By Dr. Dominator
Supergirl Captured by the Mob
Part 67 - Oh, Those Tricky Men And Women!
By Dr. Dominator
Note: The Supergirl character and name as well as Superman, Wonder Woman and Diana Prince are the property of DC Comics. Tony Bonano and his crew as well as Sergei Zhukovia and Don Lupenzo are properties of Dr. Dominator and cannot be used without permission. This story is simply meant as entertainment and should be read only by consenting adults of 18 years or older. Violence and rape are never an answer to any situation.
Supergirl, the gorgeous teenage marvel that the world had once cherished as its shining light of truth, justice, and might in the service of right, as well as the very personification of gentle goodness, was now drooling mindlessly, left in a thoroughly indecent pose after a drug-fueled sex orgy in the luxury penthouse suite of Tony Bonano's pleasure palace. She is on her knees, hunched over on the bed with her face buried in the bedspread, her bare tits pressed flat beneath her, arms flung out to either side and her naked ass jacked up high in the air. The iconic blonde guardian of justice slowly oozes warm, spent semen from her mouth, ass and vagina courtesy of the jizz-drained balls of a two-bit mob video technician. Her pink silk panties dangle over the precipice of the bed in the precarious likelihood of falling as surely as the famed Maid of Steel herself has fallen in her virtue and in her status as the planet's once most esteemed defender.
Drugged to near-moronic incompetence by her own addiction-driven actions, the once-renowned heroine can now only mumble incoherently and sigh with stupefied contentment at the thorough fucking she had enjoyed to the tune of four body-shuddering orgasms. Compelled by a combination of the blitzkrieg effects of all the crack she'd inhaled as well as her absolute capitulation to her status as captive whore for the Mafia, the famous blonde dynamo had blissfully offered and accepted any and all sexual positions and procedures initiated by Carlo Pastore.
The lowly young videographer had spent just under two hours exploring, violating, abusing and desecrating every inch of the beautiful, mentally-devastated heroine's body with all the energy and imagination he could muster. He'd packed and filled and then refilled her moist, deep velvety pussy time after time with a cock he never knew could be so hard. The heat of their friction as he battered away at her bare butt inflamed them both. He kissed her mouth until both sets of their lips were raw with the friction of it. He tit-fucked the willing blonde as she held her sweaty breasts tightly together for his pleasure in half-lidded, nodding subservience until he ejaculated over their smooth perspiration-glazed curves with arcing sprays of gluey white warmth. She let him linger there, allowing him to paint his milky jizz deep into her cleavage with his warm cock as he sighed in dreamy bliss. She was silent as a stone in her own swirling, head-nodding drug-infused imagination, barely aware of her surroundings until he slapped her back to cognition and had her pull her top down.
There was a brief interlude of shared wine and cheese, during which the mentally-deficient blonde beauty dribbled a fine vintage Pinot Noir down her chin and gummed her crackers and brie into a crumbling mess that dusted her swelling bosom with floury flakes and smeared dots of runny, half-chewed brie. After that, a rejuvenated Carlo roughly face-fucked the famous teenage champion. She had knelt in drugged, docile compliance on the bedroom carpet, her drooping head even with his spread knees. Her pink silk panties edged out from under the hem of her pink t-shirt, the curves of her cute round ass stretching the material tight across her glutes. Supergirl's muscular calves flexed in the gleaming in the light and her toes wiggled in the soft nap of the carpet as she dully awaited Carlo's next command.
"Open your mouth, slut, so I can stick my dick in it."
Supergirl opened her mouth wide and waited for Carlo's cock. The young mafia hoodlum sat on the edge of the bed, took Supergirl's long blonde hair in his tight fist and pushed his penis into the blonde heroine's mouth. He slowly slid it along her tongue, then pulled it out, then slowly moved it deeply back in to the back of her throat.
"Okay, Super Whore. Go to work."
"..whhuuhht...?.." She had replied, her mouth wrapped around his rod, her flat blue irises searching his face in dazed confusion.
"Suck me off, jizz bag!"
"..ohh...ohtay..." So she did. Her crack-stunted brain given a simple direction focused on the task She got his penis hard and wet with a loyal slathering earnestness that pleased the young man. He then energetically pumped his shining, saliva-coated tool down her noisy, gulping throat over and over until she helplessly gagged into his balls in purple-faced fear. Finally he had to pull out of her mouth to let her breathe. The stoned, gasping heroine had harshly coughed up a thick drippy mouthful of white phlegm onto her chest with the clumpy residue sliding down the bright red heart imprinted on the pale pink t-shirt in a slow, humiliating crawl of wet shame.
Supergirl looked down at the jizz-drizzled heart and pouted. It wasn't the horribly degrading situation that had her lower lip rolled down. It was the fact that it smelled really bad. Nevertheless, when commanded to resume, the once-mighty heroine wrinkled her nose a bit then, with a dull nod of half-lidded stupidity, submissively took him back onto her drooling limp tongue and into her mouth. When she was too slow to begin, Carlo prompted her with an annoyed "Get to it, bitch!"
Supergirl then began sucking on his dick like a kitten with a freshly-proffered chicken bone searching out the spicy sweet marrow. She lapped and sucked, pulled and batted, playfully gnawed at and tongue-flicked his penis until brought him off: a phenomenal blowjob of remarkable persistence and skill considering her befuddled condition. She'd swallowed every creamy ounce he spewed into her blown-out cheeks then cleaned his cock as directed with her perfect, sultry, soft warm mouth.
Twenty minutes later, after they'd both enjoyed a last soothing glass of the sweet Pinot Noir from the bedside bottle, Supergirl partook of another powerful pull of crack smoke. Carlo then ordered the bleary-eyed blonde teenage champion to kneel on the bed, pull up her t-shirt to expose her tits and offer up her ass. Inundated by her swirling drug euphoria and brutally trained to do exactly as she was commanded, Supergirl assumed the position without any hesitation and the mob video wizard went to town on her beautiful rear end. He massaged her soft, squeezable buttocks, his hands roaming within her pink silk panties, his knuckles stretching out the fabric as he fondled the drugged heroine's magnificent ass. After a moment, he pulled his hands out of her panties and pulled them down until they were stretched across her thighs. Then he probed her vagina with a well-greased roving finger, swirling petroleum jelly from the bedside table drawer over and around her clit that drew jerking gasps from the kneeling teen. He then repeated the finger greasing with her asshole, swiping the yellowish gel all around the fleshy pink knothole and then forcing his digit into the tight recesses of the resistant muscles that drew more gasps from the passive Maid of Steel. Finally, the young thug centered his dick between the blonde teenager's buttocks and slowly and forcefully pressed his rigid boner as far up Supergirl's ass as he possibly could. Inch by inch he invaded her rear, forcing forward then retreating, boldly pressing onward in fits and starts down the length of her anal cavity until he was balls deep inside his heavily drugged Kryptonian prize.
The bent-over blonde champion who could once terraform planets to provide irrigation to thirsty colonies, was now mentally incapable of anything but drooling on the rose-colored comforter in slack-jawed feeblemindedness as her breasts were gripped and her hoisted round butt was slowly at first and then more and more rapidly reamed by Carlo's hot driving cock. Noisy, fleshy slaps of his hips on her rear kept a beat with the constancy of a metronome. Over and over the hot seven-inch dick stroked in and out of Supergirl's butt-hole while nimble fingers teased her nipples, fondled her tits, tickled her clit and finally gripped her whole pussy firmly with a long, twitching ring finger inserted inside her.
Simmering in the juices of her crack-heightened sexuality, the illustrious Last Daughter of Krypton whimpered and writhed in helpless carnal incompetence, her mind obliterated with pleasure, her body a willing advocate for her own humiliation. No angry yelps of defiance issued from Supergirl; no fierce growls of cagey resistance were voiced; no struggling maneuvers of athletic protest occurred. Instead, throaty moans of inordinate pleasure rose loudly from within the muffled confines of the comforter. Excited squeals of tickled joy erupted from the bed's soft depths. Shouts of ecstatic release rumbled up to the ears of the crouching, thrusting mafia flunky as he drove his rock-hard muscular tool between Supergirl's soft sweat-glistened quivering butt-cheeks with total abandon. Forward and back, in and out, thrust and withdraw, the stalwart penis invaded the dazed and delighted Maid of Steel's twitching pink anus again and again.
