Chapter 9: A Hero's Distraction
The cell door closed behind Flag with a finality that echoed in Kara’s bones.He had not used her. He had simply looked, his eyes burning with a knowing appraisal, before turning and leaving.The rejection was more profound than any violation. It told her she was not yet ready.Her practice was insufficient.
An hour later, the slot opened.Not a tray, but a small, polished wooden box. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was the glass plug.Its note was a single word: Wear.
They were releasing her.Or rather, they were unleashing her upon the city, transformed. Her suit was returned, cleansed and pressed, smelling faintly of an unfamiliar detergent. She dressed mechanically, the familiar red and blue fabric feeling like a costume in the truest sense.The glass plug was heavy, cool. She coated it with a clear gel from the box, bent over in the center of the cell, and pressed it home.The stretch was immense, a burning fullness that settled deep inside her. The flared base sat snug against her asshole, a secret weight.Then, she was simply… out. A service elevator, a blank-faced guard, a door opening onto a rooftop chilled by the night air. The city sprawled before her, a galaxy of electric light. She took a shuddering breath, the freedom terrifying.Flight was automatic. She launched into the sky, the wind a cold slap against her face.But every movement, every slight adjustment of her hips, shifted the plug inside her. It was a constant, undeniable presence, a throbbing counterpoint to the city’s rhythms. As she banked over the financial district, the plug angled forward, pressing insistently against that spot—not a prostate, but something analogous for her Kryptonian biology—sending a jolt of electric pleasure straight to her core. Her cunt, already sensitized from her cell-time, clenched around nothing, wetness instantly soaking the thin fabric of her suit’s inner lining.
“Focus,” she hissed to herself, hovering. Her fists were clenched, her nipples hard peaks against the sculpted crest of her family.Patrol.She needed to patrol.
She dove, scanning the grids of light and shadow.The pleasurable pressure built with every descent, faded slightly on the ascent. It was a sickening, addictive rhythm.She was a satellite, orbiting between duty and deviance.
Then she saw it.A dim alley off 5th. A man in a dark jacket had a woman pinned against a brick wall, a glint of steel at her throat. The victim’s eyes were wide with terror.Action.Clear, simple.Save her.
Kara arrowed down, landing fifteen feet away with a crack of concrete. “Let her go,” she commanded, her voice the Supergirl voice, all stern authority.The mugger, a gaunt man with hollow eyes, spun around. His initial fear evaporated as he took her in.Not her face, but her body. The wind of her landing had pressed her skirt taut against her thighs, outlined every curve. His eyes dropped to her chest, to the obvious, hard points of her nipples tenting the material.
He grinned, a rotten, knowing thing. “Well, hello, girl of steel.”
“I won’t ask again,” Kara said, stepping forward.But her step hitched. The movement jarred the plug, sending a warm wave of sensation through her gut.A tiny, traitorous gasp escaped her lips.
The mugger’s grin widened.He shoved the woman, who stumbled and then fled, forgotten. He took a step toward Kara, the knife held loosely now. “You look a little… tense, darling.”
“Stay back,” she warned, but her voice lacked its usual force. Her body was humming, betraying her. Her own scent, musky and ripe, seemed to permeate the cool alley air between them.He was close now, sniffing theatrically. “Smell that?That’s pussy. You’re fucking dripping for something.” His eyes gleamed with a feral intelligence.“This what you do after you save the day? Get all worked up?”
“Shut up,” Kara whispered.Her power was there. She could snap his wrist without a thought, fly him to the precinct in a blink.But her arms hung at her sides. Her breathing was shallow, rapid.“You wanna be a hero? Save me,” he taunted, tossing the knife aside.It clattered on the asphalt. He reached out, one dirty finger, and brushed it over the raised S-shield on her chest, directly over her nipple.
