AKA The Naked Superhero

Jessica trembled in her doorway as the downstairs air rushed up to caress her silky skin. Her big eyes were darting everywhere, as anyone could come by any moment and- what was the point? More tears came as she realized that somehow, someway she was going to be seen again. And then again, and again, and again. She had to hold back hysterical laughter at the irony of it all. She hadn't wanted a superhero costume, had she? And now her costume was zilch. Nothing.

The police officer, a bumbling rookie, stepped out of the elevator. The tell-tale "DING" made Jessica jump about three inches, thoroughly shaking her jiggly bits. She stood shyly with one arm cradling her sizable boobs, the other diving between her thighs. She had one foot over the other, even trying to hide them from scrutiny.

The officer spoke to her curtly, letting her know that she was off the hook as far as NYPD was concerned given the extenuating circumstances, that she was really a hero, and that he thought she was quite pretty if she didn't mind him saying which of course she did while standing there stark naked thank you very much. Jesus, she didn't know what was worse, the moments where he met her downcast eyes, or the considerable time he spent fixated on the dip of her cleavage.

As soon as he turned around, she slammed the door shut, then dove as the glass pane broke for the millionth time. Great, as if she didn't have little enough privacy these days.....

Jessica had instantly made a beeline for the liquor cabinet, as she was predisposed to.
Standing there shifting her weight awkwardly from side to side, she caught herself in the reflection of the glass and quickly (pathologically) positioned a bit of her long dark hair over each rosy exposed nipple. Then she hastily grabbed a bottle of whisky and held it with both hands over her pussy.

She padded over to the couch and slumped down with a mighty sigh, shrugging her broad bare shoulders.

She winced at the scratchy fabric on her poor behind, and sunk into a corner, first placing the liquor between her legs, then yelping at the unfamiliar and strange sensation of a room temperature bottle on her bare parts. She re-positioned the bottle to lay against her bare tummy (not appreciating that she had a very hold-able curvy waist, with just a little bit of healthy chub). She scowled down at her belly button, out there for everyone to see like so much else.

Jessica took stock of what she was working with as she drank. She held out a pale, pretty bare foot in front of her, examining it. Welp, combat boot season is definitely over. She couldn't help but remember the feeling of asphalt and green grass and cold tile on her soles as she walked home through varying terrain.

She looked down at her lovely breasts, uncovered forever from their hiding place in a certain leather jacket and which should never be seen by the public eye, and eye that had basically dove into every crevice of her bare form as she had walked home in the slightly chilly April weather, a police cruiser tracking her moves.

She dared herself to remember what had happened. Naked, she fell into a deep stupor of reminiscence, clutching the bottle for security.

She had had Kilgrave in her grasp, she was about to save the day. But she had let him speak, because oh, she wanted to hear him grovel. She wanted him to beg and she wanted to be the one to deny him.

After all he had done, he deserved it so righteously that it hurt her. And then all hell broke loose with just a few words.

Trish stood off to the side, but she couldn't quite hear.

Jessica was holding Kilgrave down, and he was saying nothing to save himself.

In this game of chess, he had recognized that he was in check.

So he did something unexpected to rearrange the odds.

Jessica snarled. "Aren't you going to tell me to smile, you sick bastard?"

Kilgrave should have been frightened. He should have been speechless.

What he said next would haunt her for the rest of her naked days.

"You've humiliated me again, Jessica. You can't seem to help it, and honestly, I'm so very tired of this. I wanted you like no one has or will ever want you."

Jessica bit her lip and tried to keep her cool. "You don't want anything, you're just sick and you only live to hurt people."

"No, Jessica. I live for the finer things. You were the finest of all, the carrot on the stick that kept me going. But I don't need that anymore. We both know what you're capable of, so do it. But before you do, let me give you a parting word."

Jessica wasn't sure why she let him speak, but she couldn't just....kill someone, point blank, without building up a little resolve.

Kilgrave knew this, and he smiled a sickly sweet smile because he knew what was coming next. He welcomed it.

"Like I said, you humiliated me. But I know you, Jessica. I know your insecurities, your greatest fears, I know you as intimately as a best friend or a lover. I wanted you to share that with me alone, but now you're going to have share with everybody. I'll tell you what I want you to do. The moment you kill me you will have made your choice. Jessica, I want you to never-"

Jessica prepared to do the deed, furious beyond reason. She just needed one more push. "Of course I won't forget, fucker. How could I? Goodbye Kilgrave, and do me on favor. Smile."

Only Jessica heard the guttural last phrase as it was squeezed from his throat. It was more of a visceral noise, but it was word-like enough.

"-wear a thing."

Jessica stood there for a second before it became apparent to her what was going on. Her arms seemed to drop the body on their own. Suddenly, her delicate but powerful hands were dancing over the zipper of her jacket, throwing it off in a frenzy. Jessica began to mutter to herself hysterically as he eyes went wide.

"No, no no no no."

Her legs began to join in, one booted foot using the heavy heel to push off a boot , then a slender socked foot doing the same. Her hands were working on her shirt now, pulling up and over- and like that Jessica Jones was in public in front of at least fifty people in her socks, pants, panties and bra.

"NONONONONONO!"

Trish realized that it was over, but began to call to Jessica when she was what was happening. What exactly WAS happening?

"Jessica, what in the world are you doing?"

Jessica couldn't answer, as one foot pushed a sock down her heel and slid it down and off her toes, then those same small toes worked off her other sock. Barefoot now.

"NO!"

Jessica's pants were now around her ankles, and the only thing left around her hips were her panties.

"FUCK! NO, PLEASE NO!"

As if the universe had answered, her hands dove behind her back and ripped open her bra, pulling the straps off her shoulders and letting her bare chest jiggle free. The crowd watched with amused and befuddled awe.

"OH GOD!" "JESSICA, STOP!"

Jessica suddenly stopped, managed to turn around- and then threw down her panties, baring her pale ass to the crowd.

That was when the tears had started, as Jessica turned around with a hand over her breasts and another hand on her most private place, but otherwise exposed completely buck naked to the crowd.

Trish thankfully hadn't asked right away, but there was a long conversation before the police took over.

And then it was all history. The history of Jessica Jones, Nudist of Hell's Kitchen, New York. Which might of well of been Hell itself.

Jessica shivered, wrapping her arms around herself despite being in her living room. She realized that the blinds were still open. Getting up to close them, she heard a familiar intrusion through the front door.

MALCOLM!

Fuck it all, Jessica thought.