Chapter Five

“Holy shit. This is where you live? Why the hell did we waste time at my shithole.”

Zane stared around the well-appointed living space. Colette (they agreed to use her birth name while out of costume) encouraged him to explore the two-thousand-square-foot high-rise apartment while she cleaned up.

Waterline Towers was so prohibitively exclusive the mice probably wore top hats and monocles. Not that there were any. A small army of uniformed staff kept the premises spick and span. Colette used a fob to enter the ritzy two-story foyer, explaining the building had three separate gyms, an indoor pool, squash courts, two beauty spas, and several restaurants.

The bayside skyscraper housed c-suite execs, trust fund babies, the diamond elite, and, apparently, superheroes.

His girlfriend’s white leather couches, designer furniture, and media center alone cost more than his annual salary. Floor-to-ceiling windows afforded million-dollar views of the ocean where distant ships floated like bath toys on the sparkling water.

“I like your place, Sugar. Keeps me humble.” She called from one of the three bathrooms, each as large as his entire apartment. “Reminds me how the other half lives.”

“Humble. Right.” Zane muttered, stepping around a hand-woven bamboo silk rug to inspect the kitchen.

Corinthian marble countertops, shiny steel appliances, and two double-door refrigerators greeted him. A glass sliding door in the back led out to a tiled balcony lined with flourishing garden boxes featuring a Parisian outdoor dining set. The circular wrought iron table and four matching chairs looked inviting.

Every millimeter of Collete’s home screamed luxe. Everything was of the highest quality–the best quality.

That was good.

Zane only wanted the best.

Finding a six-pack of craft beer in the first fridge, he helped himself, skipping the bottle cap across the zebra wood floor. Wandering back into the living room to plonk down on the fancy couch and put his feet up on the sintered stone coffee table.

Last night had been intense and enlightening in equal measure.

The sex had been wild, not slowing when their neighbors banged on the walls and yelled threats. Colette was an insatiable lover, and–as she kept feeding him her cock-hardening, stomach-rumbling lactate–Zane had risen to match her horny appetites.

He’d been the one to eventually cry uncle. Swearing off further milk after spraying his eighth or ninth luminous load in a dramatic facial that glued her amethyst eyes shut and dripped from her flushed cheeks. Her skin had quickly absorbed it, redirecting most of the over-abundant payload to her ballooning chest.

A frankly prodigious chest Zane had thoroughly fucked.

But the milk was too much of a good thing–got him too hard to think clearly and did… things to his body. Zane wasn’t unaware of the weight loss and muscle gains he’d miraculously achieved overnight. Neither was he a fool who’d chalk it up to a marathon fuckfest being effective cardio.

He was stronger. A smidge taller, maybe? His trouser cuffs no longer covered his ankles…

“Getting comfortable, Sugar?” Colette’s head poked out of the bathroom, split by an impish grin. “You may wish to put down the drink. There’s something I’m dying to show you.”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Zane waved the beer bottle at her. “What’ve you got, babe?”

It was Kinetica who swept into the room in all her glory. Azure cape flapping in an imaginary wind, she was clad in a skimpy, figure-hugging gold and black leotard that even a blind moleman would recognize.

“Ta-da! Look, it still fits!” She giggled, hovering a foot in the air.

That was debatable. The lycra outfit obviously had a lot of give, as evidenced by how it stretched over the blonde heroine’s much-inflated physique. Succulent boob-flesh bulged out of every side of the metallic bodice, distended under the pressure until it resembled an undersized bikini top fighting a losing battle.

Her lower portion fared better. Kinetica’s caboose had lifted and plumped, but nothing compared to her sweater puppies. Even so, the backless leotard dug into her ass crack like a thong, leaving that slappable booty out on display.

It was indecent. Borderline fetishwear. It didn’t matter if the rest of the costume fit perfectly. The black off-the-shoulder sleeves and arm guards weren’t about to garner public attention when America’s Sweetheart was a shallow breath away from a wardrobe malfunction.

Zane’s dick unfurled at the sight. Stiff and demanding.

Kinetica noticed, smirking as she swooped into his lap. Perching her thick butt on the lump growing there.

“Does my big, handsome man need something?” She cooed in a lilting girlish voice. Pouting playfully as she dry-humped him. “I’m just a silly super who’s helpless in the face of your all-powerful pussy-pounder.”

Wet spots darkened the golden fabric concealing her raspberry nips, beading into white droplets. Zane licked his chops, his forgotten beer fell to the expensive rug.

“I thought we would discuss who you wanted me to enhance?” He croaked, suddenly parched. Greedily groping and kneading her cushiony cleavage.

“Mmmm, Sugar. I adore how rough you play with my titties.” Kinetica moaned, unfastening his pants with a flick of psionic power. “We can talk business once we're done taking our pleasure. I’ll make sure everything works out, you’ll see.”

Her purple-pink eyes blazed as she fished out his steely girth. “You are going to change everything.”

End of Part One

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