Super Sister 9 Lois Lane Comes to Smallville
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Super Sister #2: My Husband Walks A Mile In My Shoes free porn video
Super-Sister #2: My Husband Walks A Mile in My Shoes
By Heather St. Claire
(My second story based on the Silver Age Superboy story "Claire Kent
Alias Super-Sister")
"In Smallville one day, the people blink is disbelief as they see a girl
dressed in the super uniform of Superboy, patrolling in his place! You
will be even more amazed to enter the privacy of the Kent home to find a
daughter living with mom and dad! Yes, the most freakish twist of fate
imaginable changes the boy of steel into a lass of steel, when Clark
Kent becomes...Claire Kent, Alias Super-Sister!"
July 18, 1947: Claire and I were busy this past Saturday morning,
getting ready for the Lowell County Fair. Our preserves were all labeled
and ready to go. We were baking pies and finishing our quilt. Of course,
Claire could have sewn a beautiful, perfect quilt by herself in minutes,
but what would be the fun in that? She's learned pretty quickly that the
quilting bee, whether it's just the two of us or a larger group, is a
great opportunity for girl talk. Jonathan was at the store, having
opened up this morning, but he was due home at noon. Pete Ross was going
to cover the register in the afternoon so Jonathan could relax on the
porch and catch the St. Louis Cardinals baseball game on the radio.
Jonathan's beloved Brooklyn Dodgers were in St. Louis, and it looks like
they've got their first good team since before the war.
Fair season is one of those times of year when Jonathan really misses
the farm. Like I've said before, moving into town and buying the general
store was the best thing for him, for all of us really, but I know he'd
love to be getting his prize corn and sheep ready for display this year.
But his heart just isn't up to the rigors of farm work anymore.
I continue to be as proud of Claire as any parent can be. She has
adjusted so well to her transformation. It's been more than a year now,
but if you didn't know better, you'd think she was born a girl. She's
dealt with the men who were skeptical that a super girl could be as able
as a super boy by being just as good a costumed hero as before, if not a
better one. Speaking of her costume, we redesigned it, just slightly. I
had suggested that instead of tights, we might try a skirt, but she was
concerned about the possibility of people getting a peek in places they
shouldn't. "I do fly, you know, ma," she said with a shy grin. Such a
modest young lady. We settled on changing the top to a high scooped
neckline and adding hard soles and three-inch tall stacked heels to her
boots, which she made from part of the metal from the rocket that
brought her to Earth. They helped her regain some of the height she lost
when she changed genders and add a nice feminine touch to her look.
She's rapidly making the transition from child to adult, and I know the
day will come when this small community can't contain her talents.
Someday she's going to belong to the world. She's even talking about
heading someplace like Washington or Metropolis, where she can be closer
to more people in need. My girl thinks ahead; she said she might like to
get a job as one of those girl photographers for a big-city newspaper
who goes out to ask people a question of the day. She figures working at
a newspaper would give her quick access to information about trouble in
the making. Yet I can also tell my daughter is feeling the pull of home.
She seems awfully sweet on Pete Ross, and it looks like the feeling is
mutual. I think Pete's horizons don't stretch too far beyond these
plains.
A lot of the country still seems to think Super-Sister is a myth; they
don't believe a super-powered alien really lives among us, doing good
deeds. Maybe part of the problem is the fact that the only pictures that
have ever been taken of her in action are blurred, and she's never given
an interview to a newspaper, radio reporter or newsreel. She even turned
down Lowell Thomas when he came to town, politely of course. But the
government knows she's real. Some men from the Army visited us last
summer, and she took a long-distance call from President Truman, in
which she personally assured him of her devotion to truth, justice and
the American way, and promised to visit the White House whenever she
came to Washington.
Claire has been a hero to this town, saving so many people in distress;
burning buildings, flooding rivers, overturned tractors; you name it,
she's always there, often warned in advance by her super-intuition. But
she's done so much more that no one knows about, though a few have their
suspicions. She's become the whole county's guardian angel. During her
free hours, she's cooking, baking and sewing like nobody's business. Her
gift packages for struggling families show up on their porches in the
middle of the night without a single clue as to their origin. But
somehow the clothes always turn out to be perfect fits, and there's
always a favorite pie, cake or other treat for the children.
