Chances Are Chapter 6
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Chances Are...Chapter 18 free porn video
I woke up sometime in the middle of the night to a pitch black bedroom and at least two warm naked female bodies. There were no street lights on outside and very likely the entire house, along with most of the remaining bits of the Westside, were without electrical power. By feel, I determined that Denise (Firefly) was curled up on my right side, or least her massive tits were. A more slender but nearly equally petite figure dozed on my left, and a brief caress of her hair suggested that this nude sleeper was Millie. The way her small fingers had curled around and clung fast to my cock provided another unnecessary clue. It took a bit of effort but I crawled out of the bed without waking either of my sleeping lovers and made it into the bathroom to take a long, and quite invigorating piss. There was a small lit candle that provided me enough light to direct the vast majority of my flow into the toilet, rather than the floor. Taking the candle along with me, I had enough ambient light to tuck the covers up snugly over my three sleepers (Scotia was also in our bed, curled up spooning on the other side of Denise), and scramble around the gloomy room until I found a robe that would cover me. It probably belonged to one of the petite girls, since it barely hung down halfway to my knees, but it covered up the important bits adequately enough. I still didn’t have a fucking clue where our new home was or just how many female guests the joint was now hosting, so a tad of tact and decorum seemed appropriate.
Much more importantly, I wanted to find the kitchen and get something to eat! Apparently I had been sleeping, knocked out cold for about two days and then screwed by more than a half-dozen women, unceasingly, for the better part of another day. I’d had a bit of rest, thank god ... but now I needed a few drinks and more than a bit of food to keep my love engines running! Besides, I was really itching for more details about what had happened while I was sleeping. My heroine friends had provided me with lots of loving – but damned few details about what was going on outside our bedroom!
I couldn’t find any slippers that would fit me, so I just cautiously snuck my way out the door and didn’t try to hot-foot. My head wasn’t entirely happy at the executive decision to go traipsing about anywhere, and had loudly voted early and often that it wanted another couple of days of sleep, but its objections had been soundly overruled by my stomach, which seemed to the organ firmly in command of my body now, and I was willing to let it.
The fine old master bedroom I had been recovering it was situated at the end of a long hallway with several doors on either side, for the dozen or so feet that my flickering dim candle could project light down. Sounds, pleasant very amorous female ones were emitting from the first door on my left, but I decided that any curiosity about the occupants could wait until I’d had at least a sandwich, or better still, two. I didn’t even indulge myself in a brief calculation of the odds of correctly guessing the participants. Between the entirety of the top heroine members of the All-Star Squad and the All-American League, that comprised at least four dozen potential ladies, not to mention the independent heroines, or the part-timers, or the visitors from out of town. Odds were, very obviously, that most, if not all of those ladies, enjoyed (and often preferred) sex with other women, especially their peers. No secret about that, whatsoever! My own ‘harem’ of lovers had amply demonstrated that earlier in bed.
The other bedrooms down the hallway were all dark and silent and I didn’t open any of the doors to intrude. Odds were that they were all stuffed with our resident visitors and the poor gals were all catching up on their shuteye.
At the end of the hall there was a staircase doing down and an elevator across from it with nice fancy brass door panels. I took the stairs, and trotted down two flights in the dim candlelight until I reached the main floor and got my bearings straight in the dim light. Now I knew where I was - I was here at the Arcade and likely had spent the last few nights upstairs in Connor O’Neil’s own private bedroom. Fitting, I suppose, since now I was very definitely his boss. I supposed that he was now dossing somewhere else, probably with one of his two doxie secretaries.
Straight ahead was the open doorway into the kitchen area where I could see a few candles burning, and to my right was the main entrance into the downstairs bar area. It was quite brightly lit in there, I could immediately tell, from the bright flow of a few oil lamps burning away along the long bar counter. From a brief glance, I could see a few folks sitting along the bar, but my first business was in the kitchen and in the big ice box I found a tray of prepared assorted sandwiches. I didn’t care what they were and tucked right into a brace of them, washed down with a bottle of milk. Half-way into my third helping, something that might have been a ham with swiss cheese, I felt sated enough to shuffle my way into the bar to feed my other growing hunger, which was for some information.
