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Power Girl The interview and the Aftermath	By : Nickamano Category: DC Verse Comics >no category yet > no category yet Views: 3612 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Power Girl, nor any DC characters or locations used herein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Part Three: Putting out the Fire.

The week that followed Power Girl’s frank and open interview with Hannah DuPres, was a pretty much a week of utter madness. Not only from the public and the media’s reaction to the interview, but also from the Metahuman community.
A debate raged across social media and the press relating to Kara’s comments about justice and the murder of those who were too dangerous to be allowed to live. The back and forth didn’t interest her. She had numerous social media accounts: ‘official Power Girl’ this and official Power Girl’ that. However, after the first week high of passing the five-hundred-million followers and spending a few days being interested in her pages; posting comments and putting up photos and the like, she refused to look at them. It was too dizzying, to invasive and generally too full of rancour and hate. So, the debate, mostly in the form of rage and hate being tossed between the likers and the haters, passed Kara by without interest, or even knowledge.
AT the same time, through her private Metahuman contacts and social media groups ran and controlled through oracle and the JSA headquarters, Power Girl started to receive offers of dates from literally scores of Metahumans both male and female. Mostly heroes, some she had worked with some she had only heard of. There were even approaches from a half dozen brash and wildly overconfident ‘Supervillains’. The latter she found equal parts amusing and disconcerting. There was an especially suggestive never mind lewd and eye-poppingly graphic comic strip from Harley Quinn that had Kara laughing over for days. She might admit to being very impressed and perhaps a little enamoured by the ex-psychiatrist/psycho’s lovely figure, Harley’s often sadomasochistic allusions and graphically portrayed fantasies always involved Joker, and he always took on the sadist role, which was more than a little off putting, even though in reality he would not capable of hurting actually Kara.
Depressingly however, of the half-dozen prospective and hopeful offers that succeeding in catching Kara’s attention, none of them actually met her requirements once she had checked them out in the JSA’s Metahuman files. It might not be the most romantic method of fielding prospective dates, but it was without a doubt the safest for them.
On the night of the second Friday following publication of the interview, Power Girl sat on a rooftop in the upmarket part of Star City. She looked down beyond the mid-level gloom toward the streetlight illumination of the ground-level far below her.
There were varying degrees of lighting in most cities. The upper spaces had moonlight and some skyscraper illumination, though lots of cities these days were beginning to switch off their lights to save on electricity costs. Then the streets had their lights, shop fronts, car headlights, traffic signal lights and the rest. But often, in between, there was a mid-level gloom. Often it was pleasant to fly along inside that gloom, where she didn’t stand out as much while patrolling and didn’t invite as many stares and pointing fingers. Often patrolling, visible and ever present was a real preventative measure for criminals. However sometimes, depending on her mood, Kara found that the gloom also conjured some kind of fog of depression. And this was one of those times.
She stared down through the gloom toward the brightly lit ground and let out a long sigh, there was little happening. Rather than out patrolling, she had actually been at home reading and wonderful thriller when she’d heard about a bank robbery via a police band radio in a squad car that had been zipping past her apartment. She had burst from her apartment window, changing in mid-flight, dumping her clothes into a shopping bag and dropping them onto a high-rise rooftop as she flew over it.
She arrived at the bank just as the escape vehicle was moving off, less than two minutes after Kara had caught the vibration of the silent alarm and pinpointed its location. She landed in the path of the van letting its bumper slam into her and halt its thirty mile per hour trajectory in the space of an inch. The guys in the van were fortunate to have their safety belts fastened, otherwise they would have burst out of the windshield. Standing there with her fists on her hips and her crimson cape whipping out behind her, Kara listened to each of the four men’s heart beats. They were steady but slow. Unconscious, but not badly harmed. One of them might have just been stunned but he wouldn’t be escaping before the cops arrived.
However, just to be sure, she flipped the van up onto its rear doors, turning it into a wheeled monolith before taking to the air. She could already hear the cops on their way, maybe three blocks distant.
She took the same route back. However, just before reaching the high-rise where she’d stashed her clothes, she spotted a parallel skyscraper. On the rooftop penthouse was a steaming pool. It was deep but small, and kidney shaped. Something, she had no idea what, gave her the sudden urge to swim. Night swimming. The R.E.M. song slipped into her mind. That infectious piano riff.
The urge turned into some kind of insatiable desire. There was a young man there. Short and plump, lank greasy hair. Glasses. He was sitting on a sun lounger, wearing tartan shorts, one leg raised, an i-reader propped against his flabby thigh.
On closer inspection there was a slice of heavily frosted and multi-layered cake, with a single candle and a cake fork on the little table beside him. A tall champagne glass half-filled with something bright yellow and bubbly and a little sparkling cone of brightly coloured cardboard atop his head, a string of elastic under his chin to keep in in place.
He looked lonely and sad. Even a little pathetic, though that was certainly an unkind appraisal. Kara had the sudden urge to cheer him up. As only she could.
She floated to the edge of the low wall and railing that formed the lip of the rooftop penthouse, lots of well-kept potted plants creating an impromptu hedge. It reminded her of where her interview with Hannah DuPres had taken place. She waited for the young man’ eyes to catch on to her presence.
“Hello.” She said when he finally looked up. “There isn’t much in the way of doorbells up here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You’re Power Girl!” He gasped.
“I am!”
“What can I do for the fantastic Power Girl!? You wanna come in, so to speak?”
“Thank you.”
She floated across the threshold and came to a gentle rest on the decking that surrounded the pool area opposite him, the pool between them. She could smell everything coming off him, alcohol and sugar on his breath, his sweat, a thick cloud of spray-on deodorant. Even a little marijuana, though it was around an hour old. Chlorine from when he’d taken a dip himself. He’d eaten tacos earlier. And some of his cake. The same cake that now sat beside him.
“Happy birthday?” She said, nodding her head at the cake.
He scowled. crestfallen, disappointed. Alone.
“Thanks. There was supposed to be a party. No one’s turned up. I’m not one of the popular kids. Rich yeah. Good looking? Fit? A jock? No. So I’m here celebrating my birthday alone.”
He glanced behind him to the glass wall of the penthouse interior and a little flush crept across his cheeks. Perhaps not quite so alone? He tried to perk himself up, probably not wanting to push Kara away.
“Don’t take me on, I’m just feeling sorry for myself. There’s plenty who have it a lot worse than me, I guess.”
“While that’s certainly true, kid, you shouldn’t just disregard your own feelings.”
He tried to force a smile but it was nothing more than a stretching and curling of his full lips, there was no emotion behind it, just depression.
“You aren’t completely on your own though, are you? There’s someone inside.”
He flushed crimson this time. Looking awkwardly over his shoulder at the sliding glass doors behind him.
“My cousin, she… erm, paid for a… companion for me. She’s here all day. Right through till the morning. I was hoping to show her off, you know? Maybe share her with a few friends… after all, she’s been paid for and I’m sure she doesn’t care who… well… forget it. She’s taking a bubble bath inside.”
“You don’t want to join her?”
He went even redder, looking very uncomfortable. He straightened his position on the lounger, put his leg down, slid the e-reader onto the table. His shorts were bulging and he was quick to try and conceal the fact from the her. Of course, Kara could smell his excitement and that he had certainly ejaculated numerous times within the last couple of hours. There was also a hint of post-orgasm seepage evident in his shorts.
“Sure I do, but… It’s… It’s kinda embarrassing... She, well, she kinda wore me out earlier. So, she suggested I refuel, take a breather and then we could have an early night.”
Kara absently came closer, rounded the pool and put her ass onto the edge of a larger wooden table a couple of metres from him. She extended her long, long legs and locked her arms against the table’s edge, unconsciously pressing her huge breasts together causing them to bulge against the oval of her cleavage window. He couldn’t help but stare. For Kara it was infinitely normal to have individual body parts stared at. Still, he was quick to change the subject.
“Erm, don’t think I’m not honestly super happy you’ve stopped off here and are chatting to me but, is there something in particular you need? Something I could maybe help with?”
“To be frank, I just got back from foiling a robbery and, I saw the pool and, well…”
“My pool?”
“Yeah, you think it would it be okay if I took a quick dip?” She flashed him a coy smile. “I guarantee you won’t regret it.”
“Erm, sure. Be my guest.”
Kara grinned and tossed him a flirtatious little wink of thanks. And then she unclipped the gold medallion clasp that held her cape in place. She laid the freed cape over the tabletop behind her.
“Must be fortunate that your costume can double up as a swimsuit.”
“Oh, no it’s all coming off.” She said grinning.
The already erect cock in his shorts gave a sudden uncontrolled leap. Kara unfastened the press studs and then the zipper that ran down the suit’s spine and then wriggled her way out of it, as she would a wet suit.
There was no underwear beneath her suit. The kid let out an audible groan as she teasingly bared her immaculate breasts for his view. And then she had to wriggle her hips a little to free up the fabric’s grip on her hips and waist. The movement made her breasts dance and shake all over the place and he whimpered at the vision of her.
The sound that came from his throat when she stepped out of the white swimsuit, leaving her utterly naked with her hairless vagina right there not two metres away from him, didn’t even sound human.
She deliberately turned her back to him in order to place her white outfit, the belt actually a part of the suit, onto the table along with her boots, and gauntlets. Then she stretched the tension out of her incredible bombastic figure, lifting her hands up over her head and drawing herself up onto her tiptoes. Obviously, the kid’s eyes would be glued onto the diamond hard cheeks of her silky-smooth bottom. If that didn’t elevate his mood nothing would. She turned, tossed him a little smile and then levitating over the steaming water, she gently lowered herself into the pool.
He was already on his phone, texting away. Kara grinned to herself swimming beneath the water. As so often happened, when she put on a show people were nearly always too slow to get their phone cameras working in time to capture much of anything. Not that her naked body being pasted all over the world news and the internet meant anything to her.
In fact, before she had managed to secure Kryptonian materials for her costume, from Kandor, practically every time she went to work to save the day her costume would become ripped or burned - ruined in some way and reveal the flesh beneath, partially or completely. So partial nudes of her had been all over the place for years.
Besides, she knew how good she looked. She was Aphrodite, she was Venus, she was Freyja. Beyond any vision of human physical beauty. There was nothing shameful or embarrassing about her looks or figure and she felt nothing objectionable about being seen naked.
She swam through the waves of caressing heat beneath the chlorinated water. Deliberately tantalising the kid, she remained under for a good ten minutes, the curves and colour of her tanned flesh and golden blonde hair smudged and unfocussed by the combination of refraction and steam.
