I really can’t say what happened after that. Maybe BB found ways to have fun with me even after I was out. I don’t know. But eventually, she must have carried me to the futon, since that’s where I woke up in the morning, with BB sleeping comfortably beside me, her head leaning against my still tingling chest. I rubbed my hand across my belly and savored the memory of that last barrage of devastating gut slugs. It had been a long time since I had awakened to such sweet satisfaction, not since the last superheroine slumber party (or “plunder party,” as we liked to call it) back in Metropolis. It was funny to think now how all of that had gotten started. It was years ago, but I still remembered every detail. It had been truly life-changing, for better and for worse. It was the reason why there was now only Terra Danyell and no more Supergirl.

It had started innocently enough. In fact, it was all for a good cause. Some marketing guru for Wayne Enterprises had seen the Miller Lite catfight commercials and taken note of all the hype those girls had generated. He got to thinking about Bruce Wayne’s apparent ability to get in touch with superheroes at will, and the dollar signs started flashing in his mind. If the Miller Lite girls had been such a sensation, then he figured that a pay-to-see catfight expo featuring real live superheroines would probably take Metropolis by storm. What’s more, it could be billed as a charity event, with the proceeds going to local shelters, and everyone could get something out of it. Wayne Enterprises would be the corporate sponsor underwriting the whole thing, so the company would get great media exposure (always good for business); the charities would get huge checks; the expo customers would get huge . . . well, you know, huge happiness; and the superladies would just have to play around in some mud for an afternoon and would get to add some more do-gooder stripes to their costumes in the process since it was all for the sake of helping the needy. A four-way win-win situation—what could be better? Now, knowing how his little mind works, I personally suspected that the marketing guru was Mr. Wayne himself, but Bruce swore that he was just lucky to have good people with good ideas working for him. Well, I’m sure whoever the guru was got a big fat raise (of one kind or another).

Batman personally pitched the idea to us supergals at a Justice League meeting, and it seemed like a pretty neat concept, so we all agreed. But I don’t think any of us had a clue how it would change everything between us. We were a pretty close bunch already, and we helped each other out of tight spots all the time. But there were certain things that we just never talked about, certain secrets we never shared. I think it was partly the whole “good girl” image that we all had to carry. It just seemed weird to think of sitting down with a bunch of icons for truth and justice and all things wholesome, and then get plastered and start talking about our deepest fantasies. But the First Annual Superheroine Catfight Extravaganza, as it was billed, changed all of that.

The event was a tremendous success, to say the least. The auditorium was packed out with men as well as women from every sector and every strata of Metropolis society. And we made sure we gave them a good show, starting with a series of one-on-one sparring matches in mud, followed by some tag-team bouts in oil, and finally an every-heroine-for-herself melee in a huge ring for the coup de grace. Of course, no one was really trying to hurt anyone, but we wanted to give the crowd their money’s worth, so we got pretty into it, with loads of scratching, and smacking, and punching, and pinning, and just generally rolling around on top of each other like nobody’s business. It was a blast! And along the way, I sensed the beginnings of some desires that I hadn’t really put together before. It turned out that I kind of liked the feeling of being trapped in a corner with knees or fists plowing into me, and some of the breast-to-breast bearhugs got me a little hot. I especially liked it when someone went after my midsection, and I found myself pretty mesmerized by the chances I got to push my fists into some of the other gals’ bellies too. I didn’t really understand it, but I could tell that I was probably having more fun than I should have been. It made me feel uneasy, like maybe I was some kind of a freak. But every now and then, I thought I could tell that some of the others also were having mesmerized moments of unusually intense fun during the show. Or maybe they were just really good actresses doing their best for the crowd. I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t say anything.

But a week later, one of us supergals (I still don’t know who) anonymously sent a message to all of the others asking if anyone was interested in repeating the expo in private. The note proposed a place and time and said that if enough of us showed up, and we had fun, we could even consider making a regular practice of little superheroine catfight slumber parties amongst ourselves. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I had to go. Maybe I would be the only one to show up besides the author of the note, but I had to find out.

