Hunting Big Game.

By EvWalt.

Rated X for language and graphic sex.

Can't sleep. Too excited.

Today's the day. I've been planning this for so long. So many hours spent at my desk, or on my computer, or in various stores...so many weeks doing research and putting the stuff together...I almost can't believe it's today.

Might as well get up. It's 5:30, and she'll be out the door in an hour.

I shower, and find myself already erect. I'm thinking about her breasts, so large and full, and the way they press against her blouses and sweaters. Her costume hints at it, but it's when she's in civilian clothes that you really get an idea of just how stacked she is. God, those tits. They're like something out of a wet dream. I bet they look like implants, only they're real, and unaffected by gravity. I wonder about how old she is; I know what the newspapers say, and I know what the Web sites say, but that could all be disinformation. Bet she's older than 18. Not that that would stop me. I've been thinking about this day for years. I'm gonna do it.

She's got it all, really. It's hard, looking at her, to really get an idea of the kind of body she's got. In costume she shows lots of thigh and arm, and she's really muscular for a woman, but tits and ass you don't really get to see. She doesn't dress revealingly when she's out of costume, either. Long skirts, the occasional loose pair of jeans, and long sweats when she jogs. I'd almost think she had a thing about modesty, only I know better.

I'm quivering and panting. My prick is so hard...I'm almost coming, and I haven't touched myself at all. What's coming has me worked up...I *so* want to–but no. I'm going to wait, and save it for her. I turn on the cold water and let the shock do the job. My heart's racing, but I'm no longer so close to orgasm. I scrub the pre-come off my head and clean the foreskin. Don't want her tasting anything nasty when she blows me, after all.

I dress and check the wall clock. 6:02. Great–exactly enough time to get my clothes on, get the equipment ready, and leave my apartment. I'm right on schedule, and should be walking right by her doorway at the exact second she's leaving her apartment. Wonder Woman is nothing if not punctual, after all.

– – –

Lots of guys think about it, I'm sure. When I hit the chat rooms sometimes I hear–or read, rather–guys talking about what they'd do with Wonder Woman if they could get ahold of her. I'm not talking about supervillains, either. I mean ordinary guys, like you and me. I sell computers–how much more ordinary than that can you get? I look like tens of thousands of other guys; goatee, a little bit of a potbelly (well, okay, more than a little bit), average-sized dick. I have a decent apartment in D.C., I have a decent girlfriend–I'm an average guy.

But I have big dreams. I've been thinking about superheroines all my life. I wonder what they're like outside of their uniforms. I wonder what they look like, naked. I wonder what it's like to fuck them. Are they dead fish or screamers? Do they like oral? Are they into anal or something worse? You read rumors on the Internet–Supergirl's an alien who can change shape and is into three-ways with other guys; Batgirl's taste for leather goes beyond her costume; Black Canary is working her way through the superhero ranks, and likes them young–but that's all probably bullshit, the sort of things guys say to make themselves sound knowledgeable. Me, I'm really curious about this sort of thing, and have been thinking about it for years. I even toyed with some ideas about what to do if I ever got the chance. Mentally, I mean; if I got caught with the equipment I'd need, I'd lose Jasie–she loves me, I think, but she wouldn't understand, and while she likes sex she isn't into anything kinky–and I'd probably go to jail.

Never had the chance to do anything about it, though. Not until I moved to Washington and got my apartment in Georgetown. Nice neighborhood, the part of Georgetown I'm in. Lots of nicely-kept brownstones, lots of trees and tiny yards. Sort of place I wouldn't mind living in for the rest of my life. My apartment's not bad, either. Best of all are the big windows in the front, looking down on the street. They're set back a couple of feet from the outer wall of the building, so I can sit by the windows with my binoculars, watching the neighbors, and not be seen from below.

Of course I watch my neighbors. DC is pussy heaven; so many young women come to the city to work for the government that you can't walk down the street without seeing young, juicy trim. My neighbors are no different. Amy, across the street, works for PETA and is going out with an older guy, Doug. She's got a daddy fetish, I think, and has model-quality looks. And lucky me, heh heh, she left the blinds open one night. I spent a half hour watching her take it up the ass, her breasts bouncing and her small brown nipples brushing her bedsheet. I couldn't hear her screaming, but I could read her lips–not that "OH GOD" and "YES" and "FUCK ME HARDER" are that hard to make out. I probably came three times, just watching her. Not as messy as Doug did, though. He pulled out and gave her a facial, and she licked it up. I just wish I'd had my camcorder that night.