When she did break the surface, she was surprised - though only a little - to see the birthday boy was now in the company of a young female. Slender built, long straight dark hair. A couple of faded tattoos, no clothes, some leftover bubbles from her bath still caught in the gleam of her hair and in the cleavage of her heart shaped buttocks. She was standing but bent over at the waist, her head in his lap, bobbing rapidly up and down. The kid had one hand on the back of her head, guiding her sucking pace while the other was beneath her, cupping a small breast. He was staring at Kara, but only seeing her body, as though the woman, the person occupying the body, was invisible. That didn’t bother her either. She had been used to being looked at that way too, for almost as long as she had lived on Earth, her own Earth, as well as this one.
Kara placed her hands on the edge of the pool, her back to the kid. Slowly and with the expertise, grace and self-control of an Olympic gymnast, she drew up out of the water, swept herself inexorably slowly into a handstand, scissoring her long, long legs. After holding the pose for a drawn-out moment, she allowed her flight power to take over, levitated and inch, fingertips just above the tiled edge of the pool. She slowly brought herself through a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc, returning to her feet at the edge of the pool and still with her back to the kid.
She turned, a perfect graceful pirouette and prepared to dive back into the steaming hot water, her eyes on the kid, giving him a hearty show.

It turned out he didn’t need any more. She turned to face him, her jutting full breasts catching a little burst of independent movement as her quick rotation came to a sudden halt. In that moment, his eyes bulged, his hand clenched and pushed the escort girl’s head firmly down into his lap.
He let out a loud and shocked-sounding moan. It was a drawn-out throaty sound of intense physical pleasure.
Fortunately for the surprisingly panicked escort, his self-awareness didn’t depart for more than a second. He flushed, looking rightfully ashamed, and quickly relinquished his harsh grip of her head, muttering a little apology. She didn’t appear to annoyed and dutifully kept her lips locked around his erection. Kara could hear the strong suction going on in her mouth, and she could hear the jetting spurts, the splatters of fluid across the woman’s tongue, coating her tonsils and pumping into her throat. And she could smell the strong, salty funk of his seed emptying itself out of his body and into the receptacle of her hard sucking mouth.
“Well, that looked like some perfect timing.” Came a new and young sounding voice.
It wasn’t the birthday boy speaking. The voice, inexplicably, came from above her.
Power Girl looked up to find herself facing a young man in a Superhero costume. The costume was vermillion with a sunflower-yellow torso and a white emblem over the left pectoral, like a sunburst or something. He wore a mask, but it left his face and the top of his head clear. His eyes, pupilless, glowed with inner fire and his hair was a literal flame.
She was vaguely familiar with the appearance, either from personnel files or some gathering. Perhaps she had spotted him across a crowded room before she had got too drunk to see straight on time. But they hadn’t really interacted face to face, as far as she could remember. And she didn’t think they had ever spoken to each other.
From what little she did remember; he had been the result of some kind of nuclear accident that created an amalgam of different people inside one body. But it wasn’t a multiple personality gig. It was a kind of nucleonic fusion that had somehow conjoined the DNA and personalities of multiple people within the singular body, creating a whole new metahuman.
She recalled the JLA files mentioning the psyches of four distinct people conjoined within that stocky muscular frame. The most dominant were two teenage boys, foremost Ronnie Raymond, a cocky and arrogant jock type. The second was a younger teenager Jason Rusch, who had been a bit of a bully by all accounts. Not a great couple of brains to fuse together. It was suggested that usually their fiery temperaments were held in check, at least to some degree, by the scientist Professor Martin Stein, who was a logical thinker with the backbone of a conscientious gentleman. Compassionate, intelligent and thoughtful. Balancing out the three was Pozhar some Russian hero, though no one knew much about him.
He was known as Firestorm. And he was a problem.
Kara could immediately smell the funk of his hormones. They were in nuclear overdrive. Completely out of whack and overpowered, he was dripping lust as only a fifteen-year-old teenage boy could. He was a walking erection and all four brains were locked up tight inside that.
She could easily imagine Stein and the Russian adult’s personalities trying to calm the two horny hormonal boys, currently staring down at Power Girl’s naked body, and having the shit kicked out of the both of them. Pummelled. Subjugated. Silenced.
Or perhaps the hormones were affecting the men just as much. Maybe they were looking down at her too and feeding their own lusts into the muddled brains of the two boys. Boys who were angry and arrogant enough to be used to having their own way and having little in the way of restrictions of how to get it.
This was not going to be easy to deal with.
He grinned at her, his eyes all over her, drinking in her tanned splendour. Then he floated downward so they were on a level. He was taller than her, though his muscle tone was lean almost svelte. More Bruce Lee than Arnold Schwarzenegger.
“Baby, you’re so hot you make the equator look like the north pole!”
“Huh?”
He was grinning at her, over-excitement shimmering from him like electricity. His eyes were glued to her, sweeping up and down, staring, ogling. He didn’t seem to care about her vocal block to his pick-up line. Still, he tried a different angle.
“I heard you were after a boyfriend. You know, that interview thing? Well, I’m here to throw my hat in the ring, babe. I think we’re gonna be great together, we’re could have ourselves a time. And I guarantee you’re gonna cum like a fucking nympho in the Raiders locker room.”
“Wow…” Kara said, unsure if the level of sarcasm in her voice was too much.
“I know right!?” He grinned. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, bitch! And you’re gonna fucking love every second of it!”
“Wow!” She tried a bit more sarcasm, it didn’t seem to sink in.
“Maybe a few pick up lines? Hang on I got a ton! Never fail… Let’s see… ‘Your outfit would look great on my bedroom floor!’”
“I’m not wearing my outfit.” She dead-panned her response and enjoyed the way he blushed with embarrassment.
   “What about…” He turned his head to the west, frowned at the night sky.
“‘I’m not into watching sunsets…’” He said, playacting thoughtful and sensitive, then whipped his head back and grinned at her. “‘But I’d love to see you go down.’”
Kara rolled her eyes, folded her arms under her breasts, hoisting them. His eyes locked onto the perfect gargantuan orbs, bulged out, unblinkingly staring. He stammered a little before he tried another.
    “Erm… er, ‘Your body is seventy percent water, and I’m thirsty!’”
    “Yes… yes, you are.” She sighed, and he blushed even more.
    “‘Are you a haunted house? Because I’m going to scream when I’m in you!’”
   “I won’t deny it.” She shrugged, nonchalantly. “But you won’t get the chance.”
The frustration was building in him. The red flames of his hair intensified to pale yellow with a core of blinding white.
“‘Can you do telekinesis? Because you’ve made a part of me rise without touching it!’”
“Really? Can’t tell from here… which I guess says something about you, kid.” She lifted a hand and wiggled her pinkie finger, tossing a coy smile his way.
He sneered. Frustration building obviously.
“‘Treat me like a pirate and give me the fucking booty!’”
“Saved the best for last did y… Mhff!!”
He silenced her by bursting forward, beyond the speed of sound, whipping her short hair back behind her, only coming to a halt as his body slammed up against hers. The air molecules trapped between them might well have split apart with the ferocity of his supersonic advance.
Her response was cut off by his lips slamming against hers, hot and soft and bruising. His hands came around her and gripped her pool-slick buttocks, squeezing hard. She could feel the power in his grip. It made her feel weak. She already felt vulnerable and somehow shamed that he had found her already devoid of clothing. As though the skin tight concealing-nothing garments would have offered her a degree of protection, of armour. She already felt weak, vulnerable, under threat, partially under his power. And she didn’t like it one bit.
He groaned at the feel of her, his hands squeezing tight, his lips parting and trying to thrust his tongue into her mouth. Kara grunted a protest and tried to turn her face away from his, but he released one buttock and grabbed a possessive hold of the back of her head.
He was pure unadulterated teenage hormones in overdrive. To the nth degree.
“Okay”, Kara thought to herself. She was struggling, fighting his kiss, her hands digging into his biceps, trying to push him away. “This might have just gotten a little out of hand.”
She was shocked by his strength. There were few, less than a handful who matched Kara’s strength and most of her other powers really. She had heard a little about Firestorm, that he was powerful but a lot of metahumans overplayed their hands and overestimated their abilities. She tended to judge for herself. And now she was getting to do just that, she was starting to realise just how strong he was. Really strong. Too strong. It shook her and shocked her.
She felt herself suddenly engaged in a flashback of that Alien bounty-hunter guy. He had been strong and resilient and it had been a real struggle against him. He had raped her brutally. It had been the closest she had come to utter defeat. And she suddenly felt that same mindless panic that she had felt then. It washed over her powerfully, took her back into that moment, that sheer terror of being powerless. Unable to stop herself being assaulted and abused. And she freaked out. Frantically pushing him – wriggling and writhing, screaming, sobbing and pleading and cursing him.
It didn’t seem to make any difference. The hand on the back of her head was like star-forged titanium, her skull locked in a vice made of the stuff. His grip made it impossible for her to twist away from his lips and his probing tongue. Though her clenched teeth was keeping his tongue out of her mouth for now, the pressure his tongue was inflicting and then pain that ever-increasing pressure caused was growing less and less manageable.
At the same time his other hand, still cupping her buttocks, had now slid his fingers into the warm and still wet crevice between them and he was stroking up and down her ass cleavage and idly probing her anus, perineum and the tender base of her vulva, just stroking at the areas of her exquisitely soft flesh with little teasing moments of pressurising.
Kara couldn’t do anything about those sexual abuses either, if she couldn’t move his arms even an inch, with all her strength pressing into her grip on his biceps, then how could she think she could succeed in pulling his hand off her ass?
She could smell the hormones, thick and pungent and utterly in control. They were feeding his natural desires and strength, and that animal part of his brain was all but overloaded with electro-chemicals. She could smell the damage. She focussed her search through the radiation frequencies until her vision emitted x-rays and looked into his brain, zoomed in, a high-resolution that only Kryptonian vision allowed. She saw the damage, those overcharged electrical impulses searing and frying neurons by the million.
The teenage hormones of Ronnie Raymond and Jason Rusch in conjunction, each one supercharging the other, were causing the electrical activity in the metahuman’s brain to cause physical damage that was overwhelming everything but the animal lust that was fuelled and elevated by that very normal human state.
Desperate to gain some small victory to give her hope if nothing else, Kara reached back behind her and grabbed his wrist trying to lever the hand from her ass. It was clamped there like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. Unable to move it, she changed tactic and found his long middle finger, at the moment prodding its pad at the mouth of her ass hole, teasing her. She grabbed the digit in her fist and bent it backward hard, using all her strength to pull the finger back away from her intimate heat. She let out a grit-teethed snarl of effort as she levered the finger slowly backward, sweat beaded on her effort-wrinkled brow and her broad shoulder muscles bunched with strain. She felt like it had taken less effort to change the trajectory of an asteroid the size of Iceland a few years ago.
Firestorm growled in a sudden upsurge of sexual frustration and pulled back from the kiss, glaring at her. Kara hated the certain knowledge that her eyes would be showing fear and desperation. He drew his head back six inches and then slammed his brow hard into hers. There was a dull wet slap of flesh on flesh, bone against bone. Kara cried out, slumping in his cruel embrace, seeing stars and feeling numbed and nauseated by the powerful impact. She could imagine this is what a human might feel being struck in the head by a baseball, or cricket ball.
