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Toxic – Chapter 14

Posted by on January 21, 2014

A nice, long chapter to make up for the time since the last one, with two new scenes not in the original version of this story, and some other scenes slightly modified. For the previous chapters, if you need to review or catch up, click here. Just one more chapter to go after this one, folks…



By Smokedawg

>>Chapter 14<<

For three days, Toxine had kept her world small—just her and the Flash together. It was as much a test-drive of the hero’s resiliency as it was a release of all her pent-up passions, and they didn’t leave her large apartment.

No, she considered. It’s not my apartment now but rather “our” apartment.

And while it was a large space, they didn’t even move far from where Toxine had first begun her loving ravishment of the speedy hero. So, most of their activity involved shifting locations in the living room or dining area—the latter rather fitting considering how much she had dined on his manhood and he on her womanhood—and Toxine slaked her sexual hunger, even as she bound the Flash to her more tightly. Mind, body and soul.

The only people she allowed in were those delivering food, since she had no interest in cooking while she was making a feast of Wally West. They didn’t even take breaks for showers or baths. If it seemed they were too filthy after too much activity, Toxine would simply begin to exude some mild solvent from her hands and rub them over his body, cleansing and freshening him up so she could make him deliciously filthy all over again.

His powers of speed, she was grateful to observe, extended to a very quick refractory period for his erections, as long as he was kept sufficiently fueled with food and properly hydrated. He could rival some women for multiple orgasms, Toxine realized, and she knew she had picked well.

More importantly, she thought, my cousin has done good work on Flash with the nanos and genetic alterations. Extended contact with me, and he has shown none of the initial signs of reaction that previous men have show within hours of touching me and licking me and tasting my kisses. I’ve used him harder than anyone else, and still he’s as healthy as can be. I finally have a partner who will last.

He smiled at her, looking both adorable and dopey. She had kept his system saturated with arousal and imprinting chemicals and even though he had some autonomy, Toxine was calling most of the shots right now to ensure that he was totally hers and completely meeting her long-denied needs. There would be time enough later for conversation and getting to know each other intellectually. Right now was the time for ravishing him until she was satiated, and that might take several more days. Right now was for making him hers so thoroughly that he could consider no one else.

A small saucer-shaped device rolled by—one of the many robotic cleaning devices that had been hard-pressed to keep things tidy since the Flash had been brought to Toxine—and she shooed it away when it got too close.

With the annoying little invader out of the way, Toxine pushed the Flash to the floor to lie prone on his back, and then she began to wriggle up his body slowly, her face nuzzling his bare feet and licking between the toes and then working up so gradually until she was licking behind his kneecaps as her breasts began to embrace and rub at his feet. She began to sweat petroleum jelly, quite on purpose, covering her entire body in thick, sticky lubricant. A goddess of Vaseline, she slowly worked her way up his form, the heat between them softening the thick mass of lubricant and making it silky, greasy and slick. She used her body like a slippery paintbrush to adorn his body and make it glisten.

When her mouth reached his, she gave him a kiss thick with sweet, syrupy fluids filled with aphrodisiacs and stimulants, and their tongues wrestled in the sugary ambrosia as her pussy slid onto his ready cock.

“Where have you been all my life, you kinky, beautiful girl, you?” the Flash asked breathlessly when finally their kiss was broken.

“Maybe if you’d spent less time chasing criminals all the time, you’d have found me sooner,” she  cooed, gyrating slowly on his erection as fluids literally flowed from her to coat him slickly and to pool in a warm puddle beneath his ass—all the better to lubricate that part of his body too, she thought, as she slipped one finger into the crack of his ass and slowly entered him, letting the finger lengthen and pulse inside him, even as she massaged his perineum with her thumb.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he answered, grunting at her erotic invasion of him and his own penetration of her sex.

Toxine extended her free hand, her arm stretching past normal human lengths to reach a pack of heavily drugged Steampunk cigarettes and a lighter on the table, and brought both close to her. No need for the ashtray; between the two of them, they could consume her ashes, and she could swallow the filter and smoldering butt of each cigarette for her own unique nutritional needs.

She lit the cigarette and brought it to life with a deep, quick inhalation, then blew smoke into the Flash’s open and hungry mouth, feeding him even more will-bending and desire-boosting chemicals. Then as he breathed in her thick cloud of tainted smoke, she pressed her chest into his face, expanding her breasts so that they literally engulfed his face, forcing him to hold that smoke in his lungs. When she finally released his slick and sticky face from its fleshy prison and let her tits reduce to their normal size, he gasped for breath, almost no smoke left to release, and he licked at one of her nipples quickly, smiling as he recovered his wits.

“Let me season it for you,” Toxine offered, and tapped off her long ash. It dropped to one nipple and hung there, captured by the light sheen of gooey excretions they shared between their skin, and she winked at him. Taking the hint, he took her nipple into his mouth, savoring the tastes of her fluids, her skin and the ash, as she bathed his head in more smoke. He continued to draw his tongue over her breasts in long, slow licks. Kissed her softly and licked some more. Kissed a nipple hard and sucked on it like he was feeding from her. Licked more and drooled at the feast of her bosom.

After a while, he released her breast from his mouth and looked up at her as she took another deep drag on the Steampunk, covered his head in a rich white cloud, and then tapped the ash onto her own outstretched tongue, bringing it into her mouth and then leaning forward to share that ash and her spit with him in a filthy, loving kiss.

She finished off the cigarette, blowing streams of smoke at him while she licked and kissed his chest and neck, reaching back into the puddle of slippery juices on the floor with her left hand to collect them and then smear them through Wally’s hair and over his face, finally licking them back off him as she kissed him with smoke-shrouded lips.

He thrust inside her, faster now, and as he picked up momentum of the sort no normal person could, she grunted, moaned, and lit a new cigarette. She enjoyed a couple quick drags and then said, “Time for you to taste the glory directly, lover,” and she placed the filter to his lips. She saturated the filter with more will-sapping chemicals through her fingertips, and said, simply, “Suck.”

Wally West took his first direct taste of smoke into his mouth, and then sucked it down when she said, softly: “Breathe.”

“God,” he said with a drawn out moan as he exhaled, and shivered as her legs clamped around his thighs and her pelvis began to thrust back at his with unnatural speed.

She kissed him sloppily, sweet and pungent fluids dripping down from her lips and over their throats, dropping like rain onto his chest in a messy, greasy smear, and she put the cigarette to his mouth again and said, “Suck, suck, suck.”

He filled his lungs over and over, again and again as they thrust into each other, slurping and sliding sounds almost as loud as their moans and gasps, and when he finally came, screaming, smoke poured from his mouth and he coughed and gasped but smiled and moaned as well. Then he licked more ash from her breasts and lips as she continued to ride him to her own orgasm, vibrating against his skin and her own flesh almost hot enough to scald his, moaning his name.

Marking him as hers, physically and aurally. Owning him.

Then smoking again as she calmed down, and running slick fingertips over sticky skin to rouse his passion slowly once again.

* * *

“I’ve been led on a chase, but it isn’t a merry one,” Batman said to Blue Beetle and Martian Manhunter. “All this time, everything has led me to LexCorp and then when it seemed I was being led too obviously, the trails led to other sources. But I’ve figured out what should have been clear from the start: Teena International is the source of all this.”

Martian Manhunter nodded in agreement as he perused some of the data on the monitors in front of them.

