Supergirl and Friends: The Wager

The more Don drank, and the more Kara nodded and smiled and listened to what he had to say, the more aware Don was of her chest; her baby-tee didn't leave much to the imagination. Tight as a drum, it showcased every curve, every bounce, and the swell of her nipples: apparently one of Kara's superpowers was the power to go braless and still have her breasts remain perky and free of pain.Has she always worn her shirt that tight? I've never been this close to her before. Don bit his lip and tried to focus on her eyes, but every time, as if by magic, she shifted her weight on the couch, or leaned forward to pour more wine, and free of scrutiny, he drank in the sight of her. His cock was starting to stiffen in his pants.

Nervous, he began to stammer, mangling whatever witticism he had been trying to deliver, and Kara cut him off, leaning forward and giving his right knee a gentle squeeze. "Listen, Don," she said, as his cock sprang to full attention. "Just relax, okay? You don't have to impress me."

He gurgled "Er?", all his attention focused on that hand, its slight warmth, and his now-painful hard-on pressing up against his pants.Why did I have to wear briefs?

"Listen. J'onn asked me to get in touch with you and help you relax, and unwind. There's an informal system in the League for this sort of thing that J'onn and Diana run. So that's what I'm here to do. And you," she said, frowning in mock severity, "are lousing up my mission."

"Um," he managed.

"Don. Come over here," she patted the couch next to her, "and sit by me."

Mute, he rose and sat next to her, palms on his kneecaps, back ramrod straight. He'd heard rumours, but he hadn't believed that...

For all of her incredible bosom, the Maid of Might really did have a petite body. She had to look up at him to gaze into his eyes. "Tonight, I'm yours. All yours. But I'm not going to make the first move. If you want to have something happen, you have to make it happen. Okay?"

He just looked at her.

Damn, she thought.Okay, I'll bend the rules a little. "Don." She leaned back against the couch, and smiled, a friendly smile. "Don. Do you wanna make out?"

He blinked. "Make out?" What, was she Betty to his Archie? But the phrase, hokey as it sounded, had enough of an air of innocence to soothe Don's anxiety. One lingering doubt remained, though. "Does your cousin know?"

"Kal?" She laughed. "Kal knows. Kal doesn't care. He's macking up Diana every week! For years now! That's what got all this started."

That was all Don needed to hear. Interrupting her, he said, "I'd like to kiss you," his voice husky.

She smiled, and whispered, "Boy, you go for it."

She tasted sweet, like the wine they'd been drinking. She caressed his tongue with her own and sighed happily as he explored her mouth. She rubbed his shoulder blades with a light touch and moved in closer to him. He ran his fingers through her hair, making one quick pass, her hair silky and free.

That, he figured, was enough attention to establish he was a gentleman. His hands dropped to her chest and reached up under her baby-tee. He took hold of her mammoth breasts, one in each hand, and squeezed as hard as he could. In their fullness, they exceeded his grasp, filling his hands, pressing back against him. She murmured, but didn't complain. He couldn't have hurt her if he had wanted to. He broke off their kiss and pulled back slightly, and Kara reached up and pulled her shirt over her head.

Her breasts, ripe, full, round, put every centrefold and pornstar Don had ever seen to shame. Kara giggled and shrugged her shoulders, and the jiggle and bounce of her chest proved they were implant-free. "What can I say? Yellow sun. There's more to it than super-strength and flying."

"You're amazing." His voice was reverent.

She smiled. "Thank you." She leaned back against the couch as he brought his mouth down on her left breast. He kissed it, licked it, took her nipple into his mouth. She cooed and ran her fingers through his hair. He rolled her nipple between his teeth, feeling it harden. With his left hand he found her right breast and cupped it. Shifting his weight to rest on her, he suckled away.

Certain he couldn't see her face, preoccupied as he was, Kara frowned and stuck her tongue out at him. No surprises so far—every man she had ever been with had grabbed her boobs as soon as he thought he could get away with it—but she had hoped... oh well. There was still a good chance. When Don came up for air she grinned a wicked grin at him. Reaching out to stroke the tentpole at his crotch, she raised an eyebrow.

"I make the first move, right?" Don said.

"That's right." Her voice lilted knowingly.

