Bluebird Vs. Blitz

Bluebird vs Blitz

Chapter 2: Intrusive Fantasies of Destruction

Sasha Tempert was gorgeous. Her eyes, a deep shade of brown, always shimmered at the surface and, beneath the superficial glow, there lay pools of emotion that stirred with each thought. With just a glance, she could express more than most people could put into words. Her skin was fair, almost milky. She would have appeared frail, but her sculpted cheekbones and firm jawline exuded feminine strength. Sometimes, when she undid her hair and dark waves unfurled around her face and down her neck, her skin nearly glowed. She was short--another potential mark of fragility--but with a robust hourglass figure. She looked especially powerful in her Bluebird costume, which clung to and accentuated her full breasts and well-rounded butt. In fact, her figure had garnered so much attention that several bloggers speculated-- with uncanny accuracy-- on her measurements.

That was why, though she wore a mask that covered her face from the hairline to the tip of her nose, Sasha no longer chose to wear flattering clothes to work. She drew more attention in a well-fitted blouse than most women attracted in a low-cut halter top. So she wore an oversized flannel. Even most fits of mens' pants couldn't disguise the curve of her butt. So she wore a skirt that draped to her ankles. And, to further obscure her face, she added a large pair of glasses with fake rims and an excess of blush on her cheeks.

Between her outfit and the drab color scheme of her cubicle--punctuated only by a cat calendar and a picture of her family--she never felt less like a superhero than at work. She liked that. Hours at the cubicle kept her grounded. Accounting was low stakes. Predictable. A welcome break from disengaging bombs or rescuing the mayor's boyfriend. Nothing to think about but moving numbers from excel sheets to graphs, filing expense reports, approving payroll...

On the day after her dream, though, these trivialities were more a burden than a comfort. Without substance to focus on, her mind flitted again and again to Blitz. Each time, she placed a hand to her temple and shook her head. She resisted the urge to swear: no sense in drawing attention. But this was

bizarre

. She never thought about Bluebird at work.

And, more importantly, she was not a very sexual person. She hooked-up rarely, dated even less often, and used her vibrator only once every few weeks. But with each memory of Blitz, she felt desire coiling in her core and she craved to let it loose.

Bracing herself against the edge of her table, Sasha forced herself to read the chart. Slow breaths. One number at a time. But she felt his presence between her legs. She was wet. Growling, she pushed herself back in her chair.

Can't focus anyway,

she reasoned. She glanced beyond her cubicle. No one nearby. Maybe if she was quick.

"No!" she spat at herself. No, she absolutely would

not

masturbate at work. Steadying her breath, she continued her reading.

She got nowhere. She kept remembering how powerless he made her. How wide and full his pecs grew when he straightened his back to full height. Those arms, those

huge

biceps crushing her in a bearhug. Her soft breasts squished against his hard chest.

"Stop." This was absurd. She had even masturbated that morning--something she

never

did, but she'd dreamed of Blitz again and she just couldn't resist--so, by her sexual clock, she shouldn't be horny again for at least a week.

Regardless, she was so wet she felt her underwear moisten.

Another peek beyond her cubicle. She held her breath, never before so sensitive to the ambient buzz of the office. Staplers clicking, phones chirping, scanners buzzing. A few pockets of conversation throughout the room.

They were distracted. She'd be fast. Discreet.

Sasha pulled her chair forward, as far as it would roll, so that the shadow of the desk covered her legs. Closing her eyes and licking her lips, Sasha gently pushed her hand under the elastic waist of her skirt. Beneath her underwear. And her pointer finger slid between her wet labia.

Sasha barely repressed a gasp.

Ooh yes,

she mouthed.

Ooh yes. Blitz. Blitz.

She fantasized about their second fight. This time, on an ivy league campus in a subterranean lab. She'd easily dismantled his perimeter of minions, so she felt confident when she entered the room. Victory would continue to flow, if she just kept the same energy. She even gloated a little, "I'm glad you had your little win last time. Now I don't have to go easy."

Bluebird charged between benches and tables, all cluttered with glittering glass and chrome and solutions, imagining the swift defeat of that smug bastard. She readied a fist as she closed the gap.

With one hand, he grabbed her face, squishing her cheeks so her lips puckered. He lifted her a few inches, then rammed a fist into her nose.

The pain left her dizzy, and the dizziness didn't fade as, once again, he smacked her around. Once again, he encouraged her to continue. Toward the end of the fight, when her balance was woobly, she charged him while his back was turned. Now, if ever...

But he spun, grabbed her by wrists and shoulder, and bent her over a lab table. Bluebird's face and torso crashed into a pile of beakers. The broken glass didn't mark her enhanced skin, but the collision with the table hurt.

"I wonder if I can make a tough superheroine like you scream?"

Blitz twisted her arm behind her back, pressing her more deeply into the table. Despite herself, Bluebird yelped as scorched nerves stretched from her shoulder. As he pressed her more deeply into the table, Bluebird's stomach clenched with realization: if he wanted, he could probably rip her arm off.

