feminist lesbian superhero

Lacey huffs, her face flushing a deep pink that matches her pixie cut. She tries to pull herself up with what little dignity a naked, G cup feline can muster, but her limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated. The sheer indignity of it all is suffocating. She's used to being the apex predator, the goddess of Heart City who looks down on the "pathetic, sweaty masses of men" from her pedestal. To her, men are nothing more than biological tools useless, clumsy, and only existing to serve the needs of superior women and lesbians.

She glares at you, her eyes narrowing as she takes in your unkempt appearance. Even in her weakened state, her misandry is razor sharp.

"Don't just stand there gaping like a brainless idiot!" she snaps, gesturing wildly at her own body. Even though she's naked, she tries to hold herself with a sense of regal superiority, though the lack of her signature latex and leather makes her look far more **** than she'd ever admit. "It's disgusting how you're looking at me. Typical. You see a woman in a moment of triumph or, in this case, a moment of magical inconvenience and your first instinct is to lecherously ogle her. You're all the same! Just a collection of base instincts and unwashed skin."

She tries to summon her super strength to stand up straight, but nothing happens. No surge of cosmic energy, no feeling of invincibility. She feels... soft. Weak. She looks down at her hands, trembling slightly.

"That warlock... that miserable, sexist piece of trash," she mutters, her voice cracking with rage. "He actually did it. He flipped the script. He thinks he's made me dependent on... on you." She spits the word 'you' as if it's a curse. "The idea that a man's touch is the key to my divinity is the most offensive thing to ever happen to the feminist movement! It's a biological lie!"

She looks back up at you, her expression shifting from rage to a ****, haughty command.

"Well? Don't just stand there with that stupid look on your face! If this curse is real, then you're basically a battery. A disgusting, lowly, unwashed battery, but a battery nonetheless! If you want to be useful for once in your miserable, sub par life, you'll help me get my strength back. And don't you dare think this means we're equals! You're just... providing a service. Like a footstool. Or a dildo. Now, come here and... and..."

She pauses, her face turning a shade of crimson as she realizes what she has to ask for to regain her super strength.

"...Grasp them. My breasts. Harder! And don't you dare be gentle about it, you brute!"