My Nemesis 1

Freeport. It's a big city. Ten million people, different classes, cultures, and lifestyles stuffed together side by side just trying to make it in the world. All sorts of inequality, the poorest of the poor living right near the richest of the rich. Slums and mansions, tenements and luxury highrises, and everything in between. And when you get that many people together, well, some of them are going to break bad. Criminals, psychopaths, regular old assholes, all trying to make a buck or just cause a little chaos.

And that's where I come in.

My name's Thrasher, and I'm a superhero. OK, my real name is Brynn Hamilton. But what hero would use their real name? And technically, according to the letter of the law, I'm an associate hero, apprenticed to a more experienced crimefighter.

Do not call me a sidekick. Sidekicks are teenagers. I'm twenty-four.

But I am apprenticed to one of the most respected, all-time badasses this city has ever seen. My mentor is the Darkstar herself, Calla Bowen. Of course, most people have no idea that the billionaire socialite is one of Freeport's premier masked crime fighters, but that's the whole idea. Darkstar doesn't have any superpowers, just money and intellect. The frivolous, hard partying heir to the Bowen fortune is the mask that Calla wears to keep herself, and by extension me, safe when we're not out on patrol. And there are plenty of threats out there. Supervillains with a score to settle, regular old gangsters. Hell, the government can be a problem sometimes.

But I wouldn't trade this life for anything.

Especially not when I can be out patrolling on my own. It's a pretty recent development, this solo action. And I'm authorized to take down any unpowered threat, as well as any supervillain of class two or below. And so that's why I ended up standing on the roof of a five story office building in GreekTown, letting my earpiece cycle through the police frequencies. It was a quiet day so far. But then the call came through. A bank robbery in progress a few blocks away.

I smiled, big and hungry. "Time to get to work." I stepped off the edge of the roof, plummeting to the street below.

I can't fly. It would be super fucking cool if I could, but no. That power is pretty uncommon, though it is awesome when you see someone like The Supreme zipping through the sky against all laws of physics. I can jump with the best of them through, easily hurdling tall buildings. So going a few blocks only took a minute. I arrived to find a cordon of police cars, and a bunch of cops hunkered down behind them. Occasional bursts of gunfire flew from the front door of the bank and sprayed into the bulletproof sides of the cars. One cop looked like they were in charge, so I walked over to her.

"What's the situation officer?" I asked. I squatted down to get on her level, not because I had any reason to fear the bullets, but because it made non-supers more comfortable.

"Thrasher, I'm glad you're here," the cop said a little breathlessly. "There are four suspects, armed, barricaded in the bank lobby. We have a tactical team on the way, but, well, you know."

"Why get one of your guys shot when I can take care of it?" I finished knowingly. I didn't mind, that was the job I'd signed up for. "Any heavy weapons?"

"No, just submachine guns. But one of them has some sort of exo-skeleton. It looks military."

"Oh, fun," I said brightly. That could be a neat challenge. "Civilians?"

She shook her head. "They're all out."

"Cool." I stood, stretching my back and cracking my knuckles. "You guys hang back while I take care of this."

The bank was your standard neoclassical faux-Greek temple situation, some marble steps leading up to a collonaded entrance. The bad guys had dragged a couple of desks out to set up a makeshift barrier, and they were hunkered down between the columns. I took my time, walking up the steps at a normal pace. "If you guys want to give up now you'll save me some sweat," I called out.

Their response was a spray of bullets. "Fuck! You! Supe!"

The officer was right. Submachine guns. Nine millimeter if I had to guess. Which had about as much impact on me as a handful of glitter, splattering away in a hail of ricochets. I just shrugged. "If that's how you want to play it."

I picked the name Thrasher partly because I'd been something of a skate punk tomboy in my youth, and I thought the name of the magazine was cool. But it was really more about my fighting style. I don't have lightning bolts, or fire breath, or laser eyes. I put fists on faces. And that's what I did now. I took a big leap and landed right in front of their little desk barricade. I grasped a desk in one hand and tossed it down the stairs. Three wide eyed criminals in ski masks gawked up at me. The fourth, however, stood and charged. He was wrapped in some sort of olive green hydraulic contraption, arms and legs clearly enhanced in speed as well as strength.

