Toxic, Part 14

(by Smokedawg, 17 December 2009)


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Toxic, Part 14

By Smokedawg (aka JbouleyJdog)

Blog: http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com

E-mail: pseudojeff@msn.com

All DC Comics characters used for entertainment purposes only, and remain the
copyright of DC Comics and its affiliate and/or parent companies.

NOTE 1: This story is inspired by an idea presented to me by Blackbladder,
the author of many memorable smoking fetish tales, including the Buffy the
Vampire Slayer fan fiction story, "Demon Weed."

NOTE 2: If you find the mention of Superman's harsh actions toward Nick
O'Teen in this story and its follow-up chapters to be out of character, I
should mention that in one of the early 1980s anti-smoking campaign
commercials featuring Nick O'Teen, Superman is indeed depicted as ruthlessly
flinging the man into the sky toward some buildings.

----------------------------------------------

For three days, Toxine had kept her world small - just her and Flash. It was
as much a test-drive of the hero's resiliency as it was a release of all her
pent-up passions, and they didn't leave her large apartment.

No, she considered. It's not my apartment now but rather "our" apartment.

And while it was a large space, they didn't even move far from where Toxine
had first begun her loving ravishment of the speedy hero. So, most of their
activity involved shifting locations in the living room or dining area - the
latter rather fitting considering how much she had dined on his manhood and
he on her womanhood - and Toxine slaked her sexual hunger, even as she bound
Flash to her more tightly ...mind, body and soul.

The only people she allowed in were those delivering food, since she had no
interest in cooking while she was making a feast of Wally West. They didn't
even take breaks for showers or baths. If it seemed they were too filthy
after too much activity, Toxine would simply begin to exude some mild solvent
from her hands and rub them over his body, cleansing and refreshing him so
she could make him deliciously filthy all over again.

His powers of speed, she was grateful to observe, extended to a very quick
refractory period for his erections, as long as he was kept sufficiently
fueled with food and properly hydrated. He could rival some women for
multiple orgasms, Toxine realized, and she knew she had picked well.

More importantly, she thought, my cousin has done good work on Flash with the
nanos and genetic alterations. Extended contact with me, and he has shown
none of the initial signs of reaction that previous men have show within
hours of touching me and licking me and tasting my kisses. I've used him
harder than anyone else, and still he's as healthy as can be. I finally have
a partner who will last.

He smiled at her, looking both adorable and dopey. She had kept his system
saturated with arousal and imprinting chemicals and even though he had some
autonomy, Toxine was calling the shots right now to ensure that he was
totally hers and completely meeting her long-denied needs. There would be
time enough later for conversation and getting to know each other
intellectually. Right now was the time for ravishing him until she was
satiated, and that might take several more days. Right now was for making him
hers so thoroughly that he could consider no one else.

A small saucer-shaped device rolled by - one of the many robotic cleaning
devices that had been hard-pressed to keep things tidy since Flash had been
brought to Toxine - and she shooed it away when it got too close.

With the annoying little invader out of the way, Toxine pushed Flash to the
floor to lie prone on his back, and then she began to wriggle up his body
slowly, her face nuzzling his bare feet and licking between the toes and then
working up gradually until she was licking behind his kneecaps as her breasts
began to embrace and rub at his feet. She began to sweat petroleum jelly,
quite on purpose, covering her entire body in thick, sticky lubricant. A
goddess of Vaseline, she slowly worked her way up his form, the heat between
them softening the thick mass of lubricant and making it silky, greasy and
slick. She used her body like a slippery paintbrush to adorn his body and
make it glisten.

When her mouth reached his, she gave him a kiss thick with sweet, syrupy
fluids filled with aphrodisiacs and stimulants, and their tongues wrestled in
the sugary ambrosia as her pussy slid onto his ready cock.

"Where have you been all my life, you kinky, beautiful girl?" Flash asked
breathlessly when finally their kiss was broken.

"Maybe if you'd spent less time chasing criminals all the time, you'd have
found me sooner," she  answered, gyrating slowly on his erection as fluids
literally flowed from her to coat him slickly and to pool in a warm puddle
beneath his ass - all the better to lubricate that part of his body too, she
thought, as she slipped one finger into the crack of his ass and slowly
entered him, letting the finger length and pulse inside him, even as she
massaged his perineum with her thumb.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he answered, grunting at her erotic
invasion of him and his own penetration of her sex.

Toxine extended her free hand, her arm stretching past normal human lengths
to reach a pack of heavily drugged Steampunk cigarettes and a lighter on the
table, and brought both close to her. No need for the ashtray; between the
two of them, they could consume her ashes, and she could swallow the filter
and smoldering butt of each cigarette for her own unique nutritional needs.

She lit the cigarette and brought it to life with a deep, quick inhalation,
then blew smoke into Flash's open and hungry mouth, feeding him even more
will-bending and desire-boosting chemicals. Then as he breathed in her thick
cloud of tainted smoke, she pressed her chest into his face, expanding her
breasts so that they literally engulfed his face, forcing him to hold that
smoke in his lungs. When she finally released his slick and sticky face from
its fleshy prison and let her tits reduce to their normal size, he gasped for
breath, almost no smoke left to release, and he licked at one of her nipples
quickly, smiling as he recovered his wits.

"Let me season it for you," Toxine offered, and tapped off her long ash. It
dropped to one nipple and hung there, captured by the light sheen of gooey
excretions they shared between their skin, and she winked at him. Taking the
hint, he took her nipple into his mouth, savoring the tastes of her fluids,
her skin and the ash, as she bathed his head in more smoke.

After a while, he released her breast from his mouth and looked up at her as
she took another deep drag on the Steampunk. She covered his head in a rich
white cloud, and then tapped the ash onto her own outstretched tongue,
bringing it into her mouth. Finally, she leaned forward to share that ash and
her spit with him in a filthy, loving kiss.

She finished off the cigarette, blowing streams of smoke at him while she
licked and kissed his chest and neck. Then she reached back into the puddle
of slippery juices on the floor with her left hand to collect them and then
smear them through Wally's hair and over his face, finally licking them back
off him as she kissed him with smoke-shrouded lips.

He thrust inside her, faster now. As he picked up momentum of the sort no
normal person could, she grunted, moaned, and lit a new cigarette. She
enjoyed a couple quick drags and then said, "Time for you to taste the glory
directly, lover," and she placed the filter to his lips. She saturated the
filter with more will-sapping chemicals through her fingertips, and said,
simply, "Suck."

Wally West took his first direct taste of smoke into his mouth, and then
sucked it down when she said, softly: "Breathe."

"God," he said with a drawn out moan as he exhaled, and shivered as her legs
clamped around his thighs and her pelvis began to thrust back at his with
unnatural speed.

She kissed him sloppily, sweet and pungent fluids dripping down from her lips
and over their throats, dropping like rain onto his chest in a messy, greasy
smear, and she put the cigarette to his mouth again and said, "Suck, suck,
suck."