“They were always there, implicated from time to time, but everything looking like the evidence was there to set them up as patsies, when in fact they were the culprit all along,” he continued, “making Lex Luthor, who for once is innocent, the false lead for us to follow while our comrades were picked off one by one.”

“So, we go round up the CEO and board of directors and V.P.’s and all that,” Blue Beetle said.

“No, because we don’t have enough hard evidence to pin anything on them,” Batman said. “More importantly, it doesn’t look like the current leadership is orchestrating this. The new evidence I’ve uncovered points to Nicholas Teena himself—Nick O’Teen—pulling the strings.”

“Is he not still in prison?” Martian Manhunter pointed out.

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be the first time a villain has directed minions from behind bars,” the Dark Knight responded. “So it’s time for me to pay the same visit to Nick O’Teen that Clark Kent did before he became the man’s first victim; except that I don’t intend to be vanishing shortly after I make the visit. I intend to get some real answers for once.”

* * *

“We don’t have any eyes or ears inside the Justice League Watchtower anymore since Batman found all of the spying devices we had Black Canary and Zatanna place there,” Beth told Nicoletta, “but some of our other sources of intel out there tell us that he’s paying a visit to your father tomorrow.”

Nicoletta almost seemed to want to frown, but smiled in the end instead. “I would have liked a few days more, but I should count myself lucky Batman hasn’t started catching on sooner. It’s a good thing, though, that my false leads are still fooling him a little. While his attention in on my father, and daddy’s little talk hopefully helps put the Dark Knight more off his guard, it’s time to focus on our next target.”

Beth nodded, lighting a cigarette, and letting a wistful little grin play at the edge of her mouth. “I’ll brief Heat-Sink, Zatanna and Smokeslave on their attack plan, then. Oh, one other thing,” she noted as she sucked languidly at the filter of her Gloriana.

“What would that be?” Nicoletta asked, electing to simply enjoy the perfume of Beth’s smoking for a while before starting in on a cigarette of her own.

“Seems Vixen has a little thing for Black Lightning.”

“Good,” Nicoletta said. “Long overdue to get her someone of her own. Now we just need to make plans to capture him and make sure we can turn him into a smoker before we hitch them together, since she seems to find first-hand smoking unappealing.”

“Oh, we don’t even have to wait that long; we just need to make plans to capture him and put them together,” Beth said. “Our surveillance shows that Black Lightning is a closet smoker. He apparently doesn’t want his hero pals knowing, but he sneaks breaks relatively often. Smokes Newports, as it turns out.”

“Well, then, he should be a good candidate for switching over to our Maxim Menthols or Lantern Flame Inferno Blend, won’t he?” Nicoletta said. “After proper inducements, of course.”

“Of course,” Beth said, and put her cigarette down in the ashtray, to light a new one and pass it to her mistress. “I do so love playing matchmaker these days.”

* * *

Nicoletta was starting to dislike the mounting cost of using high-tech robotic constructs in the  traps she had been setting to capture heroes, but it seemed that having a large force of what seemed to be White Martians on the attack would be the surest thing to draw out the last surviving member of the Green Martian population they had slaughtered. Finding real White Martians, of course, wouldn’t have been practical or likely, and convincing them to do her bidding would have been tricky anyway, so robot surrogates would have to do instead.

She had suspected that J’onn J’onzz, the Martian Manhunter, would come with plenty of reinforcements, so she had brought along several members of Team Toxic to back up the core team of herself, Beth, Zatanna, Heat-Sink and Smokeslave. But the Justice League must have been spread more thin than she had expected by her depletion of their ranks, she realized, because he was accompanied only by Red Tornado.

Wary that it might be a trap of the Justice League’s own, Nicoletta ordered out only two of her reserve forces—Power Girl and Green Arrow—to deal with Red Tornado and kept the rest of her team hidden should any additional heroes appear to launch a surprise attack.

Cigarillo and Smokeslave led the attack against Martian Manhunter. In many ways, the green-skinned Martian’s abilities were the equal of fellow extraterrestrial Smokeslave’s yellow-sun-fueled powers. The Martian might not have the same level of strength, high-speed flight and resistance to harm as the Kryptonian, but he still had plenty of power in all three areas, plus the ability to become intangible, utilize telepathy, shapeshift and become invisible.

Fortunately, like her pet Kryptonian, Martian Manhunter had one key vulnerability. Better yet, it wasn’t nearly as hard to procure the means to the green-skinned alien’s defeat as it was to get kryptonite in case she was forced one day to fell the former Superman with more extreme methods.

All she needed was Heat-Sink, because fire was what rendered Martian Manhunter powerless. How ironic, Nicoletta thought, that he was likely about to become a prisoner and thrall to someone for whom fire and smoke were such a central part of life.

After Martian Manhunter had grappled with Cigarillo and Smokeslave for a short while, while Green Arrow and Power Girl were finishing up with Red Tornado, Nicoletta gave the signal. At once, both Smokeslave and Cigarillo retreated from their quarry and Heat-Sink, specially fitted with a backpack unit and wrist launchers to spew flammable vapor, sent a wave of flame toward Martian Manhunter. Nicoletta emerged in her Nicotina costume, using hard smoke constructs to help guide the raging flames into paths that would help them encircle their Martian opponent, as Smokeslave used his heat vision to hem in J’onn J’onzz as well.

It was all simply to weaken and distract him, though, since the true coup d’grace was Zatanna, now striding in through a gap created in the flames, a smoldering cigarette in her fingers and ready to use an attack against which Martian Manhunter had scant defense: Sorcery.

“Raeh lla ym sdrow sa hturt, Nno’j Zzno’j,” she said. Secure that the magic of her backward-spoken words would leave him suggestible to all she would say for a while, she added: “You must be still, and not fight. It’s the only way.”

The flames and heat retreated, and Martian Manhunter looked confused, but raised no immediate attack—he didn’t seem to want to obey her, but he also seemed to be struggling to determine why he shouldn’t. Zatanna knew the magic wouldn’t last forever, and pressed onward. “The way to justice is through obedience to the right person. The right person to obey is Nicotina,” she said, gesturing to Nicoletta, who let her helmet phase away so that he could see her true face and recognize his mistress-to-be. “Her cigarettes and her smoke are the way to your peace and salvation, J’onn. When you breathe her smoke, or the smoke of anyone in her service, you will be calm. You must be, or all will be lost.”

She blew smoke slowly into his face, and was gratified to see him breathe it deep. Then she said, simply, “Peels rof a yad,” and watched as he slumped into unconsciousness. Smokeslave gently lifted his sleeping form and flew him back to Teena International headquarters, while the rest of Team Toxic made their escape, leaving Red Tornado on the street, alone and defeated, to slowly recover his wits and report back to the Justice League.

* * *

Nicholas Teena welcomed his visitor with a broad and toothy smile, flashing those large and yellowed teeth beneath his almost comically protruding nose.

“So, you’re happy to see me, then, Nick O’Teen,” Batman said grimly and grittily. “I’m sure that attitude will change to something more dour and sedately cooperative when I’ve had some time alone with you.”

“Oh, really, Batman, you don’t think they tell the truth when they say this room isn’t monitored, so that special visitors like yourself can have some off-the-record time with people like me,” Nick O’Teen said, as he pulled out a cigarette and got ready to light it. “You can’t afford to get too rough with me, even if your conscience could endure the thought of overt torture.”

Batman snatched the unlit cigarette away, and flung it to the ground. “Nasty habit,” he said. “I won’t tolerate it on my time. Especially any smoke you produce.”

