Karen Goes Clubbing

High heels clack-clack-clacked as Karen Starr strutted across the street towards the front of The Squat Rack. The heavy beats that thumped out of the building were infectious, causing every woman and femme that passed by to take on a sultry, sashaying gait as they went to and fro. Behind the 'frosted' glass of the enormous bay windows, sensual, svelte shapes gyrated and writhed in time with the pulse of the dancefloor's strobing spotlights. Occasionally, one of them would shudder and shake, before thrashing her hips as a blast of spunk frosted the windows that little bit more. Karen licked her lips as her body tingled, the sensation of the too-tight bandeau stretched around her tits until it was as thin as gossamer and the skirt similarly shrink-wrapped onto every curve of her hips and hindquarters nearly too much to bear.

The glossy metamaterial, the latest product of Starrware's labs, clung to every micrometer of her like a jealous, needy lover. It pressed against her skin, lifting and squeezing her breasts and buttocks into the same perfect forms that they would take were she to rise of the ground with her powers of flight. Every step made them jostle and jiggle, every pose presented them perfectly. Whenever she donned it, Karen felt like the material was stroking and caressing her with soft, strong hands that groped and grabbed at her in ways that only a Kryptonian could detect, like it was giving her a slow, sensual massage. To an inferior woman, it appeared to be a blinding bright white, pure and noble, but Karen's eyes saw it very differently. To her alien gaze, it was a deep, deep purple that had an ineffable quality about it that could only be described as 'slutty'. When she moved and the light caught her clothes, sheets of shimmering gold danced across its surface in dazzling patterns that only she could see.

As she approached the VIP entrance, bypassing the endless queue of people **** to say that they managed to gain entrance to the one and only Squat Rack of Gotham, the bouncer dropped into a deep, spread-legged squat and gently stroked Karen's metamaterial-sheathed cock. Despite the fact that it was only now beginning to stir to life at the 'touch' of the stroking, flexing material wrapped around it and the prospect of so much fuckable, fertile female flesh, it was a real monster of a member - befitting the rest of her Kryptonian form, of course. The bouncer laid it alongside her arm for comparison, suckled a few drops of salty-sweet precum from its exposed head to check its flavour, then stood up and waved Karen through the door. Oh, this is the life, she thought to herself as she beheld the inside of The Squat Rack, this is the fucking life.

The cavernous club had once been a quartet of disused warehouses that had been frequented by various criminal groups over the years, a shameful reminder of the time before the Bat. When she won office,freshly-elected Mayor Selina Kyle had seized the opportunity presented by the semi-vacant plot of land like it was a juicy bubble butt and ordered that the site be converted into something more befitting Gotham City's new direction. Thus was born The Squat Rack; a latter-day basilica, a temple to the throne of ASS at which the world prostrated themselves. Four enormous stages, totaling half of the available floorspace, were placed in a diamond pattern in the physics-defying hall, each bearing a dancefloor packed with lusty ladies bumping, grinding and twerking the night (and day) away, accessible only by long flights of stairs.

The other half of the floor was packed with gym gear, the superior of which existed nowhere on Earth save for the Fortress of Solitude. Ranks of exercise bikes, treadmills, climbing machines and more were in constant use by an army of fit, feisty females - and everywhere Karen looked, she saw the club's namesakes. Everything about The Squat Rack, from its equipment to its architecture, was designed to do one thing and one thing only...

Pump. That. ASS. Up!

Swarms of Gotham's social elite congregated on the metal balconies and walkways that ringed the room, basking in the rising scent of pheromones, perspiration and fresh cum that rose off of the crowds below. Karen wove her way through the throngs of sweaty, raunchy femmes in their skimpy fitness clothing, admiring particularly fine specimens as she went. There, a ruby-lipped Latina woman with a thick cameltoe and an even thicker rear was moaning with the ecstatic exertion of squatting a long pole with a pair of giggling, blushing Asian twins sat balancing on the ends as those around her whooped and shouted encouragement. There, a pale Nordic femme screamed in triumph as she finished benching a new personal best, her rock-hard femcock blasting an enormous load of baby-batter onto anyone in her front arc, drawing coos and gasps of delight. There, a top-heavy cyclist with such mixed ancestry that even Karen needed a moment to untangle the mixture of African, Arab, Native American and Slavic evident in her gorgeous, striking face blew her a kiss and mimed giving a blowjob to the obscene obelisk of veiny, tightly-wrapped meat now forcing its way up from under Karen's skirt and preceding her as she walked.

