Angela was excited. This was her first real date; well, if you didn't count late-night gropings at the drive-in with Josh, and she preferred not to. And with an older man. Her mom would kill her if she found out how old Scott was. Angela didn't even know. At least thirty, judging from the picture he'd sent. But it was none of mom's business; Angela was 18 now and could do what she wanted. Besides, after the way Josh treated her, her mom should be happy she was seeing someone more mature. And wow, was Scott handsome! She couldn't wait to meet him in person.
She'd put on everything he'd sent just like the note said -- the black velvet dress, the earrings, the mesh glovelets, the mesh choker, even the skimpy black mesh panties -- everything except the shoes. She looked nervously at the shoes again. She could never stand in them, much less walk. Stiletto mules with five-inch heels, the black mesh strap adorned with a deep blue crystal. They obviously went with the rest of the outfit, since each piece had a matching deep blue crystal: one dangling from each earring, one above each middle finger on the yoke of the glovelets, one dangling from the choker, even one hanging from the front waistband of the panties. She looked from the impossible shoes to the simple dress flats on her feet. Maybe he wouldn't mind, she reasoned. Sure he would mind. But she'd just have to explain to him that as beautiful as everything was she just couldn't walk in such high heels. She'd only worn heels once before, that one time she "borrowed" her mom's dress heels last year after weeks of Josh pushing her. She'd twisted her ankle on the way out the door so bad it put her off the cheerleading squad for the rest of the year. She just couldn't wear these things.
She checked the clock on her dresser again. He was an hour late. Probably tied up in some important meeting. She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror again; her bangs and shoulder-length arrow-straight blue-black hair framed her face perfectly; her makeup was flawless. As well it should have been; it had taken three tries to get it right. Good thing she'd skipped school to get an early start. She turned and checked herself in the full-length mirror on her door. Five feet four inches of elegance. She eyed her chest critically. She wasn't used to going without a bra. Not that she really needed one; her firm B-cups held up on their own. Besides, she couldn't exactly wear one with this dress; the back dipped so low and loose she was sure people could peer in right down to her panties.
Angela padded out to the kitchen to re-read her note. "Mom: spending the night at Becky's; see you tomorrow." Becky was happy to cover for her on her big night. If it would ever get started.
Angela logged on to check her mail one last time. Maybe he'd sent her a note explaining things and telling her he'd be there in a few minutes. Sure enough, there was a message from him! Her hand trembled as she double-clicked on it.
No explanation. Just "Sorry I can't make it tonight. Just imagining you in that outfit makes my heart melt. We'll try again next Friday. Love, Scott. PS I know you don't like heels, but try the shoes. They feel more comfortable than they look."
That sucked! All dressed up for nothing.
Something was eating at her as she lay in bed. It was those damn shoes. The ones Scott had sent her. The dress was forward, the jewelry bold, the underwear risque, but those shoes were over the top. Sky-high symbols of submission and servitude, as her feminist friend Joni would always say. Stunt shoes. Utterly impossible footwear -- you were asking for it if you wore them, and begging for it if you gave them to someone. It made her look at the whole Scott affair in a new light. It was starting to feel a little creepy.
She slipped out of bed and stood in front of her closet. Why couldn't she stop thinking about it? "It's like it's calling me," Angela thought. She slid open the closet door. There it was, the "uniform," hanging untouched for three days. (Three days with no word from Scott. Maybe he thought he scared her off. Maybe he did scare her off.) Dress, gauntlets and choker hanging from the hanger hook, panties arranged carefully over the backs of the mules posed atop the shipping box in which it had all arrived. The soft moonlight gave the ensemble an eery look; the gems seemed to glow.
No, the gems WERE glowing!
She ran her hands over the teardrop gemstones dangling from the mesh gauntlets. Yes, they were definitely glowing a deep blue. Why hadn't she noticed that before?
She picked up the panties, regarding them carefully. It was like those halloween glow-sticks, but there was no liquid -- these gemstones were solid through. Impulsively, she peeled off her comfy cotton briefs and slid the gem-adorned panties up her legs, snugging them into place on her hips. Nice. She set the heels on the floor and slipped one on. A hot flash ran through her. She lifted herself into the other shoe; another flash. Her whole body tingled. In seconds her nightshirt was off and the rest of the outfit on.
