The Shadow Over Supergirl (to be continued)

[bare_thighz]

Kara Danvers laid her head back in her pillow. Her eyes closed, then opened. It was a joke, thinking she could go back to sleep, with those intrusive horrors flooding her dreams like a dreadful, deadly tide. The images were still lingering in her brain. She was the greatest superheroine the world had ever seen, the Girl of Steel. If only they knew what had happened to their famous protector. If only they could have seen steel melt.

Her robe covered her bruised thighs. Her face was still healing from the horrific assault. Her eyes and nose were swollen, her lips cut up and scabbed, her cheekbones covered in purple bruises. Kara stared at herself in the bathroom vanity. The proud heroine of Metropolis, covered in ugly bruises. She turned herself, and looked at the reflection in the mirror of the bruises all down her back. Her panties hid some of the bruising on her buttocks, where had taken the most punishment that night, and they covered her sex, the torture of which she dared think about. It was humiliating to behold the sight of the proud, powerful superheroine, cowering in front of a mirror with the memories of a brutal horror etched into her face and body. She looked like some common girl who had been raped and tortured in an alley. This was not Supergirl. With her bruised thighs, she couldn’t even wear her famous skirt.
Kara opened the robe and looked at her stomach and chest. Her stomach had red marks all over it. Her bruised breasts were covered up by her bra, but she could still see the purple bruises on her cleavage where they had been brutalized. Only her long blonde hair covered her beaten scalp, which was probably scarred, and as she was thinking about it she was suddenly struck with a violent headache. Kara’s knees grew weak and she fell against the bathroom wall, cracking her back against the towel rack. Ordinarily it wouldn’t have hurt her invulnerable body but now the pain stung her spine. The towel rack was bent in half. Kara stifled a scream. She sank to the floor of the bathroom, her body half covered in her robe, and she dug her head into her forearms and wept. It was so terrible. If they had done that to her, a superheroine, who else could they have done that to. The fact that she hadn’t defeated them, and that group was still out there, practicing their arcane horrors, terrified her. She was Supergirl. She should have stopped them.

She knew she needed to talk to someone about it. But, who could she talk to? A shrink? Would anyone possibly understand what she had gone through? Would it even be safe for her to talk to anyone about her experience with that diabolical group? Kara couldn’t live with the horrors inside her head, and neither could Supergirl. Even when her beautiful thighs did recover, and she could squeeze into her short skirt and boots again, Supergirl would forever be distracted by her thoughts, and she would lose.
Kara recovered herself and got off the bathroom floor. She closed up her robe and put on her slippers, and walked over to her office. She turned on her laptop. Writing had always been a way to exorcise her demons, from previous defeats. When there was no one to talk to, no one she could trust, she could always write out her thoughts. When she lived on Krypton, as a young girl, she used to do that. She kept diaries upon diaries, although written her alien tongue, and depended on them when her civilization was in crisis. They helped clear her mind and look at her emotions objectively, and helped her to understand herself. She wished she could write in her language, but her QWERTY keyboard of course wouldn’t support it, although she could still be very expressive in English, as she had learned as a reporter for the Daily News. As matter of fact, that is where it all started.

Kara began to type. At her typing speed of 400 words per minute, the fastest her keyboard could handle without being torn into splinters, she composed her 10,000 word testimony in her word processor in about 25 minutes. Kara began to analyze it, and by morning, she was on her 7,000th reading of her text. Kara took a break and had a cup of coffee and some oatmeal for breakfast. Her super-powered body didn’t need it, but it felt good to act like a human, and just out of the pure habit of her morning routine, it had begun to have a similar effect on her. Kara realized, especially now, that she was becoming more human every day. Her superpowers had begun to dwindle, as was clear during that night. Perhaps her villains had exposed her body to kryptonite too many times. Perhaps she had been violated too many times, or brought to involuntary climaxes more than her Kryptonian body could handle. In any case, she felt weak, and the coffee had oatmeal helped embolden her. She sat at her laptop and read it again, a little more slowly. When she performed her rapid reading, she could miss some of the subtle emotional effects, and deny herself the true analysis of her feelings that she was perhaps unaware of, and only revealed themselves in subtle cues in her text.
She decided it, after reading it, that she would type it out again. It was a trick she had learned during school lessons on her home planet. They would read a text, analyze it, and then transcribe it verbatim, from memory, to ensure they had a complete understanding of it. Kara began to transcribe the text in her mind word for word. She typed a little slower, to make sure she remembered it all. The following is what she wrote.