The glorious friction of her tight teenage ass was virtually unbearable to both of the sweat-drenched players. Beads of perspiration formed on the back of the crouched blonde's neck. It pasted loose, stringy blonde hairs to her brow. It trickled down her quivering thighs. Carlo sported round spreading sweat stains of his own as he continued to stroke away at the moaning heroine on the bed beneath him.
Finally, with her tits roughly fondled, her clit vibrated rapidly by a flicking fingertip and her ass packed to capacity with the urgent heat of a hard-driving, rapidly thrusting and retreating cock, Supergirl's mind flooded with the ultimate pleasure of a full-body, clitoral and anal orgasm of epic grandness. Screaming mindlessly into the drool-soaked comforter, the blonde champion's body shuddered wildly in a paroxysm of pure ecstacy.
Her pink-painted toenails vibrated as her toes curled in delight. Her buttocks shimmied like tires hitting a pothole. Her knees quivered in place even as she came in a gushing stream of total pleasure. The embodiment of this joy drenched Carlo's tool with slick warmth that sent him over the edge of ecstacy himself. Gripping Supergirl's trembling body, holding her sweat-slicked wobbling tits, clamping his legs against her bare shaky thighs, Carlo came hard inside the mighty heroine's ass. He hosed her with a hot jet of semen that seemed endlessly fed. Thick flushing gobs of it filled the teenage champion's rear as she bowed beneath him in dazed, whimpering gratitude. His palm cupped between her legs, holding her womanhood, felt the warm, gushing release of his and her carnal fulfillment. It filled his hand and he wiped it on her hot thigh. Enjoying the spasming warmth of her pussy, he cradled it again and still the fluids drained from her two orifices there, an endless fountain of pleasure. They held that pose for a full minute, both panting hard in the room's warm afterglow.
Then, releasing her breast, Carlo took that hand and pulled back on Supergirl's sweaty hair and held the cum-filled palm up to her face. She thought she was being asked to lick the small puddle there but, instead, he smeared her face with it as she bent her head with her tongue extended. The cum, a slick hasty swipe of white war paint stroked both cheeks and dappled her chin. Dazed and bewildered by his sudden cruelty, Supergirl's clouded blue eyes welled up and she tried to bury her face once again in the comforter but Carlo would not have it. Filled with his conquest, emboldened by the success of his own savagery, the young man suddenly slid off the bed and dragged the awkward, flailing Maid of Steel before the mirrored closet door, holding her there rigidly by her hair and her tits.
"See yourself, Supergirl. That's my semen spread all across your face. That's my seed you willingly gulped. You are mine, bitch. Others may take you but you'll always be mine in your soul. Understand?"
The drug-befuddled blonde looked at her image in the mirror, peering blearily at her slack-jawed, cum-smeared face, her ungainly bent-knee stance, her exposed tits with the white flakes of dried cum clustered over their roundness. She noted the tight glowing green collar, her sallow and sickly complexion, the dark circles beneath her eyes, the flat, lifeless irises, the hoisted disheveled t-shirt, the thin trails of cum lining her inner thighs and down her calves. And suddenly, the druggy fog thinned enough and dispersed enough so that Supergirl stared with fresh horror at what she had become in the mirror.
"Dear Rao! That can't be me?" Kara couldn't believe the image reflected there was really who she was. She'd fallen so far, so very far. "That just can't be what I've bec....OOONNFF!"
Without warning, Carlo sucker-punched the horrified teenager in the gut, driving her to her knees in gasping, airless helplessness. Wheezing like a broken pitch pipe, the defenseless blonde was dragged back to the bed and thrown on her back, her bare legs sprawled in opposite directions. From his pants pocket, Carlo whipped out a switchblade, flicked it open and held it at the distraught and confused heroine's throat.
"You got about three-quarters of a nugget left in this pipe, Supergirl," he said, taking it off the bedside table and handing the blue glass pipe to her. "Finish it up and I'll finish you up."
Deeply weakened by the kryptonite collar, still foggy and flustered by the ghostly remaining eddies of crack circling though her system and terrorized by the gleaming sharp knife at her throat, the trembling blonde took the crack pipe as commanded and held it her mouth. Warily reaching past a vigilant Carlo's shoulder, she squeezed the matchbook on the night table between her trembling fingers and retracted her arm. Shaking badly, she was not able to strike the match cleanly. Finally on the third try, it lit and she held the flame to the bowl of the crack pipe and inhaled. The signature crackling of the cocaine nugget as it ignited filled the silent moment and the gray smoke flowed through the pipe barrel and into the lungs of the terrorized Maid of Steel.
Ten seconds later, the terror gave way to dreamy compliance, the blackout curtains were drawn once more on her keen intelligence, and the mighty Supergirl slumped down sideways onto the sweat-reeking comforter, stupidly bewildered into numb acceptance by the potent crack.
The moment Carlo could get it up again, Supergirl was roughly fucked from behind, with the young Mafioso spooning her and thrusting roughly into her slippery snatch for several minutes. His arms circled her, pinning her in place. Then he pulled out and switched back to her tight pink anus, hoisting her rump in the air and steadying her on her knees. He simultaneously butt-fucked the mighty maiden's ass and finger-fucked her pink clenching twat until the Kryptonian beauty came four times in her drug-bloated confusion, a whimpering snot-draining mess. After he pulled his cock out of the blonde teenager's ass, Carlo rested on the bed beside the hunched beauty, stretched out with his ankles crossed, palms cradling his head and smiling smugly at the humiliated champion moaning softly beside him, her violated orifices leaking his cum.
Maid of Steel? What a load of crap!
Carlo had never seen Supergirl in all her full-powered glory. Certainly not in person. Sure, he'd seen her exploits on YouTube and the news, and saw her picture in the newspapers plenty of times. But that seemed like a whole different person than the mumbling moronic skank that was dripping his cum here on the bed beside him. He couldn't believe this cum-coated submissive little twat was even the same person. She wasn't even that pretty anymore. He wondered if Tony had captured some second rate super stand-in. She sure didn't seem heroic, not like Wonder Woman who showed some spunk now and then. Carlo looked forward to fucking a real heroine like her. Although this blonde bitch's holes were warm and tight. He'd give her that!
A moment later, Carlo's musings were interrupted. He heard Remo Gianti call out that he was finished. Alarmed and wondering where Sergei was and what he should do, Carlo finally decided to sneak back into the control room through the hidden doorway in the bedroom's walk-in closet. Over the speaker, he announced to Remo that someone would be up shortly and quickly phoned Carmine's cell.
"Yeah," the big mobster answered gruffly.
"Don Gianti has concluded his business up here with Wonder Woman and Sergei's not around," Carlo said worriedly.
"I'll be right up," Carmine replied and cut off the call.
* * *
Carlo decides that he must act quickly now. Rushing into the small bathroom next to the control room, the mob videographer makes himself as presentable as possible, combing his hair and drying his armpits rapidly with a towel. Then he has a thought. He dashes back into the bedroom, manhandling the limp Supergirl out of her ass-high, face down drooling pose of carnal confusion until she lies on her back on the bed. He pulls down the pink t-shirt so it covers her breasts, smoothing out the heart emblem and copping a final feel of her knockers, then pulls the comforter briskly over her body with a rushed yank. Leaning over, he threatens the dazed blonde teen that if she mentions one word of what happened to anyone, he'll knife her in the back when she doesn't have her powers.
"Get me, bitch? You're mine, Supercunt. Don't forget it!"
"...yours..." comes her druggy, slurred reply. Carlo then runs back to the control room and begins checking the video record and starts his editing of the session between the hog-tied Wonder Woman and Don Remo Gianti. His eyes widen as he sees the treatment that the famous Amazon had received from the perverted don.
"Man, do I love this job," he exclaims.
Moments later, Carmine bids the Don Gianti goodbye, promising him a video record of his morning in a few days time.
"How did it go?" Carmine asks Carlo in the control room afterward, noting the disheveled appearance of the videographer.
"It was very busy. Don Gianti had me hopping. Uh, sorry how I look, I, uh, had to suddenly dash around for a back up DVD so I wouldn't lose any of the sequence. It got a little hot during all the excitement. And there was no Sergei to lend a hand. But... uh...there was no dangerous hanky panky," lies Carlo. He hasn't seen the whole session but if something had occurred, he can just edit it out.
"Sergei has been delegated to other tasks for now," Carmine says. "You'll have to keep watch on what happens in these sessions yourself. Can you handle that?"