Angela checked herself out in the mirror. Dramatically lit by the glow of the gemstones, she looked stunning. She looked sexy. She looked... strong. Confident. Mature.
Who was Scott, really? Why did he send her this stuff? Why did the gems glow? And why did she feel so good? She nudged the supposedly empty box with her toe; she heard something move inside it.
Some kind of crown. No, tiara. She put it on. The gems lit up for an instant like camera flashbulbs the moment the tiara touched her forehead, blinding her. And suddenly her whole body was coursing with energy. She felt as if she would burst. It felt so delicious! Her skin practically vibrated.
As her eyes adjusted, she stared fascinated at her reflection in the closet door mirror, awash in cool blue light. She reached out tentatively to touch her reflection as if to confirm it wasn't a dream; the closet door began to move as her finger approached it. She pulled back her hand quickly, shocked. What the hell?!?
She tried it again; again the closet door moved. She quickly discovered that if she concentrated, she could move the closet door back and forth with the flick of her mesh-wrapped wrist. What else could she do? She turned to look for something else to try when she heard a dull thud across the room. She'd kicked the box at her feet without actually touching it. She looked down at her toes. These gemstones -- she assumed it was the gemstones anyway -- were truly amazing!
Angela spent the next three nights playing dress-up and exploring the capabilities of her outfit. Her curious nature compelled her to figure out what was doing what exactly.
The gemstones seemed to create a forcefield over her body. When she wore the tiara, she could feel the forcefield as a pleasant caressing sensation. She could project an invisible force several feet away from her arms and legs by pointing and thinking about it. She seemed particularly energetic -- strong -- and, well, warm. Her senses were heightened, especially touch. But the kicker: she could levitate! This made the awkwardness of the high heels a moot point (though she'd been getting pretty good at walking around in them anyway) as she glided about the house on thin air. She knocked over a few things figuring out how to maintain control, and came crashing down on the couch once when she got a little too excited and hit the ceiling, knocking her tiara off in the process.
If she left off one or more of the gemstone-adorned items, the forces were weaker and much more difficult to control, though she felt oddly warmer and more... pleasant around the area of her body where a gemstone was missing. Without the gauntlets she couldn't project much of a force from her hands; without the shoes she could still levitate, but only barely and she couldn't really control it, as if she were riding a unicycle. If she used the forces long enough, the gemstones would discharge, but seemed to recharge if they were left covered up away from light for a while; the longer they went unused in the dark, the longer the charge would last. And the one time she took off the dress, the forces doubled in strength and distance. Not that she could prance around naked; she was mortified simply at the thought that anyone might see her in this getup, much less flaunting her bare breasts and taut curves. The amount of light the gemstones gave off varied, but she hadn't figured out any pattern yet.
The dress itself didn't seem to be holding up very well; the velvet fabric seemed to be wearing thin. On the fourth night of experimentation a seam split and she retired the dress. Angela playing hooky the next day to pick up a couple of black velvet dancer's leotard at the mall. While she was at it, she charged up a storm, buying clothes, lingerie, and shoes to match her new self-confidence.
She'd given up trying to get the gemstones off the mesh strap of the stiletto mules. She just couldn't get the tiny clasps open, and didn't want to risk ruining anything by pulling them off; what if they stopped working? Besides, she'd learned to deal with the skyscraper-tall heels to the point of preferring them; her new favorite shoes for school were a pair of pink satin pumps with four-inch heels.
It had been two weeks since she'd last heard from Scott and discovered the magic of the sapphires. Angela didn't know if they were really sapphires, but she didn't know what else to call them. She even started calling herself Sapphire as she talked herself through various experiments and horseplay at night. She wasn't getting much sleep, but that didn't bother her. She'd taken to wearing sapphire pieces most of the time just to feel the buzz, and especially thrilled to opportunities to wear the tiara that intensified the feelings and gave her chances to play with her "powers" -- moving the salt shaker at the cafeteria table, knocking off punks' hats in the halls, and skipping home with impossibly-long strides. Her mom had caught her goofing off a couple of nights before so she'd stopped her all-night play sessions. She'd managed to wear out one of the leotards anyway -- she noticed the chest and crotch were worn to the point of translucence the next day -- and made a mental note to find something of better quality.
