The Harem Globetrotters  

By Dr. Dominator

Wizards Lair Contest 2009
Supergirl

Note: The Supergirl character and name, as well as Linda Danvers, are the property of DC Comics. All other characters in the story 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.

Kara Zor-el yawned widely. She was tired and a little cross at Daniel Peterson who was slowly squeezing her bare breasts in his large hands and equally slowly thrusting his rock hard penis in and out of her. He hovered over her with a look of total concentration on his face as he stared at the cream-colored wall above the plain oak headboard of the queen size bed..

“Danny? Are you okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You seem, far away. Distracted.”

“I’m just trying to stay hard longer, Linda, to keep you satisfied.”

“Is it really that much of an effort?”

“I mean, I don’t want to cum too soon.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes of this, Danny. It’s okay. You can cum.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Sawing his hard member in and out at a now much faster pace, Daniel’s breathing speeds up and Kara enjoys the faster rhythm. She wished he would keep this pace up much more often, but Daniel liked to savor the heat of her loins slowly, exult in the tightness of her feminine cavity as it held his penis in its firm and fleshy grip, moving it oh so slowly in and out with exquisite delight. And while it was good for him, most of the time it rarely felt powerful enough for Kara to get particularly excited. Now, as he sped up she finally felt herself getting truly stimulated. His penis was a nice fit within her. That certainly wasn’t the problem. Pacing was! But now he was finally thrusting hard and fast and panting, and then, just as she was getting nearer to her own peak, he came. Warm semen filled the condom tip and Kara could feel that as he shuddered briefly and gasped with delight. She gritted her teeth with frustration. Then, mere seconds later, Daniel lowered his upper torso against her and nestled his head against her breasts, breathing hard. She frowned briefly as he sighed and then she switched to a smile as she saw him lift his head and whisper, “You were great.”

“You, too,” she lied.

“Did you cum? You were breathing pretty heavily there and I thought I heard a whimper or two,” Danny was grinning up at her.

“Oh yes. It was just a little one this time though.” Another fib. After two minutes of hugging the blonde haired beauty, Daniel pulled himself out of her and lied beside her, drowsing slightly from his exertion and his heady satisfaction from his orgasm. Straining with frustration, yet carefully hiding her anger, Kara reached behind her neck and unclasped the small gold necklace that held the very tiny kryptonite fragment that dangled three inches below her neck. This jewelry allowed her to have sex with men without being too weak or sick to enjoy it. It also prevented her from crushing any lover and allowed them to penetrate her. She slipped the necklace into its little lead-lined cloth pouch and stuffed it into the night-table drawer.

They had been dating for three months now and, frankly, Kara enjoyed Danny much more out of bed than in it. He had a wonderful sense of humor, a razor-fast wit and a generous loving way about him. He was a good looking six-foot tall brown-haired, brown eyed hunk. He just didn’t know his way around the bedroom as well as she liked. And his loving ways stopped short right after he came. Not that she hadn’t had orgasms with him. He was actually quite adept with his mouth when it came to that. Up to now, she had let it slide, since there was so much more about him that she treasured. But she would have to say something soon. The penile sex was just boring. Not that she was much of an expert herself. Kara only had two other lovers since she turned 18 a year and a half ago. Richard Malverne had been pretty good in bed but was a bit of a wimp in every other way. Steven Kindler, a lawyer, had been fantastic in bed but, in the long run, much too self-absorbed to stay together with once Kara had realized that fact. During the first two and a half months of their relationship, Steve had been on “perfect gentleman” autopilot just to get Linda Danvers into bed. He wasn’t malicious about the whole thing, he just made sure that he did everything right all the time until they’d slept together. After that he still wasn’t all that rude or crude, but the little kindnesses disappeared over a week or two and then he got extremely busy with a big law case and they decided to stop seeing each other. Steve and Richard both promised solemnly to keep her secret to themselves and she believed them in that regard. They would not divulge her secret identity.

But what was it with guys? You never quite knew how they’d be in bed based on their behavior in the rest of their lives. She supposed there were aggressive men in bars looking for women, guys who would be just as boldly aggressive in bed as they were when pawing women and plying them with drinks to press their case for their favors, but Kara wasn’t into that type of man at all.

She had met Daniel in her Linda Danvers identity one day while strolling through a photography gallery on one of her rare vacation days. They’d hit it off right away, the two of them standing side-by-side by mere chance in front of a small photo in an alcove. Daniel had sighed loudly, commenting about the great mood lighting in a black and white shot of vegetables on the cutting board in a simple kitchen still life. He said he wished he could achieve that quality in his own photographs. Linda had nodded and agreed that the print was magnificent. They both then wandered over to a huge photo on a nearby wall, each praising the incredible composition and marvelous detail of a color shot of the old red barn with the golden wheat field behind it. As the pair walked around the gallery’s wide open oak floors, Daniel explained that he was a professional photographer and was a friend of the man who’s own show they were wandering through. After they enjoyed each other’s company touring the rest of the photography show together, Daniel had invited her to a late lunch and, from then on, it was pure enchantment.

When she told him two months into their relationship that she was Supergirl, he was completely stunned. He had thought her busy lifestyle and frequent inaccessibility was due to her busy job as a television reporter for the local news channel. Up until then, they hadn’t had sex yet and while they’d had some pretty heavy petting sessions, Linda had said she wasn’t ready to move to the next level yet. Finally, at that two month mark, she had felt secure enough in his trustworthiness, his intelligence and his ability to be discreet to finally reveal this most incredible secret he’d ever heard. He had kissed her and hugged her and told her that he would never tell a soul. She hugged him tightly and said, “I know you won’t. Besides, if you did, I’d have to toss you off the roof of the CitiCorp building.”

“Why there?” As he returned the hug, he was smiling at her bright sarcasm, a trait that he’d been enchanted with ever since they first dated.

“They have a nice little shopping area on the ground floor and I guess I’d like to pick up a nice outfit to make myself feel a little better. After you hit the pavement, you know.”

“How practical of you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

That had been about a month ago and while their relationship was very rewarding in so many aspects, the sex had not kept up with how their feelings for each other had grown. The first time was exciting and different because they were new to each other and they both had hungrily besieged each other’s bodies, searching new territories and exploring sensitive spots. But not too long after that, they had settled into this missionary position, slow-going thing that did a lot for Daniel but nothing for her.

Kara sighed softly as Daniel cuddled next to her, content and oblivious. She resolved to say something tomorrow after she got home from work. She didn’t want to gripe while they were in bed. She wanted to discuss it calmly on neutral ground. Maybe they could talk to a sex therapist or do some reading about new ways to engage each other sexually. She didn’t really know that much about sexual techniques herself and wanted help from an expert. She really wanted to make this relationship work. She enjoyed so much else about Danny and his charming ways.

Too frustrated to sleep and certainly not tired anymore, Kara eased herself out of bed and left a happily snoozing Daniel lying face-down nearby as she pressed the special knothole to release the catch on the secret panel to the wardrobe that held her super costume. Sliding it off the hangar and picking up the boots beneath it, Kara slipped out of the bedroom and quickly got dressed in the uniform the world had come to respect, admire and, in not a few cases, fantasize about.

And there were many good reasons to do so. The mighty Supergirl’s figure that filled the bright red and blue costume was bountiful and beautiful. Her gravity-defying breasts amply displayed the famous diamond-shaped red S insignia for all to see, shimmying alluringly with any movement since there was no need for a bra to contain them beneath the smooth skintight fabric. When her shapely hips twisted with a flourish during any heroic maneuver, the short skirt would flare out and give on-lookers a generous view of her powerful thighs, if not more, from certain vantage points. And with every landing and take-off, those powerful calves flexing within her bright red boots would show off the incredible power of her legs with heart-stopping flair. Add to that her golden hair, her wide and friendly smile and her intensely bright blue eyes and the photographers on the city newspapers couldn’t get enough photos of her to satisfy her millions of fans. The fact that she was helping to keep New York City safe and, if not totally crime-free, then at least higher on the list of the best cities in the U.S. in which to live, well, that didn’t hurt her popularity either.

Sighing wistfully, Kara edged out of the glass living room door and into the warm summer’s night air that greeted her at the shadowed inner edge of the balcony of her high-rise apartment building. With a hugely powerful bending and flexing of her legs, Supergirl shot up at a 60-degree angle at super speed to prevent any on-lookers from spotting the location of her departing point. She didn’t slow down for ten blocks just to be sure to keep her secret safe. And then she headed over toward Battery Park for her regular patrol of the five boroughs that make up New York City. She usually circled Manhattan first, then criss-crossed the Bronx. After that she would edge over to Queens, fly down to Brooklyn and end up scanning Staten Island. Half the nights, Staten Island was never reached since the other four boroughs kept her much busier. She realized this probably wasn’t fair to Staten Island but there wasn’t all that much crime there, except for perhaps some Mafia shenanigans and who wanted to get mixed up in that nonsense?

As the mighty Maid of Steel slaloms in and around the buildings in the area near Manhattan’s City Hall, she sees a heavy-set patrolman waving his arms widely back and forth to catch her attention from 100 feet below her. She angles downward and lands about ten feet away from him, her short skirt flaring up as her boot tips touch the sidewalk and her heels settle down from her flight.

“Man, I thought you’d never fly by or never see me,” the beefy policeman says in awe that he’d actually succeeded. “I was told to come out and see if you were flying your patrol over the city and try to flag you down.”

“Who asked you to do this?” Supergirl scans the area with her X-ray vision just to be sure this isn’t some kind of trap.

“The Police Commissioner himself. He has a job for you, he said. Would you come with me?”

“Certainly,” Supergirl agrees and the two of them walk up the wide impressive steps that lead into City Hall.

“Well, I can’t thank you enough, Supergirl. You’ve solved one of my biggest worries about this whole event.”

“Not at all, Commissioner Handley. I’m glad to help. I’ve been a huge admirer of Princess Shamoor since her first visit to New York two years ago. Her attempts to open up the Arab world to the value of women in their society has been an inspiring story to me since she addressed the United Nations two years ago. Even though her own father has yet to heed her message in her own homeland of Joraq, she has gained ground in other countries in the region. She’s got a long way to go but the increased voting rights for women in Egypt and Lebanon has been a remarkable achievement that she’s fought hard for since that speech. Of course I’d be happy to be her bodyguard during her visit. When does she arrive?”

“Two days from now. She will speak again at the U.N. the day after she arrives and then goes on a goodwill tour throughout the U.S. to bolster awareness of women’s rights among influential Muslims with deep pockets in the U.S. and connections back to their home countries. Her eloquence and, shall we say, vehemence make her a target to those who believe women should be seen and not heard in the countries in that region. Your presence should discourage a good many possible attempts to interrupt her speech or harm her during her goodwill tour. If you don’t mind, I will put out a press release to the fact that you will be guarding her during her stay. That will forestall most if not all of the possible hostile actions people might be planning against her.”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m happy to be associated with her efforts for women everywhere. And I look forward to meeting her when she arrives. I will meet her plane when she arrives in New York if you give me that information.”

“My secretary has the flight information,” he motions toward the office door and puts his arm around the famous blonde’s shoulder and guides her out of the office. “Again, thank you so much, Supergirl. I can concentrate on the rest of the security for her U.N. visit knowing that she is in the best of hands.” Taking his arm off her shoulder, he shakes her hand avidly.

“My pleasure, Commissioner. Glad to help. I’ll see you soon.” He nods and closes the door to talk with the Chief of Police about upcoming procedures.