Everything was beautiful that Saturday...until the phone rang. Claire's
super-intuition had failed her in this case, since it only alerted her
in advance when women were in danger. At this moment, a man we both
loved dearly was in jeopardy.
"It's Pete," I told her, dropping the phone in terror. "He said someone
came into the store and kidnapped your father at gunpoint."
Claire didn't say a word. I blinked, and there was a rush of air as she
streaked out the kitchen window, not even bothering with the secret
tunnel under our basement. The only sign of her was her clothes, which
lay in a pile on the floor. "Be safe, Jonathan," I prayed. "Be safe."
I heard a knock at our front door. I could see Lana Lang and her mother
standing there, ready to offer whatever comfort and support they could.
News travels fast in small towns. Especially when you're on a telephone
party line.
When Super-Sister reached the store, she found Chief Parker was already
interviewing a clearly terrorized Pete. The Chief looked up to greet the
town's most famous citizen. "Oh hi, Super-Sister," he said. "Poor Pete
is so shaken up, he can't even give us a clear description of the woman
who took Mr. Kent."
Claire couldn't hide her startled expression. "Woman?"
Pete nodded. "Yes, woman! And I'm not crazy, Chief. I tell you Super-
Sister, she looked exactly like Dolores Winters!"
"The actress? The one who disappeared several years ago?" Pete nodded,
and without another word, the caped crimefighter streaked into the sky
in search of her foster father.
Less than two minutes later, Super-Sister landed in front of an
abandoned farmhouse three miles east of town. The MacDonalds had
deserted the property during the depression and their acreage was leased
by a neighboring family. No one had called the structure home in more
than a decade, so the sight of a large sleek black sedan sitting in
front of it--a car that perfectly matched the description given by
Pete--was a sure tipoff. "She didn't even try to cover her tracks,"
Claire thought as she alighted.
Claire tried to figure out what reason an actress would have for
kidnapping her father. She recalled an article she had read in Photoplay
magazine a few months before about Dolores Winters. She had been an up
-and-comer in Hollywood in the late thirties, though there had been some
nasty rumors about her getting juicy parts through extended time on the
casting couch. It didn't seem to matter; she had great on-screen
chemistry with Cary Grant in the two pictures they made together, and it
was said Gary Cooper was in love with her. Her future seemed limitless.
Then one night she was gone.
It had been a mystery to rival the disappearance of Judge Crater: one
Friday evening, Dolores Winters had stepped out of a fashionable
Metropolis club into the cold clear evening and vanished. Police
searched for months, but not a trace of her was ever found. Claire
recalled the photos of the lost actress vividly. She stepped into the
sad old house. Only a few scattered, mostly broken pieces of furniture
remained. The walls and ceilings were stained from leaks in the roof,
and trash from squatters was scattered about. She heard a voice call
out from the kitchen: "In here, Super-Sister!" Although the woman
standing before her was a few years older than the world remembered her,
there was no doubt in her mind: this had to be Dolores Winters.
Winters was standing next to her foster father, who was unconscious and
tied to a kitchen chair with thick rope. This was a woman perhaps thirty
years old, in the prime of her voluptuous beauty. Her shimmering dark
brown hair fell in graceful natural waves to her shoulders. Her large
eyes were set off by thin arched brows and thick eyelashes and her lips
were full, accentuated by blood-red lipstick that made her mouth look
like an angry slash. Her hourglass figure was almost perfectly
proportioned. She wore a form-fitting silky black dress and knee-high
black snakeskin boots. Yet for all her beauty, there was something
about her that Super-Sister found both compelling and repelling.
Claire quickly realized it was her eyes. The fiery eyes that she was
staring into burned with a cruel hatred.
The woman smiled and she finally spoke again. "Hello, Super-Sister.
Don't flatter yourself in thinking you did something clever by locating
my hideout. You see, I've been looking forward to meeting you. It turns
out we have something in common."
