Message-ID: <7544eli$9801191719@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tooshoes Subject: SG4: Frisking The Cat - Part 1 (CR: 10,10,10) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34C37034.F525AA78@cris.com> These stories are very naughty, and since only adults should have naughty thoughts, you shouldn't read them if you are under 18 years old! Supergirl & Catwoman are trademarks of DC Comics. The entire Supergirl series and similar stories can be found on the WWW site: http://www.cris.com/files/Authors/tooshoes/www/PenPartners.html --------------------------------------------------- Frisking The Cat Wearing a red and blue costume, I could move mountains, and everyone listened when I talked. But wearing a brown wig and simple attire, it seemed the only jobs available to me were as a secretary or a waitress. I was just one in a million college grads entering the job market during a recession. I finally landed a job several months after graduation in a marketing research company, punching numbers and names into a database. The night hours sucked, and the pay really wasn't enough to live on. Unfortunately, being a superhero was voluntary work. Maybe I could use it as a charitable deduction on April 15. Now, at 1 am, I was a passenger on a subway train from Downtown Station to South Metropolis. I could fly home in under a minute, but the train ride lasted almost a half an hour -- just one more cost of having a secret identity and trying to live a normal life. Yeah, right, as if commuting home at one in the morning was normal! Though I guess it wasn't unheard of, because I often shared the train with a small number of fellow commuters, usually tired, sometimes insane, and always looking as unhappy as I must have looked. Tonight (this morning?) there were four of them sitting across from me, three men and a woman, who were obviously together, but who didn't speak a word for the first ten minutes of the ride. I crossed my legs at the knees, because one of the men was looking at me. There wasn't much else for him to look at, I guess, but he was almost leering. Maybe he was just admiring my legs, or maybe he caught a glimpse up my miniskirt and happened to see my pussy in all it's glory. Maybe he saw the blush on my face, because the thought of being "found out" always turned me on, which, of course, is one reason why I never wore panties. And that often led to an escalating cycle, as my excitement made me wetter than any normal woman, so the juices dripped down my thighs, making my chances of being found out all the greater. But he didn't do anything or let on that he knew, and I was surprised to feel sad. It made me long for my college days, when a glimpse of my bare pussy would draw men in like bees to honey -- or at the very least, draw a reaction. Back at MU, people always looked for an invitation to meet someone new, and I made new friends almost every day. I never ate alone, never walked alone, and rarely slept alone. Funny how I sometimes wished for more privacy back then. At parties, men packed like wolves around me, trying to get me drunk, not knowing that they didn't stand a chance. At getting me drunk, that is. Now, I longed for the parties and the harassing. Now, in "the real world", almost everyone respected each other's privacy and minded their own business and took no chances until they were in the safety of their own homes. What was wrong with society? What happens to people when they leave the security of the campus? And then it occurred to me that whatever was wrong with society was wrong with me, too. I haven't been with someone in months, and my best friend is my cat Calvin. I was afraid to approach people, the same as everyone else. I don't know what I was afraid of, though. I didn't need to worry about criminals or cops, like most other people did. Maybe I was just afraid of offending someone, or doing something wrong. Maybe I needed the support of my friends before I could reach out. I know now how much I relied on friends to make my life happy. They would push the boundaries, and I would follow behind them. They would knock on my door, and all I needed to do was invite them in. But I never knocked on doors myself. Almost unconsciously, I shifted my sitting position. I crossed my legs at my ankles, and my thighs were slightly apart. The young man across from me had a straight line view to my pussy, now, but it was just a fraction of an inch wide. I rested my hands on my lap, pushing my skirt between my thighs, stealing away even the suspicion of daylight. It was amazing how just the slightest possible hint of an invitation can catch a man's eye, because the young man was now sweating, and his friends were taking notice now, too. Even the young woman raised an eyebrow. I felt a rush run through my body. *Careful, Linda, you are losing control again*, a wise voice whispered. But I've had a hard time listening to that voice lately. I swear that since I came to earth, my sex drive has gone into overdrive. That yellow sun melted my will, and the loneliness of having no lover for several months fed my desire and made me a little irrational at times. I tried to fight it. I looked away from the curious eyes of the strangers and read some of the advertisements posted on the train's walls between the windows: There was a picture of a rather handsome guy with an eye patch and a pistol, starring in a movie called: Escape From Gotham City. One poster was for Marlboro cigarettes, which had a skull and crossbones spray-painted over it. A third poster was of a very attractive woman, with the text: "I'm Horny, Call Me at (900) 481-3643". And the last poster from Nike was very simple; it proclaimed in bright big red letters: Just Do It! So much for distractions, I thought, as I shifted my legs, casually rubbing my thighs together. When I realized how erotic that must have seemed to the strangers, I opened my mouth in surprise. Then I thought how erotic opening my mouth might seem, so I covered it with my hand and glanced at them. They stared back at me in surprise and fascination, and I felt like cursing myself. I was so turned on now that even when I was trying to act modest, it appeared like I was flirting. Hell, who was I kidding? I *was* flirting! I was pretty shy usually, and I didn't have a bubbling personality, but how modest could I really be? I liked wearing a skin-tight shirt that showed my nipples whenever I was excited, which was often. I always wore a tiny miniskirt, with no undies, and every couple of weeks, I shortened my skirts even a tiny bit more. My pussy underneath was completely bare (I burned the hair off with my heat vision). Obviously, I wanted people to notice. But denuding my pussy in that way irritated it a little, exciting it even more than normal, and now, with everything else conspiring to excite me, my pussy was soaking wet and flowing steadily. I couldn't stand it. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the strangers as I pressed my thighs together and gyrated my ass on the hard metal seat, trying to satisfy my itch in a most ineffective way. My pussy was aching for attention. I opened my eyes halfway and stared at my captivated audience. I opened my mouth and licked my lips. I couldn't hear that tiny wise voice anymore. Instead I glanced over at the poster: *Just Do It!