The Dagon Encounter
By: Kara Danvers (a.k.a. “Supergirl”)

Sgt. Baal, liaison officer for the Metropolitan Police, had spoken to me about strange activates reported in Metropolis’s Southwest Side. I notified my editor at the Daily News, where I was employed as a beat reporter, and she advised caution when following up leads in that place. “It’s a dangerous area,” she said. “We don’t usually send reporters there. It’s like going into a war zone. Are you sure you don’t want one of the more seasoned male reporters to handle this one, Kara?”

“That’s okay,” I said, sucking in my pride. Of course none of the staff at the Daily knew I was Supergirl, or how powerful I was, so I was sticking to my meek act. “I’ll be careful.”

“Don’t wear something so suggestive down there,” my editor said, referring to the short, burgundy skirt I wore over my bare legs. She had never bothered me before about the provocative way that I liked to dress, so it concerned me that it bothered her now. With my plain, brunette wig and my thick, dark-rimmed glasses, I still looked nerdy, even with my short skirt. But who knew, maybe that was someone’s fantasy.

“I’ll wear pants,” I said. “Myra, why are so worried about me? I’ve been in dangerous situations before.”

“You know the history of the Southwest Side? I know you’re not originally from Metropolis.”

“What about it?”

“Well, Metropolis’s Southwest Side was never a very good area. There used to be a chemical plant that supported the economy. It was a dirty, industrial zone. People died of strange diseases and cancers. Then, one day, Miskatonic Chemicals closed down the plant, and it was like a bomb had gone off down there. There was massive unemployment. The community sank into ruins. During the 90s, it was ruled by vicious gangs, but even they couldn’t pillage the community anymore. Now the place is deserted, abandoned, over a square mile of city real estate. They might as well put barbed wire around it.”

“If it’s deserted, then what’s going on there?”

“Who knows what kind of people inhabit that place now? It’s dangerous, Kara, that’s why I told you. Are you sure you want to take this story? There must be other more important developments on the Metropolis crime beat that you could pursue.”

“I want the story, Myra,” Kara said.

“Well, if something happens to you down there, maybe Supergirl will save you. The police won’t.” Myra looked at her sternly. “I want 1,000 words on my desk by Tuesday morning. Last chance, Kara.” I pretended to mull it over. A dangerous, perhaps diabolical situation developing in the city, that the police won’t touch, and Supergirl was going to pass it over?

“I’ll carry my pepper spray,” I said. I lied. Of course I didn’t carry pepper spray. Perhaps I should have. Myra sighed.

“As you wish. But I want my story, Kara.” I did end up turning in a draft, although it was few days late, and I was berated for it. My report didn’t say much. She ran it on the last page of the paper, and I was reprimanded. It was the first time I had ever gotten in trouble at my job. When she asked about the bruises on my face, and the pants I wore to cover up my scarred legs, I tried to explain that I had been hit by car at a crosswalk. I doubt she believed me.

It was Thursday when I got the tip from Sgt. Baal. I followed up with him for more information about the story, and told him the Daily News was going to cover it.

“There are rumors of some cult,” he had said. “I don’t know anything about it, just rumors, strange things going on at night around there, that some people living around the borders of the Southwest Side have noticed. We haven’t really investigated it yet, but if we got some support from the press, maybe the department will fund an investigation. No one really cares about that area, but it would be nice if someone would. There’s something bad going on there, satanic, perhaps.”

“Where should I start?”

“You might want to check out the abandoned plant. There are reports of strange noises and sounds coming from it, from observers. But don’t go there at night. It’s not safe.”

“Thank you, Sgt. Baal. I’ll do my best to find out what I can.”

