Mae Is Performing At A Club

Sue Storm had never been to The Mask & Cape. It was what Janet van Dyne called a "capebunny" club—a place for superhero fan enthusiasts. The kind that wanted to date superheroes.

No, Sue corrected herself as she handed a S.H.I.E.L.D.-provided fake ID to the bouncer. Fans who wanted to fuck superheroes.

Waitresses in skimpy superheroine outfits walked the neon-lit tables, their tall clear heels utterly impractical for fighting crime, their skirts so short that the Invisible Woman could clearly see who was a natural blonde or redhead and who wasn't. On the walls, flatscreen televisions replayed fragments of fights and their aftermath, where heroines in battle-damaged costumes ended up showing a little too much skin—Sue kept her poker face on as a dozen clips of Jennfer Walters, the She-Hulk, burst out of her clothing, green breasts bursting out of her bra. Captain Marvel from her alcoholic days and forgot to wear underwear beneath her suit, pussy on display for eight frames as Nitro slammed an exploding fist into her midsection.

Sue was "incognito" rather than invisible. Dark sunglasses, dark lipstick, a pencil skirt and a chrome blouse with big shoulder pads. A get-up that Janet van Dyne could pull off without batting an eye, but which was so at odds with Sue Storm's normally demur image that no one looked at her twice—even when Sue was guided toward a small table near the purple neon-lit stage. No sooner had she sat down than a waitress dressed like Tigra—the orange fur and black stripes painted on—delivered a cosmopolitan.

"Where's Tess?" Sue asked, before the waitress left.

"She's up next," the waitress said with a cat-like smile. "She'll join you after the show."

In her life, Sue Storm had never been in a strip bar. She had no idea of the etiquette, though she was glad to see that she wasn't the only woman here—the only single woman, either. Most of her fellow customers didn't even glance in her direction; they didn't come here to see anyone else or to be seen. Out of the corner of her eye, Sue noted a few security cameras in the corners of the room, but they were focused on the entrances and exits, not the crowd around the stage.

Then the lights around the stage increased in intensity, the music shifted. An announcer began a spiel. Sue only caught the name Tess Tempest—then a blonde figure dressed in blue slid onto the stage.

The blonde dye job and blue contacts heightened their similarity, but Sue noticed the old features of her friend Mae. The years, and some discreet cosmetic surgery, had been kind to the woman. Regular exercise had kept her body almost as tight and toned as Sue's, but the curves were a little more generous, the breasts obvious implants, too swollen and perfectly globular, and the makeup a little too gauche and slutty.

The music played. Tess Tempest gave an athletic performance. Sue had never attempted to pole dance before, but she found she could admire the muscle control required for Tess to hit her beats in time, to hold her positions in mid-air, upside down, legs wide. As she climbed and slid and swung around the chrome pillar.

Then the clothes began to come off.

The crowd cheered and whistled. Now Tess really went to work. The more clothes she lost, the more she cavorted. A few punters crowded the stage, hands out filled with money. Ones, fives, even tens and twenties. Sue sipped her cocktail, surprised at how thirsty she felt as she gazed up at her old friend as she shed layer after layer. The Invisible Woman thought she was past being surprised.

Then Tess Tempest proved her wrong.