He filled his lungs over and over, again and again as they thrust into each
other, slurping and sliding sounds almost as loud as their moans and gasps,
and when he finally came, screaming, smoke poured from his mouth and he
coughed and gasped but smiled and moaned as well. Then he licked more ash
from her breasts and lips as she continued to ride him to her own orgasm,
vibrating against his skin and her own flesh almost hot enough to scald his,
moaning his name.

Marking him as hers, physically and aurally. Owning him.

Then smoking again as she calmed down, and running slick fingertips over
sticky skin to rouse his passion slowly once again.

* * *

"I've been led on a chase, but it isn't a merry one," Batman said to Blue
Beetle and Martian Manhunter. "All this time, everything has led me to
LexCorp and then when it seemed I was being led too obviously, the trails led
to other sources. But I've figured out what should have been clear from the
start: Teena International is the source of all this."

Martian Manhunter nodded in agreement as he perused some of the data on the
monitors in front of them.

"They were always there, implicated from time to time, but everything looking
like the evidence was there to set them up as patsies, when in fact they were
the culprit all along," he continued, "making Lex Luthor, who for once is
innocent, the false lead for us to follow while our comrades were picked off
one by one."

"So, we go round up the CEO and board of directors and V.P.'s and all that,"
Blue Beetle said.

"No, because we don't have enough hard evidence to pin anything on them,"
Batman said. "More importantly, it doesn't look like the current leadership
is orchestrating this. The new evidence I've uncovered points to Nicholas
Teena himself - Nick O'Teen - pulling the strings."

"Is he not still in prison?" Martian Mahunter pointed out.

"Yes, but it wouldn't be the first time a villain has directed minions from
behind bars," the Dark Knight responded. "So it's time for me to pay the same
visit to Nick O'Teen that Clark Kent did before he became the man's first
victim; except that I don't intend to be vanishing shortly after I make the
visit. I intend to get some real answers for once."

* * *

"We don't have any eyes or ears inside the Justice League Watchtower anymore
since Batman found all of the spying devices we had Black Canary and Zatanna
place there," Beth told Nicoletta, "but some of our other sources of intel
out there tell us that he's paying a visit to your father tomorrow."

Nicoletta almost seemed to want to frown, but smiled in the end instead. "I
would have liked a few days more, but I should count myself lucky Batman
hasn't started catching on sooner. It's a good thing, though, that my false
leads are still fooling him a little. While his attention in on my father,
and daddy's little talk hopefully helps put the Dark Knight more off his
guard, it's time to focus on our next target."

Beth nodded, lighting a cigarette, and letting a wistful little grin play at
the edge of her mouth. "I'll brief Heat-Sink, Zatanna and Smokeslave on their
attack plan, then. Oh, one other thing," she noted as she sucked languidly at
the filter of her Gloriana.

"What would that be?" Nicoletta asked, electing to simply enjoy the perfume
of Beth's smoking for a while before starting in on a cigarette of her own.

"Seems Vixen has a little thing for Black Lightning."

"Good," Nicoletta said. "Long overdue to get her someone of her own. Now we
just need to make plans to capture him and make sure we can turn him into a
smoker before we hitch them together, since she seems to find first-hand
smoking unappealing."

"Oh, we don't even have to wait that long; we just need to make plans to
capture him and put them together," Beth said. "Our surveillance shows that
Black Lightning is a closet smoker. He apparently doesn't want his hero pals
knowing, but he sneaks breaks relatively often. Smokes Newports, as it turns
out."

"Well, then, he should be a good candidate for switching over to our Maxim
Menthols or Lantern Flame Inferno Blend, won't he?" Nicoletta said. "After
proper inducements, of course."

"Of course," Beth said, and put her cigarette down in the ashtray, to light a
new one and pass it to her mistress. "I do so love playing matchmaker these
days."

* * *

Nicoletta was starting to dislike the mounting cost of using high-tech
robotic constructs in the traps she had been setting to capture heroes, but
it seemed that having a large force of what seemed to be White Martians on
the attack would be the surest thing to draw out the last surviving member of
the Green Martian population they had slaughtered. Finding real White
Martians, of course, was a bit tricky. Also, convincing them to do her
bidding would have been tricky anyway, so robot surrogates would have to do
instead.

She had suspected that J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, would come with
plenty of reinforcements, so she had brought along several members of Team
Toxic to back up the core team of herself, Beth, Zatanna, Heat-Sink and
Smokeslave. But the Justice League must have been spread more thin than she
had expected by her depletion of their ranks, she realized, because he was
accompanied only by Red Tornado.

Wary that it might be a trap of the Justice League's own, Nicoletta ordered
out only two of her reserve forces - Power Girl and Green Arrow - to deal
with Red Tornado and kept the rest of her team hidden should any additional
heroes appear to launch a surprise attack.

Cigarillo and Smokeslave led the attack against Martian Manhunter. In many
ways, the green-skinned Martian's abilities were the equal of fellow
extraterrestrial Smokeslave's yellow-sun-fueled powers. The Martian might not
have the same level of strength, high-speed flight and resistance to harm as
the Kryptonian, but he still had plenty of power in all three areas, plus the
ability to become intangible, utilize telepathy, shape shift and become
invisible.

Fortunately, like her pet Kryptonian, Martian Manhunter had one key
vulnerability. Better yet, it wasn't nearly as hard to procure the means to
the green-skinned alien's defeat as it was to get Kyptonite to fell the
former Superman.

All she needed was Heat-Sink, because fire was what rendered Martian
Manhunter powerless. How ironic, Nicoletta thought, that he was likely to
become a prisoner and thrall to someone for whom fire and smoke were such a
central part of life.

After Martian Manhunter had grappled with Cigarillo and Smokeslave for a
short while, while Green Arrow and Power Girl were finishing up with Red
Tornado, Nicoletta gave the signal. At once, both Smokeslave and Cigarillo
retreated from their quarry and Heat-Sink, specially fitted with a backpack
unit and wrist launchers to spew flammable vapor, sent a wave of flame toward
Martian Manhunter. Nicoletta emerged in her Nicotina costume, using hard
smoke constructs to help guide the raging flames into paths that would help
them encircle their Martian opponent, as Smokeslave used his heat vision to
hem in J'onn J'onzz as well.

It was all simply to weaken and distract him, though, since the true coup
d'grace was Zatanna, now striding in through a gap created in the flames, a
smoldering cigarette in her fingers and ready to use an attack against which
Martian Manhunter had scant defense: Sorcery.

"Raeh lla ym sdrow sa hturt, nno'J zzno'J," she said. Secure that the magic
of her backward-spoken words would leave him suggestible to all she would say
for a while, she added: "You must be still, and not fight. It's the only
way."