She realised her grip on him had failed completely. As if in retaliation, used his strong chin to angle her head back, then locked lips again and stuffed his tongue into her slack mouth. At the same time his hand went back to her ass and he belligerently stuffed that long middle finger up her backdoor, right up to the third knuckle. The double ended assault snapped Kara back into herself and she writhed under him, biting down on his tongue and clenching her buttocks and anal muscles. He groaned and laughed at her efforts.
He actually laughed.
Kara whimpered at the futility of it all. Her strength wasn’t helping her this time. It was just like the bounty hunter. She had been defeated by him too; overpowered, beaten down then pinned and mercilessly raped. She had never felt as weak and as powerless or as worthless.
She looked again with her x-ray vision and saw the continuation of what she had witnessed only seconds earlier, and it was visibly worse. Before Kara’s very eyes, Firestorm was turning into an amoral, sociopathic, lust-driven maniac, with powers that might well match or even top Superman’s.
She felt an icy shiver of unrelenting dread overcome her and she screamed and struggled harder than ever. She couldn’t succumb to teenage lust in the form of an unstoppable superpowered being. Even if he left her alone after he’d used her to his satisfaction, it would destroy her. Weakness, even simply feeling weak, defeated, bested, was something she simply couldn’t stand. Somewhat ironically, it was her own ‘kryptonite’, as the human’s liked to use the term.
Kara felt two more fingers, must be his index and ring fingers, slide along her soft, ticklish perineum and then spread her vulva from the rear, slipping back and forth against her delicate labia and then probing between them at the entrance to her core. His middle finger was still up her ass, though now ‘only’ up to the second knuckle, as he stretched his fingers to access both of her orifices simultaneously.
She shivered and sobbed at the relentless horror of his unwanted desire. His forced sexual attentions. And the fact that there was nothing she could do to inhibit these unwanted advances. ‘Power-Girl’. The chosen name suddenly felt like nothing more than a joke. Firestorm was ridiculing her so-called power.
Her mind kept dragging her back to the horror of the bounty hunter and all that he had done to her before she had bested him. She had come so close then to a broken psyche, to losing herself, mentally, to despair. However, she had come through there. By flash-burning his brain directly through his retinas with her heat vision….
She threw everything into repeating that victory. Grabbing every ounce of stored solar energy and pouring it through the ‘focussing lenses’ of her optic nerves. She stared into his own flaming eyes and unleashed all the fires of Hell onto him.
It did nothing. He just stared back, smiling slightly as he took it. And then he squeezed her harder in his embrace, revealing another element of his ability.
“Thanks baby.” He said with a smile. “That’s all the more power to fuck you with… My dear.”
Tears trickling down her cheeks, Kara had no words, no reply, nothing to say, no other ideas, no defence against him. He let go of the back of her head and slipped the arm around her waist and pulled her even more tightly against him, pressing her groin tighter still against his.
She could feel the hard hot lump of his penis jutting, prodding against her naked flesh, though it was still trapped inside his costume. It might as well not have been, as like all superheroes his costume was little more than a second skin. It was as if he was saying - “This is the weapon I will use to inflict suffering upon you”.
In pure un-tempered desperation, Kara threw her head back as much as his hand would allow and let out an almighty scream.
“Faaaaather!”
Putting even Black Canary to shame, the windows in all directions for a square mile blew in as the vocal shockwave erupted. While steel and concrete buckled, raining more debris onto the streets below.
“Aww… calling for your daddy-cousin?” He laughed. “I’m your daddy now, baby.”

The sound of his approach almost defied physics. He was travelling far beyond supersonic but still, Kara could ‘hear’ his approach. There was a kind of vibration, the air molecules shuddering as they were pushed aside.
The red and blue blur erupted through a thunderous grey black cloud, coming straight at them like a nuclear missile.
Firestorm released Kara and flew up to meet the shocked and enraged Kal-El. And surely there was nothing more frightening than Superman when he was angry. When someone was going after one of his family. And despite refusing to wear the Superman ‘S’ or having the ‘Super’ as part of her heroic identity, she was still without doubt a member of his family.
He underestimated the teenage nuclear-man with perfect timing. As Kal-El cocked a fist way back to powerslam the young metahuman into next week, Firestorm swept in with twin palm-heel strikes to Superman’s ears.
The twined impact, with every inch of his strength behind it, forced traumatic fractures into the sides of the Man of Steel’s skull and ruptured both of his eardrums, while the shockwave compressed his brain on both sides at the same time, causing a violent slamming of the brain, forward and back inside his skull, instantly causing intercranial haemorrhaging.
Kara saw it all with her x-ray vision. And she grew faint with the sheer unbelieving horror of what she saw - Superman falling out of the sky. And was six or seven metres beneath street level, before he came to a stop.
There was an inkling of relief. Her x-ray vision revealing his heart continuing to beat steadily, and the beginnings of the Kryptonian healing process already kicking in. However, she had little doubt that he would be comatose for weeks, at least.
“Did you see that cum-dump? I boxed his fucking ears! Ha!”
Firestorm’s hilarity-heavy outburst snapped Kara back to her own fate and she wept with renewed realisation.
She took to the air in sheer desperation, flying high and fast. Firestorm chased her down in less than a second. She found herself over Gotham City. And yet was immediately once again ensnared by the four-person matrix that was Firestorm, unable to escape him or fight him off or seemingly defeat him. Her failure, her weakness, had badly hurt her cousin and knocked him completely out of commission. She was incapable of defeating him herself. And Superman was out for the count. Who could save her now?
After another second, hope was instantly refilled as the brilliant glowing golden lariat, Hestia’s enchanted rope, provided the answer. And with it came all the relief and gratitude Kara had probably ever experienced in a single moment. Diana of Themyscira stepped out of the shadows of one of the gargoyle-encrusted skyscraper roofs that surrounded them. Lit from below by the dingy badly powered neon of one of the many rough redlight districts, throughout the seedy city.
Diana made a quick circular whipping motion, with her left hand on the length of the shimmering golden rope, sending a further two loops, that had their origins in Aphrodite’s girdle, racing upward to encircle the already snared Firestorm. It was around his neck, as his body had been tightly pressed to Kara’s.
“Karen. Leave, child.” Wonder Woman called up to her young comrade. “This one is now mine.”
The use of her publicly adopted name, to differentiate her from this universe’s own Kara Zor-El, wasn’t confusing and she had long since accepted, as the newcomer however much older she was, that it would be for her to step aside.
However, Power Girl had been Kara for a decade longer than her ‘sister-self’ and she would always think of herself as Kara. It had always been her true name, the name her parents had blessed her with. She might be Karen or Power Girl to everyone else but in her heart, she would always be Kara.
She gave a quick and respectful nod to her senior sister and floated backward, putting distance between herself and Firestorm, and the suddenly advancing Amazon Princess. Now Karen was safely out of the way, Diana whirled the lasso’s length three more times, intending to tighten these new bonds around his torso and pin his arms to his sides. Then a knot would hold him secure and under the Amazon’s complete control.
The demigoddess’ rage was white hot. She had heard what he had done to Superman as it happened, she had seen his body. Even though she also recognised the rapidity of his healing process and knew his injuries, though traumatic, were not life threatening, and that he would be up and about within a week or two. A day or two if herself and his Interdimensional cousin got him to the Fortress of Solitude.
However, first there was this psychotic rapist upstart to deal with.
Diana had witnessed the troubles Power-Girl had often had to deal with over the years, since her arrival and exposure to the many different personalities of Superheroes. Star-Spangled Kid, back in the day. Wildcat, the Flash, Guy Gardener, Vartox of Valeron. Chauvinism, misogyny, the constant objectification, the blatant sexualisation. Though, much of the latter was probably her own doing, after a fashion. And even, at least to a degree, such attention the young Kryptonian appeared to welcome.
And that was fine, it was her choice. It was not an approach Diana would ever take, but she did not judge. Karen was young and undeniably lovely and sexually vibrant. And, unlike Diana, she hadn’t been brought up with the strict morality of Themyscira and the Matriarchy of the Amazons.
Now, with three loops of her lasso secure around Firestorm’s throat, and two more sliding down his torso, Diana smiled her lovely yet ice-cold smile at the powerful young hero-turned-monster. At the exact same time he returned her smile, then lifted his arms and grabbed the rope. He tugged hard, yanking Diana off balance and pulling her straight toward him.
The uppercut he drove into her muscle-toned stomach, covered by the strips of divinely gifted leather armour, had all the impact of a thermonuclear detonation. Her lungs forcefully excavated of air, her diaphragm spasmed upward, one of her lungs abruptly collapsed and her heart momentarily lost its strong and steady rhythm. Faint and sickened, she started to fall out of the sky, but Firestorm grabbed her by the neckline of her primary-coloured leather outfit, stuffing his fingers down into her impressive and warm cleavage before drawing his hand into a fist, crushing and blackening the leather. He hefted her frame, holding her up by his grip.
He figured he had about twenty seconds before Wonder Woman was breathing normally and perhaps a minute before she was back to her full strength. He quickly uncoiled the Lasso of Truth from around him and let it fall. Then he grabbed her by the hair and lifted her by a singlehanded grip. His other hand remained on the neckline of her garment for a second and then with a grunt of effort, he used his nuclear-man strength to tear the garment from her luscious, olive tanned body. It took three good hard tugs, the kind of tugs that would have ripped the faces from Mount Rushmore. But Wonder Woman was soon naked apart from her tiara, bracelets and boots. Firestorm held her up by her hair. She hung there before him, at arms-length, devoid of strength, like a puppet with her strings cut.
His eyes roamed her stupendous curves. Her full breasts, the hourglass frame, the tidy little tuft of near black pubic hair. He twisted his hand in her tresses and she spun slowly around like a plum-line. He examined her buttocks, squeezed one perfectly shaped Mediterranean complexioned orb. He spread her buttocks apart looked at her ass hole. Then he turned his eyes back to Kara. Diana moaned, sucked in a long haggard breath. There was an audible wet, scraping suction as her lung slowly reinflated. Pulling his attention back to Diana, he turned her back to face him, ran his fingers across her lips, and around the inside of her mouth, pinched her tongue and drew it out from between her teeth. He reached down and plucked at a maroon nipple, pulled and twisted it until it reacted, thickening and hardening. He looked over at Kara again.
She just stood there, hugging herself, shivering and snuffling quietly, not quite sobbing, but absolutely frozen with fear.
“Come here.” He snapped; his eyes locked onto her.
Holding his eyes on Kara, he continued to molest Diana, idly slapping her breasts, making them dance and quake. He was leaving visible ruddy hand prints on her creamy olive flesh. “That shouldn’t be possible, surely?” Kara thought.