Anyhow. I watch the neighbors. And, yeah, I knew that Wonder Woman was supposed to live in the city, but I had no idea what was going to happen, even so. I didn't get so lucky as to see her in costume, though. That would have been something. But I did notice Diana Prince, who lived just below Amy. Diana...fuck me, what a body she had. A mouth made for blow jobs, tits that wouldn't quit, and what looked like an ass you could bounce quarters off of. She was friendly enough in the street, but she always seemed so busy, and she always wore sunglasses and was rushing off somewhere. I didn't try to ask her out or anything; she's *way* out of my league, and anyhow, I had Jasie.

It wasn't for a couple of months that I realised who Diana Prince was, and, really, I'd never have guessed it except that one night she left her curtains open just a little bit. She was sitting on her couch, and she had her sunglasses on her forehead, and I realised that she looked, in that pose, a little bit like Wonder Woman, with the sunglasses where Wonder Woman's tiara was. That made me smile; Wonder Woman, living across the street from me?

Then I thought about it and pulled my Techno-Stabis over and zoomed in on her. Sonofabitch. She really did look like Wonder Woman in that pose. I ran and got my Nikon, the one with the zoom lens, and quickly snapped some photos of her.

I got them developed the next day, and then compared them to the photos on the JLA web site and the ones caught in Super Hero Weekly. Mother*fucker*. It was her. It was Wonder Woman. The fucking Amazon princess, living across the street from me. And I knew her secret identity.

– – –

I sat on the information for a week. I'm 34, old enough to know better than to rush into anything. I used my Hotmail address to do some e-mailing; the nice thing about Hotmail is that you can be anyone there. I learned a long time back that it's best to have an alternate identity on the Internet, so that you can say and do things that can't be traced back to you. So I set up my Hotmail i.d. years ago, and use it for things like this.

I fairly quickly saw that there was no way I could sell the information. I mean, I *could* sell it; the trick would be getting away with the money, alive. There are a couple of web sites out there, bulletin boards and the like, that I think are looked at by supervillains. But how are you going to trust them to pay you and let you live? Besides, if the supervillains can find you, so can the superheroes and the cops, and I really don't want to attract their attention.

I'm not sure I really wanted to sell the information anyhow. I mean, yeah, I could use the money, but...well, you see where this is going. I knew who Wonder Woman was. If I was careful, I could nail her. And the chance of sticking it in Wonder Woman...feeling that tight pussy around my dick...squeezing those tits, and putting a nipple in my mouth and playing with it on my tongue until she moaned...letting that tongue play on the head of my prick until I finally came in her mouth...seeing that face grimace and twist up as she took it from me...that would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. No money could pay for that.

So I laid plans. I make decent money, but nowhere near enough for any of the high-tech gear that supervillains use. Besides, where would I get it? Can't walk into a CompUSA and ask for a Neural Paralyzer (or something like that). But, as I said, I've been toying with this for a long time, and I thought I had some ideas for equipment that would get the job done and not bankrupt me.

I also started watching her. If I was going to rape her–no sense in being coy about it–I would have to be able to get away with it. And to do that I'd have to know her schedule, so as to catch her alone and off-guard.

Lucky me: she was as regular as a Geocities pop-up. She always left her building at 6:30, give or take a few seconds. Always. Every morning, rain or shine, she left at 6:30, either to go to work or to jog.

Perfect. You have to understand something about Georgetown to see why this is perfect. 6:30 on a weekday morning, the town is busy busy busy, with people driving to work or running for the bus. 6:30 on a Saturday morning, people are already up and about, jogging or going to get the shopping done before the tourists arrive to clog Avenue M. But 6:30 on a *Sunday* morning...no one is up and about. Nobody here hits church before 11.

So 6:30 on a Sunday morning was perfect for me. She'd be alone, and she wouldn't have any idea what was waiting for her.

– – –

That was a month ago. It took me that long to put together the equipment and wait for a rainy morning. I'm carrying what looks like a long umbrella, and I don't want anybody to think that unusual.