"What would I have in common with....a criminal? And what do you intend to
do with Mr. Kent?"
"Last things first. What I do with Mr. Kent is up to you. As for what we
have in common? It's ridiculously simple. We were both born males."
Super-Sister was speechless.
"It's true, Super-Sister. I was born a brilliant but sickly child. A
male child. As I grew, my intelligence grew exponentially, aided by
experimental procedures of my own devising, but my body continued to
deteriorate. I was confined to a wheelchair. Finally I reached the point
where I was facing death if I didn't find a new body. I found a
neurosurgeon I could trust to carry out a brain transplantation
procedure. I sent my henchmen out to find a young, healthy body. I told
them to grab the first likely candidate they could find. There wasn't a
minute to spare. Imagine my disgust when they came back with Miss
Winters. I only had two choices at that moment: become a woman or die. I
chose to live. Of course, I had the fools who made the blunder
executed."
The villainess paused, and suddenly seemed thoughtful. "You know, I've
made my peace with being in this body. I've been at work on an
artificial replacement of some sort, but nothing has met my standards
yet. This female form lacks the upper body strength of a healthy male
body, but there are....compensations. I've found a variety of ways to
pleasure myself," she said with a snicker. "Of course, I had all that
ridiculous female reproductive equipment removed immediately. No sense
in being at the whims of hormones that way."
"You are a bloodthirsty one....what do I call you? Miss Winters?"
"NO!" she shrieked. "NEVER call me that! You can call me the Ultra-
Humanite." Claire arched an eyebrow. "The name represents my evolved
intelligence. It's a marker of respect--and I demand your respect, young
lady."
"But you're wrong about me. I was born a girl."
"Oh, don't give me that, missy. The fools in this underfed cow town
might be too dumb to see it, but I know that you're Superboy,
transformed. And I have proof."
"Well, you have me at a disadvantage, Ultra-Humanite. How did you know
about me?"
"You'll discover it someday, if you live, so there's no harm in me
letting you know. You're not alone in this universe, Super-Sister. We're
part of something called a multiverse, with endless parallel worlds, and
I've learned how to travel between those worlds. Things develop along
similar lines, but there are differences. On some worlds, you never
actually got changed into a girl; it was all a mental vision courtesy of
your benefactress Shar-la. On my world, Superman didn't launch his
career until he was an adult. Things got a little too challenging there,
so I picked this world as my new home. Here, my counterpart couldn't
stand the thought of losing his manhood and chose death rather than move
his brain into this body. The cowardly fool didn't deserve to live! I'm
going to take his place. The fact that you're here makes it all the more
fitting." She laughed; Claire thought it was a particularly cruel laugh.
Ultra was pacing back and forth; she paused when she noticed Jonathan
Kent regaining consciousness. She picked up his chin with her hand and
squeezed his cheeks. Claire noticed she was wearing black polish on her
long fingernails; she had never seen black nail polish before. She
mightily resisted the temptation to leap forward; although Ultra knew a
lot about her, she apparently hadn't figured out her secret identity;
the choice of Jonathan Kent as hostage apparently was an act of random
fate.
Ultra leaned forward, bringing her face very close to Jonathan Kent's.
"Welcome back to the party, Mr. Kent," she said with a false sweetness.
"Although I won't be able to call you that much longer."
"What do you mean?" Super-Sister snapped.
"You'll find out in due time." She let go of Kent's head and resumed her
pacing. "I was such a fool. I controlled all kinds of criminal rackets.
I kept thinking small, looking for a few paltry millions of dollars."
"What do you want then?"
Her eyes flashed with anger. "I want POWER!" she said. "Power to change
things. Power to really control things." Claire noticed Ultra was
absently stroking her breast with one of her long black nails. Moments
before, she had been twirling one of her black curls with another
finger. For someone who professed not to embrace her gender, she sure
had picked up a lot of female gestures.
"And how do you plan to get it? And what does Mr. Kent have to do with
your scheme?"
