Nightstic

My mother was bitten by a radioactive vampire while she was carrying me. My father was a criminal mastermind whose deeds I must atone for. I was accidentally dropped into a mutagenic experiment the day I was born. Then I was sent to this planet when my world exploded, to protect a weaker race. I was traumatized as a boy by a flock of flying squirrels issuing from a cave. I grew up a genius, and saved the world by throwing myself into a runaway reactor, where my atoms were stripped apart and reassembled from dark energy.

Every hero has an origin myth, and I'm sticking to that one.

Of course I have a secret identity, strictly to protect those who are near and dear to me from harm, should one of my many arch-enemies want to play rough. Not that I have anyone near and dear at the moment, or even middling distant and well-regarded. But it's best to be prepared.

Right. Who am I kidding? My "condition" is embarrassing, and I wouldn't want to be associated with that buffoon who uses it to do good. I'd never get a date that way. People will cut a superhero some slack; they're expected to be eccentric, even tormented. Anyone else and you're just a pervert.

Ah, some of you have guessed. Yes, I am the Nightstick.

I first came into my powers as a teenager. I had found some pornography on the internet, and had locked myself in my room to enjoy it. It was a Friday night, and as usual, I hadn't been invited to any parties and had been turned down by all the girls. I dimmed the lights, stripped and got on the bed. I placed the laptop on a stack of physics books, and dreamed briefly of the day when I would find a girl who thought physics was sexy. "Cheerleaders from Venus" was probably more realistic than that daydream; I hit play.

The plot was as thin as a condom, but that wasn't what I was after. It started with the cheerleaders showering in their locker room. A few minutes of bobbing boobs and I was stiff ... almost as stiff as the acting on screen. I started stroking gently. I liked to build up for a long time before my climax; I expected to get at least halfway through the video before I couldn't hold back any longer.

Now one of the cheerleaders had gotten one of the football team to come into their locker room, and had gone down on him. The acting may have been wooden, but that girl loved to suck cock. She slid lovingly up and down the shaft, lingering for long moments on the swollen head, running her tongue around the rim. Then she plunged all the way to the base in an amazing deep throat that rolled his eyes back in his head. She pulled back ever so slowly, as if to emphasize the unbelievable length she had swallowed. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she kissed the very tip as it emerged.

Something awoke just above my balls, just behind my straining cock, a magnesium snake burning bright as it coiled and flexed within. I started to doubt I was going to hold on until mid-video at this rate.

Now it was revealed that the cheerleading squad were invading Venusian women, and the girl summoned the rest of her minions to overwhelm the hero. (Why they were invading the football team seemed rather beside the point at the moment.) He disappeared in a scrum of breasts and buttocks and other curved anatomy, with only his pole sticking up from the middle. The bright snake wound tighter, striking sparks from its coils that burned their way up my spine. I had never felt anything like this before. I slowed my stroking to the barest touch, wanting to hang on a little longer.

Now four cheerleaders sat on his outstretched arms and legs, one brushed her nipples across his face and lips, and another mounted him and sank slowly down on his pulsing cock. The bright snake within me flared incandescent, and my power came to life.

My cock swelled in my hands to heroic proportions. I needed two hands to grip it as the veins stood out with steel-like rigidity. The muscles in my arms grew and corded. My chest deepened, my legs swelled through the thighs and calves. Strength thrummed through my body; I felt like Hercules. Then I realized I was floating two feet over the bed.

I rotated in the air and looked at myself in the mirror. I hung above the bed, unsupported, wearing a body that had been peeled from my stack of comic books. Legs like tree trunks, arms like mighty pistons, muscles that I didn't know I had bulging and rippling underneath my skin. And pointing at me like a cannon, the hard-on of the apocalypse. It must have been eighteen inches long, as big as a bat, purple capped and rampant.

I rotated to look at myself in profile, noting that my hair had darkened and become curly, my jaw and cheekbones were chiseled, my nose lengthened and straightened. I struck a pose in the air and laughed. I would have girls all over me now. No more dateless nights for me. And wait until they saw this monster! I ran my hands up and down my shaft; it felt even more sensitive than before. I could feel my balls tensing, the feeling building, a climax nearing ...