Outside the door to the commissioner’s office, Supergirl gets the flight information about Princess Shamoor’s arrival from the secretary, slips it into the pouch of her cape. She then walks out of City Hall and leaps off the terrace at the top of the flight of stairs leading into the building and resumes her patrol for the night. She stops two muggings in Queens and a jewel heist in Brooklyn before returning to her apartment and some well deserved rest from 2:45 a.m until 6:00 a.m.

When the alarm goes off, Daniel wakes, leans over and kisses his mighty heroine girlfriend on the cheek, asking, “How’d your patrol go, babe?”

“Smooth as silk. And I’ve got an exciting new assignment from the Police Commissioner himself.”

“Do tell!” And she does, filling him in on her upcoming duties as the bodyguard for Princess Kamila Shamoor of Joraq during her stay in the U.S.

Two days later, Supergirl is flying directly beside the plane carrying the Joraqian Princess as it descends over Jamaica Bay in its approach to JFK Airport. A phalanx of cop cars is situated on the tarmac near the gate as extra security for the princess’ arrival. The commissioner is in a helicopter that is hovering near the airport as the eye in the sky for all the security measures he’s put in place. He looks out the window of the helicopter at the red and blue figure flying beside the Air Joraq plane as its screeching wheels hit the runway.

“Boy, when that young lady says she’s going to meet the plane, she really meets the plane!” The commissioner smiles, his security job is already eased with Supergirl on the scene.

When the door of the aircraft finally opens at the gate, Supergirl and six policemen are there to greet the Joraqian nobility. The majority of the plane’s passengers exit the plane, their eyebrows raised and their mouths open to find Supergirl standing there with a warm smile. They are quickly prodded past the famous heroine by the police, some of whom are holding photos of the princess so they can recognize her. In the photo, she is wearing an abayah, a traditional cloak-like covering over a dress that obscures a woman’s form in order to prevent any possible immodesty by the woman or any lustful thoughts by any man in the vicinity.. The only difference in the photo is that the abayah is a beautiful orangish yellow rather than the traditional staid black. It was a concession to her father to wear the garment at the time, but her own strong will had prevailed in the color of the garment.

Supergirl clasps her fingertips together behind her back and rocks on her heels, looking through the plane’s metal skin for a woman in traditional Arab clothing but does not see anyone. Concerned, the blonde heroine quickly starts scanning every face of the dozen or so people left in line filling the aisle inside the plane. The next passenger out the door is a very beautiful black haired woman wearing a form-fitting navy blue business suit and a ruffled yellow silk blouse that shows off her figure admirably. She steps out of the plane into the corridor of the jetway before her and smiles at the conclave of waiting dignitaries. With wide eyes and a gaping mouth, Supergirl suddenly recognizes Kamila Shamoor and steps forward to greet the lovely young woman.

“Good afternoon, Supergirl,” the lovely princess nods. “It is as much a pleasure to meet you as it appears to be a shock to meet me!” The princess smiles coyly and then nods demurely at the police squad before her. “Gentlemen of the New York Police force. I thank you for your courtesy and protection. Two of the men sneak stunned glances at the identical photos in their hands. The face was right. Smooth wide forehead, a thin long nose, full lips, long black wavy hair and dark brown almond shaped eyes set wide apart with a purposeful look in them. Yeah, that was the face for sure. But who would have suspected that body? The remaining passengers have passed behind the Princess and made their way down the jetway to the terminal while the princess and the reception committee were now staring at each other.

Recovering her composure first, Supergirl smiles broadly at the attractive princess before her. “I apologize Princess Shamoor. Obviously I had expected you to be in traditional garb of your homeland. May I say that your sense of style and drama are equally devine.”

The princess laughs with a burst of delight at this surprisingly bold comment. And the entire police force assigned as her guard pretty much all fall in love with the comely princess at that precise moment. Even Supergirl is amused and pleased and entranced by that infectious jingling laugh.

“I believe we are going to get along very well, Supergirl,” the princess says with a huge, captivating smile that matches her laugh.

“Please, call me Kara, Princess Shamoor,” she reaches out her hand to shake the hand of this royal beauty.

“And I insist you call me Kamila,” Her eyes twinkle as she takes Kara’s hand in her own two and squeezes it warmly before releasing it. Turning to the lead police officer she asks his name.

“Captain Patrick Delaney, your highness. It’s a pleasure for all of New York to welcome you here for your visit and if there’s anything you need, you have but to ask.”

“Thank you, Captain Delaney. Shall we go to the hotel? I can use a little relaxation. I did not sleep much on the plane.”

“Everything is ready. Your limousine awaits, princess. If you allow me...” The police captain offers his arm but Kamila steps back with a start. Supergirl steps up to her side instantly.

“Is there a problem, princess?” She asks softly, bending forward to whisper in the young woman’s ear.

“I am sorry Captain,” the lovely young Kamila, says aloud so all the escort can hear her. She is showing a well-meaning but sheepish smile. “I do not wish to be rude, but there are still customs about men and women touching in public that even I must yet adhere to, even in these modern times, in order to best represent my country in a respectful way. Please do not take it personally.”

Brightening to a crimson, the face of Patrick Delaney is mortification itself. “I...am.. sorry, Princess Shamoor. My ignorance is quite clearly on display. I apologize for my presumption. It will not happen again.”

“Do not chastise yourself too harshly, Captain. My apparel no doubt confused you. I am trying to step boldly into the future while retaining a strong link to the past. Please proceed. My powerful and famous young female escort will have to provide her arm for security until I make much greater strides in the customs of my people.”

Offering her arm, Supergirl links up with Kamila and the two young women walk up the jetway toward the main concourse, smiling and talking like old friends within only two hundred yards of their initial greeting spot.

The following day, Supergirl is standing in a glass interpreter’s booth in the General Assembly Hall, just to the left of the podium. She is listening intently while the Princess of Joraq, Kamila Shamoor, gives a passionate speech about the trials and tribulations of women living in Arabic countries. She discusses the imbalances of what women face versus men in terms of infidelity, freedoms, fears and loves with searing truth and powerful purpose. Half the delegates are captivated by the energetic speech by this courageous young woman, the other half are horrified by her boldness, her stridency and her attire. The young woman is wearing a traditional Arabian dress that, while a beautifully brilliant green with ornamental pearls and emeralds running in twin vertical lines from her neck to her waist, is a shock to the conservative Arabs who see her as a whorish vixen. She does not wear an abayah nor any head covering whatsoever! How can her father the Grand Sheik of Joraq even begin to bear the shame of this brazen behavior of his daughter, they wonder. There is much murmuring, shock and murderous indignation sent towards her by many of the deeply offended Arabs scattered in their seats around the general assembly hall. Some are beginning to shout and hiss and even throw papers and pens in the air in anger, in belittling rancor and in genuine hate. Several pens fly through the air in the great hall and fall at the Princess’ feet. She stops her speech momentarily shocked by this vehement behavior by some of the most learned people on the planet. She expected criticism but this was harsher by far than what she dreamed would happen. Suddenly a glass paperweight is hurled through the air toward the podium and the glass window covering one of the interpreter’s booths explodes in a shower of crystal shards and Supergirl flies through the cloud of white pebbled glass and catches the paperweight in her palm a mere two feet from Princess Kamila’s head. The smack when it hits her hand sounds like a gunshot in the noisy, raucous auditorium and all turns silent.

“The next person who throws anything at Princess Shamoor will have to answer to me!” She turns and looks at the shaken woman standing behind her, half crouching behind the podium. “Do you wish to continue your speech, Princess?”

“The only thing I wish to say, in conclusion today,” the brave Jordaqian noble woman straightens up and says with a loud and clear voice into the microphone, despite her fear, “is that the disrespect that many of you in this assembly have shown me today is simply the best example of how things must change in the Arab world. You cannot continue to ignore and suppress half of your populations this way. The world will not accept it. Your mothers will not accept it. Your wives will not accept it. Your sweet young daughters will not accept it. No woman on Earth should have to live in an atmosphere of such disregard and disrespect. And they won’t for much longer. Mark my words! Look to your own homes, delegates, for soon you will have to be casting scorn, papers, threats and glass paperweights at your own family to keep them in line. And then that line you cross will be drawn in blood in the sand. And there will be no crossing back! Thank you for your attention. May Allah be with you.”

As she strode off the stage, Kamila’s retreat is carefully covered by Supergirl, the powerful blonde champion constantly scanning the room for threats as two police officers grab a shocked and protesting Kamila none too gently by her arms and hustle her off to a private room waiting in the bowels of the Assembly building. Supergirl follows them, now twisting and turning as she walks, scanning the entire floor with her X-ray vision for dangers. For now, there are no more to be found. The entourage enters the secure room and Kamila walks into the bathroom quietly and purposefully, immediately pulling closed the door behind her. There is a click of the lock and then the obvious sound of vomiting from behind the heavy oak door.

One single news camera served as a feed to news trucks scattered across the front of the wide plaza facing the U.N. building on First Avenue. And from there, Princess Kamila’s message of the need for dawning feminist recognition in the Arab world is spread across the world-wide information net via websites, news channels, word of mouth and every other form of communication imaginable. Also broadcast is the uproar in the hall, the chaos of the delegates angry reaction and the scene of Supergirl catching the small glass globe in mid-air and then the conclusion of the Princess’s speech. There are only a few thousand people who see the actual footage live as it goes out across C-SPAN. But by that evening, the news will spread and the video will be viewed countless times on the Internet and the furor caused by the princess will be known and discussed by no less than one and a half billion people across the globe. Her moment of fame will be forever sealed in history.

Four days later, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Princess Kamila gives her speech to an audience of 200 Moslem men and women in the main assembly room in Independence Hall. Having paid a $250 donation for the privilege of hearing her speech and helping her cause, the group gives the proud princess a much more positive reception. After its conclusion, the princess stays to chat with the attendees, to give the website address repeatedly and to request that they spread the word of how important it is for women to assume a greater role in Arab affairs throughout the Moslem world.

Supergirl is standing nearby, surreptitiously scanning the crowd for hostile faces and threatening objects, but she sees none here. She takes a breath and looks at the round old-fashioned clock over the entrance door: 2:30. They had three hours until their dinner engagement with four very wealthy Muslim businessmen who were amenable to her message and would be offering their generosity to help spread it through paid advertisements in influential publications throughout the Mideast. Until then, they could even sightsee in Philadelphia if they so desired. Kara had taken two weeks off from her news job under the pretense of having to help a sick aunt recover from a fall that had broken her hip. As mostly a style reporter, she’s not as critical to the news team as a regular reporter would be.

As the crowd finally thinned out, the four Philadelphia policemen assigned to the Princess during her stay in the city readied themselves to escort her to the van with the fifth member of the security detail outside. They would proceed then to the Omni Hotel about 8 minutes away, depending on traffic. With a nod to one final husband and a handshake with the energetically smiling wife, Kamila thanked them for their support and reminded them one final time to tell their friends and family about the importance of women’s rights in the Moslem world. The couple confirmed they would certainly do so and left the hall.

As the door closed behind them, Kamila looked over at Supergirl and smiled. “I’m beat,” she stated categorically. “I can’t wait to just throw myself on a bed and pass out for a couple of hours.”

Wearing a yellow and white business suit today, her stunning figure was evidently catching the eyes of her police escorts, but they were well-behaved and professional despite the appreciative glances and furtive smiles amongst them at this provocative comment. Supergirl herself smiled at Kamila. “Well, I guess sightseeing gets crossed off the list.”

