Susan Storm's Stripper Saga

The bass pounded through the floor of Club Ecstasy, vibrating up through Susan Storm's stiletto heels and into her latex-encased body. Each thump sent a shiver across her skin, the second-skin of her outfit amplifying every sensation. The hood of her catsuit obscured her features completely – featureless black rubber with only the slightest openings for her eyes and nostrils. Anonymity was her shield.

She had been dancing in the darkness of the club's alternative room for three months now, appearing sporadically whenever the urge became too overwhelming to resist. Tonight, the pulse of desire had been particularly strong, practically driving her from the quiet safety of the Baxter Building with a hunger that couldn't be denied.

The small, circular stage was tucked into the corner of the club's fetish section, far from the main dance floor where normal people wore normal clothes and did normal things. Here, in this darkened corner of deviance, Susan found her release. Here, no one knew that beneath the expressionless latex mask moved one of the world's most respected superheroines.

Susan arched her back, the spotlight catching the gleam of her outfit as she wrapped one leg around the pole and executed a slow, sensual spin. She wasn't a trained dancer, but she'd watched enough videos online to develop a passable routine. What she lacked in technique, she made up for in raw, uninhibited sensuality.

The half-dozen fetish enthusiasts watching her weren't looking for Olympic-level pole skills anyway. They wanted to see the latex goddess before them lose herself in music and movement, to witness her surrender to the rhythm and the material that encased her.

Susan had never stripped during these dances – hadn't dared to. But with each performance, her movements grew bolder, more explicitly sexual. Tonight, she found herself on her knees, back arched impossibly, head thrown back as her hands traced the contours of her latex-covered breasts. The small crowd murmured their approval.

As the song reached its crescendo, Susan slid into a split, her body electric with the thrill of exposure. Even with every inch of skin covered, she had never felt more naked – more seen – in her life. The contradictory sensations of being completely anonymous yet utterly exposed created a heady cocktail of arousal that left her dizzy.

When the music finally faded, Susan rose gracefully to her feet, gave a small bow to the scattered applause, and made her way off the small stage. Her body hummed with unfulfilled desire. Each performance left her desperately turned on, aching for release she wouldn't allow herself until she returned to the privacy of her shower at home.