Saturday night. She was finally going to do it. Dressed in her full Sapphire regalia and crouched by the back door, she took a moment to catch her breath. She was going outside! She straightened the strap on her silk cropped flyaway camisole and smoothed the matching ruffle skirt -- last-minute substitutions for the ever-disintegrating leotards, they somehow seemed a better match for the Sapphire pieces, even if they were a bit less practical for more acrobatic maneuvers and needed the occasional adjustment. A quick gut-check, then she pulled open the door and stepped outside.
It was a brisk night, but she wasn't cold. The energy of the dimly-glowing sapphires kept her comfortable. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she took her first tentative steps. She looked around for a moment, scanning for signs of activity, but it was after 10 in a quiet suburban neighborhood so no one was out. Angela looked up at the night sky. The twinkling stars seemed to beckon her to them. She touched her hand to her tiara as if to spur it to action, took a deep breath, and pushed off with her toes.
"Omigod Omigod Omigod I'm *flying*!" Well, more like floating. Sapphire didn't move very fast; the air resistance was considerable, whipping her about just like it would if she leaned out a car window. She only went what she reckoned was a couple hundred feet up; anything more and she felt disoriented, having a hard time telling in what direction she was actually going. Not that she had a particular destination in mind, but she needed to be able to find her own backyard again; it wouldn't do for a scantily-clad girl to touch down in a stranger's yard. And she found that keeping a steady heading was difficult. If her concentration wavered only slightly she would start to twist and lurch about.
Suddenly, she felt her shoe slip from her left foot. She started to tumble earthward, the sudden loss of one of the sapphires weakening and destabilizing her energy. She fought to remain airborne, thrashing about as she slowed her descent; she clenched her toes to keep from losing the other shoe. She touched down awkwardly, collapsing in a heap.
After a moment spent to catch her breath, she checked her hands and knees, expecting scrapes against the rough asphalt. Fortunately her forcefield was still strong enough to protect her from harm. She looked around as she got up, teetering on one high heel and one bare foot. She'd never realized how well-lit the suburban streets were at night. She felt exposed and vulnerable; what if someone saw her? She was out here all alone dressed in bedclothes. "No, worse than bedclothes," she thought as she looked over herself for damage. The choker, earrings, glovelets, and tiara were all where they should be. They'd be difficult to explain if she was seen. But it was almost 2am. She'd be fine.
Sapphire needed to find her shoe. Now that she was earthbound the sapphires seemed to be glowing brighter. She scanned up and down the street and spotted a bright blue speck just a block away. She took a few steps, but this was awkward with just one shoe. She tried to float. If she concentrated she could just manage to stay airborne and maintain jogging speed, but not without a constant flailing of arms and legs.
Her toes on her right feet were cramping from trying to hold on the other shoe. About halfway to her destination she managed to send it flying up onto somebody's lawn; she immediately fell back to the pavement. Her skirt dragged underneath her, stretching out the elastic waistband and roughing up the fabric on one hip; as she got up it started to slide down over her butt. She tucked one side under the waistband of her panties. It hung low on the other hip, but stayed in place. She tiptoed up the lawn to pick up her one shoe, then walked the remaining half-block to fetch the other shoe. As she put the impractical mules back on, she felt herself cool off a bit. She hadn't realized how... warm she'd gotten. Her heart was racing and her breathing deep. She had to admit to herself that this little episode was pretty exciting.
She took back to the air to work some more on flight control. After just a few minutes she touched down back home; it was too much work. What she needed was some kind of stabilizer. Maybe that's why superheroes always have capes, she mused.
The next night she was up again, after a trip to the fabric store and a little sewing. (She told her mom she was working on a costume for the drama club.) It turned out a cape wasn't particularly useful; she still tended to spin and hop about in the air. It had improved when she held onto the ends of the cape with both hands, but then the hem kept flapping and snapping her backside. Angela didn't want to wait another night to sew up a different design, so she improvised, slicing the cape up the middle and separating it into two wings. This worked much better, but her hands quickly tired holding on to the ends in the buffeting wind, and the solid vinyl material caught too much air. She finally settled on the perfect solution when she traded the vinyl for a thin mesh not unlike the material of her glovelets, choker, and panties. She fashioned sashes which she tied around her neck and wrists. The mesh wings were each a foot and a half wide in the middle and tapered to a couple inches at her neck and wrists, and about four feet long. This was enough to give her unrestricted movement. The wings draped gently down her back at rest like large veils and billowed out behind her while in the air. The shimmery black see-through mesh made them look a lot like dragonfly or butterfly wings.