"Take this, bitch!" he shouted, swinging one arm in a big right cross. The servos of his exo-skeleton whined as they powered up the punch.

I reached out with one hand and stopped it dead. His eyes went enormous, the whine from whatever powered his suit increasing in pitch as it tried to push against me. But I didn't shift an inch. Instead, I kicked out with a foot, aiming for something that looked structural on his leg. It bent and cracked in a spray of hydraulic fluid. That threw him off balance, enough that it was easy to reach in and rip the front of the exo-skeleton off. That was clearly a critical component, and he slumped like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Are we done?" I asked, looking down at the three hoods still crouching in front of me. They just threw down their guns and put their hands on their heads. I turned my attention back to the guy in the exo-skeleton. He looked like he might cry. "That was a little disappointing. I was hoping for more of a fight."

*

Later, after I turned those guys over to the cops and then spent a few more uneventful hours on patrol, I returned home to Bowen Manor. The entrance to all the superhero stuff is through an old quarry on the edge of the property, which of course makes sense. Darkstar couldn't be seen walking through the front door. Plus, this side went right to the locker room, which was essential. My costume was pretty simple, just a black coverall, accented with gray. But it was still made of bulletproof fabric, studded with sensors and recorders. It really sealed things in. So taking it off always felt awesome. At least I didn't have to wear full headgear of any kind, just a little eye mask.

Befitting the secret base of a billionaire superhero, the showers were amazing. I had my own preset, the perfect temperature and pressure, various nozzles and jets spraying just how I wanted. I took my time washing up, cleaning my hair and getting all the sweat from my body. I was still feeling the adrenaline from my short fight with the bank robbers and, as usual, it was making me horny. So I reached between my legs and started stroking myself.

Now, you may be asking 'Why, Brynn, do you, a two X chromosome genetic female with great tits, have a thick cock hanging down to your knees?' And I'll give you the same answer I give when someone asks 'Why are you bulletproof?' or 'Why can you punch through reinforced concrete?' Who fucking knows. I just do, and I just can. I'm not even the only girl in town sporting a little something extra between their legs. Moon Mistress sits on the Council of Ten and she's famously a hermaphrodite. She has a penis AND a vagina, which is more than I can claim. Of course, she's some sort of space alien, so maybe not the best example. There's the supervillain Mad Mags, who has TWO dicks. But she's from an alternate dimension, or a different plane of reality or something.

Whatever.

I am what I am. And what I am is a girl with a good fifteen inches of meat begging for some attention. A happy sigh escaped my lips as I stroked myself. The hot water pouring down on me felt great, but I need some more direct love. One of the shower heads was detachable, and I pulled it down, flipping through the settings until I had the center spraying at the highest pressure. A touch on one last button set it to pulse rhythmically. I squatted down, one hand still stroking up and down my shaft. I flipped the shower head around and reached behind me, pressing the water jet right to my asshole. My mouth dropped open, and a deep groan that came straight from my diaphragm erupted out of me. The pulses of water were blasting right into my prostate and my cock began to pulse in kind. Thick ropes of milky fluid arced out of me, splashing against the shower wall. And that was just precum. The real event would take just. A second. More.

"Oh, fuuuuck," I moaned, my balls contracting. The first rope of cum that launched out of me made what came before look like a trickle. I don't know if it was the superpowers, or just my genetics, but I cum like a fountain. Once, on a dare, I'd filled up three boxes of condoms. Now I was launching thick ropes of seed all over the shower, painting the wall white. I dropped the shower head, wrapping both hands around myself and pumping like crazy, until I'd coated the shower wall in cum. As my orgasm subsided to a trickle I bore down a little, and a torrent of water poured out of my ass.

I like to be clean inside and out.

I eventually stood, a little lightheaded, and used the shower head to wash probably a quart of semen down the drain. Reluctantly, I left the warm embrace of the shower, dried myself off, and wrapped up in a big fluffy robe. The elevator up to the main house was just down the hall.

Darkstar's housekeeper was there to greet me when the elevator doors opened. Aimee was... well, she was something to look at. And it wasn't just the supermodel face, the pouty lips, or the curves for days. It was mostly the shining silver skin and the onyx eyes. Aimee referred to herself as an artificial intelligence construct. She'd actually been created by Darkstar's original nemesis, Computrix, way back in the day when Calla Bowen was just getting started in the superhero game. In fact, Aimee had bootstrapped herself to sentience and free will and helped Calla take down her creator. Computrix was serving a life sentence in a maximum security facility for retired supervillains down in Florida somewhere, and Aimee had been with Darkstar ever since.

