Upon spotting Blitz, she assumed he'd be an easy target. It was the face: he looked like a stereotypical superhero, waves of black hair carefully gelled and combed, with heavy jaw and sculpted chin. In short, he looked like a pretty boy, not a fighter. The only difference between him and any other wannabe superhuman was his gaze. His brow was heavier, imbuing his eyes with a mysterious intensity. Still, he had the face of pretty boy, and his stature didn't elicit doubt from Bluebird, either. True, he stood several inches taller, and was far more muscular but Bluebird's super strength defied the slightness of her muscles, and she'd dealt with bigger men than he.
Also, he'd chosen to ransack a Wall Street lawyer's office wearing only a bright blue flannel shirt--he left the top several buttons undone--and what appeared to be bell-bottom dress pants. He looked like an idiot.
Despite Bluebird's predictions, the battle ensued much as it had in her dream. She started as always with unknown supervillains: sudden and explosive force, to end the fight before it began. But he barely responded to her blows, as if she were an unpowered child. And then he got that smug look on his face, and she could not
wait
to tear it away. So she entered phase two: focused, careful combat. But even her most powerful and graceful maneuvers had little effect. It was like striking a punching bag made of concrete.
For a while, he merely parried or avoided her attacks. She felt no more pain than she imposed on herself by hitting such a solid opponent. But, once he'd sized her up, he went offensive.
Bluebird had never been so thoroughly manhandled.
Sasha moaned at the memory, digging her fingers deeper.
Bluebird avoided his punches when possible, but when they connected--
Damn!
Any one could have rendered her unconscious, if not for her healing factor. He threw her around the office as if she were a pillow. Using her as a wrecking ball, he demolished two desks, a couch, three bookshelves, and a filing cabinet, and left several Bluebird-sized craters in the wall.
And the worst part. All the while, he encouraged her. "Get up. That wasn't too bad, was it?" "Great form. Honestly, I could learn a lot from you." "I can keep going if you can!" He toyed with her, which kept her stomach boiling with indignation. Otherwise, she'd have retreated upon realizing she could do nothing to stop this man. She attacked him, over and over.
Not until exhaustion seeped into her mind did a battered Bluebird finally yield. Blitz tossed her against the window wall, and she landed on her stomach. Even Blitz's cocky slow walk to her prone form couldn't inspire her to rise.
"I don't often fight people with your fire." Blitz placed a foot on the back of her head. He could easily crack her skull, but he merely pressed her check into the marble floor. It was a symbolic show of dominance.
Sasha's back arced in pleasure at the mere thought.
"I hope you enjoyed it too, if only a little."
Blitz gently kicked Bluebird's waist, prodding her onto her back. Bluebird stared into her adversary, light from the far desk streaming over the hard curves of his silhouette. She felt something then, a little twitch in her core. She turned away, facing her reflection in the glass.
"Looks like you did," scoffed Blitz. He'd noticed Bluebird's breasts. The outline of her areola and the tip of her nipples showed through her costume. His eyes shimmered, but not with lust. Instead, he regarded her as he might a charming but pathetic fangirl.
"Yeah, you broke half the windows here. It's chilly." That
might
have been a valid excuse. Her costume--sewn from baby blue and white fabric to match the bluebird aesthetic--left her arms and legs completely exposed. Which, while it allowed for greater flexibility, also made her susceptible to cold. Only, at that moment, she had not a goose bump on her body. The only part of her that perked was her chest. Knowing Blitz may have realized this, she spat, "Don't flatter yourself."
"Believe me, there's no shame in a little excitement." Blitz knelt over her. She smelt aftershave. "When you're so used to being in control." He grabbed the front of her costume with two hands and lifted her until her toes only skimmed the ground. The fabric stretched, revealing an eyeful of cleavage. "Sometimes you need someone to take it away." Still holding her, he stepped toward one of the broken windows. "There's a secret thrill in humiliation."
Blitz threw Bluebird an inch into the air and caught her with one hand by the logo on her chest. The logo was dark gray, with a glowing blue feather in the middle; but, twisted in his grip, it looked more like clashing diagonal planes of color.
Bluebird grabbed Blitz's arms with both hands, but couldn't wriggle out of his grip as he stepped forward and dangled her over the dumpsters in the alley.
"I could drop you from higher, maybe break your legs." Still with that obnoxious tone, as if he were addressing an old friend. "But I'll just let you off with a warning."
Bluebird clawed at his heavy biceps. His arms were like steel, and with one hand he wielded unstoppable power over her. She felt fear, certainly. A sinking sensation deep in her chest. And also humiliation, warm in her face. But something else, something more profound, something she had never before found in herself.
And then he dropped her. The fall caused her to lose consciousness, but her healing factors relieved all serious injury before she awoke.
She was left only with the impression of his presence and his strong, hands.
Sasha imagined those hands pinning her shoulders to the bed, squeezing her chest until cleavage popped from the neckline of her nightgown. She imagined Blitz dominating her with all the force in his muscular, sexy body.
Once she thought of Blitz, it took only six plunges. Her toes curled into the sheets until they cracked as an orgasm ripped through her body.
She fell asleep before the heat of shame settled.
Thanks so much for reading! Feedback of any kind (ratings, favorites, comments, follows) is really appreciated. Keeps me motivated and out of the grip of writers' block.