Her other modification borne of experience was a pair of black spaghetti-straps; she looped one under the arch of each foot, crisscrossed it over the top of her foot and tied it off above her ankle. This was not as good as a real ankle strap, but it kept the mules with their insubstantial toe strap from threatening to slip off every time she lifted her feet off the ground.
"Damn earrings keep getting in the way," Angela fumed in frustration. She put down her blush brush and unhooked the earrings so she could finish her makeup.
Angela was so clever! She'd hit on a great idea when getting ready for her first night of real crimefighting. She didn't want people to know who she really was -- beyond the comic-book stereotype, she imagined what it would be like being on guard 24-7, especially considering the downtime the jewels needed to recharge. But a mask would look too cartoonish. On top of that it would almost certainly get in the way, and was easily removed by anyone who wished to expose her secret identity. (She had to giggle at the thought of a secret identity.) Since Angela rarely wore any makeup at all, no one would recognize her now. Her eyes were made up rather artfully, with deep blue eyeshadow, black eyeliner, and impossibly long lashes. Her pouty lips were exaggerated with an ice-blue lipstick and mile-deep gloss. Her cheekbones needed little help, but the deep blush accentuated them nicely and gave her a dramatic, exotic look. She barely recognized herself; once bathed in the blue light of her energy sapphires and shrouded by the darkness of night, even her mom wouldn't be able to tell it was her.
Her mom was getting suspicious, so tonight she'd cooked up an alibi. She was spending the night at Becky's. She'd be gone before her mom got home, but she could only use the "couldn't sleep so I took a midnight walk" excuse so many times in a row before her paranoid mom would have her at the doctor's demanding scans of her brain. The only problem was her mom was so happy to hear she was going to spend time with a friend outside of school that she'd insisted Angela take the car; mom didn't mind taking the late-night bus, and the walk would do her good after a stressful day. Angela couldn't talk her out of it; so now she had to take the car and park it near Becky's house (the bus went right down Becky's street). She felt bad about lying to her mom, but mom wouldn't understand her daughter running around all night dressed like a... slut. Well, it wasn't that bad, Angela told herself, but her mom wouldn't see it that way.
Oh-oh, she was late! Her mom would be home soon. She quickly tossed the pieces of her uniform in her gym bag, pulled on her sweats, slipped on her flipflops and headed out.
Angela parked the car on the side street, visible from Becky's house. She needed to hurry if she wanted to make sure the bus didn't go by just as she was getting out of the car in her Sapphire getup; she knew her mom would be looking and she'd probably make the driver stop right there so she could pull Angela home by the ear. She'd changed in the small car before, but never from the driver's seat with the steering wheel in the way, and she was having a hard time of it -- especially in the dark, since she could ill afford to turn on the interior lights and give the whole neighborhood a free show.
She wiggled her sweatpants off, then fished about in her gym bag for the bejeweled panties. They caught on the bag's zipper as she extracted them; she felt the tug and moved to free them, but didn't hear the stitches that popped along the elastic of one side. The other elastic caught itself on a key dangling from the ignition as she reached down to get her feet into the skimpy undergarment. She managed to pull them up to her knees with the steering wheel pressing into her chest and her face up against the instrument panel of the subcompact. Despite the missing elastic, the panties felt snug; little did Angela know that this was because her mom had found them on the floor of her room and washed them for her -- in hot water with bleach. In the full light of her room, Angela might have noticed the faded color and shrunken brittleness of the fragile panties, but in the darkness of the car she had no idea just how damaged they were. She arched her backside to take her weight off the seat as much as she could, enough to work the panties up the rest of the way. The mesh chafed and caught against the cracked vinyl of the old seat, snagging and pulling to start several holes in the already-stressed fabric. She checked the knots in the side ties and smoothed out the ruffled waistband.
Next came the camisole. She slipped this over her head easily. Then came the skirt. She tossed it over her feet and stepped into it, then pulled it up quickly and adjusted it over her hips as best she could in the confined space, snagging the high right side over the seat belt latch.