The Ultra-Humanite reached for a large syringe with a huge needle that
lay on the table next to her. She smiled as she reached for Jonathan
Kent's arm. As she plunged the needle into his flesh, she said, "Why,
Mr. Kent is my guinea pig!"
The two beauties watched as the man strapped to the chair underwent a
remarkable transformation. He grimaced in pain. Claire managed to keep
an anguished cry of "Pa!" in the back of her throat. She watched in
horror, while Ultra looked on in delight, as her foster father's body
underwent a rapid transformation. First, he shrank; then his facial
features softened as his chest expanded. "Jehosephat!" he exclaimed in
an unfamiliar voice.
Ultra smiled in delight. Her formula had worked. Jonathan Kent was now
female. Unlike the two young beauties who stood before her, the woman
bound to the chair was a rather average-looking grandmotherly type who
appeared to be in her mid-sixties.
Super-Sister swallowed hard, trying not to betray her feelings about
what had happened to her foster father. "How...how does doing this to Mr.
Kent help you?" Super-Sister asked.
"Quite simple, my dear heroine," she said in a mocking tone. "I have
produced this gender change formula in large quantities, and am prepared
to release it into the water supplies of Washington, Metropolis, Gotham
City, London and Moscow. It doesn't work on females, sadly, only on
males. If my demands are not met, all of the world's business and
political leaders, and they all are men, will soon find themselves
unwillingly transformed into females. I'm sure most of them aren't as
resilient and adaptable as I am. I'm sure they will be glad to cede
world power to me instead. You, young miss, will deliver my demands for
me, including your eyewitness testimony that this is no idle boast, that
the formula actually works."
"How do I know that you're not lying about having the formula ready to
release?"
"Do you want to take that chance? And don't go trying something heroic,
like trying to stop me. Not only am I willing to kill this dirt farmer
in an instant--" she reached for the Luger that sat on the battered
kitchen table.
"Don't let her blackmail you, Super-Sister!" Jonathan Kent exclaimed.
"My life isn't important, but the lives of many are."
Ultra's lips curled into a cruel sneer. She put down the gun and slapped
Kent as hard as she could. "I thought you might feel that way. I have
more than one bargaining chip." She reached for the jewel of the
necklace she wore and touched the translucent stone with a manicured
nail. Suddenly the stone turned green and began to emit an eerie glow.
Super-Sister immediately felt dizzy and weak, and fought to stay on her
feet; it was as if a building had fallen on a normal person.
"Yes, Super-Sister, it's Kryptonite, a fragment of your homeworld. I
gambled that the properties of Kryptonite would be consistent from
universe to universe, and it looks like they are." She tapped the jewel
again, and it resumed its translucent appearance; the covering must have
somehow shielded the deadly radiation. "I'm not going to kill you, not
at the moment anyway, when you're of more use to me as my messenger and
pawn." Super-Sister instantly felt her strength returning. But she still
didn't know what to do next. Any move to effect a rescue could bring
harm to herself or to the woman who, until moments before, had been her
foster father.
Before Claire could further search for a solution, her attention, and
Ultra's, were diverted by a fire that suddenly erupted on the porch of
the old house. Ultra could only manage to blurt "What the--" before the
room was filled with acrid smoke. That gave Super-Sister the seconds she
needed to free her father and use those same ropes to bind Ultra. As she
was carrying out those tasks, Claire used her super-breath to extinguish
the fire on the porch before it spread to the rest of the house.
"I don't know where the smoke and fire came from Mr....uh, Miss Kent, but
the timing couldn't have been better," the former Jonathan declared. As
the cloud began to disperse, the three women were astonished to see
another member of the fair sex walking into the house: me.
"Martha!" my husband cried. "How?"
"Chief Parker tracked you here, but I convinced him it wouldn't be wise
to come in with guns blazing. I reminded him I was a pretty handy Girl
Scout in my youth, that I knew something about not attracting attention
to myself. I got some kindling, lighter fluid and matches, and one of
the smoke grenades you brought home from the war. I had the chief drop
me off about half a mile down the road...and you can figure out the rest."
"Defeated by a mere housewife!" Ultra cried. "Oh, the shame is too
much."
