A quick detour before finding... The Jokester

With your enhancements, you don't need any kind of a car - nor do you care about the cracks and potholes you leave in roofs and streets, landing on them after soaring leaps with your shock-absorbing titanium alloy boots. That kind of thing is for those candy-coated brown-nosing posers in the League of Propriety. You're out to become the REAL kind of hero, the sort who doesn't do it for pats on the back from the press, and isn't afraid to get her hands dirty to clear the world of evil. You have yourself a merry free-run through the city. With a giggle as you show off by leaping from one chain-link fencetop to the next, you muse to yourself: "Maybe some day I'll get bored of being able to run at 30 miles per hour and jump 6 times my own height but not anytime soon! HEY there!"

You perch on a windowsill for a moment, raising your voice and making some random schlubby office drone who was just getting out of the shower wearing a towel do an impressive little hop of his own as he whirled to see who was talking to him from his 3rd-story window. Rather than looking happy or intrigued that there's a cute 21-year-old girl in a camo-patterned bunny costume sitting outside his window, his expression is one of shocked dismay. "Agh!" he holds up his hands, trying to keep his modest towel from falling off - not that it matters, you can see up it easily. "Not another villain...! Listen, I've already told five of you nut jobs, this 'Thunder Wizard' guy you're looking for doesn't live here anymore! For God's sake, just leave me alone!!"

"Hey!" You cock your head irately and scrunch up your face, pushing the unlocked window open (apparently this poor fellow figured that locking it when villains wanted to get in was just going to encourage them to do more damage on the way in). "Villain!? What are you talking about? I'm a vigilante, buddy! A specially modified, black-ops commando who's come to your city to deal with threats the League can't or won't, just out of the goodness of my heart!"

"Get out of here!" he waves dismissively at you. "I don't know ANYTHING about ANY supervillains, okay?" He winces at the noise of your sharp-ridged boots scuffing his wood floor. "Please, have mercy - I have a security deposit on this place, you know? If you're looking for a criminal to punish, go talk to the landlord who didn't tell me the last occupant of this room was a costumed maniac!"

Your expression goes from angry to nonplussed. "What... you are acting really weird, you know that?" you say accusingly. "Where's your balls? You just had a butt so hot," you turn around and give your camo-pantyhose-clad rear end an ostentatious spank and waggle, "that it would be banned as an incendiary weapon under the Geneva Convention bounce into your apartment, and all you have to say is, 'get out'? Are you gay or something?"

"Is that a GUN?!" his eyebrows go another few inches higher as he notices the soft carrying satchel slung over your shoulder. Apparently, it's still immediately recognizable as a rifle even inside of a bag. Instead of staring at the exposed skin of your breasts, his eyes flick over to the phone. "Are you sure you aren't a villain?"

Balling up your fists reflexively, you stamp the floor loudly (if it wasn't scuffed before, it sure is now). "Answer the question, maggot! I'm standing here dressed like this and you don't have anything to say about it? Maybe you are a supervillain! Why aren't you trying your damnedest to get me to show you even more? Any red-blooded man ought to be promising that you know anything and everything in this situation!" It's true - he's a typical, out-of-shape, noodle-armed, unhealthily-pale, mop-haired nerd.

He groans, standing up and briefly considering edging towards the phone before thinking better of it. "Weren't you listening? This is the 4th time in the month I've been here that some chick in a skimpy costume has performed a home invasion on me and demanded to know this thing or that! The first one slapped me around, the second one stole my fuckin' Nintendo, and the third one who rummaged through my icebox and took a gallon of milk was actually the politest one! And that was without me lying to them about anything!" He huffs and crosses his arms. "You think that I'm going to be smiling and welcoming you in because I think I'm going to get laid, or something? I'm not stupid, lady."

"Auuuugh!" You bury your face in your hands. "Why do you have to be so difficult? I just popped in here because they don't post street signs high enough and I need to get to the alley at West 30th Street, and I'm on a real tight time-table here."

"I'm not telling you anything! If you aren't actually a supervillainness," he says, "the only thing you could do right now to convince me of it is fucking LEAVE!"

"Oh yeah?" You start instinctively bouncing up and down on your heels, ready for a fight - but, you can't exactly just kick this civvie's ass, no matter how rude he's being. "Well guess what, smart-ass: I'm not part of the League of Super-Strippers and I don't care about what the tabloids or rumor mills say." You take two long strides and then do a sideways swan-dive onto a couch in dire need of reupholstery, laying on your side and resting your head on one of your hands. In spite of yourself, your cheeks and nose are getting a bright red - you had never thought you would end up doing something like this, but ever since you'd gotten that supersoldier treatment, when something got you worked up you could never settle down again.