She didn't have a body in those days, living entirely as software. But Aimee had eventually built this porn-inspired bimbo look, and I wasn't about to complain. She had the wardrobe to go with it. Today's outfit was a white blouse tight and thin enough that her nipples threatened to cut right through it, and a pencil skirt that may as well have been painted to her hips.

"Welcome home, Brynn. Good work with those bank robbers," Aimee said, opening her arms for a hug.

"Thanks." I gladly stepped into her embrace. Aimee's skin may look like metal, but she's just as warm and soft as any other woman. "I guessed that you'd be watching.".

"I always am," she said, stroking my hair for a moment. Aimee monitored pretty much every security camera, alarm, and doorbell in the city, alerting Darkstar and me to any situations that might need our attention.

I didn't want to pull back from the hug, but I did need to report to the boss. "Where's Calla?"

"In her study, looking forward to hearing from you, I'm sure."

Calla was indeed in her study, sitting in a big leather armchair overlooking the well manicured front lawn of her mansion, reviewing some documents. I took a moment to appreciate just how surreal it was that I got to work for her. There were Darkstar posters on my bedroom wall as a kid. I watched every bit of footage I could get of her exploits fighting supervillains. Hell, I wrote some extremely cringey self-insert fanfiction about her, never considering in a million years that it might come true. The Darkstar that I knew was a little older now, well into her late forties, but she hadn't slowed down a bit. She was just a little thicker in the breasts and hips, with a few streaks of gray in her black hair.

"Hey boss lady, what do you have there?" I asked, sitting down on one wide arm of her chair.

She looked up at me, turning the papers in my direction. "It's a review of security improvements at The Point. Hardened doors, additional electric deterrents, knock out gas canisters, the works."

"Do you think it'll keep her in?"

"I doubt it," Calla said, a little smile ghosting across her lips.

The Point, officially the Freeport Ultra Max Penitentiary, was where all the supervillains went when they got arrested. It was on a peninsula sticking out into the bay, sheer cliffs and water on three sides and a narrow causeway connecting it to the mainland. Supposedly escape proof, but that had been disproven time and time again. Especially by its most famous current resident, Darkstar's nemesis, Diabolika. The woman just had a knack for getting out. She'd recruited the guards, blown down the walls, and landed helicopters in the courtyard. Everytime that Calla put her away it just started the countdown to another escape.

Diabolika was a menace, too. Most other supervillains were after money, power, fame, or maybe revenge. Diabolika was just after chaos. Her capers had no rhyme or reason, no pattern or clear goal. Laughing gas in the subway, a hack of the traffic control system that threw the city into a week-long gridlock, a threat to detonate the reservoir that proved to be a fake out at the last minute. One time, she gathered a crew of nihilist psychos, robbed six different banks in one day, and set the money on fire in a huge pile on the beach. But eventually, Darkstar got to her and sent her away. And we waited for the whole cycle to start again.

At this point I knew that Calla enjoyed the chase. She wouldn't give it up for anything. I didn't quite understand, but then again I did have any sort of nemesis to give my career meaning.

Calla tossed the report onto the coffee table and smiled up at me. "Nice work earlier, by the way. I was wondering when we'd see one of those exoskeletons used in a crime.

"Thanks," I said, shrugging. "I was hoping for more of a fight, if I'm being honest."

"Yeah, I know. The military built those things hoping that they'd be able to challenge a supe, but they clearly aren't there yet." My robe had fallen open a bit, revealing my thigh, and Calla traced a finger along my skin. "Still, I think you deserve a reward for a job well done."

"Mmm, I was hoping you'd say that." I undid the belt holding my robe shut, shrugging it off as I turned to straddle her lap. I cupped both sides of her face and leaned in to kiss her. Then Calla reached between my legs and started stroking me, my cock rising between us.

There were some... unconventional perks to being Darkstar's apprentice. But I wasn't about to complain.

Calla pulled away from the kiss. "I want to taste you," she said breathlessly.