* I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and raised my skirt. My pussy, slightly pink from irritation, glistened in the bright overhead lights. I soaked my fingers in the juices and spread the soothing moisture over the irritated skin. I exhaled loudly, almost a gasp, almost a sigh of relief, it felt so good! Then, like background noise, I heard that tiny harassing voice scolding me. It was accompanied by a symphony of other voices, that altogether became white noise. The only distinct voice that kept ringing in my mind was: *Just Do It!* I parted my pussy lips with my finger tips, showing my tenderest skin to people I knew nothing about. And from that most intimate place flowed the message, *come to me.* One of the men answered the call. He knelt between my legs for a better view of the show. I opened my lips wider, giving him the best view I could, while I massaged my clit with my other fingers. Droplets gathered and ran down to my asshole, going to waste. *Oh, please, don't just stand there!* Another man sat down beside me, watching from a different angle. He was watching my face, my other lips, as they also opened wide in esctacy and longing. Then, suddenly, a tongue reached deep into my pussy, sending a shock wave through my body. I quickly withdrew my hands, moving them to my neglected breasts, squeezing them through my blouse, while surrendering my pussy to the man's will. He nibbled on my clit. I gasped and cried out and wrapped my thighs around his head in reflex. *Oh, a little faster! Oh, a little harder!* The other two men took hold of my legs, holding them apart, while he grabbed two handfuls of my ass, and pulled me to his ravenous mouth. I buried my fingers in his hair, holding on as if to a support on an amusement park ride. I could barely contain my enthusiasm. My ass was suspended in mid air now, as he tore into my pussy, while the others helped him out. And to think just a moment ago I was worried what they would think of me! The woman was meandering around the scene, watching the action, amused. She had a vaguely sly smile on her face. As my body tingled and an ache consumed me, about to turn in an instant into the height of pleasure, I wished for the woman to join in. I wanted for her to kiss me hard, right now. I think she wanted to. She stepped closer. But she didn't, and that disappointed me, even as my body and mind were at a critical state, orgasm imminent. The skyrockets exploded in my mind. My body quaked, my eyes teared, and I was crying out uncontrollably, but my cries were overwhelmed by the din of the train rushing through a tunnel. And then everything seemed silent again. As I came back down to Earth, I found myself looking into the eyes of the man who sent me to heaven. His rough features almost looked beautiful. That's what a mind shattering orgasm will do to me. I stroked his hair and whispered. "Hi. My name is Linda." He smiled, but it was a slightly mischievous smile. "Hi Linda with the great tasting pussy." I smiled back. The train was slowing down and a voice came over the overhead speaker: *Now stopping at Washington Crossing, take Red Line to Gotham. Next stop: South Metropolis.* The man wiped his chin on his sleeve and stood up. "Our stop." I felt a sudden sense of loss when he said that; I didn't want them to go. I hurriedly collected myself. I straightened my skirt and made sure my wig was on straight. The four strangers gathered at the door to the subway car, when it opened. "Can I come with you?" I asked hopefully. After sharing myself with them so intimately, they were very appealing to me. I wanted to be one of them, whoever they were. I wanted to disappear into their lives. He smiled. "You already have." The woman laughed wickedly. "Thanks for the entertainment. We must do it again some time." I watched them leave. They never looked back at me. I don't know how I felt. My emotions were overwhelming my thoughts -- sex always seemed to do that to me. What did that woman mean? Was she being sarcastic? Was she insulting me? Or did she mean what she said, but in a playful way? The train pulled away. The strangers disappeared from view, leaving me all alone, wondering what I had gained from my stunt. Part of me was glowing inside, feeling a sense of power and victory. Bending steel beams and doing acrobatics in the air always came easily to me, but I never thought I could rise above my inhibitions like that. A part of me argued that I didn't rise at all, but fell as low as I could fall. My inhibitions were my strength, and I had come away from the experience with less than I had before. Then, suddenly, I realized in horror, how true that was. My purse was gone! In all the excitement, I never saw the strangers snatch my purse. Inside I had some money and IDs, but far more importantly, that's where I kept my Supergirl uniform! If I hurried, I could break through the door and chase them down. But I couldn't. I was paralyzed by embarrassment over the thought of facing them. A few minutes ago, I was just an anonymous woman, gambling with my reputation in front of a few strangers. Now Supergirl's reputation was thrown in the pot, and the whole world might see. So I slumped back on my seat, sighing, and I stared at the Nike poster. God, I was so stupid sometimes! Why didn't I listen to that wise little voice? I couldn't help but listen to her now, screaming her I-told-you-so-s, reminding myself over and over again how stupid and dirty I was. * * * I stepped off the train about five minutes later, and I felt a little better, a little less worried. It even seemed a little funny, now. What was that saying? *Whatever will be, will be*. Let them say what they will say, do what they will do. Let the naked truth come out, and it will set me free! Free from shame, free from fear, free from clothes, free from that silly looking costume! I laughed out loud, and my laughter echoed off the houses nearby, and it sounded so hollow that I shivered and realized how truly worried I was. This was a disaster; there was no point in pretending it didn't matter. But what point was there in worrying, either? I guess the only thing I could do now is wait -- and work on damage control. Ok, think, Linda, what *can* you do? The costume is the key. When they show it to the media, you are dead. *If* they show it, I reminded myself. Then I felt a burst of optimism: how could they be sure the costume in my purse was real? Some companies sell imitation costumes as fetishes. But fake costumes will burn in a fire, I reminded myself. Fake costumes aren't bullet proof. They will test it, and they will know. And a fake costume was apparently what I would be shopping for soon. I laughed out loud again, as I walked around the corner. I don't know if I was laughing or crying when I arrived home. I was through the door and almost in the kitchen before I noticed that the lights were on in my apartment. I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around so fast that the man attached to that hand was thrown to the floor. I struggled to identify the intruder through the fog of my emotions, until my memory came back to me, and I recognized his face. No, I thought, shaking my head. He couldn't have possibly known, not so soon. Hell it only happened about fifteen minutes ago! He couldn't be *that* good. * * * "Andrew?" "Geez, Linda," he replied while still lying flat on his back. "If I had known you were so easy to sneak up on, I wouldn't have pretended like we were the Impossible Mission Force the last time." "The Last Time" was two years ago, when I was a junior at MU, and, as Supergirl, I was was brushing people with political power the wrong way. Andrew was an agent in an ultra-secret intelligence agency for the government. Apparently, despite all of Superman's and my good deeds, the government considered us