I cleared my throat, loudly. "Chad? The lens cap?"
"Oops," he fumbled with his equipment. He looked like a flustered amateur, which was understandable. A lot of guys would have come in their pants by now, or even lost their bladder.
SuperYoni did not look amused as she returned to the plush chair behind the desk. The bright pink boots thumped upon the desktop and she leaned back with hands behind her head, uncuttable blonde hair cascading and biceps bulging.
"The Triumviri have agreed that we will sometimes use conventional media to make our decisions known throughout the world," she announced. This was progress, as they had pulverized cherished monuments at the beginning, issuing decrees in front of the smoldering ruins. "Know that without Silver Slit's persuasive recommendation, you would never have been chosen for this interview. Feel proud, feel feminine, knowing how The Triumviri considered you worthy of delivering our wishes to all of womankind."
I felt feminine, all right. So many wondered what it would feel like to have sex with a supe, especially a supersexual, and now I knew. Something like beads of shimmering mercury had darted out from Silver Slit's metallic pussy just moments before she came, and they had become surrogate lovers for their writhing host, finding my clitoris and coating it, then doing God knows what to make me feel what I felt. The living beads slipped inside me after I came and they knew exactly where to tease, giving me no time to recover before I was bucking and screaming again. It took hours to get over those orgasms, and when I could think again and see again I knew I'd never be the same. I loved sex—who doesn't—but after that it was like my purpose in life had suddenly become clear.
"Many are stricken with flushes of lust in my presence," SuperYoni mistook the reasons for my excited state. "Calm yourself."
I nodded, secretly delighted that my nipples felt almost impossibly hard and tingly. She was looking right at the punctuations pushing at my blouse and I took a deep breath, outlining them further. Some have been stricken with lust in my presence, too.
SuperYoni appeared to lose focus, absently licking her lips. "You had a prepared statement?" I prodded.
She gathered herself before launching into it, declaring that all financial institutions of any kind would have thirty days to replace their male presidents or board members with females, three females from each newly created board being designated as links to one of three Councils of the Transformed, which would in turn communicate at regular intervals with The Triumvirate. I wrote it all down on my notepad as another part of the new world order became apparent. So many threes—were they adhering to a particular form of governing or taking their cues from Triadic Treat, who always seemed to be hanging out with one of them like a groupie?
Everybody knew by now that SuperYoni, SuperGlands and SuperBod—the three Invulnerables—had formed The Triumvirate, which would lead the world's women as they corrected the mess the men had made over the last several thousand years. The more she spoke the more I admired how SuperYoni's statement pulled no punches, telling the formerly powerful that they were being counted on to know their place no matter how disorienting or humiliating it might feel. Capitalism, communism, socialism, cronyism—all such distinctions were dust ground under the super-feminist heel. She didn't say one word about the world leaders and bankers and CEO's that had "mysteriously" disappeared, which was a statement in itself. Resistance was futile and everybody with any sense had known that after The Great Wall of China had been reconfigured, overnight, to spell "Comply Or Else", clearly visible from space.
I have a talent where my ears hear and my hand writes even as I think of other things, and I used it, picturing the magazine cover I'd seen which asked the question:
Evolution, Or Did God Create Our Goddesses?
Even as SuperYoni communicated these new structures, the old world order was disintegrating of its own accord. Religious types all over the globe were struggling to incorporate the arising of the supes into their theologies, their confused sermons delivered to conspicuously empty churches and mosques. Governments had disbanded or gone into hiding, and it sometimes felt as though all of humanity—excuse me, all of hu
wo
manity—was holding its collective breath.
I'd studied the numbers and double-checked the known facts in preparation for this interview. There were slightly less than a thousand transformed women according to the most recent estimates, and not one was plain or fat or over thirty, nor did they have pimples or flat chests—hell, it appeared that they'd rarely had a bad hair day
before
changing. Did good genes and youthful vibrancy somehow presage the transformations, or was it more like nature abhorred a super-skank?