Just then she saw approaching headlights. "Oh no!" Angela quickly slouched down as low as she could, trying to hide from the blinding light. The side seam of her skirt split halfway up to her waist as she slumped, the sound of the tear unnoticed in her panic. Her panties continued to snag in the fractured vinyl, popping threads throughout the bleach-weakened mesh weave. Angela noticed only that they rode up painfully, and roughly reached underneath herself to tug them back down. The back of her camisole also caught on the scratchy protrusions of dried-out vinyl, causing the loose-hanging material to stay in place as she slid down, effectively sliding up over her breasts to gather at her neck. "Oh!" she cried, quickly pulling the camisole down to restore her modesty. Several stitches popped silently from the side seams in protest.
"Whew! It was only a car, not the bus," Angela breathed as it drove past. Still, the bus would come by any minute now. After pulling on the gloves and fastening the choker, she hastily tied her wings around her neck and wrists; the mesh fabric kept catching the vinyl and pricking pinholes as she moved.
She checked the dashboard clock -- 11pm. With a day's full charge, the sapphires had plenty of energy for a full night of activities. She didn't realize that she'd activated the gems when she'd opened her closet doors for some time-killing reorganization that afternoon. The gems were over a third discharged already, and without the earrings they'd drain faster than usual.
She opened the car door and twisted sideways to slip on her heels and tie up the safety spaghetti straps. The side seam of her skirt tore the rest of the way up to the waistband before disentangling itself from the seatbelt. Angela twisted around to fetch the last item, her tiara, from the bag before getting up out of the car; the side seams on her camisole popped a few more stitches. She locked and closed the door after checking in the fenderwell for the hide-a-key. She gave herself one last quick inspection.
Sapphire's camisole and skirt seemed to be holding up much better than the leotards did; whether that was because they didn't hug her form so tightly or because she was doing more flying and less gymnastics and arm-force projection, she didn't know. The skirt still hung low on her right side, exposing her hip bone and the string-tie of her panties; when shopping she'd forgotten about the damage. But after swishing this way and that it seemed to stay in place, and she kind of liked the rakish exotic look of it. It would do for now. She did a sapphire-check: shoes, panties, glovelets, choker, headband...
Damn. She'd forgotten the earrings. How could she be so careless? A lot of good they did sitting on her dresser at home. Oh well. Angela slipped on the tiara, closing her eyes to shield them from the brilliant flash of blue light as her gemstones powered up. The rush was strong, but a little off what she was used to feeling.
She cut her inspection short; she had to go, now, before the bus came. In the dark, still air, she noticed none of her uniform's deficiencies. As if on cue, headlights brightened in the distance.
Sapphire took to the air, noting with confidence how the improvised spaghetti-strap strings wrapped under the arch of her feet and tied off above the ankle held her shoes on securely. But her flight was a little rough; she had to concentrate a little harder to keep herself steady; maybe the winds were a little gustier than usual. That would explain why she felt a little breezier tonight, especially the way the wind licked at her more sensitive places.
First stop, the mini-mart on the corner in the oldest neighborhood. She hovered twenty feet above the building, eyeing the entrance. Within seconds, a ratty old Nova pulled up and two wiry-looking men got out. Each wore a dirty trenchcoat. Sapphire saw the shotguns they pulled off the seat between them and concealed under their coats. She waited until they went inside. "Time to go to work," she said to herself as she glided gently downward.
No sooner had she touched down than one of the men came backpedaling out of the store and ran right into her. Sapphire fell backwards, landing hard on her rump, the man landing on top of her. She felt her forcefield tingling as it supported the man's weight, but flat on her back there wasn't much she could do. He rolled off her and scrambled to his feet. "What the...?" Sapphire climbed back up to her feet, a little more slowly in the tall heels. "Outta the way, bitch!" the man screamed and shoved her aside. Sapphire went sprawling to the pavement, surprised that this man could toss her around so easily despite her forcefield. Then she realized that in her surprise she hadn't been directing it. She focused her mind, feeling her right hand tingle as she extended force from it, pushing herself back up on her feet with unexpected quickness. The man was jumping into the driver's side of the car.
Some unknown fighting instinct took over as she leaped/levitated onto the hood of the car, the stiletto heels crunching twin indentations in the sheetmetal. "Stop!" she yelled. From the driver's seat the man struggled with the shotgun for a moment until he realized he couldn't get it pointed at her in the confined space. So he slammed it into reverse and stabbed the throttle. The car lurched backwards; Sapphire lost her footing and started to fall backwards but telekenetically caught herself in time to jump backwards and land solidly on her toes. The driver slammed the car into drive and stabbed the throttle again, coming for her. Already crouched, she lept up, easily landing on the roof. She pointed both arms straight down between her widespread feet and focused; a force kawhunged! the roof of the car as if a bowling ball had been dropped from a third-story window. The sound echoed in her ears as she studied the crumpled sheetmetal.
