Two Blondes update

The answer to her problems touched down nearby—big red boots crushing the grass flat. Clark looked at the two women, Linda writhing in ecstasy and Karen gorging herself on the taste of the orgasm she was giving her. It was enough to make Clark wonder if he should’ve bothered changing into a fresh suit. So far, Linda and Karen had cost him more costumes than Metallo.

“Alright, I think you’ve had enough time to recover,” he said in his booming, confident ‘Superman’ voice—usually he pretended he didn’t know the effect it tended to have on women. “Ready for seconds?”

“Uh-huh,” Karen replied, wiping Linda’s juices from her mouth with the back of her fist. “And I’ve got a real bad itch in my cunt. You don’t happen to have a big fat cock that could reach it, do you?”

Clark grinned. “I just might.” He unbuckled his belt. “And I don’t suppose you have an itch up your ass too?”

“Feel free to look for one,” came Karen’s enthusiastic reply.

Linda had, by now, recovered enough from her climax to gasp, “Don’t forget about me!”

Clark laughed. “Fat chance of that—I can barely take my eyes off you with the state your costume’s in. Maybe while I’m giving Karen her medicine, you could—“

What Linda could do they would never know. The JLA communicators of all three Kryptonians lit up and buzzed and rang, the trio all having toggled them to different settings. In a flash, all of them had answered, and the machine intelligence of the Justice League communications system automatically synced them all to a single channel, which Clark naturally dominated.

“Superman here. I’m with Supergirl and Power Girl. What’s the problem, J’onn?”

The machine intelligence prevented feedback by routing the Martian Manhunter’s dulcet voice only to Superman’s communicator. Karen and Linda crowded around him to listen, not to hear better, obviously, but more to draw on Clark’s strength. Any situation that called for three Kryptonians at the least was a real crisis.

“Our early warning station in the fourth dimension just picked up a weakening in universal integrity. It looks like a mass incursion from the Weaponers of Qward. I’m sending out an all-call to dispatch every available Leaguer to the potential incursion sites.”

“That’s a good call, J’onn. Send me wherever the breach seems most imminent. The others are wrapping up a situation here. They’ll be along shortly.”

“Understood. Tell them to hurry. We may not have much time.”

“Will do,” Clark said, and the communicator shut off, J’onn moving on to inform the next heaviest hitter. “Fresh costumes, fast.”

“If it’s such an emergency, maybe we would just go like this,” Karen teased, with a sense of humor no matter what the circumstances. Being invulnerable tended to do that.

“That’d hardly reassure your average panicked mob,” Linda retorted, taking her at face value.

“She was joking,” Clark said, buckling his belt back up and cutting off Karen’s reply. “Rain check again, ladies?”

“Those Qwards are going to figure out they picked the wrong dimension real quick,” Karen promised.

“What’s the Q-word?” Linda asked. “Queers? Karen, you shouldn’t—“

“Oh, for Rao’s sake, come on!” 

Karen took Linda by the arm and pulled her into flight, while Clark took off in another direction.

***

Life as a superhero was often an adventure, sometimes even a horror show, but at other times, it was like any other high-stakes profession—hurry up and wait.

Making up a strike force all on their own, Supergirl and Power Girl flew to St. Louis, where they sat on the Gateway Arch, waiting for an attack. If and when the Qwardians obliged them. That, and hope that things didn’t get so quiet that someone yelled at them for sitting on a national monument. Karen was surprisingly comfy.

“Karen, can I ask you something?” Linda piped up, swinging her feet where they dangled over the Arch’s 630-foot drop.

“You’ve given me a pap smear with your tongue, kid. I think we’ve hit the personal questions stage of the relationship.”

Linda blinked. “I, wha—why would you call it that? That is… please don’t think of us being intimate in those terms.”

“You’re the one who was licking my cervix,” Karen pointed out.

“I was nowhere near your—okay. If that’s how you express your sexuality, fine. I just wanted to ask you… you know… about Clark.”

“Clark? How Bechdel Test of you.”

“Kinda my point,” Linda retorted. “You’re this strong, confident woman—confident enough to dress like that—but when Clark’s around, he’s in the driver’s seat. All I’m asking is—what gives?”