The flames and heat retreated, and Martian Manhunter looked confused, but
raised no immediate attack - he didn't seem to want to obey her, but he also
seemed to be struggling to determine why he shouldn't. Zatanna knew the magic
wouldn't last forever, and pressed onward. "The way to justice is through
obedience to the right person. The right person to obey is Nicotina," she
said, gesturing to Nicoletta, who let her helmet phase away so that he could
see her true face and recognize his mistress-to-be. "Her cigarettes and her
smoke are the way to your peace and salvation, J'onn. When you breathe her
smoke, or the smoke of anyone in her service, you will be calm. You must be,
or all will be lost."

She blew smoke slowly into his face, and was gratified to see him breathe it
deep. Then she said, simply, "Peels rof a yad," and watched as he slumped
into unconsciousness. Smokeslave gently lifted his sleeping form and flew him
back to Teena International headquarters, while the rest of Team Toxic made
their escape. They left Red Tornado on the street, alone and defeated, to
slowly recover his wits and report back to the Justice League.

* * *

Nicholas Teena welcomed his visitor with a broad and toothy smile, flashing
those large and yellowed teeth beneath his almost comically protruding nose.

"So, you're happy to see me, then, Nick O'Teen," Batman said grimly and
grittily. "I'm sure that attitude will change to something more dour and
sedately cooperative when I've had some time alone with you."

"Oh, really, Batman, you don't think they tell the truth when they say this
room isn't monitored, so that special visitors like yourself can have some
off-the-record time with people like me," Nick O'Teen said, as he pulled out
a cigarette and got ready to light it. "You can't afford to get too rough
with me, even if your conscience could endure the thought of overt torture."

Batman snatched the unlit cigarette away, and flung it to the ground. "Nasty
habit," he said. "I won't tolerate it on my time. Especially any smoke you
produce."

"Your time, Batman? I thought it was our time. And again, I'd caution you.
You seem on the verge of some kind of mild violence - something that won't
overtly mark me, I'm sure - but you have to know they really don't give you
privacy here."

"I know more about Stryker's Island security than the warden does, Nick
O'Teen," Batman intoned, "and more than the prison's architects. We're all
alone in here, literally and electronically. I've made sure of it."

"Well, then, that's good to know," the man answered from his wheelchair. "Why
don't you call me Nicholas, then, since I haven't worn the Nick O'Teen
costume in a long time and don't ever plan to again. Don't you think that
would be more civil and polite ...Bruce?"

Batman let none of his surprise show on his face or register in the tone of
his voice as he said, "I'll be more than happy to call you Nicholas, or even
Mr. Teena. But since you don't know who I am under this cowl, there's no
reason for you to manufacture a random name for me. Just stick with Batman."

"You must be fantastic at poker, Batman," Nicholas responded. "You didn't
even flinch. But we both know my choice of name was no accident. We need not
speak of it any more, but I want it clear that I know far more than you think
I do."

"Good," Batman said. "I'm glad that you think you know so much. So, how much
do you know about the disappearance of several of my former comrades, and
their sudden switch to the criminal side?"

"Criminal? Really? What crimes have been committed by them ...or the new
friends whom they've made, for that matter?"

"Abduction and coercion, perhaps brainwashing, figure rather prominently in
their list of crimes," Batman noted. "Plus, murder of at least one
individual."

"Fine. You could certainly make valid and logical assumptions along some of
those lines, although the death I heard about in the news really sounds much
more like user error - not that anyone will miss a person with such sordid
and horrific habits as he had. But I'm still curious: What signs of
criminality have your former comrades shown? And aside from your suspicions
about how Team Toxic became friends with them, how many crimes have they
committed?"

Batman said nothing.

"You are silent because you have to think hard about that, don't you, Dark
Knight?" Nicholas said, almost taunting. "Your tunnel vision is on the
disappearances of your friends and their change of allegiance, but you
haven't looked beyond that, have you? Certainly, Livewire was broken out of
prison - a crime, technically - but then she was returned there shortly
thereafter. Eight villains have been apprehended directly by Team Toxic - or
the T Team as they were known initially - and your friends have been spotted
foiling various crimes themselves in recent weeks. So, what have they really
done wrong? Except not to do their work under the banner of the Justice
League?"

"None of this indicates benevolent intent," Batman pointed out. "You could
simply be taking out the criminal competition."

"Really, Batman? The Aryan Brigade is criminal competition? A bunch of
enforcers for racists are the kind of people Team Toxic might need to remove
to forge a criminal empire? And as for other crimes foiled, your former
friends have been doing more personalized and community-oriented work, from
what I've heard - helping the police and thwarting more common criminals -
rather than fighting super-villains. I'm sure they'll get back to such work
eventually, but I suppose they might not want to risk running into old
`friends' by going after the folks who trip your alarms. How's that working,
by the way? You know, running down super-villains when most of your best and
brightest have made new friends. Feeling like you're spread a little thin
these days? Good thing Team Toxic and your former comrades don't seem to be
planning any world domination."

"Nicholas Teena, I know you're up to something, even if it isn't world
domination, and I don't plan on leaving here until I know what it is and who
in Teena International is pulling strings on your behalf," Batman said. "I
have a short list of potential names, and you're going to help me make it
shorter."

Nicholas smiled again, and braced himself mentally for the interrogation to
come. He had his script, and all he had to do was "accidentally" let slip the
facts his daughter had told him to let slip, and "break" under pressure after
a few hours to blurt out some last, seemingly damning piece of information
before shutting up entirely and sending Batman off on a few new wild goose
chases.

You may be the world's greatest detective, Batman, Nicholas thought with a
savage satisfaction, but my daughter is perhaps the greatest schemer and
deceiver in the world. She outwitted and broke your arch-nemesis Ra's al
Ghul, and I think she's more than a match for you, at least a match for long
enough to do what she needs to do.

But it was going to be a long several hours in a small room with Batman,
without a single cigarette to ease the discomfort.

* * *

Almost the last one on the list, Zatanna considered. So close now to the
realization of Nicoletta's plans. But before that can happen, Firestorm the
Nuclear Man has to be taken out of the hero game.

Zatanna saw in Firestorm a sort of natural-force counterpart to her own
capabilities. Whereas she could exert almost any magical effect simply by
speaking her intentions backwards, Firestorm could fundamentally change
anything by simply rearranging its atomic structure. A villain comes at him
in a tank? No problem. He could turn it into a fragile parade float adorned
in paper flowers.

The difference was that Zatanna's outcomes were usually time-limited and
would wear off eventually. However, because they were magical, few heroes
were well-defended against them, Firestorm included.

All she needed was a distraction.

A few moments later, she got it, as Smokeslave and Viridian came in hard and
fast in a sneak attack. Firestorm clearly had been expecting something of the
sort, though. Batman must have given him access to a fragment of Kryptonite
so that he would understand its atomic structure, because as Smokeslave
approached, Zatanna saw a patch of the light rain in the air turn green and
glowing - transformed by Firestorm into some kind of Kryptonite dust or the
like, she supposed.