"Good. Stevie said you were ambitious."
"I want to help you and Tony, whatever it takes."
"Thanks, Carlo. How's Supergirl doing, by the way. What was she doing during Remo's session?"
"Oh, uh, Sergei told me to give her a double dose of crack so that's what I did. She's still laid out in her bedroom, stoned to the gills."
"Ahh, well. Some of us have it easier than others I guess, huh?" Carmine winks at the young man.
"Yeah, lying around all day, taking drugs and fucking on demand," Carlo grins. "Tough life, huh?"
"Well, she earns her keep. If things work out maybe you may even have a shot at Supergirl yourself, Carlo. Just keep your nose to the grindstone and work your way up. Who knows," advises the beefy Mafia don with coy condescension.
"Wow, really, Carmine?" Carlo looks at him with wide eyes filled with hope.
"Sure thing, kid. Anything's possible. But I gotta get back to Tony. We've got some big planning to do. Keep your powder dry, newbie. You're doing great so far."
"Hey thanks, Carmine. That means a lot coming from you."
"No sweat, kid. Later. And have that DVD of Remo's ready by tonight, okay?"
"No sweat, Carmine," the young videographer parrots back to the departing mobster, a huge leering smile flashing there that the older man doesn't see as he heads for the elevator.
* * *
The bare-chested, black-haired man sits up on the bed wearing only sagging, grayish underwear, his head leaning against the headboard as he works on his Kool menthol cigarette, taking a long hard draw on it. It's his third in less than a hour. A half-finished fifth of Smirnoff vodka is close at hand and Sergei takes it off the bedside table. Barely moving the smoking cigarette off to the side, the scowling Russian swigs a generous gulp from the tilted glass container then waves it at the television set on the dresser across from the foot of the bed. There's no sound coming from the set for the moment but the grainy black and white visual shows a tall blonde man standing sideways at the CVS checkout counter facing the doorway. This is Sergei's fourth viewing of the video. The news on all channels have been running it for the past three hours complete with commentary and phone numbers on the bottom of the screen to call if the viewer has seen the tall blonde Russian. For now, Sergei has turned off the sound, bored with the commentary by the reporters doing voice over of the action. He provides his own commentary.
The clerk in the video is standing off to his right of the man while a woman kneels beside a stroller to his left. Sergei watches himself take a step back behind the kneeling woman.
"Good move, Sergei!" He calls out loudly then looks chagrined as he realizes his deep voice can carry through thin motel walls. "Smart play getting behind the woman and her baby," he repeats in a soft whisper. "Fuckers should have opened up right there. No talking, just shooting. Dumb bastards. Would have had me easily. Look I don't even have my gun out yet!" He rasps noisily at the set with harsh quiet fierceness, his pride showing.
He watches the scene unfold in slow motion and comments on it ruefully, playfully, even sarcastically in turns as the scene plays yet again before him.
"And still they do not shoot. I am holding the woman but who is she to them? They have job to do yet do nothing. She should be this Swiss cheese by now. Idiots to give me a chance."
He takes another drag on the Kool, watching the small screen. "Maybe they think Arkadi will surprise me, the dumb prick. A fancy set up, nyet? Nyet! So obvious is this moronic Russian stooge. Look, I barely move my wrist, he is dead now. Too bad for you, motherfucker. Tumble among your crashing cigarette display like a soulless puppet. Gone from this life and no one cares." He takes a quick swig of vodka.
"Finally, they decide to shoot. One miss for man on left. One hit for man on right. Oh but sorry, Right guy, you hit the woman and not Sergei who is quick motherfucker ducker, yes? Tsk, tsk. Someone is to be needing practice at shooting range I am thinking." Sergei flashes a wolfish grin.
"And now look who is shot. It is Left man. Would have got you in the heart if collapsing woman hadn't pulled my aim, limp dick! But that shoulder doesn't look so healthy, wop pig! So, woman is useless now, so toss her at stupid gunmen. Right! Just so, Sergei, like that! And like mannequins they stand there yet. Mafia greenhorn shitbags! Here now, duck quick, mafia retards! Here comes stroller with baby right at you. Duck little gunmen fucks. Cry little baby, cry. Sergei is to be retreating now. Bye bye." Sergei waves the bottle up and down in the air before he takes another drink from it.
"Now I am by the toilet paper. Can you see me? No. But someone is lucky shot and almost clips me. Time for Sergei to move ass to canned goods. Look hard, mafia goons. Look for Sergei the Mad Russian Bear. He will claw you bad. Be careful and slow and stupid, goon men. Where is the Sergei? Take a shot, Left man. Close but no cigar this time. Too bad for you. How about you, Right man? What? Oh you'd rather skull-crease the slow-rising woman than kill Sergei. Good for you then. Do that." Sergei shakes his head and chuckles like he's watching a comedy even as the woman falls back with her skull bloody, her body limp.
"Now is time for lucky Russian to vamoose, nyet? But wait, he hears noise by Left moron sneaking low to kill Sergei. So, Sergei can be sneaky, too. Look, mafia man, Sergei does sliding cowboy trick on slick tile floor, his guns blazing and now you are shot in face and very dead. Too bad for you but no time for flowers, Sergei has to crawl away low. Crawl away fast, Sergei. Crawl now!"
Finishing the cigarette with a final hard pull, Sergei reaches over and drops it in the plastic drinking cup half-filled with water and crowded with many floating orange filters of earlier smokes.
"Ah, yes, the funniest moment comes now. We are at double doors at rear of store. Now comes through CVS apron teenager enjoying his music. Who is this blonde man who is spinning around me? And why now is my neck gushing blood? This is a bad day to be me, let me tell you. Better fall down and bleed out now. Goodbye, blonde man. Glad I could take a bullet for you. Anytime. Call me. I am in the book. Gurgle, gurgle." Sergei is almost weeping in his laughter. He takes another large pull from the vodka bottle and hoists it in a toast to the CVS employee.
"To all the innocent bystanders in life. Long may you be there for me. Too bad the video didn't get me clocking the driver and stealing his semi. Ah well. Was a fun day or what, nyet? Oh, what fun!"
Sergei slowly rises off the bed and goes over to look in the mirror hanging over the far end of the dresser at the dye job he'd done on his hair and eyebrows. Not bad. The beard and mustache were shaved and he felt with a baseball cap and sunglasses, he'd be disguised enough to do some more shopping for provisions in a little while.
Walking over to the front window, he carefully parts the heavy curtains hiding him from the world and looks out at the highway outside with cars streaming by in a never-ending river of red taillights, white headlights and the splashing spray of an early-evening shower. Across the highway from the hotel sits a very large shopping mall. Sergei had never gone to Connecticut. That was just something he'd told Tony to throw even him off the trail. Right now Sergei is standing in his skivvies, slightly drunk and wavering in place in an inexpensive hotel in Paramus, New Jersey. It's just crowded enough and anonymous enough to work for a few days. Until he can figure out where to go and what to do.
* * *
Sitting in the coffee shop on the ground floor of the Pleasure Dome, Tony has the morning editions of the New York Post and The Daily News laid out on the table before him. Carmine is sipping coffee across from him in the booth, reading the papers upside down. Splashed across the front pages of both newspapers is the identical photo, the video capture of a baby in its stroller flying in mid-air with Sergei in the act of throwing it in the foreground and two mafia goons diving to opposite sides in the background.
The New York Post headline reads "MOBSTERS TOSS NO HITTER" with a large caption under the picture declaring "Bungled mob hit in Bronx pharmacy leaves two dead, two critical and one badly-bruised baby. Story on page 3."
Meanwhile the Daily News front page screams "GIVE THIS BUM THE HEAVE HO!" while underneath the photo of the thrown stroller runs the line: "Russian Mobster Tosses Baby in Bronx Hit Gone Bad. Story inside."
"Well, this is just about as bad as I thought it would be," Tony scowls. "I get mentioned about halfway through both stories. I think we might have Gino to thank for that. He's putting on as much pressure as possible before our meeting to soften up my position. Can't say the bastard's not smart."
"He's definitely a crafty guy. He's been around a long time and I don't see him losing his grip much," Carmine agrees. "You get a call from O'Donnell about this yet?"
"Eight o'clock on the dot. We may get the whole warrant and search routine again. This time for Sergei. We may have to move the girls back to Brooklyn one more time," Tony says glumly.