“Maybe tomorrow, Kara. We’ve still got the dinner tonight and I have to be sharp for this group. We can do the sightseeing tomorrow, yes?”

“Whatever you wish, Kami. It’s your party.”

“Yes, well, right now, the party girl needs her beauty rest. It’s not easy lifting up a world, you know.”

“Yes, I know, I’ve done it,” Supergirl says wryly, referring to a small planet in the Andromeda galaxy that needed help with its orbit.

“No. Not really. You’re joking, right?”

“Actually no.”

“You have to tell me that story,” Princess Kamila gushes eagerly as they head for the front door..

“Bendix. Bring the van around. Lioness is ready to move,” Roger Davis, the head of the Philly security team, says into his wrist mike.

“Roger,” says a soft voice on the other end.

“Kid’s gotta speak with some authority if he’s going to be on security detail,” Davis says to Niles Peterson, a big Swedish cop who holds the door for the two women and scans the street for the van. The gray Plymouth Voyager is moving forward from its parking spot on the main street in front of the famous Hall where the Declaration of Independence was signed.

The group congregated at the front of Independence Hall begins to move toward the van as it moves up to the end of the walk about 100 feet away. The two other Philadelphia cops, Stuebens and Rice, take positions in front of Kamila and Supergirl, leading them down the walk toward the van on the street. Davis and Peterson flank the girls on either side. The women are discussing Supergirl’s heroic effort to steady the Andromedean planet and the Maid of Steel casually glances at the van as she talks. They are now twenty feet away from the van. People walking along the main street in front of Independence Hall are pointing at Supergirl. Her bright, famous costume draws the eye like a magnet and her remarkable figure keeps all eyes fixed on her after they focus in. But the Maid of Steel isn’t paying much attention to the pedestrians because she sees a person hiding in the van behind the driver’s seat.

“Wait!” Supergirl whispers suddenly, slowing her pace. “Trouble. Man in the van holding a gun on your driver. Steubens and Rice, spread out casually please, nothing sudden. Officers Davis and Peterson, please close ranks on Kamila, I’m going after the man with the gun.

Waiting just a beat for the officers to move into position, Supergirl then leaps off her feet and before the human eye can even follow, she’s on the other side of the vehicle and pulling out the man with a gun through the van’s side door before he can shoot the driver or threaten Kamila in any way. The shocked assailant has his gun pulled out of his hand and is hoisted up in the air with one hand by Supergirl as she crushes the gun in her other hand. She then casually says, “You’ve got to get up much earlier in the morning to get the drop on me, buster. Now what do you want?” She shakes the trembling man roughly and his arms and legs fly out in all directions and he squawks like a duck.

“Stawwp. Please,” he pleads.

“Talk,” Supergirl says, shaking him again. “Who hired you?”

“I can’t tell you. He’ll kill me!”

The four cops are watching Supergirl from their various positions as are several pedestrians in the area.. Davis and Peterson stand closely beside the princess who is distressed at the closeness of the men and the suddenness of this ambush. The driver has half turned, looking at Supergirl shaking the man. The young cop Bendix is sweating and embarrassed at having been coerced by the gunman to drive slowly and not tip off the team. Turns out he needn’t have worried since Supergirl was on the job.

Coming down the street is a blind man with a cane, tapping it on the sidewalk. Supergirl wants to move this scene out of the way so as not to endanger the blind guy or the other nearby gawking pedestrians.

“Gentlemen,” Supergirl calls out. “May I suggest we return to the hall, out of the way of the citizenry, and find out what this gentlemen was trying to achieve,”.

“Good idea,” Davis concurs. “Rice and Steubens take point again but keep your...”

The pedestrian wearing a green leather Philadelphia Eagles jacket to Rice’s left suddenly pulls a gun from within his half-zippered jacket and shoots Rice in the stomach. The cop looks down to see a dart sticking out of his belly and then crumples to the ground in a limp heap. Steubens’ eyes go wide and he pulls his gun to cover the Eagles “fan” when the old bald man in a tattered sports jacket behind Steubens shoots him in the back of the neck with another dart gun. The big German cop flops face forward into the grass beside the walk, numbed instantly and already losing consciousness.

Seeing this ambush Davis yells out, “Break!” Peterson immediately runs to a point between himself and Kamila, pulling his gun and taking aim at the guy in the sport coat who quickly zigzags his way to a the cover of a nearby tree trunk. Supergirl knocks out the man she’s holding up with a quick flick of her finger and then leaps over the fan to land a foot away from Kamila while Peterson ducks just in time to avoid a dart that buzzes past his ear like an angry hornet.

“Kami. In the van, now,” Supergirl snaps. “Davis, Peterson, get to the van and protect Kamila. I’ll protect the blind guy then finish off the shooters.”

The two cops streak for the van, eyeing the other pedestrians who seem to be as surprised as the cops. As they run, they both fire their guns at the Eagles fan who has dived behind another nearby tree like the man in the sport coat. Now the two ambushers, using alternate guns, are shooting back at the cops. Nobody’s hitting anybody but the Petersen is pinned down behind the bumper of the van and can’t get inside it. Davis is taking shots as he pops out from behind a trash can but has a poor line of fire to the trees and nowhere else to run without the risk of being killed.

By now the blind man has directly blundered into the middle of this conflagration. He stands frozen in fear at the ominous sounds of gunfire and screaming ricochets filling the air around him. As promised, Supergirl makes him a priority and leaps over to him with her cape surrounding his shoulders. Just as she does a bullet bounces off the indestructible fabric.

“Come with me, sir. I’m Supergirl and this is much too dangerous a place for you,” she says grabbing his elbow and trying to talk calmly as the bullets careen through the air.

“Thank God you’re here, Supergirl!” His own hand grabs Supergirl’s forearm in what seems like a desperate grip of fear. And then Supergirl recoils with a grunt of surprise that nobody hears over the sound of firing guns.

“Uuhhnnn! Whaa...the....” Supergirl feels a second hand reach up and grab her breast. Hidden under her cape from view by anyone else, the powerful palm squeezes her bosom with a painful grip. Within her, all her incredible strength seems to be draining out of her through her forearm and her breast as if an incredibly powerful vacuum nozzle were sucking her strength right through her skin.

“Whooo...whuss...hap..p’nen....” She tries to pull away but the stranger pulls her to the side off balance with surprising strength.

“I guess I got up early enough in the morning, Supergirl.”

“...ohhhhh....uhhhhh....” Supergirl tries to break out of this man’s powerful death grip but so much of her amazing strength has fled that she can’t do it. In fact, her captor’s strength seems to have increased tenfold. At the very first instance, when she had felt the sudden great weakness it seemed like her strength was at least equal to this strangers power. But the shock of the attack and the brief time of his continued hold have overwhelmed her already and now her power is a fraction of what it was. And this man’s strength is completely irresistible. The hand that had been on her forearm now sneaks around her waist and settles on her right ass cheek. The powerful hand squeezes her rear and pulls her closely against his powerful body. The vacuum sensation stemming from this man’s hands are draining her of every bit of super strength she has. It flows out of her quickly from her breast and her buttocks.

“HEL...ELLGGKK!” Before Supergirl can cry for help she knows she desperately needs, the stranger’s powerful grip shifts instantly from her breast to her throat. Supergirl’s eyes bulge in strangled fear as an impossibly tight grip completely cuts off her airway.

“Shhhhh. Let’s just let this be our little secret for a few seconds more, Supergirl.” The man’s hands quickly slide up from her throat to her jaw and one finger is thrust into her mouth, drawing out the strength from her muscles there so she barely has strength to breathe or talk. In desperation, she tries biting the finger but it’s like trying to bite through a metal rod. It just hurts her teeth.

“WRUURGK!” The choking Maid of Steel feels her knees wobbling weakly as she gags for air that barely comes.

Now the hand moves from Supergirl’s slack, drooling mouth back to her other breast and squeezes her tit firmly, pulling her power and her will right out of her.

“....whhuuuhhh....ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....dohhn’t...”

“Yes, yes that’s good. Struggle hard, little Supergirl, try to pull away. Feed me more of that delightful super strength of yours.”

Davis looks over with an angry scowl at Supergirl who seems to just be covering the blind man with her indestructible cape and talking with him. Why is she taking so long? A bullet whizzes by his ear to capture his attention and he squeezes off another shot at the Eagles fan.

Helplessly hidden under her own wide cape, Supergirl now slumps against her powerful attacker.

“Ah, good. You’ve discovered, dear girl, that there’s no place for even someone as powerful as you to run to now, haven’t you? So let me hug you close and tight to congratulate you on your intelligence.” He draws the feebly struggling blonde tightly to his body and caresses her even more, his hands sliding all up and down her body, taking her energy easily as she is too drained to resist.

In less than 40 seconds, while Davis and Peterson have been crouching behind the trash can and the van trading shots with the two ambushers behind the trees, the mighty Supergirl has been drained of virtually all her super powers by this cruel stranger holding her close. Surrounded by her cape, his unseen hands once again have found their favorite positions, pulsing gently but firmly at her soft breast and her dimpled butt, yanking out not just her super strength now but all her life energy, weakening her past the point of even human frailty.

“....you...you’re...The....Parasite....”

“Congratulations, Superslush. Unfortunately, knowing that now won’t do you a bit of good!” The grinning man continues to rub Supergirl’s tit and her ass cheek in small circles.

“...agghhh....nooooo....pl...pleeeeaaseee....stooppppp....nuh...more...no...more....” The famous and powerful champion who was so sure of herself when she’d pulled out the man out of the van and shaken him like a rag doll only a few moments ago now whimpers and sobs miserably with no strength to fight her despair.

“Stop? No, I’ll believe I’ll take just a little bit more of your energy, champ.” The Parasite’s face beams with delight at this huge influx of power to him. He hasn’t been super powerful in years. Not since his last skirmish with Superman. And this broad felt like she had just as much energy to offer him as her loser cousin.

Supergirl’s eye sockets have become deep hollow recesses from which her now dulled, tear-filled blue eyes peer out with fear and horror. Her face has thinned, her cheeks have become sunken and sallow. And her breasts no longer fill her blouse. The bright blue blouse hangs loosely on Supergirl’s thin, emaciated frame. The world famous emblem is a wrinkled, folded, almost indiscernible red slash in the hands of her defiler. The defenseless champion’s knees begin to tremble with complete fatigue now, her pale tired eyes roll up into her head and she collapses into The Parasite’s now super powerful arms with a final breathy grunt.

“...hhuunnff...”

“Alllll done,” coos The Parasite, and smiling broadly, the now super-powered villain picks up the unconscious teen by the collar of her blouse and the waistband of her skirt and easily tosses the limp form directly into an unwary Officer Davis. This knocks the shocked cop and the trash can to the ground. Lying under a limp Maid of Steel, Davis turns awkwardly onto his stomach to try to reach his gun when a hard knock on the back of his head sends him into a deep dark pool of unending silence. Standing over the blonde beauty and the beaten Davis, The Parasite strips off his blind man camouflage and mask and reveals his lycra two-tone green costume: a tight pair of what looks like swim trunks over his bright purple body. Matching gloves hang in his waistband, surreptitiously stuffed there just before Supergirl came close enough to him to grab her arm. He has added a new element to his costume, a matching sleeveless two-tone green lycra shirt that emphasizes his purple coloring and powerful muscular physique. Office Peterson takes but a moment to glance at the unbelievable scene of an unconscious Supergirl lying prone over his commanding officer with some strange purple guy standing over both of them. Then the purple guy somehow disappears and a hard knock from behind by an unseen assailant sends him off to dreamland. In the van, a trembling Kamila has watched this ambush with heart-freezing dread and a bitter touch of anger. This was her fault. All of it, but there was nothing she could do about it. She turns to the driver and pleads, “Do something, Bendix! Drive away.”