It disturbed her to see Kal-El subjected to Kryptonite for even a short
period of time, but it would give Firestorm some feeling of false security
knowing that his former comrade Superman would be rendered helpless, allowing
him to concentrate on the former Green Lantern.

"Esoppo em ton, Mrotserif," Zatanna called out loudly and clearly.

His attention was caught by the sound of her voice, but the magic caught him
before his reflexes could bring his power to bear on her, and then he ignored
her, his face showing that he was clearly conflicted and confused about why
he couldn't conceive of removing her as a potential threat.

Refocusing his efforts on Viridian, Firestorm could do nothing to stop
Zatanna as she made her next move, speaking the words, "Hcae emit uoy esu
yuoy srewop, Mrotserif, emoceb reipeels."

Now, as Firestorm used his powers against Viridian - which was difficult
since neither the green energy constructs nor the hard smoke ones possessed
any traditional energy or matter to be atomically converted - he became
drowsier with each effort.

Smiling, and pulling out a cigarette to light, Zatanna said, as her smoke
spilled into the surrounding air. "Eht reipeels uoy emoceb, eht ssel
rewoplliw uoy lliw evah to tsiser em."

She smoked for a bit, amused at how Firestorm continued to fight, even though
he was becoming more tired as he did thanks to her spell. His efforts became
more disjointed and sloppy, and what he didn't know was that the more tired
he became, the more open his mind would be to Zatanna thanks to her most
recent bit of magic.

There was no time to dawdle though, and she moved in quickly as Firestorm
began to slump to the ground. Her second spell hadn't actually included a
proviso to put him to sleep - simply make him more tired - so this wasn't
going to be a knock-out punch situation.

Not that she wanted it to be. That wouldn't be nearly as much fun.

"I'm going to need you to take nice, long, deep breaths, Firestorm," Zatanna
said, looming above him as he struggled to remain upright even on his knees
on the ground. The flame-like energy that wreathed the top of his head like a
spiky mane of hair illuminated the shiny, skin-hugging latex and PVC of her
new costume and made her glisten in the twilight like some fetish goddess.

She bent down to look him in the face, sucked in a huge cloud of smoke and
then another, and released it into his face.

Just before it reached him, though, it turned into something mistier and
floral-smelling. She smiled as she realized he had turned the drugged smoke -
no doubt realizing it was somehow tainted when she commanded him to breathe
deeply - into air freshener instead. He coughed a bit at inhaling the cloud
of sickly-sweet chemicals, no doubt regretting his choice.

Of course, his judgment isn't the best as tired as he is, Zatanna considered.
She was amused, because she realized she had made him suggestible to her, and
temporarily made it impossible for him to act against her, but she hadn't
removed his ability to act against something she might send his way, like the
smoke. 

But the irony is that as he uses his powers against my efforts, he becomes
even more weary, Zatanna thought, and the more tired he becomes, the more
suggestible he will be.

And so she said, softly, "Firestorm, you really need to smell this smoke and
breathe it deep. It's the right thing to do. It will make me happy if you let
my breath deep inside you."

She double-pumped the cigarette again, her own arousal building as the
chemicals simmered in her own blood. But while the arousal chemicals went
both ways, the will-sapping chemicals were on the outflowing smoke,
interacting with her own body chemistry to release powerful pheromones keyed
toward male submission. She put her mouth close to his, not kissing him but
letting the smoke kiss him for her.

She felt a warm dampness and realized that he had changed much of the smoke
to a diffuse cloud of steam - but not all of it. Her words and will were
overcoming his. He'd had his first taste of that smoke, and she could see the
confusion and desire beginning to show in his expression. He was so tired, so
malleable, so weak and now becoming slowly more libidinous, too. But he was
still trying to fight her in the end, however little; however ineffectively.

"It's only a matter of time," she told him. "Why put off the inevitable? You
will be mine, and then you will be my mistress' too. It's all right,
Firestorm. It's a change of allegiance, not a change of morals. Well, no
morals that are necessary to fight crime. Some morals are best left at the
door; the better to enjoy life, or a woman like me. Let me inside you with
the smoke, Firestorm. You must. You need to. You want to."

This time, she triple-pumped the cigarette, and let her lips just barely
graze his own, as she unleashed the thick cloud of drugged smoke into his
face, and enjoyed the backwash of it into her own, relishing the scent of
tobacco smoke and the subtler aromas of the drugs therein.

A faint scent of roses this time, but Zatanna knew he had altered hardly any
of the smoke at all this time.

Her lips still brushing his, she said in a sultry whisper, "All of it this
time, lover. And every bit I feed to you after that. Let go and find
yourself. Let go and let me in. I'll even let you inside me when you've been
filled enough with smoke."

His eyes were wide as she managed a quadruple-pump of the cigarette, and let
the smoke free from her mouth slowly, parting his lips with her tongue.
Firestorm took a deep, gasping breath, sounding desperate for her exhalation,
and she shared it with him leisurely and intimately. Then two more quick
exhales into his face as she said, "Good boy," and Smokeslave carried them
off someplace where she could bind him more firmly in private, and work off
the passion burning hotly inside her.

* * *

Wonder Woman had retreated to a far corner of her apartment, seeking to be as
far from her smoking guards as she could be.

Not to escape the effects of the cigarettes they smoked, however. She had
never had a desire to do that.

It wasn't even to achieve solitude, she supposed, though that was part of it.
Most days, those guards were as noticeable to her as the carpeting.
Periodically, they would enter her awareness, but mostly they were
decoration. Needless decoration at that, Diana thought, given that by now she
had no interest in escaping Nicoletta, and the woman no doubt knew that. Even
with Nicoletta's relentless quest to turn most of her inner circle into
smoking fetishists, smoking guards were hardly necessary anymore, since the
woman herself visited Diana daily, and often more than once.

But those guards could also be a sort of distraction. They were like a clock
on the wall, softly ticking as a reminder that hours go by and there are
places to be and appointments to keep. Those guards were a constant, quiet
reminder of what Diana had yet to do.

Become a smoker.

Not to simply enjoy the act passively or hold smoke in her mouth to tease
Nicoletta's own desires and hopes. Not to take that one distracted drag on
the cigarette, as she had many days earlier, before she had realized what she
was doing. Not simply to acknowledge that one day she would smoke.

Those guards were going to be there, she sensed, until she was a committed
smoker. That decision was, she supposed, the final sign that Nicoletta
awaited to know that not only did Wonder Woman not oppose her actively, but
that she embraced Nicoletta's plans.

The philosophy behind Nicoletta's schemes resonated with Diana, but still she
wondered if it was right to put Wonder Woman's banner into service in
Nicoletta's crusade along with the other captured heroes. Was it right,
particularly when one of her dearest friends was the most enslaved and
fettered of them all?

The greater good, or the needs of a few? The pristine moral high ground, or
the more practical and logical path with a more selective morality? 

