Part One: Escape
Supergirl cried softly, rocking back and forth, trying to move her ankles from behind her neck, trying to do so without dislocating her shoulders, without …
She groaned as another orgasm raced through her, body quivering, juices dribbling from her obscenely opened sex, her sweat soaked skin rubbing against itself, over-tensed and horribly cramped muscles convulsing once again. Her perfect nude form had been twisted into a human knot, ankles crossed behind her neck, back folded, pussy gaping hungrily beneath equally desperate mouth, arms trapped by thighs, fingers splayed wide and paralyzed by pleasure-pain. A few drops of milk glistened visibly on the pink nipples of small yet swollen breasts.
She nearly passed out, but there was a tiny spark of hope. Her orgasms were growing weaker as her body used the last of vast but finite reserves. Waves of pleasure had earlier been followed by waves of pain, that pain transformed into something very nearly as addictive. Now the sensation that burned through her had become less overwhelming. For the first time in her life, compressed nerves had caused parts of her body to become numb. Fatigue poisons were forcing cramped muscles to relax. At any other time, these sensations would have filled her with terror. Now, she knew them for her only chance for escape.
Supergirl began gently rocking once more … and one sweat-slick ankle moved, just by a single millimeter. Screaming, mindless with an agony transformed into ecstasy, she convulsively exploded out of her human knot, fist and feet, head and back smashing again and again into the juice-slick tiled floor beneath her. The tiles cracked, as did the concrete below them, but of this Supergirl was unaware. Darkness came.
Regaining consciousness, the girl of steel staggered to her feet. Her once-flawless body, muscled like a dancer’s dream, was covered in bruises, angry red lines from within her flesh, caused not by outside trauma but by the mad contractions of her own muscles during her escape. Despite her exhaustion, despite dehydration and trembling hands, there was still visible strength in her young frame.
“Have to get out,” she whispered.
Her more-than-human eyes took in smashed white tiles over a concrete floor, still coated by the fluids of her sex, white tiled walls, fluorescent lamps, a metal fire door. She tried to see through the door, and failed. Staggering forward, still moving with awkward stiffness, she brought he hands against the door and pushed.
She almost fell over, feet slipping on the slick floor.
She braced herself, breathed deeply, and focused.
The lines of her body solidified, muscles flexing and moving into place, powerful legs tensing, harder than iron. Her arms and hands shot forward, carrying force from her hips and legs. With a crash, the steel door bent and ripped from its frame, flying half a dozen meters before striking the wood paneling of the far wall and rebounding from the cinderblocks beneath.
Supergirl moved into the room, a burst of confidence and fear tinged anger nearly lifting her feet from the ground. Not so long ago, smashing a steel fire door would have been no more of an effort than extending a finger, but her powers were still returning. She knew from guilty experience that it would take time.
She found her way to the door leading to the stairs, smashing it as well, triggering silent alarms that she could none-the-less hear. She charged towards her freedom. She was moving fast now, faster than any human save, so far as she knew, one. Her true speed as well had yet to return.
This place had been built by the city government of Chicago to shelter officials in the case of a nuclear war. So far as she knew, the staff that maintained it had been fully subverted by her captor. She hoped so, because she would have no choice but to smash aside any unlucky enough to get between her and the exit. Her body was now a blur, barely touching floor or walls or ceiling save in light brushes as a hand or foot added force and guided her escape. Once she would have simply hurtled herself upwards, ignoring cinderblock, concrete and steel as an inconvenient fog, but that level of power would not return for months or more. Finally she reached the exit, this time exploding against the door almost as fast as a speeding bullet.
She rebounded, and the pain was almost more than she could take. Her conditioning was still in force, and the agony tightened her nipples into rocks, forced her clitoris to swell with blood, forced her buttocks to clench, her anus to spasm, and her stomach muscles to pull in and down. Supergirl once again convulsed on the ground, freedom mere meters away as the juices poured from her sex. Her hands ripped into the floor as her legs spread, as she groaned, as her hips thrust desperately in the air against an invisible lover.
She was pushing herself into another orgasm, a series of orgasms that would leave her drained and helpless when her captor, her master, returned to claim her. The part of her that made her a heroine fought back. She had learned from her captivity. She forced herself to relax, to let go, to let the pleasure crest rather than fighting it. To let it fade.