The touch was like a live wire.Kara jerked, a full-body shiver wracking her frame. A low moan rumbled in her chest, utterly unbidden.“Yeah,” he breathed, triumphant. He palmed her breast, squeezing hard through the suit. The rough pressure on her sensitized nipple, coupled with the deep, full ache of the plug, was too much.Her knees buckled slightly. “Fuck, you’re so hard. Gonna come just from this, you desperate slut?”
“Don’t…” she pleaded, but it was a lie. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary rock, grinding the plug inside her.Her vision swam.He didn’t ask. His other hand dove between her legs, cupping her over her skirt. The fabric was soaked, transparent with her wetness.“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You’re fucking flooded.”
He rubbed the heel of his hand against her clit through the wet material. It was crude, brutal friction. Kara’s head fell back, a string of broken, half-formed Kryptonian curses spilling from her lips. Her heroism, her purpose, it all dissolved into the blinding, white-hot need coiling in her belly. She was coming, hurtling toward an orgasm pressed against a dirty brick wall by a thief.
“That’s it, Super-bitch,” he grunted, feeling her tremble.“Come for me. Show me how a hero thanks a guy.”
The orgasm tore through her with violent, shameful intensity. It was not the rolling wave of the cell; this was a detonation. Her cunt spasmed wildly, gushing more wetness, and her asshole clamped down rhythmically on the glass plug, milking it. She screamed, a raw, ragged sound that echoed in the alley, her body convulsing against his hand.
As the shudders began to subside, he was already fumbling with his zipper. He shoved her skirt up, grabbed the waistband of her tights and ripped them down just past her knees. Her bare ass, the glint of the glass base visible between her cheeks, was exposed to the cold air.
He spat into his hand, slicked his cock—already thick and hard—and without ceremony, notched the head against her dripping entrance. “Still warm,” he chuckled.Then he drove into her.
Kara cried out, a sound of pure, shocking fullness.He was smaller than the toys, but real, hot, alive. The plug in her ass forced him into a tighter, shallower channel, making every thrust feel more concentrated, more intense. He fucked her with short, punishing jabs, his hips slapping against her thighs.
“Tight little superhero cunt,” he panted, his breath foul in her ear.“Taking it like a champ. Bet they never teach you this in the Fortress, huh?”
Kara could only grunt with each thrust, her mind a blank static of sensation. The initial over-sensitivity had melted into a deep, grinding pleasure-pain. Her body, well-trained now, began to move with him, meeting his drives, squeezing him on the in-stroke. She was participating.“Yeah, fuck,” he moaned, his rhythm faltering. “Gonna fill you up. Mark the insides of the famous Supergirl.”
The crudeness, the absolute degradation of it, sparked another coil of heat in her gut. She felt him swell, pulse, and then a hot, wet rush flooded her interior as he came with a guttural shout, collapsing against her back.They stood there, joined, panting in the stinking alley. He pulled out slowly, and she felt his seed begin to seep out of her, mixing with her own fluids on her thighs. He zipped up, stepped back, and looked at her with a mix of awe and contempt.
“Best night ever,” he snorted, then turned and walked away, fading into the shadows.Kara didn’t move. She slowly pulled her tights up, the fabric sticky against her skin.Her skirt fell back into place. High above, a siren wailed, entirely unrelated to the crime here.The city’s pulse continued, oblivious.
She lifted off the ground, the movement automatic.The wind chilled the wet patches on her suit. The glass plug remained, a heavy, secret trophy.She flew toward her apartment, not to patrol, not to help. She flew to shower, to try and wash away the smell of him, the feel of him, the knowledge that when he touched her, she hadn’t thought of heat vision or super-speed.
She had only thought of how good it would feel to let him finish.