"Hmmm. No Sergei and no Stevie. We're running low on truly reliable help,"
"Tell me about it."
"I'm not sure I'd trust Carlo heading up that team yet. He's too raw for it."
"I agree. And I need you here for when O'Donnell comes snooping. So I may just have to lead the team myself and use the guys from the raid on Gino's headquarters. Everyone performed well on that one."
"Sounds okay to me. The girls are pretty hooked now so I think they won't be much of a problem long as you keep 'em doped up."
"Agreed," Tony nods. He takes a sip of his coffee. "Did you read that we're setting new sales records on the Wonder Woman DVD series."
"Page 57, under the TV listings in the Post. Fastest selling DVD series ever. It's early yet so the totals don't come up to you know, that Harry Potter thing or the Lord of the Rings series. But we got out of the gate faster than those two."
Carmine picks up the newspaper and peels through it until he finds the article. He skims it quickly. Damn, did you know we were hitting these numbers? And how'd they get these anyway? We're not a public company. Whose giving them this info?"
"Relax, Carmine. They poll the video stores regularly and work up estimates. Actually, I haven't gotten a report today but I'm thinking they're not far from the truth. At this rate we'll top $250 million before the month's out."
"Well, shit, Tony. Why don't we just retire somewhere. Who needs this fucking shit storm?"
Tony looks runs his fingers around the top edge of the coffee cup, frowning. "Shit storm is right!"
"But hell, you've gone through worse," Carmine consoles his protege.
"Not quite like this. Not from all sides at once. This is going to take some pretty fast tap dancing to get out of this one," Tony replies.
"Well, at least we've got a truce until then, so nobody's gonna get whacked. Got a plan yet?" Carmine looks straight at Tony.
"I've got something I'm working on," Tony answers, looking up and back into Carmine's concerned face. "A little misdirection maybe. I have to think it through."
"Care to share?"
"I'm still working out the angles and details. Once that's done, I'll review it with you. See if you can poke holes in it."
"Alright. But we're running out of time," Carmine cautions. "The meeting's tomorrow night at 5 o'clock."
"Yup" Tony stares into the black abyss that is his coffee cup. "I realize that, Carmine." He lifts the fine china and slowly drinks the bitter black brew in silence.
* * *
"HEY GALS AND PALS, IT'S 9:15 IN THE A.M. HERE IN SUNNY DUBUQUE."
Kal wakes up suddenly, a blaring radio alarm clock going off somewhere to his left.
"YOU'RE TUNED TO OLDIES RADIO 990, FRIENDS, AND WE'RE GOING TO GET YOUR DAY OFF TO A ROCKIN' START..."
Kal turns on his side, blurry and confused from the depths of his sleep. He awkwardly reaches over toward the maximize-volumed voice of the annoying disc jockey and finds the clock through slitted eyes on the night table.
"...WITH THIS CLASSIC FROM THE BRUCE MAN. MR SPRINGSTEEN HIMSELF SINGING HIS BIGGEST HIT AND ONE OF YOUR FAVORITES. TAKE IT, BRUCIE!"
Kal sees an array of small buttons on the top of the clock. He pushes one but nothing happens.
The famous gravelly voice kicks in with high energy: "BORN IN THE U.S...AAY...AAY. BORN IN THE U.S...AAY...AAY... ..." Kal pushes down the button on the far left to finally silence the infernal noise. The old-style analog face reads 9:16.
Looking around, Kal realizes that he has woken up in a four-poster bed within a well-furnished pale blue bedroom with dramatic seascape oil paintings on the walls. The biggest one commands his attention on the opposite wall. It shows an older, wind-blown, white-haired sailor in a black beret and stained white tunic with a red scarf standing at the bow of a large row boat filled with seamen. He's hurling a harpoon at the back of a gray whale head in the translucent green water a mere six feet away from his boat. Caught in mid-flight, it's obvious that the harpoon cannot miss. Equally obvious is the eye of the whale just above the rugged wave from which he rises. The center of the painting -all light seems directed there- is the eye. And the eye glistens with awareness of the plight the beast will endure. It is at once morose but accepting, cold with certainty yet glinting with rage. It foretells the doom of not just the single animal but the species itself somehow. It's an incredibly captivating work of art that Kal has to pull his eyes away from, reluctantly. Overhead track lights dimly spread pale white circles on the navy blue bedspread, but they're unnecessary because to his right, glossy blue wood shutters over a full wall of windows allow sunlight to pour through the open slats in brilliant sunny streams that stripe the dark blue carpet. It's clearly morning.
Well-rested with a surprising amount of energy within him, Kal flings aside the covers and sits up with his feet on the floor. Astonishingly, he discovers that he is dressed in his full Superman uniform, complete with cape; and it's perfectly clean, in superb condition. No green slime stains, no trace elements of kryptonite radiation remain to weaken him. Only his boots are off and they're just a few feet away, standing against the side wall, gleaming red, poised and ready to go. Kal shakes his head and actually pinches his arm hard to see if he's dreaming. The pinch hurts enough to tell him this is real. He doesn't feel quite super powered but he sure feels better than he has in months, certainly as strong as a very physically fit human male, maybe a touch more.
What the hell is going on? Where am I? More importantly, where is Lex Luthor? And why would he leave me unattended like this?
Without waiting another second, Kal walks over, picks up his boots then returns to the bed, sits down and pulls them on one at a time.
"This is too good to be true. Luthor is up to something," he murmurs to himself. Got to be very, very careful here, Kal. This is obviously some kind of trap but still it's going to be your one and only chance to escape. Have to be on guard moment to moment.
Walking to the window wall, Kal looks out to see an expanse of grassy flatness with white buildings clustered here and there many yards away. There are no people anywhere. No guards with guns. The window is very thick. Probably bulletproof. No way out that way without my super powers.
Going over to the only door, a hesitant Kal cautiously grasps the doorknob and turns it. Locked! He twists harder and hears the strain of metal within the mechanism. Kal gives the knob another hard twist and pull.
SNAP! THUNK! SPROING!
The door swings open easily in Kal's hand, the lock broken for good.
I'm getting my powers back! Slowly but they're coming! Kal stays in place for a moment, purposely damping down on his rising enthusiasm. He has to be cold-blooded and careful, always thinking. Too much is at stake. Grim-faced now, he opens the door wider and peers out to see a wide chamber outside his room. It is octagonal, easily 20 feet across, and, like the bedroom, beautifully decorated with oils, a mixture of sunny landscapes, portraits and battle scenes, with one stunning work after another on each separate cream-colored wall surrounding the door from which he peers. If this is still Luthor's place, he has to give the man credit for his taste in art. Every work is masterful.
Glancing up, he sees the ceiling must be 50 feet high. Some sort of golden hanging ornament dangles from the roof of this amazing foyer. From his vantage point he cannot tell exactly what the ornament is, but the bottom of it has beautiful black scroll work around a center recessed golden square. Cautiously, he steps out into the octagonal room. The temperature is comfortable and the silence is pervasive. Kal looks for a second doorway but there seems to be no other than the doorway in which he stands. Odd. There was no other apparent exit from the bedroom than this door. Walking across the beautiful cream-and rose-colored marble floor of the octagonal room, Kal looks sharply for seams that would indicate trap doors or hidden passages. Focusing intently on the octagonal-shaped center slab of dark green marble he realizes his x-ray vision is looking behind the marble to a cement floor and beyond that to bare dirt and steel pilings.
Another super power, though minimal still, is at his command. At full power, he could see through to the earth's core.
This is great! Kal grunts with a rush of satisfaction at this. Then, once again, Kal presses hard against his rising enthusiasm.Cold, Kal. Ice cold. Analyze every....
"Hello? Is somebody there?" A female voice floats down from the ornament overhead and Kal looks up. He trains his eyes on the base of the hanging ornament and looks through the gold-painted iron floor to see a stunning golden blonde woman in a yellow leotard, thigh-high bright blue boots with a matching skirt and cape suspended by her wrists by manacles on each end of a wide gold bar inside the gold-painted cage. Inadvertently, his eyes pierce the yellow fabric of her crotch under her skirt and he sees the pink lips of her labia and her triangle of light brown pubic hair.
Not a natural blonde.
A bit embarrassed at his lack of eye control, he raises his gaze a bit. On her chest is a double F emblem in blue letters superimposed over a yellow silhouette of a bird in a pale pink circle. Behind the insignia, two pert pink nipples extend outward, slightly excited.
