Vixen prepares for a memorable fashion photoshoot.

And then he was almost late to his first appointment, because the Watchtower was large and the layout was confusing and he’d never actually been to the hastily-built women-only teleporter room and it took longer than expected to buff the floors in the male dorms. Even the best-laid plans can fall apart when faced with the logistics of maintenance work.

He made it there with moments to spare, panting and half-jogging into the converted storage room. Doctor Light tapped away at the control terminal, and he let his eyes roam her body. He remembered how the brilliant scientist looked under her uniform, at least from behind, when her flat ass slapped against his hips and her back arched with unknown pleasure. Now the black bodysuit mocked him, especially the white star on her chest pointing toward her nipples and her crotch, areas he intended to savor in more detail once he had a chance. He could simply stand there and let the amulet around his neck do all the work, forcing her to find whatever hidden catches her uniform had and unfasten them, bearing her body for his thorough inspection. But Luthor didn’t want him to maintain the course. He wanted an escalation, and the second amulet in Brandon’s hand was the method. He set aside his dreams of Doctor Light’s thin body and refocused his attention on the woman of the day.

In a way, Vixen reminded him of Catwoman. It was something about the way she moved, the confidence she exuded with every twitch. But while Catwoman seemed to encourage the male gaze, Vixen simply ignored it, or perhaps she acknowledged it and treated it as an occupational hazard. She didn’t bend at the waist or purr when she spoke. She just always stood like she knew a camera was on her, ready and willing for an adoring public.

This was, he realized, partially due to her civilian career. Vixen was a model, if her schedule was any indication. Most of her times off were simply labeled “[Name of Company] Photoshoot”, and he doubted a woman who looked and acted like her would be behind the camera. Even ogling her with this knowledge, Brandon couldn’t recognize her, so he assumed she did work in some field he didn’t follow. Admittedly, this really only excluded porn stars and porn-adjacent fields like swimsuit modeling. Vixen could have been a glamour model, or a model for the stock photos businesses used in training pamphlets, or heck, even a hand model. He didn’t care too much. He had no desire to explore the secret lives of the Justice League. For him, there wasn’t any value in knowing Vixen was really Janice Smith of Las Vegas, or whatever. He wanted to fuck her because she was a superhero. Following her to her day job wasn’t a way to mine personal information; it was a way to **** her in the public forum Luthor requested.

The second amulet dug into his gloved palm until he noticed he was clenching his fist. This was the moment of truth. Today, Vixen was going to a shoot for Pink Collar, a fashion and style magazine targeted at and staffed entirely by women (if his online searching was correct, because he’d certainly never heard of it). He could follow her there, hide somewhere on set, sneak the amulet into the shoot somewhere, and escape back with her once she finished with work. With women around he’d be completely undetected, free to do anything he wanted to Vixen and anybody else who caught his eye. The issue was appearing on camera; he wasn’t sure if he’d have to destroy physical film, or delete video, or steal a digital camera’s memory card, but he’d definitely need to perform some subterfuge when it was all said and done. He did intend to leave some pictures of Vixen wearing the amulet, though, as he planned to leave the jewelry itself on the set. Luthor’s freedom relied on public awareness of the amulets’ return, and Brandon would do him proud.

Commuting to work every day had helped Brandon develop a tolerance for the teleporter’s stomach-churning methods, but he still staggered after he followed Vixen to some unknown hallway in an office building. While he rested against the wall and regathered his thoughts and breakfast, Vixen clasped her had around her own, non-mind-controlling amulet. Her shiny orange uniform shimmered into nothingness, and he squinted to catch any glimpse of the dark skin underneath, but a boring cream-colored suit quickly made her decent. She adjusted her jacket around her shoulders and sauntered off, ignorant of her stowaway. Brandon followed her well-rounded ass around the corner and through a solid wooden door into a textbook photo studio. Though boring concrete floors and plain walls formed the space, the studio itself contained myriad fabric backdrops handing from metal supports, dozens of plastic cubes and balls and other objects in bold colors, and a handful of lights brighter than the Gotham sun on the brightest day in spring. It felt like stepping into a fantasy land, or six of them all fighting for dominance, and if any man had been there to see him, his stunned gawking would have given away his presence in an instant.

But there wasn’t a man in sight. Seven or eight woman ran around, working with cameras or setting up wires or tending to piles of brushes. One in particular, a middle-aged woman who’d clearly been through several rounds of plastic surgery and survived most of them, greeted Vixen with wide arms and the faux double-cheek kiss Brandon thought they only did in movies. “Mari, darling, and not a second to spare! Don’t make me worry like that!”

Vixen smiled, and he believed it. “Sorry. You know New York traffic.”

“Enough friendly chit-chat! Revson wants prelim shots posted online within an hour.”

“An hour?! That’s barely enough time for makeup.”

“Then we’d better get you moving!” She ushered Vixen away, and Brandon shrank into a corner. They were distributing photos so quickly? That was a problem for his secrecy…and, he realized with a grin, a golden opportunity he’d be an idiot to waste.

While Vixen prepared for her shoot, Brandon moved about the studio setting up everything he needed. Memory cards emptied, cameras went missing, and computers unplugged themselves, all at his hands. The women scurried around him, jostling him back and forth as they tried to mitigate the effects of their unseen poltergeist and return the shoot to some semblance of order. Despite their numbers advantage, he could start more fires than they could put out, and he quickly whittled them down to a situation he could manage.

For most of his sabotage he kept his clothes on, in case doing so limited the effects of the amulet. Either it helped or the women were too busy to act on it, and he made it through most of his prep work without anybody doing so much as adjusting their sleeves. He made his move when he saw Vixen in makeup, getting what he assumed were the final touches of her gold, glittery look. He shed his uniform except for his gloves, a necessary precaution against the fingerprints he planned to put on every electronic device within his reach. The other women became more sexual in an instant, discarding shoes and blouses as though they had been waiting for permission. For the finishing touch he brought the spare amulet over to Vixen and laid it on her shoulders, locking her into place as his intended target, then stood back to watch the festivities.

Honestly, she didn’t need much help to get mostly naked, and if her outfit was any indication he would have been happy with the shoot even without magical intervention. It was equal parts sexy and ridiculous, a ratio he expected of any fashion. A baggy, knee-length jacket in neon yellow was the sole piece she wore up top, and it hung open to bare even more chest than her heroine clothing. Her breasts jiggled underneath with every step, held in place by tape for the time being. The waist of her jeans barely covered her navel, and dark blue denim wrapped her hips like a glove, almost too tight for him to get a finger in. He did regret not being able to fuck her in her trademark orange catsuit, but given how quickly women tended to disrobe around him, it almost didn’t matter. Vixen already unfastened her jeans and lowered the zipper enough to show the edges of a tiny thong, and behind her the makeup artist wriggled out of her own dress, so it was time to start whether or not he was ready.