Even worse, getting knocked around the room had caused her costume to hitch up. Bent over like this, she knew she must be displaying a generous curve of bare butt. Worse, it probably jiggled as she squirmed beneath his hold. Considering his penchant for humiliating her, and her ass practically bouncing in his face, she expected a hard slap. Blood rose to her face at the thought. Yes, she was certain: he was about to spank her like a whore.

"I think you can scream louder."

Blitz placed a hand over Bluebird's back and pressed her more deeply into the table. The other hand still held her wrist, so her arm stretched even further.

Bluebirds yelps became a shrill, steady, "Ah, ah, ah!"

"I will stop." His voice was velvety, even through the pain pumping in Bluebird's ears. "Just tell me you can't handle it."

Seconds passed, and Sasha realized Blitz had no intention of spanking her. The realization felt like ice lodged in her throat. Was she disappointed? The words nearly sprang to her lips: "Please, spank me raw." What a stupid thing to say, even to someone who wasn't currently snapping her in two.

"I'll give you three more seconds. One. Two--"

A hollow cracking sound burst from the table, and it split under Bluebird's body. She screamed, hitting the floor amidst broken glass, simmering chemicals, and scrapped metal.

Bluebird was fast. Before the remainder of the debris landed, she'd flipped herself to face upward. She was poised on her hands, ready to spring, when Blitz faltered. He adverted his gaze and extended a hand toward Bluebird, as if censoring her.

"Oh, um, I'm not sure how to--" Blitz's voice was loud, almost clumsy with embarrassment.

Bluebird looked down. She was too rattled even to gasp. Her right shoulder strap was torn, exposing her boob. She crossed her arm over her chest, concealing her pert nipple but accomplishing little else. Her boobs were more than a handful, and pressing them caused them to swell, emphasizing their size.

"Why don't you wear underwear?" demanded Blitz, still looking away.

Bluebird's face flamed. "Just the bra! The suit supports me, asshole."

"Fine then let me just get you--" Blitz reached for a rack of lab coats. "Something your size."

Bluebird's rage was a powerful combination of embarrassment and indignation. It propelled her to her feet. "Hey! I'm not the kind of person you go easy on!"

Bluebird charged, breast exposed. He backhanded her so hard that she spun. Crashed into the debris of lab equipment. Staggered again to her feet, and charged. He backhanded her again. And again.

The falls deepened the rip in her costume, until the strap of her right shoulder tore. Now both boobs were exposed.

The fabric fell down her tiny waist, but no further than her wide hips. She couldn't imagine feeling more petrified even if she'd been totally naked.

Bluebird writhed against the debris beneath her, but lacked the strength to gather herself to her feet. Her breasts jiggled with each motion, each bead of sweat magnified by the overhead lights.

"You have a good spirit." Blitz crouched over her, almost sitting on her waist. She grimaced at his smile. "And, I must admit, a good chest."

Blitz grabbed her throat and squeezed. "But now it's time to sleep."

He lifted her about a foot, though her fingers plied at his wrist, and drove her into the ground.

When the police found her, her costume had been stapled together just well enough to cover her chest.

At least Blitz wasn't a complete rascal.

The memory of his hand on her neck, while her chest bobbed with each breath, made Sasha's skin crawl with pleasure. Her index finger rubbed its way from her clit down into her vagina. She bit her lip to cover her moans.

"Sasha?"

Sasha's hand shot out of her skirt. Her cheeks grew almost as red as when Blitz had seen her boob.

"Y--yes?"

"I was meaning to ask you something." The man outside her cubicle was Jeff. A lean but tall man with broad chin and long face.

"Yes. What is it?" Sasha cradled her sweaty forehead in her palm, assuring herself that Jeff hadn't noticed. Her legs were under her desk; her clothes were baggy. Even if he saw, she could have just been adjusting her skirt or something. No need to panic. Still, she waited to let her cheeks cool before turning.

"I was wondering if maybe--beer, grab a beer after work?" His voice sounded dry, as if he'd become dehydrated sometime between the start of the conversation and now. He sounded more natural when he repeated, "I just thought, it's a Friday? I'm heading to the bar anyway, so..."

Sasha had heard whispers about Jeff's crush on her. She chose not to believe. Better than facing awkward emotional encounters. But now it was right before her, and she had no choice. She'd let him down easy, maybe ask to hang out in a group or--

"No, sorry." Her voice sounded even more strained than his. "I need to be left alone."

"Oh--then. Right. All right. Sorry. I'll let you--" He knocked his knuckles against the wall of her cubicle, snapped his fingers, and departed.

Sasha sighed, finally lowering her hand from her forehead.

Maybe this whole Blitz obsession was just a byproduct of her lack of sexual activity, she reasoned. Hormones were blind to context. Maybe they just picked up that this was a man--and a very attractive man, she wasn't ashamed to admit--who had been almost sitting on her while she was almost naked, with a hand to her throat (which happened to be one of her kinks). All that, combined with her not having had full-on sex in over a year might be causing this subconscious infatuation.

Maybe all she needed to forget Blitz was a good fuck.

Sasha jumped out of her chair, swung past the threshold of her cubicle. Jeff stood at the end of the hall, about to turn.

"Hey!" she called.

He turned, a few strands of his bangs flowing with the motion.

"Meet me at Mahoney's at seven.

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