New Beginnings

Am I a supervillain? Well,

I

don't think so. I won't claim to be a real hero, but it's not like I've tortured anyone. Don't want to corrupt the innocent—okay, not much, anyway. Don't have a nemesis. Quite limited interest in taking over the world.

I admit, I do have a lair, and I've probably got a bit carried away with my shoe collection.

My first power was something no goody-goody kind of person ought to have let themselves use, so maybe the everyone's right. Maybe I'm a supervillain just by default.

You want to hear a story? Hm. Okay. You've worked for me long enough, there's something I could tell you. It's fun, and I don't get to talk about it very often. No one who isn't my pet is ever allowed to know a word of this, but of course you'll die before you let anyone else find out. Kill yourself if necessary.

Ha, I'm kidding, of course. Lovely cock you've got here, by the way. I like it. Wouldn't hurt you to work out a bit more, though. You'd look good with more muscle.

Anyway. I didn't always have all the powers. Didn't have any at all until I was 17, that was when I got the Aphrodite thing. That's a story itself, but not the one I'm telling now.

So it was fifteen years later, and I was still having fun in LA.

I didn't really do much more than any other ambitious hottie would — I was just better at it. I had a near-perfect success rate landing billionaires and gorgeous hunks because I could cheat. I went to the best Hollywood parties, the really wild ones, and allowed people to share their wealth with me. None of it was technically illegal because my talent didn't actually compel or control anyone - I couldn't force anyone to do anything they didn't choose to. I just could make them really

really

horny, and then let them make bad decisions. No law against that! Some guys even managed not to make bad decisions, no matter how horny they got. Good for them.

The way I saw it, it wasn't any different from what Marilyn Monroe or Anna Nicole Smith did. For all I know, maybe they had my power, too.

So I was on some FBI watchlist or other, but nobody took me very seriously. The rich guys got their money's worth from me, and the feds probably knew that if they wanted to shoot me all I could do would be to make them really excited while they did it. I just didn't rate anyone needing to keep track of me.

That's why it worked, I guess, because fuck knows it wasn't much of a plan.

You know how the Superman does that annual volunteer awards thing? Real Superheroes of Charity, something like that? I was bored, I decided I wanted to meet him, and that's just about the only time he ever shows up to a scheduled kind of event.

They have pretty tight security at those things. Kirk draws a crazy mob of groupies, and of course he just doesn't want to be bothered. That was the fun challenge for me, right? Guy is so famously boy scout, practically sexless. Even the actress "girlfriend" he supposedly had - Lucy Lyon came off so sweet and innocent you couldn't really imagine them fucking. I was really curious. Maybe she was a beard, maybe he was into guys, maybe he really was an alien and didn't even have working parts, right? I didn't know, but fuck I thought it would be fun to find out.

So I was fucking John Henry at the time, and this was just after "Too Many Secrets" so he had a lot of pull. Got him to set up a meeting for me with the organizer of Real Superheroes, to donate a hundred G of Trevor's money. Because why not, you know? It really is a good cause.

Hardly had to use any power at all to get me introduced to all the staff as a big donor, and get backstage credentials.

I pretty much spent the next three days doing nothing but shopping for the perfect outfit. Demure enough, certainly by my usual style, but as perfectly shapely as I could manage. The guy can look through clothes anytime he wants, right? People don't think about that much, but it's true. So I didn't want to look like I was displaying any skin, figuring he didn't seem to go for that. I wanted something just suggestive enough to see if I could tempt him to look for real. It was kind of exciting to think about that and wonder if I'd notice if he did it.

The night of the event I was horny as a prom queen. During dinner I even crawled under the table and sucked John Henry off, but I wouldn't let him touch me. Self-absorbed little bastard never even asked what had gotten into me, he just enjoyed his bad-boy rep. Though I suppose, I can be wild enough, and maybe he just thought it was business as usual. That was the last time I did him, as it turned out.

I got to the show at least an hour early. People were still running around crazy setting up, showing all the honorees where to sit, focusing the lighting, and so on. They had a dressing room set aside for the big guy, and I had thought I'd wait for him there. But no one was sure whether he'd use it - sometimes apparently he flies straight in.