Bendix puts the van into gear and floors the accelerator, but there’s no movement, just the screaming of smoking tires on pavement. Kamila looks out the back window of the van to see that purple man crouched down with Supergirl hoisted over his shoulder and his other arm below the level of the window.

“He must be holding onto the bumper,” Bendix shouts. “I can’t go anywhere. He’s as strong as Supergirl!”

“Actually,” the man behind the van shouts with a beaming smile over the squealing tires, “I’m much, much stronger than she is now!” Then he lifts the rear end of the van higher and with the tires spinning off the pavement now, things are much quieter. “Stop the van immediately and come out, you two. Do that and I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Kamila and Bendix look at each other for confirmation that they had no choice. Bendix nods, shifts the car into Park and turns the ignition key off. The rear of the van bumps down softly and Kamila and Bendix exit the van and stand seven feet away from The Parasite and his two accomplices who have walked over from the two trees they’d used as cover in the firefight.

“Excellent. Mr. Green and Mr. White, please load Mr. Blue and our four unconscious friends in the van. Officer Bendix, is it? I need you here beside me.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” Bendix sounds like a petulant six-year old.

“And I won’t. Come here quickly though before I get angry.” Bendix shuffles over reluctantly to the man dressed in purple and green, shaking in fear before the bright purple figure who simply says, “Won’t hurt you...much.” He taps Bendix hard on the forehead and the last conscious cop falls over backward in the grass oblivious to the world.

“I don’t know who you are, mister,” snaps Princess Kamila, “but you’re going to be in a world of trouble. You may not know it but my father is one of the wealthiest people on this planet. When he finds out you kidnaped me, he won’t rest until I am found. I assure you that!”

“Well, first of all, you can call me The Parasite. And secondly, I know all about your father, little lady.”

“Really. How would that be?”

“Why, he’s the one who hired me!”

And with that The Parasite lets out a huge guffaw and lightly pushes Kamila toward the van’s sliding side door. She reluctantly climbs into the seat behind the driver. By now, all five unconscious cops are stacked like cordwood inside the back of the van. Their wrists have all been linked behind their backs by their own sets of handcuffs. The back door of the van slams closed. Kamila stares daggers at The Parasite as his two henchmen get in the van, one in the side and the other in the driver’s seat who prepares to get underway.

Outside the van, just before The Parasite lowers his head to enter it, Supergirl stirs groggily, draped over The Parasite’s shoulder, moaning softly as she heroically struggles back to consciousness. Her exposed rear end faces outward, the sagging bright red panties shining in the early afternoon light. Supergirl’s soft rear end has lost muscle definition too.

“Ah, ah, ah. Too soon, Superwhuss,” The Parasite tightens his arm hold around her waist. “You’ve got to go back to dreamland for a while longer I’m sorry to tell you.”

Quickly pulling down Supergirl’s panties to reveal her anus and vagina to the shocked Jordaqian princess and the two leering henchmen, The Parasite straightens his finger, sucks on it for a moment to thoroughly wet it and sticks it deeply past Supergirl’s pinkish nether lips and holds it steadily within her vagina. He looks directly at Kamila and winks as Supergirl’s thighs and buttocks begin to tremble violently from the muscular weakness he is creating within her body.

“Oh...ohh...uh...uh...uh...ohhhh...duuuhhnn’t....”

Supergirl’s rear end shimmies and shakes like a palsy victim as The Parasite continues to smile at the princess and do the job he was handsomely paid to do: suck every ounce of energy out of the famous heroine until only a small spark remains.

“Stop it! Stop it. You’re killing her!” Kamila screams.

“Almost killing her, princess. Just almost.” The Parasite twists his finger slightly, pulls it out and then pushes it slowly back into her soft yielding fleshy cavern.

“...whhhaa.....uuuunnngghhhh....nuhhh....nohh..no....n..n..nooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh....” And with a final shiver of the toes of her bright red boots, the once mighty Maid of Steel lets out a grunt and last gasping wheeze, completely drained of all but the tiniest fraction of her life force.

“There we are!” Parasite beams as he pulls his finger out of Supergirl’s exposed pussy and sucks his finger greedily with a loud pop. Princess Kamila turns her head away, horrified at this man’s ruthless sense of evil mirth. “A tasty new addition to your father’s harem, I’d say!” The princess’ head snaps around in an expression of shock and disbelief.

“No!” She blurts, staring at The Parasite with disbelief.

The Parasite simply raises his eyebrows and nods his head up and down with a leering grin. He then pulls up Supergirl’s panties to reestablish her lost modesty.

It will take her hours before Supergirl will even be strong enough to stir within the container that The Parasite has prepared for her shipment in the cargo hold of Sheik Shamoor’s private plane. And when that happens, the biometric chip in the sensor taped to her breast will indicate the fact of her breathing to the gas mask relay and a powerless Supergirl will be gassed back to unconsciousness until her long flight to Jordaq is over.

The princess will have her own locked accommodations in the plane’s luxurious cabin area. But she will be her father’s prisoner nonetheless. The Parasite, having paid off his accomplices and left the van with loaded with the Philadelphia cops in Space No. 1174 in the parking garage at the Philly Airport, is the only member of the attack squad to return to Joraq. He will be needed further when Supergirl and the princess are presented to Sheik Said Shamoor for judgement.

When Supergirl finally regains consciousness she feels dizzy and slightly nauseous. There is a cool sensation of air blowing into her nose and a thin band stretched across her cheeks. She finds herself struggling just to open her eyes. As she drowses in a heavy stupor, she enjoys the sensation of a very comfortable bed beneath her. Not too soft and not too hard. Somewhere a soft bell is chiming. Taking a deep breath, she decides she really must make an effort to open her eyes and see where she is. Slowly, she lifts her lids and sees a bedroom surrounding her that is lushly decorated in white furniture and pale cocoa-colored wallpaper. The wallpaper is generous imprinted with small ornate gold bird figures in all attitudes of flight. It is a very peaceful, very beautiful design that has her eyes slowly drifting around the room to follow the flights of these golden birds across the walls.

“...hhhmmmm.....niiiceeee....” she murmurs softly, then shakes her head slightly to try to shake the doldrums out of her. She feels a plastic tube shake on her face and realizes that oxygen is being fed directly into her nostrils from a 4-foot high tank that she glances to the side of the bed in which she rests. Had she been in an accident? Everything’s fuzzy in her brain. But the oxygen doesn’t smell right. It has a harsh but faint back scent, almost like nail polish remover. Oxygen shouldn’t smell bad like this. She decides to take the tube out of her nose when she realizes her arms are restrained over her head. Turning her head to the right she sees the blue sleeve at her forearm is covered in a solid coil of 1-inch thick white rope. The tightly winding rope runs from mid-forearm to the very edge of her wrist and then around one of the rings in a row of circular iron rings that arc across the top of the cast iron antique headboard. She sees her other wrist similarly wrapped in coiled rope at the end circle in the arc on the opposite side of the bed.

As more awareness slowly spreads through her brain, Supergirl looks down to see the calves of her bright red boots are also circled with tight white coils of rope. Unlike her arms however, her feet are bound tightly together so that the soles of her boots are facing and her knees are spread wide apart. A thick knot of many tight twists keeps her feet securely linked with almost no slack whatsoever.

“Damn!” The beautiful blonde curses loudly, feeling angry at this silly attempt to restrain her with mere rope. She’ll break out of the headboard and untie her feet and then take care of whoever did this to her. Supergirl gives the rope a quick hard yank forward with both wrists. The tight white cotton coils squeak slightly and the headboard groans from her effort but the rope does not break. Kara then realizes she doesn’t feel very powerful at all. Why was that? And with a sudden flash of realization, the whole scenario at Independence hall comes rushing back to her fogged brain. The Parasite! She’d been captured while trying to protect Kamila. Where is Kamila and where, in fact, is Kara herself right now? And what was this stuff they were pumping up her nose? It had to be some sort of anesthetic gas. But they hadn’t figured things right because despite the gas, she was definitely getting her powers back. She didn’t have a fraction of her normal strength but she could feel the power building slowly within her. The gas was disorienting her slightly but it was not knocking her for a loop as it was only half a minute ago. If her super strength would come back fast enough, she could break out and rescue Kamila. She just had to stay out of The Parasite’s reach. He must not be at full power anymore. Of course, he would feel the difference and come for her. It was a matter of tricky timing whether she’d be able to break out before he arrived. Glancing around for any possible tool, she sees nothing. There’s only a small digital clock on the night table beside her bed that reads 9:22. It felt like morning to her. She had no idea she had been re-drained once by the Parasite and sedated for almost 42 hours since her capture. All she knows is that she’s got to try to get out of this room. She strains with all her might at the coils binding her to the bed, trying to break out of the iron rings or snap the cotton cord. Neither happens except more squeaking rope and more groaning cast iron.

And then the door opens to her left and The Parasite walks into the room with a wide smile on his face. The timing wasn’t going to work in her favor. The Maid of Steel’s head shakes back and forth in slow denial.

“Hello, Supergirl. I’m here to top off my tank. Ready to give up your super powers to me again?”

“No...no..please...please don’t...” she blurts out with a choked whisper as she edges to the side of the bed as much as possible. “Don’t...do this, Raymond. Mr. Jensen, isn’t it. I’m pleading with you. You don’t have to do this!”

“Mr Jensen she calls me,” The Parasite says as he walks slowly toward the bed. “Well, aren’t you nice to remember my real name, Supergirl. Or should I call you Kara? That’s your Kryptonian name, right? Seeing how we’re being all friendly here, I guess you don’t mind if I call you Kara. Or do you prefer I call you Linda Danvers?” The purple-skinned villain stands over the trembling blonde who eyes widen in shock. He knows my secret identity!

“Surprised, Linda? What’s the matter, did your cousin forget to tell you that when I absorb someone’s abilities I get a glimpse of their minds and memories? It’s true. It’s a little fuzzy now and then but I guess it’s good enough. So, you and Daniel Peterson the photographer are having a little trouble in bed, huh?”

“What!?” Supergirl gasps in dismay at this shocking secret thrown in her face by this cruel psycho. The angry blonde spits out, “You have no right. You evil, evil ma...AAGHH!”

The Parasite’s green gloved hand is squeezing Supergirl’s nipple before she even sees his hand move. He still has the majority of her super powers and the pain from his pressing fingertips now drives the sound from her body and a rush of tears from her eyes. Her head bends forward and her mouth drops open in a silent scream of agony. But only the tiniest squeak issues from the tortured teen. After only ten seconds the pressure relents but it is enough and Supergirl begins to cry softly as her head hangs against her chest and drips of salty tears drain down her cheek and spot the top of her blouse with tiny dark circles.

“Yeah, your cousin Kal used to call me Ray when he wanted something, too. Real polite that one. Didn’t help him though. I still took away his powers and beat the crap out of him with his own strength flowing in me. And now I’m going to take away your powers again, too, Supergirl. Just like I’m being paid to do.”