Trembling, once again weakened, she rose to her feet. Her breasts glowed nearly red, tight and swollen, and she could feel her pussy throbbing. Her hands moved lightly down her hard-muscled, sweat-soaked belly, and she had to fight to keep them from drifting lower still. She moved to the impact-damaged door and slammed it with her upper back. It took her three blows, three blows from a woman who once could have thrown tanks like toys. The door fell from its frame.
Supergirl staggered outside. Bright sunlight caressed her nude body, and she felt her spirits soar. Her bruises began to fade almost at once. Leaping into the air, she traveled over twenty meters up before she fell back towards the Earth, but she was not afraid. Running and leaping again, each jump moving her further, her spirit burning with a pleasure and relief greater in its way than the pleasures of the flesh that had kept her chained, within minutes she had once again taken to the air, truly flying, her nude and perfect form dancing above the city of Chicago. Supergirl was free!
Part Two: Recovery
As she moved faster through the air, streaking towards a house she kept as a bolt-hole outside of Toronto, Supergirl allowed herself to picture the man she knew only as her Master. She shivered as his face, his too familiar face, filled her mind. Eyes of storm grey tinged with blue, a square jaw, a roman cast to his features. A body powerfully, almost awkwardly over-muscled, covered in brown hair, in no way beautiful. A cock, not exceptionally long, but thick. She found her hands gently working her sex and breast as she thought of his eyes, his voice, his touch, his cock. She did not stop herself this time, working her fingers in firm circles around her clit, pulling at and squeezing her breasts, punishing her nipples, right than left, feeling her fingers becoming slick with her juices, feeling her milk beginning to leak, feeling the rush towards release as she spun through the air. As he had taught her, as he had forced her, she drew her knees back almost to her shoulders, opened herself completely, and began plunging her right hand vigorously in and out of her sex, in as far as the wrist, rubbing at her own G-spot. Her orgasm hit hard, making her scream, juices exploding from her in quantities no greater than that of a human woman but with the force of a shotgun blast. Still screaming, she fell, hitting a hillside, splashing into the Earth as another woman might splash into a pool.
Weeping, Kara pulled herself from the shallow impact crater. She hadn’t even been able to make it home. She hadn’t even been able to get to safety. He had turned her into a slut, a mindless sex-addicted thing, a toy.
“No.” She spoke softly, her throat dry but free of pain, “not a slut. Not a toy.”
She rose to her feet and into the air. Here, in bright daylight, her powers recovered quickly. This time she was able to streak back to her safe house without falling back into her own need, so long as she kept her mind away from her master.
Once home, vault-thick doors locked, Kara showered. She struggled to keep her thoughts as clear as she could, doing her best not to let her fingers linger or stroke, concentrating only on becoming clean. Her cousin had a plasma jet “shower” in his Fortress, an ultimate cleanser, but she feared that such a thing would destroy her now. Hot water and soap would have to do. She was almost grateful to have been weakened to the point where she could feel the heat.
She examined her body critically as she stepped from the shower, both directly and in the mirror. Less than a week ago, before her capture, she had appeared to be an athletic, normal human girl, her face almost childlike in its youthful beauty, her breasts small but ripe, her limbs tight yet gently rounded, her stomach firm and flat, her backside curved and rich. Now, after almost a week of near-constant torment, her body looked quite different.
He had fed her, and given her water. The sunlight and return of her powers had healed bruises, repaired torn muscles, and revitalized her skin. Still, for days she had been gushing forth vaginal fluids, straining against her own body, sweating, crying, jetting and then dripping milk. Every ounce of fat had been burned by her body in a desperate attempt to meet its needs, every drop of moisture not vital to her survival had wept or sprayed or seeped from her. The woman looking back at Kara from the mirror had a flawless ivory-white complexion, but she also had the physique of a champion women’s fitness competitor, every muscle clearly outlined and sharp beneath paper-thin skin. Her face, baby-fat burned away, looked almost skull-like. Her breast tissue alone seemed to have been spared, and the swelling of the glands themselves was noticeable. They were as rock-firm as those of a virgin teen, and her once-pale nipples were now a pinkish rose. The curve and swell of her mound seemed exaggerated, and her clitoris peeked out from under its hood, half aroused and blood-filled.
She stopped herself before falling back into self pleasure, and stared into the reflection of her own unchanged sapphire-blue eyes. “I am Supergirl” she said firmly, putting power into her voice. “I am not a slut. I am not a slave. I am Supergirl. Supergirl!” The final shout had the power of a small explosion, and the mirror cracked. Shaking, Supergirl left the shower-room and headed for the kitchen. In the next hour, she ate her pantry clean, and drank water by the gallon. Collapsing in bed, she slept deeply, though erotic and terrifying dreams pulled her back to consciousness just over twelve hours later.
