Super Daddies: A Naughty Nerdy Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Smith, Maren

  Susan shook her head. Just then they reached the glass door in the impressive all-glass front of the two-story structure. Bob pulled the door open for Susan, and she stepped through. Clearstream, his outline only barely visible near the spot where his phone hovered as if in mid-air, and Tigerwoman, looking buxom in her striped catsuit, had already got up, apparently at the sight of Nightprince and Ultragirl approaching.

  “Hello!” boomed Clearstream, his phone literally vanishing into a pocket of his invisi-suit. His outline rushed towards Susan in the manner Nightprince had found disconcerting for the first several years of his acquaintance with the big man, who now popped into view right in front of the new girl, all six feet and eight inches clad in tight silver and his skin tinged with the same metallic shade.

  Susan took a step back, laughing. “Clearstream, I presume,” she said.

  Tigerwoman gave a theatrical sigh at Clearstream’s typical antics, but followed suit: she vanished, as far as the ordinary human eye could tell, and then reappeared behind Susan and tapped the girl on the shoulder. To Bob’s mild surprise, Susan had started to turn to face Sally (Tigerwoman’s real name) even before the tap happened. If the girl were actually out of power, he thought, the turn must have been a matter of reflex—very sharp reflex.

  “And Tigerwoman,” said Ultragirl. “I’m a huge fan.”

  “Of course you are, sweetie,” the Queen of the Darkest Jungle (™) purred. “Call me Sally.”

  “And you can call me Matt,” Clearstream declared.

  “Did you…?” Bob began, addressing Susan. He felt a little confusion as to the nature of the girl’s bathroom emergency now, for she seemed to have forgotten about it herself, when only a few moments before her bladder had apparently reached its utmost limit.

  “Oh. Yeah,” Susan said, looking around and spying the door marked SuperLadies and bearing a picture of the standard feminine figure endowed with a cape. She turned back to Sally and Matt. “Excuse me a moment.”

  Bob saw that she had blushed again, very deeply—far more deeply, he thought, than warranted by the need for a bio-break. Susan turned quickly and walked towards the bathroom, now doing a reasonable impression of a girl who really needed to use the potty. Bob chastised himself inwardly a bit for thinking of it in those terms, but he reflected that a dominant daddy is a dominant daddy, and he could see that Ultragirl could well need taking in hand, though for reasons that puzzled him as much as they intrigued him.

  “So?” Sally asked. “She can rescue small dogs, evidently. Anything else?”

  Clearstream’s booming laugh echoed around the ready-room as Bob watched Susan’s back disappear behind the door of the ladies’ room.

  “Easy, Sally. It’s her first day, and she’s clearly out of power right now.” The big man vanished again, leaving only a watery outline in the air that friends knew how to recognize from the slight distortion it created, but rendered Matt completely invisible even to them most of the time. Matt had to expend power to keep his body within the limits of normal human sight, and most of the time he didn’t bother.

  “Well…” Sally began, and then an alarm rang on all their wrists simultaneously.

  Bob glanced down at the message on his communicator and frowned.

  “She’s powering up, right?” asked Matt.

  “In the bathroom?” Sally asked, her voice betraying a suppressed giggle.

  Another, more urgent alarm sounded on their communicators, and then the walls started to shake.

  “I’ll handle this,” Bob said, falling into full Nightprince mode. He turned and ran for the bathroom door, his darksuit enhancing his speed so that the journey only required a fraction of a second. Still, the tremor detected throughout the top eight stories of the CPE building had vanished by the time he reached the ladies’ room and ripped the door open.

  What he saw there instantly made his relationship with Ultragirl both a great deal more complicated and a great deal more important to him than it had been just a moment before.

  Susan Corday stood in front of the mirror with her jeans and panties around her thighs and a frightened look on her face. Her hands were still where they must have been when the walls began to shake: left under her shirt, inside her bra, playing with her nipples; right between her legs, giving her clit what it seemed Ultragirl needed most of all.

