By Chelsea Mechelle

I can’t believe it. It’s such an embarrassing thing to happen in front of all these people and cameras. I never should have agreed to model for this silly reality show, even if it is for charity. Some of the world’s most famous supermodels were at the event: Naomi, Tyra, Fredrica, Cheryl, all of them. I’ve seen this shit happen to other famous women, and now it’s happened to me, a superheroine! Part of me always wondered if they did it on purpose, the starlet whose top slipped down while she was blissfully unaware as camera flashes covered her exposed breasts, or the movie star whose boobs popped out as she walked the red carpet.

Now I’m in the same shameful situation, only both of my breasts were not so much exposed as they seemed to pop out over the top of my taut breastplate. I never meant for it to happen, but I know the media and the skeptics will claim otherwise. At the very moment my nipples showed, someone in the audience tried to alert me that my nipple was exposed. I reacted with a quick twist of my neck to peer downward at my boob, horrified that both my dugs were peeking out of my top. I saw my boob jiggle and cameras flashed wildly, as men laughed and women squealed. In seconds, I was gawking down at my own naked breasts while struggling to cover up.I hugged my boobs with my arms, and I used my dwindling powers as Wonder Woman to slip away back here to this wardrobe closet in this old building which doubles as a stage for the theater. I hope this works. I am very weak from my powers dwindling for the transport tomorrow, but I am going to try disguising myself and making my way out of here unnoticed. In recent weeks, I have been losing my strength and my powers at inopportune times as the time comes to return to Paradise Island. The persistent weakness and failing powers are a fail safe from the gods. It prevents a Wonder Woman from making too many changes to her environment as time nears for the games on Paradise Island. I will leave for the games, which will last a full year, yet through the magic of inter-dimensional travel, only a day or so will have passed here in Gateway City. I hope I win the games. I so want to be Wonder Woman again, but the contest is so grueling, I don’t know if I can come out on top yet again. My mother is the island’s Queen Hippolyta, and some say I am favored because of this. However, I think the opposite is true. I feel I am judged more harshly and given tougher foes to combat.

I am more concerned about the upcoming return to Paradise Island than the embarrassing incident, although I wonder if the sexy scene won’t help my image with the American public. The media has labeled me as kind of a lesbian, which is partly true, but here on the man’s world this is still a negative thing, despite some recent changes in attitude. Yet it still hurts to be called derogatory names like queer, dyke and Wonderlez in the media in such a public way. I am tough in public, but I have cried myself to sleep over some of the things I have been called on talk shows and in tabloids.

I had an affair with Superman last year, and when the press got it, they downplayed it as a Platonic thing, even though Clark and I heated each other up like wild animals. Lois must have had a fit over it when it got out, and she will probably never speak to me again. It’s too bad she will never be able to give Clark what I gave him. With me, he does not need to hold back. He has no fear of hurting me and he can fuck like a true Kryptonian, with no regard for treating me delicately as he does with Lois. He nearly fucked his cock off into me. He felt bad about getting found out, by a satellite image of us making love in the stratosphere that made the Internet rounds, no less, but I know the Man of Steel will be back in my life one day. Lois is only human, and despite her beauty, she is not worthy of his Kryptonian prowess, nor will she live near as long.

Right now, I’ve hustled my way to this wardrobe closet, probably an actor’s dressing room, to disguise myself so I can slip out of here past the paparazzi. I pull my hair back in a tight bun, using a clip I find on the floor. I quickly grab a skirt and a top, slipping them over my Wonder Woman costume. I see a coat, made of fur, and slide into it. I don all of this in a flash. I see a pair of thin-rimmed glasses on a make-up table. I look into the mirror, which is surrounded by large, lit bulbs. I adjust the frames of the glasses. It works for Clark, and it couldn’t hurt. I grab some red lipstick on the table and slake the gloss on thick. I find a cache of makeup, eye shadow, liner, and rouge, and I apply it as quickly as a woman can. I quietly ease out the door of the room, with no time to spare. I look down the hall of the Romanesque architecture of the old theater, which reminds me of some of the building interiors back home on Paradise Island. The noisy, raucous paparazzi are thirty yards away and headed in my direction. I gather my courage and walk past stage hands, grippes and theater workers as my heart is pounding madly. I am terrified of being recognized and found out. They are screaming and yelling, hunting for the superheroine, hunting for more pictures, more reactions of the embarrassed heroine. They know she came this way, but I clop awkwardly into the crowd on ill-fitting heels and pass them in the opposite direction. I make a beeline to an exit where it’s great to feel the cool crisp outdoors of Gateway City.

I walk as long and as hard as I can. I risked coming here under my failing powers, but now my powers are too weak to get me to my alter ego Dianna Prince’s house some fifteen miles away.

“Hey, honey, where’s the fire, besides in your cunt?” a giggling female voice says. I have been walking intently with my eyes mostly down for maybe thirty minutes. I look up and my gaze locks into the sapphire eyes of a beautiful woman. She is tall, with golden hair and full lush lips, heavy with bright lip gloss. I immediately feel sexual attraction stir in the warmth of my belly. She is gorgeous.

 “What? I am going to-”

“You’ll get your trick, honey,” she sings in a mellow voice. “Just settle down.” She is really cute, and she is looking over my entire body. I am almost breathless and charged with sexual desire. I think, or I hope, she feels the same way. What an adorable face, not to mention a steaming hot body! I feel my clitoris twitch and moisten as I try to catch my breath.

I look around. I’ve stumbled into Harkin Street in Gateway’s red light district, with scantily clad hookers lining the curbs and trashy businesses and movie houses peppering the sidewalks.