Before she could determine the impact on the driver, she heard an explosion followed by a rain of glass. She looked up to see the other man running through the store's front window, shotgun aimed at her. She instinctively raised her arms crossed in front of her to protect herself and closed her eyes as she heard another explosion rock from the weapon. She felt a spiky tingle but nothing more. She looked up. The man stood, weapon hanging at his side, mouth agape, just two feet from the passenger door of the old beater. Apparently he'd missed her.
Sapphire pointed at him angrily. "You are in big trouble, mister!" she shouted, adrenaline pumping so hard she failed to recognize just how corny it sounded. She "hit" him with a bolt of force right in the chest, knocking him back on his ass.
Then the car lurched out from under her as the driver made a bid for his escape. She flitted upward, waiting for the car to back into the street before landing. She immediately leaped back into the air toward the retreating vehicle, despite having no idea what she'd do once she caught it. On the downward arc of her flying leap she focused several hits to the side of the car which landed like hammer-blows, creating more noise than effective damage. She landed right next to the driver as he froze in disbelief. She force-shoved him across the bench seat, spinning him to face her as his feet caught in the pedals and cracking his head against the passenger door. He quickly passed out.
Sapphire heard another explosion as she felt herself shoved up against the car by dozens of tiny pinpricks. Her skin tingled as she regained her balance and spun around to size up the attacker. The other robber was on one knee, both hands on the smoking shotgun. Before she could react he pumped another round at her; it hit her face and chest in a flurry of fizzling light. Furious and not yet fully realizing just what he'd done and what it should have done to her, Sapphire leapt toward him, covering the thirty feet in an instant and landing just inches from him. She force-shoved the weapon out of his grip; it went clattering to the pavement twenty feet away. His eyes just below her chest, he was stunned at what he saw. Sure, at thirty feet the shotgun's stopping power was reduced, but aside from a few holes in her skimpy outfit she seemed unharmed. He didn't know what drug she was on but he wanted some.
His left hand shot for her throat, gripping tightly. But this girl's throat felt like iron as he squeezed. She just looked down at him quizzically for a moment. Then she struck at his chest with an open right palm, pulling up short of actually hitting him -- or so he thought before he went sprawling back another ten feet. The pain in his chest was crushing. He lay there, motionless.
Sapphire stood there in a crouch, frozen in a post-strike pose, catching her breath and mentally catching up to what had just happened.
"I did it."
She didn't see her bejeweled choker laying at her feet.
So what was supposed to happen now? Oh, right, check on the store. Sapphire walked confidently into the store. "Hello? Are you all right?" A middle-aged man popped up from behind the counter. "Hold it!" he shouted, his voice quivering. Sapphire instinctively stepped back, raising her hands. "Relax, I'm here to help you." When the cashier's brain finished processing what his eyes were reporting -- a beautiful near-naked girl standing in his store telling him to call the police, then absent-mindedly asking him if they'd taken anything -- his jaw dropped.
"Sir?" It took Sapphire a moment to realize what he was staring at; she blushed and shrunk a bit at the realization. "Sir? Please... are you all right?" The man shook the fog out of his eyes. "Oh, yes, thank you. What happened? Did they hurt you?"
"Oh no," Sapphire blurted out, "they tried to get away, but I stopped them." She beamed at the magnitude of that simple statement. She stopped them. "I think they're out cold, but you might want to call the police before they recover. Did they get anything?"
"No; they freaked out when I pulled out Betsy here." Sapphire took a second to realize he was speaking of the huge handgun.
"Well, you can put it down now. It's over." She struggled for something heroic to say. "Next time you might not be so lucky."
"Nor you, young lady," the cashier said as his eyes again began to travel her curves. "Walking around almost naked and jumping at two armed men is crazy."