“Careful,” the sergeant said. “The MPD doesn’t even patrol that area. If something happens there, you’re on your own.”

“I understand,” I said.

“You don’t.” He hung up the phone. Sgt. Baal was always a little bristly when he was on the phone with me, but then, he was a cop. I headed out to my car and looked up the directions. The plant wasn’t even on my GPS, but I mapped out a general direction to the Southwest Side. I had never driven there and had always been told by other denizens to avoid it. Kara Danvers would have been nervous and overly cautious, holding her breath every time she came to stop sign on those forlorn streets. But that was Kara. When I turned on 5th and Vernor, the entrance to that desolate place, I was no longer that meek, nervous woman, a caricature of earthly femininity. I was Supergirl. Sometimes, I had to remind myself.

But, I was still dressed as Kara Danvers, the reporter. My car sank into a large pothole on the neglected street. I heard the sound of grinding metal and a loud pop. Ironically, I had been swerving to avoid another pothole. It was like driving down a street on the moon. My car wouldn’t move anymore, swallowed up by the gigantic pothole, and I cut the engine. I got out of the car. This was not a safe place to change a tire, not that I knew how. Plus, it appeared that more than the tire was damaged.

I saw a building down the road. It was abandoned, and looked like it used to be a pawn shop. The door to the building had been busted in. It looked like a good place to safely change into my uniform. I would only be naked for a tenth of second as I quickly changed into it, but I still couldn’t risk being seen out there, not even for a tenth of a second. I walked into the dark edifice.
It wasn’t abandoned.

“Hey, what are you doing here, bitch!” There was black man sitting in the corner of the dilapidated room. His arm was tied off with a rubber tube. There was another man holding a syringe. He dropped it and pulled out a switchblade, flipping it open.

“You’re going go to die,” he said. I backed away from that dark corner, sunlight filtering into the room from the cracked ceiling. I tripped over an object lying on the ground and fell on my back. The man seized me.

“What are you doing, sneaking around here, cunt,” he said. He was a white man, with a bedraggled beard, old and wiry. He pushed my shoulders into the broken tiles that covered the floor and jammed the knife into my belly.

“What?” he said, watching the blade spit in half.

“Uggh. Get off me,” I said. I pushed my hands away from his soldiers, but he reared his fist back and cracked me across the nose. For a human, the hit was pretty hard. It hurt. He pressed down on my shoulders again.

“You’re not going anywhere bitch,” he said. As held me down, the black man grabbed my legs. I sort of laughed inside. These men were no threat to me. I kicked my legs apart but was surprised by how strong he was. He managed to hold them together. The older man had squatted on top of my chest, straddling me, while other man slid his hands up my skirt. He started to pull it down.

“Hey, stop it!” I said.

“Who the hell are you? Why did that blade break on your body? Are you Supergirl?”

“I’m…”

“You are, aren’t you?” He pulled up my sweater, exposing my blue bodysuit underneath it. He was so strong. I struggled to pull his hands away.

“You shouldn’t come around here, Supergirl. This is the land of the Shiggurath. I’ve got the Juroth Jura inside me. I am a fucking demon!” His hands came away from my shoulders, but before I could react, he grabbed my throat and squeezed it. I was genuinely frightened. He was so strong, and he was crushing my windpipe. The black man yanked off the skirt and fondled me above the crotch of my bodysuit. With him stroking my sensitive body, I felt weak, and the older man’s grip around my throat was getting more intense. I struggled to breathe. I tried to kick my legs, but the black man sat on top of them. My hands grasped weakly at my strangler’s hands. I gurgled. It was such ignominious defeat for Supergirl. I hadn’t even changed into my uniform!

The black man fingered me inside my suit and the old man’s grip crushed my throat. I felt all the oxygen expelled from me. I started feeling dizzy and the decrepit room with insulation hanging off the walls was spinning around me. I couldn’t take anymore breaths. This fierce man, whoever he was, certainly not human, had beaten me.