“Hi!” she says enthusiastically. “I’m Lyla. Pleast ta’ meetcha.’” She sounds like she is from the South. I love her accent. Hera, help me. I’m in love.

I grasp her soft hand and mumble something unintelligible to her. I think I introduce myself, but I can barely focus on anything but her beauty. She is as tall as I am, with a round face framed with long, beautiful blonde hair. She has gorgeous, full breasts barely covered by a bright green tank top stretched tight. Her pert nipples seem to be straining to dig their way free of the top’s thin material. A designed hole cut out in the material of the top, meant to be a keyhole for displaying cleavage in her front, is pulled around to her side, exposing the entire left side and underside of her breast, adding to her raw sensuality. I can see her bright white panties flashing like neon at her crotch, which is barely covered by her tight, bright orange miniskirt. Her long, smooth legs shine as much as the skirt, and I can’t even tell if she has pantyhose on. Her matching green boots, trimmed in orange lining, crawl up her legs in occasional wrinkles, surpassing my own Wonder Woman boots for sheer loudness. In fact, she is grotesquely loud, almost offensive, and yet beautiful at the same time.

I look down at my own legs, which are running like a trout stream from my high Wonder Woman boots down to my skimpy skirt. I look at my top, a tight tube top that hugs my form. The fur coat is does not match the top, but-Great Hera! I look like a prostitute!

An oversized limousine pulls up, and the car door opens. She pushes me into the car, and I stumble into the back of the limo.

“Don’t thank me, hon. You can have him. He pays fantastic! Hung, too!” she says.

I am suddenly in the back seat of the limo. I feel a man’s hand cup my left breast. I push his hand away. My eyes adjust, and the streetlights flood the interior of the rapidly moving limo. The man pulls his glistening penis from his pants.

“God, the big-titted ones are out tonight,” he moans in a gravel voice. “OK, bitch, time to suck.” His thick Latino accent is appealing to me. I’ve always been attracted to Latin men, but this man sounds like trouble. He cock is so large it scares me. I am gasping noisily and breathing heavily just from the sight of it.

 He stuffs something into my top, jostling my breasts as he pushes his hand in. I grab his hand and thrust it aside, but he only chortles at me. The wad of money he was trying to stuff into my top falls onto the floor of the car. I glance down to see it is a clump of bills, and at least the top one is a hundred-dollar bill.

“Take it, whore,” he says. “It’s five hundred, and I don’t even need you the whole night. That’s more than those fancy bitches at Gateway Excelsior make in a night. It’s a deal for a street whore like you.”

I look up into the dark limo. I can barely see the handsome man, with black hair, stroking his penis. He looks kind of like Senator Gutierrez, whom I just voted for. Oh no! It is the senator! His Latin face is chiseled as if by a sculptor, one of the reasons I voted for him. There were rumors that he was a womanizer and a sex addict, but I thought it was just campaign mudslinging.

I hear the quick, unzipping noise and the rustling of clothing, as he tries to make more room for his oversized dick. He grabs my neck and pulls me to it, slathering my face with sticky ooze. I hear the honking noises of traffic and the dim roar of car engines. I try to pull my head away, but I am weakened, and his grip is strong.

 I am a proud Amazon and I will not pleasure this corrupt politician in the back of his car. The head of his cock grazes my lips and sends a thrill into my breasts and even into my boiling vagina. I did not realize I was so moist and hot down there between my legs.

Moments later, I savagely bobbing my head up and down, riding his stone-hard cock with my lips. I hear myself slurp and gag, but I don’t care. I want more. I admired him when I voted for him, and I never thought of him in sexual ways until tonight when I learn what a bad boy he really is. I usually end up with the good ones, but I have always had a weakness for the bad ones.

He stops me, pushing my head free of his cock with a loud pop from my lips. He hand pumps his massive tool frantically toward me. I turn my head away and then frantically back and forth in a panic. He grabs the bun of hair on the back of my head and splatters my nose, lips and mouth full force with a sudden burst of man spunk that makes my head and neck twist violently. I cough, choke and spit to the wailing sound of his laughter. He grabs my throat and pushes me to the floorboard on my back. I try to kick him but he reaches under my skirt through my underwear and grabs a handful of my thick cunt hair, causing me to scream at the burning pain. He grabs the money from the floorboard with his free hand and stuffs it into my panties. Some of the cash bills find their way past my labia and into my cunt. My thick bush is filling his hand, while I am crying and moaning. 

 The limo drives into Gate’s Landing, the upper class section of town. He pushes me out of car and I roll onto the street. I scream out in pain and anger as the car barrels off down the street into the night.

I know where I am, but I am still a long way from home. I begin to walk and I feel something sqwooshing between my legs. I reach into my crotch and pull out five-hundred dollars in cash the senator had stuffed there.

 A long, luxury vehicle’s lights flash behind me, heading in the direction I am going. The car stops as it reaches me. The dark window falls to reveal a college-aged young man in a coat and tie, who asks me if  need a ride. From what I can figure, I guess Daddy loaned him the car tonight.

I step inside the car in the front seat with him, and his eyes excitedly bathe my long legs, top to bottom.

“Where’re you headed?” he asks.

 My thoughts have barely left Lyla since I met her earlier tonight, and now she is front and center in my memory, standing there on Harkin Street with that bright, beautiful smile, her adorable Southern accent and her delicious body. I have to see her, even if it means giving up another sexual favor to this creep.

Oh, well, at least the pay is good.

 ”Harkin Street,” I answer.

“Hmmm’ he says. “Red Light, here we come!”

 END