She was pissed off -- her thick alien accent was breaking through.
Ameri-Man floated up as Fatima hauled herself, armour and all, out of the crater.
"Did you even need me?" Ameri-Man said.
He looked over the battlefield of fallen foes. He noticed there seemed to be less of them than when he first looked. And less still. And second by second, the incapacitated terrorists seemed to be popping out of existence. Ameri-Man squinted his powerful eyes and made out a green blur. It was Twitch, the team speedster.
"Twitch hauling them to jail," said Fatima. "He is of *some* use."
Ameri-Man clenched his teeth. Why couldn't the Dogs of War have a giant robot dog in reserve -- something that could rise up behind Fatima? Then he could crush its metal body down into a little ball before Fatima even noticed! That'd show her.
With his ultra-hearing, Ameri-Man picked up the tell-tale clunk and click of a sniper rifle being set up. On the balcony of the mayor's manor, a sniper took aim at Fatima. That high-tech sniper rifle... it could shoot a shot powerful enough to break through the extra-terrestrial metal of Fatima's armour.
Ameri-Man didn't have superspeed, but he soared at the shooter like a bird of prey. Within feet of him, Ameri-Man was ready to tackle him. But from Ameri-Man's left, a slender figure in skin-tight black rushed at the shooter. With a fist faster than a gunshot, the figure struck the sniper in ribs, sending him smashing against the balcony railings.
Ameri-Man couldn't stop his momentum. He crashed into the black-clad figure. They slid to a stop inside the mayor's office.
"Sorry, Whip," said Ameri-Man.
Ameri-Man was on top of Whip. If it weren't for her cybersuit, her lean, athlete's body would have been broken by his impact. The smooth black visor covered her whole face, but he could tell she wasn't pleased. Her mask had a resting bitch face he often said... not to Whip's face...
She didn't push or struggle under his weight. Her cool contempt for the men in the Altruists could be mistaken for patience. She saw no point in complaining. The boys would never get their act together.
Oh, please, Dogs of War, let loose your robot hound. Ameri-Man wanted one opportunity to prove himself.
Ameri-Man got off Whip. Whip leapt to her feet.
"Fatima and I fought alone." Her voice was featureless.
Ameri-Man sighed. He was a Pentagon-engineered super-soldier -- he shouldn't have to feel like a schoolboy who'd forgotten his homework.
"We only saw the attack on the news," he said.
"We sent an emergency signal," said Whip.
Before Ameri-Man could squeeze out an excuse, white light from the mayor's television caught his eyes. The TV had turned itself on. There was the trademark crackle, and the unmistakable bodiless, theatre-mask face on the screen.
It was Cogito, the AI manager of the Altruists' space station. Cogito could take control of any networked device. Cogito used this power for good... other than the one or two he'd tried to wipe out humanity.
"I can explain." Cogito's voice was somehow every newscaster at once. "The Altruist Messaging system's encryption was updated while I was performing extraordinary maintenance. I could not decrypt your emergency signal. I resolved the difficulty, but--"
"You were made to be smarter than men," said Whip, letting the insult conclude itself in Cogito's inductive subsystems.
Ameri-Man was about to say something, but there was a gust of air as the unconscious sniper vanished. Another burst of air as Twitch appeared, leaning on Ameri-Man's shoulder. He was panting with a sheen of sweat on his brow.
"I think that's all of them." Twitch's legs were wobbling. The boy had superspeed, but he looked like any weedy, college twink. "Oh, God... Sir... Could you carry me to the teleporter?"
Ameri-Man looked at Whip's soldier's posture, her flat, featureless visor. How could she pack so much contempt into so little movement.
"Hurry up!" Fatima was yelling from below the balcony. "It is shameful to stroll around a battlefield you didn't fight on!"
Ameri-Man had decided. He would use it -- *it*. He tried not using *it* too much. After all, the girls were his colleagues, and he was a feminist. But when the girls were being just a little too bitchy...
Ameri-Man turned away from Fatima's shouting. He looked past Whip at Cogito. Ameri-Man just had to nod and Cogito's theatre-mask smile grew shark teeth. Cogito mimed uproarious laughter, until Whip turned around. Suddenly, Cogito was all straight-mouthed neutrality.
This would be the fifth time this month they'd activated Protocol: A Superheroine's Place.
--
The Altruists exited the teleporter on their space-station. Cogito was already on the chamber's TV screen, congratulating them and showing them clips from the news reports of the aftermath.
"You got your breath back," Ameri-Man asked Twitch. Ameri-Man knew very well Twitch had his breath back. The bisexual speedster just liked being carried by Ameri-Man.
The skinny, fresh-faced nineteen-year-old boy snuggled closer to Ameri-Man's broad chest and said, "Sir, you can count on me."
Fatima and Whip didn't care what the boys were whispering about. They headed for the Women's changing rooms. Fatima got Whip's help undoing her armour. She laid her armour carefully on a table, to be ritually purified later.