potentially greater threats to national security than even the Soviet Union in it's prime. Publicly, we were treated like heroes, but behind the scenes, the government tried their best to control us, how we acted, who we slept with, what we said. So they created a secret branch under the NSA called the SSA (Superhero Surveillance Agency). Andrew had been the agent in charge of bringing me to "justice" for various transgressions, and he proved he was up to the challenge. He had actually had me at his mercy. He could have done with me whatever he wished. But he let me go, breaking orders from above, and no doubt taking a lot of flack in the process. As much as I hated what he had done to me, I admired him for his courage to live by his conscience. That was the only time we had met each other, but Andrew did call me several times since. He'd ask me innocent questions, like how was college going, did I have any new friends, did I really like my hair that way. I didn't know what to make of it. Maybe he was just trying to be my friend so he could be more influential, but I believed that he liked me, regardless of what else he was up to, and I found myself opening up to him. Then he stopped calling, more than a year ago, and I had almost forgotten about him. Until now. "I hope you don't mind that I waited for you inside. The door was unlocked, so I took the liberty. Oh, and I fed your cat. It was the only way to keep him off of me." "Why are you here, Andrew?" I eyed him curiously. "Why?" he said, as he stood and straightened his suit. "Because I think I can help you." "Oh?" I sat down on the sofa and motioned for Andrew to sit with me. "What makes you think I need any help?" "Because I've been watching you," he said simply, as he sat closer than I had expected. "Oh, that's right. I forgot you did that sort of thing, peeping through my windows, listening in on my private conversations," I said with a smile that contradicted my deeply sarcastic tone. I accidentally touched his leg as I tried to adjust my skirt. Andrew shifted in his seat, as he conjured up the appropriate rationalization. "Common, Linda, the SSA only does that when we have evidence of a legal infraction. Besides, don't tell me that you've never used those super- senses of yours to invade someone else's privacy. We are only trying to level the playing field a little. It doesn't bring me any pleasure to spy on you." I knew that much was true. When he had captured me, I was totally naked and at his mercy, yet he didn't take advantage of the situation at all. He let me cover myself, and his dick was soft the whole time. No sign of hardness even now, as we sat very close to each other. I guess I just wasn't his type. And that was probably how it should be, I thought, with nothing between us. Getting involved with him would be a disaster. Besides, he was always stabbing me with criticisms, like saying that I spy on people. I replied, "Sometimes I see things that I probably shouldn't see -- I can't help that. But I don't go out of my way to spy on people's private lives like you do!" Andrew held up his hand as if in defense. "OK, I'm sorry Linda, I didn't come here to start an argument. I guess it's kind of hard to avoid, considering the nature of my job, that we'd be on each other's case, but really I came here hoping that we could cooperate, for a change." "Cooperate?" I asked, a little amused. "How could we cooperate on anything? I mean, isn't that like asking a deer to cooperate with a hunter?" Andrew smiled and laughed, like he might do if he was arguing about sports with his buddies. He was acting very friendly, and I couldn't tell if the emotion was genuine or if he was trying to sell himself to me. I always had a tough time knowing that about him. He said, "Don't you think that analogy is a little extreme? We have a lot of mutual interests." I smiled back at him, wondering what he was leading up to. "Such as?" "Such as your well being. Your financial well being." I stopped smiling and looked away. "I don't want to talk about that." "You aren't doing very well. I know that you are two months behind on paying the rent for this little house. You are three months behind on your student loan payments, and you could go into default soon," Andrew pressed. I shook my head, trying not to listen to him, but I couldn't help it. Damn him! He always knew my weak spots, and he always pressed them just right. I had forgotten about that sly part of him. He knew how embarrassing it was to be the most powerful woman in the world, yet to live on the edge of poverty just so I could have a somewhat normal life. Being Supergirl could be fun and exciting, but most of the time I was happier when I wasn't in the spotlight, when people didn't look at me like I was some kind of freak. Besides, Superman and I had good reputations with the public in large part because we didn't mix heroism with personal gain. We had to be super-giving as well as super- human, or people would think of us as greedy invaders rather than welcome visitors from Krypton. For all of my powers, I couldn't force people to like me, so I always had to be above reproach. I wish I didn't care so much about what people thought of me, but I always did. "I understand," Andrew said kindly, "that you want to have a private life, and you want to protect your image. Believe me, that's exactly what I want, too. But you aren't serving yourself or your country well right now. The crime rate is skyrocketing at night, as criminals have noticed the pattern -- you just aren't around once the sun goes down. Fortunately for Metropolis, Superman has a steady presence. Why? Because Kent has the right kind of job for a superhero. Reporting for the Planet helps him learn about crimes in progress, and his heroics pay him back by giving him a great story to write about. Your job, on the other hand, completely takes you out of action." "It's the only job I could get," I objected. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before you decided on a degree in Liberal Arts," Andrew patronized. "But obviously you have much more to offer the world than just your degree." "Don't you think I know that?" I said impatiently, "But being a superhero just doesn't pay well, anyway, except on those rare cases where there is a reward. And then I look bad for accepting the reward." Andrew shook his head. "That's not quite what I had in mind. The government and the police won't pay you to be a freelance hero -- too many legal problems, for one thing. But the SSA has different needs and different legal requirements, and I have the authority to hire you as an agent, complete with good pay and benefits, all of which will be strictly confidential and hidden from the media." "What?" I was stunned. "You want to hire me? I thought your agency only spied on people like me -- why the hell should I trust you, anyway." Andrew took my attack personally, and I wished I hadn't been so harsh. "I'm sorry Linda, that we always seem to be on opposite sides of the fence. I know that sometimes the agency looks past your rights for the sake of national security, and that really sucks, but that's why I think this is such a good idea. If you are working for us, then we will have enough knowledge of your activities without the need to spy, since we will all share the same interests." "You mean that I would be your hitman," I said skeptically, though I was beginning to feel enthusiastic. I was also feeling a little warm inside, because with Andrew sitting so close to me, the scent of his cologne was very distracting to someone with