Strutting up the long, long staircase that led to the DJ booths where Mayor Kyle and her reputable, definitely non-villainous co-owner Power Bottom oversaw their people, Karen was only a little surprised to see an old friend standing next to the Mayor where Power Bottom normally situated herself. After all, she had been the one to first bring Diana Prince to The Squat Rack, and the one to give her a congratulatory buttfucking when she impressed its owners enough to get a job as the club's Chief of Security (and substitute DJ, whenever the one or both of the club's owners-slash-emcees needed to take time away from their work). Admiring Selina's pert, pant-stretching booty and Diana's phat, jiggling badonkadonk, she stepped between them and seized a cheek in each hand, squeezing and groping them relentlessly. "Hello, ladies," she greeted them in an exaggerated drawl, before dropping the act (but not their butts), "is Power Bottom not joining us?"

The question was clearly directed at Mayor Kyle rather than Diana, given that the latter was currently in the throes of a full-on attack of Slut Brain from Karen's rough handling. "Oh, I'm sure she's around and about," Selina replied breezily, long used to her old acquaintance's habit of playing grab-ass with her, "but since she's off doing something perfectly legal and not at all sinister, I find myself needing someone to help me practice my routine for my next mayoral debate. I'd ask Diana, but she can't exactly fill in for me out here if she's in my office." Karen nodded; that made sense. Mayor Kyle needed someone to practice with, and with perfectly legitimate local businesswoman Power Bottom busy with something that definitely didn't involve taking a naive heroine's cock in her mind-mastering ASS and Diana busy filling in for them on the decks, she would need to be the one. "Lead the way," she gestured towards the rightmost of the two doors set back into the back wall of the DJ booth.

Following Selina's swaying steps into the room, Karen took a moment to admire the clean, gleaming chrome that made up most of the materials in Mayor Kyle's club office. The politician's ass was reflected in every surface as it swallowed her black lycra booty shorts, leaving nowhere to hide from the sight of her ASS. Hopping up onto her desk, Mayor Kyle kicked her papers off to one side with a sweep of her long, lickable legs before planting her feet shoulder-width apart and beginning her debate routine. It's certainly an innovative technique, Karen reflected as she watched the glorious globes jiggle with every twitch and shimmy of the Mayor's hips. Unlike other politicians, Selina Kyle didn't bother with long-winded counterpoints or dry statistics when her opponents invited her to debate them. Instead, she simply twerked the opposition into submission, battering them down with the quaking of her ASS. Leaping down off of the desk and disappearing her shorts with a snap of her fingers, Selina placed her hands on Karen's shoulders and gently pushed her back into the closed door, then spun around and flipped into a handstand with her feet planted either side of the Kryptonian femme's head.

The sight of Mayor Kyle, of Selina's bare ass shaking so close to her face was too much for Karen to bear. Grabbing her hips with both hands, she dragged the object of her lusts towards her open mouth and drove her tongue straight past the human's ringpiece as she laid a deep, sloppy, lipstick-stained kiss on Mayor Kyle's perfect pucker. This is heaven, Karen thought dazedly, swirling her tongue around and tripping the other femme's nerve clusters one after the other, I've died and gone to heaven. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled great gulps of Mayor Kyle's workout-induced scent, knowing that she now had another sweet memory of the woman who always induced her most intense masturbatory orgasms. The only comparison she could draw was with the time President Catwoman had graciously rewarded her for thwarting a plot to bomb the Purple House by sitting on her face for a whole day, squishing all coherent thought out of her mind with her perfect ASS, but the comparison slipped from her mind as Mayor Kyle effortlessly pulled free from her super-strong grip and then slammed her cock into Karen's open mouth and down her throat. The pair tumbled to the floor, legs wrapped around each other's heads as they gagged and drooled on each other's cocks in a sloppy deepthroat sixty-nine.

With her enhanced Kryptonian senses, Karen could perceive a wickedly-smiling femme perched on Mayor Kyle's desk, lazily stroking her own shaft as she licked and sucked at a fat, purple buttplug...