I could only let out a wanton moan at the idea, nodding my head in agreement. When I got turned on most of the blood in my body went to my cock, leaving me a little lacking in the conversation department. I raised myself up on my knees, and she slid a little lower in the chair, until her lips found my cock. Despite the orgasm in the shower, I was primed to go, blobs of precum leaking out of me. Calla moaned around me as my taste flooded her mouth. I moaned too, as her plump lips and hot little tongue worked at my crown. The only thing I could do was brace myself on the back of the chair and thrust. My hips rocked, and I pushed right into her throat. Luckily for me, Calla was a born slut, and my fat cock slid right down into her without even a whisper of a gag reflex. I gave her every single inch of me, until my pelvis was mashed into her lips. She looked up at me, pleading with her eyes for more. So I gave it to her. I rolled my hips, my cock slipping in and out of her as she moaned around me. I could feel her hands moving, unbuttoning her blouse, pushing her skirt down, and then wrapping around my hips to grab my ass and pull me deeper into her.

"Fuck, Calla," I groaned. "Do you want me to cum down your throat?"

"Mm mmm," she hummed, shaking her head slightly. I pulled back, my spit soaked cock slipping from her mouth, her bottom lip pressing into my cum pipe to milk out a mouthful of precum. She let out a rapturous little moan, eyes closing in pleasure as she swallowed. When she opened them again she gave me a look of pure lust. "I want you to fuck me, coat me in cum, and then you'll lick it off of me."

"God, you're such a fucking slut," I growled as I stepped off the chair and spread her legs. My crown slapped down onto her slick cunt with a splat. The valley of Calla's lips was swollen and perfectly smooth. Aimee kept us both completely hairless from the neck down. She claimed that it was so the various sensors in our suits had good contact with our skin. But I think she just liked teasing us. There was certainly a lot of stroking and pinching and sucking involved in the process. Not that I minded.

Calla reached between her legs, spreading herself open with two fingers. She had a nice fat clit surmounting her pink core, and I pressed my crown into it, grinding against her. "Fuck, Brynn," she moaned. "Fucking get inside me, right now. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am," I said breathlessly. It only took a slight adjustment to align myself. I eased forward, splitting her peach, and we both moaned like the pair of whores we were. Calla's pussy was wet and tight around me, stretching perfectly for the thickness of my crown, clutching down on my shaft as I pushed into her.

"Fucking g-goddamn," Calla moaned, a full body quiver running through her as I conquered her cunt. She reached between us, fingers dragging along her clit. "Pound me."

There was no way in hell I was going to say no to that. I pulled back until my crown was resting just inside of her, then I fell back in, filling her to the core. Out again, another total conquest of her deepest depths. Calla's fingers were a blur on her clit as I gave her full length stroke after full length stroke. She tossed her head back when she came for the first time, a spatter of nectar flying from her fingers and coating the underside of my tits. More followed, until both of our groins were sloppy with our combined fluids. I didn't let up, hips working against her, my cock taking her over and over in full length strokes. Calla had such an amazing pussy, and any mortal human would've been pushed right over the edge within moments of entering her.

Good thing I'm superhuman.

I reached down and grabbed her under the thighs, pushing her legs up and back until her knees nearly touched her shoulders. That opened her up in a whole new way. It only took a slight step back and a small adjustment down to line myself up with her asshole.

Calla's eyes went wide, her smile big and hungry. That was all the permission I needed. I pushed into her, her perfectly trained asshole opening for me with just the right amount of resistance. "Ohmyfuckinggod," Calla moaned from deep in her chest. Her hips twitched, and a thick arc of girlcum launched out of her. At this angle she was coating herself, nectar splattering down on her tits and face. Calla just opened her mouth, tongue extended, and accepted her own lustful gift. She hooked a pair of fingers into her pussy, palm grinding on her clit, whipping them away each time a new blast of nectar erupted from her.

The first time I'd taken her ass had been a revelation, and each subsequent ass fucking was better than the last. This was no exception. I was deep, deep inside of her, my cock opening her up in ways that nobody else could. Thick pulses of precum lubed my way, and soon enough her ass was just as slick and sloppy as her cunt. Wet, lewd noises emerged from our juncture, the slap of skin on skin, wet plops of pre and nectar drooling to the floor, the combined symphony of our ragged moans.