I'm definitely out of practice with my x-ray vision!
Kal is not familiar with this superheroine but then again, he's been missing in action for a couple of months now. Who knows what's been going on out there?
"Is someone there. I could use a little help here! Really!" The voice is more urgent now.
Pushing off, Kal tests his ability to fly. He can do it a bit, hovering a mere foot above the marble floor. But it's very slow going, like swimming through a current pushing against him. He's able to slowly ascend toward the golden cage overhead but it's painfully slow.
"I'm coming for you, miss," Kal calls out.
"Who is that? Who are you?"
"I'm Superman," Kal replies, meaning it for the first time in a long while.
"Thank god. Superman! I'm saved. Oh, please hurry."
But he really can't. The rise up the octagonal room is annoyingly slow. This power of flight is always the last one to be fully reinstated. He probably already has a good measure of invulnerability. A fair amount of heat vision is probably back, too. In fact, he looks down at the slowly retreating floor and shoots a beam of red at the marble floor. As it heats up, the warm air helps him rise a bit faster but still it's a slow process. He's not quite twenty feet off the ground now, less than halfway to the cage.
"What's going on? Where are you?"
"I'm on my way, Miss. I...uh...am..not...at full strength yet..."
"Well, get here, buddy! I've been hanging here for hours."
Disturbed at her demanding tone, Superman calls out as he continues his snail-like ascent, "Who are you?"
"I'm the Fabulous Finch."
"Ahh...okay," Kal says. "Are you a new heroine?"
"Yeah. I'm a newbie. But I have stopped, you know, like ten robberies in Dubuque in my first month already! Oh, and I stopped the Mad Marauders and got back the Landwell boy when they kidnapped him. Got a big write up in all the Iowan papers and stuff. Even a reward. Why? You mean you've never heard of me?"
"..uh..well. I've been out of action recently." It's bad form to tell a hero or heroine he or she is not famous and Kal is nothing if not polite.
"Yeah! I heard that, now that you mention it. Something to do with Wonder Woman. But you're okay now. You can save me now. Once you get here I mean?"
There was that annoying tone again. Expectation meets exasperation. It was most unbecoming for a heroine, especially one who is held captive from a hanging bar.
The Fabulous Finch...hmmm. The literal bird in a gilded cage. This had to be one of Luthor's traps.
Kal slows his already sluggish ascent and looks around. He should be flying faster by now. Even this power shouldn't be taking so long to return. Admittedly he'd been under the effects of kryptonite for over eight weeks by his crude reckoning so that could be it. Maybe he'll never again be at the full strength he'd had before. Who knows how severely Luthor's torturous experiments and abuse had affected him.
Kal's confidence dwindles as he hangs there in mid-air appraising his situation. The girl could be a set up. She certainly didn't seem like the heroine type, except for the fantastic body she had. Even through solid steel and gold paint, he'd seen a shape that was charged with erotic appeal. There was no denying that. Of course, hanging there for hours would make anyone impatient so he could understand her anxiety causing stress that came out as irritation. Hell, he was irritated as well at the slowness of his powers returning. Looking up, he sees he has about 10 feet or so left to go to reach the cage bottom. And he notices the cream-colored walls now seem to have a soft rosy glow to them. There were horizontal windows at the very top of the ceiling circling the roof. Could they be tinted? It was certainly much too late for sunrise and too early for sunset to create that kind of effect.
Suddenly, Kal realizes he's been passing small inset rings of square panels circling the octagon. Each little square has it's own red painted rose on it. He'd unconsciously been appreciating their beauty during his slow ascent past two of these rings circling the octagon but now he realized they must be the source of the rose-colored tint to the cream walls. Some of the roses seemed brighter than the others, almost glowing like they'd been varnished. And then it hit him. They didn't just seem to be glowing. Some of them were glowing!
"What's the hold-up down there, Superman?"
There's that tone again! Kal looks up to the bottom of the cage and peers through it. He can't even see through to the girl now. He is losing his powers! Nearly forty feet in the air and he definitely feels himself getting weaker. This is not good! He is losing altitude now at an alarming rate. And suddenly there is a scream as the cage bottom swings open. The Fabulous Finch's manacles release automatically and her body drops toward Superman's instinctively upraised arms. Kal catches the beautiful creature with a harsh grunt, her rump draped low in his arms, her face suddenly directly in his, grimacing. Her body is impossibly heavy with gravity. And with that, the beautiful heroine and the shocked and helpless Man of Steel plummet disastrously to the hard marble floor fifteen feet below.
* * *
Tony Bonano sits quietly in the luxurious overstuffed leather armchair with a throwaway cell phone in his hand. The curtains are all drawn and only a table lamp is on. In the dimness of his suite, Tony inputs a rarely used phone number on the keypad of his phone. He puts the cheap device to his ear and listens to it ring three times before his call is answered.
"Yes?" A woman's voice, soft and alluring, purrs in his ear.
"I'm going to need you after all."
"I had a feelin' you would, dahlin'," the voice coos.
"Like we discussed. I'll wire you the amount we agreed on when it's done."
"No, you'll wiah half now. The othah half when it's done."
"Why the change in arrangements?"
"You got new issues, new risks, sugah. That makes it riskiah for me. That's why."
"Fine," Tony sighs. "It'll be in your account in 15 minutes. Just hold up your end."
"And when have I not, precious?"
"You left me a little in the lurch last time."
"Nothing y'all couldn't handle."
"Cross me and you'll regret it."
"Threats? That's not smaht foah a man in your position. You gettin' a teeny bit nervous, honeybun?"
"You can be a loose cannon sometimes, that's all."
"You have no ahdeah how loose I can be, sugah. Especially when y'all piss me off."
The connection clicks off and Tony grimaces at the phone. What did she mean by that? Will she, in fact, hold up her end now? Tony doesn't like how the call had ended at all. Can he count on this bitch now? So much depends on her. But he's out of options at this point. The meet is tomorrow night. It's his only play.
Tony bounces the phone up and down in his hand thinking hard. Then he dials a second number.
"It's Tony B."
"This is a new number for you. I almost didn't pick up."
"I'm on a throwaway."
"Things are pretty fucked up there I see. The Russian got his ass in a sling. He's lucky he's alive. And now you're drawing the heat."
"Exactly, which is why I need you here to do what we talked about."
"I'll be there in the morning to help take care of my end."
"Thanks. I appreciate it and you'll be paid what we discussed."
"For all you've done for me, Ton, I'm wavin' the fee."
"That's not necessary."
"Consider it a gift."
"You're too generous."
"I wouldn't be where I am without you, Tony. We both know that. I'm happy to be able to help. See you tomorrow. I gotta pack."
"Okay. Tomorrow, I'll have a guy meet your flight. What's the number?"
"United 1157. Terminal A. Newark. I'm calling as soon as I hang up to book it. That flight's never full, so it shouldn't be a problem. If there's a change, I'll let you know."
"Alright. See ya," Tony says.
"Yup," the man replies and hangs up.
Next, Tony places a call to his accountant to arrange the wire transfer to the woman's account. It was a hefty fee but it would be worth it if everything worked out. A very big "if!"
Almost everything's in place. All that's left is the name of the meeting place, and Tony won't know that until 30 minutes beforehand. The mediator, Don Baldini, the venerated old-time Boss of All Bosses was the one who'd pick the place so neither he nor Gino would have an advantage. More likely than not it would be in Manhattan, but Tony couldn't even be sure of that. Timing was critical on this. Now all he can do is wait until tomorrow night. Well, actually there was one more thing. He had to talk to Supergirl about her being his bodyguard at the meeting. Without her, everything could fall to pieces as well.
Standing up from the depths of the comfortable chair, Tony sighs deeply and looks around the suite. This could be the last night he ever sleeps here if things went badly; possibly even if they went well. Deep in thought, he walks over to the elevator and pushes the call button. He has no idea what kind of shape Supergirl is in at the moment. Checking his watch, he sees it's 1 pm. He had about 30 hours left now until everything came together. Or didn't.
* * *
Superman lands on his ass first and then his broad back hits the floor. His six-foot three frame absorbs all the shock of his body weight, along with the weight of the young heroine's, slamming brutally against the unyielding marble. Miraculously, the minute amount of invulnerability Kal has left prevents his spine from being shattered to bone shards by the force with which he hits. Still, it hurts him deeply and he moans in fuzzy pain and confusion, prone on the floor with the cradled blonde sprawled on top of his chest.
