The rain wasn't falling; it was being hurled at the coastline in thick, grey sheets. A hell of a storm. "The city sure is angry today," he murmured.
But…maybe there was a reason for it. He wasn't suggesting a grand conspiracy, no, but considering who he was delivering to, he might get a genuine answer.
The pizza guy's beat-up car shuddered as he parked on the cliffside road, the wipers fighting a losing battle. He hadn't been out to the old lighthouse in months. Not since that night.
He walked up the pathway. He expected to see her waiting in the doorway, maybe wrapped in a blanket, that incredible red hair dry and wild. He didn't bother to make it up there though.
To the right, something stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Mera…?"
Queen Mera was standing on a flat shelf of rock right at the water's edge, the furious waves exploding into spray just feet below her. And she was in what he assumed was her superhero costume. This wasn't the casual, borrowed clothes from before. This was regal, alien, and breathtakingly powerful. A form-fitting, shimmering green one-piece suit that seemed to drink the storm-light and glow with an inner blue luminescence. The neckline framed her sideboobs so deep and magnificent it made his mouth go dry even in the freezing rain.
The long redhead, the fat ass, and everything else he'd memorized with his hands, his mouth, and his cock.
"Mera?" he called out, his voice nearly lost in the wind.
Mera noticed him, head craning ever so slightly. Her expression was different. Regal, yes, but etched with a profound sadness he'd never seen. She gave him a small, tight smile and gestured for him to come closer. He scrambled over to her, the pizza bag held awkwardly, until he stood beside her on the slick stone. The storm roared around them.
"You're… you're gonna get soaked," he said, stating the obvious. He was already drenched, his delivery shirt plastered to his skin.
"Apologies, this is my doing," Mera said with an unnatural clarity through the gale. She looked at him, her green eyes seeming to see right through the months of separation. "I had to see you. One last time."
"Last time?" he echoed, a cold knot forming in his gut that had nothing to do with the rain.
She nodded, turning her gaze back to the tumultuous sea. "My kingdom calls. My husband… Arthur… is in grave danger. Remember?"
"Yeah…"
Yeah, he did. He actually never forgot. He was always wondering what she was up to. She and Batman were working together. But…on what?
"He has been ensnared by a sorcerer's hypnosis." Mera said her husband's name like it was a bitter pill on her tongue. "With Batman's help, I recovered an Atlantean artifact from a gallery here in Gotham. It is the key to his freedom."
"An…art gallery?
Huh. That sure was a coincidence. He didn't think he saw Mera there. Unless…there were others?
Hm.
"A-and that'll…" The pizza guy gulped, water dripping from his nose. "You can save him with it?"
"I must." She finally looked at him again, and a flicker of the woman from the lighthouse—the screaming, begging, climaxing woman—shone through. "It is… strange. To think of him now. After you." Her hand drifted unconsciously to her lower abdomen, a gesture so intimate it stole his breath. "My body remembers. It has been… reshaped. By you. The memory of you is carved into me deeper than any royal decree."
He didn't know what to say. "Mera, I…"
"Talking to you," Mera interrupted, her voice softening, losing its regal edge. "Being with you. It was the greatest miracle of my long life. A glimpse of a world without crowns or tridents. I was wrong about you humans. It's not just Arthur, all of you are…special. Truly."
He smiled weakly. "I, um…"
"And your pizza is especially good," she said with a soft, knowing smile.
Together, they laughed.
Mera stepped closer. She felt warm through the chill rain. "I hope to return. When my kingdom is safe. I will find this rock again."
"When you do, I'll…I'll have a pizza waiting for you. Promise."
"Is that so? Then…" Mera's soft smile turned mischievous. "We will have to seal it with an Atlantean tradition."
She closed the distance and her hands came up, cool and strong, to cradle his face. The queen willingly kissed him. A mortal, a human, a commoner.
How tender. How gracious. How heartbreaking.
Those were the feelings she oozed into him. He dropped the pizza bag with a soft thump on the rock. His own hands rose to her waist, sliding over the slick, scaled material of her suit. He pulled her against him, groaning into her mouth as he felt the familiar, glorious swell of her ass under his palms. He groped her, squeezing the royal flesh through the thin suit, a final, claiming touch.
Mera moaned into the kiss, her tongue tangling with his, her body arching into his touch. For a moment, the storm vanished. There was only her taste and the soft smack of their lips and the wet shlick of their tongues. When she finally broke the kiss, they were both panting, their foreheads pressed together.
"Want me to put anchovies on that pizza?" the pizza guy joked with a laugh.