super-senses. Andrew shook his head, "No, no, each mission we'd send you on would be a separate contract. You could refuse any of them. And you could be a freelance hero in your spare time, saving anyone your heart desires." "So I'd be selling my super-body to you for a couple hours a night, huh?" I teased, as I crossed my legs, brushing my shin against his knee in the process. "I guess you could look at it that way," Andrew said, suddenly feeling a little awkward, suddenly feeling a little aroused, as anyone could see. He moaned so softly that even I could barely hear it. But he inched himself a few inches further away and put back on his business face. "So what do you say? Does it sound interesting?" "Very interesting," I almost whispered, making him feel even more uncomfortable. I should have been paying more attention to what he was saying, but I was feeling very distracted. Knowing that I could affect him, someone I thought was invulnerable to my sexuality, sent a thrill through me that felt a little like passion, a little like revenge, since Andrew had been pushing my emotional buttons ever since we had met. Now, he was in the hot seat. I could hear his mouth starting to water. I could taste his fresh sweat in the air, mixing with the sharp smell of his cologne. I stroked his leg with my foot and looked into his eyes, smiling, as if to say: *would you like to see my pussy?* But he edged away from me in his seat and held up his hand. "Please stop, Linda, you really shouldn't be doing this. You've really got to control that sexual appetite of yours." "What?" I said, stunned and embarrassed. How could he say that? He was as turned on as I was. "Please, let's just stick to business," he continued in a cold, detached voice, as if the voice wasn't his. "We aren't animals who have to fuck whenever they are in heat. We can show a little discipline. I don't know how people acted on Krypton, but on Earth, we try to act with a little decency." I just stared at Andrew, not knowing what to say. Suddenly, I understood why someone as seemingly nice and gentle as Andrew could be part of such an oppressive organization. There was a whole other side to him, a side I had never seen before. There was a holier-than-thou side buried deep within him, a side that turned me off completely. Then his voice softened, and he was Andrew again. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to be insulting. Maybe we should just forget about it and talk about your new job." "Sure," I nodded, anxious to get past the awkward moment. "Let's get down to business." The dark side of Andrew didn't return for the rest of his visit, and before too long, we were even teasing each other a little, but with the clear understanding that nothing would happen. But mostly we stuck to business, and we ironed out the details and conditions of my new employment. Simply put, Andrew was hiring me for two or three missions per week on average. Andrew asked me to wear a beeper, so he could contact me in an emergency, but I refused. I hate beepers. I told him if he really wanted to get my attention, wear that sexy cologne he was wearing, and I'll drop everything and come for him. I think I almost got to him with that. But he got me better by waving a wad of $100 bills in front of my face. He would pay me $2000 up front, in cash, for each mission. I'm sure now as I think back I could have bargained with him for much more, but I was so awed when he handed me the money that I stopped thinking and started dreaming of everything I could do with it. All my days of debt, coupon hunting, eating leftovers and riding the subway were finally over, and I could barely even imagine asking for more. And Andrew surprised me again by already having a mission for me to start tomorrow night. "The Catwoman has been burglarizing Gotham City for years now, but we've never been able to catch her," Andrew said, as he handed me a few pictures. "Are these the best you have?" I asked, as I looked at each photo. Catwoman was barely visible in any of them. In three of the four she was in the shadows, and in the last, the picture was so under exposed that all I could see was her silhouette. "They don't even look like the same woman." "Really? How many women do you know that have that kind of body?" Andrew said with barely hidden admiration. "She looks a little different because she wears several different costumes. We don't know how many. Sometimes she wears black leather, sometimes purple or grey spandex or rubber. Her real name is Selina Kyle, but we only have this one picture of Selina when she was very young," Andrew said as he handed me the last 3x5 Kodak print. This was a very good picture, but she must have been only about 14, and I didn't know how helpful it would be. Still, I looked at it for several minutes. There was something haunting and vaguely familiar about it. She was sitting on a park bench in a playful pose, a bit too erotic for a girl that age, with her head slightly arched, her long black hair falling away to unveil the full of her neck and shoulders. She stared back at the camera with a hint of a smile and an aura of confidence. "We've been trying to get her for two years now, but she's been very slippery. She has many friends, because she likes to spread some of the bounty from her conquests around, giving some to the poor and to charities, so she has a kind of Robin Hood reputation. Sometimes she even helps bring other, more notorious criminals to justice, winning her favor even among some cops, who confuse her activities with those of the many vigilantes that protect Gotham City." Andrew's voice seemed to be glowing as he talked of her. Perhaps even he was confused about his feelings towards her, I thought, when suddenly his tenor changed. "But really she is an sly opportunist. She is an example of how criminals can take advantage of Gotham's fascination and need for vigilantes. The city is overwrought with crime. Many citizens take the law into their own hands, because the police can't handle the epidemics of gangs, guns and plunder. Catwoman courts both sides, mixing good deeds with bad, so she tends to slip through the cracks, and only the people she steals from realize what she really is -- a criminal, pure and simple." "How can I find her?" I asked, "or is that part of the job?" Just then we were both startled by a ringing sound from within Andrew's briefcase. "Just a second." Andrew answered his cellular phone on the third ring, listened for a moment, his eyebrow raised, then he hung up. "Well, that was very interesting timing," Andrew said. "I was just about to tell you that we were hoping to use your powers to find the Catwoman, but I guess we won't need that. She just sent an unprotected message over the internet; she forgot to encrypt it. Apparently she plans to rob an art museum tomorrow evening. We don't know which one, but since there are only about five important museums in Gotham City, you should have no trouble finding them." "Wow!" I said in amazement. "Looks like my first day is gonna be a piece of cake!" Andrew frowned. "Don't even think that way. It's rare for the Catwoman to slip up like this. She may even have noticed her mistake and changed her plans. We've thought that we've had her a dozen times before. Once we even had her cuffed and in the cruiser, and she managed to escape and disappear down an empty street." "She won't be able to escape from me," I said with a smile. "That's what we're counting on." * * * Andrew stayed the rest of the night, sleeping in a spare bedroom, and he left long before I awoke