She hadn’t moved yet, she knew she had to, but getting over her incapacitating fear was like trying to get over inertia. The fire that made up his eyes flared from the colour of napalm to an intense butane blue. Kara forced her limbs to move, she walked up to him.
“Stand next to this.” He commanded, indicating Diana. “Hands by your sides. Head up.”
Once she had taken up his position. His eyes started to switch back and forth, judging, assessing, comparing. Diana suddenly conjured a burst of energy. Her eyes flickered open and realised her position. She lashed out, one hand going for his grip of her hair, the other going for a punch to his nose.
He lowered his crown and her head was engulfed in nuclear fire. She squealed, pulling her hand back. Like a human burning themselves on an oven. He retaliated with another brutal upper cut though this time six inches lower into where her abdominals swept into her pubic mound. There was a weird breathless grunt and she was down again. Back to insensible. His timer reset. And then some.
“Please!” Kara wailed. “Please, don’t.”
She felt horrified by the sudden hot violence doled out on the Amazonian Princess, almost certainly the greatest of all the female superheroes.
“Hush.” He snapped, though casually, almost petulant. “She started it.”
He took another few seconds, examining and testing. Stroking the smooth flesh of an abdomen, squeezing Kara’s breasts and tweaking her nipples. Reaching between both their thighs and spreading their vulva, feeling between. Kara writhed and whimpered but didn’t try to stop him. Diana was totally out of it. Though she did let out the tiniest of moans when he stuffed two fingers into her unlubricated vagina. He squeezed one of Diana’s breasts, fisting the pliant orb until the flesh was bulging between his spread fingers. He repeated the test on Kara’s bosom too. She squealed at the brutal agonised molestation.
He finally let her go and looked into her tear-filled eyes. She was sobbing again, slightly hunched over, reeling from the pain of his physical examination. One forearm was across her chest, the other hand shoved down between her thighs, as though she believed she could actually protect herself from him. He grinned. She looked into his brilliantly flaming eyes, hers were azure oceans of pain and terror.
“Nah, I’m gonna stick with you.” He announced casually. “You’re sexier than her. And your tits are bigger… Maybe not a lot, but they’re definitely bigger.”
She had no reply for him. She felt her nose running and another tear trickled from the corner of her eye, released from her long lashes.
“Saying that, she’s probably got more fight left in her... That might prove more fun, thinking about it….”
“Listen! Please… just, listen.” She took a deep haggard breath, needing it to force herself to say the words.
“If you let her go. Right now, without hurting her anymore. I’ll…” Another breath caught in her throat. “…I’ll cooperate. I’ll do whatever you want… You have my word. Anything you like. No hesitation, no trying to get out of it. I promise.”
He stared at her, looked her up and down. Practically raping her with his infernus eyes. Kara forced herself to press on. Thinking about the nobility of self-sacrifice and how proud her father would have been of her right in this moment. Horrified, but proud.
“Look at me. You know how good it can be. You know it, don’t you, Ronnie? My body? Willing and able? I can make it the best ever. The best time of your whole life. You have my word on it. I’ll be yours for as long as you want me. Girlfriend… sex-slave… whatever. However long you want me. No tricks. I promise. Just let her go. Please, Ronnie.”
He stood there looking at her for a moment, her pleading eyes, her divine body. Kara tried to pull herself upright, straighten her back, thrust her huge breasts forward, show herself off for him. She didn’t fully manage it, but she did her best.
“…Alright… Alright…” He said with a thoughtful nod. “You’ve convinced me.”
He dropped Diana as though she were nothing more than a bag of trash, and moved into Kara’s personal space. His chest met hers, the underside of his pronounced pectorals meeting the overdeveloped upper slopes of her giant bosom. Kara noted the nasty sounding crunch as Diana Princess of Themyscira hit the concrete floor more than twelve-hundred feet below them.
Firestorm lowered his weight a little, bending his knees, putting their chests at the same height.
   “Nipple to nipple.” He grinned.
“Kiss me like you’re hot for me. That you want me more than anyone you’ve ever wanted. Make me believe it.”
Recognising her terror as well as the certain knowledge that she had no choices, Kara grabbed hold of whatever small degrees of strength and stubbornness she retained. Fighting down the sensations of faintness and anxious nausea, and the shivering that was making her whole body involuntarily quake, she negated that millimetre of space between them. Pressing herself bodily against him.
She leaned in, lifting herself in the air until their lips were aligned, then she floated forward pushing her naked flesh against his hard muscular body. It was like floating face first into a concrete wall, immovable as a mountain.
Her thighs pressed against his hips. Her breasts moulded against the top of his sternum. She tilted her head, tried to focus her eyes on his but there was nothing to see, just nuclear fire. Instead, she brought to mind Michael Hoult. Thinking of her ex-lover, focussing her thoughts on her best memories of him. The pain of the loss of that relationship had fortunately, in recent months, become eclipsed by the heated and downright erotic memories of the fun they used to have together. She could use those memories, channel those lusty experiences.
She fought hard to replace this personality-devoid sociopathic powerhouse, with the kind, witty and thoughtful gentleman she had once believed she had loved. All she had to do was not to say his name out loud, when she was making-out with this insane hormonal boy Ronnie, and the others existing in parallel with him.
Fuck, was she about to get essentially gangbanged? Was this going to be some kind of freaky polygamous enslavement? Four insanely horny males sharing one superpowered body, and her, for them to use and abuse however they felt like it. Was she cracking up or something? She shook the crazy distractions aside and tried her best to replace Firestorm with Mister Terrific.
Kara tilted her head and he followed suit, lining them up and avoiding nose bumps. It was like those earliest of early dates on her own Earth with Shaky, her first ever boyfriend, that poor kid. It reminded her of being with him, learning the ropes, experimenting, and lots of awkwardness and giggling.
It was a clear reminder that she was dealing with a boy here too. Well, two boys really. Ronnie seemed to be more or less in charge, perhaps with Jason Rusch a close second. Maybe the other two were voices in his ear. Present, but unable to do anything more than talk. There was no way of knowing, she supposed. The JLA file had certainly been vague about it.
Dismissing the busy flow of her mind, Kara pressed her full lips to his, slipping her arms around him and pulling him against her. Just for a moment, she gave him a good hard squeeze, hoping it would come across as passion, while she tested his strength and resilience. If she was lucky, she could crush him or bend him suddenly backward and snap his spine. But it was like wrapping her arms around a thousand-year-old Kryptonian oak. Broad. Immovable. Unbreakable.
She had started her kisses with gentle touches, quick little intimate slips and dabs of flesh on flesh. However, Ronnie was not satisfied for very long and he pressed harder, pushing forward when Kara attempted to pull her mouth away from his. His arms tightened around her, one across the middle of her back, the other once again gripping a buttock. When she drew her lips back, he pulled her hard against him. Whether it was a reply to her surreptitious attempt to test-crush him, Kara didn’t know. What she did know was that she wasn’t able to pull away as he pulled her hard against him, shoving his lips firmly onto hers, crushing her mouth, and possibly bruising her lips.
She whimpered and he responded with a moan of obvious passion then parted his lips, using the forward pressure to force Kara to open her mouth as well. The next thing she knew his tongue had invaded her mouth. It was surprisingly hot, near burning. And he pushed in deep, moaning as he started to explore within, stroking and tasting her tongue, dancing around it, chasing it around her mouth.
At first tentative and teasing, after only a second or two their first kiss grew violently passionate tongues fencing wildly, lust fuelling Firestorm while desperation and fear made Kara reciprocate in kind.
Still trying to pretend it was Michael, she moaned her desire into his open mouth, mashing his lips with hers while he made her drink their mingled saliva. Like his tongue and his lips, his saliva had a tingling electric heat, like liquid radium. Knowing that to please him could only do her good, she flicked and darted with her fast agile tongue, exploring every inch of his mouth. But only until he took over and forced her tongue back between her own lips. Then it became a game of Tag or the thumb wrestling game, using his tongue to wrestle hers into submission, pinning it down and holding it, then releasing it only to start the game again.
Kara instinctively understood that her role was to play hard to get, though not too hard of course. A couple of times he caught her tongue against her lower teeth and pinned it down so hard she thought he might have cut her tongue on her own teeth. Another time he caught her tongue between his teeth and bit down until she let out a throaty whimper, when he let her go.
He drew back for a moment, grinning wantonly. A strand of drool, linking their lips broke. She continued her performance as best she could, heavy lidded eyes, the flush to her cheeks authentic, he was really hot against her flesh, elevating her body temperature and making her visibly pant. Ending the kissing game, he stroked her cheek and smiled and slapped her lightly across the face. She gasped involuntarily then snatched onto her performance, so the gasp grew out into an erotic groan.
Pretending masochism was of course a double-edged sword. It showed Kara was turned on by him and subservient, but if his dominant streak bordered or crossed the line into actual sadism, she might well be in for a very rough time of it. A shiver passed through her. Revealing her fear, though he seemed to read it as horniness.
He grinned at her, pulled her harder against him and slammed his lips back onto hers. Again, Kara reciprocated, trying to match his passion. And his long, burning hot tongue slid into her mouth once again, this time practically probing for her tonsils.
At the same time, she felt the hand, pressed between her shoulders, sliding up her spine until it clamped onto the back of her head, fisting a handful of her short blonde hair. The grip pressed her soft lips even more feverishly against his and she whimpered at the ferocity of the force he was using. She closed her lips around his thrusting, flicking tongue. And where his hand allowed, she sucked, slicking her mouth back and forth on the scalding organ, simulating sucking a cock. While she continued to moan and pant, always maintaining the performance.
Her hands finally came into play, a delayed commitment to what she was having to do. One gently stroked a broad shoulder and bicep. While the over caressed his narrow waist, one hip and the upper part of a muscular thigh. He groaned in pleasure at her touch, then drew his tongue from her mouth.
Kara took advantage and used the opportunity to present herself as the willing participant, letting out a long moan as she drove her tongue in pursuit of his and then all around the inside of his mouth.
As they embraced the kiss his hands moved too, relinquishing his grasp of the back of her head. Kara made sure she maintained the lip lock and tongue play to reassure him. His other hand released her sore buttock and swept up the firm swell of her ribs. She knew where his hands were going. Every pair of hands of every man she had ever dated went there sooner or later. Usually within seconds, often in the midst of their first kiss. By comparison this one had taken his time.
His hands reached up and closed on her breasts. He filled his excited hands with the huge full orbs. He lifted and squeezed them firmly before searching out her nipples and areolae. He stroked the puckered surrounds before giving each of her stiffened nipples a cruel prolonged pinch. Kara let out a hiss at his attentions.
“Goddamn woman, but these melons feel good!” He groaned, pulling his lips from hers just long enough to comment. “They’re definitely bigger and firmer than any others I’ve ever felt!”