  Bob didn’t really have to think about what he should say: only one thing fit the situation, even if it was a question to which he thought he could figure much of the answer out on his own.

  “What are you doing, Susan?” he asked the naughty supergirl, closing the bathroom door behind him.

  Chapter 3

  Susan had never imagined she could feel so mortified. All the power she had gained in the last few moments of desperate masturbation went into keeping the redness from her cheeks, but that paranormal energy, expended so heedlessly, was gone in less than a second and the heat came crashing back into her face.

  “I…” she said, in a voice so weak she thought Nightprince might just deny her application for superhero-hood right then and simply drop her off the side of the building to get rid of her.

  “Pull up your pants, Susan,” Bob said in a stern voice that made her ache even more down there than she had at that humiliating moment when he had asked if she needed to go to the bathroom. He had asked as if he were actually saying do you need to go potty, and that had been after he had said he would be in charge of her.

  Words had never affected her this way: she didn’t know what exactly it had to do with her Zaxian origin, because no Zaxian female had ever been raised in a conservative family in the American midwest. Susan nevertheless felt certain that something in the contrast between the two, between the Zaxian sexual need and her mother’s warnings about her private parts, had made her volcanic arousal take a form according to which handsome, older Nightprince, in his black suit, could say in charge of you, and her pussy would flow with need into her panties in a way she had never experienced before.

  She felt her face crumple into a mask of woe as she obeyed him now, her pussy sending even more wetness into her already damp underwear as she buttoned up her jeans.

  “I’m sorry…” she whispered, and she couldn’t even figure out whether to call him Bob, or Nightprince, or something else.

  A moment of stillness ensued. She didn’t dare look at him, but she felt desperate to know what kind of expression he had on his face—whether she had disgusted him, or… something else.

  “You will say,” Bob said very slowly, “I’m sorry, sir, from now on.”

  She did lift her eyes from the sink in front of her, then, and turn them to his face, her lips parting in helpless surprise and gushing arousal.

  “What?” Susan’s voice sounded in her ears as less than a whisper. She wondered if Bob could even hear it.

  “You heard me, little girl.”

  “Oh, no…” If the what had been less than a whisper, the oh, no was barely even audible. She couldn’t tell, despite knowing that her Zaxian memory recorded everything that happened to her with absolute accuracy, whether she had heard wrong, because if Bob had indeed called her little girl… Well, she couldn’t take it, could she? No Zaxian female could be called little girl and let the man who said it live.

  But the ache between her legs had grown so great at the tone in his voice, at the thought of calling him sir, at the fact of his calling her little girl, that she clenched, down there, and she couldn’t hold down a little whimper of need, and her right hand started to move to the front of her buttoned up jeans.

  “Don’t you dare, Susan,” Bob said. “Don’t you dare touch your pussy, even on top of your pants.”

  She gave a wordless, humiliating little cry at this instruction. The Zaxian female in her mind yelled a fierce protest in the ancient Zaxian language, involving the intention to turn Bob’s entrails into unrecognizable bird-food. The midwestern girl whispered, “Yes, sir.”

  “Now tell me something,” Nightprince sai
d. “And if you tell me honestly—and remember that’s one of my powers—I will make sure the rest of the council doesn’t hear about this until and unless you want them to.”

  Susan rolled her fists into tight little balls at her sides. It took every bit of her will to keep from thrusting one of them down her pants, because the need just kept increasing with the way Bob spoke to her, and the atavistic alien part of her psyche didn’t see the need for modesty the way the midwestern part did.

  “What?” she panted, turning her eyes up to Bob’s dark gaze. Wow, they really weren’t messing around when they gave you your super name, were they, Bob? “Tell you what?”

  “Do your powers come from your pussy?”

  Susan bit her lip, as a whimpering sound came from her throat. She nodded, her face as hot as the sun. She dropped her eyes to Bob’s black boots. They looked like army boots, which shouldn’t have worked with his skintight suit and flowing cape, but somehow did.

  Prince. Master. Sir.

  Her inner He’Vopra’Mertuq screamed at her in Zaxian wrath.