“Why? Who’s paying you? Why are you doing this?” She throws out the questions in rapid fire, hoping to stall him just a few more seconds. His strength was still far greater than hers but she would have passed out from his cruel nipple attack if she didn’t have some powers building up fast in her. She sees him remove his gloves and knows she has no time left at all. With a mighty effort and all her concentration, Supergirl pulls at the ropes binding her to the headboard. The loud groan of bending metal fills the room for a second and the Parasite’s pupils spread wide and his eyebrows fly up as he sees the rope fraying and the ring of iron on the headboard forming an oval where the rope is threaded through it. Immediately The Parasite’s one hand flies to her pelvis and pins her firmly to the bed while the palm on his other hand encloses over Supergirl’s face, his fingertips on her eyebrows.

“HUUNNGGHHH.....UUNGGH....OHHHH...UUHH.....n.n..no...nooohhhhhhh....” Once again, whatever measure of Supergirl’s mighty strength that has built up within her is forcibly pulled out of her with a horribly enervating rush of weakness that feels like water swirling down a drain. The energy surges out of her through her cheeks and forehead and through her pelvis. The cold vacuum of The Parasite’s touch makes her head spin and drains away all her hope.

“That was too close, Supergirl. You almost distracted me just enough to make things interesting. But I’m afraid you just missed the boat, sweetheart.”

And now, with a mere fraction of her star-fueled powers left in her, that acrid gas pumping into her nostrils through the tube attached to the cylinder beside her bed is making her very tired. The Parasite sees her eyelids drooping and reaches over with the hand from her thigh and turns off the valve.

“No, we’re not going that route, Supergirl. I want to drain you down properly,” the purple power-sponging villain states. Lifting his hands away from Supergirl’s face and pelvis, The Parasite looks down at the strained, pale face of the defenseless teen. He didn’t want to take too much of her vital essence. Not like in Philadelphia. No he had to leave her with more energy than that. About as powerful as a regular teenager and no more. He had his orders. So he waits a full two minutes while the dazed and groggy heroine comes out of the fog of the anesthetic gas.

“Okay, then. Back with us, Kara?”

“...yes...” Supergirl’s eyes open as she answers and The Parasite sees about an equal mix of anger and fear there. “What are..you going...to do?” She haltingly asks.

“Just what I do best, Kara.” Instead of using his palms this time, Ray Jensen leans over and simply glides his fingertips up Supergirl’s abdomen, slowly sliding them along her ribs and up to her breasts. The frowning blonde champion cringes at the touch of this heinous man but she can’t stop him in any way. With the lightest grazing touch, the wide purple fingers drag up the underside of her breasts, slide gently over the crests, circle around the nipples and then converge at the throat and move away to the sides of her neck and rest ever so subtly on her ears. Supergirl shudders the entire length of her body and moans through dry parted lips.

“...uh..uh..uh..uh..uh..uh..uh..uh..uh..uh...uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....” It feels like her energy is evaporating through her skin. Just passing up into the air and converging within the body of the muscular man hovering over her.

A second pass of the fingertips starts at Supergirl’s spreadeagled knees. The hands draw spidery lines around the kneecaps and roam up the long slow passage up her quivering thighs, sliding along the inner length of both legs until the hands converge at Supergirl’s crotch.

“...ohhhhhh....doooonnnnnn’tttt....” she exhales in a breathy whimper, her voice almost inaudible.

“Shhhhhhh. Easy there, pretty hero. Don’t fight it. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just making sure that you’re no threat to anyone. Not anyone at all.” The Parasite pushes his palms under the leg band of Supergirl’s exposed panties and gentle fingertips drum rapidly along the outer edges of her satiny cleft, not even touching the pink lips but near enough to cause the famous Maid of Steel to jerk and moan in fear.

“OHH!.....stop....” Her hips are rocking and her thighs bouncing up and down to try to escape the nerve-wracking, tickling touch of the Parasite’s fingers forced inside her panties. But escape is impossible and with a sly sneer, Ray goes deep with his forefinger. The tip of the finger finds Supergirl’s clitoris and rubs it rapidly in the tiniest circles possible. With no resistance within her erogenous zone to fight the sensations flooding her, Supergirl begins to pant and whimper with helpless ecstacy.

“...uuuhhhh....whoa...wait...no....don’t....please....oh stop....stop...stop....ohhhhhh...” Immediately the Parasite’s super-speed fingering of her clit brings a rush of lubrication to her pussy that douses the purple fingers and oozes down the inside of Supergirl’s spread thighs to her costume cape that’s spread out underneath her. And only seconds after that, the famous Maid of Steel is pushed over the edge into a rushing torrent of sexual delight.

“AH...AH...AHHH...AHHHHH.....AIEEEYAAHHHH,” she wails in helpless pleasure, her hips jerking, her mouth open wide, her eyes clamped shut, her breasts heaving. The Parasite has already withdrawn his fingers and sits on the edge of the bed watching Supergirl writhe and moan and jerk in indescribably ecstacy. His super fingering of her now drenched pussy may have been one of the fastest and best orgasms of her life. It takes her a full minute to get her breathing back to normal.

The Parasite simply waits until she opens her eyes lazily and looks at him with deep confusion and asks, simply, “Why?”

“Because I can, Supergirl And you’re welcome! See you tomorrow, champ.” After reaching over and turning on the valve of the anesthesia gas tank with a quick twist, The Parasite stands up and walks out of the room whistling the dwarf’s theme “Whistle While You Work” from Snow White. The dazed superheroine tied and bound on the bed lies in a befuddled torpor as the gas feeds into her nostrils and sends her away to someplace without a name.

Kamila paces a wide circle in her luxurious bedroom for the hundredth time that morning. She had not seen her father even once since she was taken off his private plane and brought to the castle in the capital city of Beral. He had made her cool her heels for almost two full days now. Meals had been brought by Mariha, her personal servant and confident since Kamila’s early childhood. Mariha was ten years older than Kamila and would have been considered a truly beautiful woman but for a long scar that ran diagonally from her upper left cheek to behind her left ear. It was the result of a harsh punishment from a former master whom her father had put to death. Mariha had been taken into the Sheik’s household and had stayed there ever since, a happy soul who always looked at the bright side of life despite her disfigurement. The scar and its story had been one of the prime factors that started Kamila on her road to seeking justice for women in her homeland.

Kamila sulkily drops into an cushioned armchair by the shuttered window and sips her tea with a sigh and a frown.

“Your father is very angry with you still, Kamila, my precious one,” Mariha states. “Perhaps in time, though, he will cool off and things can be as they were,” Mariha adds with compressed lips and hopeful eyes. “And you can continue to help the women of Joraq.”

“And how long do you think that might be, my dearest Mariha?”

“Who can tell. Twenty minutes, twenty days or twenty years. Sheik Sayid is a mystery to me at times,” Mariha replies.

“And what of my mother? Does Queen Nabila continue to side with my father in this matter?”

“Does a camel spit in the sand? She does as she always does. She stands at his side and believes he is right and just in all things.”

“Hmmm. Big surprise there,” Kamila grunts. “Well, pick up your dice and let’s play yet another game of backgammon. I owe you 2053 durars I believe, you sly bitch.”

“Maybe your luck will change, you horned harpy,” Mariha’s smile lights up the room and still fills Kamila’s heart with peace even in her forced captivity by her own father. Mariha, Princess Kamila knew, was happy to have her charge back with her for now, and that was enough for the servant. And for the time being that would have to be alright with Kamila. But she wondered what was going on with her friend Kara, the Supergirl from the United States. Was she really in her father’s harem quarters? Was that evil Parasite person keeping Kara helpless still? Mariha had seen nothing in that regard, but then again Mariha was not permitted in the harem area. That was the realm of two men and a woman. The men were the gentle Quadir and the cold Fatih. The woman was the clever and calculating Sabat. And each had their clearly defined roles when it came to handling the 13 women of her father’s harem. Or was it now 14 women with sweet Kara among them?

When Kara comes back to awareness, there is no struggle this time. She simple rises from dreamless sleep to conscious thought in just a few seconds. Escape! I have to escape! Her eyes snap open and she sees that her hands are still tied to the headboard. This time however, there are no long, tightly wrapped coils of rope running along her forearms and calves. Simple square knots in short lengths of rope keep her bound to the headboard. Similar knots bind her ankles to the two steel poles at the foot of the bed. Someone had come in and eased up on her bondage. These ropes and knots could be worked quickly and easily if she could get to them. She’s glad her feet are not bound together at the soles anymore. That would be a painful position that could lead to nasty leg cramps before long. She does have a bit of a headache from all the anesthetic she’s absorbed but other than that, she feels fine. For a superheroine without super powers that is. She feels about as strong as any normal human she guesses, and that, for her, is very depressing.

Glancing at the clock on the night table beside her bed, Kara sees it is 2:55. It feels like the same day, so she’s been out for about five and a half hours. She pulls at the ropes but even with their simple knots she wasn’t going to be able to break the now oval ring on the headboard or the thick cotton bonds. She sighs deeply, bends her head forward and rolls her neck in a circle relieve the pressure of her position. I could use a bath and some food.

“Hey! Anybody out there?” Supergirl shouts as loud as she can. “I could use some food in here! And the bathroom! Hello? Anyone? Anyone at all!”

After three minutes and another salvo of shouting by Supergirl, there is the sound of the lock in the bedroom door being keyed open. With a shove the door swings wide open with a rush of air as a tall dark-haired man in a tan soldier’s outfit strides in.

“Keep your voice down, harlot. This is a castle and a home, not some stadium where you can scream anything you want!”

“Excuse me for living, Amad, but I haven’t eaten in at least a day and, while that usually isn’t an issue with me, right now it’s a big issue and I was wondering if you have any hamburgers, steaks or chicken you can cook up for me?”

“My name is not Amad, whore. It is Fatih. You had best remember it.” He literally looks down his long thin nose at Kara like she is something that crawled out of a sewer. She gets the feeling he’s wondering which diseases she carries and are they contagious from where he’s standing.

“Yeah. Well, my name is not Whore or Harlot, Fatih. It’s Supergirl or Kara Zor-El if you prefer. And you’d best remember that. You’ll want to stay on my good side. I’m a superheroine with a long memory. Now how about that food? Any reason you can’t provide me with something so I don’t pass out from hunger here, big guy?”

“Well, if you are a superheroine as you say, then this should not bother you,” Fatih says matter-of-factly. He then quickly swings his arm in wide arc and cracks Supergirl in the cheek with a hard, open-hand slap that knocks her head sideways

“Uughnnn!” the harsh whipping slap forces a grunt from the stunned beauty and brings a bright red shine to the left side of Supergirl’s face. Her bright eyes tear up slightly from the pain but the wincing blonde champion says nothing for a moment. She just brings her head back around to center and looks at the tall soldier with malicious intent in her eyes.

“Does that mean I will not be receiving any food?” Every word in her sentence is clipped short and driven home with the tone of a very angry hero.

“No. It does not. I means you should guard your filthy tongue. I will bring you the leftovers from lunch. Grilled pheasant and an artichoke salad,” Fatih replies sternly and turns on his heels to leave.

“Much obliged,” Kara says to his back as he locks the door behind him. “Prick!”

Twenty minutes after one of the tastiest lunches she’s ever eaten, Kara lies in bed staring at the ceiling wondering how the hell she was going to get out of this captivity. She has been retied to the bed by Fatih. He had carefully untied her bonds for lunch and studiously watched her as she wielded her knife and fork with an eagerness borne of a deep hunger she’s never felt before. He marveled at her appetite as she consumed about two pounds worth of thinly sliced pheasant and a huge bowl of artichoke salad.

