Giving an update--and more--to Mercy Graves.

This escapade did not make the news either. The headline “Criminals in Blüdhaven?!” was like reporting “Water, Wet? Scientists Weigh in”. Brandon didn’t seek out any information either. No picking up newspapers, no unusual Internet keywords, no casual conversations at lunch about “hey, did you guys hear about that raid the Justice League did last weekend that we’re not supposed to know about?”. He wasn’t a genius, but years of corporate drudgery had taught him a lot about knowing when and how to keep his head down.

As expected, the next step came to him in the form of Miss Graves appearing on his doorstep, wearing a new brown wig and a plain, long-sleeved shirt. She shoved him aside the moment he opened the door, pulled a device from her purse, and waved it around the room. “Clean,” she muttered and glanced at the mostly-clear table in front of the couch. “Well, cleaner.”

Brandon locked the door behind her. “We can talk?”

“You can. I’m expecting to hear either a thorough report or a very good excuse.”

He looked her up and down—or, he tried, but he barely made it to her waist before she snapped her fingers and waved his gaze back up to her face. A pang of annoyance hit, no doubt matching hers…but he had a solution, didn’t he? Miss Graves dropped in whenever she wanted, criticized his apartment, insulted him, and even policed where he could look. Surely she realized who had the power in their relationship, correct? Yes, fine, the one with the real power was Luthor, but Luthor had effectively blessed a dalliance with any woman Brandon wanted. Right this moment, what he wanted was a little thanks for his effort.

As he described his infiltration of the warehouse (omitting the bit where he fell through a window and hurt himself), he casually lifted his couch cushion and grasped the amulet, safe in one of the hiding places he used so he would always have it within reach in case a superhero did break in. Her eyes widened when she saw it, but once it was around his neck there was nothing she could do, and he took his sweet time telling his story while she undressed. Piece by piece she revealed her body: feet, midriff and shoulders, legs, breasts, and the sheath he intended to use again. While she rubbed herself with early, gentle strokes, he guided her to her knees and put his hand on her head. Miss Graves still wore her normal scowl, but it didn’t bother him so much when her bright red lips were leaving lipstick rings on his dick.

He continued his report, watching her expression as it passed through phases of frustration, interest, and arousal. Roulette got her attention, as did Aresia’s renewed interest in ridding the world of men. Occasionally Miss Graves popped free to lick his head and ask questions—did they mention any current or future allies, did you see anything about a second base of operations, what sort of weaponry did they have. He tried to be thorough to prolong the most enjoyable interview he could remember, and the focus did help him hold back his orgasm until she shook and hummed through one of her own. He grinned and pulled out, leaving a trail of saliva between his slit and her lip, and he almost painted her stern face with cum. But wisdom got the better of him again, and sending her walking through the streets of Gotham wearing his badge of honor would attract attention he didn’t want. Instead he pulled her to the couch and climbed on top, pressing her into the cushions while he filled her pussy again.

“Not bad,” she sighed with uncharacteristic bliss. “You’ve at least satisfied me—our orders. We’ll take this information into my va—into account as we consider how to deal with them.”

He grunted a response and hovered his face near hers, and without further prompting she stuck his tongue in his mouth. As they kissed, she hooked one leg around his, holding him tight as he **** her again. Her fingers slipped under his shirt and traced soft lines down his back, and when he came up for air she bit his neck and moaned in his ear. “Too bad they didn’t have more friends,” he panted. “I would have loved to knock them up too.”

“You got Hawkgirl and Stargirl. That was all we were expecting. Even Aresia was a bonus.”

“Expecting? You knew they’d be there?”

Her laugh felt surprisingly light. “Why do you think we wanted you there at a specific day and time? The League’s schedule had those two on the response team, so if somebody anonymously reported a supervillain sighting…”

Brandon bucked his hips hard, a single thrust to cut her off. “So you sent the League after me? What if I’d gotten caught?”

“You wouldn’t, not as long as only women were making a mess of Roulette’s little love nest. We weren’t going to—oh, right there—call anything in if it would put the amulet in danger.”

“What if the League’s schedule had changed?”

“We’d hear about it.” She pulled him tight and whispered in his ear. “You’re not the only card we have, you know.”

He’d heard enough. He knew Luthor was playing some long game, that he was powerless in the face of a billionaire genius’s schemes, that he was some interchangeable minion being paid to do a job, but hearing it so plainly stung. And if he hadn’t pinned Miss Graves underneath him, would she have even stuck around long enough let him know there was a larger plan? Did she only tell him now to rub his insignificance in his face? Suddenly he didn’t feel bad about making her another one of his victims. In fact, he wanted to get her pregnant more than ever. She could see how inconsequential he was when she was raising his kid.

Brandon grabbed her shoulders and held her still, stabbing Miss Graves—no, fuck it, stabbing Mercy with the hardest thrusts he could manage. Her decorum faltered the first time his dick collided with something deep in her hips, and she regained it only temporarily, with great difficulty, throughout his ****. She pursed her lips and he ignored them, favoring the large natural tits flopping on her chest. He wasn’t interested in helping her get off, not right now. She was a vessel for his frustration, a warm hole to get him off and a womb to carry the consequences of her arrogance. Long minutes passed while she grunted and moaned in waves, and thanks to the amulet the show of arousal turned into the beginnings of an orgasm. He continued unabated, and the moment she started to shake, he shoved deep and covered her welcoming cervix with his enhanced semen. He could swear he felt her suck in every drop, trapping it where it could ravage one of her defenseless eggs, and he grinned openly thinking of how she would react when her test came back positive.

Post-nut clarity assuaged much of his anger, and he discarded any fantasies he had of keeping Mercy in his apartment for a marathon breeding session. It was a fun idea, but he was sure Luthor expected her elsewhere, and despite his knee-jerk rage he didn’t actually hold it against Luthor to have plans beyond “hope Brandon doesn’t botch it”. Even Mercy was playing a role in the overall plot. He just didn’t want her to be so smug about having a different role from his.

He pulled out before his cock went soft, and he held it in front of Mercy’s face for a cleanup blowjob while she fingered herself on the couch. When he was satisfied, he took her bra and panties and went to his bedroom. After a short masturbation session, Mercy would come to her senses, gather her remaining clothes, and give a little show to anybody who watched her chest closely during the walk back to…wherever she went after she left his apartment. Lexcorp Gotham, probably. She could storm into his bedroom and demand her clothes back, sure. But he was still wearing the amulet, and he doubted she wanted to deal with its power again so soon.

Brandon grinned. He was a pawn, yes. But even a pawn could take a queen in the right situation.

…a chess reference? He really was turning into a supervillain.