Diana sighed. In the end, she realized, she was holding out against becoming
a smoker - or Nicoletta's lover, for that matter - simply to be stubborn. She
had never embraced some rigid stoicism that embraced a hard and bleak
existence to the exclusion of pleasure. At the same time, though, Nicoletta
embraced a world of decadence.

Or did she?

Was it decadence, or simply a "work hard, play hard" mentality?

Nicoletta didn't let herself be primped or ask people to do her work for her.
She commanded respect because she did know how to get her hands dirty, both
in pleasurable and non-pleasurable ways.

Diana looked at the pack of cigarettes she had brought with her, and the
lighter. She looked down at her own attire, asking herself why she was
wearing her Wonder Woman costume right now, and then answering it herself.

Because you're making a choice, she told herself silently. Not just as Diana,
a princess of the Amazons. Not just as a woman. But as a hero, too, who is
about to step away from the status quo and forge a new definition of heroism
that would blur the lines between good and evil a bit.

Not too much, but enough to shake people - just as she was about to shake up
her own definitions of restraint vs. liberation.

Diana peeled the plastic from the unopened pack of Gloriana cigarettes, and
lifted open the hard-pack's top. She pulled away the tiny bit of metallic
gold paper and considered the 20 tubes in there, facing her like a score of
blank eyes.

Not blank like some mindless gaze or hypnotic monotony but rather like blank
slates to be marked. Filters to be darkened with the stain of nicotine and
tar; filters to be marked with the saliva of her own mouth, or perhaps even
with lipstick or gloss.

She pulled one out, and placed it to her lips, and brought the flame of the
cigarette to the dark brown tobacco. She puffed on it gently but firmly, and
pulled the lighter away when she knew it was burning well; when she tasted
the smoke thick on her tongue and inside the cheeks of her mouth. 

Then she inhaled to bring that smoke deeply within her chest, thinking how
nicely it flowed down her windpipe and filled the eager empty spaces of her
lungs. Without releasing the smoke, she took another, longer drag, the tip of
her tongue teasing just a bit at the end of the filter, and she added that
smoke to the rest.

For a few seconds, she simply held the smoke there, and felt a tiny bit of
lightheadedness arise in her head. It was like a weight being lifted off of
her. Slowly - oh, so slowly - she released the smoke into the air, and
watched, fascinated, as she reveled in the sight of her own exhalation. Her
first true embrace of the smoke; her first true cloud of tobacco fumes.

There was a filthy aspect to the act, but it was a pleasurable dirtiness.
Part of that was the feeling of arousal - oh, Nicoletta worked her seductions
well to get Diana and the others to associate sex with smoke - but it was
also the idea of reveling in something that wasn't pure but still brought
pleasure. Like wallowing naked in a puddle of mud with one of her Amazonian
sisters after bathing nude in the lake - as an excuse to slide skin together
and become dirty enough to need to bathe together again.

As with sex, there was often messiness involved in smoking, but the pleasure
was worth it, Diana decided. 

She sat there, smoking quietly but with thoughts and decisions ringing loudly
in her mind, enjoying the swirls of smoke as they made layers of wispy white,
blue and gray in the air of her bedroom. They both polluted and perfumed the
atmosphere as they teased her with gauzy touches on her skin and teasing
tastes on her tongue and in her chest in between actual direct inhalation of
fresh smoke.

Wonder Woman brushed a stray bit of ash from one bare thigh, and lit a second
Gloriana. She smoked this one even slower, and let her free hand brush
against her nipples and tease at the crotch of her costume.

When she was done, Diana released one final, huge cone of smoke in the air,
and stood there, breathing in her own second-hand smoke until the fumes began
to dissipate, and she strode into the main area of the apartment. She fixed
her gaze on the eyes of both guards, and adopted a regal posture befitting a
warrior and a princess, as she told them, "Inform your mistress, Nicoletta,
that I wish to see her at her earliest opportunity."

* * *

Black Lightning stepped out of the jazz bar, happily anonymous in civilian
attire, as he proceeded around a corner, just slightly into an alley, and
pulled out his pack of Newports. It wasn't something he was proud of, even
though he enjoyed smoking. He'd quit so long ago and he had been content with
that. Then there were those years as Secretary of Education in the Cabinet
during Lex Luthor's presidency. He'd done his best to work against Luthor
from inside the system and did some good for America's youth, at least, but
it had been stressful - enough to knock him right off the wagon.

He didn't smoke as often as he did when he was younger, but it was hard to
get through a day anymore without at least eight to 10 of his old friends.
That made it easier to be a closet smoker, since he really didn't need the
well-meaning admonishments about smoking from his comrades in the Justice
League, or in his civilian job or from his non-metahuman friends. Bad enough
that his ex-wife knew and harped on him about it, as well as his two best
friends who weren't super-powered.

Taking a cool, tingling draw on his cigarette, he sighed with his first taste
of the evening's first cigarette, and leaned against the wall of the
building. It was nice, he thought, to have some kind of vice, even if few in
his circles would approve, and times like these were good for him anyway. By
smoking away from people to avoid the stigma, he got himself some valuable
solitude. Only brief stretches of time to himself alone outside in the world,
but enough to give him room to think.

Another lungful of menthol-rich, strong smoke, cooling his throat and warming
his chest. The world always seemed to come into sharper focus as the nicotine
began to hit his system, and he welcomed the stimulation and the clarity.

Flavor, texture and a nice, positive psychological effect, no matter how much
people rail on about how bad it is, Black Lighting thought. Easy to make a
villain out of smoking and ignore other problems. You'd think most people
would be happy enough that people like me can hardly smoke indoors anywhere
but they always push for more restrictions anyway.

"Can I get a light, sir?" came a melodic female voice, startling him
slightly, a tiny spark of electricity flashing from his pinky finger in a
reflex reaction.

Black Lightning turned to see a beautiful young woman with a dancer's body -
possibly Middle Eastern based on her features, but it was hard to tell in
this lighting. She had a 120mm cigarette held almost regally between her
index and middle fingers, and she smiled as he took out a lighter and
produced a flame for her. Leaning forward as he cupped his hand around the
flame, she took a few short, smooth puffs and exhaled into the air between
them, a thick white cloud mingling with his briefly in the street-lit
semi-darkness before the light breeze took it away.

"Thanks. I can't believe I remember the cigarettes and forget the lighter,"
said the woman, holding out one hand, which he wasn't sure whether to kiss
lightly or shake. He opted for the latter to be safe. "My name is Sarina.
Sorry to intrude on you here."

He hadn't really wanted company, but it was hard to refuse such attractive
companionship, and her smoke smelled nice, seeming to hang longer in the air
than his did and adding an incense-like perfume to the night air. "Not a
problem. I suppose I don't mind such charming company."

"You flatter me," Sarina said, exhaling a plume of smoke in his direction. 

