Nightstick

I gasped with pleasure. The holster was lined with clear gel that clasped me warmly and transmitted the vibrations to my cock. It was ribbed, so it would continuously stimulate me as I moved. It was so intense at first that my vision wavered and my knees buckled. Then I crossed the threshold, and grew to fill the holster with pulsing steel power. In the mirror, tights stretched across ripped muscles, my neck disappeared as sinews bulged across my shoulders. My cloak filled out as my chest broadened, and I placed my hands on my hips in a heroic pose. "Ladies and Gentlemen (but mostly Ladies), I give you ..."

What? I didn't have a name yet. I'd left dozens discarded underfoot, scrawled with "cheesy" or "corny", or "god, no!". In the mirror, though, the answer was now obvious, a double entendre worthy of Frank Miller or Neil Gaiman. "I give you ... The Nightstick!"

The next day, the phone rang. My parents had died in an airplane crash. I had to return home at once to run the family business.

***

After the funeral, my Dad's executive assistant made an appointment to meet for lunch to start going over my new business interests. The appointed place was Aujourd'hui, the priciest French restaurant in town. EIther my business interests were doing really well, or some cost cutting was in order.

There were few occupied tables, and only one whose occupant was looking expectantly towards the door. She rose as I entered. "Mr Howard?"

"You must be Miss Jones." I certainly hoped so. She was very tall, only an inch or two shorter than I was. Waves of chestnut hair tumbled about her shoulders. A business suit straightened her shoulders and rounded her hips; in front it plunged in a deep valley between proud breasts. Her face was slightly long for conventional beauty, with a wide and expressive mouth. She seemed to be about my age, though her eyes seemed already familiar with both humor and pain. Her skin had a pallor to it as if she had been recently ill.

"Please call me Marilee," she said, gesturing towards the empty seat.

"And please call me Peter." I wanted to establish my role in the business early: "Isn't this rather extravagant for a business lunch?"

"Not for you, you own this place now."

Now that was a surprise. I had no idea my parents owned a restaurant. "Maybe you had better fill me in on what my business interests are, then. I need to know what I need to learn."

She extracted a single sheet from a folder and slid it towards me with perfectly manicured fingers. "These all, including the restaurant, have very competent and trustworthy managers. You won't have to worry about day to day operations."

I looked down the page she had prepared. Fabrication, robotics, pharmaceuticals, petrochemicals, finance houses, this restaurant, condoms ...

"Condoms?"

"I believe that was a spinoff project between the pharmaceutical company and the petrochemical company, separately incorporated for intellectual property reasons."

"And the restaurant? That doesn't seem to fit with the rest."

"Your parents were very fond of it and wanted to move it here from the city, so they could visit it more often."

"My parents never seemed the type to buy a restaurant just because they liked it. I had no clue they even had the means to do so."

"They valued a normal, unostentatious lifestyle, especially for raising you. The restaurant was their one indulgence. I think it had sentimental significance for them."

"You look hardly older than I am. How well did you know my parents?"

"I worked as their executive assistant for the past three years. My father worked for yours since the beginning."

"How have we never met?"

"Are you so sure that we haven't?"

I made a gesture in her direction with a smile. "I'm sure I would have remembered."

A small smile dimpled her serious face briefly, then she was all business again. "I believe you'll find that your parents' will stipulates that most of the proceeds of the business will continue to go to charity, as they did when they were alive. You'll get a very comfortable salary as chairman, of course. There may be other provisions that I'm not privy to."

I had been aware of sirens growing in the distance as we talked. They were suddenly loud and immediate outside the restaurant. I rose and walked to the window to see what was going on. Marilee stayed at the table, tapping her finger impatiently on the tablecloth.

There was a commotion at the bank across the street. Three men burst from the front door. At a guess, they had just tried to make an unauthorized withdrawal. Masks and guns tend to be a dead giveaway about that. They changed direction when they saw the line of police cars outside, ducking behind parked cars and working their way along the street. They got off a few shots at the police, who were afraid to shoot back because of the people in the stores on the street.