"Ha. If you do not, then I will have to teach you how to fish myself."
It was the last laugh they shared.
Mera swallowed. Her bottom lip trembled. "Goodbye."
"Bye, Mera," he managed.
The queen gave his cheek one last stroke with her thumb, her eyes drinking him in. Like the queen she was, she did the right thing and turned to walk toward the raging water. She didn't hesitate. She stepped off the rock and into the crashing surf. The waves did not knock her down; they parted for her, forming a liquid staircase. She descended into the depths without a backward glance, the green and blue of her suit dissolving into the dark, churning green of the ocean until there was nothing left but the storm and the empty, pizza-scented bag at his feet.
Queen Mera was gone.
It did not stop raining that night or the day afterward. It kept raining.
The pizza guy suspected that was her way of thanking him.
***
The rain-slicked streets of Gotham reflected the neon like a grimy kaleidoscope, and the pizza guy's beat-up sedan was the only warm, cheesy-smelling bubble in the gloom. He checked the address on the thermal receipt again.
'The Bowery.' Not the worst, but solidly in the "tip or get your tires slashed" category. He sighed, a deep, steadying breath that did little to calm the low thrum of… not fear, exactly. More like awareness. Weird shit happened in Gotham. He'd learned that the hard way, a few times over.
And with the rain…he felt Mera was with him. It felt comforting.
The pizza guy smiled.
He killed the engine, grabbed the insulated bag, and hopped out into the damp chill. The building was a pre-war monstrosity, gargoyles leering from crumbling cornices. "Apartment 4B," he reminded himself. He took the stairs, the smell of mildew and old cigarettes thickening with each flight. At the door, he paused. Muffled voices from inside. Arguing? He couldn't tell. He knocked.
Silence. Then a crash, like something glass hitting the floor. "I'm comin', I'm comin'! Keep your spandex on!" a voice, high and frayed, called out.
A woman? Seemed like it. The door swung open. The pizza guy blinked.
'Maybe it's a cosplayer,' his brain supplied, a desperate, logical lifeline. 'A really, really good one.'
In Gotham, who were the greatest icons? Batman was number one, then the Joker. Followed up by Lucius Fox, Poison Ivy, and of course…
'...of Harley Quinn.'
This couldn't be a caricature. It seemed like she was living, breathing, and…and exhausted too. Her signature pigtails were a mess—one with a frayed pink end, the other blue—and her face, though stunning, was free of the usual greasepaint, just smudged mascara under tired blue eyes. She wore a baggy, ripped-up Gotham Knights jersey that hung off one pale shoulder, and beneath it, a pair of tiny, black satin shorts that did nothing to hide the incredible curve of her hips and the length of her toned legs. The jersey was unzipped enough to reveal a deep cleavage, the swell of her breasts pressing against the thin fabric of a white tank top underneath.
"Yeah?" Harley rasped, rubbing her eye.
He stammered, holding up the bag. "Uh, pizza. For… Harleen Quinzel?"
'Please don't shoot me.'
Unlike other women, this bitch was unstable. He heard she once had twenty cops lined up and played whack-a-mole with their bodies.
She squinted at the receipt he held out. "That's the doc, alright. C'mon in, delivery boy. Cash is inside." She turned and walked away, leaving the door open.
The pizza guy stood frozen for a second. 'Why not?'
At this point? Why the hell not. Luck seemed to shine on him.
The apartment was a shrine to someone losing a battle with manic energy. Takeout containers were stacked like modern art. Academic journals on forensic psychiatry were scattered across a stained couch, next to a gleaming, wicked-looking mallet.
Harley whistled. She didn't apologize at all.
The pizza guy's eyes instantly landed on the other occupant.
'Oh my god.'
The crazy bitch of Gotham City. Yeah, this was her.
In the corner, duct-taped to a sturdy-looking steel pole that definitely hadn't come with the apartment, was a massive, bruiser of a man. He was wearing a torn security guard uniform. His mouth was sealed with silver tape, his eyes wide with terror. They locked onto the pizza guy's, pleading silently.
"Mmmpphhh! Mmmmm!"
The pizza guy stopped dead.
"Oh, him?" Harley called from the kitchenette, rummaging in a drawer. "Don't mind Buster. Been blowin' off some steam." She emerged with a roll of duct tape and tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a thud next to a half-eaten bag of chips.
He looked from the terrified man back to Harley. "What… what did he do?"