Suddenly, he felt the queerest desire to have that smoke in his face - the
scent of it was just that alluring and ...seductive, he thought. Taking a
drag of his own Newport, it seemed almost barbaric to taint her smoke with
his, but he felt a stronger desire than before to fill his chest with tobacco
and nicotine, and it was all he had to smoke right now.

"A Newport man, are you?" Sarina noted. "I've always liked Newport men.
Except when I find myself in Texas, and then I just can't help but gravitate
toward the few cowboy types who smoke Marlboro Menthol instead of Reds," she
added with a lyrical laugh. "I have to tell you, though, the Maxim Menthols
from Millennium pack the same punch with a nicer flavor - or so my last
boyfriend told me. Hey! Are you ...? You're Jefferson Pierce, aren't you?"

"Yes, though I have to admit I don't get recognized much. I don't know
whether to be flattered or embarrassed - a former U.S. Education Secretary
caught smoking in an alley," he joked, his head buzzing nicely and his
shoulder and neck muscles feeling looser and less tense.

"I'm a civics junkie," she said. "When I'm not on stage I'm studying
political science."

"Ballerina?" Black Lightning ventured.

"Sometimes," Sarina answered, finally fulfilling his unspoken wish to have
her smoke blown closer to his face. "Mostly modern dance, though. I guess I
should be flattered to have my body style noticed by such a handsome and
accomplished gentleman," she continued and blew smoke toward his chest.
"Might I get a dance inside the club?"

Grinning a little at the gift of smoke, even though he wasn't sure why he
wanted her exhales so much, he took a quick drag off his Newport and said, "I
have to admit I don't always find jazz all that danceable, especially the
style playing tonight. But it's a nice idea."

"Dancing with me would be a very nice idea," Sarina agreed, stepping closer
and tickling a couple fingers across his chest. She drew deeply on her
cigarette again and felt the moisture and stickiness build between her legs.
Nicoletta had designed these cigarettes carefully to only sap the will of
men, but there was no way to prevent the arousal chemicals from affecting
her, and it was getting to be a bit much to keep from touching herself. So
she pressed close to Black Lightning instead, and pressed one hip up against
him, hoping for some small relief as a little pressure was brought to bear on
her pelvis and crotch indirectly. She looked up at him and released her smoke
right into his face and said, "Oh! Sorry about that."

He nearly reeled and almost stumbled, but the farthest thought from his mind
was irritation. He could feel heat and hardness in the front of his trousers,
and the warmth of this woman's body seemed a perfect counterpoint to the dual
red cherries of their cigarettes burning in the night and the streamers of
pungent smoke drifting from them.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he mumbled, and took a drag of his cigarette to
steady himself. 

In response, Sarina took a drag on her own cigarette, long and hard - like
she imagined his cock must be right now - and pressed into him lightly, pussy
to cock, and stepped up on tiptoes to give him a light kiss as they mutually
exhaled. He drank in her smoke greedily, and took their kiss to the next
level with a passionate fierceness. She pulled him deeper into the alley, and
gave him more smoke. His Newport was virtually spent, and he tossed it to the
ground as he pulled her to him with both hands.

"You only need one hand to keep my ass and pussy where they need to be,"
Sarina said, handing him her half-smoked cigarette. "Finish my cigarette and
blow smoke down on me and kiss me while I handle my business here."

He took the cigarette from her, and inhaled deeply on it. Though it lacked
the menthol flavor he preferred, the smoke was smooth and refreshing, and his
senses seemed to redouble in sensitivity. He felt her fingers unzipping him
and he eased up on his grip on her left buttock to give her a bit more room
to maneuver. But as she freed his cock from his pants and impaled herself on
it, her pussy hot and slick and ready, he pulled her close again, and began
to gyrate slowly. 

Black Lightning brought her cigarette to his lips again, craving what it
offered, and shared it with her in kisses as she had requested. Her arms
reached around him as she pressed her hard little nipples into his thin
shirt, rubbing against him as she rocked up and down on his penis. 

He slid up and down, coming out of her just enough with each down stroke to
feel a little cool rush of air at the base of his cock, which was cancelled
out by the torrid damp heat of her sex as he fully entered her again. It
seemed like he was inhaling with every upstroke and exhaling with every slow
down stroke, and then he realized he was indeed doing just that. He was
smoking in rhythm to their intercourse, smoky gifts flooding his lungs as her
wetness embraced him and as her innermost flesh pulsed against him.

She pulled the nearly spent cigarette from his fingers and deftly produced a
fresh one for him to smoke, and this one was something mentholated and
shorter, and in his lust-clouded mind it never occurred to him how she had
managed to light it or where she had gotten a whole new cigarette.

He only knew that this new smoke made his Newport seem like an off-brand by
comparison. The smoke he was breathing now was just as strong, but so much
more complex in its flavor, and every breath he took that was full of smoke
seemed to make him more aroused and more focused on this gorgeous creature he
was fucking in an alley. A small part of him realized how out-of-character
all of this was, but it felt so right, and he rode her firmly and slowly,
every stroke accompanied by smoke, until the cigarette was done and she
produced another. 

Black Lightning almost felt separated from his own body; out of control but
deliciously so. Sarina was telling him what a fine man he was, so chivalrous
and willing and open.

That last word was repeated so much, and so breathlessly by her. It seemed
odd, because it was her sex that was opening to him, but it also sounded
right. He was open to her words. Open to change. Open to suggestion. He let
her words fill him along with the fantastic smoke, and as he burned with
passion and pressed past the point of no return, he growled and moaned into
her mouth, sharing their smokiest kiss yet as he filled her with more than
his manhood and as she clenched around him, bucking and softly crying out.

When she slid slickly and stickily off of him, he swooned a little, dizzy and
spent, and was grateful for the strong armored hands that were suddenly
supporting him and carrying him someplace warm and safe, as two women filled
his world with smoke.

He was safe, they were telling him, and he would soon be with his former
teammate Vixen, and that seemed a very reasonable thing, so he agreed with
them over and over, as his world became nothing but smoke and words.

* * *

As Nicoletta entered Diana's apartment, she saw the woman known as Wonder
Woman to most of the world sitting regally and sexily in her uniform on the
sofa, smoking slowly and sultrily.

"I see you have quite the natural style," Nicoletta said, smiling.

"I've had a most excellent role model to emulate," Diana answered, smiling
back at Nicoletta and then grinning at Annabeth as she entered the apartment
just behind Nicoletta. She blew smoke toward them both, and slid her hands
over the supple leather of the large sofa on either side of her, cigarette
dangling from her lips and smoke twisting into her long, dark hair.

Nicoletta chuckled and motioned for Beth to follow her, and they sat on
either side of Wonder Woman.

"I hope you don't mind if I abstain for a brief time here and simply enjoy
watching you embrace smoking with such a passionate commitment," Nicoletta
said. "I know you love my smoke, but I am finding this sight quite enjoyable.
Aren't you, Beth?"