I needed the full wire on just what had happened these last couple of days and I could see Otto still on duty tending the bar and I shambled on over towards him. He gave me a very stiff but low nod of acknowledgment, something a bit beyond even the usual courtesy he had routinely given Connor, the owner and prior boss of this outfit. Right in front of him, seated at the bar nursing a pair of stiff drinks was Blackwing, still in her usual dark caped and cowled costume, and seated just behind her was Laura Wilder, the Green Canary, but very casually dressed, wearing a long silk bathrobe that covered her finer features like her legs and bust, but didn’t conceal in the least their charms. They’d been there a while since they each had a trio of empty old-fashioned glass arrayed in front of them. Otto’s pretty swift to deliver a thirsty customer a fresh one but he can be a bit of a laggard about collecting the dead soldiers. That was Knuckles job, usually, but since it was clearly well past midnight, he’d already quit and gone home for the night. Otto was a confirmed night owl and often worked dusk to dawn, if the occasion called for it.
They smiled at my approach and Blackwing scooted a stool over to over me her seat, so that I could perch in-between them, and now well-feed, my brain thought that was an excellent suggestion and suggested that my belly be stay quiet and take an overdue rest and let my skull reassume control.
Otto poured me a stiff three fingered slug of Connor’s best into a glass and I took a long slow sip and nodded my approval of satisfaction. My headache started to recede nearly immediately. Two sips later I added my own empty glass to the growing collection on the counter and with a palpable sigh, Otto began burying all of our dead soldiers into a sink full of soapy water and wiped down our counter space before providing the three of a fresh round, including a stiff three fingers for himself.
“So...” I boldly enquired to the trio of them, “just how many reels of the horror show did I miss? How badly are we all fucked ... we mostly now meaning, me? Is it too late to scram and go ‘See the USA in a Chevrolet’ because Dinah’s already passing out torches and pitchforks to the angry mob hunting for me? It not every day the city gets to watch itself being nuked on television.”
Everyone, including Otto, snatched a quick slug from their glasses before holding any sort of eye contact will me. Otto then suddenly became extremely concerned about water rings staining the oak countertop and began vigorous wiping it down with a dry rag. Blackwing bravely broke the brief silence first.
“On the whole of things, we ... you, us, everyone really, seem to have emerged out of this as well as could be hoped for or expected. Things, many of them, could have been ... well, much worse. The heroines and the hero did come through and save the day, and sometimes that’s the best that anyone can hope for. No, it was not a perfect outcome, truth be told, but often it never is. Today, I think everyone would safely agree, the good news does outweigh the bad news and what was done was done for the best.” We all took another drink together to that sentiment.
Blackwing and Laura took turns filling me in with the details, the good, the bad, and finally the ugly bits.
Apparently it was now very early Sunday morning and the dust had mostly all settled from our adventure Wednesday night. At noon on Thursday morning, the heroines had all collectively enmass and addressed a few hundred newspaper and television reporters on the steps of city hall, and laid the blame, soundly, upon the evil machinations of Doctor Fate. Additional, smaller press briefings were given Friday at noon and again on Saturday, to answer lingering questions and settle any unhappy minor details that had arisen, until the media’s lingering curiosities had been soothed. Briefly, the name of Dean Chance had surfaced during this press conferences, but solely in the context that my actions as the sole ‘hero’ had been critical and invaluable assisting the combined forces of the heroines of the All-American League, the All-Star Squad and the newly formed Society for Justice in achieving their final triumph over the evil wrought by Doctor Fate. Furthermore, it was announce that I (a male) had been accepted as a full member of this new august organization, the Society for Justice – the first time any male hero had been a member of any super group. It was a huge step for restoring social sexual equality, everyone assured me, that once again a man could be just as good (and powerful) as a woman!
“A man ... as a member of your private pussy-party?” I gasped, with considerable surprise.
