Chapter Sixteen

Part Four.

The Ladies of Liberty’s underground Headquarters had been all glitz and theater: gleaming marble, azure highlights, gold trim on everything—even the bathroom door handles. If Versailles had binge-watched superhero cartoons and swallowed an American flag, it might’ve looked like that.

Dr. Ruth Ruthless’s lab was the exact opposite. No pageantry here—just exposed steel, flickering consoles, and the faint buzz of a plasma reactor working overtime. Instead of smelling like perfume and triumph, the air reeked of disinfectant, machine oil, and ozone. Utilitarian. Stark. Honest. Like an Ikea that had given up on furniture and decided to manufacture doomsday weapons instead.

It was a cavern of industry and obsession, seated deep beneath the city like the lair of some techno-dragon, all steel ribs and clogged arteries of cable and conduit. The walls were plates of brushed metal scarred with scorch marks, as if the room itself had endured countless experiments gone awry and lived to tell the tale. Overhead, a lattice of catwalks and crane arms hung suspended, dangling tools that looked halfway between surgical implements and medieval **** devices.

The lighting was a calculated mix of harsh fluorescents and theatrical spot-beams, throwing long shadows across banks of consoles. Monitors flickered everywhere—sheets of holographic data suspended in midair, most of it unintelligible to anyone without a PhD and a messiah complex. Each screen displayed numbers, graphs, rotating schematics of power armor, or cosmic radiation signatures that pulsed like heartbeats.

And there Zane was, standing on a fitting platform in his boxers while two superhumanly sexy women fussed over him like tailors in an apocalyptic outfitters.

The cosmic whatever Ruth kept harping on about and Colly’s ever-flowing breast milk had somehow… improved Zane. That was the polite word. He hadn’t asked for the muscles, but now they strained his shirts, wrenched at stitches, and made Ruth’s custom-designed armor harness creak in protest as she cinched it around his torso.

“My, my,” The inequitous redhead purred, tapping at a datapad. Her lush MILF figure swathed in a shiny black nanopolymer bodysuit, knee-high boots, and a white labcoat. “Heroes squander their powers on ‘truth’ and ‘justice,’ but on you? Oh, darling, your masculine physique will more than pull its weight in society. You could break a lamppost over your knee and benchpress motor vehicles.”

Her fingers lingered on the straps longer than necessary.

Zane flexed slightly.

A buckle snapped.

Ruth let out a quiet moan of approval.

Kinetica buzzed around him like a caffeinated hummingbird, in her overtaxed hero costume–measuring arms, legs, calves, rattling off compliments in a singsong voice.

“Chest circumference up again! Left bicep… oh wow. Right bicep… even wow-er!”

“Quit drooling and give me actual numbers,” Ruth chided, through a smile that suggested she didn’t disagree. “Engineering requires precision. And besides, if we ruin another measuring tape, we’ll have to start eyeballing. Which I suppose has its charms.”

Meanwhile, Sarah aka Sally Putty sat forgotten on a stool in a corner, long legs kicking idly as she hunched over her phone. The elasticated girl’s green and gold costume was practically painted onto a supermodel skinny body with huge pornstar tits, a dynamite booty, and a head filled with more hot air than the Hindenburg.

She was losing badly at a game designed for grade schoolers. Every few seconds came a tinny *blip-blip* followed by her muttering curses at a pixelated teddy bear.

“You know,” Ruth called over her shoulder, “we could reroute one of the quantum processors into your toy. However, New Avalon might collapse if your repeated restarts destabilize the power grid. Best to keep losing on your own, I think.”

Sally pouted and threw her an offended look, missing by several feet.

Zane couldn’t help but marvel at the contrast between the two gorgeous women circling him like he was the center of their universe, while a third bimbo bombshell was about to be outscored by a five-year-old.

Dr. Ruth Ruthless was a genius tech billionaire, futurist, and, until recently, a social terrorist prone to ransoming the city with her heinous inventions. The crimson-head MILF fought and killed in the name of her Humanity First movement, inflaming anti-super sentiments with her photogenic face and razor-sharp intellect.

As her name implied, she had been ruthless in her ambitions, and the ultimate blend of bad-girl and mature mega-hottie who could slay men’s hearts with a wicked grin.

That was until Colly revealed the truth of her brilliance to the good Doctor. Ruthless was a super herself, in fact, and that revelation brought the walls of her towering ego crashing down.

The way she’d bounced back so smoothly, realigning her priorities in mere seconds, was a testament to the ex-villainess's incredible cognitive ability.

On the other hand, Colly–Kinetica was the quintessential heroine’s heroine—a role model to women everywhere. A psionic heavyweight and knockout beauty rolled into one outrageously marketable package that gave aged publicists boners. An all-American cheerleader for female empowerment and doing what was right, clad in skintight spandex and a half-cape that failed to cover her bubble butt.

Or, at least she had been before his life turned topsy-turvy after a fateful encounter during a super battle downtown.

Now Zane’s once-modest girlfriend sported knockers the size of cannonballs, testing the outer limits of her black, blue, and gold costume. Life-changing milk seeped through harshly taxed fabric, trickling down her smooth stomach into a thigh gap so severe it could make blind men weep.

His mouth watered, cock twitching at the appetizing sight.

Colly noticed immediately—always attuned to his every flicker of emotion.