Beth simply nodded, as Diana's hand stroked the woman's pant leg.

"I see you brought Beth, but not Hal," Diana noted, brushing some ash off one
of her red-and-gold-clad breasts.

"Yes, is that a problem?" Nicoletta asked. "He's a bit busy at the edge of
the solar system right now dealing with an issue."

"Yes and no. Clearly, you have a tidy little four-way relationship planned
here. Certainly, I can wait to sample Hal in an intimate sense, and I'm
likely to find two fit women like yourselves more desirable much of the time,
but I do worry," Wonder Woman said, her chest swelling as she filled it with
smoke.

"Why is that?" Nicoletta queried her. "What do you worry about?"

"You've been stoking my passions for weeks now, Nicoletta. Seduction and
smoke, and frankly, embracing this decadent little vice of yours is only
making things more intense for me," Diana noted, drawing smoke slowly from
the filter of her cigarette and blowing it across Beth's nose, then turning
and smiling at Nicoletta as the last stray wisps of smoke escaped her mouth.
"Certainly, there has been some release here and there, but I have yet to let
loose all of the passion that's been building up and frankly, I worry that
just the two of you alone won't be able to keep up with me as I work off
those tensions today. Neither of you is actually metahuman, with all of your
powers coming from armor, costumes, drugged smoke or other technology, and
neither of you is an Amazon. Yet I have such a great deal of intimate energy
to unleash."

"I'm sure you can be gentle," Nicoletta noted, "and still slake your hunger."

"It's not simply a matter of being gentle. I'm eager to put so many
long-unused skills to work, Nicoletta, and I'm predisposed not to be a
passive, fainting flower," she noted, looking Nicoletta in the eyes as the
cherry of the cigarette sizzled and smoke flowed into Diana's mouth, to be
released in an awkward, but almost-successful, French inhale. "I'll have to
work on that," she muttered, and then continued with, "You see, Nicoletta,
you may be the queen of this kinky family you've formed around yourself, but
I am a princess. I may be willing to follow you, but I'm not meek. And so I
have some things to school both you and Beth in. Sadly, Hal's lessons will
have to wait but, again, I worry that I may exhaust the two of you before I
fully demonstrate my role in this relationship."

"Both Beth and I have known some very active encounters since I began
collecting metahumans to my side," Nicoletta noted, breathing slowly and with
great satisfaction as Wonder Woman unleashed a sluggish mass of tobacco smoke
toward her.

"Well, perhaps I need to demonstrate just how much you don't realize," she
told Nicoletta, and turned toward Beth. "Stand up, Cigarillo."

Beth complied, and Wonder Woman began to lift the woman's blouse over her
head after popping off three buttons with a deft flick of her fingertip, the
cigarette clenching between her lips and tiny clouds puffing out from the
corners of her sensuous lips. She yanked open the front of Beth's pants, the
snap flying across the room, and yanked them and the woman's panties down in
one movement. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, a tiny line of saliva
linking the moist filter to her lips for a moment, and blew smoke across
Beth's bra before gently removing it and then stubbing out the cigarette as
she admired Beth's nudity.

"I will begin by demonstrating something we on Themyscira call `Parted By the
Spear Tip' and something I've been told by my Amazonian sisters that I am as
proficient at as I am with the bow and the blade," Diana said.

With a languorous stretch of her forearm, she maneuvered her right hand
palm-up between Beth's legs, moving up slowly from the region of her knees up
toward her vulva, the Amazon's hands brushing skin slowly as the space
between Beth's legs lessened the farther up Diana went. As the hand hovered
there at Beth's warm and waiting sex, Diana smirked. "Time to relocate you a
bit, Annabeth."

The Amazon's hand rose up suddenly not just to cup Beth's sex, but to lift
her into the air.

"Eeep!" Beth cried, and tried to maintain her balance, wavering for a few
moments. But Diana balanced her deftly, and carried the woman in the palm of
her hand toward one wall.

"Some like to perform Parted By the Spear Tip in mid-air, and I find that
lacks the necessary impact, for reasons you'll both see soon enough," Wonder
Woman said, as she placed Beth's naked back against the wall, her body still
suspended on the heroine's single hand. Beth gasped as the middle finger of
that hand slowly wormed its way up inside her sex. "Some Amazons grow the
nails of their middle fingers long to accentuate the effect of this, and
hence the `spear tip' in the name of this routine, but it's not necessary for
one with the right skills - though it does enhance things. But I find
maintaining a manicure as a combat-oriented hero is so challenging."

Beth was making little hitching breaths as Diana's middle finger rolled and
pumped, and then Wonder Woman pressed the heel of her palm against the top of
the woman's labia.

"Oh ...oh, my," Beth said, as Diana's hand began to make rhythmic circles as
a counterpoint to the invading finger.

"This is why the support of a wall or column or tree is so important to the
proper execution of this form of intimacy," Diana said quietly, with a sultry
intensity. "One simply cannot combine the proper stimulation of the vulva and
clitoris with one's palm while parting the folds and massaging those special
places inside with the finger unless you have something against which to
brace the woman's body. Because, of course, were I to use my thumb on her
clitoris instead of my palm, which I'd have to do if I didn't brace her, I
might not be able to properly support her luscious little ass in the air. I
might lose my grip and jostle her, and that so ruins the mood."

Diana licked slowly and sensuously at Beth's throat, while Nicoletta looked
on admiringly. For her part, Beth moaned long and low in her throat and
smiled dreamily as her breath began to come in hitching little gasps again.

"Besides," Diana continued, as she motioned with her free hand toward her
open pack of cigarettes, and Nicoletta retrieved them for her, "the thumb
would provide direct and intense attention to the clitoris, but ignore the
other parts of the vulva. This more comprehensive and slow stimulation, along
with internal pressure on certain nerve clusters with my middle finger,
provides a much more desirable effect."

Slowly pressing and penetrating, Diana kneaded Beth's sex with gradually
increasing intensity, and slightly more complex patterns of movement. Then
she lit her latest cigarette and released the smoke against Beth's neck,
kissing and licking there and re-breathing her own exhalation even as Beth
sucked as much of the smoke into her own lungs as she could.

"Of course, Beth's smoking fetish, something you've cultivated so carefully
in all of us, Nicoletta, but which she has had longer than anyone else in
your inner circle, allows me to add this special addition, tickling and
stroking her skin and mouth - her throat and lungs - with smoke as I bring
her so tortuously slow to her release."

Beth's breathing was quicker now, tiny breaths that seemed on the verge of
hyperventilation, as she breathed Diana's smoke and sat suspended on the
strong hand of the heroine and impaled on her middle finger, which was
working firm, wet magic on her inner flesh. She could feel herself dripping
and could only imagine what Nicoletta was able to actually view, sticky
little rivulets of Beth's juices running down Diana's hand and wrist.