“As if I could smuggle any of my special cigarettes in here. And you say it’s your time, Batman? I thought it was our time. And again, I’d caution you. You seem on the verge of some kind of controlled violence—something that won’t overtly mark me, I’m sure—but you have to know they really don’t give you privacy here.”

“I know more about Stryker’s Island security than the warden does, Nick O’Teen,” Batman intoned, “and more than the prison’s architects. We’re all alone in here, literally and electronically. I’ve made sure of it.”

“Well, then, that’s good to know,” the man answered from his wheelchair. “Why don’t you call me Nicholas, then, since I haven’t worn the Nick O’Teen costume in a long time and don’t ever plan to again. Don’t you think that would be more civil and polite…Bruce?”

Batman let none of his surprise show on his mouth or eyes or register in the tone of his voice as he said, “I’ll be more than happy to call you Nicholas, or even Mr. Teena. But since you don’t know who I am under this cowl, there’s no reason for you to manufacture a random name for me. Just stick with Batman.”

“You must be fantastic at poker, Batman,” Nicholas responded. “You didn’t even flinch. But we both know my choice of name was no accident. We need not speak of it any more, but I want it clear that I know far more than you think I do.”

“Good,” Batman said. “I’m glad that you think you know so much. So, how much do you know about the disappearance of several of my former comrades, and their sudden switch to the criminal side?”

“Criminal? Really? What crimes have been committed by them…or the new friends whom they’ve made, for that matter?”

“Abduction and coercion, perhaps brainwashing, figure rather prominently in their list of crimes,” Batman noted. “Plus, the murder of at least one individual.”

“Fine. You could certainly make valid and logical assumptions along some of those lines, although the death I heard about in the news really sounds much more like user error—not that anyone will miss a person with such sordid and horrific habits as he had. But I’m still curious: What signs of criminality have your former comrades shown? And aside from your suspicions about how Team Toxic became friends with them, how many crimes have they committed?”

Batman said nothing.

“You are silent because you have to think hard about that, don’t you, Dark Knight?” Nicholas said, almost tauntingly. “Your tunnel vision is on the disappearances of your friends and their change of allegiance, but you haven’t looked beyond that, have you? Certainly, Livewire was broken out of prison—a crime, technically—but then she was returned there shortly thereafter. Eight villains have been apprehended directly by Team Toxic—or the T Team as they were known initially to the public—and your friends have been spotted foiling various crimes themselves in recent weeks. So, what have they really done wrong? Except not to do their work under the banner of the Justice League?”

“None of this indicates benevolent intent,” Batman pointed out. “You could simply be taking out the criminal competition.”

“Really, Batman? The Aryan Brigade is criminal competition? A bunch of enforcers for racists are the kind of people Team Toxic might need to remove to forge a criminal empire? And as for other crimes foiled, your former friends have been doing more personalized and community-oriented work, from what I’ve heard—helping the police and thwarting more common criminals—rather than fighting just supervillains. I’m sure they’ll get back to such work primarily eventually, but I suppose they might not want to risk running into old ‘friends’ by going after the folks who trip your alarms. How’s that working, by the way? You know, running down supervillains when most of your best and brightest have made new friends. Feeling like you’re spread a little thin these days? Good thing Team Toxic and your former comrades don’t seem to be planning any world domination.”

“Nicholas Teena, I know you’re up to something, even if it isn’t world domination, and I don’t plan on leaving here until I know what it is and who in Teena International is pulling strings on your behalf,” Batman said. “I have a short list of potential names, and you’re going to help me make it shorter.”

Nicholas smiled again, and braced himself mentally for the interrogation to come. He had his script, and all he had to do was “accidentally” let slip the facts his daughter had told him to let slip, and “break” under pressure after a few hours to blurt out some last, seemingly damning piece of information before shutting up entirely and sending Batman off on a few new wild goose chases.

You may be the world’s greatest detective, Batman, Nicholas thought with a savage satisfaction, but my daughter is perhaps the greatest schemer and deceiver in the world. She outwitted and broke your arch-nemesis Ra’s al Ghul, and I think she’s more than a match for you, at least a match for long enough to do what she needs to do.

But it was going to be a long several hours in a small room with Batman and not a single cigarette to ease the discomfort.

* * *

Almost the last one on the list, Zatanna considered. So close now to the realization of Nicoletta’s plans. But before that can happen, Firestorm the Nuclear Man has to be taken out of the hero game.

Zatanna saw in Firestorm a sort of natural-force counterpart to her own capabilities. Whereas she could exert almost any magical effect simply by speaking her intentions backwards, Firestorm could fundamentally change anything by simply rearranging its atomic structure. A villain comes at him in a tank? No problem. He could turn it into a fragile parade float adorned in paper flowers.

The difference was that Zatanna’s outcomes were usually time-limited and would wear off eventually. However, because they were magical, few heroes were well-defended against them, Firestorm included.

All she needed was a distraction.

A few moments later, she got it, as Smokeslave and Viridian came in hard and fast in a sneak attack. Firestorm clearly had been expecting something of the sort, though. Batman must have given him access to a fragment of kryptonite so that he would understand its atomic structure, because as Smokeslave approached, Zatanna saw a patch of the light rain in the air turn green and glowing—transformed by Firestorm into some kind of kryptonite dust or the like, she supposed.

It disturbed her to see Kal-El subjected to kryptonite for even a short period of time, but it would give Firestorm some feeling of false security knowing that his former comrade Superman—now Smokeslave—would be rendered helpless, allowing him to concentrate on the former Green Lantern.

“Esoppo em ton, Mrotserif,” Zatanna called out loudly and clearly.

His attention was caught by the sound of her voice, but the magic caught him before his reflexes could bring his power to bear on her, and then he ignored her, his face showing that he was clearly conflicted and confused about why he couldn’t conceive of removing her as a potential threat.

Refocusing his efforts on Viridian, Firestorm could do nothing to stop Zatanna as she made her next move, speaking the words, “Hcae emit uoy esu yuoy srewop, Mrotserif, emoceb reipeels.”

Now, as Firestorm used his powers against Viridian—which was difficult since neither the green energy constructs nor the hard smoke ones possessed any traditional energy or matter to be atomically converted—he became drowsier with each effort.

Smiling, and pulling out a cigarette to light, Zatanna said, as her smoke spilled into the surrounding air. “Eht reipeels uoy emoceb, eht ssel rewoplliw uoy lliw evah to tsiser em.”

She smoked for a bit, amused at how Firestorm continued to fight, even though he was becoming more tired as he did thanks to her spell. His efforts became more disjointed and sloppy, and what he didn’t know was that the more tired he became, the more open his mind would be to Zatanna thanks to her most recent bit of magic-working.

There was no time to dawdle though, and she moved in quickly as Firestorm began to slump to the ground. Her second spell hadn’t actually included a proviso to put him to sleep—simply make him more tired—so this wasn’t going to be a knock-out punch situation.

Not that she wanted it to be anyway. That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

“I’m going to need you to take nice, long, deep breaths, Firestorm,” Zatanna said, looming above him as he struggled to remain upright even on his knees on the ground. The flame-like energy that wreathed the top of his head like a spiky mane of hair illuminated the shiny, skin-hugging latex and PVC of her new costume and made her glisten in the twilight like some fetish goddess.

She bent down to look him in the face, sucked in a huge cloud of smoke and then another, and released it into his face.