I cross the street and open the door to her apartment building. It's strange, that most of Washington is paranoid about personal security, but apartment buildings in Georgetown leave the front doors open. I just don't get it, but I'll use it to my advantage.

I walk up the back stairs. My hands are shaking, just a little bit, and I've got that fluttery feeling in my stomach. God, all this time, leading up to this. On the second floor I stop and check my watch again.

6:29. Any second now.

I start to walk down the hall. Three apartments on each side. Hers is the front one. I slow down, trying to walk quietly. Shit. She still hasn't shown up. What if she's out? What if she never came back last night? Fuck.

Then her doorknob turns, and I almost jump out of my skin. I'm about ten feet from her door, and start walking forward again. I've got my baseball cap pulled down low over my face, and the light in the hall isn't that good, so if she looks at me without really paying attention she shouldn't see much. Yep–she just looked at me and smiled meaninglessly and then turned away.

Now.

She has just turned her back on me and is pulling her apartment door closed when I point the "umbrella" at her ankle and pull the trigger. Umbrellas are strange things. They are roughly rifle-shaped, and have a handle and often some sort of button on them, but people look at them and don't think, "weapon." They just think "umbrella." Well, unless you're the Penguin, but he doesn't count.

I'm not some high-tech genius, but it doesn't take much to make an umbrella into a weapon. First you hollow out the center pole. Most of them are made from cheap plastic or wood, but if you buy a really good umbrella you get a decent aluminum or even pine or oak. With umbrellas like that, you just saw them in half and them scrape them empty. Then you put in a high-tension spring-and-trigger arrangement, like a 1950s zip gun. I'm not that good with my hands, but even I can do something like that. And you can pick up the spring and the trigger at any good, large hardware store.

Then you put in a tranquilizer dart. I know, I know–a tranquilizer dart? Sounds like something out of a bad action novel. But once you get out into the farm country and walk into a story catering to farmers–and there are loads of those out in rural Virginia and Maryland, only a couple of hours' drive from Georgetown–you can find tranquilizer darts and tranq guns and tranquilizer drugs a-plenty. Farmers need those things, see, to tranq animals from a distance.

Me, I paid cash, used a false name, and picked up a dozen darts. The kind they use for Brahma bulls and Angus cattle. The *big* kind. I practiced with them, a couple of weekends, seeing what range I had on them and how they flew and how much my "umbrella" could take. I went through ten darts and broke two of my "umbrellas" before I got good with them, but that left two darts to use.

Then I loaded one of the darts with GHB. Oh, I know it's hard to come by, and for good reason. It's the date rape drug, after all, and the FDA banned it because of that. (Well, that, and the fact that it can suppress your respiratory system and give you a heart attack.) But it used to be sold in health stores, and after word got out about its use in date rapes, I loaded up on it. (I keep it in my medicine cabinet in a bottle labelled "castor oil." Jase never touches that bottle.)

The dart, like I said, is big, big enough to hold enough sedatives to put a bull down. It's big enough to be visible to the eye as it flies through the air. Big enough that Wonder Woman should be able to deflect it with her bracelets. Nobody knows quite how she does that, but she does–nobody ever hits her with bullets or arrows or anything like that. If you read enough news accounts you can see that shooting anything at her is pretty much useless, since she'll deflect it.

She'll deflect it, that is, if you shoot it at her head or chest, or anywhere her arms can easily reach. Not me, though. I shoot it at the back of her calf, just above the ankle, and while her back is partly turned to me. She's not bulletproof–why do you think she tries to deflect the bullets? The dart should go in.

She hears the twang of the spring and starts to pivot toward me, dropping her apartment keys. I see everything moving in slow motion. I see her face beginning to contort as she loses her smile and gains her battle face. I see her arms come up into a basic defensive position. I see her left leg slowly, so slowly, move to put her into a fighting stance.

I see the tranquilizer dart hit her right calf. I approached from the left; if she was going to turn toward me, she'd pivot on her right leg, not moving it much and making it a standing still target.

I watch as the dart's plunger infinitesimally shoots the drug into Wonder Woman's body, and a century later I watch as she begins moving toward me. One step. Then another, and suddenly her face loses its expression and her eyes begin to roll up in her head and her legs wobble. She manages to take another step toward me, and then she falls, a puppet whose strings have been cut.