He put his attention solely onto her mammoth tits then. Feverishly, even nastily, groping the vast orbs. Also snagging and pinching her nipples, rubbing his gloved fingertips at the ruddy-pink areolae and squeezing vast handfuls of soft, warm tit flesh.
Kara didn’t try to draw him back into kissing again. Instead, she started to ply the long thick trunk of his neck, over his costume of course, with her full lips and talented tongue. Letting out little throaty groans as she caressed him with her mouth and tongue. She could feel the tingling heat of the nuclear fire of his hair, his glowing eyes, and even underneath his flesh. She felt herself sweating more and more profusely.
Ronnie gave a gasp at the creamy perfection of Power Girl’s stupendous rack. In the back of his head, Pozhar muttered something in Russian, Jason grunted his own disbelief and lust, and even the dry passion-devoid Professor Stein let out a muttered curse at the feel, the sheer sight of this blonde bombshell’s body. She was perfect. Perfect everything. Looks, curves, perkiness, creamy faultless skin. Her obvious passion, her beauty, her rampant uncontained sexiness.
Filling both his excited palms with the twin splendour of her tits, he felt the only thing missing was a little more in the way of reciprocation. So, with great reluctance, and moans of disappointment from the other three, Ronnie released one breast, just long enough to grab hold of Power Girl’s hand, the one that was at his waist. And firmly and deliberately - a silent command - he placed her limp palm onto the overly pronounced bulge distending the crotch of his costume.
Obedient to her abuser, at least for the time being, Kara encircled the surprisingly well-sized shaft, big enough to fill her palm and thicker than she would have thought possible for a teenager of his years. And started to gently work her cupping palm up and down its solid lump. Firestorm groaned in pleasure at her firm touch, though his bulging flame-eyes remained fixed on the creamy opulence of her massive breasts.
He suddenly buried his face into the lovely woman’s bosom, locking his lips onto a chosen nipple and sucking hard. The heat of his mouth, his lips and even more, his tongue and breath, scorched her. It felt like a candle flame being played across her nipple. He circled his tongue around and around the thick, spongy bud and feeling it stiffening more and more under his lips and tongue.
His voracious laving of the stiffened fleshy bud and the puckered areola surrounding it, had her squirming and whimpering at the boy’s none too gentle sucking and squeezing.
Firestorm released his fierce grasp of her other breast, having half-way crushed it in his mindless excitement. Using his remaining hand to keep the breast he was sucking pressed to his mouth, using a powerful grip that made the Kryptonian wince, his freed-up hand slid a hurried, snaking path downward. He descending Power Girl’s impressively muscle toned abdominals, passed her navel and continued down her flat stomach to her hairless pubis.
His gloved fingertips, slick with her sweat, allowed a smooth downward trajectory, as he searched out, found and then gently spread the hot lips of her labia.
Power Girl gasped at the intimate contact, and responsive shivers danced through her body as his fingers pushed between her delicate lips, found the entrance to her hot pussy and pressed up into her damp core. Immediately, and on both sides of his probing hand, Ronnie felt quivers cascading down her inner thighs. He pushed deeper inside her with two fingers, and her knees appeared to tremble in response. Even through his own meta-heat, he could feel the heat emanating into his hand from her pussy tunnel and the dampness was flowing. There was even a mild hiss as his heat reacted with her juices and evaporated them, a cigarette trail of steam flowed from between her swollen lips and she moaned and whimpered, twitching and gyrating against his probing hand, working in conjunction with his lips and tongue.
However, it wasn’t going quick enough for the impatient teen. He felt like he was giving her all the pleasure and wasn’t taking enough for himself.
“Right, no more screwing around. I’m not waiting any longer. You’re gonna be putting out on our first date, Power Girl, got it…?!”
He didn’t even look her in the eye or apparently expect a response. How she felt about it didn’t matter. They both knew she had no choice. She was going ahead with what he wanted in order to protect Wonder Woman from the same fate.
He took a quick step back, seeming to have trouble taking his eyes off her bared breasts, the well-muscled torso, the narrow waist that he could practically encircle in the span of his hands and the athletic swell of her hips and powerful shapely thighs.
She was a strange dichotomy. She had almost the physique of a female body builder but had lost none of the natural femininity of her gender. He realised that even with the powerful muscle tone she had not worked off the extra layer of fat that women, Earthling and Kryptonian, naturally possessed. And it softened the hard bulges of muscle and maintained a smooth softness to her facial features as well. The long lashes, plumpness of her high placed cheeks and the softened curves of her otherwise strong and angular jaw and chin. And those full, plump fucking lips. Staring at those iridescent pink lips, he couldn’t hold back a little groan of desire.
“…But not before you suck me off!” He grinned, the teenage excitement aglow in his otherwise hard to read expression. “Get down there!”
Firestorm stared at her, at parts of her. The erogenous parts that he wanted to make use of. It was as though he couldn’t see how they were all part of an actual person, with a personality and feelings and the rest.
He slipped into a kind of distant focus and for a brief moment there was a nuclear glow that seemed to emanate outward from the innermost core of him. His so-called superhero costume evaporated inside the glow of intense heat. And for just a moment, Kara felt like she was standing in front of man-size electric heater, waves of dry hotness wafted over her and the young masculine form was lost in a mirage of heat waves.
They faded and a young and well-structured naked teenager stood before her, tightly muscled and well proportioned. Hairless other than that dancing field of flame that covered his skull. His erect penis, jutting urgently from his groin, was essentially average, about six inches and circumcised, capped by a large and well-shaped glans. It was not even overly thick, just about average. Kara had always been mildly surprised, both on her own Earth when she had been Supergirl and on this Earth, that so many superheroes, with all their mouth-watering, powerful muscular bodies were only average in the genital department. It was just natural to assume that a large, well defined male body would equal a large and well-proportioned phallus.
Of course, Kara was no naïve fool, she knew it was the skills that men acquired with practice and experience, rather than the proportions of their penis that made for a good time, at least in the purely physical sense. Michael Hoult had been a great lover, despite having a less than average penis in length and only an average girth. He had paid attention to Kara’s moods and desires, and worked to give her as much pleasure as she gave him.
Kara knew well enough that Ronnie Raymond and the gang would not have any such skills. Not that she wanted to enjoy this experience in the first place, obviously.
He stepped forward, grinning, searing heat still coming off him in waves that seemed to dry her skin and make her sweat at the same time. Putting both hands on to her crown, he pressed her down to her knees. He didn’t push hard, just a little pressure to indicate what he was expecting. Kara lowered herself accordingly.
He shuffled forward to negate the space between her waiting mouth and the crown of his pulsing cock.
She could see from the rapid throbs making his erection sway, that his heart must be beating pretty rapidly in his excitement. In other circumstances in might have been flattering, even a turn on.
She felt the waves of heat on her face. She licked her lips, but the applied moisture was almost immediately burned away. She opened her mouth and pushed her tongue forward, found the hardness of the glans, tasting the heat and the spongy dryness of his flesh. She pushed herself forward feeling him sliding over her tongue, hearing him groan, feeling the gloveless hands on her head drawing her deeper onto his length.
It was more difficult that it should have been, and it was due to the heat suddenly imbuing the inside of her mouth. Though not painful, it was hot enough to evaporate her saliva almost immediately, and that loss of lubrication made motion of her tongue, the sides of her mouth and her lips on his member really rather difficult.
At the same time, it proved great for friction and he was moaning and twitching and jerking at the feel of her encompassing more and more of his meat, but getting it deeper into her mouth was a tricky thing. He dragged rather than slid. And when he met the rear of her mouth, the arch of her tonsils and her uvula plugged by the splayed mushroom of his glans, he simply wouldn’t go any deeper.
Kara, knowing men’s desire, tried earnestly to force him into her throat. He dragged her head hard toward his crotch but his shaft just bent and bulged. His patience wore out in seconds. And with a loud and protracted mouthful of curses, he yanked himself free and slapped her hard across the face.
“You’d better fucking well get that all the way down your throat, Power Cunt! Or you’re gonna pay.”
“I can’t! I’m sorry I was trying! But, there’s no lubrication! I’m doing my best, honestly!”

Firestorm stepped up to her lips again and shoved his cock hard into her mouth, using both hands in her hair to drag her forcefully along his shaft. He hit the back of her mouth with still a couple of inches to go.
He gorged himself on her face, jerked and stabbed and shoved with his hips but it just wouldn’t happen. It was nothing but a raw blunt rasping and thumping into the back of her dry mouth. It was as though she didn’t even have a throat to penetrate. Snarling with raging frustration Firestorm, once again dragged himself free and slapped her hard across the face - two, three times, whipping her face back and forth and leaving ruddy marks on her creamy flesh, and tears flowing from her eyes.

“I’m sorry!” She wailed, sobbing. “I’ve no saliva, your nuclear heat shit burns it off.”
“That’s bullshit you whore! You’re doing it on fucking purpose, you just don’t wanna do deep throat!”
“I’m doing my best! For Christ’s sake! Why’d you have to be such an asshole about it!”
“Well, you’re gonna pay for it. I’ll make sure of that. By the time I’m done with you you’ll be begging to swallow my meat.”
Pulling away, he cupped his hands in front of him, eyes closed tightly. Whisps of smoke-like flame wafted between his soot-black lashes. His brow furrowed, lips drawn back to show teeth that were the piercing, intense colour of white-hot metal.
Kara, trying to gabble pleas and apologies, felt the heat coming from his cupped hands. She rarely felt fear in combative situations, she’d felt it with that alien-hitman bounty-hunter thing. She’d felt it when Psycho-Pirate had tried to drive her out of her mind.
And right now, she was feeling it. She was absolutely feeling it.
Firestorm conjured the thing like a sorcerer would, and for a moment Kara shivered in terror that he had some magical ability which was very much her weakness, the thing she had no defence against. However, she noted that it was in fact made of flame. A shaft of blinding iridescent plasma. It was about two feet in length, and yet it didn’t appear to bear the properties of plasma, it was vaguely reminiscent of a lightsaber blade, whip thin and all but straight, a lance of nuclear fire, with a white-hot core wrapped in an orange-yellow corona, like a solar flare.
“I call this a Nuclear plasma lash.” He said around a malevolent grin. “It wants to taste your flesh.”
And then he swung his arm down as though wielding a hammer, or a horse whip. The lash swept down, the sound of cracking like a miniature lightning bolt filling the air. That was until it touched Kara’s naked back and then it was her scream that filled the air. Her scream was so loud and shrill that its sonic boom shattered windows half a mile away.
He rained down a half-dozen fast flashing lashes across her back and shoulders. The burns bubbled red and then turned black, the heat scorching her flesh right down to the bone. Lines of putrid smoke rose from her back. It might as well have been an acetylene torch on human flesh.