He released my throat, but I was already so weak and helpless. I tried desperately to catch my breath, but he hit my face, hard, with bitterly piercing knuckles. My lip split open and I tasted blood. Then, he took something out of his pocket, it looked like a cord of some sort, and he coiled it around my wrists. I knew it wasn’t kryptonite, but with the other man plunging his fingers into my sex, and my lungs and brain expelled of oxygen, I was already so weak, and the cord he tied me with held me. He ripped off my sweater, literally tore the fabric in half, with his preternatural strength, exposing my costume and my famous insignia, which he scooped up in his hands, massaging my breasts. He moved off to the side while he fondled me. My uniform was too strong for the black man to rip, apparently, but he pulled aside the stretchy fabric covering my crotch. I was bare underneath it. He managed to unzip himself and shoved his black cock inside me.

“Uggh,” I moaned. My body was too susceptible to stimulation. With the older man rubbing my breasts and teasing my nipples over the suit, and the black man grasping my bare thighs and thrusting inside me, I was on the verge of an orgasm and terrified, as I knew how weak it would make me. I would never be able to fight them off, and they could capture me and subject me to whatever horrors laid in store, which they would eventually, but not at that moment. With the black man thrusting his hot cock into me, and the other man distracted by my large breasts, I had them at an advantage, as they had underestimated me and no longer considered me a threat. I slipped my hands out of the cords I had been bound with. The man was stroking my hard stomach, and seemed mesmerized by it, sliding his hands up and down my waist. It was disgusting.

“Ohhh,” I moaned again, as I felt the black man’s big cock push against my uterus. He had shoved the whole length of it into my narrow womb, and I felt myself quickly coming to a climax. I had to act quickly, or it would all be over. With my hands free, I chopped the older man’s neck as his hand clamped around my left breast. The man groaned and passed out on top of me. The black man was still thrusting. I tried to push the older man off my chest, but he was too heavy. I looked on, helplessly, as the black man thrusted his huge cock inside me. I couldn’t stop it. He kept thrusting and thrusting, every smack of his cock into my tight womb weakening me further. I couldn’t resist it. I came, and felt the man unload his cum into me.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Superslut,” he said, pulling his long, wet dick out of me. I was. I had been violated before, but never like this! Every past image of being raped by torturous villains flooded my brain. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t break down. I still had to escape.

The man took out his own knife, a stiletto, and the long, double-edged blade flicked open. I wasn’t sure if my weak body could defend an attack from the weapon now. He held it between my thighs.

“Now, let’s see if you bleed, Super bitch,” he said. I heard the man passed out on top of me groan. He was coming to. I felt the cool blade slip inside my uterus.

“No!” Using all my strength, I scooted my body back, and with every ounce of effort I had in my depleted body, I pushed the older man off of me. I stood up. The man with the knife backed me into a corner. He drew back his hand. It was all over, I thought. I watched the sharp blade swing into my suit. It cut through it, but then blunted against my skin. I felt it poke against my stomach, but there was no blood. Alas, the suit had saved me.

I let off a high kick, into the man’s jaw. The man crashed against the floor, but he was still conscious. He started to get up again. I didn’t wait. I grabbed my skirt and ran out of the building. I ran as far as I could. I looked back. No one was following me, but I heard laughter. I felt the black man’s juices, wettening my crotch, darkening the suit sickeningly, his gooey mess dripping down my thighs. I quickly pulled my skirt back on. I walked to my car and sat inside, locking the doors. I tried to calm myself down and catch my breath. It was too soon start flying.

I started thinking of my last encounter, with the Masked Renegade. I didn’t want to think about it, but that’s where my censorious Kryptonian mind took me. The memory was a punishment for my failure, and I knew it, and had to sit in the car and be tortured by it.

The press had ran the story, “Supergirl Defeats the Masked Renegade,” and they covered up the truth with sweet lies, as they always do, but no one knew the real story, which was now playing intrusively inside my head as I dealt with the guilt and shame of my defeat. The images were so crystal clear, torturing my photographic memory, and I recalled every detail as though it were happening.

