Slamming the glamour out of Roulette.

Roulette's room was an “office” strictly by definition—thrift-store table, simple area rug, computer, a lone filing cabinet. Clearly losing two sports brands to Justice League interference had been rough on her budget. Her lone bit of luxury was a high-backed rolling chair, and even it squeaked when she sank into it. He approached her carefully, wary of the exact point where the amulet’s power would override her thoughts, and he needn’t have worried. Before he reached the desk she was back on her feet, sashaying past him to close the door and give herself a little privacy. As she reached behind her neck to unfasten her dress, Brandon had a unique opportunity to answer three questions that had plagued the superhero fandom from the moment they first laid eyes on the proprietor of the defunct Meta-Brawl.

First: yes, she did wear panties. This didn’t surprise him. With a dress slit as high as hers, going without would simply be irresponsible. He’d held out hope for a skimpy thong, but the black lace item she wore wasn’t any worse, with sides cut high to hide them under the dress and a hint of cheek in back. She didn’t wear them long enough for him to admire them in too much detail, but he could rest satisfied knowing he’d seen something very few men ever would.

Second: yes, she did wear a bra…sort of. In Brandon’s experience, very, very few superpowered individuals went without a bra no matter how much their uniforms hinted at it (only one, in fact: Wonder Woman). But against all the strapless, athletic, and lace bras he’s seen, Roulette’s stood out for sheer ingenuity. Specifically, it was backless, two cups over her tits with nothing holding them in place. From the sound it made when she peeled it off, it stayed attached via tape or suction or whatever glue made stickers work. And it wasn’t vanity alone; her breasts were perky and somewhat alarmingly round—he wondered if she’d had some work done—but couldn’t defy gravity all on their own, so clearly the barely-there undergarment served some purpose besides limiting wardrobe malfunctions. He almost pocketed it as a souvenir.

Third: yes, her tattoo did go all the way. Some very lucky artist had spent a great deal of time inking a dragon from her shoulder down her back, over one ass cheek, and onto her thigh. Though on second thought, Brandon did not envy him and/or her. As fun as it must have been to work on a sexy naked woman, he suspected they had to focus entirely on the job and weren’t allowed to get in any recreational squeezes or slaps. He would have to work extra-hard to make up for the lost opportunities.

Besides her underwear and dress, everything else stayed on, leaving her naked except for a quarter of her legs and most of her arms. She crept around the room like she knew she was being watched, swinging her hips and rolling her shoulders; he wondered whether the amulet’s power made her move like a seductress or if she just walked like that. Before she could return to her chair and take care of her own needs, he grabbed her shoulders and bent her over her desk. For once, he didn’t sense any confusion or reassessment. Roulette simply spread her high-heeled boots and waggled her peach-shaped ass, sneaking a hand under herself to run a finger along her slit. A seductive hum greeted his erect cock as it sprung from his pants, and while she settled into the glow of well-earned masturbation, he slipped into her tight, immaculately-trimmed pussy.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, her voice raspy with need. Immediately she responded, waving her hips in a slow circle to stroke him from every angle. Her muscles squeezed him now and again, joined by regular pants of pleasure and admiration. Brandon marveled at her technique, and not just because it was phenomenal. Again, she didn’t know he was there, and she was still acting like a high-priced escort about to earn every penny of her fee, putting on an erotic show for an audience of zero. He didn’t have to move, not with her body rocking into his and her manicured nails teasing his dick while she rubbed herself. He stood still with his pants around his thighs and his shirt held up, watching her dragon undulate with the seductive rhythm of her writhing body. His cock disappeared as a criminally-unspanked backside slid toward his hips and nestled against them, then reappeared from her insides a little warmer and a little wetter, again and again with the diligence of a metronome, all the while cheered on by the gentle pressure of a few fingertips and husky sighs spaced at exactly the right frequency to keep him engaged.

He toyed with the idea of letting her continue seducing him while remaining ignorant of his presence. Depending on how long he held out, would she continue to masturbate, cumming for hours in her office, until she finally pushed him over the edge and **** her own insemination? Would her body give out before her mind did, leaving her **** for more interaction despite aching legs and an overly-sensitive pussy? How long would it be until one of her henchwomen popped in and accidentally started a threesome? One day, Brandon hoped to find out the extent of the amulet’s power, probably without a superhero involved given the difficulty in monopolizing their attention for hours at a time and the unfathomably high consequences of the amulet’s power wearing off while he was balls-deep in a woman with a surprise pregnancy and the strength to bench-press a two-door sedan. Until then, he had a job to do and at least one other villain awaiting his attentions. As good at Roulette was at taking the lead, he preferred his own style.

He pulled at her thigh, and she lifted one knee into her desk like it was her idea. The change in angle barely pulled her fingernails slightly away from his shaft, but it drastically changed how she felt inside, especially how she clenched around him whenever she moaned aloud. With one hand on her waist and the other squeezing her ass, he dictated the pace, and she adjusted with only a moment’s hesitation. "M-mmh...oh, yes...right there..." She panted, ever the performer, like she couldn’t fathom a method of having sex without a man (or woman, or several) to judge it approvingly. Her free hand gripped the edge of the desk and her breasts hung underneath, inches away from smacking against the cool wood with each violent thrust. Brandon couldn’t tell if he was driving her mad with pleasure or if she was very good at making him think so, and after a moment of self-consciousness he opted not to care. Whether or not it was the best she’d ever had, he would be sure it was one she’d remember for the rest of her life…or wouldn’t remember, as it were.

He grabbed the pins from her bun, pulling them free and learning a moment later how sharp they were. They clattered to the desk and her dark, silken hair fell free, long enough for him to wrap around his hand and pull. Roulette cried out to the ceiling, eyes wide and teeth gritted, but her jilling only grew in ferocity. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! Just like that!” The magic rationalized the pain as both intentional and desirable, and she contorted her body to accommodate the position he wanted. Desire overtook her once-pristine expression, her face flush with arousal with a hint of mascara starting to run down one cheek. He relinquished his grip on her waist so he could squeeze her tits, hoping to confirm once and for all whether they were natural, but when her eyes rolled back he abandoned that quest and flicked his thumb repeatedly over her nipple. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stooop—!” Her breath hitched and her whole body shook with atypical clumsiness, dropping the facade so a real, mind-shattering orgasm could run through her. The sight of a once-proud woman brought so low was all he needed, and he pinned her to the desk and blew his load directly into her seizing womb. She took every drop willingly, still rubbing her own clit, only stopping when he released her and she collapsed on the desk with a bead of white goop trickling between her legs.

Brandon wiped off his dick with her lace panties and decided against taking them; no need to carry any incriminating evidence into his apartment. He secured his clothes and left Roulette alone in her office, chuckling about how she would reconcile her state when the amulet’s magic left her.