The office worker boggles at you and takes a couple of sideways paces towards his phone. You give your thigh a loud slap and thrust out your chest as far as you can. "I don't believe in playing games - I'm Gun Bunny, and I'm a straight shooter! What time is it, 8:04? You've got five minutes to do whatever you want with me. And all I'm asking - no, demanding - in return is that, if you DO know anything about this Wizard guy, you better spill it, and either way, tell me which turns I need to make at the next intersection to get to West 30th."

He just stands there for a few moments, his expression suddenly changing from indignation to genuine surprise. You blush and swallow. 'Did I really just say that?' you silently ask yourself. But, well, you can't very well back down now. "Tick tock, you're on the clock!" You say say, snapping your fingers rapidly several times for emphasis.

"When you say anything, you mean..." he starts, voice cracking nervously - and eyes fully taking in your figure for the first time.

"Yeah, of course!" you say with a little shrug of your shoulder. "I mean, as long as you've got a condom somewhere around here that you can use. No offense, but looking at you, I get the feeling that you might have a..." you giggle a little pre-emptively at your own joke, "hare trigger. You get it? Because I'm dressed like a... and my name is..."

He doesn't hear, though - the civvie has dashed through a nearby door into his bedroom, and you can hear drawers being thrown open, and a lot of random crashing, followed by the guy frantically cursing to himself. You smirk - despite being more than a little unsure you want to go through with such a thing, it's gratifying to see him change his tune so quickly. "I can't find it, I can't find it!!" he says with the same tone a mother might use when reporting to the police that her 5 year old has gone missing.

"Alright, get back in here already!" you shout to him, snapping your fingers again. He shows back up, wearing a pained expression - and in the process of stumbling back down the hallway, his towel falls off completely, revealing that his average-sized cock has woken up and is pointing directly at you achingly. "Come here," you say. "I don't have time to get undressed, anyway. But I think I can take care of things quickly anyway."

The civvie, unable to stop himself from trembling a little, walks up to you and reaches down to put his hands on you, giving one of your breasts a squeeze (well... giving the padding artificially enhancing its size a squeeze, anyhow) and resting the other one on the thin fabric covering your tummy, dipping his index finger into your belly-button. They slide down, over the sides of your body, making a pleasant tingle run through your spine despite the fact that he was pretty damn far from the fit, manly appearance that your former boyfriends from the army had been sporting. You reach out and grab his pale, slightly flabby ass cheeks with your hands and pull him closer.

Closing your eyes and musing that at least it was a clean, freshly-showered dick, you opened your mouth wide and took the throbbing purple mushroom-head past your lips, letting it rest on your tongue. Giving his bare backside a playful swat with one of your palms (though still hard enough to leave a lasting red mark), you slid the shaft deeper until the head was tickling the back of your throat and threatening to make you gag. Sliding back and forth from your position sitting on his couch, you started to apply the suction, producing an erotic slurping sound that made him groan.

After every three or four back-and-forth bobs on his manhood, your eyes flicked back over to the clock. 3 minutes... two minutes... damn it, you think to yourself, he'd better not be intentionally holding back his nut just to prolong the experience. Or maybe you just aren't doing it very well? Suddenly, with a little bit of worry, you consider that you've never actually gotten a guy off just by giving him oral, before - it was always just a warmup before the main event. You pull off, your lips giving a pop as the vacuum suction of your mouth is broken, and look up at his suddenly-greedy eyes.

"Time's running short here, so go ahead and start giving me the directions," you say as you rub the warm, slick length of meat against your cheek, before opening wide and taking it into your mouth so deep that it interrupts your breathing - you keep sliding it in more and more, struggling to suppress your reflex to cough and gag, and go so deep that his tight, excited ball sack is resting against your chin.

"It's... uhh... fuck, fuck - All the way down Ward, then a right at Liberty Lass street, down a block, if you see the, nfff, roundabout or the Piggly Wiggly, you've gone too far... and then it's right at the edge of the apartment block..." he gurgles unsteadily, reaching down to cradle the back of your head with his hands. You turn up the intensity of your blowjob, sucking as hard as you can, lungs burning for air, and jerking your head back and forth, making some rather undignified "Guk, guk, guk~" sounds in the process.

"AHHH!" Your hands gripping his butt feel his whole body tense up as bitter, slimy semen spurts all over the back of your throat. It's too much, and as you pull back, you shudder, gagging and heaving as you struggle against the urge to vomit. This is the first time you've tasted semen, and you can't say it's exactly pleasant - and the consistency is downright nauseating. "Ecchhhh!" you gag and clear your throat as you spit a big wad of it all over his floor. "Yuck! No offense, dude, but your cum tastes awful." Your nuanced criticism of his bodily fluids doesn't seem to register - he just stands there with a stupid smile on his face.