I was backing away, waiting for the drug to take effect, but I was watching her, and when she started to slump forward I step to her and catch her. Christ, she's heavy! Gotta hurry now. I drag her into her apartment, compulsively looking around to make sure nobody's watching. I pick up her keys and then go into her apartment and close the door behind me. I lock it.

I turn to look at her, on her back on the rug where I dumped her. Her breathing is regular, and her eyes are closed. She might be asleep. Her sweatshirt is riding up slightly, and I can see her belly. She has no fat there–none.

I shake my head. Time for looking later. Gotta get going. She's got the constitution of...well, of an Amazon. Everyone knows how quickly she recovers. I reach into my jacket and pull out the syringe and the bottle of GHB. I fill the syringe up, roll her on her stomach, pull her sweats down slightly, and push the syringe into the top of her left buttock. I push until the syringe is empty, and then pull the needle out of her. In seconds the wound closes, leaving a faint red mark.

I'm breathing heavily and my heart is racing. I sit there, watching her. I listen, but the only thing I hear is my heart beat and my breath. I wait thirty seconds, and nothing happens. No doors open in the hallway. No sirens approach. Nothing.

I start to smile. Nobody saw me. If someone heard the noise, they didn't investigate it. And I'm alone, in Wonder Woman's apartment, just her and me, and her with enough GHB in her to dose ten ordinary people. I figure that she's got at least five times the healing system of a human. So she should have around a double dose of GHB in her.

That gives me six hours with her.

I wait another minute, until my breathing is normal again, and then I put my hands under her armpits and drag her into her bedroom. I check the clock on her nightstand. It's 6:33. Only three minutes have passed. God, it felt like hours.

I pull the shades down and the curtains closed in her bedroom; don't want some snoop like me peeping in on me. I'm not worried about leaving fingerprints; mine aren't on record anywhere, and Wonder Woman didn't see enough of me to recognise my face if she saw me again. I wipe my hands on my pant legs; my palms are sweaty. I can't believe I'm about to do this.

Finally I turn and look at her. She's sprawled on the bed, face down. I roll her over. She flops on to her back, her hair a mess. She's graceless now, not at all like the Wonder Woman we see on the news. Her body is almost shapeless beneath her sweats. It only hints at what lies beneath.

I pull her up on the bed so that her head's on the pillows. It's a queen-sized bed with a four-poster frame. I wonder for a moment if the posts will restrain her, then laugh at myself. She's Wonder Woman; of course they won't.

I pull the sweatshirt up over her head and throw it aside. She's wearing a white t-shirt on underneath it. I pull that off her, and look at her black sports bra. The bra barely covers her breasts. I take a moment and run my finger tips over the white, white flesh along her collarbone and at the top of the sports bra. She has perfect skin.

I reach behind her and pull her upright so that I can get at her bra. She makes a sound, and I freeze. I look at her head, hanging forward, limp and motionless. Maybe just an exhalation? I unsnap the bra and lay her down, and as her head hits the pillow the noise comes again. I look closely at her face–I want so much to get at those tits but if she's waking up I need to know. She's still out, but her usually pale skin is flushed, and her breathing is just a little bit heavy.

Hunh. I wonder about this for a second, then remember that one of the side-effects of GHB is euphoria and a pleasant lassitude. You don't suppose....?

I look at her breasts, those awe-inspiring breasts. They weren't sagging to the side at all. Jase was a 40B, but she was 34 and her breasts were beginning to droop. Not Wonder Woman; they jut from her chest as proudly as any movie star's silicon implants. The flesh on them is alabaster, like her face, but like her face a blush of pink is stealing across them, and the aureole and the nipples, those large, pink nipples I've been dreaming about, are stiff and erect.

Holy shit. Oh my fucking god. The GHB has turned her on. I'm going to fuck a horny Wonder Woman!

Suddenly my erection is almost painful, and is pushing against the front of my jeans. I fumble at the zipper, my hands shaking with anticipation, and I clumsily take off my sneakers and jeans and sweatshirt.

I look at the clock. It's 6:36. Fuck! I've got hours!

I climb into bed beside her. I brush the strands of hair from her face, and then lean forward and put my face into her hair and inhale. She smells of flowers.

I scoot down a little and put my face over hers, so that I can feel her breath on my face. Her face is so beautiful...a small, pert nose, wide eyes (closed now, of course, but when they're open they're wide and beautiful and a blue to make you cry), and full, red lips.