"...ohhhhhh....owwwww.....Rao....that....hurts...." Whatever powers he has seem completely gone now. He's back to being as strong as a fit human, albeit one who's taken a hard fall.
Scrambling off of the dazed blue and red clad hero as if lying there on his body would generate shock waves through her that would paralyze her, the Fabulous Finch hurriedly gets to her feet. She raises herself up to her full five-foot-eight-inch height and brushes her hair back out of her face with a wide flourish.
"Wow! That was a horrible rescue," says the dismayed heroine as she smooths her yellow bird silhouette over her shapely 34 C breasts, meticulously straightening out each wrinkle. "What's the matter with you, Superman?"
"...lost my powers..." Kal lies there on the cold green marble trying to suppress the stabbing pain in his back and his butt.
"But you were flying. You caught me!"
"...lost them just at that moment..."
"Does that happen to you....like...a lot?" She poses this as if it is a sexual performance problem that repeatedly happens to him.
"...what?...NO!" He blurts loudly, then groans as he gingerly pulls himself into a sitting position, his head down, breathing evenly to handle the pain. His cape is draped across his chest and he flings it behind him in anger at her constantly irritating attitude.
"Need a hand?" She holds hers out to help him stand up but he ignores her petulantly.
"I can do it," he growls, his hands on his knees as he straightens his back and slowly brings himself to a full upright position. He finally looks down at the blonde beauty from his seven-inch height advantage and sees her looking up at him with obvious skepticism.
"You sure you're Superman? 'Cause, ya' know, you sure don't act like him."
"I'm Superman. I was captured by Lex Luthor just like you were."
"Jeez. So he was behind that attack on Wonder Woman?"
"Well, actually, no. But...look it's complicated and we don't have the time to discuss this. We have to get out of here. What powers do you have?"
"Gosh, I have all sorts of powers. I can sing so sweetly that I can hypnotize people into following my commands. Oh, and I can fly. And, uh, I can do fifteen different fighting techniques."
"That's good. Those may all come in handy while we try to escape."
"Except I don't have any of them right now. Well, maybe I can do the fight thing but not my usual fierce kick-ass super-fast moves."
"Why? What happened to your powers?" Kal asks brusquely, annoyed at this late-coming information.
"Hey, fuck you! What happened to yours, buster? You're one to cop an attitude! Almost gettin' me killed."
"Would you prefer still being hung up there in a cage?" Kal's had just about enough of this harping heroine. With no powers, she'd be more of a drag than any help in his escape anyway.
"Beats being 'saved' by a loser with no powers like you." She air quotes the 'saved' with bitter irony, staring at him with a sulky expression of a ten-year old.
"Look, Fabulous...uh, do you have a real name I can use? Something shorter than Fabulous Finch?"
"Hey! That's my secret identity, pal. I ain't telling you that, seein' how you're so lame and all. Hell, you'll probably squeal it the moment Luthor gets hold of you again."
"Fine! Look, FF, either we try to work together nicely or we go our separate ways. How do you want to work this?" Kal's tone is harsh. He's almost hoping she prefers to go her own way.
"Jeez, ain't you the sensitive one. Got your panties all in a bunch 'cause I don't bow to the great Man of Steel."
"Great, then. Good luck," Kal turns and starts to walk back to the bedroom to search for secret panels that might lead him out of this hellish place.
"No, wait!" The buxom blonde beauty grabs Kal's arm in desperation and yanks him backward. Despite her size, her strength is impressive and she almost pulls a startled Superman right off his feet. He spins in place and the two smack together chest to chest. Disoriented by the sudden heave, Kal stands there toe to toe with the beautiful blonde who's holding his wrist with one hand and smoothly running her palm across his broad "S" insignia with her other.
"Hey, don't get so mad. I'm only jerking your chain a little." Her hand massages his pecs now and slide down to his abs. He grabs her wrists before she can go lower.
"What do you think you're doing?" Kal is getting angry now. He can't waste time with this lame heroine. He's got to find a way out of this place.
"Gosh, you're so tense. You gotta learn to loosen up a little, lover boy. " FF leans into Kal's body suddenly, her pelvis brushing against his trunks. The smooth material of her skirt against his costume trunks feels erotic and warm. Stunned, Superman extends his arms brusquely, pulling her body off of his with a jerk.
"Knock that off! Don't you want to get out of here, too?"
"Well sure I do."
"Then stop being a problem and start helping me find a way out." He lets her go and she stands there looking up at him blankly.
"For starters, I'm going back into the bedroom to see if there are any secret panels I missed."
"Oooh. The bedroom. Kinky!" FF follows him closely.
"How did you get to be a heroine anyway?" Kal yanks the door open and strides into the plush bedchamber.
"An industrial accident in a bird sanctuary."
This stops Superman in his tracks and he turns to look at the blonde with complete astonishment. "You're joking!"
"Not at all. I was a worker in the Eastern U.S. aviary section at the zoo near here. It's kind of a sanctuary with supplemental funding from the Department of the Interior. Anyway, I kind of accidentally spilled some new chemical they were testing to enhance tree growth and then there was this sudden freak summer storm and a lightening strike. Next thing I know, I'm spitting out feathers in a hospital bed with the ability to sing in ways that lull people to a state where I can hypnotize them."
"Really?" Kal is frozen in place at the absurdity of this.
"I didn't find out about the flying until I was discharged. But the singing ability got me plenty of free Jello while I was recuperating, let me tell you. Oh, and all that fighting stuff I learned on my own, but my metabolism is pretty fast so I'm like super quick in my reflexes thanks to my birdie friends."
"Remarkable," Kal mutters. It was almost too crazy not to believe. The Man of Steel begins to search the room now for hidden seams in the floors and walls as the two of them talk. Fabulous Finch wanders around the room letting her fingertips graze against surfaces and glancing around blithely but not trying particularly hard to spot any escape hatches.
"Cool crib!" FF says enthusiastically.
"So, how did Luthor neutralize your powers?"
This stops Superman in his tracks yet again. He turns to her with an eyebrow raised high.
"Yeast?" He waits for her explanation.
"No lie! It was in a dinner that his flunky spiked. He was a cute guy who I rescued which was like, so staged, you know, for my benefit. So he invites me to dinner to thank me for the rescue and all, then mickeys the food. What a prick! Anyway, specifically, he used some kind of special yeast or something that caused what Luthor called a Candida infection. It was the pits, let me tell you! It gave me these grody white sores all over my mouth and throat and made me puke like you wouldn't believe."
"Sounds nasty," Kal sympathizes thinly while lifting the hem of the bedspread and checking underneath. He still doesn't have his powers back but he doesn't feel sore at all anymore. A very good sign.
"True, right! Anyway, the stooge bagged me in burlap while I'm totally out of it and he took me here to Luthor's fortress."
"What had you done to cross Luthor's path?"
"You know, I really don't know that. I mean this fortress of his is right here in Dubuque, Iowa, which is, you know, my home city that I protect and guard, so I guess he felt threatened by a superheroine like me patrolling his territory."
"Who wouldn't be," Kal says, biting his tongue to hide his mirth. As if Luthor would feel threatened by this bird brain. What a story! Could any of it possibly be true?
"What do you mean by that? Are you dissin' me? Feels like you're dissin' me."
"No. I'm not." Kal looks up and puts on his most earnest face, then changes the subject. "So we're in Dubuque. That's good to know. Uhhh...how long until you think you get your powers back?"
"I'm not sure about that, since, like this is the first time I ever had this Candida crap."
Kal lifts the bed by the corner leg and it suddenly feels remarkably light. He lifts it four feet up in the air, tilting all the bedclothes to the other side. Right behind him, FF's eyes go wide when she sees how easily he accomplishes this.
"Well, we may be in luck," Superman says with a broad smile as he turns his head toward her. "I think my powers are slowly coming back,"
"Sure looks that way. Yipee!" Fabulous Finch jumps up and down in place, clapping her hands and making her skirt fly up and down and her breasts shake and bounce long after her feet come to rest. She then gives the mighty hero a big hug from behind, pressing her breasts against his broad back. He can feel the warmth of her through his costume and sighs, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. That's when he sees the air duct grille.
"Could you let go of me please, FF!"
"Sure. Sorry. I just get excited easily." She releases him and backs off as he turns around and points up to the ceiling.