Just before it reached him, though, it turned into something mistier and floral-smelling. She smiled as she realized he had turned the drugged smoke—no doubt realizing it was somehow tainted when she commanded him to breathe deeply—into air freshener instead. He coughed a bit at inhaling the cloud of sickly-sweet chemicals, no doubt regretting his choice.

Of course, his judgment isn’t the best as tired as he is, Zatanna considered. She was amused, because she realized she had made him suggestible to her, and temporarily made it impossible for him to act against her, but she hadn’t removed his ability to act against something she might send his way, like the smoke. But the irony is that as he uses his powers against my efforts, he becomes even more weary, Zatanna thought, and the more tired he becomes, the more suggestible he will be.

And so she said, softly, “Firestorm, you really need to smell this smoke and breathe it deep. It’s the right thing to do. It will make me happy if you let my breath deep inside you.”

She double-pumped the cigarette again, her own arousal building as the chemicals simmered in her blood. But while the arousal chemicals went both ways, the will-sapping chemicals were on the outflowing smoke, interacting with her own body chemistry to release powerful pheromones keyed toward male submission. She put her mouth close to his, not kissing him but letting the smoke kiss him for her.

She felt a warm dampness and realized that he had changed much of the smoke to a diffuse cloud of steam—but not all of it. Her words and will were overcoming his. He’d had his first taste of that smoke, and she could see the confusion and desire beginning to show in his expression. He was so tired, so malleable, so weak and now becoming slowly more libidinous, too. But he was still trying to fight her in the end, however little; however ineffectively.

“It’s only a matter of time,” she told him. “Why put off the inevitable? You will be mine, and then you will be my mistress’ too. It’s all right, Firestorm. It’s a change of allegiance, not a change of morals. Well, no morals that are necessary to fight crime. Some morals are best left at the door; the better to enjoy life. Or a woman like me. Let me inside you with the smoke, Firestorm. You must. You need to. You want to.”

This time, she triple-pumped the cigarette, and let her lips just barely graze his own, as she unleashed the thick cloud of drugged smoke into his face, and enjoyed the backwash of it into her own, relishing the scent of tobacco smoke and the subtler aromas of the drugs therein.

A faint scent of roses this time, but Zatanna knew he had altered hardly any of the smoke at all this time.

Her lips still brushing his, she said in a sultry whisper, “All of it this time, lover. And every bit I feed to you after that. Let go and find yourself. Let go and let me in. I’ll even let you inside me when you’ve been filled enough with smoke,” she added, grinding her latex-clad pelvis against his manhood, still constrained by his costume.

His eyes were wide as she managed a quadruple-pump of the cigarette, and let the smoke free from her mouth slowly, parting his lips with her tongue. Firestorm took a deep, gasping breath, sounding desperate for her exhalation, and she shared it with him leisurely and intimately. Then two more quick exhales into his face as she said, “Good boy,” and Smokeslave carried them off someplace where she could bind him more firmly in private, and work off the passion burning hotly inside her.

* * *

Toxine kneeled before her lover, who was standing on slightly wobbly legs after their most recent lovemaking. It was the first time she had been in something clearly a subservient role. She had relinquished none of her control over him, but relished in the moment of being the blissful servant of pleasure. A moment—no, many moments—to simply pleasure him and him alone.

Her tongue slipped past her glistening lips, elongating to thrice its normal length, and slathered the shaft of his cock, then wetly slid downward again, becoming narrower like a small snake to surround his dick and then widening again at the base to massage his balls, then stretching obscenely underneath them to lick at the crack of his ass. To push just into his asshole as her lips pressed against his scrotum.

She pressed a freshly lit Steampunk cigarette to her mouth, the filter grazing his delicate skin, and she drew deeply, then slowly released the smoke across his pelvis, smiling as the fumes drifted upward toward his eager lips and lungs.

The Flash moaned as her enhanced tongue entered him more deeply, and she relished the taste of him in there more than any normal woman could. She could go as deeply as she liked, and her body’s craving of toxins meant there was no surprise inside there that could disgust her.

More smoke billowing over his cock and balls, and he moaned louder, and she moaned for effect just as loudly to spur his arousal.

She made her mouth bigger and her lips fuller—a mouth like some cartoonish tramp, now engulfing his balls entirely and a third of his shaft. A firm, huge kiss on his manhood. She sucked in more smoke, then rubbed the filter up the still-exposed parts of his cock, under the base of the head. Over the tip and back down the top of it as she sucked him deeply into her mouth.

Tongue probing in his ass and mouth devouring him whole. She sucked on the Steampunk so long and hard it was like a quintuple inhale, and then her mouth unhinged like a serpent’s to take every part of him from cockhead to perineum, the densest cloud of smoke yet pouring out from her exaggerated lips and her nose. Sucking and sliding and massaging him as he screamed out and came, pistoning inside her mouth with inhuman speed.

Nothing he could do in losing control could hurt her, and she welcomed the blindingly vibrating, super-speed assault and the flood of cum down her throat, finally releasing him as he fell to his knees exhausted, to be greeted by a mouth full of smoke again, still cartoonish but not so large, as her kiss surrounded his mouth and nose and she filled him with tobacco and drugged fumes. Making him hard for her again, as she swallowed the burning cigarette and produced a new one.

“Time to pleasure both of my holes down there with your mouth, lover,” she moaned, blowing smoke gently in circles over his face. “You may not be able to change your shape like I can, but what you lack there, I’m sure you can make up for in speed.”

* * *

Wonder Woman had retreated to a far corner of her apartment, seeking to be as far from her smoking guards as she could be.

Not to escape the effects of the cigarettes they smoked, however. She had never had a desire to do that.

It wasn’t even to achieve solitude, she supposed, though that was part of it. But most days, those guards were as noticeable to her as the carpeting. Periodically, they would enter her awareness, but mostly they were decoration. Needless decoration at that, Diana thought, given that by now she had no interest in escaping Nicoletta, and the woman no doubt knew that. Even with Nicoletta’s relentless quest to turn most of her inner circle into smoking fetishists, smoking guards were hardly necessary anymore, since the woman herself visited Diana daily, and often more than once.

But those guards could also be a sort of distraction. They were like a clock on the wall, softly ticking as a reminder that hours go by and there are places to be and appointments to keep. Those guards were a constant, quiet reminder of what Diana had yet to do.

Become a smoker.

Not to simply enjoy the act passively or hold smoke in her mouth to tease Nicoletta’s own desires and hopes. Not to take that one distracted drag on the cigarette, as she had many days earlier, before she had realized what she was doing. Not simply to acknowledge that one day she would smoke.

Those guards were going to be there, she sensed, until she herself was a committed smoker. That decision was, she supposed, the final sign that Nicoletta awaited to know that not only did Wonder Woman not oppose her actively, but that she embraced Nicoletta’s plans.

The philosophy behind Nicoletta’s schemes resonated with Diana, but still she wondered if it was right to put Wonder Woman’s banner into service in Nicoletta’s crusade along with the other captured heroes. Was it right, particularly when one of her dearest friends, Kal-El, was the most enslaved and fettered of them all?

The greater good, or the needs of a few? The pristine moral high ground, or the more practical and logical path with a more selective morality?

Diana sighed. In the end, she realized, she was holding out against becoming a smoker—or Nicoletta’s lover, for that matter—simply to be stubborn. She had never embraced some rigid stoicism that embraced a hard and bleak existence to the exclusion of pleasure. At the same time, though, Nicoletta embraced a world of decadence.

Or did she?

Was it decadence, or simply a “work hard, play hard” mentality?