Fortunately, Kara’s Kryptonian metabolism and cell regeneration began to heal the wounds immediately and by the time the sixth lash was laid on her ravaged skin, the first burn scar had vanished leaving behind nothing but a pale line of new skin.
“Please! Please!! Ronnie, no more!!” Kara sobbed, gagging on the smell of her own wounds. She could barely string the words together. She had never felt pain like it.
“Are you putting my cock down your throat?” He snarled in response, utterly enraged. “Are you going to make it happen?!”
“Yes! Yes! Just no more! I’m begging you!”
With a flick of his wrist the nuclear lash became an arc of dancing twisting fire and whirled away into the air, dissipating into nothing.
“Come on then!” He came forward presenting his erection.
It looked more swollen, bigger and harder than ever. Typical, Kara managed to think to herself, even as she fought to keep from swooning under the residual burning pain.
Power Girl took the cock in one hand and his heavy scrotum in the other, squeezing hard at the rock-solid shaft and jerking on it while she hurriedly worked as much saliva into her mouth as she could. When she had a mouth full and a couple of quick swallows to coat her throat, she drove her mouth, lips formed into a snug ‘o’, hard onto his heated shaft and rammed it into her throat.
She gaged, dry heaved, almost vomited, then gagged again and again, a torrent of tears streaming down her cheeks. The effort took everything she had. She could feel the almost instant evaporation of her essential lubricant, but the wide swollen ridge had ploughed beyond the cave of her mouth and sunk deep into her oesophagus.
Usually, Kara would have backed the crown in and out rapidly, relying on her throat muscles and the tight ring of the entrance to caress and tantalise the cock head into orgasm. However, without lubrication, it was locked in there. Her throat muscles were automatically trying to extricate it, while the cock scorched the tender sensitive flesh surrounding and gripping it tightly. The splayed ridge edging the glans acted like a spring-loaded locking mechanism, the crown too wide for the hole it had been pushed through.
Kara cried, getting desperate, trying to pull herself free of the embedded cock, beginning to panic. Ronnie either didn’t know or didn’t care. He was thoroughly getting off on the feel of her throat gripping and caressing him, and of course his dominating victory of the brash, cocky, even arrogant Power Girl.
However, he could feel his sap rising too quickly and it would be too much, enjoyable and almost certainly mind blowing, but he didn’t want to dump his first load into her throat within the first minute or two. He wanted to make it last. He wanted to fuck her face a little before he stuck his cock somewhere even better.
So, he tried to pull himself out. And failed. The night filled with cursing from Ronnie as well horrible, desperate gagging mixed with panicked sobbing from Kara.
Firestorm twisted and jerked, the friction around his shaft, the squeeze and pressure, the rub against his flared ridge were suddenly too much. And in an equal mix of frustration and sudden explosive euphoria, he climaxed. It was a powerful and almost unexpected orgasm. His balls, tight against her pointed chin, boiled over and before he knew it there was a wild rush of unmitigated joy and his near scalding spunk began to unload. A series of heavy, energy draining, volcanic eruptions. Each burst flowed along the length of his imprisoned shaft and jetted right down her oesophagus. Five, six seven heady bursts that brought wet whimpers of discomfort and shock from Power Girl’s blocked throat.
Afterward he remained hard, but there must have been some small degree of slackening off of the amount of swelling with in his glans and its fat corona. That lessened swelling, along with some residual pooling of his cum that remained around the head and Kara’s throat - between those elements and the continual efforts of the two of them to dislodge his shaft from her gullet, finally allowed them to succeed. Though it took a bit of doing and things got rather desperate.
Yet, following a scream-like expression, thick and heaving, accompanying a deep masculine groan, there came a resounding POP! And the cock finally extricated itself from Kara’s throat.
She fell back, onto the metre wide ledge of the upper storey of the Gotham skyscraper beneath her. Rolled onto her hands and knees. Lost in a voracious coughing fit and more dry heaving and groaning and sobbing.
Firestorm gave his erection a quick once over, but there were no visible ill effects and nothing but heady pulses of intense pleasure issuing from it. So, not wanting to lose momentum, he brought his attention back to the incredible body below him, there for his use and now on her hands and knees.
Suddenly a new idea sprang to mind. A little intermission to give the rawness his cock was experiencing a little break. He was sure it would feel pleasant for him and was another sordid humiliation for the whore.
Grinning, he grabbed her sweaty tresses and stood in front of her, then turned his back on her, pulling her by the hair, dragging her face toward his taut naked buttocks. He pulled her hard against him, bumping her forehead against his ass, yanking on her hair to force her head up and lining up her mouth.
“Give me a good rimming whore! I wanted your lips kissing my ass and I want to feel your tongue pushing way up in there!”
He felt her shiver, heard a piteous sob, and the hiss of a tear meeting the heat emanating from him and evaporating.
“Please, Ronnie, don’t make me…. Please don’t…”
“Get to it!”
“I… I can’t, don’t make me… Don’t.”
“Fuck!”
He yanked her to the side with his grip of her hair, flinging her down and spun around to face her. Just using a single palm this time, he dragged another nuclear lash to life. He raised it high, ready to give her another flurry of agonising scars. And this time he was going to lash her tits, lacerate them. Ruin them.
The split second before he brought the wicked shaft of plasma down -
“Okay! Okay!” She squealed, hurrying over to him.
She circled around behind him on her knees spread his cheeks with both hands and buried her beautiful face between them. Ronnie let out a long guttural moan as her pursed lips pressed against his ass hole and then her tongue slid forward and licked at him, circled the puckered entrance and then penetrated it, pushing inward and flicking up and down, around. Performing long, slow, circling motions.
“That’s it. Oh yeah! You got my dick singing baby!” He laughed, enjoying his dominance and her submissive degradation. “Deeper, stretch that tongue, push it right up there! Oh, yeah!”
He couldn’t stand it for too long. His erection was insistent and if he was honest with himself the tickling sensation was not as enjoyable as the dominant feeling or the feel of her humiliation. But still he felt the need to move on. Grabbing her hair again and pulling her out of him, he shoved her forcibly away, so that she fell back onto the ground.
He immediately bent over the prone, subjugated Kryptonian. He took hold of her and hauled her up onto her hands and knees, grabbing and spreading her tight, perfect shaped buttocks and started to use his pelvis to sweep his erection up and down along the sensitive flesh between her sweet cheeks.
She still seemed completely out of it but she was slick between her swollen pussy lips, so he just drove it up her, bottoming out immediately.
By the time he had thrust in and out of the length of her tight clutching tunnel a half dozen times, Power Girl was back with him. For Firestorm, even though his cock was burning off her pussy juices the friction was delicious. However, for Kara her pussy muscles and the membranous lining between them and his shaft was being dragged back and forth while getting scorched by his body heat and she was pleading and crying again. She even tried to crawl forward, attempting to drag herself of his impaler. He simply reached forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair to stop her and then felt under her with his free hand to grope and squeeze her huge tits.
“Fuck bitch, but you feel good!” He groaned aloud, hammering his hips faster against her pain clenched buttocks. “So, fucking tight!”
“Please, Ronnie! It hurts, you’re really burning me!”
“You’ll heal in no time, once I’m done. Your back’s already clear and creamy again, no sign of my lash at all. Just take the pain Power Cunt, that’s what a good girlfriend does. You’re supposed to take the pain to give me pleasure. Its ‘girlfriend 101’! Why don’t you know these things?”
Having a good grip on one breast allowed him to release the fist in her short hair and reach under for her other tit, trapping and pinching the hard nipples between his fingers and thumbs while he crushed the twin orbs of perfection together between his molesting palms. And if anyone was strong enough to support his full weight on her arched back, the intricate muscles visibly bunching, it was Power Girl. He lay full length over her, bracing the soles of his feet wide apart on the dirty concrete so he could continue to drive his hard tingling cock inside her delectably grasping pussy tunnel.
He was grunting continually to each deep stabbing thrust but his vocal pleasure was drowned out by the continual response of high-pitched gasping moans and groans that Power Girl was coming out with. It could have been pain or pleasure, it was all the same to Firestorm. He didn’t care in the slightest. It was more than likely both at the same time. She seemed like the type. Like the powerful CEO who secretly enjoys getting his balls stamped on by a stiletto heel, whipped and slapped and called degrading names.
Ronnie couldn’t deny a hint of the pleasure-pain himself. There was a certainly a tender tingling rawness to the feel of his cock as it sawed back and forth along her tightly clinging pussy. But it was a fantastic soreness that was very quickly driving him toward orgasm.
His assumption was abruptly answered as Power Girl, trembling and then squealing beneath him suddenly locked up tight, her limbs quivering, her nipples turning hard as diamonds under his stretching fingers, and she shrieked as a climax washed over her. A blast of steaming clear fluid burst from her as she projectile ejaculated, while simultaneously losing control of her bladder. The concrete beneath them turned into an expanding puddle of steaming girl-cum and urine.
“You fucking whore!” Firestorm laughed, keeping up his deep driving rhythm. “You fucking dirty, masochistic cunting whore! Getting a full-on fucking gusher from a dry cunt rutting. I just knew you were a fucking whore, everyone’s said so.”
She was still trembling beneath him, her body quaking, limbs barely able to hold the two of them up as he carried on pounding into her regardless, her shrieking vocalisation had descended into moaning sobs and whimpers as the waves of ecstasy reverberated throughout her luscious body. Firestorm carried on fucking her hard and deep, keeping up a fast metronomic rutting pace, still trying to keep his own pleasure coasting along, not ready to break into the sprint finish.
“Everyone’s been saying it since you unveiled yourself. Flashing these fucking heavenly babies all over the place for all the world to drool over. I bet every man and boy on the Earth had jerked off and jizzed over pictures of these two beauties!”
Illustrating his point, Ronnie took a brutal, crushing squeeze of her huge breasts succeeding to drag a fresh hyper-pained squeal out of Kara’s raw throat.
  “And you fucking love it! The attention, the lust and the adoration! And the stares! You’re nothing but a fucking Kryptonian whore!”
“I bet if you were still there, you’d be nothing more than some cheap hooker. Selling your body, just because you fucking love it some much. ‘Cause you’re a whore! You’d probably go into the porn business, and make millions, fuck yourself a rich Kryptonian businessman hubbie, who’s only too happy to kick the shit out of you when he feels like it, and rent you out to his coke-fuelled buddies at the weekend. And you’d fucking love it! Because. You’re nothing. But. A. Fucking! Whore!”
Now, despite his promise to himself, Ronnie could help but start to fuck faster, vehemently piledriving his hips into her still clenched ass cheeks. To put the power into it he needed, he had to let go of her mangled breasts and pull himself off her back, positioning himself up right so he could use the coiled strength in his hips and his thigh and buttock muscles, to really give it to her hammer and tongs.
