Interlude M: I Thought School Was Meant to Make You Smarter?

M'gann M'orzz, known to the world at large as Miss Martian (and soon to be known to Gotham High School's senior class as Megan Morse), slammed her fist into the pillar of metal in one of the Watchtower's specialist training chambers. Designed to help Kryptonians train their hand-to-hand combat techniques without damaging the gym's advanced equipment, the steel column had been imbued with spells of restoration and durability that made even their prodigious strength unable to inflict permanent damage. Currently, with her aunt having to take an emergency trip to Washington, M'gann had found her options for training her shapeshifting to be rather limited, and so she had come down to the chamber to vent her frustrations.

Fists and feet slammed into the surface of the metal as her wasp-waisted, breeder-hipped natural form lashed out with lightning speed. The amount of muscle packed into her thick thighs lent her long legs an unexpected power as she hammered her target with a barrage of low and high kicks, the slim spikes that jutted out of each heel like an organic stiletto leaving shallow indentations on the shining pillar. Her back muscles tensed and bunched with every jab and uppercut, her knuckles likewise leaving faint imprints. M'gann felt like she was burning from the heat that had infused her ever since Power Girl had knocked her up, like a fire had been lit inside of her - but this wasn't a source of terror, as it might have been before. No, this heat was a source of joy, like she was being buoyed on a cushion of flame rather than being destroyed in its depths!

She felt great. She felt confident. She felt powerful! M'gann M'orzz felt like she could take on the world and leave it submissively lapping at her pussy when she was done, and she knew that she had Power Girl to thank for it. The older woman had been worried that she'd be easy meat for whatever supervillainess had prompted her mission with her presence, but M'gann would show her Daddy what she was made of! If the studious, shy Megan Morse was going to be too ****, then a different Megan Morse would have to do!

Thanks in large part to President Catwoman's education reforms, it was a rather bored class of girls and femmes that awaited the new transfer student's arrival. Under the old system, this bevy of eighteen year-old babes would have been getting up to wild and debaucherous shenanigans as college freshwomen, but now they were stuck in one last year of - still intellectually challenging, admittedly - high school. So it was, that they were startled from inane chatter and bored smartphone scrolling by the arrival of their new peer.

And what a girl! She strutted in on a shiny, fetishised hybrid of black leather combat boots and platform heels like she, and not their homeroom teacher, owned all of their asses. Long legs with thick thighs were barely contained within white over-knee socks, the flesh such a pale shade that it was hard to tell where the clothing ended and bare skin began. A plaid 'skirt' did nothing at all to conceal the new student's plump, glistening pussy or her thicc bubble butt - barely long enough to do so on a normal woman, never mind one with such broad hips sitting atop her juicy thighs. Her stretched-taut, round belly spilled out over the waistband of her skirt, the unmistakable swell marking her as a trashy teen mom-to-be. It seemed that she wore the badge with pride, too; because her uniform blouse, rather than straining to try and contain her swollen, milky tits, was left unbuttoned and knotted together to into an improvised sling that lifted and presented her bare bust for all to see.

A white leather choker wrapped around her neck, the words 'Daddy's Girl' emblazoned on it in countless tiny pink gems that made the watchers' heads feel warm and woozy, like they were cocooned in a tightly-wrapped blanket. A pretty, heart-shaped face was framed by richly blood-red hair, eyes of the same shade roaming the room with a mischievous glint to them. The new girl licked her smiling, silicone-stuffed lips with agonising slowness, her tongue swiping over them languidly and leaving them glossy and glistening. She swept over to the blackboard, skirt swishing and curves jiggling, picked up a piece of chalk and - with a speed and agility that was totally at odds with her vapid expression - sketched out her name and surrounded it with hearts and starbursts.

"Hiya," she cooed, turning to face the class. Clasping her hands behind her back and hooking one foot behind the other in a show of nervousness that didn't quite reach her face, she began to twist her upper body back and forth. Every other person in the class, from the good girls to the bad bitches, had their gaze irresistibly dragged towards the girl's massive mommy-to-be milkers as they swung with the motion. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. "My name's Megan Morse and it's, like, super good to meet you! I can't wait to, like, mindfuck you into my horny slaves!" That shook her audience from their lazy, hazy staring, causing them to shake their heads and blink away the fog. Cries of outrage began as a few of the more confident femmes began to rise from their seats to put this overconfident girl in her place. The teacher stepped towards the girl and-

"Tee-hee!"

-stopped, as the cries of outrage died in their throats and the sound of half a dozen pert, skirt-clad femme butts hitting their seats filled the room. That sound, that bimbo giggle, filled with such bubbly, vapid, overwhelming brainlessness, knocked the wind out of their sails and their train of thought off of its tracks. "You're so silly," the new girl gasped cheerily, the emotion not present in her eyes as she continued shaking her tits. "So silly. So silly and dizzy and dumb. Don't get angry, get horny! Get horny and silly and dizzy and dumb!" The new girl smiled at them, at the way their eyes were locked on her swinging chest instead of her amused, lusty gaze. "I've got, like, an amazing talent," she stage-whispered. "I make girls horny and silly and dizzy and dumb. When girls stare at my tits they get horny and dizzy and my voice gets into their heads and makes their thoughts all bubbly. And the more they stare the more horny and dizzy they get and my voice makes their thoughts go all bubble-bubble-bubble..."

Drops of saliva splattered onto the teacher's cleavage as she drooled over the new girl's tits. The other girls weren't any better off, all horny and dizzy, their thoughts all turning into bubbles...

"...and when all their thoughts are bubbles I say pop and a bubble goes pop and a thought goes pop and I say pop and pop and thoughts go pop like bubbles pop pop pop and the more I say pop the more bubbles pop and pop and thoughts go pop and I say pop and thoughts go pop and every pop makes you silly and every pop makes you dumb and every pop leads to pop and pop and pop until all the bubbles pop and all your thoughts go pop until there's no bubbles to pop and you're so silly pop and dumb pop and dizzy pop and horny pop and then I say pop and pop and pop until your cock goes pop and your pussy goes pop and pop pop pop and you start to giggle pop and pop jiggle pop and then you're, like, a bimbo and all you can do is pop and pop and pop and pop and when I pop say drop you pop start to drop and then pop the more I say drop you pop go into a trance pop and when I pop say drop for the last time pop you'll be blank pop and brainless and pop ready for me..."

Two-dozen silly schoolgirls and their homeroom teacher shook as their pussies and cocks blasted femcum and jizz all over their chairs and the undersides of their desks. Blank, glazed-over eyes stared at the new girl's tits. Jaws hung slack. Heads emptied, one thought at a time, until, their owners were totally dumb...

"DROP."