Key Words: Rescue
Forbidden Words: Hero
Word Limit: 432 words
Extra Credit: Make everyone come
Bonus Words: +123 words if the superhero gets the last laugh
She was cute; devilishly so.
Her smile enchanted many a night out while her lustfully provocative nature was enjoyed by so many men. She was known for it; her reputation preceded her. She was an exhibitionist and a nymphomaniac.
Like my birthday last month.
My friends had found old photographs when they had helped me move to a new flat and they had seen a snapshot from when I was in pre-school dressed in a superhero outfit; I got teased, they laughed, and then they organised my party as a 28-year-old to be “superhero fancy dress.”
It was fun; all eight men came in very-tight fitting outfits. Mike came as Captain America, Henry came as Batman, I turned up as Superman and Julia … well she came as “Spiderman.” Only she wasn’t wearing anything at all; underneath her long coat was nothing but bodypaint, smiling and giggling as the naked woman sidled up alongside the birthday boy.
Every head turned, every voice muttering whispers. “Happy Birthday,” she cried, wrapping her arms around a startled, but slightly tipsy man.
“Are you drunk?” I spluttered.
“Can’t drink on duty.”
I smirked; I ogled the young lady flirting, enjoying the smooth curve of her ass cheeks and delightful bosom. She was unfazed by everything, at ease with her nudity around fully dressed people.
She joined me half-an-hour later in the kitchen as I returned from my cigarette break. “I’m sorry,” she confessed, a wry smile curling at her lips. “But please rescue me from Mike,” she asked as her psychedelic hips swayed. “He’s just called me a whore!”
I laughed. “Well …”
“No, I’m a trollop. Or a strumpet, or even a slut. But never a whore!”
“What’s the difference?”
“Whore’s a horrible term,” she snapped, holding my trembling hand as she took my gaze. “And she charges.”
“Oh yes, for what I’m about to do right now, it will cost you big time in Soho.” She shook her red hair; her hands pawed at my skin-tight outfit, her fingers sliding over my underwear-free crotch.
Her lips pressed against mine; she slid down my body blowing gently on my cock through the Spandex. I gasped as her hot breath landed on my hard prick, and her hands rubbed my bulge as I watched. I heard mutterings from my lounge, I was terrified someone would come into the kitchen.
But it was a thrill: the buzz, the excitement, the daring act of exhibition knowing I might get caught.
The firm blue breasts, the pink arse and the gorgeous smirk was arousing; the intense feel of her orgasmic fingers stimulating every nerve in my cock was taking me closer and closer.
“I know. Do it!” She cried, gasping. “Come in your outfit!”
I snatched at some breaths, gulping as her finger swept over the tight outfit until I could resist no more and squirted my relief into a small wet patch on my red crotch. Her eyes twinkled, and without letting me clean up, made me go back into the lounge…
… and all the superheroes had small wet spots. “My turn,” the exhibitionist cried. “Who wants to rub me through my suit!”