"That might be our escape route," he says, nodding at the air duct in the twelve-foot high ceiling."
"You think you can fit in that?"
"It might be tight but I, yes, I think so."
"Well, hurry up and fly up to see if you can undo that grilly thing," she demands. "I do want to get out of here. I don't like it that Luthor hasn't checked in on us. How come you think he hasn't done that?"
"Maybe he went somewhere and thought we were safe. Probably thought his automated system could handle us. Knowing Luthor, most likely it's a trap of some kind. But we don't have any options. And time is running out. My powers are taking too long for me to break through that window there. It's bullet-proof glass."
"Hunnh, what do you know. He thinks of everything."
"He usually does," Kal grimaces. "Since I can't fly yet, why don't you get on my shoulders and see if you can unfasten those four retaining screws. When I can fly again, we might actually get away from this fortress by sneaking past his defenses."
"Sure wish I could fly by now. Bald bastard! I hate him."
"Well I certainly haven't 'friended' him on Facebook," Kal grins.
"Whoa! A joke! You must be feeling better."
"Come on, let's get you up there so we can get out of here," Kal says. "Bend your arms and make your elbows stiff." He gets behind her when she does that and picks her up easily, lifting her over his head so she can sit on his shoulders. Her crotch nudges up against the back of his head.
"You should be able to reach up easily and twist those steel screws. They're not painted over so that's a bit of luck." Superman holds FF's thighs firmly in his palms as she reaches up to the grill. She twists at the first retaining screw, bending forward awkwardly as she does. One hand is trying to turn the screw while the other grips the top of Kal's head to steady herself.
"Hold be tighter! Don't let me fall!"
"Don't worry. I've got you. You're light as a bird."
"Another joke," she says, looking down at the top of his head. "But, look, I'm not crazy about heights."
"Kind of a handicap for a bird, isn't it," Kal asks with skepticism.
"I'm workin' through it, smart ass! Hey! Stop tilting!"
"I'm not doing anything. Just center yourself on my shoulders. I can move back if you want so you don't have to reach out as much. Hey! What are you doing?"
Fabulous Finch suddenly pulls her thighs out of Kal's grip, presses her hands on the top of his head and hoists her body up and pivots her entire figure 180 degrees. She then lowers down so that her crotch is now directly in front of a startled Superman's face.
"There, that's much better. I don't feel like I'm constantly falling backward now." Her thighs clamps against Kal's ears as he looks up. He sees now that she can easily reach up for the retaining screw in comfortable balance, one hand casually braced against the ceiling while the other works on turning the screw.
"It's kind of tight but I think I feel it moving."
Superman holds on to the blonde heroine's hips as she works the screw. Leaning forward a bit then tilting back, the Finch's pelvis rocks slightly in Superman's face. Her skirt rides up and covers Superman's head. She leans forward again to get a better grip on the screw and the skirt focuses all of her scent directly into Kal's face. He's never smelled a perfume like this before. Exotic and earthy. Gentle yet insistent as it permeates his nostrils. With his hands on her hips, he can't shake the skirt off without looking like foolish. The perfumed scent of her body so close to his nose wafts against him like a physical force. Helpless to do anything about it, Superman stands there and absorbs the scent of her, holding his ground and trying to remain unmoved. Wrinkle lines in her leotard accent the fabric as her crotch writhes before his eyes. In his trunks, Kal feels a stirring.
"That's one screw done," Fabulous Finch says, letting the screw drop to carpet below. How you doin' down there, Superman?"
Kal realizes he hasn't even been looking up, just staring straight ahead at the golden yellow leotard under this beauty's shiny blue skirt, mesmerized by the scent and view.
"I...uh...am...good...but...could you...ahh..push your skirt down."
"Oh, sorry, big fella. Sure thing." She pushes the skirt tighter over his head and chuckles loudly as she rocks her pelvis forward and grinds it in Kal's face. His nose actually grazes against the crease of the cleft of fabric created by her labia. There's even the hint of moistness there. "Is that better?"
"...what...NO!" He rears his head back in shock, teetering in place slightly. A bit dizzy by the perfume of her thighs and startled in equal measure by her raunchy behavior.
"Hey! Stay still. You're shaking me. I'm sorry. I was just joking with you." Fabulous Finch lifts her skirt off Superman's head and tucks it between her legs so it blocks her crotch. "There! All better. Nice and proper!"
"...uh...thank you..." murmurs a flustered, red-faced Superman, looking up the length of her body toward her face. Her generous round breasts from this angle eclipse the view significantly. Her nipples dimple the yellow leotard noticeably. FF seemed to be enjoying the ride and the feeling in his shorts wasn't going away either.
"You're such a Boy Scout!" FF reaches up and starts on the second screw.
But once again her leaning and tilting to wrest the screw from its tight hold on the grill cover causes her thin blue skirt to pull away, rise just enough and lightly brush against Superman's eyebrows. This exposes her yellow crotch and focuses the scent directly into Kal's face once more. Inadvertently, in a mild daze from the crotch in his face, Superman's hands slide down a bit, the palms holding tight to the wide upper expanse of FF's rear.
"This screw is a tough one but I'm getting it now," he hears her say. Definite stirring now in his shorts as Kal's penis begins to twitch and grow. Overhead, unseen from under the skirt, the track lights have begun to emit a soft rosy glow.
* * *
By the time the fourth screw is finally removed and Fabulous Finch drops the duct grille cover to the carpet, Superman has a raging boner in his shorts, is highly distracted and completely disoriented. He stands there with his hands now firmly stretched across FF's rear, squeezing her butt cheeks, a blank expression on his face.
"That takes care of that," she declares. Then she puts her hands on his shoulders, hoists her pelvis in the air and lowers herself down. Her body slowly slides downward, pressing against Superman's body, her warmth caressing against his tight uniform as her figure grazes the length of him. She stops herself just when her chest is even with Kal's face and she leans forward so her breasts engulf Superman's nose.
"I'm just so happy we're going to get out of here. Aren't you?"
"...i...uh...yes." Kal mumbles. "...i...am..."
When she finally lets herself down completely and her bright blue boots settle in the carpet, Fabulous Finch's palm gently caresses against Superman's trunks, feeling his foot-long member straining against the red fabric. Her palm encompasses the swollen muscle and gently squeezes.
"Looks like you're very happy about this escape plan, too, Superman."
"...huuuhnnn..." The Man of Steel groans as he wavers in place, bewildered at his inability to resist the amazing sensations circulating through his body and mind. His arms automatically circle the blonde beauty's waist and his hands come to rest on her ass cheeks, squeezing them without any awareness of doing so.
"By the way, I don't think I properly thanked you for rescuing me from becoming a bloody spot on the marble floor out there." While one hand squeezes the generous bulging package in his costume briefs, FF's other reaches up and circles Superman's neck, pulling his head down to her face for a kiss. Her lips graze lightly against his own, his mouth slightly slack with befuddled lightheadedness. She pulls on his neck more aggressively and then presses her lipstick-glazed mouth firmly against Superman's own. She gives him a long, hard smooch, her lips locking against his, sealing tight with greedy air-sucking need.
"Mmmmmmmm!" Fabulous Finch hums with delight as she kisses the Man of Steel.
"...hhhuuummm??..." The intoxicated hero sways helplessly in place now, rooted to the spot as her tongue slides into his mouth and entwines with his. She slowly strokes the swollen dick within his shorts, her palm gripping him through the fabric and her fingernails lightly tracing the outline of his rock-hard junk. Her hand plies his neck, holding his head down as her deep soul kiss combines with her handjob to put an end to the last vestiges of Superman's willpower.
When she finally breaks the kiss and releases his neck but not the hold on his dick, Fabulous Finch murmurs into Superman's ear, "I think it's time we let this snake out of his cage. What do you say?"
"Good boy. Pull down your pants."
Sliding her palm up the full length of Superman's raging bulge and then sliding in inside his waistband and gripping the warm hard muscle in her gentle fist, the blonde temptress coos up into Superman's confused face, "You do want to slide this looong, haaarddd toool into my WET, HOT, DEEP Vagina, don't you, champ?"
"I can feel that you do. And let me tell you a secret..." She crooks her finger at him and the Man of Steel dazedly lowers his head closer to her. She grabs a fistful of his dark hair, pulls his face down with a rough yank, and plants another kiss on him, smearing her lips against his. Then she seals her mouth against his and searches his with her over-eager tongue. Superman's eyes go wide at first and then slowly lower to half mast as her hand slides, rubs and caresses the mushroom head of his pre-cum-slickened cock. A small spot of the pre-cum stains through to the front of Superman's shorts, accenting his desire in a most humiliating way.