He was gratified that Power Girl’s sobbing moans once again elevated into rhythmic whimpering pants in time to his thrusting cock slamming against the terminus of her pummelled, tender and fiery core.
However, a new need abruptly consumed his attention, replacing the rising desire to bring himself to completion. He slowed the pace of his power fucking, keeping up the pile driving strength of his thrusting but slowing it so that he could maintain self-control over his own rising pleasure.
“Well, whore, if you like pain so much, I’ve got something fun in mind!” He snapped and then pulled out.
He glanced down at his shaft; the lower half grasped in one fist. Even to his eyes it looked raw and chafed. Not that he cared. Like Power Whore. His body would heal quickly enough and then he would go at her all over again.
Grinning in anticipation He changed his aim, pressing the blunt, searing hot head against the tiny pinprick entrance of Power Girl’s anus.
“No! No please! I can’t, I just… I can’t! Please… Just finish off where you were and let me go… I’m begging you! I can’t take it in there, not dry! I can’t…! I… Please…!” Her pleas devolved into more desperate pained sobs.
Firestorm just laughed and started to instigate the firm constantly maintained pressure that would see him victoriously penetrating her anus.
Power Girl continued to sob and mutter pointless pleas for mercy. It just made Ronnie all the more excited and determined and he laughed through gritted teeth and a broad grin. If Kara had been looking back at him, she would have seen a definite and terrifyingly maniacal resemblance to the Joker.
However, Firestorm soon discovered that it was simply a no go. Her ass was clenched too tight to allow him to gain access and steal home. He slapped at her buttocks, drove his thumbs into her flesh and tried to manually prize the orifice open, to no avail.
So, with rapidly rising fury he laid into her, punching and slapping her, kicking and cursing her. He threatened her with intense and unbridled violence, that he would scour every inch of flesh from her body and leave her disfigured for the rest of her days.
Of course, she wailed pleas and apologies, assured him she was trying to let him up her, she was trying to relax her ass, to please not hurt her anymore, she was trying everything she could to help him into her ass.
However, for whatever reason he just couldn’t gain access to her tightest of holes. Ronnie was just about to use his power to construct another shaft of nuclear plasma and give her such a scouring that she would be left not only utterly scarred for life but more than likely out of her mind for good from the sheer agony of it - not that he needed her mind to enjoy her body - when he noticed something that changed his mind.
The little quartz minerals that had been used to form the eyes and teeth of the eight gargoyles that surmounted, in pairs, the corners of the skyscraper. They glinted reflecting the enigmatic moonlight above them and gaudy dirty neon from down below. They sang to him.
He actually got up, still fully erect, rampant. His whole naked body surrounded by heat haze. He glanced back at Power Girl but she lay face down on the concrete, shivering and quietly sobbing, collapsed in a powerless heap, steam rising from her as his residual body heat continued to evaporate her sweat, cum and piss into vapour.
He went over to two of the gargoyles, closed a fist and idly punched the heads to powder, crumbling the carvings of black stone until he had a handful of dust and fragments of quartz. He did the same to the two others at the southern corner.
Taking a breath and blowing at the dust, he separated wheat from chaff, using his power to burn away the stone dust while leaving behind the mineral. Then he focussed his super power and began to split atoms and molecules and rearrange the molecular structure of one mineral into an altogether different mineral. He was tapping into the scientific education and knowledge of Professor Stein for this - experimenting, testing, trying.
When the mineral resembled what it should resemble from photographs he’d seen online and in the Daily Planet’s articles and scientific journals, Ronnie, with Stein’s reluctant advice, started to make the more intimate minute changes to the chemical make-up. A faint green hue began to glow, it changed colour from its pale jade toward a deeper emerald. Then deepened further to a forest green. He brought it closer to Power Girl, judging his success from her physical reaction; making further adjustments, again and again, until her expected reaction started to manifest.
It took frustrating minutes of adjusting. But then he saw her moan, wince, and start to shy away. Her already weakened limbs trembling. She twisted in pain. Mumbled in weak, whimpered confusion. He grinned, extended the mineral closer to her stark, naked splendour.
Power Girl suddenly lurched up onto her hands and knees, finding strength in desperation and then gave a great heave and vomited up a gutful of his jizz and her own bile. She vomited again and again, until she was just noisily dry heaving.
Firestorm laughed. Kryptonite. Kryptonite, by all accounts wasn’t meant to work on Power Girl but he had succeeded in creating some that did. Grinning with rising excitement and success, he started to use his nuclear fire to shape the crystal. Carefully, so he didn’t damage its structure; fire-shaving it away sliver by sliver, until it was a smooth cylinder, the approximate dimensions of a bratwurst sausage.
Laughing with sadistic excitement knelt behind her and thrust the smooth sided sausage of kryptonite all the way into her dry pussy.
Kara shrieked, her body arching and writhing, just as she had under his nuclear lash. Then she seemed to collapse. It was as though the alien mineral had sucked all the fight and the strength right out of her.
She lay face down on the dirty concrete, moaning quietly between little whimpers, her body giving off limp little twitches.
Firestorm kicked her legs apart, wide apart. She might as well have been dead for all the resistance she offered. He crouched between her thighs and gripped her pliant buttocks. They were soft orbs of loose muscle, no tautness no tension in the pronounced muscle. He spread them wide.
Some of the tiny blood vessels making the delicate little lips of her labia their mouth-watering darker pink flush, were already shot through with veins of green. And the swollen state of her inner and outer lips started to lessen, softening and retracting before his eyes. He excitedly turned his attention to her anus.
It didn’t look any different really. A little paler perhaps, less flushed. Shivering in anticipation, he leaned over and lined himself up, jerked and squeezed his shaft slightly, though the lessened degree of his stiffness should make his shaft more malleable and aid in penetration, as long as he didn’t soften up too much. But with the ass he was about to fuck, there was very little chance of that.
As he pressed his broad crown to her sphincter mouth and put his weight behind his cock. Power Whore’s body gave a sudden violent jerk, as though she had been electrocuted. A wave of motion from her waist upward, lifted her torso so that those huge breasts clapped together and then slapped down onto the concrete beneath them; squashed into saucer shaped cushions beneath the weight of her beautifully muscled torso. Her shoulders jerked and her arms gave a single flap. Her head reared up in a big tremendous dry heave. A second loud and painfilled. And then with a gurgling, moaning exhale, all strength left her once again and her face, cheek first, slapped down against the concrete beneath her.
Grinning sadistically at her suffering, Firestorm turned his attention back to the imminent joy of sodomy and positioning his glans, started to assert pressure.
Even with the pliability of his not quite steel hard erection, the going was far from easy. Of course, Kara knew that would be what he was hoping for. He wanted the battle, the siege, to force a breech in the wall of her defences, to become the victor in a contest over the possession of her, in some ways, most intimate orifice.
Even in the pained and poisoned cloud of her hazy attention, Kara could feel his fingers digging into the cheeks of her ass, along with it game a great guttural groan of pleasurable exertion as his shaft, fighting the obstinate grip of her anal mouth, bent and bulged.
His grunt quickly turned into a growl of increasing frustration and he pushed harder still. But he was making progress. The ring of her anal mouth was slowly opening for him, millimetre by millimetre. All he had to do was keep up the pressure until his crown popped into her anus. But the struggle seemed to be intensifying as her cinching elasticity maintained an impressive resistance.
Too exhausted, weak and sick to care very much, Kara half expected the plasma lance to be brought into play again, though that would inevitably make her ass clamp down even harder. She almost managed a smile, thinking of how annoyed and frustrated that would no doubt make the little bastard.
But then, as he pressured more and more intensely, blood gorged into his bloated shaft, further stiffening and tightening his resolve and the Kryptonian’s partially opened ring was stretched further just by the thickening of the blunt head of his crown. A little more growling assertion of physical insistence and her anal mouth was finally and suddenly defeated.
His penis slid forward abruptly, the entire crown popping inside and filling her anus. He choked out a groaning laugh of victory and pleasure and immediately started to push on further, pressuring all the way into her rectum until he was balls deep inside Power Whore’s ass.
“Oh, Jesus! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” He roared, gloating. “So fucking TIGHT!”
He made a couple of exploratory movements back and forth, marvelling at the intensely pleasurable sensation and the difficulty he discovered.
“Christ I can barely move it in there!” He laughed. “Oh… this is fantastic!”
It was of course an unlubricated anal rape, chafing his flesh giving him a pleasant tingling of raw friction worse than the dry pussy rape. It would have been much more painful for Kara if not for the strong and sickening effects of the kryptonite dildo stuffed inside her, poisoning her.
Her whole groin was almost numb by now and she had never felt as weak before. She could feel his thrusts, the raw friction-burn against her anal membrane dampened by the searing heat of his shaft itself. The anal rape was a distant secondary sensation, barely noticeable because of the numbing that was itself a dull ache throughout her pelvis, spreading slowly across her lower abdominals, having already radiated into the tops of her thighs.
He lasted all of five minutes, far too quickly for Firestorm, an eternity for Kara.
Five minutes of frantic, thunderous, savage thrusting, that shuffled Kara across the concrete of the gothic roof and gave Ronnie sado-masochistic pleasure he had never experienced before. His din of physical joy momentarily cut through the thrumming in Kara’s ears. And somewhere in the chaotic maelstrom of sensation filling her mind, she registered his bellowing climax and the half dozen and more thick streamers of hot seed erupting into her bowels. Those uncoiling ropes were gut-wrenchingly powerful and felt as though someone was activating a sequence of fire extinguishers up her ass. Something inside the Kryptonian grinned at the ridiculousness of the visual. Of course, the grin didn’t reach her slack lips.
When Firestorm pulled out finally after he’d thoroughly drained his balls up Power Girl’s ass hole, he had fully wilted, unlike the end of the skull fuck. His penis had obviously been satiated. In fact, he felt it too within himself, his lust fully and finally satisfied. He could almost sense the endorphins in his brain exhausted and dissipating or slipping back into their reservoir, or whatever they did. Ronnie became half aware of the Prof trying to explain it to him. He didn’t listen.
With that final and at least for the time being complete satisfaction, the lust fell away like a bedsheet pulled off his head. Revealing the world around him.
Firestorm’s heart sunk. Guilt instantly washed over him, the bedsheet turning into an inferno of rushing water from a breached dam. He couldn’t believe what he had done.
Even as he fought back the rising tears of shame and compassionate horror, Ronnie reached self-disgustedly between Power Girl’s immaculate buttocks and gingerly drew out the Kryptonite lozenge. He quickly reverted the alien mineral to everyday Terran quartz and then dashed its molecules apart, leaving no sign of its existence but atomic dust.
Inexplicably, he found himself thinking of that old black and white Christmas movie and a specific scene scrolled over his mind again and again, Jacob Marley’s Christmas Eve visit to Ebeneezer Scrooge. The realisation came suddenly, stark and shocking. He was Marley and the manacles and chains were his own guilt for what he had done.