Sapphire felt awkward. What now? Time to make her exit, she presumed. "Well, it looks like this situation is under control," she said, affecting an authoritative, experienced tone. "Have a good night." She turned and left, her skirt sashaying seductively over her ass. The immediacy of the situation past, she now felt the adrenaline rush, augmented by the rush of energy from her sapphires. Her breathing was still quick, her heart still racing. She leapt into the air, speeding straight up in celebration. The gems dimmed with the increased energy demand and further-reduced power from the missing choker. After a few moments she settled down and glided gently downward, finding herself hovering over a quiet part of town. Her first scrap had been exhilirating, much more than she imagined. Her whole body buzzed with excitement. She was anxious for another go. She spotted the bright lights of downtown; Surely her talents could be put to use there. Sapphire focused and lit off in search of her next challenge.
As she flew on toward her next destination, Sapphire failed to notice the way the whipping winds had unraveled the stitching on the seams of her camisole and skirt and had begun to attack the quickly-fraying edges of the fabric itself. The gunshot-holes in the camisole, skirt, and her wings began to fray and run as well. While her costume slowly disintigrated, her energy grid continued to destabilize with the loss of three gems, the early drain, and the hard workout. The gems began to feed back more of their energy in a less useful but more pleasant way...
Sapphire had to work hard to remain in control of her flight; looking over her tattered wings she was briefly concerned that she'd relied on their stabilizing aerodynamics more than she'd realized, but reasoning that with the (actually non-existent) unusual gusts of wind a little turbulence was to be expected. But it was quickly forgotten as she reveled in the wonderful feeling washing over her. She chalked it up to the excitement of battle, even as the blood rushed to her energy-stimulated and -sensitized breasts and crotch. And then she sighted her next challenge.
There in the alley behind the nightclub a trendy-looking couple was being cornered by three punks. Sapphire decided on her first move. Dropping out of the sky she landed softly behind the aggressors. "Excuse me, are these punks bothering you two?" she called to the couple over the punks' heads. They spun to face her in unison. Wordlessly they exchanged looks and fanned out in an attempt to surround her. Knowing they couldn't actually touch her, Sapphire ignored the two flankers and focused on the one in the middle. "I think you need to leave now."
He scanned her luciously-disheveled form top to bottom. Even in the dim light of the alley he could tell she was hot. Shoulder-length black hair, beautiful face, nice tits, great legs, and probably a great ass to go with them. She was undressed to thrill, too. He'd seen -- and robbed -- plenty of chicks in questionably-legal club clothing, but this Queen of the Castaways look was the skimpiest thing he'd seen since last Halloween's Erotic Ball. High heels, short ripped skirt hanging off one hip and slit all the way up the other hip, ripped half top showing the undersides of those firm, fleshy mounds... hands on her hips and feet apart like some kind of comic-book character. "I'll go anywhere with you babe as long as I get to fuck you."
Sapphire was surprised at his cocky nature; didn't he know who he was dealing with? Of course not; she would have to show him. As she thought of the best way to do this, his cohorts each grabbed a hand. Who were they to hold her down? Sapphire let loose a strong blast from each arm, sending the pair thudding against the alley walls. As they lost conciousness, their grips loosened and from their hands fell the remains of Sapphire's glovelets, but she was too occupied with finishing off their mate to register the event. She leapt upward, boosting herself with force, her arc intended to take her just over his head. The last image he registered was of her bare breasts exposed by her fluttering ripped top. Just before reaching him she extended her right leg, catching him under the chin with a small force-blast that sent him reeling. She landed hard beyond his staggered form, crouching deeply to cushion the blow and regain her balance; apparently she'd misjudged the landing a bit. Sapphire spun around to face her fallen adversaries, but they showed no signs of further resistence. She turned back to the stunned couple.
She was quite a vision, straightening up to address them. Her firm tits jutted proudly from her small frame, capped by visibly-hard nipples. The lower curves of breast-flesh were clearly visible beneath the tattered and abbreviated remains of her camisole. Her mesh panties showed through the many gaps in her partially-shredded asymmetrical skirt. Her bare arms were framed by the ragged mesh fabric that was once her wings. The spaghetti-strap on her right foot unraveled and fell in a puddle beneath her heel. "You're all right now," she said, breathing hard from exertion and physical stimulation. As the couple gathered their wits and took leave of this impossible sight, Sapphire paused to smooth out her uniform, her now-gloveless fingers subconciously lingering over certain areas. God she felt good. Maybe she'd done enough for one night and could go home to... reward herself. Her growing sexual fog altered her perception of the sorry state her clothing was now in. "Nothing a little time in front of the sewing machine won't fix," she thought to herself. "Unless I decide to keep this hotter look," she amended.