"Okay..." He began fumbling with his belt. Kara frowned mentally. His pants, not her shorts? In a moment he had his slacks at his ankles and kicked them off. He slid his briefs down, too, and his cock, long and strong, stood at attention. He swallowed, but Kara simply smiled encouragingly. "Come here," he said, voice uncertain.

She leaned in close to him, hand reaching out for his member.

"No," he said. "Could you... use your mouth?"

Kara blinked.Damn, she thought, but she didn't say anything. She simply rose up into the air, hovering over the couch. Keeping her head in place, she rolled her legs away until she was over the couch lengthwise, her right side closest to the seat cushions. Then she descended again, her head coming to rest in Don's naked lap. His cock was just a scant distance from her mouth. Delicately, she began to breathe on it, her breath cool. Don shivered in delight and became even stiffer. Without breaking his gaze at her face, he reached out with his left hand and began to stroke her pale blonde hair. His right found her gigantic tits and began to squeeze them again, first one, then the other, revelling in their fullness. As if that was the signal she had been waiting for, Kara floated up slightly so that her mouth was directly over the head of Don's prick. She lowered herself onto him and began sucking his cock with gusto.

Kara had only slightly more familiarity with giving blowjobs than Don had with receiving them; Don had had one before, from his college girlfriend (they broke up shortly thereafter), and Kara had given two, both to Smallville High boys she'd dated, out of curiosity, back when she'd been living on the Kent farm in Kansas. Still, Kara knew the theory if not the practice. She and Diana had talked about it in bed.

Kara was totally bisexual. Perhaps this was because of her Kryptonian physiology, or perhaps it was just a random genetic trait, the result of whatever evolutionary quirk dictated sexual orientation in Kryptonians and humans. (Personally she leaned towards the latter. As far as she knew Kal was straight as an arrow. Or if he wasn't, he kept it to himself.) Whatever the reason, Kara found playing with women to be as much fun as playing with men, and it hadn't taken her long to find a playmate: Wonder Woman, it seemed, was equally uninhibited in her choice of lovers. Kara and Diana had begun their affair within days of Kal's introducing them. The sex had been great from the start, so much so that even after Diana shocked Kara with the revelation that she had been, and continued to be, Kal's mistress, Kara chose not to break off her own relationship with the Amazon princess. Though the idea that Diana was cheerfully screwing both herand her cousin was disquieting, Kara couldn't bring herself to stop seeing her, or to ask Diana to break it off with Kal. Kal, she was sure, was equally unsettled, but both Kryptonians found Diana's sexual prowess too addictive to give up. For Kara, and Kal, and Diana herself, truly satisfying sex required a partner who was equally strong, equally filled with stamina, and equally invulnerable.

Kara settled into a smooth, comfortable rhythm on Don's cock. With her lips closed tightly around his member, making a hard seal, she licked him once, twice, thrice; then plunged all the way down, until the tip of his member tickled the back of her throat. She held him there for a long moment, then pulled up again, licked him three times, and deepthroated him once more.

Again and again she repeated herself, her mind elsewhere. She and Diana had started pretty vanilla: Kara would steal away to Diana's private island and meet her there. Together they'd relax, bathe, and end up lying on a blanket under the palm trees, kissing each other at first, licking each other at last. Once Kara was admitted into the League, they had more time for each other, and not long after that Diana's exile from Themascyra came to an end. Once Diana was able to bring her lover to her home, Kara had been shocked—but intrigued—to discover how Paradise Island brought out Diana's old sexual habits, in particular the Amazon fetish for bondage. They'd started with friendly wresting matches, the loser owing the winner a tongue-induced orgasm, and had progressed into kinkier and kinkier games. Diana had found some creative uses for her magic lasso: for all of the power that Supergirl and Wonder Woman possessed, the unbreakable lariat could still make either one of them a prisoner, subject to all of the delicious sexual tension that that helplessness could induce.

Kara smiled to herself, thinking about the romps they had together. Her pussy began to get wet, something that Don's tentative kisses and desperate groping hadn't achieved. She didn't vary her tempo, however. Up, lick, lick, lick, down and hold. She could hold her breath for more than an hour if she needed to, so she didn't need to break her rhythm. Up, lick, lick, lick, down and hold.

"There are a few schools of thought on how to please a man with your mouth," Diana had told her once, as they lay in each other's arms, wrapped in postcoital glow. Kara remembered the scene: she had stretched and pulled her lover close, looking out at the moon through the window of their tower bedroom. An island breeze stole through the window, fluttering the silk curtains. It was night and the air, coming off the sea, was salty and chill, cooling their sweaty bodies.