“Oh, Zay-Zay… sugar, are you hungry?” She purred, gliding closer, amethyst eyes blazing like high beams and pinning him in place like a deer in headlights. A dainty hand drifted to the tortured neckline of her outfit. “I’m always happy to feed—”

“Stop that,” Ruth cut in sharply, stepping between them with imperious disdain. The buxom ex-villainess shot Kinetica an admonishing glare over her shoulder, grasping his thickening bulge possessively. “My job is difficult enough without you distracting him. How am I supposed to craft a suit of power armor to protect my sweetie if he keeps growing larger? There is a point of diminishing returns, you know. Size isn’t everything.”

“I object!” Sarah protested, tossing her phone away before thumbing her inflated chest. “This girl likes a big man. The bigger the better! And, sir is the biggest bestest ever!”

Zane sighed, ignoring the squabbling women. This was his life now. And the strangest part?

He was starting to like it… which was concerning.

“Don't you want Zay-Zay to be protected when the next crisis strikes?” Colly reasoned with her rubberized squadmate. “Doctor Ruthless has worked tirelessly to build our hunky enhancer the best power armour possible…”

She only wanted what was best for him. Zane frowned at the intrusive thought.

“Yeah, but I’m bored! Since leaving HQ, it’s been nothing but work work work.” The green-haired shapeshifter whined, gesturing around the lab. “We carted all these gadget thingies across town only to sit on our asses while Miss Smartypants plays nerdy inventor. Where’s the dick?”

The gadgets she referred to were scattered on workbenches in various states of disassembly. Prizes taken from the LoL’s trophy room for Ruth to peel apart and study.

The mature supergenius had quickly dissected the weapons and devices of her villainous contemporaries, bending the exotic technology to her purposes with cosmicly boosted ingenuity and the help of multi-limbed assistant droids.

“Mmmm, the dick’s right here.” Dr Ruthless purred, snuggling into Zane’s broad chest, pumping it luxuriously through his underwear. “Nice and hard and ready to punish evildoers… like mommy. What do you say, sweetie?”

“Hey, no fair! I-I might be an evildoer, maybe. You don’t know. Punish me, sir!”

“And me, Zay-Zay. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.” Colly giggled, “Leaking milk everywhere and thinking dirty thoughts. Teach my naughty puss-puss a lesson…”

Despite their indecent entreaties and his own urgent arousal, Zane was struck by a sudden unease—like a splash of cold water snapping him awake. A disorienting rush of disconnection washed over him, pointing out, with cruel clarity, everything wrong with the scene unfolding before his eyes.

Colly’s milk. His grotesquely enlarged muscles. Three superhuman stunners fawning over him…

What the hell was he doing?

He tried to piece together the chain of events, but the memories refused to line up.

Snippets of laughter, gentle caresses, whispered reassurances. Kinetica’s voice especially—cooing in his ear, smoothing over every jagged thought, reassuring him in honeyed tones…

There was nothing to worry about.

His head ached with the effort of resisting, with the sense that he had been led by the nose into this absurd situation without consenting to anything.

The energy swirling in his core boiled up, thick and potent. For days it had been a mystery to him, a headache wrapped in a hangover—but now it surged to the surface, begging to be wielded.

“Girls, girls. Enough!” Zane flung out his hands. The words carried weight, propelled by a burst of cosmic radiation. He had discovered—by accident—that it was the one thing that could silence their bickering. “A guy can’t hear himself think over your constant chirping. Allow me a moment of peace, won’tcha?”

All three women gasped, eyes rolling back as their knees buckled. They collapsed in boneless heaps of quivering bliss—Ruth clutching her datapad as if it might anchor her, Kinetica falling in a dazed sprawl, and Sally Putty literally melting into a gelatinous puddle that sloshed across the floor tiles.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was silence. And Zane, heart thundering, realized he was free to move.

To escape the madness.

Be bold. Be daring.

Screwing his courage to the sticking point, Zane leapt from the platform and loped to the exit on bare feet. The cold steel bit into his soles, each slap of skin on metal urging him onward.

He needed space. Time to think. Room to work out what the hell was going on—and maybe grab a drink. A stiff one. Or three. Some distance would benefit everyone. Calm the choppy waters. Put his life back into some kind of perspective before the current swept him under again.

Pausing only to snatch up a shirt and his obese billfold, Zane strode–definitely not bolting like a spooked horse–into the elevator.

The doors hissed shut, mercifully muffling the lusty sighs behind him. He had left the three beautiful bombshells writhing on the floor in orgasmic aftershock—Ruth groaning like a disappointed mistress, Kinetica twitching in stunned disbelief, and Sally Putty pooling in a corner.

As the lift began its steady ascent, Zane leaned back against the cool panelling, shirt draped over one arm. His reflection in the mirrored steel looked back at him: taller, harder, stranger than he remembered. It was like staring at a stunt double who had stolen his life.

The elevator shuddered as it climbed, and for the first time in days, Zane breathed without a woman’s perfume in his lungs. Yet relief came with a bitter aftertaste. He had power now—raw, terrifying—and it seemed like everyone wanted a piece of him.

Heroines, villainesses, lovers…

The console chimed softly: Ground Level.

Zane slipped on the shirt and searched for somewhere to stash the billfold, feeling somewhat underdressed.

Whatever. Come what may, he’d set his own terms from now on.

And God help New Avalon if he couldn’t.

Aaaand we're back with Zane and his ladies! If you’ve enjoyed my silly smut, why not support my smut writing aspirations by joining my Patreon? All donations go towards high-octane coffee to keep me writing and treats for my two adorable furballs.