That was no good. I got a little panicky for a minute, after I'd spent all week in preparation and anticipation - no way did I want to miss him now. I made myself get a grip, though. Why was I so getting so worked up over a lark, when nothing had even really gone wrong yet? Chill, Erika. I told myself that none of this was really important. I think I knew I was lying.

I tracked down the stage manager, all the personal assistants, everyone backstage who was actually running the show, and hit them all, one or two or three at a time. Did my old whammy on them, I mean: made them want me. I was pretty keyed up, so I hit them kind of hard—half them might still be haunted by old me, but oh well. Hopefully they at least get good wanking mileage out of it.

When I hit people hard enough, figuratively speaking, with my power I mean, even most gay guys and straight girls discover they want me. At the least, they have general feelings of wanting to make me happy, which that night was quite good enough—when the Superman flew in, someone would make sure the first thing he did was say hello to me, the wonderful lovely major donor.

Showtime arrived. I took up a post stage left. Half a dozen PAs, finished with whatever they had to do, were orbiting me, sneaking glances, goofy lovestruck grins on their faces. "He'll be here in 5 minutes," one ran up to tell me.

I beckoned the kid over and gave him a little peck on the cheek. "Thank you, Nick. I'm really excited to meet him." The kid flushed so red he should have caught fire.

I could hardly sit still. I kept checking my bra, making sure the girls were sitting just so, making sure my neckline and seams were lying right where I wanted them.

"He's in the building!" one of my little helpers stage-whispered from the door.

I stuck my hand under my dress and smeared my palm wet with pussy. I stood up, made sure my hem was properly draped again, and took the most casual stance I could.

The hall door opened, and the most famous man on the planet stepped through. I knew he was tall, but I was still taken aback at how big he seemed in person. Big and powerful. I'd fucked an NFL linebacker who liked to claim he was bigger than the Superman, and maybe technically he was, but I had never felt presence like this guy in front of me, even in the ridiculous cape and tights and boots. But then, people said he was unstoppable, right? By himself, the most powerful army on the planet. Looking at him, I could believe it.

I hit him with everything I had. Beaming smile, sultry, deeply musical "Hello!", the most penetrating

FUCK ME

stare right into his eyes. The musky aroma of my pussy tinged the room. Every ounce of power I had, I grabbed for his soul and tried to make him mine.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was the craziest thing I'd ever done. If he recognized it as an attack, he could crush me eight ways before I could even blink.

He stopped, poll-axed, eyes locked to mine. Oh, my god. I'd thrown everything I had at him, and he just folded like a fucking baby seal. He was fucking

mine

easier than Nick the PA.

So, in the trashier corners of the internet, the debate had raged for years about the bulge in his little red speedo. Thousands of paparazzi pictures had been taken from every conceivable angle. Nosy sluts like me had scrutinized them like the Lone Gunmen, trying to decipher what we were seeing. It was certainly a generous bulge; lots of men had less. Some pictures made it look bigger than others. There were certain pictures where the shadows fell just so and some girls were convinced they saw the outline of a dong. Other scoffed and said the first lot were deluding themselves; the big blue flying tank was an

alien

, and would have weird parts, or maybe was smooth like a Ken doll. Various people made gossippy claims to have seen him in bathrooms or changing rooms. Shopped pictures circulated, some more obviously fake than others. I didn't believe them, but that didn't stop me from masturbating to a few of the better ones.

Now I knew the answer. His real cock had never remotely been seen before. I was seeing the outline of it now, and it was immense. Unmistakable. Even the most of the fakers had underrated it.

"I'm Erika, and I'm thrilled to meet you," I said. I shook his hand with my still-damp palm, and then gently wiped what was left of my scent onto his baby-smooth jaw line. He wasn't moving, so I leaned in, pressed my breasts against the warm, famously steeled muscles of his broad chest, and whispered, "I'd love to meet you at the Observatory in Griffith Park, tonight, midnight, okay? Now have a good show!"

Stepping out of the way, I leaned casually against the wall. The Superman stared at me blankly while Nick the PA goggled at me, at the Superman, at the fantastic rude bulge in the Superman's trunks.

The Man of Steel—or Kirk, or Kalenn, I still didn't know what I should call him, at the time—blinked and

focused

. He just scanned me from tip to toe, eyes gone somehow golden and faintly fluorescent, never seeming less human than at that moment. I was holding myself as relaxed as I could, but my heart was about to pound out of my chest. He could see that, right? And he could see my rigid nipples and dripping pussy lips. It felt like he must be able to see my thoughts as well. He must know what I'd done. He was a force of nature, and I was just me. I was sure I was about to die.