You bound to your feet and make for the window. "Alright, I've got to fly - and if I find out you were holding out on me when it comes to this Thunder Wizard guy, I'm gonna pay you another visit that you won't enjoy nearly as much. See you later, loser."

Even as you turn around, he leans after you and treats himself to one last grab-and-squeeze of your curvy little ass - requiring you to throw a painful elbow into his chest to get him to let you go. "And don't go spreading this around, either!" You shout back as you do a flying jump out of his window, a reverse kick-jump off of another building's wall, and land in a hurried sprint - you're already risking being late as it is. It's only after you've already gotten back to street level that you regret not taking a few extra seconds to raid his bathroom for some mouthwash... especially when you're on your way to meet a guy whose opinion of you actually matters!

You come in to the alley at such a run that your boots throw up sparks as you skid to a halt. For a moment, your heart catches in your throat as you worry that you've gotten here too late after all - your eyes can't pick up a trace of movement in the shadow-blanketed back alley. "H-hello?" You say in a quivering, questionably confident voice. "It's... Gun Bunny...?"

There is utter silence for a few moments. Just as you're convinced that you're alone and your heart begins to sink into your feet, there's a faint scraping sound and an old-fashioned match ignites in a corner. You turn to look as a tiny fireball dances along the end of a freshly-cut cigar, protruding from the clenched teeth of a distinctive visage that makes you give a silly, buck-toothed smile of delight.

Leaning casually in the corner is a bulky, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled man who epitomized the image of the dapper yet gritty anti-hero. His identity was (barely) concealed with a black domino mask, but it was small enough to give you a good look at his chiseled, handsome features and small, well-groomed mustache. His rakish hair had a bit of grey creeping in around the temples - but no one in their right mind would take a look at him and think this was a man who was past his prime, or want to see him angry. Instead of a colorful costume, he was dressed more like how you might expect a mercenary to look, with a black armored vest and plain, unmarked steel shoulder pads, complete with a bandolier full of shotgun slugs draped across the chest.

Your eyes focused on him, and sure enough, near the top of the vest was a distinctive yellow sticker in the shape of a winking cartoon face with the tongue sticking out. "The Jokester!" You chirp excitably, before jerking your hand up to sharply salute. "I can't believe that you've... I mean, I had heard rumors that you took an early retirement!"

"Yeah, don't remind me." the grizzled veteran chuckled as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Whole lot of strings got pulled to encourage the boys upstairs to **** that gold watch into my hands. But to the surprise of nobody with a brain, the joke was on them. Turns out they were letting the strategic situation go to absolute shit the moment my foot was out of the door. So I'm back on the warpath. That's just the kind of nice guy I am. But let's talk about you. I remember taking a look at your file a few months back, had you in the back of my mind."

He takes the cigar in between two fingers and confidently steps forward, grinning toothily at you. "But then one of my fixers, he's like - 'You've got to see this video, Ed'." He chuckles deeply and shakes his head a few times. "'Don't worry, the blood's not mine.' Hah! Classic... I won't say you're the first one I've ever heard use that line, but it's all in the delivery."

You nervously laugh, hoping your blush isn't too obvious in the dim, flickering light. Unconsciously you put your feet together and lean forward, trying to look feminine and a little mischievous. "Well-"

He cuts you off before you can say anything. "You made a real mess, to be honest, and your dossier had some real fucking concerning things to say. Severe discipline problems, even before you got accepted to the special program. Difficulty refraining from shooting your mouth off. And, on top of that, a psych-eval that raised concerns of 'moderate to severe sociopathic tendencies.'"

Eyes widening with shock, you hold up your hands defensively. Dr. Fillon said that about me?! That fucking bitch! flashed through your mind... but the only things that came out of your mouth were a few unsteady stammers. "Um- that is -"

"Perfect." The Jokester says, giving you a wink with the same eye as his notorious insignia, taking a moment to smile broadly before taking another deep drag of his cigar. "You want to head back to my safehouse, let me give you the walk-through, maybe get a bite? Or you ready to..." his eyes flick down to your scantily-clad lower half and trade up the front of your sexy brown leotard, "saddle up right now? I've had another demented scientist that the boys in Washington let slip their leash on my radar for the past few weeks, and it's a nice, quiet night to..." he reaches down and grabs up a menacing black semi-automatic shotgun, racking the slide with a menacing *cha-chunk*, "...investigate."

You can hardly believe your luck. It's everything you were hoping for. A voice in the back of your mind whispers that maybe you should give it a little more thought before jumping into something like this... but it's a voice you get more practice ignoring with each and every passing day.