He felt all power leaving him and he slumped heavily. He hated this guilt, he hated what he had done to this stunning woman, hated the monster he had become when his sexuality had reared up so powerfully. It had changed him somehow, like Doctor Jekyll drinking his chemical potion.
It started to rain. It felt like God himself, weeping for the broken Kryptonian angel, and at Firestorm’s sorry failure to turn away from the temptation of sin.
He reached out for her tentatively, part of him wanting to take her into his arms, to apologise and to see her smile and hear her forgive him. But he knew it wasn’t about to happen. He had crossed a line. More than crossed a line. He had raped her, tortured her, used his power to make her suffer. He had broken her down, just because of his lust and his need to possess her and to use her body to feel good.
The recognition of what he had become - a monster - struck down that momentary desire to help, to apologise, to find a way put things right. Everything felt so overwhelming that his intent to try and comfort her sputtered and died.
Tears came. Childlike tears. He slumped down on the concrete, shuffled backward away from her. Horrified by what he had done, suddenly lost in his own guilt and self-loathing. He shuffled backward, pushing with his heels, until the concrete railing at the outer edge of the roof halted his regression. And then he sobbed, quaking breathless sobs, shivering in his own eagerly embraced misery.
He saw her move. A limp hand slide along the concrete, her head turned, brow against the ground, one leg drew up. Her shoulders and upper back lifted. It almost looked like she was a puppet on a string being lifted up against her will.
“…Power Girl…?” He could hardly get her name out, it caught in his throat.
The shoulder-first elevation continued until she was vertical and floating a foot above the rooftop, arms by her sides, toes pointed down. Still the puppet lifted by its strings, though not yet showing the illusion of life that the skilled puppeteer induced. Her head was bowed, chin to chest. Sweat- and grime-darkened lank blonde hair hanging over her face like filthy curtains, her face in shadow. She rotated, the puppeteer again slowly drawing her around to face Ronnie. He wept. Sobbed. Staring up at her, seeing the result of his violent desire. His violent deed.
“I’m sorry… I’m…”
He sobbed, fighting to get his throat to work, to force enough volume so she could hear his apology. All the while knowing how meaningless it would sound to her. The rain was pelting now. Adding its own obstruction to his spluttered words.
“I don’t know why… I can’t explai… I don’t understand what happened… What I did to you… I… I’m sorry… Power Girl… I’m so sorry… I’ll do whatever it takes… I promise, I’ll make this right… I’ll…”
The red glow came slowly as he was speaking. A glimmer in the inky shadow, then it touched the edge of streaks of hair that hung over her eyes, wet strands clumped together touched with crimson. Rising head evaporating the sweat and rain from her hair, wisping away in tendrils of steam.
The light suddenly intensified. Ruby reflections catching further afield, reflecting more and more. It even caught in the drops of rain falling between them. And on the slick ground separating them.
Power Girl lifted her head and starred straight at him. Her wide spread eyelids were crowned in coronas of glowing ruby light which was building and intensifying. Her pupils were obscured by white heat.
“DIE!”
It wasn’t even her voice, but something alien and terrifying. And for an inextricable moment he wondered if she had been possessed by something. Should he fight her? Could he save her? Could he make up for it?
She unleashed her heat vision and for the first time Firestorm experienced being on the receiving end of its full, terrible onslaught. And it was pure honest-to-goodness Hellfire, hotter than his own nuclear radiation power. His flesh blistered and bubbled, popped and shrank back, crisping and warping like over-cooked bacon. The muscle and sinew beneath the skin catching the full force. Blood was vapourised, hissing as it was turned into little trails of red misty smoke.
Screaming, he tried to scrabble clear but the twin beams of death followed him, he pressed himself down against the concrete railing, curling up into a foetal ball, arms cradling his head while he was flash-fried an inch at a time. His scream filliped into a desperate shriek.
The heat vision died with her scream. Ronnie’s body was half burned away on one side, his blackened ribs exposed, the lungs and intestines beyond were flexing and bubbling, parts of them aflame, parts crackling like roasting pig. Gagging and wailing in pain and disbelief, Firestorm looked down to see what she had done. And when he saw, he was the one screaming.
Her blind rage un-tempered, Kara snarled and closed the space between them. She grabbed a great six-foot hunk of the concrete railing, tore it free and then smashed it down onto his head and face, and upper body. And she kept smashing it down until it was nothing but gritty crumbles.
Then she carried on with her fists, the energy of her murderous punches slamming through her hated target and crushing the concrete structure beneath him. The curled up foetal ball that was Firestorm slackened as she beat him into a stunned, barely conscious state. He flexed and rolled partly onto his back.
That was when she spied the main culprit of her torture. His penis. Now a small, shrivelled thing nestled against his scrotum.
Again, Kara opened up with her heat vision. She threw all her pain and rage and her grief and shame into the assault. She burned the little thing down to a blackened mess. Her own acetylene torch vengeance.
He fell off the roof. Rain drops hissing on his too hot flesh. Kara flew down after him fists first. Accelerating, three, four, five times the speed of his terminal velocity. And she pummelled him, a heavyweight boxer working the heaviest bag. Rib bones shattered but she kept slamming at the fragments until they were little more than dust. Organs because bruised, then perforated through exterior pressure, until they were little more than pulpy mush. Then he hit the ground and the sidewalk crumbled beneath him. Kara slammed into him at supersonic speed and they found themselves down in a subway tunnel. And then she opened up with her heat vision again. This time aiming at his exposed face.
Something got in the way. Blocking the twin rays of ultra-nuclear heat. Something red and yellow. A stylised ‘S’… Him… Typical. He was protecting her rapist, her torturer from her appropriate vengeance. The fucking Boy-Scout. What was he thinking?
She felt a hand gently cup her under the chin, as her heat vision began to, shockingly, smoulder the Kryptonian fabric of his costume. That shouldn’t have been possible. He gently angled her head upwards until she was looking into his eyes, so like her father’s. So like both her fathers.
Him, Kal, in his sixties stockier, chunkier, though still powerful and muscular and intimidating. Though not to her. Never to her. That little dance of grey at his temples. Tiny hint of crows-feet at the edges of his eyes.
And then the Symbioship that had brought her to Earth had given her an upbring through artificial reality, during which she had shared a virtual experience of Kryptonian life with her parents, and extended family. Education, trips into the country side, trips around Kandor with her father. His wisdom and love passed down. It had sustained her, as much as the nutrients the ship itself had supplied, during her journey across the galaxy in pursuit of another Kryptonian. The only other Kryptonian. Her second father. Kal-L.
Only this was Kal-El, and he wasn’t the same. A constant disappointment to her, As, she seemingly was to him. She wanted her father. They looked all but identical, but this Kal wasn’t it. He didn’t see her as his child. Didn’t treat her as his child. He interfered, he judged, he patronised, he second-guessed. And he looked down on her.
Rather than loved and accepted for who she was, he just made her feel lost and lonely. Made it apparent in every way that he wasn’t the man who had raised her. That she was all alone in the universe. And it wasn’t even her universe. She was the only one of her kind to exist from a universe of trillions of trillions of life forms. Now they were all gone, other than her. There was just Kara.
And he was taking the side of Firestorm. Protecting him from her rightful revenge. Justice wasn’t relevant. If he could do this to her, he could do it to anyone. And no one else, other than perhaps Diana could beat him. Certainly not the other Kara. She would have no chance. And what if he went after Lois? Would Kal protect him then, enforce his right to life?
Superman placing himself in harm’s way, angling her face with his own, forced Kara to kill off her heat vision vengeance. And to stare into his eyes. His sad, sympathetic, compassionate eyes.
It was the last thing she could stand to see. His sorrow and his pity. She pounded his chest for a second and he took it. Slowly and gently drew his arms around her. She sobbed, accepting the strength of him.
“He doesn’t deserve to live!” She sobbed.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he doesn’t, after what he did. But you’ll regret it, Karen. Taking his life. Believe me. It’ll hurt you.”
“I don’t believe you! It’s just more of you Boy-Scout, take-no-life, bullshit!”
“You’re better than him though, Kara. You were brought up better. An eye for an eye is wrong. Your mother taught you that. So did your father… Both your fathers.”
“That’s not fair. You aren’t him!”
“I know, but I know him. We had the same upbringing to, the same influences. The house of El. The Kents. Lois.”
“Someone as powerful as… that… If he can do this to me, he can do it to anyone!”
She almost said - “what if it was your Kara and not me?” but that was just asking for trouble. She had always steered clear of highlighting his favouritism and how unfair it was. Knowing the only one hurt by his answer would be herself. Instead, she said -
“What if it was Lois?”
He just stared down at her with those big sad brown eyes. Just like her both her father’s. And her uncle’s. He refused to reply to her question. Instead in nodded down at the broken body at their feet. Illuminated by the moonlight shining down through the hole above their heads.
“But look at him, Kara. Really look.”
She baulked. He’d referred to her by her true name. It stuttered her thoughts and she found herself automatically following his urging. She looked.
“You saw the damage to his brain when this started. We both saw it. He wasn’t himself. He was suffering cranial trauma. Look again Kara.”
  “You see?” He continued. “It isn’t there any longer. It healed itself. He’s already changed. And don’t we all deserve a second chance?”
And there it was “everyone deserves a second chance.” She had heard it all her life.
Zor-L, her father, Allura In-Z, her mother, her uncle and aunt. Then her second father and mother Kal-L, and Lois Lane-Kent. This universe’s Kal-El… The other Kara, Conner… the list went on.
“Everyone deserves a second chance.” Not necessarily something she believed in herself. Some people were too dangerous. But having had it reiterated by all the most important people in her life, it was hard to discard.
She looked, tapping into the x-ray part of the optical spectrum, zoomed in and examined that part of the rapist’s frontal lobe. The damage was indeed gone. Healed. Just like the damage she had inflicted was healing, or growing anew. In a few days with rest and sustenance he would be fully healed. Only a few days.
Perhaps he could learn something from this, the teenagers inside the matrix could gain some responsibility some sense of consequence. Perhaps she could take him up to the peak of Everest, and push him off.

“Okay. Alright. You win.”
“Thank you, Kara. We’ll both keep a close eye on him from now on. How about that?”
She nodded, staring down at the broken leftovers of Firestorm. Not wanting to look into her father’s eyes again. Not baring the reality of that look revealing something, someone who wasn’t him.
“I know how hard this is for you.” He whispered, hesitantly.
She looked up then, her eyes flashing.
“No. No you don’t, Kal.” She sneered. “You really fucking don’t.”
Ignoring the hurt look that slid across his chiselled face; Kara launched herself up into the sky. Wanting to be far away from there. Far from Superman.

The End.
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Power Girl The interview and the Aftermath