The month after the Shimmerwave, the Justice Guard had more or less got their own daily operations back to normal.

Shimmerwave was probably not the best term for it, but Erin Edloe, probably the single reporter most associated with metahuman news at this point, had referred to it as “a kind of shimmering wave” just before everything went bad, and #shimmerwave had been trending before anyone really worked out what was happening.

Suffice it to say that Stormcaller had needed to negotiate with the Fae Queen behind closed doors to prevent Erin from being marked with a fey curse.

The first couple of weeks afterwards, almost all active Justice Guard members were busy helping to restore the Shimmered landmarks - including extensive repairwork to the Statue of Inevitability, which PsyKick had been attached to alongside Mentros, helping to reverse the mental effects of the statue’s baleful gaze and turn Ennui Sea back into NYC.

It wasn’t the kind of work PsyKick enjoyed. There was nothing flashy about it, nothing fun, there was a continuing sense of danger, and there was no let up, day after day.

If Mentros had ever had the time to fulfil his promise and teach PsyKick the trick to his own ‘inner calm’ the days would doubtless have passed more easily, but there was never time.

Four years of being his sidekick made him pretty convinced there never would be time. It wasn’t that Mentros was holding back, but as the world’s leading psionic (at least on the side of good) he really didn’t have much time to teach, and the lessons PsyKick had picked up were largely ones he’d taught himself.

He was twenty years old now, and having a name that told everyone he was nothing but a sidekick was beginning to chafe. At sixteen he’d never imagined it would be a problem; he’d seen himself as Mentros’ equal before it could be.

*

One month exactly after the fae invasion was driven back and the Shimmerwave ended, the Justice Guard held a press conference. Nothing unusual about that - they ended up having to talk to the world about their concerns and their projects often, so that everyone could decide how they felt about this impossibly powerful group. So that feedback could happen.

But this conference was to unveil new members. To Tyrone Adams, better known as PsyKick, this was a good thing; membership turnover had slowed in the past two years and he’d slipped back in public perception to being ‘the kid’ of the group again, even though by time served he had seniority on several of them.

Every time there was a new arrival, he got more respect for a while, though it always seemed to slip through his fingers in the end.

He figured Osprey might be an exception to this, purely because she was such a veteran; she’d first been active as a heroine the year before he was born, just always part of the minor leagues.

Over the past couple of years, though, she’d been taking on big foes more and more often, sometimes showing up to help out a bigger name, sometimes on her own, occasionally needing to be rescued by a team like the Justice Guard.

Her powers seemed to have increased - she flew faster than before, and was showing signs of actively superhuman strength; her slim body had developed into a much more maternal, curvaceous figure at the same time. Rumours abounded that she’d somehow done something to increase her powers, with occult rituals, metahuman enhancement drugs, and being present at some kind of freak energy disruption all being talked about.

She’d been a big factor in turning back the Shimmerwave, and she’d joined Maxine Power in unpicking the curious weave the fae had used the Space Needle for. At that point a number of meta-watchers had already reached the conclusion she’d be invited to join the team.

More of a surprise was the addition of Sunstone, a positive rookie who’d gained her powers during the Shimmerwave itself. Tyrone couldn’t help but think she was jumping the queue a little, even if she’d played a vital part in the solution to it all.

There were nine of them filing out onto the stage as the conference began, not counting D.A.N.I.E.L.’s electronic ‘face’ on the screen behind them. PsyKick stayed by Mentros’ side, which put him firmly on the back row, but until the new arrivals came out he’d be in full view of the cameras so he was still feeling pretty good about it.

As Bulwark moved forward to the podium, his fellow members of the Justice Guard were chatting quietly among themselves, partly because most of them were by then longtime friends, partly to keep the atmosphere a little more friendly and a little less ‘important people talking to everyone else’.

Tyrone had been quite surprised to realise, over his first year with the team, that this wasn’t a cynical ploy to hide how they felt; but as his psionic abilities were growing a little ahead of his skill in controlling them, he got bleedthrough from others’ thoughts enough to realise it really wasn’t.