Her precious gems were strained to the max and had little left to give. Starting the evening's festivities partially drained after Angela accidentally exposed them to light that afternoon, then stretched to perform short-handed with the loss of the earrings and then the choker and now the glovelets, and being pushed harder than ever with two intense melees and more flight time at higher effort, Sapphire's crystal power source was headed for a meltdown. But Sapphire failed to recognize the warning signs; she had no idea how close to the edge she'd pushed herself. She continued to dismiss the trouble with her costume and her flagging energy as bad luck and weather, and she continued to mistake her own growing feedback-induced arousal as exhileration from her dramatic successes.
She heard a scratching noise behind her. She turned to see the three punks getting up and dusting themselves off; shaken, but not finished after all. "Bobby, go bring the car around."
Sapphire didn't have time for this. These boys were... tempting, but... she shook her head to clear the stray thought. Where did she need to go, home? Why? Angela had never felt this *good* before, and even though the feelings were *distracting* she didn't want it to end. If she could just concentrate... she was ready for another scrap. Her uniform would surely hold up for just one more bout. She needed more... action, and these three were too easy. She pushed herself into the air, wobbling as she rose out of the alley, over the building, and toward the city park.
Completely amazed, the angry young men couldn't help but follow to investigate. They tore out of the alley around the front of the building. There she was, standing on the sidewalk with a quizzical look on her face, just ten feet away.
"I really need to get home to get these wings taken care of," a sexually-drunk and weakened Sapphire said. She'd barely cleared the building before losing control and tumbling earthward. Then she noticed the three predators. Didn't they know when to quit? She needed to put them down for the count. Sapphire raised her arms, pointing at them to deliver a force-blow, but nothing happened. What? Oh, no, her glovelets...
Her glovelets and the gems that empowered her were back in the alley. The gravity of the situation finally broke through the poor girl's sexual haze. Her skimpy clothes were in tatters, she had no weapon, her only means of escape seemed to be failing her, she had just brutally assaulted these three men -- virile young men, her subconcious interjected -- and there was no one on this dark street to rescue her. She froze in her tracks, paralyzed by fear. Her hands instinctively moved to cover her chest and her crotch. Fear, excitement, and sexual need clashed in her brain; unconciously her hand pressed hard into her crotch, eliciting a soft moan.
The three punks looked her up and down slowly, licking their lips. This was by far the hottest-looking piece of ass any of them had seen all night, and she definitely needed an attitude adjustment. With her shiny tiara, shredded outfit, and bright blue crystals on her impossibly-high heeled shoes, she looked like a spoiled princess whose night of comeuppance had just begun. And her look of fear was betrayed by the obvious excitement displayed by her nipples, twin pebbles poking out of what was left of the translucently-thin top. Their cocks swelled, quickly erasing any sense of danger her gravity-defying stunt or earlier ass-kicking had implied. The three moved as one toward her.
Shaken out of her fog by their approach, she jumped back, taking unsteady flight. The three remaining gems flickered a weak, sputtering light as they were taxed beyond their capacity. She tumbled through the air, barely ten feet off the ground as the stunned but motivated punks took chase across the street and into the park.
Sapphire lurched about, kicking and clawing for every inch of progress. Her bleach-damaged, shrunken-tight, and snagged panties which had held up so valiantly to this point couldn't take any further gyrations; with each frantic kick more and more tears developed; she could feel them giving way as her mind filled with raw panic. In one jerky motion the sapphire on her disintegrating panties broke free as her unsecured right stiletto mule flew off her foot ahead of her. She fell to the ground in a heap, snapping the spaghetti strap which held her left shoe in place.
Sapphire felt weak, powerless; this feeling only turned her on more. Why was her body reacting this way? The punks reached her and hauled her to her feet. One of them roughly squeezed her tits through the tattered remains of her camisole. Sapphire knew she was in trouble when her body responded to his touch, arching her back to press herself deeper into his grasp as a low moan escaped her throat. Her reaction goaded him to pinch her nipples as he gripped more firmly. This put her over the edge. The last remaining gem on her left shoe pumped its juice into her as pure sexual energy. She screamed as a powerful orgasm rocketed through her.
Utterly defeated by her own arrogance, Angela passed out.
"Bobby, get the van now; Tim, grab the slut's shoe and anything else of hers you can find."