Harley paused, tilting her head. She looked at the bound man, then back at the delivery guy, her expression shifting from exhaustion to something sharper, more clinical. "What do you think, pizza boy? He was slingin' pixie sticks to third-graders over by Robinson Park. My park. Can't let that slide." She shrugged, the motion making the jersey slip further down her arm. "Bats would've just broken his knees and dumped him at GCPD. He's gotten soft. Me? I've been bashing his balls for the past day."
The bound man whimpered behind the tape.
"Trouble is," Harley continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial grumble as she walked over to the pizza bag he was still holding, "Buster here's just a cog. There's a whole ring of these creeps. Means I gotta get changed, get my gear, and then eat my pizza. Which is why you're here." She unzipped the bag, the smell of pepperoni and cheese filling the space. "Mmm. Still hot. Good."
Harley pulled the box out, plopped it on the cluttered table, and then, without a hint of ceremony, grabbed the hem of the Gotham Knights jersey and pulled it over her head.
The pizza guy's breath caught. The white tank top was thin, almost sheer, and it clung to every inch of her torso. He could see the dark circles of her nipples, hard against the fabric. Hell, he saw her incredible tits as they settled, barely contained. Her stomach was flat and defined. He saw a Joker tattoo on it too.
"Gotta get outta these sweaty things," Harley muttered, more to herself than him. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of the tiny satin shorts. She shimmied, and they slid down those incredible legs, revealing a pair of simple black cotton panties that hugged the perfect, round ass.
He had seen some round, jiggly asses. But this chick might take the cake…!
Harley kicked the shorts away, standing there in just the tank and panties, one hand on her hip as she surveyed a pile of clothes near a battered dresser.
The pizza guy's mouth was desert-dry. His jeans felt suddenly, acutely tight. He'd seen… things. But this was Harley Quinn, in her apartment, half-naked and complaining about her night like it was a bad shift at a bar.
"Okay, new plan," Harley announced, turning to face him fully. Her eyes, now more alert, scanned him up and down. A slow, tired smirk played on her lips. "You. Delivery boy. You go over to that drawer," she pointed a finger with a chipped black nail toward the dresser, "the top one. Fetch me the new bra and panties I got. The set in the pink bag. My treat to myself. Never got to wear 'em."
He stood rooted, his brain short-circuiting. 'Fetch her underwear.'
"Now, sugar," she said, the command soft but edged with him remembering this bitch COULD kill him. "Clock's tickin'. Crime won't bust itself."
He moved on autopilot, his legs carrying him to the dresser. He yanked the top drawer open. It was a jumble of silks, lace, and bright colors. He saw the pink bag, a tissue-paper boutique thing, and pulled it out. Inside was a scrap of black lace and silk that was, by any reasonable definition, lingerie. A bra that looked more like a suggestion, and panties that were just a connected string.
He turned, holding the delicate items, feeling absurd.
Harley took them from him, her fingers brushing his. Her smirk widened. "Well, well. A perv, huh? Picked the prettiest set." She didn't sound angry. If anything, she sounded… amused. "I'm okay with that. A girl likes to be appreciated."
Then, right there, she reached down, hooked her thumbs into the sides of her simple cotton panties, and peeled them down. She stepped out of them, completely naked from the waist down. The pizza guy's gaze was dragged downward, against all his will. Her pussy was shaved bare.
Wow.
He saw the neat, pink folds of her, the intimate detail searing itself into his mind.
Harley hummed like he wasn't there when he totally was, bending over at the waist to pick up the lace panties from the floor. The view was breathtaking, the perfect globes of her ass presented openly. She stepped into the lace, pulling them up with a practiced wiggle. The black lace settled high on her hips, a narrow triangle of fabric doing a laughable job of covering her sex.
Next, she pulled the tank top off over her head. "Phoo!" Her breasts spilled free, full and heavy, with large, dusky pink areolas and nipples that were already pert and eager.
'W-what are those? D-cups—!?'
"They're double-Ds, actually," Harley said, reading his mind. She smiled reading his mind. "Whaaaat? Come on, I used to be a therapist. I know how guys work!"
Snickering, she made a show of putting the lace bra on, leaning forward to let her breasts settle into the flimsy cups, which only half-contained them, pushing them together and up into deep, tantalizing cleavage.
"Haah~!"
She straightened, adjusted herself, and then finally looked at him, really looked. Her eyes trailed down his body, lingering on the very obvious, straining bulge in his delivery pants. A low, throaty chuckle escaped her. "Someone's happy to deliver." She sauntered over to the pizza box, flipped it open, grabbed a slice, and took a huge, messy bite. "Mmm. Good za."