Despite himself, Fatih also marveled at Supergirl’s body. Women in the castle were usually covered from head to toe. Even in the harem quarters, the women wore many layers of clothing albeit most of those layers with virtually transparent silky material that permitted the suggestive feminine curves to be accented in ways that made the harem women extremely desirable. But Fatih’s strength of will was a great source of pride and he was able to perform his duties as Captain of Guard and Harem Overseer for many years without straying a single time with any of the beautiful women he saw and spoke with on a daily basis. His willpower was enhanced, of course, by the edict that anyone other than Quadir who had physical relations with any woman in the Sheik’s harem would be castrated and begin a long life of service among the core of eunuchs who served at the pleasure of the Sheik’s many wives. But this Kara, this Supergirl was a vision of beauty that rivaled his deceased wife. The fact that her charms were so blatantly displayed were a heady distraction for Fatih. Kara had certainly picked up on his attention to her body. She was wondering how she could parlay that into an escape plan without getting raped in the process. And if she were raped and were able to escape because of it, would that even be the worse thing? If it got her away from The Parasite, even that might be worth it.

Kara is thinking through several possible escape scenarios when there is a knock on the door. Fatih was not the knocking type. Who could this be?

“You’re welcome to come in if you want but I think the door is locked and while I’d like to help, I’m a little tied up right now!”

The sound of low, pleasant rumbling laughter accompanies the sound of the key in the lock and once more the door swings wide into Supergirl’s bedroom. This time it is an average-sized gentleman with medium length, curly blonde hair who enters the room. Wearing a silk turquoise tunic and black rough silk pants, the man was simple gorgeous enough to eat, Kara thinks to herself.

“Good day to you,” he says as he stops halfway across the room and bows solemnly.

“Good day to you,” Kara responds with an easy smile. This man was easy to smile at.

“I am here for your lesson. My name is Quadir Kanshahi.” He stands straight now, his hands clasped behind his back looking over at Kara with a quiet distinguished air. The Maid of Steel figures the man to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Good build, nice eyes. Big brown bedroom eyes, she thinks.

“My name is Super...Oh, heck, just call me Kara. So, what kind of lessons we talking about here, Quadir? Joraqian language? Arab customs to make friends and influence people? Basket weaving. Macrame?”

“Advanced Lovemaking.”

“What!” Supergirl is flabbergasted. “Surely you’re joking?” This place wasn’t dull, that was for sure.

“No. I am not joking. Sheik Sayid wishes you to learn a variety of sexual techniques and positions so that you may be a valuable member of his harem and an active, flexible and clever participant when you share his bed.”

“Well, gee, who of us wouldn’t want that, really, Quadir,” Kara declares. “But, uh, I didn’t sign up for any classes like that and I’m sure not going to be a permanent resident of Sheik Sayid’s harem. So thanks for the offer but I think I’ll pass. But hey, don’t be a stranger. Stop on by anytime. Bye now.”

Walking over to Supergirl’s bed, Quadir looks down at her quizzically. She looks up at him with a smile.“What?” she says.

With a sudden movement, Quadir swings his hand up and caresses Kara’s cheek with his warm palm. Startled, Supergirl rears back with a jerk and blurts, “Jeezuz, what is it with the men in this place? A woman’s face is her own property, you know! Talk to Kamila, would you! She’ll set you straight. Now take a hike, Quadir. You seem nice but I’m not buying what you’re selling. Get me?”

“A thousand pardons, young Kara.” Quadir pulls his hand away and clasps it in his other behind his back. “I did not mean to offend you. You are a beautiful woman and I am simply here to help you learn the most powerful secrets of the bed chamber. It is not something to be ashamed of. And I am a skilled instructor. I have taught most of the Sheik’s concubines how to reach multiple climaxes with men and to provide many different ways for men to cast their seed with a mighty force. I promise I can help you learn to give and receive incredible pleasures, pleasures that only a very few men and women know how to provide with true skill. It can be a valuable training of a lifetime. And fun as well!”

“...i...i....i.....have no doubt...of that...” Supergirl stammers trying to figure how to decline this nice fellow’s offer without insulting him. “Fun...ah...yeah...I’m uh....sure....that you are..um. ...certainly...uh...quite...er...proficient...in your, uh, methods for teaching...these pleasures, Quadir. But, ah....er...i...ahhhh” Supergirl suddenly looks up at Quadir with a bashful glance. “Multiple climaxes did you say?” She lowers her head, flushing slightly.

“Indeed. I have taught the techniques to all the women but some of them are more receptive than others. Shakira may be the best student in this technique. She claims to have successfully reached twelve orgasms in one three minute period. I only counted eleven but I did not dispute her in this.

“Twelve? Did you say twelve? In three minutes? With what...a blender?”

“I beg your pardon? A what?”

“She reached this with some man?”

“She reached this with me. As I said I was counting, but it is possible I lost track.”

“You think?” Supergirl takes a huge long breath and blows it out while looking at the trim, good looking Arabian in the turquoise tunic. She shakes her head slowly. “No, Quadir, I...can’t do it. Thanks. I have a boyfriend already.”

“All the more reason to let me teach you. Think of this, Kara. You will learn to be so sensual and erotic that he will not be able to control himself. You can make him a slave to your wishes and desires. Together you can breach the clouds.”

“Hahhh. Whooa....Uh, gosh, Quadir. That’s a tough offer to turn down.”

“Then do not. Turn up your smile and let us begin. I think you will be a good student. You seem fast with words, when you are not embarrassed at least, and such intelligence often leads to great success. So, will you let me teach you how to please men and be pleased by them, young Kara?”

“I’m not here to be Sheik Sayid’s boy toy, Quadir. I plan to escape as soon as I possibly can.”

“Boy toy, Kara?”

“Play thing, concubine or wife. I’m not doing it!”

“If you refuse, the Sheik will kill you.” Quadir says with alarm, his eyes darting to Kara’s, searching them for her resolve.

“He can try!” Supergirl growls, showing him every reason in the world she’s a natural born superheroine.

“The purple man, Ray. He doesn’t frighten you? You can beat him?”

“He scares the crap out of me, actually,” Kara admits. “And if things go badly, no, I won’t be able to beat him. I would need outside help possibly. Maybe yours, Quadir.” Kara gives Quadir a hopeful look but his face and attitude turn quite stonily severe before her eyes.

“I would not crush the flower of trust I treasure with Sheik Sayid under my own boot heel. Nor would I have you do it. The Sheik has been a generous and beneficent master to me. It shames me to even discuss it with you. I suppose I will go tell the Sheik you refused my teaching. I fear it will not go well with you, young Kara.” Quadir turns to leave when Kara calls out to him.

“Wait. Please, Quadir. Don’t leave. I...I’m sorry to have suggested you dishonor your trust with Sayid. I am desperate and so spoke out of turn. The Sheik has had me captured, has had my strength and abilities stolen from me, has had me sexually abused already without permission. If I hold your Sheik in less esteem than you do, I trust you will understand why. But I have no quarrel with you and I won’t make you do anything you would regret. I promise.”

“I accept your apology, Kara. And offer you this suggestion. Take my lessons, learn what I can give you. It does not have to be for Sheik Sayid in your mind. It can be for your male friend. But take the time to learn and give yourself time to live. Who can know. Some way may present itself so you have your freedom and the Sheik loses a new harem member without enduring a shameful insult. No one can tell the future. But do not go running into the arms of the Purple devil and the death he longs to bring you because of your pride.”

“You are an eloquent and persuasive man, Quadir. Okay, fine. I’ll take your lessons. Sign me up.”

“I am most pleased, young Kara..”

“I have a feeling I will be most pleased as well, Quadir. When do we start?”

“Immediately. Let me untie you,” he says bending over her to reach the ropes tied to the iron headrest. He even smells great, she thinks.

“That’s already a good start,” Supergirl smiles at Quadir with her widest, most sincere heart-stopping effort and he returns it in kind. His own smile is one that the women residents of the castle have generally agreed upon as being the brightest in all Joraq.

When Quadir shuts the bedroom door after their first session, Kara’s head is in the clouds and her now naked body is still thrumming with the afterglow of delirious pleasure. She settles into the bed and lazily pulls the tangled sheet over her. The blanket has fallen to the floor in all the energetic sex play of the three hour lesson, but she’s too warm to need it anyway. She may get cool as the desert night air filters through the vents in her room but she’s too weak from the exertions of her time with Quadir right now to even make the effort to find the blanket.

She sighs out a long and throaty moan of feline contentment and thinks back to the lesson. Quadir had been, in turns, patient, firm, helpful, funny, understanding, powerfully dominating, endearingly gentle and, through it all, charming and kind. It had been so wonderful to wrap her body around his strong muscular bulk and feel her breasts against his warm skin, as they pleased each other with kisses, entwined tongues and eager fingers. And he had taught her several helpful tricks to do with her tongue that had even him, with all his experience at withholding release until the ultimate moment, pleading desperately for her to finish him off.

“So that’s what 69 means,” she murmurs just before she drifts off to sleep.

Merely 45 minutes after Quadir has left, the door to Kara’s bedroom opens and a small dark figure moves in the shadows over to the side of the sleeping blonde’s bed. Deep in sleep, Supergirl does not begin to feel a small patch applied to the back of her neck. Imbued with a powerful sedative it will keep her in a deep unconscious state until she wakes in the morning bound and gagged, ready once more for the full attentions of Raymond Maxwell Jensen, The Parasite.

As he strides through The Hall of Almond Eyes, Sheik Sayid Shamoor looks around and sighs with satisfaction at the expansive, columned oval space right in the center of his favorite and second largest building in his castle. It is the building that houses his harem. He designed it himself. Two floors of bedrooms, baths, dressing rooms and small entertainment and recreation rooms surround the two-story high Hall of Almond Eyes. In addition, the Hall itself offers huge comfortable sectional couches for conversations as well as many clustered tables for food and liquid refreshments from a well-stocked kitchen area right next to it. While no alcohol is permitted, the selection of juices, teas, waters and sodas is legendary in the country. The food is also famous. Prepared by world-renowned chefs, it is available day and night at any time to any of the residents. This kitchen serves the as the main food facility of the castle. In fact, the plumpness of the harem’s older wives attests to the quality of the fare if not the restraint of the infrequently called upon women.

Second only to the Sheik’s living quarters in size, the harem building is equally as lavish in its decorations and size within Castle Ghibli. The building is directly connected to the Sheik’s home via a major passageway and a smaller secret passageway that only the Sheik and a few others know about.

Sheik Sayid built the castle five years earlier as gift to his wife (and himself) when his country discovered a major new oil find in the dusty lands just to the south of the capital of Beral. The find increased the Sheik’s already considerable wealth by a factor of 15: no small feat in that area of the world. In theory, the wealth belonged to the people of Joraq, but those intelligent and cynical among us know better. True, the Sheik had built new schools and colleges, soaring office buildings, a network of roads and power plants, outlandish stadiums and sundry other edifices to modernize the country’s infrastructure and build its prestige in the world but it was the least he could do while plundering the astronomical new found wealth from the oil find.

Although he was busily bringing his country’s structural needs up to twenty-first century standards, his religious and political philosophies were rooted in the 15th century. Certainly according to Kamila they were. But as Sheik and ruler he at least was able to enjoy his old school lifestyle and rules here in his beloved Castle Ghibli. He had bestowed this name on his beloved new home to signify power and sweeping change. (Up to a point that is.) The name means powerful Saharan wind and is the Middle Eastern equivalent of the word Scirocco.

As the majestic and good-looking white-haired ruler strides across the wide black marble floor, he readies himself to call all his wives into the hall. This he does by withdrawing a ram’s horn from his belt and blowing it loudly so the clarion call of the bellowing horn reverberates throughout the harem building. He smiles as he hears rushing footsteps and rustling silk as all his wives come scurrying into the main hall. After several minutes, all 13 women stand in line before their master.