Fatima's seven-foot-tall body was golden brown. She was ashamed of her hourglass figure. Earth's gravity did not let her train properly. She had grown back the pads and sacks of fat that only honourably discharged women should have.
"I do not understand Earthling squeamishness," said Fatima, turning on the hot water of the communal showers. "After battle, no warrior bathes until the end of the feast -- sweat and blood are trophies." She stood under the hot stream like a monk training under a waterfall.
Whip pulled off her helmet and peeled off her skin-tight cybersuit. She was a short, skinny black girl with a buzzcut, ultra-high-cheekbones and perpetually bored eyes.
"We must be sterilised before entering the station proper," said Whip. She had worked up a thick, white lather on her body.
"Those men -- boys," said Fatima. "I can't call them warriors."
"They have skills which are often non-fungible with our own," said Whip. "That occasionally makes them necessary."
"They are not--" Fatima began, but then the lights went out.
The girls didn't have time to wonder what was happening. The darkness was sprinkled with a multi-coloured kaleidoscope of lights, pouring and sliding over the walls, the ceiling, their faces, their eyes. Fatima and Whip relaxed, every crime-fighting instinct switching off as their eyes glazed. Cogito's voice began playing from the walls, voices upon voices filled with subliminals.
Their alternate personalities were bubbling up inside of them. The first time they'd been brainwashed, it took an hour for the subliminals to remould them. The second time, thirty minutes. Now they'd been triggered so many times that their superheroine identities would sink out of memory in less than a minute.
Which was more than enough time for Twitch to rush into girls changing rooms, remove their supersuits, replace them with their new outfits, give them both a smack on the ass and a grope on the tits, and finally lay out the makeup that their superheroine selves would never bother wearing.
As soon as Twitch slammed the door shut behind him, the girls said the code that let Cogito know their programming was done.
They said together, "I'm just a girl."
Instantly, the subliminals fell silent and the kaleidoscope was replaced by the regular bathroom lights.
Fatima... No, Fanny shook her head. Fanny sniffed the air and recoiled in horror when she realised the smell was her. "Oh, my God!" She squirted heaps of shower gel on her hands and lathered it all over her body, under her arms, over her chest.
"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Fatima muttered as she tried to budge the smell of blood and sweat. "I hope the boys didn't smell me in the gym. They'll think I'm a pig like that bitch Fatima. You know she doesn't wear deodorant?" Her voice was a good few octaves higher than Fatima's.
"Oh," said Whip... said Wendy. "Oh, well, I'm sure different cultures just happen to..." Wendy couldn't bear to look at Fanny's massive tits. She also couldn't stop glancing at them, at how Fanny's soapy hands massaged and squished them. Wendy placed her hands over her own A-cups... nothing a boy would want.
"Whip wears deodorant," said Fanny. She was beginning to smell like lavender, so she'd relaxed into gossiping mode. "No perfume though. No makeup. No smile. She'll never have a boyfriend. Bet she's a feminist. What do you think? "
For some reason Fanny's words prickled Wendy, "Some boys might like a girl like that..." Wendy tried to smile but then caught herself in the mirror.
"My mom always said I could be anything, brain scientist, rocket surgeon, pole dancer," said Fanny. "Remember one thing, mom said -- make a man hard, not his life." She giggled like a woodpecker.
Fanny exited the shower. Wendy realised she'd been lost in thought, scrubbing the same part of her ribcage for the last few minutes. Wendy quickly finished up and followed Fanny.
Their new outfits were hanging up on full display.
"Oh!" Fanny cooed as she skipped over to them. "The boys are going to love these."
Fanny put on her costume lickety-split. She was a slutty French maid. The black and white outfit was low-cut, squeezing and pushing up her large breasts. The skirt was wide, floofing far from her body. She had thigh-high, gauzy white stockings and black high-heels.
Fanny bent over and looked back at Wendy. The skirt was so short that even a little bend flashed her butt.
"Wendy, panties or no panties?" To give a comparison, Fanny was pulling down and pulling up her black-lace panties.
"Anything looks good on you..." muttered Wendy.
Wendy held up her outfit, a black bunny-suit. The bust was tailored for her washboard chest, the "curves" were tailored for her pipe-cleaner body. The boys would be disappointed when she walked out. No, they knew what to expect. They'd had the bunny-suit ordered, they'd had it tailored, they'd laid it out. They bought it to be kind -- her flat body in this flat outfit can't possibly do anything for them. They didn't want to hurt her feelings, and she really didn't deserve--"
"Wendy, sweetie." Fanny hugged Wendy's quivering face into her soft, pillowy chest, which just made Wendy feel worse. "No tears -- no tears, Wendy. I've told you over and over, boys love girls like you."
"Easy for you to say." Wendy pushed herself off of Fanny's assets.
"No, no, I'm jealous of you!" said Fanny. "Boys like small, shy girls. They want to protect you. But me? I'm taller than most of them..."