I can't wait to come all over them.

I lean in and kiss her. Softly, because I'm guessing she doesn't like a hard kiss. And, yes, she responds! In seconds she's kissing me back. Not hard, and in a sorta dazed manner–she's obviously drugged–but she's doing it. I run my tongue along her lips and teeth, and she abstractedly begins to put her tongue in my mouth. We tongue- and lip-wrestle for a while and I catch myself thrusting against her body, coming close to an orgasm. No, I can't, I have to wait, and with a great deal of difficulty I stop myself.

I wait a minute, until I've calmed down, and then I resume kissing her, this time beginning to stroke her breasts. They're soft but firm, slightly yielding but resilient, and I run by hands all around them, caressing the curves and then working my way up to the nipple. She's breathing heavier now, and when I gently stroke the nipple something catches in her breath. I lean down and begin to suck on one of the nipples, and it's as good as I thought it would be, and her legs begin to move, just a little, and she's very slightly rubbing her thighs together.

God, she wants it, and I can't wait any more. Mouth or pussy? Mouth or pussy?

Mouth. Pussy later.

I slide her down the bed a little, and then I get on my knees and straddle her chest. I lean forward, so that I'm on all fours, and maneuver my dick so that it's near her mouth. I can't tease myself any more, so I thrust forward, just a little, with my hips, and my erection touches her lips and then the head slides in just a little. It's warm, oh god, it's warm and wet, and I'm about to thrust myself into her mouth when–

She opens her lips and takes me in all the way. I'm so shocked I freeze, expecting something bad to happen, but no, she's sucking me now, she's blowing me, and it's better than any blow job I've ever had (Jase is okay, nothing more), and her warm, full lips are at the shaft, and her tongue is circling the head, and there's saliva all over my erection, and I look at her face and realize that it's *Wonder Woman* who's blowing me, and doing it like a pro–is this what Superman gets from her?--and now her cheeks indent as she starts sucking, and it's too much, and I come, shooting into her mouth. She swallows, but it's too much, and I pull out and shoot another load on to her face, and I'm gasping and go to one knee, and then another spurt lands on her breasts.

I'm done, finally, and roll on to my back. My right hand to God, that was the best orgasm I ever had. I'm trembling and my legs are weak, and for a few minutes I just lie there, my eyes closed, waiting for the floor to stop spinning.

After about five minutes I open my eyes again. The room smells of different flowers–Wonder Woman has them in vases around the room–and Wonder Woman's scent, a floral-and-cinnamon smell that's really nice, and my semen. I'm about to clean her off when I remember the other thing I was going to do, so I pull the camcorder from my jacket pocket and spend a minute filming her. I pan up, slowly, across her breasts and then up to her face and then I focus on her mouth. There's my semen all over her, but best of all are a few drops on her lips and on the edge of her mouth. She swallowed, obviously, but she didn't get it all, and my camera captures the results of the facial. (I don't know what I'm going to do with the film. Keep it to reminisce over and stroke to, post it on a Usenet binary group, or sell it. I'll deal with that later.)

I walk to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with some warm water and wipe it off of her. I clean her breasts, and as I do I start to feel myself get stiff again (I've always been lucky like that, and Jasie doesn't complain). I try to get her face, but some of it got into her eyebrows, and I'd need to shampoo them to get it out. I'm not going to do that. She'll just have to live with it.

I towel her off, gently and slowly rubbing the towel along her skin, and by the time I'm done she's breathing heavily and her breasts are visibly rising and falling. I start kissing her again and touching her breasts, and pretty soon her thighs are twitching and her nipples are almost quivering.

I slide my hands down her side and pull her sweatpants off. Oh, fuck me. I thought I'd seen good thighs before, but her legs are *perfect*. Muscular but not bulky, the same perfect skin, and no fat on them. She's got better thighs than I could have dreamed. And between them...she doesn't shave, but she keeps her hair close-trimmed, and I can see her mons. I sit for a minute, just counting my blessings, and then I remember the camcorder. I set it up on the bureau so that it gets her chest and her face, and I turn it on and leave it on. I definitely want to get this on camera.