around noontime. For the first time in months, I had a very pleasant sleep, and it was all due to Andrew and the hopes he gave me for this new job. He fussed over me, making sure that I wouldn't say no. He even told me that he would take care of my former employer, so I didn't need to go through the anxieties of quitting or giving my two week notice. He made me feel very important. I knew that I was making a compromise. I was giving up what I had once thought that I really wanted -- living my life as a normal woman. Lately, though, I had begun to think that normalcy was overrated. Normal living has left me poor and lonely, especially since Carol left several months ago. Carol never said it, but I always knew she left because I wasn't as exciting as I was once was, back in the days when I enjoyed being Supergirl. It turned her on to see me on TV all the time, rescuing people, crushing criminals, and then having me come home to her every night, surrendering myself to her. Then came the confrontation with the police, the media attacks, and my capture by the SSA. I learned what came with being a hero. Being a hero meant that I couldn't say what I believed, if it wasn't PC. I couldn't even help people without worrying that someone would sue me, for, say, breaking down an historic wall to prevent a murder. And then I made my biggest mistake by complaining about it, so the media jumped on me, portrayed me as an ungrateful superbitch on a power trip. That's when Supergirl all but disappeared from the scene, and I became Linda Lee full time. Now Andrew has brought back that old excitement again when he told me that my country needed me. It was a message I was ready to hear. After struggling as a college grad for so long, denying myself the pleasures of my powers, I felt like a bird stuck in a cage. I was dying to get out and fly. * * * But I couldn't be Supergirl without a costume. Flying around in my regular work clothes would seem wrong. Inappropriate. Unfortunately, I had very little time to solve this problem, since I had to be Supergirl in just a few hours. I called all the costume stores in Metropolis. Most had Superman and Wonder Woman costumes, but they didn't carry Supergirl costumes even during Halloween. Finally, I slammed down the phone in disgust. I felt that unappreciated feeling again, but really what did I expect, anyway, having virtually disappeared from public view for so long. Only three hours left. I had to think of something fast. Maybe if I bought a Superman costume I could modify it. Then I thought about the vast array of costumes that the Catwoman had, and I smiled: Why not completely redesign my costume? After all, I had always thought that cape and those long red boots looked more than a little silly. * * * The Luther Lakeside Galleria was only a five minute ride on the subway. It was a beautiful outdoor shopper's world, with a Japanese Garden on one end, a stadium on the other, and hundreds of stores in between. I felt excited being there with money in my pocket, for a change. I was drawn to the shop windows, and I kept thinking how reasonable the prices seemed -- prices that would have seemed obscene only yesterday. Thankfully, I didn't have much time on my hands, or I might have lost control of myself. I kept reminding myself that I was shopping for a new costume, nothing else. I had a hundred ideas about what my new costume should look like. I struggled to keep my imagination from getting too lavish or impractical. I saw a stunning blue and red designer dress that would be extremely awkward when I was flying, and a daring bathing suit that would probably ruin my reputation again. I tried to keep myself sensible. The most important part of the costume was probably the shirt. People should realize who I am as soon as they see me, and I thought I had the perfect solution: There was a store in the mall that would print any picture onto a T- shirt in under a half hour. I felt conspicuous as I handed my "S" symbol to the young man at the counter. Maybe he would recognize me or put two and two together. While he was clearly looking me over, his eyes didn't light up, and I don't think he made the connection. Even if he did make the connection, it shouldn't matter, as long as I didn't identify myself as Linda Lee. "Small, Medium, Large, or X-Large," he asked. That was a simple question I wasn't at all prepared for. I had a chance to remake my image for the world,. My real costume had always been a little tight, and some people even claimed it was indecent because my nipples would show through the fabric. There was one issue of Metropolitan Weekly in which I swear they air-brushed my nipples out. The rebel in me demanded the small T-shirt. But another part of me wanted to do things right for a change. I didn't want to offend people, least of all Andrew who was giving me another chance. He wasn't sure about me. He had put his reputation on the line to get me this job. He didn't say it, but I could see it in his eyes. The SSA wouldn't never have hired me if not at his urging, and I owed it to him to be the model superheroine. "Well?" The impatient young man asked. "Medium," I finally replied. Then, after a long pause, "and a small one, too." That was just for me -- I wouldn't need to wear it in public. I was surprised how nice the red "S" looked on plain white. It was simple and fresh and liberating. It felt like a discovery. Supergirl was long past due for a makeover. Still, I was a little afraid to experiment with my traditional uniform. I spent about 30 minutes trying to find a simple red miniskirt before I realized that miniskirts were out of fashion. So once again I was forced to be creative. Maybe a simple pair of blue jeans would be the right touch to go along with the T-shirt. It sounded sensible, practical, decent. Millions of women wore long pants every day. But I couldn't convince myself to do it. I hated the way loose fitting jeans hid my legs. I was very proud of my legs. Tight pants looked attractive, but they tore too easily. Finally I decided on a pair of loose fitting sky- blue athletic shorts, which showed off my legs almost up to my hip, yet were conservative where it counted most. My biggest challenge was deciding on footwear. I wanted shiny, red walking shoes, but I couldn't find a single pair that would stay on my feet while I was in flight. I was so frustrated that I even considered being the first barefooted superhero. After all, I didn't really need shoes, anyway. But even with my terrible sense of fashion, I knew that would not be well received. So I finally settled on a pair of red ankle-high boots, which wasn't too bad a compromise. Now, the sun was almost down, and I didn't have much time left to shop, so I hurriedly found a Filene's dressing booth. I was pretty excited, now, and I almost forgot to check for hidden cameras. Some stores spied on these dressing booths, in their ongoing war against shoplifters, but Filene's apparently had some respect for their customers. First, I donned the small t-shirt, which, as I had expected, hugged my breasts so tightly that my nipples were clearly visible. A bra would have solved that problem, of course, but I hated bras even more than panties. Underwear in general turned me off. It just wasn't sexy -- or maybe I was prejudiced, because underwear was foreign to Kryptonian culture. The medium sized t-shirt was much more modest, showing just enough of my breasts to catch the attention of the young men I would save. I wished that I could give them more to look at, and I felt a touch of regret that my days of skirt-flirting were over. Still, this new costume had a lot to offer. It showed off even more of my legs than the miniskirt. The muted colors made my skin tones stand out more. Maybe the simple design was even sexier than the garish blues and reds. I looked more approachable, more human, more like the girl- next-door, less like a comic book character. I just looked at myself in the mirror for a few minutes, striking a few poses, alternating between loving and hating the new look. Then I packed up Linda Lee's wig and clothes into my shopping bags, and I took a gulp. I was out of time now. The Catwoman would be making her move soon. It was time for the new Supergirl to make her move, too. I stepped out of the booth. A dozen eyes gravitated towards me as I left Filene's and entered the walkways of the outdoor mall. One young man carrying a shiny new surf- board was walking past me, when he stopped and stared. "Woah, could this be the one and only Kara from Krypton?" he asked excitedly. I nodded and smiled. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. "What do you think of my new look?" I asked, fishing for compliments. He nodded and gestured widely. "Totally hot! You could surf with me anytime!" That was what I needed to hear. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks!" And then I waved goodbye, as I lifted off straight up into the sky. * * * Gotham City was just a hop, skip and a jump away from Metropolis for someone like me. It was only about 150 miles away, and I could fly there in under 30 minutes at a nice casual pace. I don't know why I had never visited the dark city before. It was about time I did. Gotham City was over-run by vigilantes and anarchists. I had always thought Metropolis was so much more peaceful and civilized than Gotham City because Metropolis had two superheroes paroling the skies and maintaining order, while Gotham had none. All Gotham needed was a hero it could count on. Clark didn't agree with that theory. When I first came to Earth, he warned me about going to Gotham. He said it was hard to be a hero in a place so confusing, where the the line between good and evil was fuzzy at best. Rich were pitted against the poor, whites against blacks, gangs against gangs. Everyone felt like a victim, and everyone wanted revenge. The social fabric was turned inside out, and Clark believed that going in there to help people would backfire. He compared Gotham City to a country in civil war: To avoid getting caught in a quagmire, America should never send troops into a civil war -- unless they have clear objectives. And that's why I was going in. I had a clear objective: To capture the Catwoman and bring her into justice. I knew that I couldn't save Gotham City from the mess it was in, but at least I could do this one small thing, remove this one cause of chaos, and help stem the tide of crime. Gotham wasn't as ugly as my expectations. In fact, it didn't look much different from Metropolis at night. But when I looked more closely, I could see the piles of litter along the streets and the graffiti on the walls. When I listened more closely, I could hear screams and sirens running together into a steady wail. My first impulse was to seek out those alarming sounds, offer my help, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I wanted to keep my objectives simple. If Catwoman's message was to be believed, then she would be robbing one of Gotham City's art museums tonight, and I had to keep my eyes on all five of them. But first I had to find them. Andrew had marked their locations on a map last night, but finding them in a big city at night was a very different thing. I felt a little angry at myself. I could have scoped out the area earlier in the afternoon, if I wasn't having so much fun shopping for a costume at the mall. But scolding myself now wouldn't help. At least I remembered to bring the map with me, and I felt confident that I could find all five museums within just a few minutes. The first museum I found was The Wayne House Monument. Ah-ha! I thought, as I saw stealth-like movement in the darkened building. But when I looked a little closer, I was disappointed to find only bats flying around in the caverns underneath. I glanced at the map and flew on. The second museum, The Art Expo, was still open to visitors, and it would remain open until 9 pm. That worried me a little. Maybe Selina intended to commit her crime under the watchful eyes of the museum security with some slight of hand. Maybe she had even bribed the security to steal the art for her. I would have to pay very close attention, but first I had to find the other three museums. The Gotham Museum Of Fine Arts was on the other side of town, and before I was even near the building, I could see the crime in progress. All of the rooms were dark, except one, where several people wearing black were scurrying around, removing paintings from the walls. They weren't even being careful, I thought. Anyone could see the light from the main street outside the building. Several museum employees were watching on helplessly from another room as a fortune in paint and canvas was being plundered. I landed on top of the building and scanned the room, trying to locate Selina, but I couldn't tell her apart from the other people. Unfortunately, my x-ray vision can yield some pretty fuzzy images, and all I could see was blobs that resembled people moving around inside. But I could see that there was no Kryptonite awaiting me inside, and there were no lead boxes hiding unseen surprises. So there was no point in sneaking around. With a crash, I pushed my way though a security door that led into the room. The door was a little tougher than I had expected, so I had to hit it twice before it fell away. So much for the element of surprise, I thought casually. The criminals gained nothing from that extra second or two. They just stood and stared at me as I paced to the middle of the room. "Slumming today, Supergirl?" One of the men asked with a wicked grin. He, like his companions, was dressed in black. "Interesting clothes," commented another, as he walked up to me and looked me over. "Let me guess. Your regular threads are still in the wash." A third man, wearing a cat mask just like the Catwoman's, watched on with a smile on his face and a hard- on in his pants. I just stood there, surprised by their attitude. Why did they seem so cocky? I tried to see their faces through their masks, but I couldn't. Obviously they treated their masks with lead or something similar. And that meant that they were expecting me, or were at least prepared for me. I felt a tingle in my back, as I came fully alert. Could this be a trap? I looked around the room carefully. Closed-circuit cameras were recording the robbery from multiple angles. Six witnesses, all men dressed up in identical security guard uniforms, were watching on from the next room. I couldn't even see where the robbers were taking the paintings. It almost seemed like they were taking the paintings off of one wall and replacing them on another. What was going on here? "Where is the Catwoman?" I demanded, barely hiding my confusion. "Why, I was taking a catnap in the corner," came the reply, as Selina stepped into the lit room, drawing all eyes to her. All I could do is stand and stare as she sauntered gracefully towards me. I knew that Selina had several Catwoman costumes, all of them daring, and I had anticipated this moment, wondering what she would be wearing tonight, whether spandex, leather, silk, or even black lace. But she took my breath away, dressed