  You really won’t like the other thing I think when I look at him, Susan Corday of Plentiful Falls, Iowa, replied, cowering into the corner of a mind that suddenly seemed to have a great deal too much room for debate in it.

  “I take it you’re a virgin, then, or we’d already know about you.”

  Still looking at the boots, Susan nodded miserably. The Zaxian female side came to her rescue, then, at least a little bit, for He’Vopra’Mertuq had something to say. She lifted her eyes to look into Nightprince’s steady examination of her face and her body, those eyes that seemed to take in all of her. All. Of. Me. Oh, please…

  “I can control my powers, if I redraw my energy. I have the DNA memory necessary to give me my ancestral people’s skills.”

  Bob’s left eyebrow went up. “I know you believe that, Susan,” he said, “but are you sure? I mean, at a guess, you would know how to use your powers, if you were all… what did you say? Zarxian? Zaxian? But you’re not, are you?”

  “But—” the protest came from He’Vopra’Mertuq, but then her Zaxian intelligence kicked in, and all of her realized, to Susan’s mortification, that Bob was right. “I am a full-blooded Zaxian,” she finally finished.

  “Again,” Nightprince replied, “I know you’re telling the truth, but that’s also not what I meant.” He looked steadily at her for a moment. “Alright, there’s a little danger here, but you and I both need to know.”

  Without further warning, Bob stepped forward and put his left hand around the back of Susan’s neck and his right hand between her legs, giving a squeeze there that sent terrible pleasure crashing through her whole thoroughly-Zaxian-on-the-inside body.

  The walls started to shake. Something—a device on Nightprince’s wrist, maybe—beeped an alarm. An instant later, Tigerwoman’s voice came out of whatever the thing was.

  “You okay in there, Bob?”

  Nightprince held Susan’s pussy for one more second, as the shaking grew more intense. She knew she—her Zaxian body and its paranormal essence—was doing it: the He’Vopra’Mertuq part of her could feel the energy flowing into her power-core and then flowing out, uncontrollable despite everything her DNA memory told her should be true of her abilities. She could almost see it, in the air of the bathroom around her, and somehow she knew that if the energy-flow did fall within the range of her vision, it would look purple. The not-purple field penetrated the iron rebar reinforcing the concrete of the CPE building’s construction and set up a destructive harmonic resonance that neither Susan nor He’Vopra’Mertuq could control.

  All because Bob held her like that, dominated her like that. His hands on Susan’s body seemed to tell her that despite her alien origin she was really a naughty little girl whose naughty pussy needed naughty things done to it. She cried out as the power coming from his grip between her thighs pooled in her core despite the uncontrolled outflow, enough to allow the Zaxian part of her to use her abilities again at last.

  It all stopped, because Bob had ended up slammed against the door and his hand was no longer anywhere near the place where she absolutely needed it, and all her power had gone again.

  “Oh my God I’m so sorry,” Susan said, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”

  “Bob?” said Nightprince’s wrist.

  “Fine, Sally,” Bob said, his voice coming out in the form of a grunt. “We’re just getting to know each other in here.” As he spoke to the supers outside, he looked intently into Susan’s eyes, panting a little from the way she had, obviously, knocked the wind out of him.

  “You see what I mean?” he asked, after a moment in which she rediscovered the desperate ache between her thighs, and had to push down the terrible urge to beg him to put his hand back there, and to keep going until the building fell down around them.

  Susan nodded, feeling her brow wrinkle in sorrow and confusion. She dropped her eyes once again to Nightprince’s black boots.

  “Hey,” he said, as if seeing how wretched she felt, to be screwing this up so royally, “don’t worry. We’ll work it out. You just may have come to the right guy to help, princess.”

  Susan’s heart skipped a beat. Had he really just called her princess?

  Had she—her body, her mind, her soul, even—just answered him, despite her proud Zaxian origin, Yes? The DNA memories, responding to the equivalent of flashing red lights and clanging alarm bells issued a terrible warning.

  You must not tell him.