Quite the opposite; Bulwark, Ms Miracle, and Stormcaller were all keen to show everyone out there that the heroes didn’t consider themselves a cut above others. It was something Bulwark in particular spent a lot of his time thinking about.

Tyrone kept his disagreement private. It wasn’t that he was dismissive of the concerns of the ordinary people; it was more that he recognised he wasn’t one of them, that his powers gave him perspectives and responsibilities most of them couldn’t understand.

That didn’t mean he sympathised with them any less, he told himself; it just meant he had to acknowledge a broader, more enlightened perspective.

He mostly tuned out Bulwark’s speech. He hadn’t been part of the decision to admit the new members, not that he disagreed. Well, not with Osprey. And who knew but Sunstone might make her mark?

Bulwark explaining it wasn’t too relevant to him as far as he could see. Until Mentros actually started to acknowledge that with four years of heroing under his belt, he had the capacity to stand on his own, he wasn’t going to be asked what he thought. Not by the Justice Guard. Not by the press, either.

Instead, he occupied himself watching the crowd. He knew some of them, at least - a little over half - and liked about half the ones he knew.

He hoped that while he was in clear view, some of the cameramen and women there would get some good images of him. Anything to cement his place, to mark him out a little more as having the importance he knew he did.

His eyes fell on the camerawoman from KBC. He recognised her, but not from press conferences; she was usually a tagalong for Johnny Reiter, who liked to cover crises and so was on the metahuman beat. Which, he presumed, was why both of them were here.

An idea occurred to him. It was a bad one, and he knew it.

…Maybe, though, he could get away with it.

He glanced across to Mentros, whose impassive face was virtually unreadable - unless you’d spent four years working alongside him. Mentros wasn’t paying attention, he was monitoring the minds of people who monitored long-range alerts, international and global, looking for threats of this world and others.

He looked back at the KBC camerawoman and he made her his focus.

It was nearly impossible for him to describe how that happened; it was a feeling as much as an action, an unconscious leaning as much as an intent. It was placing the energy of his mind where hers was, so he could superimpose his upon hers.

He synchronised their thoughts, subtly and carefully and slowly, tweaking her ideas one by one until they were the ideas he had, even if to her they seemed completely her own.

I should make sure I get a proper zoom on PsyKick. People love him. I love him.

That done, he allowed his mental focus to return to normal, and he was gratified to see one single camera lens drift from placing Bulwark at the centre to focus on him. Her other hand irised in, so he would have a good share of the screen.

He was aware enough that there might be suspicion of his actions not to smile at the camera, or even to look directly at the lens; it was important that anyone think her decision to shift focus was hers alone. Important that even she think it.

“…welcome first someone you know very well!” Bulwark had probably done too many press conferences at this point; he knew exactly how to shift the volume and pitch of his voice to sharpen attention back onto him when it was required.

He flung his hand out to the side and everyone’s attention turned to follow it. Recollecting himself to the moment, Tyrone lifted his gloved hands and applauded along with the rest, looking off to the side as Osprey emerged.

She still moved with the lithe grace that had been her trademark for over twenty years; the fact that in the last few of those years she’d gone from slim to curvy, her thighs going from an acrobat’s to an athlete’s, her hips filling out with them, her buttocks going from barely worth noticing to perfectly pert, and her chest developing in line with the rest of her meant this grace seemed almost like bragging, if a body could brag.

That was certainly how Tyrone saw it. So when she took her place in the row in front of him, close to Bulwark, and he knew that she’d be partially obscuring him from cameras, he didn’t take it quite as badly as he might - it meant at least he wouldn’t be caught on camera ogling her shapely rear end.

The white leotard went over those grey-brown tights snugly, but she’d possibly hurried in putting it on, and it had bunched around her buttocks, not looking right at all. Nothing that the cameras would have picked up, but Tyrone couldn’t help thinking she should correct it before she embarrassed herself.

A fraction of a second later, one hand reached back, found the fold where it had caught, and untucked it, snapping it back into place. Her ass wobbled deliciously on the impact for a second, but Tyrone barely registered that.

