by Mark Joseph Kiewlak
(11/11/09)

She could steal the powers of all the other super-heroes. But only by having sex with them. She could have no children of her own. Her ovaries worked differently. Instead of combining with a lover's sperm to propagate a new life, her fertilized eggs were reabsorbed into her own body, scrambling for a time her DNA, eventually resulting in her body taking on the super-powered attributes of the donor.

That this was a medical miracle was inconsequential.

That it made her hungry for more was inevitable.

Each cock swallowed hungrily inside her meant X-ray vision or the stamina of Heracles. She took as many as she could, from the young and the old. She reveled in their powers for a time, nearly fucking some of them to death, watching their bodies fall from the clouds -- her favorite place to have intercourse -- as if they were broken birds bounced against an uncaring window pane.

From one man she gained an awareness of geometry that instantaneously tripled her sexual pleasure by imparting to her intuitive knowledge of the most satisfying positions and angles to achieve screaming-at-the-top-of-her-lungs tearing-the-hair-out-of-her-head orgasms. This one was called Angular and came complete with a cheesy gay-macho mustache that he spent more time combing into perfect place than he did catching bad guys.

From another she gained a consciousness-raising awareness of Nature -- a total union with the plant and animal kingdom and with Mother Earth herself. This caused her to spend long nights running through the deepest virgin forests, completely naked of course, pausing only long enough to pleasure herself with the softest pine cones, with native fruits, with the rushing massage of crystal cool streams, and then pounding her self-made paths once more, sweat mingling upon the inside of her thighs with her own inner juices run wild. The one who gave her this was called Bog -- a man mutated into a walking lump of sod and peat moss. Taking his stiff earthen core within her was like humping the banks of the dankest swamp.

But it was worth it, for the gift.

They were all worth it.

Whether she was a nymphomaniac or simply power-addicted, she had not taken the time to ponder, for a new ultimate goal had arisen.

His name was Hanois Brutale.

And he was immortal.

Anna wanted him. Wanted him more than she wanted any other man in the universe. Sprawled upon her layers of clouds, dipping her fingers one two and then three inside herself, she daydreamed of him constantly. Even this godlike perspective from on high, this vantage point gained by the semen of a dozen flying men, could not compare to her dreams of a future that would never end.

Immortality.

She had a taste of it here or there.

One soul-shattering split-second when the heat inside of her was one with every nerve ending, toes curling, pelvis gyrating -- that was when she truly felt that she would live forever -- when the come was flying across her face, when she was lapping it from her own nipples.

She could not live forever through children of her own. She had been denied this.

To reach orgasm was immortality for only an instant.

Anna wanted the real thing.

And Brutale could give it to her. Hard.

Hanois was a handsome man, three-thousand years old, a body forged in the furnace of primitive times, built by the labors of daily survival -- a man formed long before the softness of European features had worked its way into Humanity's gene pool. Yet he was European now, cultured, refined, the bearing and title of a count. But still the gleam in his eye. This man who had known the supple flesh of generation after generation of eager supplicants, the taste of ten thousand vaginas.

Anna wondered what she could offer to such a man to curry his sexual favors. Grinding her shaven mound in front of his face would hardly affect one who had taken so many to his bed.

And her various superpowers, what enticement could they be? Surely he had had super-powered lovers of every stripe during the course of his enormous lifespan.

Perhaps it was enough simply to meet him. Simply to ask.

Hanois was not a super-hero like the others, like Anna had once been. Neither was he considered a villain, despite his scheming at times to take over the world. His contemporaries regarded him more a force of nature than anything else. He wanted what was best for all, and believed himself best qualified to judge this for others. The wisdom he had gained simply by observing human behavior for so many centuries was incalculable.

But would he fuck her?

She flew to his castle late one October evening, having draped her voluptuous form in the finest silks and leather; classy but hungry for cock -- this was the image she sought to project. Hanois was still a man after all, with a man's appetites.

He would have guards, so she became invisible -- a gift given her by a wrapped-in-bandages sentient android named Cliff, who had penetrated her with binary-coded digital timing -- ones and zeroes, in and out. The nature of his metallic composite skin was such that it reflected all wavelengths of visible light; he need wear the bandages merely to be seen at all.

The guards caught the scent of her perfume nonetheless -- something akin to freshly mowed summer lawn after a rainstorm -- and sounded an alarm throughout the castle.

Discarding stealth, Anna turned visible and alighted dead-center upon a humongous dinner table stretching half the length of a football field within the castle's great hall.

She wore a most becoming evening gown, slit straight to heaven up her thigh, black satin, bejeweled, dazzling to behold, with more than ample cleavage showing, but still mostly covered up beneath her ankle-length sable leather coat and four-inch slingback heels.

Brutale had her by the throat, suspended in midair above the table, before she even sensed his presence in the room.

"What need has one so attractive to employ guile and deceit in order to gain entry to my castle, when her subtler charms may serve equally as well?"

A good start, Anna supposed, if only she could get the tiniest bit of air into her windpipe.

He released his grip and in the same motion crushed her to his broad chest, his lips upon hers, his tongue probing deeply, the force of his being sweeping across her heart with no more effort than that of a hurricane lifting the skirt of a prostitute.