I had been in love with the Masked Renegade, until that fateful night when he turned on me. We were at my penthouse, and I was wearing a sexy, red minidress, which I knew was enticing him, and I’m not sure why I wore it, as I could never have sex with the superhero. I knew that having sex weakened my powers, from my forced encounters with villains, and I was dedicated to preserving my strength and validity as a superheroine. But I wore that dress anyway. What a mistake. We had just defeated Cassius Luthor, Lex Luthor’s evil nephew, and we were celebrating our victory. Cassius had once sodomized me with a kryptonite dildo, and when I told Renegade that, he was determined to avenge me, and we did. We came back to my penthouse to celebrate, but he had drank too much wine, and I wasn’t drunk. He came on to me, and started fondling me. I told him to stop. He wouldn’t listen. He pushed up my dress, and was caressing my thighs. I kept begging him to stop, but he went too far. I was wearing laced black panties that night, and a matching bra. I don’t know why, but I really wanted to feel sexy for him. I didn’t realize how much of a tease I was. As pushed up the dress, he revealed my panties, and he was sliding one of his fingers inside the panty when I slapped him. I slapped him, hard, and closed my legs, pulling the minidress back down, which still barely covered my thighs. The Masked Renegade was just a normal human being, and was really hurt by the blow. The smack had sent him careening off the couch.

“Bruce, I’m so sorry,” I had said.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“I just… can’t do that.” The Masked Renegade got up, holding his jaw.

“Then, we’re enemies now,” he said.

“Bruce… wait!”

“Goodbye, Supergirl,” he said, as he was walking out the door. And that was the last I ever heard from, as a friend.
My mind skipped over the details, and there I was, my mind capturing in perfect fidelity, the moment of my defeat. The Renegade had tricked me, throwing up a projection of himself. It was winter, and he had lead me to the Metropolitan Zoo, where an ice sculpture exhibit had been erected. It was chilly and my body felt exposed in my revealing outfit. It was snowing that night, and my hair was wet, and I didn’t want to be fighting out there; it wasn’t my element, and Renegade knew that. I had followed him into the maze of sculptures, and thought I saw him, standing in front of a statue of Abraham Lincoln. My right fist swung at his head, and somehow it missed him, and my fist crashed into the statue, breaking it into a million shards. Then, I felt something sharp sinking into my back between my shoulder blades. I turned around. There was the Renegade, holding what looked like a long, sharp icicle, but the end of it was green, and damp with blood. I took one step towards him, and then collapsed in the snow.

Renegade flipped my skirt back. Then, he grabbed my hand, and using my own fingernails, he scraped them against the crotch of my suit until it slit open. The Renegade had something ready, which he removed from his utility belt, and inserted it inside me. It started vibrating inside my pussy. I was too distracted to notice him tying up my wrists and ankles in some magic twine he removed from his belt. He wrapped the twine tightly around my around my thighs so I couldn’t move them and wiggle my body away from the thing he inserted in me. Renegade drew a line from my wrists to my ankles, effectively hog-tying me, with coils wrapped around my thighs and waist. Then, he left me in the snow.

The wound in my back had deeply penetrated me, and my limbs were already tingling from paralysis. Then, the orgasms starting coming, one after the other, and I couldn’t even move my thighs. I squirmed in my tight bonds, unable to move a muscle, except my neck. The thing had a never-ending battery and kept pulsating inside my womb and making me cum. I must have succumbed to twenty orgasms. Over and over, the ingenious device stroked and mastered my clit and spent spirals of pleasure through my body, bringing me to climax irresistibly, and I couldn’t stop it. As soon as I climaxed, I felt the thing massaging my clit and I started getting aroused and my body worked up into another climax. The magic twine, whatever it was, was strong enough to hold me, and I couldn’t break out of it. My body was aching horribly from convulsing in my impossibly tight bonds, and my throat was dry from moaning and grunting. The thing wouldn’t stop, and the sun was coming out, and I was still lying there, succumbing to orgasm after orgasm.

Renegade came to back to the spot he had left me at, just after sunrise. He cut my bonds, and removed the terrible device. I was drowsy and my body was numb, and I could barely breathe. I was still lying there in my iconic uniform, but I didn’t feel like a superheroine at all.