Part Three: Remembrance
It had started a week ago, with a call from her cousin whispering in her ears, so-called Super-Ventriloquism that could reach across worlds.
Kara, I need you.
Her cousin’s voice gave her a thrill, as it had the first time she had heard him, all those decades ago. She made her apologies to her fellow students and rushed off, heading for her dorm room to change. She smiled at her image in the mirror before making the switch. Her face was youthful and unlined, with a hint of baby fat, her body slender and gently powerful, like that of a female tennis player or swimmer, her breasts small and perfect under a red flannel shirt, her backside a marvel of geometry in ordinary blue jeans. Thick black glasses framed her eyes, shifting the color slightly from blue to green, and her blond tresses were dyed red. A casual observer would never have connected this cute, slightly butch young woman to Supergirl. No one would have guessed that she had called this Earth home for over fifty years. Invulnerability and a Kryptonian metabolism did not grant true immortality, but they came close.
“Got to get to Kal” she thought with a smile, switching into her Supergirl garb with blinding speed. The “costume”, she knew, was the clothing worn by Lacey Dahl, or Lynne Dumont, or Linda Danvers, or Karen Star, or any of the other personas she had affected over the years. The uniform of Supergirl, this was her real clothing, her truest self. She squared her shoulders, enjoying the familiar feeling of satin and silk against her skin, and flew out through the window far faster than any human eye could follow.
Picture her, moving through the sky, this thing of perfect youth and beauty, woman at her most desirable, at her most unobtainable. She moves impossibly, carried by will alone, shining slightly, blue silk and satin clinging to every perfect line of her, red cape held tightly to her body, strong legs flexing, arms outstretched, her face glorious with an expression of pure joy. She moves fast, faster than a bird or plane, faster than a speeding bullet. In ancient times, men would have worshipped her, prayed to her, given burnt offerings.
Supergirl sped across the world at speeds no human vehicle could match, and closed on a hidden spot in the Artic, the location of which was known to fewer than a hundred living souls. She descended towards what appeared to be just another icy spire half raised above the frozen Earth. Near the peak, a sensor clicked, and a door opened in the ice. Supergirl entered Clark’s legendary home; the Fortress of Solitude.
In a hallway carved from ice and rock, Supergirl and her cousin embraced, and met each other’s eyes. Her cousin was huge and solid, just over six feet tall and muscled like a champion athlete, a champion among champions. His square jaw bulging muscles spoke of power, his flawless, unlined skin of youth. Only the depths of his strange blue eyes hinted at just over a century of wanderings, triumphs, and pain. As his hands rested gently on her shoulders, as she clutched the back of his powerful arms, she felt a flutter in her stomach, as she had each and every time they met for all these many years. It was a flutter on which she knew he would not act, and though she understood his reasons, still, looking into his beautiful face and terrible eyes, it was a source of pain.
“” said Superman. Kara adjusted her mind and body, the world itself slowing to a crawl as she attuned herself to a higher state, each second passing like an hour, each day an eternity. No creature on Earth capable of Super-speed remained at that level at all times; one could not live one’s life amidst an endless gallery of statues. The language they spoke they called Kryptonian, though “spoke” was an inaccurate term for a direct sharing from mind to mind. The entire conversation took almost no time at all from the point of view of an outside observer.
“Kara,” said Kal, “the fortress has been breached, and my records accessed.”
“Who did it?” Supergirl was shocked, but did not show it. The strange, self improving thinking machines in the fortress were centuries ahead of anything else she knew of. They had initially been designed by Clark Savage, Kal’s human namesake and most valued tutor, and had later been improved and refined by the best efforts of Superman himself.
“I’ll find out. The fortress security systems reported no breach. I need to consult with Bruce and the others. I need you to protect the fortress.” Kal’s voice carried more than he wished to share, but dishonesty and concealment were nearly impossible when speaking Kryptonian. Kara understood his fear. Secrets hidden in the fortress’ data banks could bring down governments, destroy those few super-humans that Kal and Kara called friends, or permit the creation of weapons of unthinkable terror.
Kara smiled. Her cousin would find those who violated the Fortress. He would engage them and win. He always won. “Go get them” she whispered, fighting down the urges he drew from her as she had countless times before. Kal smiled back, aware of his cousin’s feelings, loving her, and loving her more for the control she showed. In a blur of movement, he was gone.