"One says that you should think of it like a sprint: use your mouth like your womanhood, and stimulate his manhood quickly and relentlessly, until he can stand no more. Another says that it's like a decathlon: as he gets used to one technique, find another. Lick him, but then suck him, now work him with your hands, now with your breasts, now with your throat. The unpredictability will make him mad with pleasure."

Diana nudged Kara away and turned onto her side, facing the wall. Kara rolled over as well, pressing up against Diana's back, draping an arm along her chest, below her breasts. Diana murmured with contentment, then continued. "And I won't gainsay those approaches. But you, my pet"—Kara purred like a kitten, and Diana chuckled—"you should begin with the marathon. Go slowly, but with vigour. Find a good pace, and continue, and continue, and continue. That will play to your strengths. You'll never get tired, and never get weak. They'll try to outlast you... but they won't succeed. And it will be joy to them."

Kara could hear her smile. "The same joy I give to you. The same joy you give to me."

Diana pulled away and sat up at the side of the bed. She turned her head towards Kara, serious now. "You asked me about how to satisfy a man in bed. I have something to ask you on the same subject..."

That had been Kara's initiation into the League's special missions. Normally it was aquid pro quo arrangement, where a member only was sent to relieve someone's sexual tension after having their own tension relieved, but this had been a special case: J'onn was the one in need of release, and as he was used to shapechanging Martian women, Diana wasn't up to the task herself. She'd needed help, help as tough and invulnerable as she was.

As Kara reminisced about what had happened next, her pussy now sopping, Don found himself unable to hold out. Kara's mouthwork was simple and straightforward, but never flagged, never gave him a moment to dial down his need. If he closed his eyes, his cock became his whole world, and he couldn't escape the pleasure; if he opened them, he saw Supergirl, young, pretty, barely legal (by Earth standards), the subject of the sweaty fantasies of millions, and she was bobbing up and down on his cock, her huge tits bouncing and and shaking and quivering in his grip, her nipples rubbing against his hands like rose-coloured pearls...

"I'm coming," he gasped, and Supergirl cooed her approval. That put him over the edge. With a shudder, he burst, his semen pumping out in a rush of fluid. Supergirl didn't stop her rhythm, though: she bobbed and swallowed, bobbed and swallowed, easily taking in everything he shot out.

Don's head lolled back as he went limp: as his cock emptied of semen his body emptied of tension. He sank into the couch. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so relaxed, so content.

Kara, still floating over his crotch, kept at her work, more gently now, making sure he had nothing left to give.Dove, she thought,you just cost me a hundred bucks.

*

Ollie looked up when he heard the knock at the door. He frowned: his household staff knew better to disturb him when he was in the hot tub. He'd just finished an extended workout—he'd been practicing his archery and his judo—and he wasn't as young as he used to be. His muscles had begun to stiffen, and without a good soak, he'd be in poor shape tomorrow.

He stroked his beard (blond, tapering to a sharp point) and considered, dark eyes narrow with thought. His valet had standing orders to wait until after Ollie emerged from the gym before delivering any messages. And if it was a League emergency... he glanced at the communicator he always kept with him, now flung carelessly, with his workout clothes, on the cedar bench on the far side of the room. Not blinking or humming, so he could rule that out.

Annoyed, he called out "Come on in!" and the door creaked open. The wisps of mist that poured out of the hot tub and eddied lazily around the floor began to swirl as a rush of cool air entered. The mist drew back, violently, then, instead of sinking backwards, it rose up in the air, thickening, growing heavier, making a curtain of grey vapour, a curtain that became a wall. In a moment the tub was surrounded on all four sides, trapped in a cage of heavy fog.

Ollie, coughing, splashed about, pulling himself to his feet. His hot tub was marble—Italian, grey with streaks of crimson—and circular, about eight feet in diameter. He stepped up onto the sunken bench that he'd been sitting on, water up to his knees. His mind whirred as he considered his position. It wasn't good. Naked, alone, without his bow or arrows, he had no chance. He needed to get help. He stepped carefully around the perimeter of the tub to the far side. The cedar bench where he'd left his communicator was hidden behind the fog, but he knew where it was. With a leap he could reach it, call for help. He tensed to spring, but too late. A shadow fell across the seething mists. Someone had entered the room. There was no chance to run; if he jumped or stepped up out of the tub his weight wouldn't be balanced. In close quarters like these, under circumstances like that, a child with an air rifle could have dropped him. He braced himself and took a fighting stance, his legs balanced, muscles tensed, arms up and hands tightened into fists. If he had to go down he'd go down fighting.