in transparent purple tights from her cat mask down to her knee high black books. Her nipples were hard and prominent behind the sheer fabric. Her trimmed pussy was moist with excitement, leaving a small dark purple spot between her legs. I felt my pussy react sympathetically, as Selina walked right up to me, looking me right in the eyes. "Can I interest you in a work of art?" she purred. I looked away, as I tried to regain my composure. I swallowed and said, "I'm here to take you in." Selina smiled and posed, "Oh, by all means take me in! Do you like what you see?" Then she stepped even closer, so that we were nearly touching. "Or did you have more in mind? You came here to experience something new. That's what museums are for, aren't they?" I felt myself sweating, and the scent of her perfume weakened my will. I tried to meet her eyes, tried not to blink. "I'm taking you in for stealing valuable art." Selina stroked my shoulder carefully with her clawed black glove, and I stepped back. "I didn't steal anything. We were just rearranging things a bit." "Well ... I'm taking you in anyway," I said. "We have a long list of crimes over the years." "I'm sorry, but you aren't taking me anywhere," she whispered in my ear. "Instead, I think I'll be taking you." I felt my heart racing. "What do you mean? How will you stop me?" Selina gestured towards the security guards in the other room, and then rested her glove on my hip. "You see, if you don't do exactly as I say, my friends on the other end of these closed-circuit cameras will blow these nice people to tiny bits." It was a trap! "What do you want me to do?" I gasped when Selina's glove stroked down my shirt and slipped into my shorts. My knees gave, and I collapsed against her her larger body, suddenly breathing heavily, suddenly staring deeply into her eyes. "Why nothing at all, for the moment," she purred. And then she kissed me. The power of her kiss sent shivers down my body, weakening me. What kind of perfume was she wearing? It was making me dizzy, and my heart was racing . . . But I had to keep my wits about me. I couldn't let these feelings overwhelm me. These were dangerous feelings that could sap my powers. I should be trying to think of a way out. I stepped away from the Catwoman and tried to collect myself. "I can't do this," I said, scanning the rooms, looking for bombs, but I couldn't see them. Maybe they were plastic explosives, because I would have seen anything else right away. "There has to be something else you want." Selina touched my face with one claw, lightly scratching my skin. "Maybe I'll think of something else later," she said, then she sniffed at my neck and ear, purring. "But for now I have a craving for super-flesh." "I don't see any bombs," I said, stepping away again. Selina glanced at me hard, looking slightly offended. "Oh, would you like me to set one off? It will only kill one or two people." I shook my head quickly, and I let her touch me, "No, please, don't." What else could I do? I thought of the guards who were watching, the people I was "saving," and I felt extremely embarrassed. What was Selina going to make me do? I wouldn't let myself think of it. Selina smiled. "So you'll be good?" She let one clawed finger travel lazily down my chest, cutting through my T-shirt along the way, exposing my cleavage, biting into my skin. I nodded. When her finger reached my shorts, my shirt hung loose like drapes. She reached inside with both hands, followed the length of my side up to my shoulders, exposing both of my breasts along the way. Then she pushed my shirt back so that it hung loose behind me, trapping my arms like cloth handcuffs behind my back. "Say it," she demanded, and she leaned over and sucked on my right nipple. "I ...." I started, and then suddenly gasped when Selina pinched my other nipple with her claws. "I'll be good." Now Selina was kneeling in front of me with her clawed hands digging into my shorts. She licked her lips. "Say it again, I didn't hear you." "I ..." I started again, when Selina viciously tore the shorts into shreds. "I'll be good." "Oh, I don't I believe you," Selina said, as she looked at my bare, glistening pussy. My juices were running down my thigh. "Good girls don't shave themselves down here. Good girls never get this wet. I think being good is the last thing on your mind." I couldn't speak. I could barely even think. I closed my eyes, realizing that everyone else's eyes were wide open, staring at me, stroking my skin like ghostly fingers, filling me with fear -- and excitement. My excitement overflowed, running down my thighs almost in a stream. I could barely stand still as Selina licked my thighs clean. "Mmm, you taste so good!" she purred, as my juices ran down her face. "But you've barely quenched my thirst. Open up a little." She pushed my feet apart, sliding my shoes on the floor, and I struggled to keep my balance. Then the Catwoman kneeled between my legs and sniffed at my pussy. My heart was beating out of control, as I worried and anticipated what she would do next. I shuddered when she just barely touched my pussy lips with her tongue, stroking from one end to the other, but she stopped too soon. Then she held my pussy open wide with two clawed fingers, that felt like two needles, and she puckered her lips and blew on my clit. I nearly fell from the shock of the almost agonizing pleasure that shot through me. My hips thrust and spasmed. My pussy gushed like an orange being squeezed. Then Selina grabbed my ass and buried her claws in deep, as she dove into my pussy like a carnivore, licking and sucking and even biting. I couldn't keep my balance anymore, as wave after wave of pleasure stung me, and I fell like a deer torn down by a lion. But someone caught me before I could hit the ground. He held me up, as the Catwoman kept on me, ravaging her helpless prey. All I could do was moan "no" over and over. I gazed through half open eyes at the guards in the next room -- the innocents for whom I was offering up my body. I couldn't tell what they were thinking. Why weren't they at least using this distraction to escape? Maybe I was crazy with passion, and maybe Selina's wonderful tongue was confusing me, but that look in their eyes didn't look like disgust or disappointment or even worry. They seemed to be in wide eyed attention, and one man was even trying to sneak into the room for a better look. I couldn't believe it. I was a featured exhibit, like an x-rated Monet or Renior. I felt the last of my resistance give. My body was limp. I was defeated. "Mmmm, don't you pet a cat when she's affectionate?" Selina whispered, reaching behind me to free my hands. I closed my eyes and stroked the Catwoman's hair, while I moaned softly, then louder. Finally I was crying out without even thinking, again and again: "YES!" I buried my fingers in Selina's locks when she dipped her tongue inside. I twisted when she squeezed her claws into my ass, leaving marks that would last several days, as my powers melted away. I yelled out when she nibbled on my clit. I was oh so close! But Selina pulled away just a moment too soon, leaving my body shivering and aching and empty. "Oh, no," I begged, totally powerless, not even able to stand on my own, "Please don't stop yet!" "Now let's not be greedy," Selina said, shaking her finger and licking her lips. "Remember, you promised to be good. You've had your fun, and now it's time to share." I nodded and reached out to her. I didn't resist her orders anymore. I only wanted to come now. "Oh, no, not with me," she replied. "Maybe you could