If so, what a way to go!

So I winked at him.

A crazy goofy schoolboy smile lit up his face. "I think I have never met someone so extraordinary, Erika. Thank-you for your donation, and for coming tonight. It's in a great cause. I ... um ... you ... um ... I have to do this show.

Please

let me see you later." He was begging me!

And then, in a flash, he streaked out on stage, leaving the curtains fluttering in his wake.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, volunteers and benefactors, my friends, to the greatest event of the year," he began.

When he'd been moving, he was a blur. Now, he was tactically positioned. Neither the audience nor the cameras could see his crotch behind the lectern, but from the wings I still could. Incredible. I grinned, and did a happy little skip and twirl. Nick the PA still looked stunned, so I gave him a kiss on the other cheek, reached down, and gave his crotch a squeeze. I hit him with about 10% of the thrill I was feeling; he caught his breath and came instantly.

"Have a great night, kid," I called as I closed the door behind me.

Yeah, funny, isn't it? It's one of the reasons the Army mostly leaves me alone. The big boy scout vouches for me! It's awesome.

⤎ ✵ ⤏

I was on my way cruising up to the Observatory in my convertible when he dropped out of the sky, an iconic blue streak abruptly terminating in my passenger seat. There was no impact on the car's springs - he just stopped himself, of course - but there was no avoiding the sudden warm wind that blasted my carefully-tousled hair straight out to the side. Oh well.

"Hi," he said, awkwardly.

"Hi yourself," I said. I smiled my best million-watt smile. "You're early."

It was only 11:40. I was early, but evidently he was earlier.

"Oh! You don't mind, do you? I wanted to be sure I was on time, but then I saw you and I couldn't wait. Gosh, this is rude, isn't it, just arriving in your car unannounced? I could come back at midnight, like you said." The words all tumbled out, incongruous in his usually-commanding baritone.

"Whoa there, no blasting off. It's fine." I put my hand on his arm and gave a gentle squeeze. God, the muscles of steel. Even his forearm was built and the suit was barely there, more like silk than spandex. My pussy was already plenty wet, but it gave an extra squish.

His rod was fully awake, too, the thin suit membrane outlining its corrugations with all the modesty of a tinted condom. He flushed, put his hand over his crotch, and tried to turn away. I didn't mind. The view of his ass was just as fine.

"I'm so sorry! I can't seem to be decently polite around you, Erika. It's just, you're so lovely."

I laughed. "It's fine! It's all very flattering ... um, should I call you 'Superman'? Or, Kalenn, is it? Is that what your friends call you?" I offered him my scarf and he gratefully piled it in his lap.

"My friends? No. You can call me Kirk." He said that oddly awkwardly. I wondered if maybe he didn't have many friends.

There was a pause. Taking off my scarf had also not-incidentally exposed my cleavage, and Kirk didn't seem any less vulnerable to the view than most men. More vulnerable than most, really.

"The moon is so lovely tonight, almost full. Does it look different to you? You've been there."

He frowned, suddenly guarded. "This isn't going to be an interview, is it?"

Crap, that was not the response I wanted. He had seemed so smitten - it couldn't be wearing off already, could it? He was alien though, Argonian, right? Fuck knew if they worked anything like humans really. "No, silly. I was just trying to be charming. Not very well, I guess, I'm sorry."

Maybe he was just reflexively private. I could only imagine what the media spotlight must be like for someone like him. I touched his hand. It was a calming gesture, and also a bit of skin contact was a good way to test if my power still had hold of him.

Good god, it was raging. Men had begged me to marry them with less of my heat in their blood. They'd threatened suicide when I declined. Maybe I didn't want to risk pushing this overwhelming man too far.

"I'm sorry again. It's just, I seem to be really off-balance. I've never done anything like this. I've never

felt

anything like this."

"Don't worry, I've never done anything like this, either." Seduce a man whose sneeze could tear me in half? Nope, that's a new one. Fucking thrilling it was, too. Most exciting thing I'd done in years.

"I have a girlfriend, you know."