Kara fell back into time as normal humans perceived it. Her nipples tingled, and she knew she was wet. “I love you, Kal” she whispered, half-hoping he was still listening, that he would hear. The madness of their situation struck her again as she wandered through the Fortress. Kryptonians could not truly mate with humans. Through some miracle, their basic anatomies were nearly indistinguishable, but the normal sexual response of a fully powered Kryptonian would kill any human partner. Early in their lives, before their powers had reached their current levels, she and Kal had both experimented with human love. While both could give and receive pleasure, they had to exert constant control, and the climactic moment could not be permitted. With each other, that problem would not exist, but then came Kal’s real concern. Both he and Kara were fertile. Their children, should they have them, would be full Kryptonians among humans, as would their children’s children. An incestuous Kryptonian dynasty, even one raised with the very highest ideals, could mean the end of human freedom. Supergirl sometimes dreamed of running away with Kal to some new and lifeless world, and rebuilding it to suit them. Her love for her human friends, and her sense of responsibility for her adopted world, made that impossible.
Supergirl heard a noise, deep within the fortress. Movement. Footsteps. For an instant, she heard the beating of a human heart. She began moving quickly through the ice-cold halls, though not quite at Super-Speed.
“Kal,” she thought, “the intruder is still here. How did you miss him?”
She entered a large, domed chamber, deep within the ice. Half a century before, Clark Savage had used this room to build incredibly advanced androids. Now, the walls and ceiling were covered in more than a score of caskets of crystal, each one containing a synthetic life form indistinguishable on the surface from Kal-L. He had named them “Superman Robots” sometime in the 1960s, long before the more accurate term “Replicant” had been coined.
Supergirl attuned her hearing to its most sensitive, and allowed her more-than-human eyes to peel back the darkness. There, movement, faster than human!
She did not shift to Super-Speed at first, and it cost her. Her attacker’s fists, harder than iron, pounded into her flesh, the blows coming in as fast as bullets. She fell, not yet feeling pain so much as shock. Her attacker was Kal!
No, it was one of his robot doubles. It was strong, and fast, powerful enough to fool an ordinary human into thinking it was Superman. Switching on her Super-Speed, Kara easily avoided its blows. It was bullet fast. She was faster.
She dismantled the Replicant with calm precision, her senses alert. As her cousin’s doppelganger fell, Supergirl saw the intruder fleeing the room. He was moving with great speed and impossible grace, but she was faster. As she reached him, just at the room’s entrance, she grabbed for his arms and was surprised again. He avoided her grasp, just barely, despite her Super-Speed advantage.
As she grabbed for him again, his fingers drifted up, towards he neck. She did not bother to move aside. Fully powered and alert, nothing short of an attack from a fellow Kryptonian could hurt her.
His fingers brushed her neck quite gently, and Kara was shocked and confused by her body’s response. Her trapezius and lower back muscles contracted powerfully, though not unpleasantly, and she stumbled. The man smoothly whirled behind her, as if this were a dance. His hands continued to play over her neck, stroked her shoulders, and followed the powerful lines of her down to the full curve of her ass. She was panting, confused, aroused. The normally invisible field of force that infused and surrounded her, the sun-fueled psychokinetic secret of Kryptonian power, sparked and pulsed. Each disruption brought a small and startling burst of pleasure. Kara leaned back into his touch, her mouth open, her back arching, and felt an orgasm beginning to build.
“What are you doing!” Supergirl growled furiously and threw herself backwards into her foe. The force of the body slam would have killed any ordinary man. Her attacker was hurtled across the room, crashing into a crystal casket. The Superman Robot within lay unmoving. Her attacker lay crumpled at its feet.
Supergirl adjusted herself, panting, unable to process what had just occurred. She closed on her fallen foe.
“Who are you,” she asked, her mind still blurry, “What are you?” She was angry, confused, and frightened. She was also stronger and faster than her enemy.
He stopped playing possum just as she reached him, his hands striking towards her faster than a snake, faster than should have been possible for anything human. Almost faster than a speeding bullet, but not quite. Even in her weakened state, she saw the blow coming, and this time moved aside. Carried by the force and momentum of his own strike, the man spun past Supergirl, and might have traveled a dozen meters to strike the far wall had she not grabbed him out of the air. The bruising impact of the grab itself could have killed a lesser foe.