I was lucky that I wasn't floating too far off the ground that first time. If I had experimented with flying before coming to a climax, my adventure might have ended that night. I landed on the floor with a thump as my semen spattered against the far wall. I slowly regained my feet and turned to face the mirror once more. The same beanpole as always looked back from the mirror: 6 feet and 140 pounds. My comic book stature had fled as quickly as it had come. What had happened?

I considered a dream, or insanity, but those could not account for the pearly glob streaming slowly down the wall. I wiped it off and sniffed it: positive identification. I posed again before the mirror, flexing the muscles that I remembered from a moment before. I lifted my flaccid cock, a drop of fluid still clinging to the tip. All was back to normal.

The video was still running. I paused with my finger over the key that would stop playback. Team Venus was busily incapacitating the entire football squad, riding cocks, sucking them, milking them. Gobs of cum ran down their faces and tits, attesting to the success of their plan. Today the stadium, tomorrow the world.

I felt myself getting hard again, and reached down to stroke myself a few times. This was an unusually fast recovery for me, but it was a pretty hot flick. I didn't know if I could climax again, but it still felt good to try. I grew to full hardness, and beyond. My cock filled one hand, then both, then my muscles bulked up, and my feet lifted from the ground.

Over the rest of that night and the following nights I confirmed that as long as I kept an erection, I had superhuman strength and endurance, I could fly, and my vision and hearing were enhanced. (Sadly, no X-ray vision. I supposed that the EPA had banned it as excessively hazardous to bystanders.) As soon as I reached orgasm I reverted to the proverbial ninety pound weakling. Likewise if I just stopped stroking, my strength would ebb away with my erection.

Under cloak of darkness I practiced flying. I buzzed the neighborhood houses, and managed to get a few good eyefuls outside of Emily Johnson's bedroom window. I learned caution when her father suddenly banged out onto the porch, and I nearly tumbled into the bushes as I started to go soft. I recovered just in time to soar into the night sky.

The surreptitious night patrols and the keeping of a secret identity made me bolder, perhaps influenced by countless movies. I heard at school that Liana Carter was having a Halloween party in a week's time. She wouldn't have dreamed of inviting me, but what matter? We would all be in costume anyway. I found a Guy Fawkes mask and a flowing black cape to become V from "V for Vendetta." Underneath I wore black spandex winter track warmups with long sleeves and legs. I hoped that if I should happen to bulk up I could conceal my state under the cloak, and that the spandex would stretch without ripping. I looked in every store in town to find a sword to complete the outfit, but there were none to be had. Finally I found a policeman's black truncheon and a wide black belt, and those made a satisfactory effect.

Darkness arrived early and I arrived fashionably late at the Carter's. The door was opened by Liana herself, perhaps predictably dressed as Wonder Woman. I wouldn't dream of criticizing a costume that presented so much of her creamy cleavage to the cool October air. I was thankful that she could not see me gaping behind the Guy Fawkes visage. "Well, and who might this be?"

I had my answer prepared; I had seen the movie a dozen times. "it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V'" I bowed.

She had not seen the movie. "Oh, well. We'll have fun guessing, won't we?" She ushered me in, showed me the refreshments, and left me to mingle with the other costumed revelers.

The costumes were surprisingly good, and the girls were surprisingly daring. These were girls I saw every day at school, and while I thought many were good lookers in the hallways, here they were positively stunning. Pretty Laura Lee, whom I had always thought of as flat-chested, was anything but in a skimpy genie costume. Billie Crowder was spilling out of her cowgirl vest, and could have roped any guy in the room. Naughty nurses and anything-but-innocent schoolgirls abounded. Jeannette had on a police uniform unbuttoned and tied over breasts that strained the material. She arrested any loitering eyes in the room and the guys were lined up to be handcuffed by her.

I hadn't expected such a display of tantalizing and jiggling girlflesh tonight. I had to breath deeply to calm myself. I didn't want to suddenly go Hulk in the party, though I thought my costume should conceal me if it were to happen. I tried keeping my eyes above neck level, though I could see I was about the only male in the room who was succeeding.