He was too busy thinking about the fact she’d responded almost as if he’d put the thought into her head.

Was his mental focus still reaching out beyond himself? He would have sworn he had it entirely under control, but Mentros often did say that the more you gave into temptation, the more your will developed a mind of its own.

He thought about Osprey changing her stance, straightening one leg and cocking the other to really show off her ass, one hand a fist planted on her hip. And he would have waited, with bated breath, but the response came hot on the heels of the thought as Osprey shifted her weight, straightening one leg and bracing hand against hip, her other leg turning outward.

Tyrone was in her mind, and she clearly hadn’t noticed. God, the possibilities…

But Osprey was a veteran, and she’d saved his life at least once, and besides this was the Justice Guard and to embarrass her here would embarrass the Guard. All the same, he took a moment to properly superimpose his mind onto hers, and he arranged a small part of her memory into a resonating node, which would allow him to re-enter her mind at any time. He used her memory of her second boyfriend, as he usually did; a memory seldom accessed, so it wouldn’t be quickly noticed that it was gone.

He’d probably never do anything with it, he told himself. But having the option felt better than not having the option. It always did.

Tyrone realised with a guilty start that he’d missed the entirety of Bulwark’s encomium for Osprey, and if any of the cameras had managed to catch sight of him, he’d have to deal with some criticism for looking bored in front of the press again. They’d thought it was funny and cute when he started out; apparently you were just supposed to put up with BS when you reached adulthood.

He turned with the rest of the Guard to politely applaud as Sunstone made her entrance. She was about his age, maybe a bit younger, maybe a bit older; difficult to say, he thought.

Her hair was short and she wore her undercut with visible pride and, maybe, capital P pride too, he wasn’t sure. She moved with an uncertain awkwardness, the natural lot of someone who’d been perfectly ordinary just one short month ago and now found herself with legendary powers, standing with the benign gods of the planet. Her fae glamour made her effortlessly the most beautiful thing in any room she entered, and she clearly hadn’t got used to the way people looked at her yet.

She took her place beside Osprey and Tyrone could see, for the first time, that Sunstone shone; not much, but enough that the white of Osprey’s leotard had a soft yellow glow to it on the side where she stood.

He couldn’t imagine she’d been sleeping too well lately if she couldn’t shut that off.

With an effort, he wrenched his attention back to what Bulwark was saying, only sneaking three or four more lingering looks at Osprey’s body before the conference was done and they filed back offstage.

“Christ,” he heard Sunstone mutter.

“You OK?”

She nodded, not looking at him, wrapped up in her own thoughts. “That was way harder than the actual doing good part,” she said. Tyrone mentally marked her down as one of those I-never-asked-for-this types.

*

Lorna Radley, better known to most of the world as Osprey, tried as best she could to keep a strict separation between her personal life and her costumed life.

The offer to join the Justice Guard had been taken in no small part to make that easier; Guard members got a stipend that allowed them not to worry about maintaining a day job alongside their crimefighting.

Lorna had spent the best part of the last twenty years as a civilian employee for a Milwaukee police precinct, gathering her information and her leads by being close to the detectives’ bullpen. She wouldn’t say she’d hated every minute of it, but it hadn’t been her dream job by any stretch of the imagination, and while she had some friends on the force there were many others she deeply disliked, having seen the way they treated people who weren’t suspects.

Being able to give that up and to spend more of her time doing what she considered good, useful work was great, and she definitely wanted to do more of it.

On the other hand, outside of crises, she made sure she got time to be herself - and if her brother and sister and her nieces hadn’t quite worked out she had a lot more free time yet, that just gave her space to enjoy her own company.

In particular she was starting to get into cooking. The life of a superhero, especially one who also has to work a day job, is rushed and often exhausted, full of microwave meals and taco truck lunches. Having the time to cook instead was a much happier experience; she was eating better, she was feeling better, and it gave her the same kind of satisfaction to successfully pull of a complex new recipe as it did to run a villain to ground.