Nicoletta didn’t let herself be primped and pampered nor ask people to do her work for her. She commanded respect because she did know how to get her hands dirty. Both in pleasurable and non-pleasurable ways.

Diana looked at the pack of cigarettes she had brought with her, and the lighter. She looked down at her own attire, asking herself why she was wearing her Wonder Woman costume right now, and then answering it herself.

Because you’re making a choice, she told herself silently. Not just as Diana, a princess of the Amazons. Not just as a woman. But as a hero, too, who is about to step away from the status quo and forge a new definition of heroism that would blur the lines between good and evil a bit.

Not too much, but enough to shake people—just as she was about to shake up her own definitions of restraint vs. liberation.

Diana peeled the plastic from the unopened pack of Gloriana cigarettes, and lifted open the hard-pack’s top. She pulled away the tiny bit of golden foil paper and considered the 20 tubes in there, facing her like a score of blank eyes.

Not blank like some mindless gaze or hypnotic monotony but rather like blank slates to be marked. Filters to be darkened with the stain of nicotine and tar; filters to be marked with the saliva of her own mouth, or perhaps even with lipstick or gloss.

She pulled one out, and placed it to her lips, and brought the flame of the cigarette to the dark brown tobacco. She puffed on it gently but firmly, and pulled the lighter away when she knew it was burning well; when she tasted the smoke thick on her tongue and inside the cheeks of her mouth.

Then she inhaled to bring that smoke deeply within her chest, thinking how nicely it flowed down her windpipe and filled the eager empty spaces of her lungs. Without releasing the smoke, she took another, longer drag, the tip of her tongue teasing just a bit at the end of the filter, and she added that smoke to the rest.

For a few seconds, she simply held the smoke there, and felt a tiny bit of lightheadedness arise in her head. It was like a weight being lifted off of her. Slowly—oh, so slowly—she released the smoke into the air, and watched, fascinated, as she reveled in the sight of her own exhalation. Her first true embrace of the smoke; her first true cloud of tobacco fumes.

There was a filthy aspect to the act, but it was a pleasurable dirtiness. Part of that was the feeling of arousal—oh, Nicoletta worked her seductions well to get Diana and the others to associate sex with smoke—but it was also the idea of reveling in something that wasn’t pure but still brought pleasure. Like wallowing naked in a puddle of mud with one of her Amazonian sisters after bathing nude in the lake—as an excuse to slide skin together and become dirty enough to need to bathe together again.

Like sex, there was often messiness involved in smoking, but the pleasure was worth it, Diana decided.

She sat there, smoking quietly but with thoughts and decisions ringing loudly in her mind, enjoying the swirls of smoke as they made layers of wispy white, blue and gray in the air of her bedroom. As they both polluted and perfumed the atmosphere and teased her with gauzy touches on her skin and teasing tastes on her tongue and in her chest in between actual direct inhalation of fresh smoke.

Wonder Woman brushed a stray bit of ash from one thigh, and lit a second Gloriana. She smoked this one even slower, and let her free hand brush against her nipples and tease at the crotch of her costume.

When she was done, Diana released one final, huge cone of smoke in the air, and stood there, breathing in her own second-hand smoke until the fumes began to dissipate, and she strode into the main area of the apartment. She fixed her gaze on the eyes of both guards, and adopted a regal posture befitting a warrior and a princess, as she told them, “Inform your mistress, Nicoletta, that I wish to see her at her earliest opportunity.”

* * *

Black Lightning stepped out of the jazz bar, happily anonymous in civilian attire, as he proceeded around a corner, just slightly into an alley, and pulled out his pack of Newports. It wasn’t something he was proud of, even though he enjoyed smoking. He’d quit so long ago and he had been content with that. Then there were those years as Secretary of Education in the Cabinet during Lex Luthor’s presidency. He’d done his best to work against Luthor from inside the system and do some good for America’s youth, at least, but it had been stressful—enough so to knock him right off the wagon.

He didn’t smoke as often as he did when he was younger, but it was hard to get through a day anymore without at least eight to ten of his old friends. That made it easier to be a closet smoker, since he really didn’t need the well-meaning admonishments about smoking from his comrades in the Justice League, or in his civilian job or from his non-metahuman friends. Bad enough that his ex-wife knew and harped on him about it, as well as his two best friends who weren’t super-powered.

Taking a cool, tingling draw on his cigarette, he sighed with his first taste of the evening’s first cigarette, and leaned against the wall of the building. It was nice, he thought, to have some kind of vice, even if few in his circles would approve, and times like these were good for him anyway. By smoking away from people to avoid the stigma, he got himself some valuable solitude. Only brief stretches of time to himself alone outside in the world, but enough to give him room to think.

Another lungful of menthol-rich, strong smoke, cooling his throat and warming his chest. The world always seemed to come into sharper focus as the nicotine began to hit his system, and he welcomed the stimulation and the clarity.

Flavor, texture and a nice, positive psychological effect, no matter how much people rail on about how bad it is, Black Lighting thought. Easy to make a villain out of smoking and ignore other problems. You’d think most people would be happy enough that people like me can hardly smoke indoors anywhere but they always push for more restrictions anyway.

“Can I get a light, sir?” came a melodic female voice, startling him slightly, a tiny spark of electricity flashing from his pinky finger in a reflex reaction.

Black Lightning turned to see a beautiful young woman with a dancer’s body—possibly Middle Eastern based on her features, but it was hard to tell in this lighting. She had a 120mm cigarette held almost regally between her index and middle fingers, and she smiled as he took out a lighter and produced a flame for her. Leaning forward as he cupped a hand around the flame, she took a few short, smooth puffs and exhaled into the air between them, a thick white cloud mingling with his briefly in the street-lit semi-darkness before the light breeze took it away.

“Thanks. I can’t believe I remember the cigarettes and forget the lighter,” said the woman, holding out one hand, which he wasn’t sure whether to kiss lightly or shake, opting for the latter to be safe. The light golden tan tone of her skin complemented the dark brown of his own so well. “My name is Sarina. Sorry to intrude on you here.”

He hadn’t really wanted company, but it was hard to refuse such attractive companionship, and her smoke smelled nice, seeming to hang longer in the air than his did and adding an incense-like perfume to the night air. “Not a problem. I suppose I don’t mind such charming company.”

“You flatter me,” Sarina said, exhaling a plume of smoke in his direction.

Suddenly, he felt the queerest desire to have that smoke in his face—the scent of it was just that alluring and…seductive, he thought. Taking a drag of his own Newport, it seemed almost barbaric to taint her smoke with his, but he felt a stronger desire than before to fill his chest with tobacco and nicotine, and it was all he had to smoke right now.

“A Newport man, are you?” Sarina noted. “I’ve always liked Newport men. Except when I find myself in Texas, and then I just can’t help but gravitate toward the few cowboy types who smoke Marlboro Menthol instead of Reds,” she added with a lyrical laugh. “I have to tell you, though, the Maxim Menthols from Millennium pack the same punch with a nicer flavor—or so my last boyfriend told me. Hey! Are you…? You’re Jefferson Pierce, aren’t you?”

“Yes, though I have to admit I don’t get recognized much. I don’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed—a former U.S. Education Secretary caught smoking in an alley,” he joked, his head buzzing nicely and his shoulder and neck muscles feeling looser and less tense.

“I’m a civics junkie,” she said. “When I’m not on stage I’m studying political science.” She pulled slowly and deeply on her butt, glazed with the light pink gloss on her lips.

“Ballerina?” Black Lightning ventured.