Near the punchbowl, Thad Jenkins was standing in his football uniform with a cheerleader on his arm. That was about all the imagination Thad could muster; he wore that same uniform on Friday nights. I didn't know what position he played. Linethug or something like that. He looked me over.

"Hoo wee, now, what've we got here? Are you suppos' to be Shakespeare or sumpthin? Say sumpthin poet-like."

"Conceal me what I am, and be my aid//For such disguise as haply shall become//The form of my intent." One of the few Shakespeare quotes I could do from memory.

Thad's face darkened. "You makin fun of me?" I suspected he had been drinking.

"There are no coincidences, Thad. Only the illusion of coincidence."

Thad was convinced that anything he didn't understand was a joke at his expense. He was probably right. His face turned an ugly shade of purple, and he took a step forward. "A poet shouldn't be needin a billy club." He reached out his hand to the stick hung from my belt.

That was enough. I stopped supressing the churning in my groin. I looked straight down the neckline of his girlfriend, and imagined her boobs bouncing free as she did her splits on the field. Since she had omitted a bra tonight and pulled her neckline low, they were pretty close to doing that already. My cock, already teased by all the suggestive costumes, swelled in my pants. I reached the triggering point, and I loomed suddenly within my cloak.

My hand landed on his wrist, and arrested his attempt to pull the truncheon from my belt. He tried to pull free, but found that my grip had all the give of a steel vice. "Let go of the stick, Thad." I slowly tightened my grip. Thad opened his fingers spasmodically. Then when I let go, he swung an overhand roundhouse at my face.

I snatched his fist from midair and pulled him close. "Step back and shake hands, Thad, and you'll look like a good old boy just roughhousing. Swing again and I'll clean the floor with you." He looked my mask in the eyeslits and knew that I meant it. He took a step back, thrust out his hand, and shook. We slapped each others shoulders, and I said, "Good one, Thad." He turned back to his girlfriend.

I noticed that everyone had stopped talking nearby and were staring at my now-looming shoulders. All except for Thad's girlfriend, directly in front of me. She was staring at my crotch. I twitched my cloak closed self-consciously, and turned aside.

"This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished." The voice was low, feminine, full of quick wit and humor. I looked for the source, matched it to the sparkling eye of a pirate wench. A red bandana bound her hair, a black eyepatch covered her left eye. Earring hoops of gold dangled against dusky skin. The vest that tucked into her pantaloons was open to the waist and held apart by her lovely breasts, which bared their inner half moons to each other.

"Many pardons, dear lady, but I believe that is my line." I bowed to the pirate.

"I know it is, but I couldn't resist. And now, who are you?"

"Who? Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."

"And now we are back on the right foot. I asked only because I wanted to hear you say that. You handled Thad masterfully."

The rest of the party faded into the background for me. I had found a jewel; a girl who understood me. We traded quotes all the way through V for Vendetta, Hellboy, The Watchmen, The Lord of the Rings, and more. As we chatted, I gradually resumed my accustomed size. If she noticed that there was less of me under the cloak, she did not remark on it. As for me, I wondered what art or magic kept her vest just on the verge of sliding from her twin slopes, but never quite uncovering the nipples that stretched the fabric so.

As midnight approached with the time for unmasking, she led me from the room. "Seeing beneath the mask would break the spell, but there are other things we can remove."

In the back room she let the pantaloons drop to the floor and stepped out of them with dancer's feet. The vest, now unguyed, only guided my hand to squeeze her breast. The softness of the roundness and the firmness of the pointedness were new discoveries to my hands. Her clever hands released my buckle and slid that and tights down my thighs. My cock, between us, pointed to the ceiling, hard but not yet rampant. She took the invitation. Tall, she raised up on tiptoe, lowered and sheathed me in her warmth.

Magnesium flared within. I held her with corded muscles, I balanced her across tree trunk thighs. I filled her tightness with bands of steel, lifted her on my heroic rod ...