Flying back to Milwaukee after the press conference her thoughts had already been on the meal she was going to make that evening, but now she was home she was having the strangest difficulty focusing.

Her mind kept wandering to how she looked. At first it had just been remembering the embarrassment she’d felt at the press conference when she noticed her costume was out of order. To the way she’d covered for that embarrassment with a more dynamic stance, one she knew would have people thinking about how good her figure was rather than any mistake she might have made.

She was finding the thoughts erotic, truth be told, and she had no idea why. It was almost like someone else’s lust intruding in on her, if that had been something possible; as if someone’s fantasising about her was creeping into her thoughts.

These thoughts just weren’t like hers; there was something about them, quite aside from the content, that didn’t fit. And yet they moved through her mind like her own, and there was no other way they could have reached her.

All the same, she was thinking about her ass, and the way it looked in her costume, and the way it would feel for someone to run their hand over it, getting ready to spank it, taking their time so she’d have no idea when the sudden lift and then impact would come.

Lorna frowned. She didn’t enjoy being spanked, didn’t enjoy being toyed with, couldn’t imagine she’d like just waiting for someone else to call the shots. Yet the desire had been there, the desire had been real, visceral, a physical thing. She bit her lip, half-thoughtful, half-wistful.

Without her really thinking about it, she set down the knife she’d been using on the chopping board and her hand slid to her side, then down over her hip and back to her buttocks, stroking and fondling her own rear end, feeling her own smooth softness through the thin tights and the spandex of her costume -

Lorna froze entirely, a chill down her spine, eyes suddenly wide.

She wasn’t wearing her costume. Her palm had actually been fondling her own ass through her jeans. And there was no reason at all for her to think of herself as in costume.

The thoughts persisted, but now she was focused on them they seemed less and less like they belonged. They… Lorna didn’t have the word for it, but they felt wrong.

Firmly detaching her groping hand from her ass, she sat on a kitchen chair to stop it from reattaching and tried to think this all through, which was harder when thoughts about groping and spanking her own ass kept bubbling to the front of the thought process.

The something that was wrong with her stray thoughts suddenly resolved itself into a moment of clarity.

These weren’t her thoughts. Somehow - and she really couldn’t think how - a psychic had made contact with her. She bent all her determination toward forcing them out…

*

Tyrone was startled to feel any kind of pushback at all. His experience alongside Mentros had been that if you started small and built up to it, you could even persuade henchmen to turn on their employers, and afterwards they’d still think it was their own choice. Mentros had said something about monitoring anyone they’d done that to, seeing if they remained law-abiding afterwards.

Evidently something had gone wrong, some mistake that had told Osprey there was someone else in there with her.

Or maybe it was just that with his hand stroking his cock, enjoying the pleasure feedback he was cycling into her, he didn’t have the level of concentration he should have. Or both, perhaps.

It didn’t matter; what mattered was that she’d almost ejected him with a first fierce mental shove. And if she did eject him, who would a new member of the Justice Guard go to in order to confirm her mental invader?

He dug into her mind, hooking himself in place by anchoring himself into her memories, prevented her from driving him out, and he rallied himself for another push of his own.

*

Lorna’s head was spinning. Memories she hadn’t thought about in years had suddenly surfed up to the forefront of her mind. A face - fleetingly familiar - was in all of them, but it was someone she couldn’t place.

What was happening? Why was -

All of a sudden she could feel another presence in her mind, a looming entity radiating power. She found herself suddenly feeling small and helpless, dwarfed by the power of what was around her.

A moment of fear washed over her, and then the entity’s power touched her and that fear twisted, becoming something else, something much more pleasurable. Ecstasy ran up and down her spine.

Don’t fight me.

It wasn’t a voice. It had no identifying features. It was just a thought in her head that she had been allowed to know was not her own.

Fuck you.

Sure, if you want.

The presence accompanied that comeback with another wave of power; another flood of pleasure. Lorna gasped aloud, her mouth suddenly dry. Her knees gave way and she fell to the floor.