She flew on autopilot, the city blurring beneath her into a streak of irrelevant light. Her body operated the mechanics of flight while her mind replayed the mugger’s grin, the wet sound of his thrusts, the complicit arch of her own back. The glass plug was a now-familiar anchor, a gravity well of shame pulling at her core. She landed on her balcony with a lightness that felt deceptive, as if the steel underfoot might give way and reveal another cell.Inside, the sterile quiet of her apartment accused her. It smelled of lemon cleaner and solitude, a sharp contrast to the alley’s grime and sweat. She went straight to the bathroom, her reflection in the mirror a stranger with smudged mascara and a hollow, knowing look. She peeled the suit off, letting it fall in a damp, red and blue heap on the tiles. His drying seed streaked her inner thighs.The shower hissed to life, steam blooming. She stepped under the near-scalding spray, letting it scald her skin red. She scrubbed with a loofah until her flesh stung, but the feeling of invasion lingered beneath the skin. Leaning her forehead against the cool tile, she let the water drum against her neck and back. Her hand drifted down, over her stomach, through the coarse hair.She was still swollen, sensitive. A single touch made her flinch, a bolt of oversensitive pleasure-pain shooting through her.
Her fingers, slick with soap and water, found her clit. It was a tentative, almost clinical touch at first.Then she circled it, applying pressure, and a shuddering sigh fogged the glass. This was different.This was hers. She fucked herself with two fingers, curling them inward, seeking the spot that made her legs buckle. The water from the showerhead pounded her lower back, a chaotic massage.She remembered the polished wooden box, the single command: Wear. The plug was still in her, a part of the equation.
Reaching back with her free hand, she found the cool glass base. Slowly, working against the water’s slickness, she began to pull it out. The drag was exquisite, a slow, full reverse of penetration that made her cunt clench rhythmically around her fingers. It emerged, glistening and clean, and she set it on the shower ledge with a clink.Empty now, she felt oddly loose, wanting. She turned, letting the spray hit her front. The water beat directly on her clit, a relentless, pinpoint assault. She spread her legs, bracing one hand against the wall, and gave herself over to it. The sensation was too sharp, too much, and then it transcended into a blinding, persistent thrum.
“Oh god, oh fuck,” she mumbled into the steam, her hips rocking minutely to modulate the pressure. One hand jammed three fingers back inside her aching pussy, pumping in time with the water’s pulse on her clit. The double stimulation, self-administered and viciously efficient, ripped an orgasm from her in under a minute. It was a short, sharp peak, a cresting wave that left her gasping.
She didn’t stop. She adjusted the showerhead to a softer, wider setting, letting it flood over her whole sex.The ache subsided into a fresh, urgent throb. She slid her fingers out, slick and wrinkled, and brought them to her mouth, tasting soap and salt and herself. The filthiness of the act, done here in her clean, safe space, sent a fresh jolt through her.
She sank to her knees on the shower floor, the water raining down on her bowed head and shoulders. With one hand she spread her lips open for the spray; with the other, she worked two fingers back into her ass, now loose and willing from the plug. The stretch was different, intimate, a violation she curated. The water poured over her exposed clit, a steady, drowning tongue.“Come on,” she growled at herself, the words lost in the shower’s roar. Her fingers fucked her ass in a shallow, urgent rhythm while the water did its work on her front.Her body was a instrument being played too hard, each note a building tremor. Another orgasm built, slower this time, a deep tectonic shift in her pelvis. It unlocked with a silent scream, her body seizing, her ass clamping down on her fingers, her cunt pulsing around nothing.She slumped against the wall, spent, the water cooling around her. Shivering, she turned it off. Dripping, she stared at the plug on the ledge, a monument to the night.
Dripping, she stared at the plug on the ledge, a monument to the night. Its flawless surface caught the harsh bathroom light, distorting her reflection into a bloated, guilty thing.The quiet of her apartment was a different prison.
Her fingers, still pruned from the water, reached for it.The glass was cool, heavier than memory. The smoothness felt surgical, impersonal.She turned it over in her hand, watching droplets cling to the curve. Her own breath fogged the mirror, obscuring the stranger’s eyes. Her cunt ached with a hollow, hungry feeling.It wasn’t enough. The shower had been a rinse, not a purge.Her ass felt loose, empty, shamefully receptive.