I start stroking her thighs and her belly and her calves, and her breathing becomes labored and she starts to writhe, just a little, and she begins to squeeze her legs together. Better get to it before I can't, I think, and I put my mouth between her legs and begin slowly kissing her mound.

I hadn't planned to do this. I thought she'd be out cold, and that I'd have her mouth and pussy, and maybe pull a Tommy Lee and film my dick in her mouth. But she's turned on, and the idea of filming a Wonder Woman orgasm is a very attractive one. And, hell, how many people can say they put their tongue in Wonder Woman's holy of holies?

Well...how many men can say that?

She almost immediately clamps her things on the side of my head. If she was at full strength she'd probably kill me, but she's not, so it's only a little tight. I kiss and lick, not minding the hair or her sweat because she doesn't smell or taste bad. It's a clean, almost soapy smell–I think she showered and douched before she dressed this morning–and underlying it is that cinnamon smell. It's making me want to stop this and just plunge myself into her, but right now I'm on automatic, licking the lips of her vagina and feeling her body start to tremble a tiny bit, and I move down and begin licking the inside of her pussy, slowly pushing my face into it and enjoying the feel of the warm, wet flesh on my tongue and lips, and by the time I get up to her clitoris she's making soft whimpering noises, and I run my tongue in a circle around the clitoris and then put both lips on it, and she arches her back and and thrashes one arm off the bed and cries out, not loudly but for a long time, a sound like "aaaaaoooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuuunnnnnnhhhhhh." She keeps doing that, and I gently suck on her clitoris, and she keeps doing that, and it's only after five minutes that she stops and her body goes limp, falling back on the bed, and I pry my head away from her thighs and draw a long breath. I liked that, but it was getting hard to breath.

I wipe my face off, enjoying the smell of her on me and the few tiny black hairs which ended up in my beard. I start touching her, and she rustles in the bed, a sleepy smile on her face. I begin stroking her inner thigh and kissing her breasts, and pretty soon she's wet and I can smell her, getting more and more excited. Me, I'm not going to wait any more, I'm not sure I can wait any more, I feel like I'm going to come just looking at her, and I put both legs between her thighs and slowly spread her legs apart. I lay on top of her, rubbing my erection against her mons and watching her breasts, those fantastic breasts of hers, are rising and falling quickly, her breathing increasingly audible. I guessed that she's be a multiple orgasm woman, and I was right.

I maneuver myself and then thrust into her. Oh, Jesus, this is the best. She's warm, almost hot, and she's wet, and she's *tight*, and I can feel her whole vagina settling around my penis, and as I thrust she arches her back, grinding her mons against me, and as I thrust all the way the head of my penis bumps against her clitoris, and she starts to come again. I want to but I keep myself from doing it, freezing in her. I lean on one elbow and reach down and shift her right leg around so that it's wrapped around her, and then I do the same with her left leg, and as I do that she hooks her ankles together, she's still out but she does this enough that she's moving on reflex, and I try to put her arms around me and she sleepily grabs my shoulders, and then I'm back down on top of her, her stiff nipples rubbing against my chest, and her head is thrown back so that I'm nuzzling her neck, and I thrust into her and she thrusts back, squeezing with her vagina and her thighs. She begins crying out, softly, like someone in a really good dream, "Oh! Ah! Unh! Unh! Unh!" and she's coming, her vagina contracting again and again, and her fingers are digging into my shoulders, and I keep thrusting, as hard and as deep as I can, the feelings of heat and wetness unbelievable, and I'm harder than I've ever been before, and suddenly I can't stop myself, and I come, grunting, streams of semen shooting from me, filling her up, and I keep coming, more than I ever thought I could, smearing myself and her thighs with it, and finally I'm done, and I collapse on top of her, and her cries subside.

I fall asleep. I jerk awake and feel a momentary panic, but I check the nightstand clock and it's only 8:14. I've still got plenty of time. I look at her, and she's still way under. Her breathing is even and deep; she might almost be asleep. I'm about to do the last thing when I remember that I left the camcorder on. Shit. I spend fifteen minutes rewinding and setting it up; everyone wants to see Wonder Woman moaning and coming, and most people will want to see her making the beast with two backs, but no one wants to see my doughy body sleeping on top of her.

Finally done, and it's 8:20. Still lots of time.