It continued.

Let me think for you.

And temptation was in her mind, naked, yearning temptation, and the sense that it would be so easy to let go, so easy to let it all happen.

Kneeling on her kitchen floor, eyes wide open but unseeing, body wracked by wave after wave of pleasure, Lorna had no idea if the temptation was her own or something inflicted on her.

She had no idea how much of her head belonged to her.

Get fucked.

The flood of pleasure died away completely, taking all emotion with it, and Lorna found herself cold and empty.

This isn’t what you want.

Before she could react the pleasure was back, stronger and ever. She could feel the wetness of her panties spreading across her crotch, but only barely; her attention was on a spot at the back of her head that seemed to be pulsating with bliss, battering her mind with wave after wave.

She wasn’t sure if she was crying out with the need and the delight or if that was all in her head.

She wasn’t sure of anything.

This is what you want, the thought came again. And then: This is what I want.

She knew it wasn’t her own thought. Knew it had been placed there by the invading presence. But if she hadn’t known, she would have accepted it entirely as her own.

And she knew less and less with any certainty.

Let me think for you, she thought.

Was that her? It…

God, my tits are so ready right now.

Like the other thoughts, it was just suddenly at the forefront of her mind. She felt herself groan with need more than she heard it, and the next thing she knew her hands were on her tits, groping and squeezing from above the well-padded, supportive bra and the warm knit sweater she was wearing.

Ohhh, she thought, or possibly felt herself think. It had the texture of her thoughts but the burst of sudden understanding that accompanied it made no sense alongside the confusion she was feeling. That’s how I fucked up. Outfit change.

Her groping was clumsy, heavy-handed, and half masked by her clothes, but it was exactly what she needed. She took a moment to jerk her sweater up out of the way, then tutted to herself and discarded it entirely. It was amazing how quickly her hands went back to her tits; they were pulled there as if by some magnetic attraction.

She was biting her lip, still on her knees, her back arched, her hips bucking shallowly as she dry-humped the air. It was so hard to think, but the few thoughts that appeared in her head were clear, concise, and easy to follow.

If someone else was thinking for her she couldn’t tell the difference and she didn’t have the focus to think why she should care.

Lorna tugged the cups of her bra down and took hold of her nipples by thumb and forefinger, tugging them free of the restriction, whimpering at the sensations before going back to groping them, pawing at them.

Fuck that feels good, she thought. I feel good. I should be allowed to feel good.

I don’t need to worry about why I feel good. I don’t need to think about why I feel good. It doesn’t matter if my mind was invaded.

She pawed open her jeans and fumbled one hand inside her panties, hips still bucking at the air. The whole thing felt so good, so unbelievably good that she’d lost any sense of what might be ‘wrong’ about it.

I just want to cum. I need to cum. I need to cum so often.

She was a wet, needy mess and the kitchen floor would never be the same again. The pool of her juices collecting on the tiles had spread to the point she could feel it against her bare, kneeling feet, and the more she finger-fucked herself the further she leaned backward, her shoulderblades coming to rest against the cool tiles. By then she was effectively on her back, knees bent and feet up under her, as she humped her fingers with the absolute, unquestioned, unthinking need that had been planted into her mind.

She was burbling, gasps and squeals and moans and groans all coming out of her with no rhyme nor reason - especially no reason; reason was for thinking beings, and for the moment that wasn’t a category that included Lorna.

She had a sudden vivid flash of a man’s hand on his own cock, stroking and pumping, and realised her own thrusting hips were synchronised against it.

I want to cum, she thought.

I’d do anything to cum.

Anything at all.

Wouldn’t I?

Heedless of the strangeness of her own thoughts asking her a question, Lorna answered, her mind and her throat screaming out at one that “YESSSS!”

And suddenly, whatever the presence in her head had been doing to hold back her orgasm was gone. Her scream became something wordless and helpless, and, shuddering on the kitchen floor, she came so hard and for so long she nearly blacked out.

*

I should change back into my costume when the Justice Guard night shift begins. I should fly back to HQ and go into Evidence Room One.