“Yep, there’s still lots of pussy left in the group,” Laura giggled, “but, as I think we’ve all agreed, we’ve all decided to share the one and only cock. At least until another super-hero appears. Everyone is absolutely certain that you’ll provide the central balance that we’ve all been lacking.” Her soft robe was slowly sliding open revealing a silk nightie held up by tiny straps, that seemed eager to slide off her shoulder at the earliest provocation to fully display her perfect breasts. The chances that she was wearing any bottom underwear at all was laughable, even without exerting my gift. If her nipples poked out any harder, they’d tear right through that thin silk fabric!
“Anyone, other than Atomic Girl, missing or badly hurt,” I then asked, with more than hint of concern and worry in my tone. “Is everyone all right? Recovering ... or already dashing about and smiting the ungodly?”
“Mighty Maid and Ms. Marvelous needed a few days resting in bed too, but they’re both up and quite their usual annoying selves once more. They’re both sharing the bedroom next door to your, and complaining about it too.” Blackwing said with a smile, almost laughing even. It looked good on her and I wished that she could relax and just be happier about life a bit more often.
“Insulting each other constantly too, and loudly,” Laura giggled, “except, when they have their heads or fingers busy, between each other’s snatches.”
“They have a nearly perfect love-hate relationship!” Blackwing grinned, “they’re both so similar and nearly identical in powers, that it’s almost like watching twins diddle each other.” Her face almost broke into a giggle, but she somehow restrained herself.
“Hell, that’s the problem that most of us have and why we keep screwing each other, especially when we get so that we can’t even stand the sight of each other!” A laughing voice behind me added, as the newcomer came up to the bar to join us, giving each of the pair of ladies next to me a soft kiss before then kissing me briefly, and then taking an empty stool on the other side of Batwing.
Her name was Stephanie, and when in costume she was Commander Grimm. Tonight she was more casually attired in an off-shoulder dress that did little to disguise her distinctive jaw and shoulder musculature. The gat that she was wearing in her garter holster was obvious, but on her it looked tasteful and didn’t detract from the very feminine presentation. She had been apparently amiably chatting with a few of the senior gunsels seated at one of the tables behind us when I had entered, along with the Amazon Princess, who was also nicely attired in a soft eveningwear gown that announced, rather than hinted, that she had boobs just as big as Lady Firefly’s ... but she had the height and build to carry and display them to much better advantage. Damn, that woman was stacked!
Stephanie’s dress was sexy but tasteful, and very drapey, suggesting strongly that the rest of her charms were better than I might have anticipated. I wasn’t sure if I’d seen all of her softer features naked earlier upstairs in bed with the other gals, but I suspect that I had. She was too athletic to sport much in the way of a bust, but the pert offerings were there on display, as best as they could with a slight hint of shallow cleavage. Sadly, they were a bit too firm for shifting about much in any meaningful sort of a pleasant bounce when she walked, but every heroine can’t wield heroically proportioned tits. She had many other virtues in compensation. Besides, having a huge chest is probably a distinct drawback when you’re trying to kick villain butt.
I indulged myself with a much closer examination of Stephanie’s various charms as she sat down to join us. She looked to be a perky gal in early late twenties, in perfect prime of womanhood, but like many of her companions, I was certain that she had to be decades older. She had been a decorated war hero too, during the 1940’s, but apparently hadn’t aged a day since the day she first donned her patriotic skin-tight uniform. Her soft brown hair was short with a light bob, but I liked the way it caught the lantern light. The figure was extremely athletic, tall and broad, but not quite as overtly muscle-bound as I would have guessed. Compared to the Amazon’s gown, her hem was more modestly cut, just a few inches above the knees, but they were worth the exhibition. Most gals don’t like the look of their knees and try to cover them, either with slacks or skirts that don’t present nearly enough calf or thigh. Hers had nothing to be ashamed of. What minimal cleavage she had was mildly on display through her off-shoulder dress offerings was quite tantalizing, nevertheless.
Compared with everything else, I’d have to admit that her eyes were her best, most striking feature. Maybe they were blue, perhaps with a hint of steel, and unlike many of her fellow senior heroines, hers sparkled with life and didn’t show the weariness or ‘1000-yard stare’ that some of companions habitually showed. Being a nationally famous super-heroine might be her ‘job’, but she enjoyed it – and the rest of life, in the process. I made a mental note to myself that when I started up my regular Friday night friendly poker sessions, that she’d be near the top of my invitee list.