When I arrived, I was blown away. Almost all of us supergals were there, each looking kind of nervous at first, and some looking downright sheepish. But all there. It took a while to break the ice. No one wanted to be the first to speak or take charge of the gathering, since everyone else might guess that the first to speak was the one who sent the note. But eventually, we all just started talking at once to whoever was beside us, and soon there were lots of grins and giggles around the room. And then some gals started roughhousing, and it all just snowballed from there into a huge S&M gala. What a wild night! Gals started coming clean about how much they secretly enjoyed certain kinds of abuse that they had run into on the job, and they began making side deals to trade punishment. “If you’ll do this to me, then I’ll do that to you,” kind of thing. And since we all had different special powers and abilities, gals would shop around until they found the person who could best do what they wanted done to themselves, or who would make the best subject for something they wanted to do to someone else. I could just hear Annie Lennox singing in the background:

That could have been our theme song!

Needless to say, I learned a lot about my fellow superheroines that night, and about myself as well. It was funny, the things that I never would have guessed. Batgirl, for instance, just loves—and I mean loves—a good spanking. And I have to say, after trying my hand at her, there really is something almost magic about that girl’s ass when it comes out of those tights and can jiggle freely under a steady stream of swats. I had never really noticed before, but the “Batmobutt,” as we affectionately nicknamed it, is amazingly full and firm, like a water balloon blown up at a fire hydrant, and it is just as tempting to try and pop with a good stinging smack. And the way Batgirl squirms on your knees and pouts but then asks for more is intoxicating. In return, she did lots of gymnastic leaps and aerial summersaults onto my stomach as I lay on the floor. Very nice! I think she liked having me for a trampoline, too.

It also turned out that Spider-Woman really liked being double-teamed. She said that having her arms pinned back by one attacker gave her the sensation of being caught in a web, which produced a rush of excitement that caused her to enjoy whatever punishment the other attacker threw at her helpless body. I had a lot of fun with that scenario, gleefully battering Spider-Woman’s breasts and belly while Miss America stood behind her and kept her arms locked back in a vice grip. Miss America was enjoying it too, saying she liked the squishy feel of Spider-Woman’s ass thrusting back against her thighs with each belly blow I landed. Yes, a good time was had by all that night!

But in the end, it was Wonder Woman who was destined to become my bosom buddy. We were a natural pair since we both turned out to be fans of body punching, and since we both have, shall we say, above average bodies, even for superheroines. We were like each other’s punching-bag dreams come true. On top of that, we had the physical abilities to maximize the fun with each other. All of the supergals are tough, of course, but most are tough in a scrappy way or tough because they can hit you with a special weapon, whereas few are actually tough in a super-strength way. That meant that I had to hold back a lot when throwing my punches so as not to put anyone in Metro General Hospital, and it meant that even the hardest punches of most of the other gals just couldn’t really get through to me. But Wonder Woman has that whole Amazonian she-woman thing working for her, and she is tough as nails. I could give her pretty much the whole nine when it was my turn to do the punching, and she certainly would be hurt but could recover; and when she returned the favor, her full-force punches could actually do me some damage, especially after we discovered the breast battering foreplay trick.

It happened one night while she was trying to get me to relax my body of steel so that her punches could have more effect, and she asked me if there was anything I could think of that had really relaxed me in the past. At first, I couldn’t think of anything. Then I remembered that sometimes I had noticed that even regular goons with bats could put a little ache into me if I had taken a stream of bullets to my tits right beforehand. The bullets themselves didn’t hurt, but the feel of them poking and flicking at my breasts kind of excited and soothed me at the same time, and afterwards some baseball bats to the belly actually registered a little—nothing serious, but enough to notice. Wonder Woman nodded and decided to try a series of rapid-fire tit punches before giving me her best belly busters. It was a wild success, and she continued to get better and better at figuring out the optimum placement and timing of the tit punches in order to get me maximally relaxed for the belly assault. Needless to say, we started spending a lot of time together, having our own one-on-one punch parties in addition to the regular powwows with the other supergals. And we became the best of friends.

Looking back, I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised that all of us supergals had S&M tendencies. After all, no matter what your abilities, you wouldn’t take the job of superheroine if you didn’t like things at least a little on the rough side, given the types of adversaries running around out there. Let’s face it, there are less physically hazardous ways to help humanity than spending your weekends getting hit with ray guns and boulders and bio-engineered robo-gadgets, and being chloroformed and tied up and put in trash compactors, and then groped and taunted and disrobed, and just generally beaten like there’s no tomorrow. You had better get some kind of personal satisfaction out of receiving (and dishing out!) at least some of that stuff, or you are in the wrong business. But as a superheroine, liking the rough stuff too much can also be dangerous, both for you and for others. Supergirl learned that lesson only too well, and it proved to be the end of her.

To be continued . . . in Part Five: The Monster Within