“Ladies of my life,” Sheik Sayid intones in a clear confident voice, “I have called you here to tell you my daughter Kamila has arrived home and you will see her wandering the castle halls over the next few days. You are to discuss this with no one, because, for now, it is a state secret that she is here. Spread the warning to all those who work this building and to everyone in the castle. If word of her presence here leaks out to the outside world, I will discover the person who has revealed our secret and have him or her publicly stoned. Kamila is a headstrong girl whom I love dearly. Do not let her sway you with her modern talk and modern dress. Love her as I do and chasten her to follow Allah’s path more closely.

In addition, there is another woman who has arrived whom I would like to join your select and precious group. She is in training now with our own Quadir and eventually she will be introduced to you all. In no way does she mitigate the love and beauty I see surrounding me here. She simply augments it and I hope you will, when the time comes, welcome her into the bosom of your tender care and confidence that you share so willingly amongst yourselves, and, of course, with me. As always, I thank you always for your service to me, your love, your admiration and your loyalty. It is the rock upon which I place my life. Ladies, good day.”

After Sayid leaves, the wives talk noisily amongst themselves, exchanging rumors and gossip. Only Queen Nabillah, the first wife and only one who shares the living quarter with Sayid is not there to chatter with the others. She would not likely do so anyway. Many consider her Queenship a bitter and foolish old woman. But as the group chatters, they find that yes, there is a young blonde girl that, indeed, Khawlah and Nadira both had seen being carried through the Hall while sharing talk and a late-night snack. Fatih and a strange purplish man had carried the woman into the stairway that led to the large basement training bedroom where they all had learned their loving skills from the delightful Quadir. The woman was in a box and hard to see, but Khawlah saw that she was wearing bright red and blue clothing that exposed almost her entire body. It was a body that seemed quite attractive to the twenty-seven year old wife. Another wife shares that already Quadir had spent one afternoon with the new one and retreated to his own room for the rest of the evening, a rare occasion for the sociable young teacher of love. Wondering what it all would mean, the women slowly make their way back to their rooms and recreation areas to talk and confer endlessly through the rest of the evening as is the nature of women with nothing much else to do.

Upon awaking, Kara becomes aware of the strain in her arms and legs before she even opens her eyes and when she does, it is not a good sight. She finds herself suspended in a harness from the ceiling in her bedroom. Her costume has been put back on her by someone and her cape dangles from her neck to the floor. Her arms and legs are bent backward and pulled together behind her, meeting in a square frame that encloses each limb securely in a steel cuff. Her mouth is filled with a rubber ring gag that is forces her mouth painfully open while drool coalesces around the edges of the ring and drips to the floor below. Judging by the rawness of her open, exposed throat, the size of the wet spot on the pale yellow carpet a mere three feet below her and the racking pain in her shoulder joints, she’s been hanging her for quite some time. She’s just able to glimpse the clock on her night stand and sees that it’s only 8:30. She thought she had almost forty-five minutes before Mr. Jenson would show but for the life of her she didn’t have a clue how she could escape from this frame holding her in mid-air. Unless she could sway the apparatus enough to cause it to fall from the ceiling. Even then it would be unlikely that it would break. While hard to see, when she turned her head, Supergirl could tell that the frame was made of shiny new steel. Who else had they kept captive in this room that they would need such a device. Or was this some sort of training device for troublesome students of Quadir? She could hardly believe that of him. She tries swaying the frame but the gimbal support in the ceiling seemed to resist even this approach. She was thinking of how painful the strain in her arms and legs would be a long 45 minutes from now when the sound of the key in the outside doorknob causes her to pick her head up. Could this be Quadir or Fatih or, nightmare of nightmares, The Parasite? She hears a man and a woman talking outside and the man doesn’t sound like Quadir. The women gives a sharp, high cackle of a laugh and then the door swings open. Standing in the light in the hall, throwing his shadow across the carpet stands The Parasite. Kara’s teeth clench down on the rubber ring with fear and frustration and the blonde beauty begins to breath heavily through her nose, the wheezing air whistling through the unyielding round rubber circle on which she is taking her anger and desperation.

“Hello, Sunshine. How do you like the get-up I arranged for you? Comfy?” Ray closes the door behind him with a chuckle and locks it before striding over to the helplessly suspended Maid of Steel. “Considering how much you enjoyed yesterday’s little get together with me, I figured it would be fun to explore a new aspect of your sexual awakening. I mean, I’m no great Arabian love master, but I have my good points. I don’t take long and won’t bore you with long speeches about tenderness and caring. No one gives a shit about that stuff anyway, right, champ?”

Supergirl’s eyes follow The Parasite’s hands with laser intensity and tries to draw her body back from his hands as he reaches for her head. She barely rocks the frame however. Holding his gloved hands out before her, Ray smiles widely and kneels on the carpet before her to show the green gloves to his fearful captive.

“Gloves. See? No sucking hands to drain your strength, Supergirl. Not needed,” he says. as he leans forward and reaches behind her head to check the strap and make sure the ring gag is securely in place. He doesn’t want any accidents. He adjusts the strap a fraction as he edges himself forward until he’s only half a foot away from Supergirl’s face. Looking Kara straight in the eye, the purple-faced bastard says, “I’ll just bet you can’t wait to enjoy my junk this morning, huh, Supergirl? It’s my guess you had a good taste of ole Quadir’s unit last night so I guess you’re pleased with what the kitchen is offering again this morning.” Chuckling again at his own joke, The Parasite stands up before the restrained teenage heroine and pulls his cock out of the fly in his tight Lycra trunks. Kara’s head shakes back and forth in horror at the ugly purple penis staring her in the face.

“..ohh....ohhh...” she pleads, unable to form the “n” at the beginning of the word because of the ring gag holding her throat open.

“‘Fraid so, Supergirl. No gloves but plenty of cock to take away those super powers of yours, beautiful.” Grabbing a thick clump of Supergirl’s blonde hair with one hand, The Parasite strokes himself four times with his other hand to give his prick just enough hardness so it fits through the ring easily. With this achieved, The Parasite holds the struggling heroine’s head still with a firm grip of her hair and forces his semi-erect penis into Supergirl’s wide open mouth.

“AAUUWLGGKK!” The famous teen champion can do nothing as The Parasite feeds his shiny purple penis through the ring hole and against Supergirl’s cheek. Hardening from the heat of her breath and the inside of her mouth, the penis expands and pokes Kara’s cheek outward from the inside. The bulging cheek on one side is then repeated on the other side as Ray happily shifts his cock from side to side in rapid succession. Left to right, right to left, he now holds her head with both hands.

“Well, look at the mighty Supergirl now. Her cheeks bulging with cock and no way to escape!”

“...oooowwllfffff....aawwwggghhh...haallkkk...”

“You don’t look so all-powerful and swelled with pride now, do you, hero? No adoring crowd here to cheer you on now, is there, missy? No, the only thing swollen here is the cock you’re heating up with your mouth. Well, let’s give you the whole thing and see how you like my rod of steel, Maid of Steel!”

Forcing himself deeper into the defenseless blonde’s mouth, The Parasite begins to thrust his now-engorged cock in and out of Supergirl’s mouth. With every glancing thrust against her cheek, every stroking slide of his cock against her tongue, every press against the roof of her mouth, and every thrusting jab against the back of her throat, Supergirl loses more and more of the little super strength she has. Every thrust weakens her mouth muscles as well and Kara is scared to death that if The Parasite shoots his wad in her, she won’t have the muscle strength in her throat to even swallow. She could choke to death here!

With a steady barrage of purple prick forced in and out of her mouth, Supergirl’s powers are completely depleted in no time. Her eyes glaze over and her lids begin to droop as Ray builds his pace to a rapid finish. In fact, she suddenly feels him swell even more and stiffen within her mouth. And thankfully, he pulls his penis out of her mouth at the very last second. And comes all over the ceiling. A thick white stream blasts upward and carves away the sheet rock overhead in a laser like line from a spot over the dresser to right over Kara’s bed. Eight feet of cored out ceiling attest to the danger that Kara was not even aware she was facing. Then, holding his now half-erect cock in front of Supergirl’s face, The Parasite lets himself squirt three weak residual spurts of cum over the mighty blonde’s forehead, eyelid and nose. The thick dangling goo drops slides around her ring gag and drips down her chin. And The Parasite simply reaches into his pocket, slaps a patch of some kind onto Supergirl’s bare neck and turns and walks out of the room, without saying a word. He leaves Supergirl helplessly suspended in shame and defeat as she hangs her head and cries in abject humiliation at this cruelest of treatments. Ten minutes later, she has passed out from the narcotic patch.

“But father,” Kamila pleads her case, “I’m simply trying to give women the rights that every man takes as his natural rights. The freedom to speak, to enjoy human contact in public without fear of reprisals and to..”

“Enough. I heard your speech. You are wrong, Kamila. Gravely wrong. The world you seek is years if not decades away.”

“Only because you will it so.”

“Only because my people and many of the people of the Middle East want it so!”

“The men of the Middle East, you mean.”

“And many women. Yes, many women do not like your message, Kamila. They fear it and they do not wish for change.”

“They fear it because of the men. I can’t change the world from inside this castle father,”

Exactly so. Which is why it is where you are staying. For your own protection. I brought you back here because I feared for your life and I love you, Kamila. Do you not understand that?”

“I understand that I do not want to live if it means my voice is silenced.”

“I don’t want to silence you completely, Kami. But you must go slower. For your safety and the safety of the women who take up your cause.”

“How slow,” Kamila asks her father.

Together, they talk through the night, probably the most honest and direct talk they’ve had in years. And sitting in the room beside their facing chairs, sits the Queen. Listening and smiling as her family wrestles with the truth, true, but seemingly wrestling with mutual respect.

Supergirl awakes in bed. She has been moved out of the frame. Only a small steel plug in the ceiling indicates where the harness had hung. She is not bound in any way. Her costume is gone, however, and she is wearing a teal silk slip and matching panties, both of which smoothly hug her body and display all her assets admirably. She wonders who has been changing her and moving her. Katih would probably get his jollies from that, but she just didn’t know.

When she hears the key in the door and sees Quadir enter, she actually hops out of bed and runs to him, encircles her arms around his waist and hugs him as tightly as he can. In a strange way it feels good not to have to hold back her strength when she does this. Her anguish fills her heart and she cries helplessly into his shoulder as he holds her there without speaking. It is enough, he believes, just to provide his physical presence and silence for the shattered blonde beauty crushing herself against him.

After several minutes, Kara composes herself and explains how The Parasite had treated her this morning. Quadir is horrified. He knew the man was needed to keep the blonde champion weakened so she could not escape but he did not realize the methods being employed. He promises Supergirl that he will discuss The Parasite’s barbaric treatment with Katih and Sheik Sayid before the day is over. Then, drying her tears, he suggests they move on to a new lesson in sexual technique called The Jellyfish.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, different cultures call it different things, but it’s a simple but effective position that multiplies a couple’s tender caring into a deeply satisfying sexual connection. Here I will sit on the bed like so. Quadir kneels on the bed with his back straight. “Come to me, Kara. For the moment I want you to kneel opposite me, right here.” He pats the bed.

She positions herself before Quadir and he reaches up with both hands and encompasses her breasts in his palms, slowly squeezing them and drawing a pleasurable little sigh from the blonde girl before him. She looks down and already sees his penis beginning to rise between his legs.