"You should have one of your employees fetch whatever intimate toys you
possess, Nicoletta, and bring them here immediately," Wonder Woman said in a
low, smoky, throaty trill. "I'm sure I can find some things in there to make
use of so that I can demonstrate other maneuvers on Beth and also on you,
like `Titan's Harness,' `The Club in the Hole,' `Wings of Ascension' and `The
Immaculate Drowning.' If, that is, I can prevent either or both of you from
passing out for hours before I demonstrate all of my best tricks."

Beth was sweating, and her eyes were wild, mouth agape and a little bit of
drool sliding down one side of her neck as her breathing continued its
staccato, hiccupping rhythm and as her breasts began to bounce lightly,
Diana's thrusting and kneading down below now becoming more feverish. Wonder
Woman saw the signs of the passionate scream beginning to well as she saw
what seemed like mingled madness and elation in Beth's eyes, and took a huge
lungful of smoke, and pressed her lips to the other woman's in a kiss that
denied Beth breath and filled her with smoke instead. Then she cried out into
Diana's mouth, shaking and panting without ability to escape the prison of
Diana's lips or the ministrations of her hand and finger. It was a long, low,
nearly silent scream of ecstasy, and all the more intense because of that.

The orgasm lasted nearly a minute and then Diana released the woman's mouth
and laid her nearly limp, slowly writhing and nearly unconscious body gently
to the ground.

"Your turn, Nicoletta, just as soon as you get those sex toys of yours in
here," Diana said, fixing the woman's gaze with almost feral intensity and
blowing a cone of smoke toward her. "My hand needs a rest, but there are so
many more things I can do with the right tools while it recovers."

* * *

Batman spun in the darkness, cape whirling and obscuring the vision of one
man as the Dark Knight dropped low to avoid the sword that had been swung at
his torso mere moments before. He came up underneath the blade-wielding
assailant, and stuck him hard just between his neck and jaw with three
fingers. As the man made a gargled, choking gasp, Batman shattered his nose
with a quick elbow blow and then grabbed him by the neck to slam his face
into a nearby vehicle. Spinning around full circle once more, he dropped the
other man with a swift pair of kicks.

There was a sound behind him from someone he hadn't known was there, and then
a warbling, screeching cry. Batman threw up the edge of his cape, hoping to
shield himself slightly from the sonic onslaught, but suddenly realizing he
was catching on the barest edge of an attack not meant for him.

On the ground he saw a man dressed like the other two he had been fighting,
armed with a wicked-looking crossbow-like weapon. He was unconscious, and
Batman saw the source of the man's defeat as he spied Black Canary in the
distance. She smiled, waved and shouted, "Glad to be of help, Batman. Would
hate to see you get blindsided. Be seeing you later ...maybe."

She dashed off and Batman was committed to one action above all others - to
pursue her. This was one of his missing comrades, and the first hard lead
he'd had to finding the answers he sought. These three men could get away if
that was the price to pay for finding all of his captured comrades.

But as he tensed and prepared to pursue her, an emerald-colored arrow hit the
ground in front of him releasing a dense cloud of verdant smoke, and Batman
realized that Green Arrow was nearby as well. Not knowing whether the
emissions were a gas - toxic or sedative - or simply a smoke screen, he dove
backward and pulled a respirator over his nose and mouth. By the time he had
a clear view of the world again and realized it had only been a smoke screen
after all, both Oliver and Dinah were long gone.

* * *

Green Arrow lifted his face from between Black Canary's thighs and, with a
smile on his face, wiped the back of one hand across his blonde goatee to
wipe some of her juices away.

"Someone sure was in a hurry to get an orgasm when we got back here," he
teased her.

"Kind of exciting to have surprised Batman like that and leave him guessing,"
she answered.

"Nicoletta might not approve of such rash behavior, Dinah."

"Oh, she wouldn't have wanted him dead, so I did a good thing stepping in,"
Black Canary responded. "Besides, there has always been the risk that one of
us might get captured by someone in the Justice League. You worry too much
sometimes, Oliver. Nicoletta has protected us well and ensured our loyalty to
her."

"Doesn't it ever strike you as odd to have free will and be a slave, in a
way?" Green Arrow countered.

"You complaining, Ollie?" she said, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly.
"Nicoletta working you too hard around the headquarters or in the field?"

He laughed lightly at that. "Of course not, but still, it's cognitive
dissonance."

"Only because you haven't been with her as long as I have. It becomes pretty
second-nature after a little while. I don't think about my loyalty to her any
more than I do that to my family or dearest friends. It's just second nature.
Natural."

"Marry me," Green Arrow said.

"Well, that came out of nowhere, Ollie," Black Canary said with a smirk.
"Didn't you ask me that once before, and aren't we divorced now?"

"Oh, sorry, let me rephrase," Green Arrow said dryly. "Re-marry me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because we have a whole new start on life, don't we?" he answered. "We've
been snared for what Nicoletta thinks is a higher purpose. Her purpose, of
course, but I can live with that. In a sense, we're all starting over.
Breaking with our old ways and embracing new ones. I want a second chance to
make it work with us."

She arched one eyebrow. "Got a ring, big boy?"

He deftly produced one with a little sleight of hand, and she wondered where
he had hidden it.

"Nice rock, Oliver, but before you put it on my finger and before I say yes,
I have a wager."

"Really? What?" he asked, intrigued.

She got up on her hands and knees and pushed her naked ass into the air,
toward him. She reached over to the bed stand, pulled out a 164mm Nightlife
cigarette, and lit it slowly. She turned her head to blow a long stream of
creamy smoke past her shoulder, back and ass into his face. Then she reached
over for a bottle of lube, and handed it back to him.

"There's one place on my body you've never been allowed to explore, Oliver,"
she said through a wreath of fresh smoke hovering about her face. "Show me
how well you can deal with such a small, tight target. Make me come before
you come, without touching my pussy or my clit, and I'll say yes. You're the
master marksman, so let's see how well you can hit a mark I've never let you
target before."

He grinned at her as she blew more smoke across her hindquarters, and he
lifted up the bottle to let a long, slow stream of lubricant drizzle out,
splashing against her brown bud. He smeared it slowly between her cheeks and
then spread her hole slightly to pour a small puddle of it inside her.

"Take it slow, Oliver. Do it right. Show me what a good shot you are and I'll
consider you worthy of a second chance," she said in a husky whisper, sending
more smoke his way. "Work the little sphincter well enough, and you can move
from the tight ring of my asshole to putting a ring on my finger again."

He pressed his cock between her buttocks and slowly, firmly massaged her back
there with his penis, as he brought himself to full hardness, and then he
pressed his cockhead against her hole, and began a slow penetration into her.

It took well over an hour, and several times he almost lost it, but he
managed not to come first. She never stopped moaning with pleasure, she never
stopped smoking, and eventually she screamed in ecstasy - and finally said
"yes."


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