  “Who are you calling princess?” Susan asked, reaching for a scornful tone and almost getting there.

  Bob’s head drew back, and a puzzled expression appeared on his face. He turned his chin this way and that, as if surveying her and taking her measure. For a moment, he seemed to consider whether to approach this refusal of his help with firmness or with yielding. Susan blushed, again, but she felt sure at least that he could take the redness in her cheeks for defiant anger just as well as he could take it for shame at the knowledge that when Nightprince had called her princess, Ultragirl had wickedly, wantonly dampened her panties.

  “You,” Bob finally said. “But it doesn’t matter much to the CPE’s mission, I guess, whether that works for you or it doesn’t. I’m pretty sure, however you feel about me calling you little, that I know what needs to happen, though. You need discipline, Susan, or Ultragirl, or Hevohperawhatever, and I’m going to give it to you.”

  Susan felt her eyes go wide. “He’... Vopra’... Mertuq,” she said slowly, as if talking to an idiot and getting all the way to scornful, now. “And what the fuck do you mean, discipline?” The Zaxian had control, now, and although discipline had fallen somewhere in the same range as princess, her DNA memory had been ready to cut her human response off at the pass.

  “Discipline can mean a great many different things, He’Vopra’Mertuq,” Nightprince replied steadily, his Zaxian pronunciation remarkably improved. “In your case, however, it’s going to mean exactly what the midwestern human part of you probably just thought of. I believe young women sometimes need to experience an old-fashioned approach to keeping their behavior appropriate and modest.”

  Her human upbringing started to make her Zaxian heart beat very fast. How could Bob know how her mind had responded? How could he see that the idea made her tummy crawl in such a confusing way?

  “Modest?” Susan asked, forcing a snort. “If you think I’m going to let you tell me how to be a proper young lady…”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Susan,” Bob said sharply. “I have my own beliefs where modesty and discipline are concerned, but I wouldn’t think of forcing them on you without your consent if you hadn’t almost destroyed this building. You need guidance, Ultragirl, and you need discipline and training. I am going to spank you over my knee, for playing with your pussy without my permission. We’re going to go to my quarters downstairs, and you’re going to take off your clothes and learn a lesson about how a supergirl should behave.”


  Chapter 4

  For a long moment Bob didn’t know whether Susan would go quietly, or he would have to strip and spank her right here in the bathroom. Her blue eyes held the desperation of an adorable young animal—a puppy or a baby bunny, maybe—cornered by a wolf, but at the same time something even more attractive, and downright fascinating, seemed to lie behind the eyes. Maybe her gaze conveyed those DNA memories Susan had referred to earlier, or maybe—and Bob thought this more likely, and more interesting—it showed him the melding of her alien genetic core with the strength of character she clearly had from an old-fashioned midwestern upbringing. Prairie modesty, after all, by no means ruled out an iron will, and Bob’s favorite kind of submissive little girl to dominate was the kind who felt the need to fight against her submissive impulses.

  “I…” Susan started, but her voice trailed away. This time, the pause seemed to display Ultragirl nearly giving in to her yearning to yield herself to his guidance. Then in a flash the iron returned, and took over. “That’s ridiculous,” she said in a flinty voice. “But I’ll admit that it’s probably better we discuss it in your office.”

  “Discuss it, yes, Susan,” he replied. “I never spank a girl unless she understands why.”

  The blue eyes narrowed, but Ultragirl said nothing. Bob regarded her intently for another few seconds, until her face began to show a tinge of puzzlement and alarm, and then he turned and opened the bathroom door. Tigerwoman and Clearstream were standing a few feet away, their limbs (in Clearstream’s case, this meant the barest outline of his arms and legs) held in the casually ready stance of a superhero in the presence of possible supervillainy.

  “We’re headed down to my office,” Bob told his colleagues. “Situation is under control.”

  “What’s the issue?” Sally asked, a suspicious look forming on her face.

  Susan answered smoothly, somewhat to Bob’s surprise. “I’m still getting used to my energy-flow,” she said, as if she were talking about a tachometer reading on a sportscar.