“Pathetic,” she whispered to her foggy reflection.The word hung in the steam.
She walked, naked and damp, into the bedroom.The city’s glow painted silver stripes across her floor. She didn’t turn on the light. On the bed, she lay back against the cool duvet, her body a pale map in the dimness.She held the plug up, a dark silhouette against the window. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic prisoner.This was a choice, stark and solitary. It was also an echo.She brought the plug to her mouth first. Her tongue, timid then determined, licked the broadest curve. She sucked the tip, coating it in thick saliva, her eyes closed.The taste was clean, just glass and her. Then her hand slid down her body, through the damp thatch of hair, to the slickness that had already returned. She wasn’t just wet; she was soaked, as if her body had its own defiant memory. She smeared her juices over the glass, working them into a slippery sheen.
Her legs fell open, a silent surrender to the empty room.She guided the tapered end to her asshole first, still loose from earlier. There was no resistance, just a smooth, full glide as she pushed it home. The stretch was a bright, familiar burn that made her gasp, her back arching off the bed. The flared base settled snug, a pressure that felt perversely correct.She was filled there, anchored.
But her cunt wept, neglected and empty. Her clit throbbed, a tiny, insistent drumbeat.She withdrew her slippery fingers, now glistening and shaking slightly. She took the plug’s base, firm in her grip. Slowly, with a gritted concentration, she began to pull it out.The drag was immense, a slow, thrilling violation in reverse. Her ass muscles clung to the glass, reluctant to let go. As the widest part stretched her ring, she whimpered, her hips lifting off the bed. It popped free with a soft, wet sound.She didn’t pause. Her other hand was already between her legs, fingers spreading her lips.She guided the slick, glass tip to her cunt. It was warmer here, tighter, a different kind of hunger.She pressed, and her body yielded, sucking the plug in. This fullness was sharper, more direct, spearing up into her core. She pushed until the base met her lips, sealing her shut.Her breath came in ragged pulls.She was so full she felt dizzy.
Then, with a filthy, deliberate resolve, she pushed it deeper into her cunt until only the base was visible, and then she pulled it back out, the glass shining. She shifted her angle, bringing the dripping end back to her ass. Without ceremony, she pushed it back inside, the stretched ring accepting it with a lewd, wet ease. She fucked herself with it, switching holes in a slow, mechanical rhythm.Out.Cunt.
The sounds were obscene: the slick squelch, the low groan she couldn’t contain.Sweat beaded on her lip. “Fuck yourself,” she muttered, a harsh command. “You fucking know you want to.” She picked up the pace, the glass a cold piston between her thighs. The dual sensation blurred, her body no longer distinguishing between the violations, only registering a rising tsunami of need.
Her free hand clawed at her breast, pinching a nipple hard, the pain a bright anchor. She rocked her hips, meeting her own thrusts, the base of the plug rubbing roughly against her clit with each movement.The pleasure was a taut wire, humming, about to snap.
“Come on, you slut,” she panted, her voice a broken thing.“Do it. Come on your own fucking hand.” She shoved the plug deep into her ass and left it there, the fullness monumental. Then her fingers found her clit, rubbing in frantic, tight circles. The pressure, the fullness, the sharp pain from her nipple—it coalesced into a single point of blinding white.
Her orgasm detonated silently, a convulsion that locked her body into a rigid arc. Her cunt spasmed wildly around nothing, while her ass clenched and fluttered on the glass intruder. Wave after wave of brutal pleasure electrocuted her, wringing a choked scream from her throat. It seemed to last forever, this brutal coming apart on her pristine bed.
When it finally ebbed, she was a wreck.The plug slid from her spent body onto the sheets. She curled onto her side, trembling, staring at the glass rod now smeared with her mixed fluids. The hollow feeling was gone, replaced by a deep, trembling saturation.Outside, a siren wailed, climbing then fading into the distance. She didn’t move to follow it. She just watched the light on the ceiling, her body humming with a truth she could no longer flight.