“That’s actually a bit faster than yesterday,” she giggles. “I guess you’re anticipating the pleasure of having me again, hmmmm?”

“Sweet Kara, you do not know how truthfully you speak. Indeed, you are the most blessed student I may have ever had,” Quadir murmurs softly, his head down in quiet embarrassment. Kara pulls his chin up with her forefinger and smiles at him with an endearing clench of her throat. She really liked this guy. He was doing a job, she knew, but she felt there was more to it than that. She feels a pang of guilt about Daniel but mentally brushes it away.

“We’re both doing this for our own reasons, I know, but being so intimate, I understand it’s hard not to connect,” she says. Especially when the heart is so eager to please like yours.”

Quadir gulps quietly and looks at Kara with his held tilted. “You are a truly gracious being,” he says softly. “I mean that literally. You are graced by Allah, I think. To be so strong in your heart while the world is so harshly treating you, this is a gift beyond all you might choose. Come to me now, please,” Quadir says, sliding back into his tutorial voice. “and mount my penis and wrap your legs around my waist.”

“Absolutely, professor!” The beaming blonde does as told. “Wow! This feels amazing.” Supergirl rests her head on Quadir’s shoulder, her lips caressing his neck.

“Now we slowly rock up and down,” he says, initiating the first motion.

“Eemmmmm.” Supergirl coos in pleasure as the motion of their rocking bodies are intensified by the physics of the reacting mattress beneath them. “Oooohhhhhh”

Kissing Quadir’s neck in slow soft pecks, Supergirl luxuriates in the moment, the closeness, the experience of sharing physical contact at such a deep and abiding level. They rock like that for almost 15 minutes until the heat and the motion drive their energies upward and they seek more. Much more.

Once again, Quadir leaves a spent and delighted Supergirl sleeping on the bed as he makes his exit. And once again, 40 minutes later, the same dark figure as yesterday, places a patch on Supergirl’s exposed rear and doses her with the powerful narcotic so she can be arranged for The Parasites’ visit the next day.

This routine continues on for several days. In the morning, The Parasite arrives in time to drain off Supergirl’s powers with some type of humiliating sexual attack before she is strong enough to escape. And in the afternoon, she awakes to find Quadir there moments later to soothe her, caress her and teach her the intricate ways of sex and, occasionally, love. In one lesson, she becomes so skilled at her technique that Quadir becomes rough and animalistic, taking her with unusually fervent force that surprises Supergirl while filling her with not so secret delight. The peals of laughter and joyful screams even waft past the soundproof room so that the women of the harem upstairs gnash their teeth with envy.

Then, two days after the glory of Supergirl’s triumph over Quadir’s restraint, The Parasite is late for his morning drawing off session. When 9:30 comes and goes, Supergirl, bound tightly once again in her famous costume to the headboard by coils of thick cotton rope feels her super powers building rapidly within her. This is an amazing turn of events! Where is The Parasite? Can she truly be on the verge of escaping?

As the digital clock face flips to 9:58, a key scrapes noisily against the doorknob, chattering like a nervous cricket. Supergirl feels another surge of her strength swell within her as she takes a breath. It was now or never. She yanks on the rope and the headboard shatters behind her, while the coils of thick white rope split apart like uncooked spaghetti. The door swings open and a frantic Parasite stands there with his hand to his head, wavering in place. He looks distracted and weak. Supergirl doesn’t waste a second more. She flies across the room and nails the Parasite with a hard right cross to the chin and he falls back into the hallway in a heap. Supergirl stands over him, shaking her bruised fist, with a huge smile. That was worth it!

Rushing back into the room, she wraps the limp form carefully in two sets of sheets and two blankets. Let him sweat on the way over the desert. The bastard could stand to lose a few pounds anyway. His weight pressing on her on more than one occasion was damn uncomfortable during his sexual domination of her. Flying with the bundled villain over her shoulder, Supergirl zooms through the harem building. Women are leaving their rooms and watching as the mighty heroine flies past, pointing and gaping in shock.

Using her X-ray vision, Supergirl finally spots Kamila in a room on the third floor of the harem building. It is a spare, undecorated room that Kara senses instantly was The Parasite’s room during his stay here. The black-haired beauty is lying unconscious on the floor. Dropping the blanketed bundle uncaringly on the floor, Supergirl shatters the door with a single blow of her fist and rushes into the room. She turns over Kamila and examines the too still figure with every sense she can: her eyes, her ears and her nose. Her eyes see a beaten face, a badly bruised body and a stopped heart, her ears hear no rhythm, her nose smells the acrid smell of sex that can only be The Parasite’s semen. She’s all too familiar with it. Immediately, Supergirl starts CPR, trying to get her friend’s heart started. She does this for two minutes, weeping as she does, with fear yet unable to stop. And then she hears a lonely beat and sees Kamila’s eyes flutter and hears her draw a harsh rasping breath.

“...uhhhh...” Kamila moans, the softest of sounds that tests even Supergirl’s incredible hearing. “Oooohhhh....” louder now, true life has returned and Kamila opens her eyes to look up at the crying Maid of Steel.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Kamila whispers.

“Me? I’m..i’m...fine. Thanks to you I think.”

“Is he dead? Ray?”

“No. Shhhh. Rest Kamila, you’ve been hurt badly.”

“Beat me. Raped me. But....but the drug worked after everything anyway. Gave you time you needed.”

“Yes...yes, you did, sweetie. Everything I needed. Please rest now, Kami.”

“What is going on here? Kamila!” Sheik Sayid rushes into the room and drops to his knees besides his daughter, grasping her limp hand and kissing it. He looks beseechingly at the blonde heroine before him. One he had thought to possess. “Will she live?” He asks, fearing the answer.

“Yes. Yes, I think so. I got her heart started in time. Thank...” she stops herself then says, “Thank Allah.”

“Allah and you, Supergirl. I have greatly wronged you. Is there nothing I can do to make this right?”

Kara looks down at the shallowly breathing Princess Kamila who is weakly smiling at her father and her friend Kara who kneel beside her. “Yes, Sheik Sayid, there is something you can do. But not for me. I want you to allow your daughter Kamila to spread her message around the world and to pay for a detail of bodyguards to protect her. No interference.”

“Done, Supergirl. You have my word as Sheik.”

Kamila pulls on Supergirl’s sleeve and the blonde heroine bends over to hear a strained whisper.

“Another thing,” Supergirl continues. “I think and Kamila agrees with me, that she’ll need help spreading such a difficult and important message. So she wants the assistance of your wives in this effort, too. Each one with a bodyguard unit that will go out around the Middle East and the world to talk and discuss and encourage women’s rights everywhere.

“Impossible,” blusters the Sheik. “You go too far.”

Another tug from Kamila and Supergirl bends once more to hear then straightens up again. “Perhaps not the whole harem, I suppose. Kamila says you can keep two of your favorites. The rest become the Harem Globetrotters!”

“Fine! Yes, okay. I agree. Now can we get my daughter to one of my newest hospitals, please?”

“Of course!”

Supergirl drops off Kamila at the Beral General Hospital. There is a brief hug and a promise to connect and then the weak and exhausted princess is given anaesthesia and wheeled into surgery. Supergirl is about to head back to the U.S.A. and the Belle Rive federal penitentiary in Louisiana when she remembers someone she has to thank. She quickly flies back to Castle Ghibli. Placing her limp, blanketed bundle on the black marble floor of the Hall of Almond Eyes, she walks up to Quadir who is sipping tea at a small round table and reading the newspaper. Hearing the unusual sound of heels against marble, he lowers his paper and sees Supergirl standing there before him with a wistful smile in place as she sighs deeply while looking into his brown bedroom eyes.

“Thank you so much for everything, Quadir. You have filled me with knowledge and delight and understanding about the human heart in all its wonderful rhythms. I will miss you dearly.”

“You will miss the sex,” he smiles at her. He has adopted a bit of her sarcastic humor throughout their time together. “But I will miss as well, the light of Allah in you, and in your smile. Now come give me a hug.”

The hold each other for a full minute before parting. “I will always remember and treasure your teaching and your grace, Quadir.”

“And I yours. Give your friend Daniel my best.”

“Ha!” Supergirl laughs with a cute snort. “You can count on it!” And she gathers up the bundle that is Raymond Maxwell Jensen in her arms and lifts off majestically into the air until she gathers speed and disappears from sight. Quadir sighs deeply and one of the wives comes over to the table.

“So,” she says, “are you back to giving us special tutoring if we need it?”

“Of course, Azizah, he says, kissing the back of her hand. “It would be my pleasure.”

In Daniel’s apartment in Greenwich Village, he sits on his couch, half-watching a Yankee playoff game and thinking about Supergirl yet again. When the bulletin was broadcast over the media about the attack at Independence Hall, there was plenty of speculation about her connections to Princess Shamoor of Joraq but no confirmations about her whereabouts. Supergirl’s name and face had been in the news constantly for six days with the State Department pressing their case with the Joraqian ambassador but he was denying any knowledge of the incident, saying they were just as concerned for the Princess’ safety as Supergirl’s. By the beginning of the second week, with nothing to go on, the media had begun downplaying the story, moving it off the front page and burying it on the lower part of the international news pages. Most websites had shifted her photo from the banner area down next to the weather box. From that point, there had been no real news about her for days. Linda hadn’t contacted him since that last quick call on that morning in Philadelphia when she’d called him on her secret cell phone from the hotel before they’d left for Independence Hall.

Daniel sipped on his beer and watched Alex Rodriguez hit a line drive single that sent Jeter to third, threatening to break open the game against the Tigers in the Yankees first game of the playoffs.

Tipping his glass toward the television, Daniel says with minimal enthusiasm, “Good job, A-Rod. Keep it up.” And then he hears two hard knocks on his apartment door.

Who can that be? How did they get up here without buzzing me? The only person who’s got a key is Linda.

There’s no peephole in this very old building and Daniel had never bothered putting one in. He opens the door cautiously and looks out.

“Linda!” Daniel is rooted to the floor in stunned joy. His girlfriend stands before him wearing her bright blue raincoat open over a simple brown and beige dress that displays her figure nicely. She is holding a small bouquet of flowers which she holds up to him with that sweet endearing smile of hers.

“Aren’t you gonna invite a girl in for a good time, sailor?”

He beams back at her and, breaking out of his shock, sweeps her into his arms, lifting her right off the floor with a massive hug.

“Oh, Linda,” he whispers urgently to into her ear. “I’ve been out of my mind worrying about you for 10 days. The news in Philadelphia had you kidnaped and then there was no news at all. People thought you might be in Joraq but they denied everything. Are you alright? You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, Daniel. You’re sweet to worry,” she says caressing his face as he sets her down and they stand toe–to-toe, her bright blue eyes looking up slightly into his brown ones. She liked the black flecks that gave his irises character. “I am Supergirl, you know,” she whispers up to him with a breathy whisper.

“Well, I’m just so happy that you’re safe and finally home,” he says earnestly.

“Oh, you have no idea how happy, Mr. Patterson. No idea at all!” And with that the mighty and powerful Supergirl in her guise as Linda Danvers tugs down gently on Daniel’s shirt collar and gives him a long, slow kiss. This is a kiss that cause his eyebrows to rise in surprise and delight. He reaches out and draws her lithe, sensuous body closer. The kiss continues. It has Daniel rising in another way to the first of many occasions he will treasure for the rest of his life, as will the soon-to-be-very-pleased Kara Zor-El. Together they back inside the apartment coupled together and Daniel closes and locks the door. Quite quickly for him, actually.

The End