start with the man who's holding you up. I think it's his turn. I think he earned it last night." What did she mean by that? I thought, but I forgot the question when the hands that had been supporting me let go, and I fell to the floor at his feet. When I looked up at him, he just grinned at me from behind his black mask. The cat-man. And then the cat-man lowered his pants, freeing the erection he had since I first saw him. His excitement hadn't waned, and seeing his excitement started my mouth watering. "On your hands and knees," Selina said, reaching down to slap my ass. I did as she told me without qualms. Her orders didn't seem like orders anymore. It was like her will became my will. I kneeled with my ass facing Selina and an audience behind her. I opened my knees slightly, wanting them to see my pussy, wanting someone to use it, to get me off, while I looked at the swollen dick being offered to me, and I took it in my hand. He was so hot, he might have had a fever. I glanced up at the cat-man, and his grin was gone. His mouth was open in expectation. Back down at eye level, a tiny drop of pre-cum emerged from his dick. I licked it off and circled the plump head with my tongue, but when I did, another drop replaced it. So I opened my mouth and took him in, working him like a Lifesaver with my tongue. I don't know why, but I really wanted to please him. Someone was behind me now, touching my pussy, stroking me with his finger. *Oh, please don't stop!* I arched my back, jutting my pussy up even higher. Now the finger found my clit and massaged it slowly. I couldn't think about the dick in my mouth anymore. I was coming fast again, and I needed to breath. But the cat-man was coming fast, too, and when I was about to release his dick, he suddenly grabbed my head and thrusted in deep. He would have pushed right to the back of my throat, if my hand wasn't in the way. He thrust again, and again. And then I felt my ass being lifted into the air, as someone thrust in from behind, pushing in his dick in so deep I could barely fit him. I had to gasp and take a breath, when the dick in my mouth came crashing in again. And again. And again, in rhythm, the dicks filled my pussy, filled my mouth, until I could barely tell them apart. I couldn't even move. My body was suspended in the air, my hair and my ass being pulled in both directions, tossing me like a rag doll, -- except for one hand that I had firmly planted on the ground. A million sensations overwhelmed me, but I focused on that hand, putting all of my strength into it, thinking that it was my anchor, and if it went, I would be lost. Suddenly, the cat-man stopped thrusting and pulled my hair until it hurt. I knew he was about to come, and I had a sudden impulse, something I had always fantasized about. I wrapped my lips around his dick tight, and I pressed hard against his dick with my tongue, cutting off his semen flow. I felt his dick shaking like a volcano ready to erupt, but he couldn't. He moaned in frustration. He thrust again, but only a drop escaped before I cut him off again. He needed to come so bad that he wouldn't let me stop him. He grabbed my hand, pulling it from his dick, and then he thrust until he hit the back of my throat. I opened my mouth in reflex, just as he exploded. His hot, salty essence escaped into my mouth, shocking me, riddling me with confusion. I didn't know what to think or how to feel. I didn't know whether he tasted good or bad. I didn't know whether to feel violated, or to accept his essence as a gift. I only know that I didn't *want* to feel violated. And I liked the way he was stroking my hair, now, making up for the pain he caused only a few moments ago. It was enough. It let me savor his salty taste before swallowing. It let me suck him until his plump red dick wouldn't give anymore and I needed some air. And now I could concentrate on the man behind me, who was fucking faster, now. *Oh please don't come too fast, now! Finish me off!* I don't know know if I ever wanted anything more in my life. I was almost hyperventilating, when two more hands grabbed my legs and lifted my ass high into the air, and the fucking accelerated. Each thrust gave me greater pleasure and increasing pain. My pussy was very sore, now, that my lubrication was all used up, and my powers were all but gone. I couldn't bear it, yet tears ran down my cheeks, and I yelled out: "Oh, oh! Don't stop!" He didn't stop, and now it was too late. Like magic, the unbearable aching and pain changed into a mind shattering orgasm. My arms gave way beneath me, and my head fell to the ground. The world was spinning, and I was screaming, as if in pain or terror, but I felt nothing like that. I felt . . . full. I felt relieved. I felt so fucking awesome that if it didn't stop soon, it just might kill me. I was barely conscious when I came again, or the third time. I only remember feeling my body spasm and my arms going limp. Before I knew it, it had stopped, and I was just lying there, naked on the floor, sprawled out, at peace. What had happened to me was like a dream, but I felt the hard cold waxed floor against my chest. I felt a cool breeze soothing my irritated pussy. The cat-man kneeled beside me and stroked my hair. I looked up at him. He had taken off his mask. I stared, thinking I should recognize him. He said, "Hi Linda with the great tasting pussy." Selina stood over me. Her tights were now soaking, and I felt strangely sorry for her. I was very confused, but I actually pitied her, that she had to work so hard to conquer me, that she plotted this rape fantasy so carefully, all for me and her friends, but not for herself. "Thanks for the entertainment," she said. "We must do it again some time." "You are going?" I asked, suddenly confused and disappointed. Then, as an afterthought, "What about the security guards?" "Didn't you guess?" she asked in amazement. "They aren't security guards. There is no bomb. They are just friends who wanted to be here. See?" she said with a smile as she grabbed a guard and kissed him hard on the lips. No, I had never guessed, and I felt a little angry and embarrassed at being fooled so easily. I tried to get up, but I could barely even manage sitting down. Selina, sensing my anger, raised her hand. "Don't bother trying to stop us. You won't get your powers back for at least ten more minutes yet." "Huh? How do you know that?" I asked. I didn't even know how long it would take. "My dear Supergirl," she smiled smugly, and she pushed me over with her boot, just to show her confidence. "Knowledge is everything. It's the only thing that keeps a vigilante alive and free. Tell Andrew that, like always, I was a step ahead of him." "What?" I asked, understanding her only a tiny bit at a time. The web I was caught in was much more intricate than I had imagined. "How do you know about Andrew?" "You mean he never told you? Really, you should know more about your friends before you put your trust in them." "We have to go now, before you get strong and angry and forget all the nice things we did for you." She gestured to the cat-man, "We owe her something to wear, after destroying her clothes." He dropped a very familiar purse onto my lap. "I hope you don't mind if I keep the cape," he said, grinning. "Just something to remember you by." And then they were gone, before I could rise to my feet. A few minutes later, just like Selina said, my powers were returning, but by then they were long gone, hiding among ten million faces in Gotham City. (continued...) -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |