Supergirl starts to slip

Kara couldn’t focus.

Not on monitor duty. Not on Karen’s smug little “See? That wasn’t so bad.” Not even on Wonder Boobs milking some goon between her tits in the watchtower locker room like it was just another Tuesday.

The urge was too strong. She needed—needed—

“Kara?” Karen’s voice snapped her back to reality as Karen leaned over her, cleavage dangling right in her face. “You’re, uh. Panting.”

She was. Her chest heaved, lips parted, fingers digging into the armrests of her chair hard enough to crack the steel.

“I can’t—” Kara swallowed, voice a whimper. “Karen, I think I have to…”

She knew. Of course Karen knew. She saw the way Kara’s knees trembled, how her hips rolled just slightly, chasing friction. She saw the shame warring with desperation.

Karen’s expression softened. "You can say it."

But Kara couldn’t. Because if she admitted it out loud, it would be real. She wasn’t Supergirl anymore.

And if she didn’t do something now—

She bolted for the zeta tubes before Karen could stop her.

---

Kara didn’t even pick a destination. She just ran. Stumbled out into a seedy alley in Blüdhaven, vision blurry, cunt aching. The magic was winning.

Then—

A warm body. Rough hands. A cocky voice.

"Well, well. Ain’t you a sight?"

She whirled—coming face-to-face with a low-rent thug, guns strapped to his belt, eyes already locked on her tits.

She should have decked him.

She moaned.

His grin widened. “Heard about you. Supergirl, right?”

Kara shook her head.

“No?” He stepped closer, breath reeking of cheap cigs. “Then what’s your name, sweetheart?”

The magic throbbed.

She couldn’t—wouldn’t—

Then his fingers grazed her hip, sliding up under her skirt, and the words tore out of Kara like a confession.

“Super Slut.”

His grin widened. His hands—dirty, rough—grabbed her hair.

And Kara dropped.

Knees slammed against wet pavement, skirt riding up to expose her bare ass to the Blüdhaven chill. Her lips parted before he even unzipped his jeans, her pierced nipples rubbing painfully against the confines of her top.

“Fuck, you want this,” he laughed, slapping his half-hard cock against her cheek.

Kara didn’t answer. She just took him into her mouth with a whimper.

It was filthy. Undignified.

She gagged as he shoved deeper, tangy pre-cum flooding her tongue, her own spit dribbling down her chin. His hips jerked, forcing her to take him to the hilt, her nose buried in his musky crotch.

And God—she loved it.

The magic sang in her veins, rewarding her for being what Aphrodite made her. Every sloppy suck, every gag, every lewd slurp just further melted her resistance.

“That’s it, slut,” he groaned, fingers tightening in her hair. “Take it—”

She did. Pupils blown, tears streaking mascara, throat clenching as he fucked her face like she was nothing—then—

“Gonna fill you up—” His cock jerked. Hot, thick spurts painted the back of her throat.

And—

“Nngh! Nnnngh!”

She came. Violently. Hips bucking, fingers scrabbling against his thighs, pussy drenching her own legs as she swallowed every last drop.

It wasn’t pleasure. It was surrender.

When he finally pulled out—cock glistening with her spit—Kara stayed on her knees. Breath ragged. Lips swollen. Terrified to look up.

“Damn,” he whistled, tucking himself away. “Guess the rumors are true.”

A shaky hand rose to Kara’s face—wiping the mess from her chin.

She should have been ashamed.

But all she could think was—When can I do that again?

---

“Just one more,” she whispered into the grimy alleyway air. As if she could lie to herself now.

The second guy wasn’t even searching for her—Kara floated after him, skirts fluttering, lips still tender from the last cock. Her reflection in a nearby puddle stopped her cold: smeared lipstick, tousled hair, eyes glazed with desperation.

“Hey,” she called, voice dripping with fake confidence. “Want a turn?”

He blinked—then smirked. “Shit, Supergirl charging for blowjobs now?”

Kara flinched. But the magic burned hotter than the shame.

“Not Supergirl,” she murmured, sinking to her knees again. “Super… Slut.”

And just like that—Round two.

This one was rougher. Fingers tangled in her hair like reins, hips snapping forward, her throat stretching obscenely. She choked, tears welling up—but her hands stayed limp at her sides. No fighting. No resistance. Just service.

“Gonna paint your insides, whore,” he grunted. And God, Kara wanted him to. His cock pulsed—And she swallowed greedily, milking him dry as another orgasm wrecked her.

But when he pulled out—something clinked against her teeth.

The piercing. A cold, metal weight on her tongue. She probed it with shaky fingers—then froze. A tiny ‘S’ shield. Permanent.

“No,” she gasped—but the proof was there, glinting in the dim light. The magic wasn’t just changing her clothes anymore.

It was claiming her.

She fled. Back to the Hall. Back to her room. Back to silence. Staring at the mirror, tongue out, the ‘S’ staring back like a brand. Super Slut. Forever.

And tomorrow—Would she even want to stop?

---

THE MORNING AFTER

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Karen,” Kara groaned, rubbing her tired eyes. Her tongue tingled where the new piercing rested—her permanent little mark of shame. But that was nothing compared to what she was seeing now.