*

She was pretty sure her top speed had increased after her recent power boost, but she wasn’t using it. Even after deciding to head back to Justice Guard HQ, she couldn’t imagine there was any particular urgency to it, and it wasn’t like she felt the cold anymore.

She dawdled on the way there at a casual six hundred miles per hour, still basking in the afterglow of that evening, idly wondering what she should do for food given she’d got so distracted the meal was never fully made.

She’d completely forgotten the moment she realised that her mind had been invaded. The thoughts in her head were all going in a completely different direction.

Her body seemed to fizz with pleasure whenever she thought about how much she’d just let go and allowed things to happen. That strange sensation, that idea of being helpless, had pushed buttons she didn’t know she had, buttons that might not even have existed before that moment.

There was a giddiness to her at that point that she hadn’t felt since her second boyfriend gave her her first really good time in bed. It was that same combination of delightful memory and self-discovery.

…She was prepared to admit that she was probably not thinking straight.

She said hello to D.A.N.I.E.L. on entry to the HQ and headed through its corridors with a little uncertainty. Built on several stories, the Justice Guard HQ had to accomplish a lot of things, and many of those needed a room to their own, if not more than one. Signposting was rudimentary, the way it often is if almost everyone who uses the building already knows where to go.

She passed the monitor room, where Ms Miracle, on duty, was sitting with her boots up on the control panel, staring up at the multiple screens, and eating lo mein out of a carton with chopsticks.

“Osprey,” she said. “Hi! How are you?”

It was a shock to realise she’d been spoken to, so intent had she been on her thoughts, her inner world. “Uh, fine,” she said, and to cover her confused state, “Didn’t know you were here tonight.”

“I try to get monitor duty Tuesdays,” she said. “Keeps my week structured, you know?”

Osprey nodded. “Right. I guess I’ve been getting that from my day job.”

“Yeah, you want to watch that. Pretty soon you won’t know your Fridays from your Sundays and it’s really difficult scheduling with your friends that way.” Miracle gave her a gentle, lopsided smile, and Osprey smiled back. “You here for the training sims?”

“Uh, no.” She shrugged. “Got something to do in Evidence Room One.” She was just starting to realise she didn’t know what she had to do in Evidence Room One, and to hope that Miracle didn’t ask, when Miracle just nodded and turned back to the screen.

“Got you,” she said. “Well, just as a heads-up, I’m beginning to wonder about some reports from Idaho. Might be the Shadow Klan again. If anything bubbles up tonight I’ll come get you before I head out?”

“Count me in.” Lorna smiled, gave a half-wave, and moved on.

The question of why she was going to Evidence Room One, and of how she’d taken it into her mind to do so, was occupying a lot of her thoughts. With the slow takeover she’d experienced earlier massaged out of her memory, she had nothing she could point at to explain it.

*

Tyrone was waiting in Evidence Room One, although the monitoring eye of D.A.N.I.E.L. had recorded him going into Room Two before using the connecting door. The Evidence Rooms were about the only place he’d been able to think of that were under-monitored where he could easily get Osprey to show up, and from the moment the night shift started, he’d been waiting.

It wasn’t exactly usual for him to be in Justice Guard HQ when he wasn’t scheduled to be working - there weren’t many members of the team who were - but it also wasn’t unheard of; aside from the two newcomers, everyone on the team had worked a few cases where making use of HQ facilities had been a godsend, so nobody thought anything of it.

When he felt the access node he’d formed on Osprey’s memories growing closer, he opened the connecting door and slipped into Room One.

He slipped into the back of Osprey’s consciousness as she entered the building and watched through her eyes as she spoke with Ms Miracle. For a few moments he was nervous, as it seemed like she might be about to realise again, and he wasn’t going to be able to overwhelm her mind with pleasure in front of a witness without raising questions.

All the same, she moved on.

I’m not going to remember this, he sent as she approached the door, knowing it was going to sink into her head, accepted as one of her own thoughts.