“Sometimes,” Sarina answered, exhaling as she did, finally fulfilling his unspoken wish to have her smoke blown closer to his face. “Mostly modern dance, though. I guess I should be flattered to have my body style noticed by such a handsome and accomplished gentleman,” she continued and blew smoke toward his chest. “Might I get a dance inside the club?”

Grinning a little at the gift of smoke, even though he wasn’t sure why he wanted her exhales so much, he took a quick drag off his Newport and said, “I have to admit I don’t always find jazz all that danceable, especially the style playing tonight. But it’s a nice idea.”

“Dancing with me would be a very nice idea,” Sarina agreed, stepping closer and tickling a couple fingers across his chest. She drew deeply on her cigarette again and felt the moisture and stickiness build between her legs. Nicoletta had designed these cigarettes carefully to only sap the will of men, but there was no way to prevent the arousal chemicals from affecting her, and it was getting to be a bit much to keep from touching herself. So she pressed close to Black Lightning instead, and pressed one hip up against him, hoping for some small relief as a little pressure was brought to bear on her pelvis and crotch indirectly. She looked up at him and released her dense white smoke right into his face and said, “Oh! Sorry about that.”

He nearly reeled and almost stumbled, but the farthest thought from his mind was irritation. He could feel heat and hardness in the front of his trousers, and the warmth of this woman’s body seemed a perfect counterpoint to the dual red cherries of their cigarettes burning in the night and the streamers of pungent smoke drifting from them.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he mumbled, and took a drag of his cigarette to steady himself.

In response, Sarina took a drag on her own cigarette, long and hard—like she imagined his cock must be right now—and pressed into him lightly, pussy to cock, and stepped up on tiptoes to give him a light kiss as they mutually exhaled. He drank in her smoke greedily, and took their kiss to the next level with a passionate fierceness. She pulled him deeper into the alley, and gave him more smoke. His Newport was virtually spent, and he tossed it to the ground as he pulled her to him with both hands.

“You only need one hand to keep my ass and pussy where they need to be,” Sarina said, handing him her half-smoked cigarette. “Finish my cigarette and blow smoke down on me and kiss me while I handle my business here.”

He took the cigarette from her, and inhaled deeply on it. Though it lacked the menthol flavor he preferred, the smoke was smooth and refreshing, and his senses seemed to redouble in sensitivity. He felt her fingers unzipping him and he eased up on his grip on her left buttock to give her a bit more room to maneuver. But as she freed his cock from his pants, slid her own skirt up and impaled herself on it, her pussy hot and slick and ready, he pulled her close again, and began to gyrate slowly.

Black Lightning brought her cigarette to his lips again, craving what it offered, and shared it with her in kisses as she had requested. Her arms reached around him as she pressed her hard little nipples into his thin shirt, rubbing against him as she rocked up and down on his penis.

He slid up and down, coming out of her just enough with each downstroke to feel a little cool rush of air at the base of his cock, which was cancelled out by the torrid damp heat of her sex as he fully entered her again. It seemed like he was inhaling with every upstroke and exhaling with every slow downstroke, and then he realized he was indeed doing just that. He was smoking in rhythm to their intercourse, smoky gifts flooding his lungs as her wetness embraced him and as her innermost flesh pulsed against him.

She pulled the nearly spent cigarette from his fingers and deftly produced a fresh one for him to smoke, and this one was something mentholated and shorter, and in his lust-clouded mind it never occurred to him how she had managed to light it or where she had gotten a whole new cigarette.

He only knew that this new smoke made his Newport seem like an off-brand by comparison. The smoke he was breathing now was just as strong, but so much more complex in its flavor, and every breath he took that was full of smoke seemed to make him more aroused and more focused on this gorgeous creature he was fucking in an alley. A small part of him realized how out-of-character all of this was, but it felt so right, and he rode her firmly and slowly, every stroke accompanied by smoke, until the cigarette was done and she produced another.

Black Lightning almost felt separated from his own body; out of control but deliciously so. Sarina was telling him what a fine man he was, so chivalrous and willing and open.

That last word was repeated so much, and so breathlessly by her. It seemed odd, because it was her sex that was opening to him, but it also sounded right. He was open to her words. Open to change. Open to suggestion. He let her words fill him along with the fantastic smoke, and as he burned with passion and pressed past the point of no return, he growled and moaned into her mouth, sharing their smokiest kiss yet as he filled her with more than his manhood and as she clenched around him, bucking and softly crying out.

When she slid slickly and stickily off of him, he swooned a little, dizzy and spent, and was grateful for the strong armored hands that were suddenly supporting him and carrying him someplace warm and safe, as two women filled his world with smoke.

He was safe, they were telling him, and he would soon be with his former teammate Vixen, and that seemed a very reasonable thing, so he agreed with them over and over, as his world became nothing but smoke and soft, soothing words.

* * *

As Nicoletta entered Diana’s apartment, she saw the woman known as Wonder Woman to most of the world sitting regally and sexily in her uniform on the sofa, smoking slowly and sultrily.

“I see you have quite the natural style,” Nicoletta said, smiling.

“I’ve had a most excellent role model to emulate,” Diana answered, smiling back at Nicoletta and then grinning at Annabeth as she entered the apartment just behind Nicoletta. She blew smoke toward them both, and slid her hands over the supple leather of the large sofa on either side of her, cigarette dangling from her lips and smoke twisting into her long, dark hair.

Nicoletta chuckled and motioned for Beth to follow her, and they sat on either side of Wonder Woman.

“I hope you don’t mind if I abstain for a brief time here and simply enjoy watching you embrace smoking with such a passionate commitment,” Nicoletta said. “I know you love my smoke, but I am finding this sight quite enjoyable. How about you, Beth?”

Beth simply nodded, as Diana’s hand stroked the woman’s pant leg.

“I see you brought Beth, but not Hal,” Diana noted, brushing some ash off one of her red-and-gold-clad breasts.

“Yes, is that a problem?” Nicoletta asked. “He’s a bit busy at the edge of the solar system right now dealing with an issue.”

“Yes and no. Clearly, you have a tidy little four-way relationship planned here. Certainly, I can wait to sample Hal in an intimate sense, and I’m likely to find two fit women like yourselves more desirable much of the time, but I do worry,” Wonder Woman said, her chest swelling as she filled it with smoke.

“Why is that?” Nicoletta queried her. “What do you worry about?”

“You have been stoking my passions for weeks now, Nicoletta. Seduction and smoke, and frankly, embracing this decadent little vice of yours is only making things more intense for me,” Diana noted, drawing smoke slowly from the filter of her cigarette and blowing it across Beth’s nose, then turning and smiling at Nicoletta as the last stray wisps of smoke escaped her mouth. “Certainly, there has been some release here and there, but I have yet to let loose all of the passion that has been building up. Frankly, I worry that just the two of you alone won’t be able to keep up with me as I work off those tensions today. Neither of you is actually metahuman, with all of your powers coming from armor, costumes, drugged smoke or other technology, and neither of you is an Amazon. Yet I have such a great deal of intimate energy to unleash.”

“I’m sure you can be gentle,” Nicoletta noted, “and still slake your hunger.”