He heard something, a woman's voice, but couldn't make out what it was saying. Before he could react a cold rush of air blasted him, shredding the mist. He almost slipped and braced his legs to steady himself. By the time he had his balance again, the mist was gone, and the shadow before him had resolved into a figure he recognized.

Zatanna smiled up at him, sweetly. "Hi, Green Arrow. Is that a bow in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" She glanced his naked crotch. "Oops... I guess neither, huh?"

Ollie gritted his teeth and glowered. "Gee," she murmured, "if looks could kill. Or if yours could, anyway."

With as much dignity as he could muster, he stepped down, back into his tub, and settled in on the bench, he fixed her with an intimidating stare (its effectiveness, sadly, blunted by the circumstances). "What the hell do you call this?"

She shrugged. "I call it showmanship."

"I call it trespassing, breaking and entering, and invasion of privacy." He pointed at the door. "Now get the hell out! You can walk, or better yet, magic yourself out the same way you came in. Just beat it!"

"Oh, come on. You know I'm working tonight."

She was wearing her stage costume, which doubled as her crimefighting costume: a modified tuxedo. Up top she was all business, sporting a top hat, tuxedo jacket, and bow tie. But below the waist, the party started. She wore her cummerbund and dress shirt over a dark leotard. Instead of pants, fishnet stockings covered her legs from the leotard down to her high heels.

She paced forward, her nonchalance belied by how carefully she stepped. High heels and slick tile didn't mix well. Reaching the side of the tub, she sat on the broad marble edge, her legs dangling over one side, and leaned back along another. She looked lazily down at Ollie. "And when it's one of the special missions, I prefer to surprise my target. More fun that way."

"So it's come to this." His voice was still taut with anger. "J'onn and Diana are playing pimp and madam, and they've persuaded you..." Despite his ire, he paused, and chose his words carefully. "...to go along with it. Where's your self-respect?"

"Nice try. The best defence is a good offence, right? If this is about me, it can't be about you." Ollie scowled harder, and shifted his weight on the submerged bench where he sat, but said nothing. "For the record, Queen, I'm nobody's whore. That's what you were going to say, right? No one's forcing me to do anything I don't want to do, and all I get out of it is the same thing I get out of any other League mission: the satisfaction." Ollie snorted, and Zatanna frowned. His hostility was beginning to puncture her good humour. "The satisfaction," she went on, "of knowing I made a difference, I helped someone that needed help, in a way that only a League member could."

"Oh, yeah? Isn't this a quid pro quo? You got a visit from the candyman. Don't you have to reciprocate? How's that for force?"

"It's not like that. By the Ten Houses, we're goddamn superheroes! You think we can face down Darkseid or Brainiac but not tell J'onn to buzz off if he's asking something we don't want to give?"

Her voice softened. "Our lives make it hard to be intimate with anyone. Intimacy needs commitment and trust. But we can't be superheroes without that commitment coming first. And we can't trust the people in our private lives with our secrets, because that could hurt them."

"Oh, and you've found a great solution to the problem. Anonymous hook-ups when no one's looking.That's a commitment.That'll build trust."

"We can't make people form relationships with each other. And when they do form them, we can't make those relationships last."

Ollie raised his hand out of the water and brought it down in a hard slap, spraying water across them both. "Just what are you saying, huh? Spit it out!"

Zatanna looked at him, and then looked down into the swirling water. She spoke quietly. "I know about you, and Dinah, and whatever-her-name-was. You had Dinah, but now you don't, and you blame yourself." She looked up, her voice now with a hint of steel. "And you should. You screwed up. And now you're punishing yourself for it, by being faithful to herafter she's gone." She shrugged. "But Dinah's moved on, Oliver. And you need to, too. This self-pity is festering, and it's becoming self-destructiveness." She gestured at the bruises on his ribs, just barely visible below the waterline. "You used to be too careful for that. But not these days."