I’m not going to see the face in front of me. Just the cock. The cock is what matters.

I need that cock to rail me.

And with the seeds planted, he unzipped his costume and took up his position on Eliza Estevez’ old Command Chair. It was comfortable enough and the armrests were high enough for what he wanted.

He couldn’t quite believe he’d pushed Osprey this far. It felt like he should be watching for something to go wrong…

*

Lorna was relieved she’d remembered what she was going to Evidence Room One for. She needed that cock to rail her.

It felt like a lot of the details were still fuzzy, but she was sure once she got into Evidence Room One, she’d understand what cock she needed, and why she had to be in Evidence Room One to get it.

Opening the door she found the room in semi-darkness. Ahead of her sat a figure on a chair, his cock out and erect, as if he were waiting for her.

She couldn’t make out his face, and somehow that didn’t matter. The cock was what mattered.

Her mouth was watering, her nipples were hard, her pussy was dripping wet.

How long had that been the case? She hadn’t noticed it of any of them until that moment. It was like her whole body had reacted to seeing the cock, the cock she needed.

She stood there for a moment, swallowing. Then she closed the door behind her and reached back, finding the concealed zipper in the white spandex of her leotard.

She drew it down and made a couple of quick adjustments around the crotch to make sure that the cock would have easy access to her, would be perfectly placed to rail her. With a grunt of frustration, she ripped her tights along the seam.

She looked the face she couldn’t see dead in where she imagined his eyes to be as she tugged on the sides of her leotard, letting her breasts spill free. Somehow she knew that would be the best way to get the railing the craved. And then, her expression still serious and focused, she slinked over to the chair.

Thankfully, she was still as flexible as she’d ever been - something she carefully avoided letting slip to her friends; they were jealous enough of her figure that the other perks of her superhumanity would feel like she was just rubbing it in.

She lifted up her right leg until she could plant her foot directly beside the man’s unseen head, resting it on the back of the chair. Leaning in, she smiled a hungry, needy smile, her desperation showing through in her eyes.

“I’ll give you every reason,” she promised, her breath low and husky. “But I need you to ruin me. Do we have a deal?”

Yes, she thought, and for reasons it didn’t occur to her to try and unpack she took herself at her word.

She lifted her foot again and pivoted on her left heel, slipping her right leg down between the man’s thigh and his armrest. Then she backed up until her buttocks brushed against his chest, legs planted either side of his chair.

She reached under herself and found his cock, bent at the knees, brushed his tip against her wet, waiting cunt, and heard that satisfying mmmmf in the back of his throat. Her smile became less about need and more about delight; holding him steady she sat down, guiding him into her.

It was cheating, but she was in costume, so she could get away with it; as he brought his hands up to maul her tits deliciously, she let the part of herself that controlled flight make herself lighter, leaning forward to plant her hands on the desk with the big register of evidence.

He sat up into her, not needing to use whatever strength he had to support her. All of his strength, all his energy, could all go into the fucking. And he was ready and eager and tense and the moment he felt he had the opportunity to go, he was fucking her, not making love but fucking her, hammering her, and she was squealing ad gasping and moaning and her eyes crossed before they rolled up into her head and everything she was became the sensation of his cock inside her.

As he kept fucking her a strange symbiosis seemed to occur; she could feel not just how his cock was making her feel but she had a feedback loop of the pleasure he was taking as she milked his cock, as she rocked and bucked back against him. One hand left her tit so he could spank her ass, once, then he was back to her tit, thumb and forefinger around her nipple, rolling it between them, tweaking and teasing her, using her.

Her thoughts weren’t there. It wasn’t possible for her to make the connection between how this felt and how fucking herself had felt earlier, how she’d seemed to feel a hand around a cock then too.

She just knew the more she pleasured this cock, the better she felt.

And then suddenly another thought emerged into her mind.

Joining the Justice Guard is the best thing I ever did, and I should have done it four years ago.

I so want to be a milf to the younger guys. Especially PsyKick.

Lorna wasn’t entirely clear what a milf was but suddenly she wanted so much to learn.