She screamed. "Get it out of me! It's tearing me up!" She pushed away from me, shoved futilely against my mighty arms, until I dumbly realized I needed to let her go. She could not pull off my cock, wedged under her pubic bone and filling her beyond breaking. She put a foot up against my hip and pushed with all her might. She slipped and fell to the floor, still connected by a bridge of hot steel-hard flesh. I backed away from her, only to drag her screaming across the floor. I grasped my cock with both hands, and with a twist I finally wrenched it free.

She was sobbing hysterically. I went back to help her up, but she fended me off. "Get away from me you monster! What are you? You're not human!"

I backed away from her, bleeding, naked and vulnerable on the floor. I realized my mask had come loose and she could see my face, though it was my hero face, more planed and handsome than the one I wore to school every day. Her eyes burned with hatred as she took in my half-clothed half-masked form.

There was a pounding at the door. "Who's in there? Are you OK? What's happening?" I looked around in panic, seeing only a second floor window. I gathered my clothes and threw open the window. "They'll take care of you, Lady Pirate," I said. "I cannot." I bounded half-naked into the night air and flew away.

Of course everyone talked about it the next day at school. A mysterious intruder had assaulted Liana's visiting cousin at the party. She had been taken to the hospital, delirious and raving. She had been flown home. No one knew who the stranger was, though police had interviewed everyone at the party. He was strong and handsome, and had a way with words, so of course no one connected him with me.

But I did. I fell into the blackest pit of guilt and self-loathing. My condition, which I now labeled a curse, not a gift, had destroyed something precious. I did not know if she would recover, but I knew she would hate me all her life. I had not wished for comic-book powers, but I had wished for a girl who could share my enthusiasms. The first had come true and denied me the second. I realized that I could never have normal relations with any girl; my size would seriously injure them every time.

My powers left me for several months. I couldn't get it up, was revolted by the thought of sex. I looked at some porn, and could only see my Lady Pirate writhing in bloody revulsion on the floor. In a fit, I purged all of the porn from my computer and sat contemplating the now barren and empty hard disk. A fit metaphor for life.

Then, in the spring, as breasts rose from necklines like spring flowers greeting the sun again, I felt a stirring, an urge to look down those necklines as they walked past. Adolescent hormones being what they are, I felt an answering twitch beneath my belt. That night, I faced myself naked in the mirror and brought forth the power.

I was steeped in comic book legend enough to know the choice I had. I could turn inwards and fester, become bitter and use my powers for evil. Or I could atone for my sins by putting aside my needs for the needs of society. I knew I would make a poor villain, so I made the only choice I could. I knew the drill from countless movies: I must go away, train body and mind, develop a persona, make a grand debut, fight crime.

I switched my college aspirations from physics to criminal law and forensics. I took every physical training class that I could. Even my normal physique started looking pretty respectable, and when I was "powered up," I became truly fearsome. I spent my evenings hunting down every scrap of sexual lore I could, seeking to control my power better. I practiced creating and maintaining an erection through willpower alone, as well as being able to release it on demand. I spent hours in front of the mirror in mental exercises to bring myself to hardness on cue, and to maintain it as long as I could.

I also sought clues as to the origin of my powers, hoping for ways to understand and control them. I poured through my medical records, strange happenings anywhere near the town where I grew up, reports of alien abductions or UFO sightings, meteor crashes, anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. I had had an infuriatingly normal existence until the night I had floated from my bed.

I put together my costume. I started with the outfit I had worn to the Halloween party. It was suitably mysterious, concealing, and adaptable to my changes in size. I discarded the hat as impractical, the mask as dangerous. I could not go about as V other than as a Halloween lark. I had no wish to test my powers against a copyright lawsuit. Even with my strength, I could not win against an army of soulless corporate lawyers.

I fitted a leather holster down my leg to hold my cock, rigged with electrical and mechanical stimulators, controlled from a dial on my belt. I could not afford to go soft at the wrong time. My utility belt had compartments for emergency supplies: tablets of viagra and a supply of Suze Randall photographs. I topped the holster with the cutoff handle of my police truncheon to conceal the true weapon I was packing.

Finally I was ready. I pulled on my tights, settled the cloak around my shoulders. I fastened the belt around my waist and secured the holster to my left leg. I holstered my cock and topped it with the misdirecting handle. I struck a pose in front of the mirror, and flipped the switch on the vibrator.