“I wouldn’t leave you here, Supergirl, to be embarrassed by everyone,” he said. “I’m going to let you go. You’re going to walk out of here.”

“I’m sorry, Renegade,” I whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” I heard him pulling down his zipper. “I’ve learned a little bit about the Kryptonian reproductive system. Remember when you captured by Cassius. He was studying your body. I learned a few things.” Renegade knelt in the snow. He pulled me up by hips, and penetrated me.

“Uggggghh,” I moaned. I was so wildly stimulated, that the slightest sensation sent pleasure rippling through my body, but it was also mixed with intense pain. My skin burned as he thrusted into me, and my heart pounded, what I thought was its last note. I couldn’t withstand his cock, and I passed out as he was thrusting into me. I didn’t even feel his semen pouring into my womb. I woke up hours later. Some people had wondered into the exhibit, and saw me lying there in the snow, the crotch of my suit ripped, my pussy exposed.

“Supergirl, my God!” one of them explained. I picked myself up. I was too weak to fly.

“Are you okay?” A crowd of people had gathered around me.

“I got to get out of here,” I said. I pushed through them and found way to a bathroom in one of the buildings. I locked myself into a stall and started crying. I had never been so humiliated. Worse, Renegade had learned something about my body. In order for a Kryptonian like myself to conceive, my body had to be broken down by a series of orgasms. Kryptonian men had endurance like no man on earth, and sex could last for several hours, even days. I had never had sex when I was a youth on Krypton, but had learned about it from my older classmates. Cassius had tried to impregnate me, but failed. However, Renegade, after inducing orgasm after orgasm, for so many hours, must have broken through all my bodily defenses. I was certain that I was pregnant, and there was no procedure on Earth for a Kryptonian abortion. I had to do it myself.

I remember what I had to go through to get the kryptonite. Prostrating myself before Lena Luthor, who demanded that she fuck me with a dildo, before giving me the kryptonite I needed to complete the procedure. I went home that night, with the shard of the deadly metal that Lena had given me, carrying it in a protective pouch. I remember sitting on the bed of my apartment that night, wishing there was something like alcohol that would have that effect on my Kryptonian body. I took the shard out of the pouch, and was immediately overwhelmed by its poisonous light. I was barely able to push it inside me. I laid on my bed, the kryptonite boiling inside my womb, and held it there for as long as I could. My womb was scorched, burning. Blood was dripping out of it. I reached in my womb and pulled it out while I still had the strength to move my arms, and the shard burned my fingertips. I barely remembered to put it back in the pouch, otherwise I would have left it sitting out and it could have killed me. It took days to recover from the assault. I watched for signs of a pregnancy. In Kryptonian women, the process is accelerated, and delivery happens in days, not months. But there was no sign of anything.

I remember sitting in the shower a few days after that, letting water pour on my head. I was sobbing uncontrollably. All the bottled up shame I felt, from my terrible defeat, to my hideous abortion, had been released all at once, and it was so powerful that I was convulsing as I sat in that shower, my back cracking the tiles in the wall. Never again would Supergirl suffer such a humiliating defeat.

[VictorBlack95]

This story has a lot of potential, especially with the demon possessed cult. I really enjoy your writing style and felt that you tackle the consequences multiple perils have on a heroines psyche over the years well. The medium in which you tell the story is also really interesting. Essentially, it's the heroine telling it to herself as a way to cope. That is really creative. I also really liked the idea that SG is weakened by sex/orgasm. It is a staple of the genre that I like a lot and always include in my own works.

If I were to offer any feedback, it would be that the level of detail you go into about The Masked Renegade encounter (specifically the detailed peril) might saturate the story a bit. In the sense that sexual peril can only occur so many times before it loses its impact. I know that it is there to speak to the effects past defeats have had on Kara but I think simply eluding to the perils she endured in that situation rather than telling us would accomplish it all the same.

Really strong start and look forward to the next installment.

[bare_thighz]

You're right. It was too much exposition and that should have been edited down.