Supergirl looked over her stunned captive, holding him in the air and at arm’s length. She did not know him, and yet there was something familiar in his face, his bone structure. He was shorter than her, his bones almost freakishly thick, and his body muscled like a weight-lifter. His eyes were grey, his hair dark. His face was almost classically Roman and powerfully masculine. “Answer me! Who are you?”
He opened his eyes and locked them on Supergirl’s. She was surprised to see a hint of sapphire deep in those eyes, an echo of her own eye color and that of her cousin. His voice was deep, almost hypnotic, and Supergirl felt almost panicked as the all-too-familiar flutter began again in her belly at the sound of his words.
“You are Kara Zor-L. You believe yourself and your cousin to be the last children of a far-off world.”
Supergirl staggered as another Superman Robot struck her from behind, and instinctively released her prisoner. She turned and struck the Replicant, bowling it across the chamber, but a second leaped forward, grappling her right wrist, and a third pinned her left arm to her side. Her heat-vision flashed, and the skin of the Superman Robot clutching at her wrist melted away, but the alloy frame held firm. A forth Robot struck her in the head repeatedly, raining punches down with machine-gun speed. The blows should never have hurt her, but in her confusion, her lingering arousal, her fear, her invulnerability faltered. Each impact began to carry with it pain.
The man continued speaking calmly, the harmonics of his voice very nearly as distracting as the attacks that rained down upon her. “You are very beautiful.”
He moved in with more-than-human grace and speed, and began to launch his own series of light touches, interspersed between the machine precise violence of her four android attackers. ““Like that of your cousin, your chi is very powerful.”
Supergirl’s struggles grew more intense, and now the half fleshless robot that had clutched her right wrist flew across the room, shattering against the far wall. Seeing her cousin’s image destroyed came as a shock. Her mind felt clouded. The man’s fingers continued to fall upon her, stroking her wrists, her throat, the nape of her neck, her biceps, her calves. Each touch raised sparks, weakening her. The fists and feet of the remaining three androids brought real pain.
The man’s voice continued, hypnotic and strange. “Power comes to you Kryptonians as a gift of birth. This is your weakness.”
Supergirl realized through her pain that her nipples were erect, and her breasts swollen and tight. She was surrounded by Kal’s doppelgangers, and the hands of this stranger were everywhere, sending strange messages. A feeling of helplessness began to sweep over her, a feeling that only intensified her growing need. “Without confidence and concentration, your power will fail you.”
The impossible happened. One robot grasped her belt, separated it from her skin, and broke it in two. Another yanked upwards on her silk blouse, the force tearing it away from her body. She was hanging suspended by the wrists in the third android’s grasp. She heard the man speak as if from a distance, even as his fingertips trailed over her pectoral muscles and down to the pink tips of her gently curved breasts. “You can endure pain. Pleasure will break you.”
As he spoke these words, fear exploded through the fog in Kara’s mind. She struggled to focus, and almost succeeded. And then the man touched a point n her right thigh, and her legs locked tight in pain such as she had never known. Her concentration broke, and as the Superman Robots stripped her the man’s caresses turned to sharp blows. The impact was nothing, but each blow caused muscles to spasm, joints to lock into place. Where moments before Supergirl had been floating in an erotic fog, now she was drowning in a pain. Naked, hanging from the upraised arm of a thing that looked like Kal, Supergirl’s legs bent at the knees as her thighs spread wide. Her back arched and locked as the man lightly tapped more pressure points along her spine, her hands curled into balls of agony, her elbows pulling back to almost meet at her mid back, thrusting her perfect breasts out and upwards and half chinning her in the robot’s grip. A tap to the forehead locked her eyelids tightly shut.
Faintly now, through her agony, Kara heard the man speak again. His tone was cold. “I must escape. You will live. The rape will destroy your will, destroy your power, but you will live. I am sorry it must be like this.”
His fingers now trailed unimpeded, across her sweat-slick breasts. As they touched her nipples Kara felt a shock of pleasure through the pain, a shock that traveled down through her stomach and deep into her sex. From a distance, she heard the man’s voice once more, now speaking to the robots. “Rape her.”
The man stood back, and watched. The Superman robots, perfect replicas of Kal-L, pulled the remaining scraps of cloth from Supergirl’s body. Her flawless skin was porcelain white, her flesh a symphony of perfect curves. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and the most desirable.