I get back into bed next to her, and begin gently touching and stroking her body, running a couple of fingers down her thighs, caressing the underside of her breasts, lightly rubbing her face and lips. Jasie loves this sort of massage; I keep touching her in different places, and it makes her feel more and more aware of her body, and pretty soon she starts goose-pimpling where I touch her, and after that it's only a matter of time before she starts getting turned on. It's working on Wonder Woman, too; she's breathing heavier, and I can now smell her, that cinnamon smell. I gently take her by the shoulders and slowly roll her on to her stomach, enjoying the sight of her breasts–my fucking God, they're perfect, you just can't imagine–slowly rolling with her.

I sit for a moment and gaze in awe at her ass. Je-sus. Each cheek is smooth, and white (like the rest of her body, but also tinged with pink, like the rest of her body–it's really clear when she's turned on), and almost perfectly round. Fu-uck me, she must work out a *lot*. Gah-dAMN. I had no frickin' idea, looking at her, that she had that in the caboose.

I'm harder than ever, and I compulsively check the clock. 8:26. *Still* hours to go. I pull the condom and the tube of KY from my coat pocket, strap the latex on and then lube myself up. Jasie hates anal sex–the one time we tried was a disaster–and I've been faithful with Jase (well, until today), so it's been years since I did this. But I remember shit on my dick, which I hate, and I'm not gonna go through that. So latex it is.

Just rolling the condom on brings me to the point of orgasm, and it's only with a great deal of difficulty that I stop myself from coming now. I think about computers, and why I prefer Netscape to Iexplorer, and then calms me down enough to resume touching Wonder Woman, this time on the back of her thighs and along her cheeks and on the small of her back. I lean over and gently rub my beard along her back and her ass–women *love* that–and I watch as her skin gets pink and goose-pimples over, and I listen as her breathing becomes heavy, so that she's almost gasping.

Then I move her right leg up, so it's like she's kneeling. I slather some more KY along her anal canal, and then put a gob of it on my middle finger and gently smear her anus with it. The second my finger touches her there, she moves herself forward, just a little, and her back arches an inch or so, and her breath catches and becomes a soft moan. I smirk, thinking that just maybe I won't be the first for her like this after all (too bad, in a way, ‘cause I'd like to have been her first, but if she's experienced, doing this, then she'll like it, and Wonder Woman getting off on doing it doggy style...well, *that's* a video I =know= will sell well, if to a limited and very particular clientele), and then I grab both her cheeks, squeezing a little (Jesus, there's almost no give to them), position myself, and plunge in.

Her reaction is instantaneous. She arches her back, almost coming off the bed, and squeals, "HHNNNEEEHHHH," and tightens her asshole, squeezing me so nicely I almost lose it, but somehow I keep it together and begin thrusting, sliding out until only the head of my erection is in her, and then smoothly pushing forward, hilting myself in her. She begins grunting as I do this, "NN! NN! NN! NN!" and then she's coming again, stronger than before, and it's clear that she not only likes this but prefers it; her sphincter is muscular but not tight, not like a first timer's anus is.

I keep thrusting, harder and harder, as my excitement builds, and I finally lean forward and take her hair in one hand and pull her head back a little, and I begin slamming myself into her, as hard as I can, the force of my thrusts pushing her up the bed, and we're grunting together, her voice actually lower than mine, and just as I come her eyes pop open and her mouth goes wide in an O and she actually yells, she screams "AAAAAHHHHHHH" and I feel a spurt of fluid from her vagina drip down on to my thigh. Wow. Wonder Woman, a female ejaculator. Didn't expect that.

I stay there, up her ass, for about a minute, breathing heavily and feeling shaky. I can do this multiple orgasm thing, but it takes it out of me. She closes her eyes and slips back under, and as soon as I can I slip the condom off me. I get some tissues and remove it from her, tossing it in her toilet and flushing it.

I stop the camcorder, then get dressed. I look at her a moment. She's smiling, a little, and her face is pleasantly flushed. I don't know what she'll think when she wakes up, but I hope she thinks that they were nice dreams.

I put her clothes back on her, having a little trouble with the sports bra–how do women *do* these things?–and then lay her down on her bed. With any luck she'll think she passed out here.

I lock the door after me and then walk back to my apartment, whistling. It was better than I expected.

Hmm. I know Wonder Woman is part of the Justice League. I wonder if she knows Black Canary...?