She realized instantly that this was no mere greeting; that they were about to make love upon the tabletop, this sturdy redwood, carved from trees already three-stories tall when the first pioneer settlers beheld them. She tore the coat from her shoulders, the gown from her back. Her goal was within reach, as near as his riding breeches, the bulge beneath pressing between her thighs even now. In her mind she saw him enter her, saw the grunt of release as his expression and his semen emptied as one, filling her with this fluid of eternal life. So close, so close she could taste with her lower lips every inch of him....

Hanois pulled away from her.

Anna was near-ready to come with anticipation.

But Hanois just stood there, eyeing her with an askance grin.

"So it is the seed that you seek, as so many before you," he said. "Had I offered it so readily, to all those who sought after it, the planet by now would be sagging beneath the weight of mine own offspring."

Anna was breathing through her mouth, and just barely at that. The upper half of her gown was in tatters around her waist. She could see clearly the outline -- he was still rock-hard.

"I can't have children," she said abruptly; "I didn't come for that."

Hanois was intrigued. He raised one eyebrow.

"I know of you," he said. "Now that I have seen your lust on full display I recognize you as one of those fallen -- a former hero, who shunned her previous life in order to pursue...what, worldly pleasures?"

It sounded so crass, her life as rendered to her by this Neanderthal cosmopolitan.

"I like fucking," she said, defiantly; "They don't burn women at the stake for that anymore."

"I never agreed with that policy," Brutale responded, "though I confess that my dalliances sent more than a few score into the fires."

For a moment Anna had forgotten to whom she was speaking.

"Does it ever get old?" she said. "Do you ever tire of it -- the carnival parade of breasts and thighs and asses and pussies that you've been a spectator to?"

"More a participant," Hanois said, by way of answering her.

Anna tore with both fists the remains of the gown from her waist. Her silk lingerie she piled at her ankles. Even the heels she discarded -- a bit too dominatrix for his caveman-cum-erudite sensibilities. For all his refinement Anna felt sure he would accept her most easily in this fashion -- barefoot and naked, metaphorically on her knees.

"Take me," she said. "Don't ask why, but just take me. I can shelter you for a time from your unimaginable loneliness. Isn't that what all men seek from their women -- a place to hide away their most vital part, a place warm, and where they have been invited...."

Hanois threw his head back, roaring with the laughter of one well-pleased with the ironies of the world.

"Tell me, little lost soul," he smiled broadly, "what is it that you truly seek? New experience? New conquest? I walked that path for near a millennium and what did I find?"

She sought eagerly, but could not anticipate his answer.

"Numbness. Despair. If the world exists merely for you to covet it, you will soon find all experiences to be empty and transitory, as you scurry from one to the next seeking fulfillment outside yourself."

Anna wondered if immortality might be like that: a merging of all sensations into one, until there was literally nothing left to feel and she would find herself just existing...just existing.

"I don't care," she said. "I don't care how you judge me. I'm a woman who takes her pleasure -- and her power -- from men. I'm not ashamed of that."

Hanois climbed down from the table. He turned as if dismissing her presence, preparing to walk away.

"Not ashamed?" he said. "Not ashamed of being a parasite?"

The anger caused her whole body to flush.

"How dare you!" she said. But deep down Anna knew she was really saying, "How dare you be right!"

"You absorb the abilities of others," Hanois said, as if existed in his head a whole ready-made file of information about her, "but in order to achieve this thievery, you first become a chameleon in your sexual nature as well, doing whatever is necessary to attain your less-than-lofty goals."

"You -- you ultimate bastard!"

Had she any powers left, other than flight, Anna might have used them in that instant to disconnect Hanois Brutale's head from his shoulders.

She leapt at him, possessed of the naked fury of the sabertooth, such as Hanois remembered. He left himself open to her attack -- the pummeling, scratching, and biting.

"A most excellent foreplay," he remarked, slightly damaged, but strong enough to withstand much much more.

"Your effort in the end is halfhearted," he said. "Not at all suitable for The Lady of the Castle."

Anna lay scrambled in his lap, his passing-shoulder-length hair broken loose from its gleaming braid, tickling her nose, as his hand sought her lower caverns.

"I wish to become as immortal as you," she said, "as immortal as every orgasm of every man and woman throughout history. I seek this, not so that I could live forever; but so that I could live forever ... with you."

His regal beard was between her legs, his tongue lapping her into a blissful silence of thought. She arched, and came upon his chin. He fed upon her and then slipped his organ inside.

He would be the last, Anna knew. She would become The Lady of the Castle and perhaps even a super-hero again. She would fuck him day and night and seek -- as all women perhaps eventually did -- to change him for the better, to end his schemes of world domination by giving him dominion over her world -- the only one she knew and the only one she had to give.

Hanois came deep inside her. He shuddered with his release; Anna shuddered as well. She lay in the aftermath her head upon his chest, stroking him back to hardness, eager to taste the immortality upon her lips.

Inside her womb the process was beginning -- at last a new life to which she would give birth -- and that life was her own.

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