Black Canary is more than our protagonist can handle.

Brandon left Huntress and stood over her partner, watching her tight body quiver with the aftershocks of her most recent magic-aided orgasm. He recalled his encounter with Harley Quinn, and he crouched until his half-hard dick swung at the height of Black Canary’s face. When she moaned again, he placed the head of his cock between her lips and pushed forward, gagging her and forcing her to accidentally suck him off.

Her mouth closed and her head bobbed, going through the motions even if she didn’t know why. While her afterglow still simmered inside her, she picked her loofah off the floor and returned to soaping her body, a totally mundane action except for the naked man softly **** her face. The amulet still twisted her mind, and she spent more energy than normal soaping her breasts, her neck, and the insides of her thighs. Brandon grinned at the view and waited for his energy to come back with one hand on her head to direct her movement.

Then she moaned. Nothing could have prepared him for the fallout, a vibration humming through his muscles and setting every pleasure center alight. Later, when his good sense returned, he would guess she hit him with an erotic version of her signature Canary Cry intended for intimate encounters rather than deadly combat. In the moment he thought nothing at all, consumed by mind-numbing pleasure. Without him to guide her she continued unabated, **** by the amulet to consummate any way she could. His head lolled and his stomach tensed, on the brink of cumming so hard he worried he would pass out, and he barely stumbled backward and freed his cock from her lips with a loud, satisfied pop. She continued stroking herself, ignorant of what felt like to him like a near-**** experience, and mused to her hopefully pregnant colleague, “At least it can’t get any more embarrassing, right?”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, I hope not,” Huntress replied through gritted teeth. “I’m pretty sure the Justice League has reached peak shame.”

Brandon staggered upright and slid behind Black Canary to pull her to her feet. She stood and bent over like it was her idea, bracing her hands on the sides of the stall and sticking her ass out for him. “Not much a villain can do to us that’s worse than public stripping,” she chuckled as he stabbed into her unprotected cunt. “Well, besides killing us, I guess.” Her smile grew into dreamy bliss while he got up to speed, and her cheeks rippled with every loud, wet slap of hip on hip.

He could have watched Huntress, still getting herself off in the opposite stall. He could have listened for Supergirl and Stargirl, now both moaning into each other’s mouths. He didn’t need to. The Canary Cry had him teetering on the edge already, **** to his limits by some weird superhero power. The only reason he hadn’t painted Black Canary with spunk was the illogical but undeniable fear that Luthor would find out he had wasted an opportunity to fertilize an unwilling hero. Fucking her didn’t help him cum—it was going to happen because of the Canary Cry, whether he liked it or not—it just gave him a nice, warm place to bury himself. His fingers dug into her hips and his chest heaved as his soul left his body along with thousands or millions of potential children, and while he leaned against her for support and panted like he’d just finished a half-marathon, Black Canary pinched one nipple and mumbled “I feel like Thai. Do you want Thai?”

Huntress agreed, Supergirl said something about getting food from actual Thailand, and Stargirl screamed as she masturbated with a travel-size shampoo bottle. Brandon didn’t care. He lurched out of the shower and stumbled to the locker room, where he took a short, ignoble rest sprawled on a bench. After a few minutes to recuperate, he dragged himself to his feet and returned to the sparring arena, where he gathered the forgotten costumes and carried them back to the locked room. Hopefully the girls would just think they were messy instead of forcibly stripped. The longer nobody noticed the events taking place on the Watchtower, the better. Gotham was one thing, but if they realized their station wasn’t secure, the Justice League might lock it down even further. Better safe than sorry.

Or unsafe, given was he was doing to them. Brandon laughed at his own pun. Nobody heard it.

He dried himself off with a spare towel, ignoring the voices in the showers. Fucking them would have been great if Black Canary hadn’t inadvertently screamed two days’ worth of sperm out of him with a single magic moan. Just thinking about having sex again made his stomach cramp. He would need a few days to recover, starting with going back to his job and participating in his normal daily grind. If he heard any rumblings that the League thought the station was compromised, he could check in with Miss Graves. If he didn’t, he could get a leg up on his job and plan another incursion once he had recovered.

Brandon thought about the tabs open on his computer, the ones advertising weird pills and tricks and home remedies purported to boost his sexual stamina and sperm count. Though they’d been fun to browse, he hadn’t really thought about using them. Now he knew what super-powered fucking was really like, and he might need to try them all. At once.