Power Pussy—no, Karen—stood with her hands on her hips, completely unbothered by the fact her costume had… evolved overnight. Her leotard had thickened—technically. But only because a perfect, oval-shaped hole had been punched through the crotch, framing her bare pussy like an exhibit. No panties. No modesty panel. Just a blatant window to her slick folds.

Karen caught Kara staring and rolled her eyes. “Relax, Super Slut. It doesn’t hurt.”

Except… it kind of did. Because while Karen’s outfit was getting worse, her mind was still hers. Mostly.

Kara? She was dripping at the memory of last night’s cocks. And Karen knew it.

“You’re fighting a losing battle,” Karen sighed, shifting her stance—subtly rolling her hips, letting the light catch on her exposed slit like she knew what it did to Kara.

"I can stop," Kara lied.

"Really?" Karen arched a brow. "Then why’s your tongue pierced?"

Kara’s cheeks burned. Her pulse raced.

"That was—I just needed to—"

"Needed?" Karen interrupted, smirking. "Or wanted?"

Kara opened her mouth—then shut it. Because that was the question, wasn’t it? Had those cocks been necessity… or was Kara just a slut?

"Announce yourself," Karen urged. "Before this gets worse."

But Kara hesitated. Because if she gave in now… all the orgasms, the sticky throats, the shameful bliss of being used like a cheap whore… would it mean nothing? Or would it just mean she was exactly who Aphrodite made her?

"Just another few days," Kara whispered.

Karen didn’t argue. She just sighed—and adjusted her crotch window like it was normal.

---

Kara stood backstage, panties already absent, feeling the cool air teasing where her skirt barely covered her.

This isn’t the same as fucking someone, she told herself. You’re just… dancing. Flirting. Not giving in.

But the way Raven had raised an eyebrow at Kara’s plan told her she wasn’t convinced.

"This might appease the magic," she’d said. "Or it might just make it worse."

There was only one way to find out.

---

Spotlight On

The MC grinned as Kara walked—strutted—onto the stage, her exaggerated sway making her skirt flutter dangerously.

“And now, a very special celebrity joining us tonight—give it up for… uh… Supergirl!”

The crowd went wild.

Kara didn’t correct him. Not yet.

The bass hit, and her body moved on instinct—hips rolling, tits bouncing, fingers tracing down her sides until they dipped under her skirt. Someone whistled. She smirked—then spun, flipping her hair as her skirt rode up, flashing everything before yanking it back down with faux modesty. The audience roared. Her cunt throbbed. This was working.

By the third song, Kara was lost in it. Hips grinding on the pole. Chest arching. Skirt gone, tossed aside like some last pathetic shred of resistance.

Then—“Woah, Supergirl,” the MC chuckled as Kara dropped into a split, legs spread obscenely wide—“you sure you’re an amateur?” The crowd laughed. Kara shivered.

“Not… Supergirl,” she panted, crawling forward like bait, dragging her fingers teasingly up her inner thighs. “My name is… Super Slut.”

And just like that—Shift. The magic purred. Happy. Satisfied.

---

Backstage, Raven gave Kara a once-over—eyes lingering on her shiny, sweat-slick thighs.

“So?” Kara asked, breathless but giddy.

“It helped,” Raven admitted. “For now.”

But they both knew the truth. If Kara wanted to stay herself—and still hold onto what little remained of her self-control—amateur nights would have to become a regular thing.

---

Kara felt her before she saw her. Tall, regal, lounging in the VIP booth like a queen surveying her subjects—eyes locked onto Kara with an intensity that made her thighs clench. Even through the smoky haze of the club, her presence was undeniable. Rich. Powerful. And very, very interested.

The manager nudged Kara with a grin. “VIP request, gorgeous. You game?”

Was she? No. But when the magic coiled low in her belly—hungry, insistent—Kara licked her lips (the little S on her tongue glinting) and nodded. Just a dance, she told herself. Just a little relief.

---

She didn’t touch Kara at first. Just watched as Kara swayed, bare thighs straddling her lap, nipples brushing the edge of her perfectly tailored jacket. Close enough to tease—not close enough to satisfy.

“You’re very good at this,” she mused, voice smooth like dark wine. Kara shivered, rolling her hips just to hear her breath hitch. Then—her fingers skimmed Kara’s waist—higher—“No touching,” Kara gasped automatically, even as her chest arched toward the stranger.

She smirked. “Then tell me to stop.” Kara couldn’t. Her thumb flicked over Kara’s pierced nipple, and Kara whimpered, grinding down hard as the bolt of pleasure shot straight to her cunt.

“Oh—fuck—”“Mmm. Not quite yet,” the stranger teased, pinching just hard enough to make Kara squirm. “But getting closer, aren’t we?”

She was toying with Kara. Driving her mad. Every brush of her fingers sent Kara shuddering, every whispered taunt (“Does Super Slut like being teased?”) made her pussy clench. And God—she knew it. Knew how close Kara was. Knew how badly she needed to come. But she wouldn’t let her. Not until—

“Circe.” The name slipped from her lips like a secret—and Kara’s entire body locked up. The sorceress? Here?

“Aphrodite’s little project is even more entertaining up close,” she purred, finally—finally—digging her nails into Kara’s hips as her orgasm exploded.

“Nnngh! Fuck—CIRCE—!” The magic erupted with her, flooding Kara’s veins like liquid heat as she came screaming in a goddess’s lap.

She left before Kara could catch her breath—vanished into the crowd with one last smirk. And all Kara could think?

I’m so fucked.

---

POWER PUSSY – A DAY IN THE LIFE

9:00 AM – WAKE UP (WITH COMPLICATIONS)

I rolled over in bed, instantly reminded of my situation by the cold air against my bare cunt. The "strategically placed ventilation" in my costume wasn’t just for looks—it itched like hell when it snagged on the sheets.

I got up, stumbled to my closet, and winced. All my real uniforms were gone. Just rows of the same leotard waited—identical save for one detail: the pussy window had gotten bigger overnight.

I blew out a frustrated breath. "Great. Now my labia are gonna get windburn."

---

11:00 AM – JUSTICE LEAKS

Diana—Wonder Boobs—was briefing the Titans when I arrived. Predictably, no one was looking at her face.

"—which is why we must strike at the Fearsome Five's hideout before—Kara, stop fidgeting."

I wasn’t fidgeting. I was just shifting—because despite my best efforts, I could feel my wetness dripping down my inner thigh. The breeze wasn’t helping.

"S-sorry," I muttered—then nearly choked when Beast Boy, mid-morph (into a horny looking Labrador), sniffed the air.

"Whoa. Someone’s into this mission."

Diana shot him a look. He turned into an armadillo and rolled away.

---

2:00 PM – FIELD WORK (A.K.A. DISTRACTION DUTY)

We hit the Fearsome Five’s hideout hard. Well. I hit it hard. Diana jiggled into battle.

Giganta drooled—then tripped over her own feet when I vaulted onto her knee, landing crotch-first on the giantess’s thigh with a breathy "Oof!"

"Oh fuck," Giganta groaned—then collapsed, her face smacking into the pavement.

Honestly? I’d take the win.

---

6:00 PM – HALL OF JUSTICE, LOCKER ROOM

Roy found me post-shower, trying (and failing) to tape the crotch-window shut.

"Need a hand?" he drawled way too close to my ear.

I kicked the locker shut—narrowly missing his dick.

"Need to lose one?"

He laughed, holding up his non-metal arm in surrender.

"Relax, P.P."—he winked—"You’re still you."

Was I, though?

I glanced down.

The window had stretched another half-inch.

Fuck.

---

11:00 PM – THE REALIZATION

Laying in bed, I traced the new seam of my leotard—wondering when "Power Pussy" had stopped making me flinch. When I’d stopped hating the cheers. The stares. The power of stopping criminals just by existing.

I rolled over, squeezing my thighs together. "Maybe… this isn’t so bad."

---

SUPER SLUT – THE SLIPPERY SLOPE GETS SLICKER

Karen stood in front of Kara’s bed, legs slightly apart—because closing them would’ve meant rubbing, and judging by her flushed cheeks, that would’ve sent her over the edge immediately.

“It’s not just that it won’t stop dripping,” Karen muttered, gesturing at the glossy, swollen mess between her legs. “Look at this. My fucking labia are purple.”

She was right. The plump, puffy lips of Karen’s pussy looked engorged, flushed dark enough to match her leotard, visibly throbbing with every rapid heartbeat. A thin strand of slickness ran down her thigh.

“…You look like a fucking porn parody of yourself,” Kara said, because someone had to.

Karen glared. “Oh, like you’re one to judge with your tongue-brand and your pierced nips—”

“Friends.” Wonder Boobs—because of course she was here—stepped between them, tits nearly smacking them both in the face. “This isn’t helping.”

They fell silent. Because she wasn’t wrong.

Kara took a deep breath. “So. Uh. Last night. At the club.”

Karen arched a brow. “Did you finally fuck someone in the champagne room?”

“I met Circe in the champagne room.”

Silence. Then—“Oh, fuck me,” Karen groaned.

“That was not the reaction I was looking for,” Diana mused, idly cupping her own chest.

Kara ignored her. “If Circe is investigating us, who’s next? Hera? Zeus? What if they decide to, I don’t know, help Aphrodite?”

Karen paled. Wonder Boobs looked intrigued.

“We can’t risk the club again,” Kara muttered. “I need a new plan.”

“So, what?” Karen paced—squelch—“Just find another way to be slutty without getting caught by divine stalkers?”

“Basically.” Kara chewed her lip. “Maybe something private this time?”

“Oh good,” Karen drawled. “Because you’ve been so good at not going too far in private settings.”

A flash of last night’s **** grinding burned behind Kara’s eyelids. She gulped.

“I’ll… figure it out.”

Karen stared at her, frowning. Then—her hand slapped between her own thighs, muffling the obscene wet noise her pussy made as she shifted. “You’ve got three days, Kara. Don’t fuck this up.”

Kara swallowed. “Too late for that.”