I chuckled disarmingly. "Of course I know. You two were on all over the internet last year. I try not to read much of that kind of gossip"—a barefaced lie—"but she's so beautiful. I'm hardly going to try to compete with her."

"I hope not," he said. "You're so beautiful, too."

"Listen to you, Kirk, such a shameless flatterer. I saw you look at me at the awards, too."

"Oh."

"Did you do what I thought? You know, peek a little?"

"I'm sorry, Erika. I don't know what came over me. Ma always taught me never to do that to a lady."

"You rogue. But I'll forgive you. I'll admit, maybe it was even a little exciting." We had arrived at the overlook and I stopped the car. The view over the city was as spectacular as ever. "What do you think, want to go for a walk around the Observatory?"

"It's closed now," he said, as if that was a problem.

I shrugged. "It's lovely at night."

He paused. "How about I take you flying, instead?" God, the puppy dog eyes he gave me, like he was worried I might say no!

"Oh, well, yes, I suppose we could do that too. You probably say that to all the girls."

"Usually only when I'm saving them from burning buildings," he said, deadpan.

"I'm not too heavy for you?"

He paused and looked me up and down. Not the freaky glowing-eyed way, just normal. He grinned. "Well, maybe you should leave off your shoes."

"Oh. Yes, I can do that." I grinned too, and kicked them off.

He reached over, took my arm over his so-muscular shoulder and hooked his other arm under my knees. The position seemed too off-balance to lift anything but those were my normal-person reflexes talking. The Superman just rose straight up into the air with me hooked over his arms, center of gravity be damned. I yelped briefly before I got hold of myself.

I shifted my arms so they were embraced around his neck, pressing my tits firmly against his chest. He adjusted his hold so I was bearing almost no weight, just sitting cradled in his mighty arms.

I looked down. Somehow we were already a couple hundred feet in the air.

"Oh, good lord. That's a long way down already. You, um, have a good hold, do you?" I said, almost confidently.

"If there's any trouble I can put you down very quickly."

"Well, then, let's go see the sights."

He set off west along Sunset Boulevard at what seemed like a very sedate pace. After a few minutes I was feeling steadier.

"Hey, big guy, is this as fast as we can go?"

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

I kissed him on the cheek, teasingly.

"I like speed," I said.

He sped up.

"Faster," I said. "Faster. Faster. Faster!" By the last, I was screaming over the wind. We must have been doing a hundred miles an hour, and every bit of it was whipping my hair and my flimsy dress. I hugged him tighter for warmth. "God yes, this is awesome. Go lower!"

"You don't have to yell," he said, speaking calmly into my ear. "My hearing is also good."

"Right, of course."

He took me lower until we were skimming not much above the rooftops and he sometimes had to deke right or left to avoid tall trees. The accelerations were intense. When we passed over an open space sometimes he dove til we were practically cutting the grass then pulled a sharp climb at the end. Once we shot vertically up the face of a twelve-story apartment building. I whooped every time we pulled gees, and soon he was juking back and forth like a roller coaster, or maybe like we were under fire.

Fifteen minutes later we were over the pier at Santa Monica. He slowed to a gentle cruise over the water and turned north along the beach. I shivered a bit, involuntarily.

"You're cold," he said.

"If you hold me I'll warm up."

"We could have gone slower if you said something."

"I didn't want to go slower! That was amazing."

"You're still shivering."

"You're super warm."

He snorted. "Not

that

warm."

"Okay, fine. You're regular toasty. Can you, like, roll on your back and wrap your cape around me?"

He did, and I bear-hugged him. Lying on top of him was utterly stable, like resting on a bench. A sexy, incredibly built, molded from steel kind of bench. I mean, at first I really was cold, but soon enough I started squirming a little to take advantage of the situation. The way I was lying on him was practically the missionary position. We were both pretending my dress hadn't ridden all the way up to my hips.

I petted his chest and fondled his arm. So fucking sculpted, l could feel every muscle fiber and tendon. The anatomy was totally familiar, just like every other man I'd massaged. I don't understand that part. How can he have human anatomy and do what he does? It's true, though, that with other men I could work out knots in the muscles, and with him I might as well be massaging a tank.

Teasing touch, though, still worked perfectly. The more feather-light the better, apparently, even through that gossamer indestructible suit. He moaned softly.