"...uuuhhhhnnn..!..." Superman groans within his throat as his mouth is fully occupied. His thoughts evaporate with the pleasure FF is doling out. She pulls away from him and continues her thought.
"My secret is...I really, really want you inside me, big guy."
"So pull your pants down."
Superman unbuckles his belt and pulls down his trunks until they sag on his thighs, freeing his immense, 12" rigid pole.
"Whoa!" Fabulous Finch inhales a deep breath of wide-eyed joy at her good fortune here. She'd heard rumors about Superman's tool but to have it pointing right at her pelvis is a treat she never quite believed would happen. But she doesn't hesitate a second longer. Putting her arms around Superman's neck, she hops up and circles her legs around his waist, gripping him tightly with her calves pressing against him and locking her ankles behind his back. She quickly pulls aside the crotch of her leotard and lowers her wet pussy down onto the throbbing Rod of Steel. It slides deeply into her and she grunts deeply in stunned satisfaction at its girth and depth. And he's only halfway in!
"GHUUUNNHH! Ohhhh. Dammmnnnnn, that's...that's....great!"
"Oohhhhhhh. Feels...good..." Superman says, wrapping his arms around her and gripping her ass to bring her body closer against his own, to savor her warmth and drink in her scent.
"WHOA?! WAIT! STOP! UUNGGH! DON'T! HEY! HOLD UP THERE, TIGER! OHHHH...OHH....GOD! STOP...STOP...STOP... DAMMIT!"
Fabulous Finch has pulled away roughly from the confused champion and now hangs limply in Superman's grip. Her ankles have unlocked and her calves weakly, bump against the outsides of his knees. Her back is arched and her body is almost horizontal, parallel to the floor. Her arms dangle loosely as she holds her neck up and pants like she's in a Lamaze class. She is impaled by his cock and is trying to relax her inner muscles to accommodate his massive size. Superman's hands hold onto the middle of FF's back, supporting her easily.
"Jeez! Give a lady a little time to enjoy the wrapping paper, would ya?"
"..uhh...sorry..." Kal mumbles.
Grabbing his forearms, FF pulls herself up from her dazed, yet excited faint. She lets gravity do its thing and slowly slides back down onto Superman's flag-pole like prick, stopping the momentum every now and then until he's three quarters buried inside her warm, tight snatch.
"Better. That's better," she says and rocks her pelvis gently to stimulate herself and aid in her lubrication. "Man, you're huge."
"...deeper...want to go...deeper..."
"And I want you deeper. But we have to take a little more time, bruiser. We're gettin' there! Give me a chance. Why don't you walk over there so I can lean my back up against that wall."
"...kay..." The robotic-like Man of Steel does as he's told. Luthor's aphrodisiac, developed using the Kryptonian's own semen, has completely overtaken Superman's libido and his will. Having sprayed it all over FF's body, Luthor knew the long-lasting drug would overwhelm the big galoot's senses as long as the activated red sun lamps sapped his powers. Hell, even with his powers, the stuff would do a number on him. But the lamps had worked like a charm. First in the Octagon tower and now here in the bedroom. The idiot would have had a real chance to escape if he'd used half a brain and looked out for himself but, of course, the helpless female scenario was virtually a sure thing with this do-gooder.
There were several scenarios he had worked out with the blonde contractor to bring down Superman. This was one of his favorites. Watching from a monitor inside the hidden passageway behind the large whaling painting, Lex is thrilled with how Daphne Locke has handled her assignment. The failed Olympic gymnast and small-time actress was better than he'd dreamed. Sure, he'd prepped her with the ridiculous Fabulous Finch backstory and how he thought Superman would go the obvious duct route, but still, the way she engaged Kal-El and completely kept him off-balance with her patter and her overt sexuality had been nothing short of outstanding.
And the Red Sun lamps tested out perfectly. They weren't overly bright in appearance to give them away but they were highly effective in short range applications, rendering the Kryptonian completely powerless in 95 seconds. It was too bad he couldn't get the timing down to 30 seconds or less, but the Kryptonian physiology acted like a storage battery when it came to sunlight. You could only drain it down so fast. Still, Luthor was smiling like the Cheshire cat as he watched the brainless dolt walk mindlessly toward the very wall he was hiding behind. Now the only test was how long the aphrodisiac would take to wear off after ejaculation. Based on the earlier experiment using the Wonder Woman DVDs on Superman, he thought it would be approximately two minutes or so for the brainwaves to reorganize and real-world awareness to return.
"Okay there, stud," purrs Fabulous Finch, both arms braced against Superman's biceps and her legs locked around his back again. "You're all the way in and I'm in heaven. You may initiate thrust sequence!"
"Start pumping those hips, silly. Give us both a good time, stud muffin."
"YES!" The mighty Man of Steel crows with happiness and reacts like a horse out of the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby. He begins to pull and push his massive schlong in and out of the great-smelling blonde woman's vagina at a frenzied pace. He buries his face in her neck and pumps away with total abandon, savoring the smell of her as his cock pistons into her warm channel again and again and again. Fabulous Finch is ready for him but there's no way to be ready for him. Not really. It's overwhelming to her very quickly and she shouts with frenzied passion as Superman humps away at her with mindless need.
"OH WOW! OHHH MY LORD! GO FOR IT YOU FUCKING SAVAGE FROM ANOTHER PLANET! DO ME. DO ME RIGHT!"
"GOOD. SO GOOD," Kal mutters as he cushions her back from hitting the wall with one hand as his other mauls her breasts in wide sweeping passes of his sweating hands. FF can't stop her head from banging against it every now and then but the stars she's seeing don't matter in the least. Her whole body feels like it's being invaded by the Mongul hordes. She spreads her legs straight out since Superman was holding her securely and concentrates on feeling the huge pole move in and out, in and out of the center of the universe that is her vagina. The tightness, the size, the heat, the motion, it's beyond any sexual experience the gymnast has ever felt. And she's felt a lot in her day.
Suddenly, when an enthusiastic Superman's finger moves from flipping at her rock-hard nipples to probing the depth of her asshole, FF loses it completely. It was so unexpected and so satisfying. Out of nowhere, the orgasm loomed over her like a tidal wave on a calm day at the beach. And it exploded on the million grains of sand that is her mind.
The Finch was a jerking, spasming, helpless torso. Her mind was obliterated and her heart was pounding in her own ears as she experienced total body meltdown. Nothing in her athletic career had approached anything like this. She didn't know how to handle it and so she didn't. She simply fainted in Superman's arms, her body a limp, sagging bag of bones, legs dangling, head back, drool running, panties soaked, thighs running with her drizzling cum.
And her jerking had set him off as well. As she hung there in his arms like lifeless sock puppet, his world condensed into a black hole then exploded into a supernova. Semen from a libido hyper-charged by powerful, undeniable chemistry rushed out of Superman into the spent beauty's cooz in an endless jet of thick white pleasure. He clutched her body to him and leaned with her against the wall, his sweaty forehead pressed against the blue paint, staining it dark. He had no thoughts of his own. Only the flowing pleasure of his release as it spewed from him in torrents. His knees knocked against the wall and then he collapsed onto them, spent in ecstacy, yet protectively cradling the senseless blonde in his arms. Slowly he folded down onto the floor and the two of them drifted in a timeless void of bright white pleasure and then pitch black senselessness. Cum ran thickly into the blue carpet.
When Lex Luthor climbed out from the passageway hidden behind the swung open whaling painting, Superman was drooling with his head on the Fabulous Finch's chest, the two of them entwined in a lovers knot of legs and arms. Lex pulled the unconscious Man of Steel away from his pretty sleeping prize, loaded him on an anti-grav pallet and brought him back to the kryptonite slime tank in the main room. Annoyed that he didn't get a reading on how long the aphrodisiac lasted after ejaculation, Luthor angrily tilted the pallet with a simple turn of a knob. With that, Luthor unceremoniously dumped a senseless Superman back into the slime tub with a thud and a splash, then quietly closed the glass cover, his experiment over. The results of most of it very successful. He'd have to check on the aphrodisiac's "Sustain increment after ejaculation" another time. But he had plenty of time. Superman wasn't going anywhere.
End of Chapter 67
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