The most recent polls showed that women worldwide were 68% in favor of the supes' arising, although that result was thought to reflect an element of jealousy, as 92% of female respondents also expressed disappointment in not having developed superpowers of their own. Formerly affluent or influential males were overwhelmingly against the supes, as were those who described themselves as highly religious. Teen-age boys, however, were a whopping 92% in favor of the new super world, and in polls that only dealt with the arising of supersexuals, minus the superpowered, the separation between male demographic groups evaporated, with an astounding 98% in favor.
I'd been collecting plenty of anecdotal data of my own since the changes began, and most of the men I knew were like Chad, quietly terrified of the superpowered even though their dicks gave stiff applause to the feats of the shapely costumed females in their midst. Show them the newest video of a supersexual fucking twenty guys and all the toys in a sex shop in a span of three minutes and they just went chronically bone-hard. Guys' dicks dug hot babes with impossibly needy and impossibly efficient cunts, big surprise.
Some attitudes were universal, however. Whether drooling or applauding or envious or fearful, it seemed as though everyone everywhere was asking the question: What does this mean for
me
? How will this affect my life, and what is my role in this brave new world? For gossip journalists like me it was mostly positive, the gorgeousness of all super-beings assuring that celebrity-driven media would flourish in a changed world. That wasn't enough, though, not for me. I'm not particularly religious and had no established faith to lose; even so I couldn't believe that the transformed had transformed without some greater purpose involved. I thought it especially relevant to ask: Whether it's uncaring evolution or a loving God, why would invulnerability—the supposedly ultimate power—be given to the three hottest women of professional wrestling and no one else? Sure, all three Triumviri had looked like the superest of super-beings even before the changes, but the world was going to be ruled by three twenty-something blondes who'd faked fights for a living before becoming all-powerful?
I'd been as confused as anybody; more confused than most, actually. Until yesterday. Until Silver Slit and all I'd felt with her. Now I kept having this image of a jigsaw puzzle composed of a thousand pieces. Each piece was incredibly dazzling when seen on its own, yet when all of these super-lovely pieces were interlocked into their inevitable pattern, the larger picture was a major disappointment, the whole so much less exquisite than its individual parts. I kept wondering: What were the individual pieces supposed to feel if they could see that final picture, and didn't like it? What was one individual piece supposed to do if she opposed that outcome, especially when the three pieces at the puzzle's center were essentially all-powerful and couldn't be harmed?
"Read every word back to me," SuperYoni commanded, interrupting my divided attention.
Though she looked the part, she had never been a dumb blonde, and she had the sense to double-check that the announcement of the future of the whole frickin' world didn't contain any careless errors. I read from my notes and her head nodded a few times, after which she granted me twenty minutes to ask "the people's questions".
"Only twenty minutes? I think it would be best if you cleared your schedule for the rest of the afternoon. It would help others to obey if we could dispel some of the rumors flying about."
SuperYoni's brow furrowed and her biceps twitched reflexively. I never would have thought of myself as a muscle freak, but the flush of lust she'd mentioned before was beginning to feel more like an elephant stampeding under my skirt. Otherworldly power really was sexually intoxicating, and I was no more immune than anyone else. That woman could literally move the earth if she put her mind and body to the task, and my frothing girlmones kept wondering what it might feel like to move
her
.
"Leave us alone for the next hour!" SuperYoni's voice rattled the statues, the furniture, the walls. The walls of my pussy, too. She was granting the request, and who needed an intercom when half of this midtown block must have heard her wishes? "You may begin," she continued in a less deafening voice.
My inbox, the computer one, was filled with questions my readers wanted answered. Could a supe get pregnant, or were male sperm not up to the task? Would a supe age or were they essentially immortal? Did they need oxygen like any normal, or could the flying ones go into the upper atmosphere, or even space? Did they still need to eat? If an Invulnerable pooped, was their poop invulnerable? Why were their costumes always getting torn away at the breasts? How did Minirette get her costume to shrink when she shrank? Was it true that Shapely Shifter could approximate the powers of another supe if she took their form? How many supes had been lesbians before the changes, and what supes were doing which others? Were Dyspareunia and Terrible Tongue officially dating? Why weren't MasoKristy and The Sadistress a couple? Did some of the superpowered keep supersexuals as love slaves?