I started edging away from the window as the rest of the patrons surged forward to see what was going on. I ducked behind the bar, looking for a way out so I could use my powers to help the police. There was another burst of gunfire, then the front door rammed open.

"Everyone down on the floor! Lie down! Hands on your heads!" Another voice said, "Good thinking. Now we have hostages we can use to negotiate." From behind the bar I could see Marilee, eyes wide, lying down with the others.

I looked around behind me. There were stairs that looked like they led down to a wine cellar. I squirmed over to them and down into darkness. I didn't have my holster or belt, but at least I was wearing my tights under my suit. I tore off my clothes, and used all the sexual tension I had built up trying not to look down Marilee's cleavage to kick myself into high gear.

My cock grew to enormous proportions as I transformed into my alter ego. I tucked it down the leg of my tights were it was at least out of the way if not exactly unobvious. With one blow I broke the lock on the outside door, and flew around outside to crash through the window into the restaurant.

If I had been thinking above my belt, I would have realized that they still had the upper hand with the hostages. I reached one and threw him through the front window before they had time to react. I insured that the next was going to have very high dentist bills for some time to come. Then I turned to find the third standing over Marilee with his gun to her head.

"Don't come any closer, you freak. Who do you think you are, anyway?"

"I'm the Nightstick," I grated, as I turned to face him. His eyes caught on the rod running down my tights. There could be no doubt about what was outlined under the stretchy fabric. His eyes widened and his face paled, and I took advantage of his distraction. I grabbed a bottle of Opus One 1996 from the table beside me and flung it with all my might.

I was going to have to watch my strength. I ruined both the wine and his face, and probably everyone's lunch as well. I started to help Marilee up, expecting I'd earned her gratitude and awe. Instead she scrambled to her feet as I approached, backing away with eyes blazing. "You!"

I stopped, afraid that she had recognized me, even though my appearance had changed so much. I prepared to bluff. "Er, have we met?"

Marilee's eyes had left my face and had locked on my cock with an expression of horror. I started feeling extremely self-conscious in my tights, and decided to beat a retreat as the first cop poked through the front door, gun first. I flew back out through the rear window and down the cellar door. I took a deep breath and released my erection, and subsided to my normal size.

I donned my business suit again, and climbed back up the stairs to the restaurant.

"Peter, there you are! What happened to you? I couldn't find you in all the chaos."

I breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't connected me to the Nightstick. At the same time, I didn't want her to feel that I'd run away and abandoned her to the gunmen. "I, uh, was trying to call for help and I fell down the cellar stairs back here and knocked myself out." That was so lame I must have read it in a comic book somewhere. They really do rot your mind.

The police were interviewing the witnesses, but Marilee spoke in low tones to the sergeant, who nodded deferentially. "Certainly, Miss Jones. We can take your statements at your convenience." A policeman escorted us to our cars, but I overhead one middle-aged woman giving her statement. "... and the robbers were scary enough, of course, but then that big pervert came crashing in and bashed them. I guess he saved us, but ... tights. That was so disturbing."

***

Over the next months, I spent days learning the ins and outs of my new financial empire, and nights patrolling the town as The Nightstick. In the latter role, I nabbed burglars, foiled a kidnapping, recovered a highjacked truck, and intercepted drug shipments. Crime took a nosedive in our corner of the world. I kept my distance from the police, sensing that they might not approve of my somewhat less than due process tactics.

I started making the news. I tried to be gone before anyone else arrived on the scene, but there were unavoidably witnesses, and there were the perps themselves, whom I tried to leave in some condition to face justice. There was of course a debate on vigilantism that raged in the media, but I hadn't counted on the fashion critiques and the typecasting. "That cloak is so creepy. He makes me think of a flasher." "Batman is sexy, but this guy gives me the chills." "You want to find his identity? Check the sex offender registry." "That nightstick he carries looks so phallic. I'll bet he's overcompensating." If only they knew.

Marilee and I continued to work together. She helped me to see the true genius of my parents' conglomeration of companies. They were built to detect patterns of activity that indicated illegal operations. Their network could find money laundering, currency manipulation, purchasing of supplies for drugs or weapons. Sometimes our operatives locked up the evidence and handed the cases to the government, sometimes they orchestrated elaborate stings to derail their operations. I had a legacy to uphold.