Commander Grimm, in any attire, could never be mistaken for a common chippie, but the odds were good, delightfully so, that under her seemingly modest apparel, she was wearing only a slender demi-bra underneath, and also this morning sported distinct lack of panties. Yes, the odds were good that during the group orgy upstairs I had enjoyed the full display of her naked goods, and enjoyed her sexually, as well.
Ah ... now that my brain was starting to work again, those pleasant memories were starting to return.
“Ok, so everyone’s fine ... or mostly so then. Good!” I said, with a loud exhale of relief. Laura’s robe was falling a bit more boldly open and her thin silk chemise clung to her breasts like happy wallpaper and she didn’t bother to tie up the robe belt as it continued to slip open, leaving lots of bosom and thigh on display.
“What about Starlite, what happened afterwards, right after I collapsed?” I then enquired. There was a chorus of mild sighs, some more genuine and heartfelt than others.
“What you did to her was ... quite unexpected,” Laura said as she leaned forward to gently rest my head sadly upon my shoulder, letting her robe fall almost open to her waist entirely as her hand then rested upon my bare thigh, just below where my own robe fell short. “There was no way any of us could stop her and we were sure that you’d have to kill her somehow. Clearly, that was what Wings was telling you to do, to put her down! Instead, you dropped over flat on your face like someone had struck you with an axe while she just stood there, shaking all over uncontrollably as her flame faded out. We were, Wings and I, just standing there next to you waiting for the crazy girl to torch us both, but nothing ever happened! Nothing!”
“You took away her gift, from her mother, making her powerless.” Blackwing added sadly, “and it was more of a blessing for the poor girl than a curse. She’s had a complete nervous breakdown and Wilma’s taken her to the hospital on the island, for rest and recovery. Perhaps it will be soon, but most likely it will be much later. It was all a terrible shock to her, her name is Jessica, to lose her mother, her gift and also her mind. She’ll need a long quiet rest to adjust to all of that ... and being normal.” Wings didn’t quite say it like it was a curse word, but to any super-heroine even the thought of being powerless was a terrible shock.
I thought for a moment. “No, actually, the chances are that that within a month she’ll be mostly her usual self again, but still powerless. Maybe even happier ... much happier, after some time to adjust, and with some love and support from her friends. You’re absolutely right about that, her powers were already driving her mad, just like they had been an impossible strain upon her mother. I think she knew this already, even before her breakdown, but she just needs some quiet time and a lot of love and care to process it all. I think ... I’m sure, that she’ll be a happier woman afterwards.”
“But how did you do it?” Laura demanded, grabbing my left ear firmly in her hand as the other one jabbed a sharp nailed finger in my ribs.
“The hard part, the bit that took me so long, other than being utterly exhausted from using my gift nonstop to prevent the chances of any of you gals dying or getting badly crippled that night, was finding some odds ... any odds, that would stop her without killing her. I don’t like using my gift for that! Ever ... well, directly anyway except to save my ass, or yours. The only thing that I could think of to consider trying was the ‘chance’, unbelievably slim, that using her powers that one last time would burn them entirely out of her, exhausting her powers entirely, or at least putting up a mental block to prevent her from accessing them. That wasn’t quite one of those one-in-a-million chance odds, but it was damned close to that.”
“So her powers are gone forever then?” The shadowy figure of the Revenant enquired.
“Sort of,” I admitted, “the chances are, that by doing something similar to her in reverse, I could maybe reconnect her talent, turning the mental switch right back on again ... but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Especially not right now. That’s probably not a very wise option for at least another year or two. Let those wires stay turned off - until she’s mentally ready to handle them and wants them deliberately switched back on again. Let the poor girl learn to live like a normal for a while, and maybe see if she’s happy living without them. Then, later, it can be entirely her decision ... when we’re all damn sure she’ll be happy with the results. Super powers, for anyone, especially myself, aren’t always the fun you’d think they ought to be.”
Libbie
- 30.10.2020
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