I smiled. "Sometimes it takes a woman to outsmart a woman."
Claire stepped back from her beloved foster parents. "I have to go now,
Mr. and Mrs. Kent," she said. "I have to deliver a prisoner to the
F.B.I., and then keep my promise to the Trumans to visit them when I
came to Washington."
F.B.I. Director J. Edgar Hoover waited for the arrival of the Kryptonian
crimefighter and her captive. His chief aides thought he seemed
unusually excited about the news. Soon, Super-Sister was ushered into
the director's office, the Ultra-Humanite in tow. "Thank you, Super-
Sister. You have rendered your country a great service. We will make
sure this evildoer is locked away where she can never again threaten the
innocent with harm.?
The Ultra-Humanite laughed. ?I wouldn?t count on that, Mr. Hoover.?
Ignoring the captive, Hoover asked Super-Sister: ?Did you bring a sample
of the serum?? She reached into her cape?s pouch and handed Hoover a
pair of vials. Hoover eyed them carefully. ?So this serum really would
have changed all the men in Washington and the other cities into women??
Super-Sister nodded. ?Yes, Mr. Director.?
?Oh, what a fiendish plot!? Hoover cried with an exuberance that
surprised the lass of steel. ?Just think, a world where all the leaders
are women!? He shook his head in exaggerated disgust. A picture of Shar-
la, the alien female from the woman-ruled world who had transformed her
into a girl, flashed across Super-Sister?s mind. Hoover handed one of
the vials to an aide, and ordered it sent to the F.B.I. crime lab for
analysis. Inexplicably, he pocketed the other one. With a final thanks
to Hoover, the caped crimefighter streaked out an open window and toward
her appointment at the White House.
Headline, Washington Star, July 11, 1947
HOOVER QUITS AS FBI DIRECTOR
THE WHITE HOUSE?President Truman announced the resignation of F.B.I.
Director J. Edgar Hoover today, who has led the agency since its
inception more than a quarter of a century ago. The president said
Hoover gave no reason for his abrupt resignation and offered no clue to
his future plans. The president said he would announce a successor to
Hoover at a later date.
Claire used her super-vision to locate the traps the Ultra-Humanite had
placed on the big-city water supplies and remove them, and then she
streaked home. She made haste for her basement laboratory, only giving
me and her father, who sat at the kitchen table wrapped in one of my old
bathrobes, drinking cup after cup of coffee and wearing an expression of
sheer bewilderment. She spent eighteen hours there without a break
before she came upstairs bearing a test tube filled with a clear, thick
liquid. She handed it to the woman who had been my husband.
?Drink this, pa. It should restructure your body at the chromosomal
level.? Catching the puzzled expression on the new woman?s face, Claire
added, ?It should change you back.?
Jonathan nodded, took the vial, and consumed its contents with a single
gulp. We watched in fascination as her chest broadened and her breasts
seemed to melt away. Her jawline grew and her skin became ruddier.
Within seconds, he was back to his old self. He hesitantly touched his
face as if he couldn?t quite believe it was true. Finally he said, ?I?m
me again. Thank you, daughter.?
?You?re welcome pa.?
He pumped a fist in the air. ?Well now, you?ve established that human
and Kryptonian bodies are pretty close mirror images of each other. This
serum would probably work on you. You can be Superboy again.? Claire
looked at her father with an expression that betrayed hesitancy.
?You don?t want to, do you daughter?? I finally asked.
?No ma,? she said quietly. ?No, I don?t. I realized as I was working on
this that I didn?t want to use it on myself. Even if it would work. I?m
at peace with who I am now. When Shar-la changed me last year, all I
could think about at first was changing back. But I told myself I had to
adjust. Well, I?m happy being your daughter. I?m very happy.? Mother,
father and daughter embraced.
?Well, I?m glad you could change me back, daughter,? Jonathan Kent said
with a chuckle. ?I don?t know how the boys at the Grange Hall would have
dealt with the new me. And I don?t think your mother would have wanted
me in her sewing circle.?
The End
Emely
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