I think Marilee and I both noticed the chemistry between us and shied away from it. I knew I could never get close to anyone again. I could never scrub the image of my Lady Pirate bleeding on the floor from my brain. The revulsion and terror in her face woke me from the little sleep I managed to eke out each night. Marilee had her own pain to deal with, though she never spoke of it. I could see it in her eyes when she thought I wasn't watching. Yet we enjoyed each other's company, laughed at the same jokes, worked towards the same goals. When we parted at the end of the day, it was with a warm regard for each other. Never more than that.

It was about that time that the Batman Theorem raised its ugly head. "A superhero gives rise to the villains he deserves," it posits. The criminals donned their own tights and fought back. I did battle with the Madam and the Iron Hooker, and thwarted the shadowy finger of the Proctologist. I was hot on the trail of the elusive Calico Crusader when Catwoman executed a preemptive infringement takedown of her own. I increasingly suspected that there was a single mind controlling the tactics of them all. Finally I had a name for this mastermind: the Mother-in-Law.

I got a tip through our intelligence network that the Mother-in-Law was orchestrating a major drug deal at a warehouse outside of town. I suited up to join the party.

The van drove into the warehouse at the appointed hour, lights off and nearly silent. I gave them a few minutes to secure the outer door and begin transferring the shipment, then I crashed through the skylight. There were no lights, no panic, no running feet. It seemed deserted. The van sat empty in the middle of the floor.

I touched down and listened. At first I heard only the rats moving around, then I heard the footsteps of something larger, at least in the physical sense if not the ethical. There seemed to be only one. I followed.

The footsteps entered a side room with a heavy doorway. I entered behind, feeling secure in my strength. I had just noticed that the room felt oddly padded when I heard the door slam shut behind me.

The lights came on, and I faced a tall woman in scarlet tights. Her outfit stretched over enough curves to run anyone off the road. Magnificent breasts moved within spandex skin, nipples dotting the centers of the digits 69 on her chest. In case you were particularly dense, the tails of each digit leaned suggestively towards the other. A black mask obscured her eyes.

"Only one of us is leaving here, Nightstick. I plan on it being me." Her voice was low, sultry, and menacing.

"Are you the Mother-in-Law?"

She laughed. "Do I look like a Mother-in-Law to you? She couldn't be troubled to deal with you personally, so she sent me to take you down. You've become quite a nuisance to us. You may call me Sixty Nine, at least for a few more minutes."

She was apparently not a believer in extended banter before engaging. She rolled forward into a double forward salto, twisted off the final handspring and slammed into me in an inverted position. I toppled backwards with her thighs scissored around my head and her arms around my waist. As I hit the ground she sliced the straps securing my holster to my thigh and yanked it from my body. My cock flopped free of its confinement and she grasped it triumphantly.

"The Mother-in-Law was right! This is your secret, and now I can use it against you."

"How did she find out?" I gasped. I wasn't actually very concerned about anything she could do to me, but played along to learn where the information leak was.

"She has her ways," said Sixty Nine. She reached down and yanked open a flap on her costume, revealing her crotch to my face. She ground her pussy into my nose, and I took a shuddering breath of her fragrance.

Fire burned outwards from my olfactory centers, bypassing rational thought, igniting pathways all down my spine. The room swam around me, my cock ached with the urge to thrust itself into something.

"Do you like my pheromones? It should be an exquisite way to go, burned out by your own power. Total overload, like a lifetime of orgasms all at once."

I thrashed, but she held me tight with her thighs, and my power flickered erratically. I levitated off the floor, but couldn't muster any control. I slammed into the wall, then landed heavily on the floor. Now I understood why the room was padded.

She took my cock in her mouth, all silky fire and clever pressure. She got a good eight inches in, and jacked the rest with her hands. It sang with an unbearable pleasure that beat with harmonics through my body. My muscles grew convulsively larger, until their bulk defeated movement. My heart jackhammered staccato in my chest.