“It’s not simply a matter of being gentle. I’m eager to put so many long-unused skills to work, Nicoletta, and I’m predisposed not to be a passive, fainting flower,” she noted, looking Nicoletta in the eyes as the cherry of the cigarette sizzled and smoke flowed into Diana’s mouth, to be released in an awkward, but almost-successful, French inhale. “I’ll have to work on that,” she muttered, and then continued with, “You see, Nicoletta, you may be the queen of this kinky family you’ve formed around yourself, but I am a princess. I may be willing to follow you, but I’m not meek. And so I have some things to school both you and Beth in. Sadly, Hal’s lessons will have to wait but, again, I worry that I may exhaust the two of you before I fully demonstrate my role in this relationship.”

“Both Beth and I have known some very active encounters since I began collecting metahumans to my side,” Nicoletta noted, breathing slowly and with great satisfaction as Wonder Woman unleashed a sluggish mass of tobacco smoke toward her.

“Well, perhaps I need to demonstrate just how much you don’t realize,” she told Nicoletta, and turned toward Beth. “Stand up, Cigarillo.”

Beth complied, and Wonder Woman began to lift the woman’s blouse over her head after popping off three buttons with a deft flick of her fingertip, the cigarette clenching between her lips and tiny clouds puffing out from the corners of her sensuous lips. She yanked open the front of Beth’s pants, the snap flying across the room, and yanked them and the woman’s panties down in one movement. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, a tiny line of saliva linking the moist filter to her lips for a moment, and blew smoke across Beth’s bra before gently removing it and then stubbing out the cigarette as she admired Beth’s nudity.

“I will begin by demonstrating something we from the isle of Themyscira call ‘Parted By the Spear Tip’ and something I’ve been told by my Amazonian sisters that I am as proficient at as I am with the bow and the blade,” Diana said.

With a languorous stretch of her forearm, she maneuvered her right hand palm-up between Beth’s legs, moving up slowly from the region of her knees up toward her vulva, the Amazon’s hands brushing skin slowly as the space between Beth’s legs lessened the farther up Diana went. As the hand hovered there at Beth’s warm and waiting sex, Diana smirked. “Time to relocate you a bit, Annabeth.”

The Amazon’s hand rose up suddenly not just to cup Beth’s sex, but to lift her into the air.

“Eeep!” Beth cried, and tried to maintain her balance, wavering for a few moments. But Diana’s strength and agility were more than enough for this task, and she balanced her deftly, carrying the woman in the palm of her hand toward one wall.

“Some like to perform Parted By the Spear Tip while the recipient is suspended in mid-air, but I find that lacks the necessary impact, for reasons you’ll both see soon enough,” Wonder Woman said, as she placed Beth’s naked back against the wall, her body still suspended on the heroine’s single hand. Beth gasped as the middle finger of that hand slowly wormed its way up inside her sex. “Some Amazons grow the nails of their middle fingers long to accentuate the effect of this, and hence the ‘spear tip’ in the name of this routine, but it’s not necessary for one with the right skills—though it does enhance things. But I find maintaining a manicure as a combat-oriented hero is so challenging.”

Beth was making little hitching breaths as Diana’s middle finger rolled and pumped, and then Wonder Woman pressed the heel of her palm against the top of the woman’s labia.

“Oh…oh, my,” Beth said, as Diana’s hand began to make rhythmic circles as a counterpoint to the invading finger.

“This is why the support of a wall or column or tree is so important to the proper execution of this form of intimacy,” Diana said quietly, with a sultry intensity. “One simply cannot combine the proper stimulation of the vulva and clitoris with one’s palm while parting the folds and massaging those special places inside with the finger unless you have something against which to brace the woman’s body. Because, of course, were I to use my thumb on her clitoris instead of my palm, which I’d have to do if I didn’t brace her, I might not be able to properly support her luscious little ass in the air. I might lose my grip and jostle her, and that so ruins the mood.”

Diana licked slowly and sensuously at Beth’s throat, while Nicoletta looked on admiringly. For her part, Beth moaned long and low in her throat and smiled dreamily as her breath began to come in hitching little gasps again.

“Besides,” Diana continued, as she motioned with her free hand toward her open pack of cigarettes, and Nicoletta retrieved them for her, “the thumb would provide direct and intense attention to the clitoris, but ignore the other parts of the vulva. This more comprehensive and slow stimulation, along with internal pressure on certain nerve clusters with my middle finger, provides a much more desirable effect.”

Slowly pressing and penetrating, Diana kneaded Beth’s sex with gradually increasing intensity, and slightly more complex patterns of movement, as she lit her latest cigarette and released the smoke against Beth’s neck, kissing and licking there and re-breathing her own exhalation even as Beth sucked as much of the smoke into her own lungs as she could.

“Of course, Beth’s smoking fetish, something you’ve cultivated so carefully in all of us, Nicoletta, but which she has had longer than anyone else in your inner circle, allows me to add this special addition, tickling and stroking her skin and mouth—her throat and lungs—with smoke as I bring her so tortuously slow to her release.”

Beth’s breathing was quicker now, tiny breaths that seemed on the verge of hyperventilation, as she breathed Diana’s smoke and sat suspended on the strong hand of the heroine and impaled on her middle finger, which was working firm, wet magic on her inner flesh. She could feel herself dripping and could only imagine what Nicoletta was able to actually view, sticky little rivulets of Beth’s juices running down Diana’s hand and wrist.

“You should have one of your employees fetch whatever intimate toys you possess, Nicoletta, and bring them here immediately,” Wonder Woman said in a low, smoky, throaty trill. “I am certain I can find some things in there to make use of so that I can demonstrate other maneuvers on Beth and also on you, like ‘Titan’s Harness,’ ‘The Club in the Hole,’ ‘Wings of Ascension’ and ‘The Immaculate Drowning.’ If, that is, I can prevent either or both of you from passing out for hours before I demonstrate all of my best tricks.”

Beth was sweating, and her eyes were wild, mouth agape and a little bit of drool sliding down one side of her neck as her breathing continued its staccato, hiccupping rhythm and as her breasts began to bounce lightly, Diana’s thrusting and kneading down below now becoming more feverish. Wonder Woman saw the signs of the passionate scream beginning to swell as she saw what seemed like mingled madness and elation in Beth’s eyes, and took a huge lungful of smoke, and pressed her lips to the other woman’s in a kiss that denied Beth breath and filled her with smoke instead, as she cried out into Diana’s mouth, shaking and panting without ability to escape the prison of Diana’s lips or the ministrations of her hand and finger. It was a long, low, nearly silent scream of ecstasy, and all the more intense because of that.

The orgasm lasted nearly a minute and then Diana released the woman’s mouth and laid her nearly limp, slowly writhing and nearly unconscious body gently to the ground.

“Your turn, Nicoletta, just as soon as you get those sex toys of yours in here,” Diana said, fixing the woman’s gaze with almost feral intensity and blowing a cone of smoke toward her. “My hand needs a rest, but there are so many more things I can do with the right tools while it recovers.”

* * *

Batman spun in the darkness, cape whirling and obscuring the vision of one man as the Dark Knight dropped low to avoid the sword that had been swung at his torso mere moments before. He came up underneath the blade-wielding assailant, and stuck him hard just between his neck and jaw with three fingers. As the man made a gargled, choking gasp, Batman shattered his nose with a quick elbow blow and then grabbed him by the neck to slam his face into a nearby vehicle. Spinning around full circle once more, he dropped the other man with a swift pair of kicks.

There was a sound behind him from someone he hadn’t known was there, and then a warbling, screeching cry. Batman threw up the edge of his cape, hoping to shield himself slightly from the sonic onslaught, then suddenly realizing he was catching only the barest edge of an attack not meant for him.