The robots produced thick, long cocks, iron hard. Holding the half-paralyzed girl in the air, they spun her. One thrust his member into her sex without warning, without preamble, forcing her to squeal in mixed pleasure-pain. Another positioned himself behind her, spread her muscled ass, and began massaging the rosebud between her cheeks at first gently, then forcefully. A third robot took her nipples into his mouth, first the right, then the left, his tongue swirling, his suckling both tender and demanding. Kara’s panting turned to desperate gasps, then to ecstatic screams. She came then, hard, harder than she had in years. Her half-paralysis would not let her close her thighs, but the convulsive clenching of her vaginal muscles held her inhumanly strong robot rapist absolutely still, and could have crushed coal into diamonds.
Despite his years of training, despite his near-unimaginable self-discipline, the man found himself uncontrollably aroused by the scene. His own cock grew painfully hard, and began to throb in time with his heart beat. It might have been some harmonic in her lust-torn groans. It might have been the perverse thrill of watching a woman of such beauty, such power, so completely overwhelmed. He longed to join in the rape, to take her himself. That, he knew, could be suicide. Kal-L might return at any time. It was time to get away. The image of her burning in his mind, the man turned and ran, faster than the human eye could follow. In minutes he had reached the Fortress exit, expertly worked the lock, and fled into the artic white.
In the chamber far below, Supergirl screamed. Even as one robot filled her sex, a second thrust its cock into her ass. The pain was unbearable, and yet that unbearable pain soon turned to unendurable pleasure. Each hard thrust brought another shriek, another burst of pleasure. Each wracking orgasm left her weaker. Orgasm bled into orgasm, pain turned into excruciating joy, and Supergirl fell into darkness.
Consciousness returned slowly to the girl of steel. Pain and the muscle memory of pleasure echoed through her. She was lying on the Fortress floor, freezing cold, the dried fluids of her sex and sweat covering her skin. Free of her paralysis, she opened her eyes. Three Superman robots, such perfect replicas of Kal, stood nude and still around her.
Shame washed through her, and humiliating arousal, as she gathered the scraps of her costume to cover her nakedness. She tried to rise, and tumbled down.
“So weak” she mumbled.
This time she did stand. She looked again at the nude androids. They were covered in her juices. She screamed then, and almost fell. She struck at the robots with fists and feet, blows that should have shattered them like glass. The robots barely moved.
Weeping and shrieking, Supergirl fled. At first she barely moved faster than an ordinary human girl, but as she ran, unthinking, needing only to get away, her former speed began to return. She reached the top level of the fortress moving faster than an express train, and the sunlight, the blessed yellow sunlight, concentrated and made more potent by the crystal ceiling above her, splashed across her skin. Kara threw herself down, forced herself to stop. Her near-naked body drank in the sun, replenishing her lost power, healing her injuries. Her mind raced.
“Kal!” She thought, panicking. “He mustn’t know!”
She rose first to her feet, and then, shakily, into the air.
“He can’t know.” She whispered aloud, drawing on pride, using it to hold back fear. She could not let her cousin know that she had been taken, used like a toy. In all his life, she had been his only true equal. To reveal this defeat would be too much. She made her plans. She would destroy the robots that had violated her, use her heat vision to burn away all evidence of her shame. She would find her attacker before Kal did. Find him, and…
She dared not complete the thought.
Part Four: Resolution
Back in the now, Kara’s sapphire eyes snapped open. She rose from her bed, stomach painfully empty once more. Her mind flickered over the past week as she showered again, and dressed. The memories carried more arousal now than shame, though the shame was still there.
She had sought his trail, and found it. He was more than human, and his skill was great, but she had the scent of him, and Kryptonian eyes could find signs that the most sensitive artificial instruments might miss. Their second battle had gone much as the first, and was made more difficult because she had not yet fully recovered. He had overcome her, and this time he had taken her himself.
It had been better, and worse, than anything she had ever imagined. She vividly remembered his hands, his cock, his tongue, and his touch. For nearly a week she had been rising to the edge, crashing beyond, and then rising again almost continuously. Pleasure and agony had blended, becoming one and the same. When he could continue no longer, when she had sucked in every drop of his seed, he forced her to give herself pleasure. Each time he left, she prayed for escape, and prayed for his return.
Kara finished dressing. Staring into the mirror, she met her own gaze. Last night’s feast and rest had done much to restore her. She looked pale, and thin, but her beauty still glowed through.
“I will find him again. Not Kal. Just me.”
She raised her chin. She felt strong again. Surprising herself, she smiled.
She was free again, and strong. She was going to find him, and she was going to win. She always won. She was, after all, Supergirl.