A woman sucking cock loves the power it gives her. She can play her partner like an instrument, give and prolong pleasure, torment and reward. He will do anything to please her, to continue, to complete. Sixty Nine sang and moaned, sending vibrations through my burning member. She took amazing lengths of flesh into her mouth with willing ease. The thought swirled through my brain that she must have trained for this from a young age, like a gymnast, but that was too disturbing a thought even for me.

She came up for a breath, or to gloat. "Come on, baby, give me your big stick. I'm going to drain it dry. I'm going to burn you out until you're just a husk that they'll have to sweep off the floor."

My eyes widened in panic. "No! Don't swallow it! You mphhff ..." She stoppered my mouth with her pussy and ground her clit into my tongue.

"So, is that the source of your power? If I drink all your cum, will I get your powers? Either way, I'm going to enjoy finding out."

She redoubled her suction on my cock, and flooded my mouth with her juices. I could barely think, but I began eating her out in earnest, hoping to distract her from her mission. If I could make her cum first, maybe I could use that moment to break free. I sucked her clit down and plunged my tongue into her vagina. "Oh yeah! " she crowed between slurps. "Eat me! Eat me! I'll own you body and soul!"

I was losing the race. Incredible pressure built in my groin. Super-powered muscles bottled the charge for as long as possible, ecstasy beyond pain. She felt it coming, gripped me in a two-handed grip, and pressed a little-known pressure point that told me she had been trained in a certain monastery in the Himalayas. I erupted and blackness overtook me.

***

The funeral was closed casket. You can't put a loaded canon into your mouth and pull the trigger without consequences.

Her name was Jennifer Saint Germain. I went to mourn. Mourn a worthy adversary, mourn a life cut short, mourn another confirmation that I could never have a relationship without hurting someone. I went to see who else came to her funeral.

Just friends, they said. A few acquaintances, looking too lost and bewildered to be members of the underworld. No family. No one knew if she had any. The service was brief; no one took the invitation to say any eulogies. I kept mine to myself. "I only met her once. She impressed me with her strength."

Near the end, an old woman came in. As we milled around after the service, I could hear her muttering. "He wasn't good to you, was he dear? I warned you he was a pervert. You said you could handle him, you were ready. Now look at you in your pretty wooden box. Do you know you don't get to keep it? It's just for display. You get pine or an urn or whatever's cheapest. It's all you're worth now."

She went on like that and people started sidling out of the room. I could feel my power draining into an undertow of frustration and worthlessness. I sidled along with the rest of them.

Out of earshot, I could feel my powers return. I knew then who the old woman was. She was the Mother-in-Law, and her power of withering could completely negate my own. I would have to figure out a way to defeat her indirectly. I knew I could not hope to confront her head-on.

The following months rolled on. The Mother-in-Law's tactics became more convoluted, and I became more wary of another trap every time I went in. It reached a stalemate when any move either made the other countered. Finally, I received a message that she wanted to send a lieutenant to negotiate with me. I had no intention of actually negotiating, but I was desperate to learn what she thought was on the table as some kind of clue to break through the stalemate.

The venue was the penthouse of the Parkhurst Hotel. That seemed an unlikely place for a trap, and gave me ways to escape via the balcony if needed. I prepared some noise canceling earpieces that I could switch on if the Mother-in-Law herself appeared and used her withering power on me. On the appointed day, I told Marilee that I had an appointment at the Parkhurst after lunch and might not be back that day. She look slightly surprised. "Oh, so do I, as it happens. Let's drive over together."

There wasn't really anything I could say to that. It wasn't all that unusual, since the Parkhurst was a common rendezvous for business meetings in town. I would have to give her the slip once we got there. On the trip over, she handed me a sealed envelope with my name on it. I didn't recognize the handwriting. "We found this in the files we were going through. It looks like it might be private, so we left it for you to open."

I didn't have to give her the slip, as it turned out. She got off at a different floor for her meeting, and I rode all the way up to the penthouse. The card for the door was left on the table next to the orchids, as promised. I opened it, and entered cautiously.