On the ground he saw a man dressed like the other two he had been fighting, armed with a wicked-looking crossbow-like weapon. He was unconscious, and Batman saw the source of the man’s defeat as he spied Black Canary in the distance. She smiled, waved and shouted, “Glad to be of help, Batman. Would hate to see you get blindsided. Be seeing you later…maybe.”

She dashed off and Batman was committed to one action above all others—to pursue her. This was one of his missing comrades, and the first hard lead he’d had to finding the answers he sought. These three men could get away if that was the price to pay for finding all of his captured comrades.

But as he tensed and prepared to pursue her, an emerald-colored arrow hit the ground in front of him releasing a dense cloud of verdant smoke, and Batman realized that Green Arrow was nearby as well. Not knowing whether the emissions were a gas—toxic or sedative—or simply a smoke screen, he dove backward and pulled a respirator over his nose and mouth. By the time he had a clear view of the world again and realized it had only been a smoke screen after all, both Oliver and Dinah were long gone.

* * *

Green Arrow lifted his face from between Black Canary’s thighs and, with a smile on his face, wiped the back of one hand across his blonde goatee to clear some of her juices away. He put his nose to his hand, though, to savor the scent of her sex.

“Someone sure was in a hurry to get an orgasm when we got back here,” he teased her.

“Kind of exciting to have surprised Batman like that and leave him guessing,” she answered.

“Nicoletta might not approve of such rash behavior, Dinah.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t have wanted him dead, so I did a good thing stepping in,” Black Canary responded. “Besides, there has always been the risk that one of us might get captured by someone in the Justice League. You worry too much sometimes, Oliver. Nicoletta has protected us well and ensured our loyalty to her.”

“Doesn’t ever strike you as odd to have free will and be a slave, in a way?” Green Arrow countered.

“You complaining, Ollie?” she said, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “Nicoletta working you too hard around the headquarters or in the field?”

He laughed lightly at that. “Of course not, but still, it’s cognitive dissonance.”

“Only because you haven’t been with her as long as I have. It becomes pretty second-nature after a little while. I don’t think about my loyalty to her any more than I do that to my family or dearest friends. It’s just second nature. Natural.”

“Marry me,” Green Arrow said.

“Well, that came out of nowhere, Ollie,” Black Canary said with a smirk. “Didn’t you ask me that once before, and aren’t we divorced now?”

“Oh, sorry, let me rephrase,” Green Arrow said dryly. “Re-marry me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we have a whole new start on life, don’t we?” he answered. “We’ve been snared for what Nicoletta thinks is a higher purpose. Her purpose, of course, but I can live with that. In a sense, we’re all starting over. Breaking with our old ways and embracing new ones. I want a second chance to make it work with us.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Got a ring, big boy?”

He deftly produced one with a little sleight of hand, and she wondered where he had hidden it.

“Nice rock, Oliver, but before you put it on my finger and before I say yes, I have a wager.”

“Really? What?” he asked, intrigued.

She got up on her hands and knees and pushed her naked ass into the air, toward him. She reached over to the bedstand, pulled out a 164mm Nightlife cigarette, lit it slowly and then turned her head to blow a long stream of creamy smoke past her shoulder, back and ass into his face. Then she reached over for a bottle of lube, and handed it back to him.

“There’s one place on my body you’ve never been allowed to explore, Oliver,” she said through a wreath of fresh smoke hovering about her face. “Show me how well you can deal with such a small, tight target. Make me come before you come, without touching my pussy or my clit, and I’ll say yes. You’re the master marksman, so let’s see how well you can hit a mark I’ve never let you target before.”

He grinned at her as she blew more smoke across her hindquarters, and he lifted up the bottle to let a long, slow stream of lubricant drizzle out, splashing against her brown bud. He smeared it slowly between her cheeks and then spread her hole slightly to pour a small puddle of it inside her.

“Take it slow, Oliver. Do it right. Show me what a good shot you are and I’ll consider you worthy of a second chance,” she said in a husky whisper, sending more smoke his way. “Work the little sphincter well enough, and you can move from the tight ring of my asshole to putting a ring on my finger again.”

He pressed his cock between her buttocks and slowly, firmly massaged her back there with his penis, as he brought himself to full hardness, and then he pressed his cockhead against her hole, and began a slow penetration into her.

It was so tight and hot, and the lube made for a slick and treacherous tunnel that kept milking, glazing and hugging him, threatening to pull his cum from him before he could meet the terms of her challenge.

“Fuck my ass, Ollie,” she said as smoke spilled from her lips. “Fuck my tight ass. Such a…fuck…beautiful ass. I bet…uhhh…you won’t make it. I think it’s…hhhhuuuuhhh…too good. I think it will feel tooooo nice. You’re just going to come as…urrrr…ahhhh…I breathe smoke on you and…uhhhh…ohhh…squeeze your fucking cock dry. We’ll just be lovers, Ollie. Great lovers, but you’ve never…ohhhh…been in a place so tight and hot. Uhhhh…how can you resist?”

She blew smoke through the lips of a wicked smile, and felt the conflict of wanting to best him and have him come soon as well as the desire for him to prove her wrong and claim her as his wife. To have her claim him as well for a new marriage and new life together.

It took well over an hour, and several times he almost lost it, but he managed not to come first. She never stopped moaning and grunting with pleasure, she never stopped smoking, and eventually she screamed in ecstasy—and finally said “yes,” his seed spilling into her and oozing back out across his balls. Him panting and moaning as he breathed the thick cloud of smoke around them and shakily slipped the engagement ring on a finger slick with the juices of her pussy.

* * *

Black Lightning awoke to find himself bound hand and foot to the frame of a bed, silk sheets beneath his naked body. His head was still reeling. He remembered a woman. An alley. Smoke. Sex. Submission.

A part of him thought he should use his powers to escape, but he resisted it. Hadn’t he been told to be a good boy? To wait? To just accept whatever was about to happen?

When a naked woman with deep, dark skin walked into the room, he was confused for a moment, then realized it was Vixen, one of his Justice League teammates. Her lack of costume made her look almost alien. No, like a new woman. A woman looking at him hungrily.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you in this position, Black Lightning,” she said sultrily. She took a cigarette from a pack next to the bed and placed it in his mouth. “Smoke for me,” she demanded, lighting the white tube with its cork filter. “I can’t stand the idea of smoking one myself, but I like the idea of smelling yours. Of having sex with a smoky black dragon of a man.”

She lowered herself onto his rigid cock and sighed.

She gyrated on him and embraced him, with flexibility that no normal human could achieve. Was she channeling the powers of a python? Or some agile animal like a ferret or monkey? He couldn’t say, and simply sucked his smoke and released it toward her, trusting her to pull it from his mouth every so often to flick the ash away before it tumbled onto his bare chest.

She rode him through the duration of that cigarette, then gave him another. Halfway through it, her thighs gripped him tightly like nothing he had ever experienced, and her pussy vibrated and sucked and pulled at him like mad.

“This is the power of a mantis, Black Lightning,” she said, sucking his exhaled smoke into her mouth and kissing his chin, then licking his throat. “A hold so strong on your body and senses that you can’t escape or conceive of anything by pleasuring me. Fortunately for you, I won’t go so far as to bite off your head like nature normally demands.”

One Response to Toxic – Chapter 14

  1. Blackbladder

    Great work, and a superb comeback to fiction.

    I love the way you build and utilise each of the fallen heroes’ powers to subdue and assist Nicoletta’s team in pursuing other “misguided” superheroes.

    Great fetish element too, during the smoky seduction scenes too.

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