With her mouth full, she pointed to a jar on a bookshelf overflowing with cash. "Payment's over there. Take what's owed plus… let's say a fifty for the show. And for not screamin'."
He was still hard, his mind reeling, the image of her bent over, naked, burned onto the back of his eyelids. The bound man in the corner made a frantic, muffled sound. Harley rolled her eyes.
"Ugh, Buster, I'm eatin'." She took another bite, cheese stringing from her lip to the slice. She looked at the pizza guy, her gaze calculating. The exhaustion was still there, but it was now mixed with a spark of something else—curiosity, a predatory interest. She swallowed. "You know," she said, her voice dropping, losing its manic edge, becoming almost intimate. "Most guys would'a run by now. Or pissed themselves. You just… stood there. Took it all in." She took a step closer, the scent of her skin and pepperoni mingling. "You're either real stupid, or you've seen some things."
He found his voice. "L-little bit of both, actually."
She grinned, a real, genuine grin that lit up her face. "I like that." Her eyes flicked to his crotch again, then back to his face. The silence stretched, thick with possibility. The pizza was paid for. He had his tip. He should leave.
He didn't move.
Harley's tongue darted out, catching a stray spot of sauce on her lower lip. She took the last bite of her slice, never breaking eye contact. "Y'got a name, pizza boy?"
He shook his head slowly. "Just the pizza guy."
"Hmm." She reached out, not for him, but for the waistband of his uniform pants. One finger, tipped with that chipped black polish, hooked into the fabric, right over the throbbing outline of his cock. She didn't pull, just let her finger rest there. "Well, 'Just the Pizza Guy'," she purred, her breath warm against his chin, "the night's young. And Buster here…" she glanced at the petrified man, "…could use a longer time-out."
Huh? N-no way, was he really going to sleep with Harley Quinn?
"Just kidding." Her finger slipped up and his waistband snapped back. Giggling, she hopped over to the jar, grabbed it and tossed it over to him. "Sorry, but gotta bash some more balls! Can't empty 'em!"
"Um..."
When Harley started reaching for her bat, the pizza guy took that as his cue to high-tail it out of there, jar of money in hand. Thank god he did. He heard a loud scream as the door shut behind him.
Welp.
That was Harley Quinn. Their very first meeting.
'I get the feeling I'm going to be seeing more of her...'
***
The rain was still going in the late evening.
His next order was at an address he was familiar with. 'Diana Prince…' He flushed remembering the tall, Wonder Woman-esque woman. It was a sleek high-rise in the Diamond District. A welcome change of scenery. He put the car in drive, the persistent ache in his jeans a familiar, if distracting, companion.
'Apparently, she's at the penthouse? Throwing a party?'
Well, not unusual. Probably rented out the penthouse or something.
The apartment was a glass needle piercing the rainy Gotham gloom. At the foyer, he flashed his delivery pass, took the insulated bag, and headed for the elevator. No one else was here—
"Hold it!"
Or not. He slapped a hand on the 'Door Open' button.
A brown-intoned woman rushed in, a blur of motion and dark hair. "Thanks, man," she said, not looking at him, about to punch in a floor but blinking twice. They must have been going to the same floor.l
"No problem," he mumbled.
The doors closed. The elevator resumed its climb.
He glanced over. She was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed under her chest. She was tiny, maybe 5'3", but built like a coiled spring. She wore an oversized, charcoal-grey hoodie that swallowed her frame, the hem reaching down to mid-thigh. Her legs were bare, the skin a smooth, warm olive tone, and she wore a pair of expensive-looking, scuffed combat boots. Her hair was a waterfall of ink-black, tumbling over her shoulders, and when she finally turned her head to look at the floor numbers, he saw a fierce, beautiful profile—sharp cheekbones, a full mouth set in a frown, and striking amber eyes that glinted with impatience.
She caught him looking. Her brow furrowed. Not angry, but assessing. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, turning his gaze forward. "Just… delivering."
"Hmph." She went back to staring at the doors, tapping one booted foot.
Silence filled the cabin, thick and awkward. Then, she sighed, a sound of profound frustration. "You know what? Screak it." She turned to him fully, those amber eyes locking onto his. "You did a solid. I pay my debts."
Before he could process what she meant, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of… nothing. There were no shorts, no leggings under the huge hoodie. She pushed down, wiggling her hips slightly, and stepped out of a simple pair of black cotton panties. She balled them up in her fist.
"Here," she said, thrusting them toward him.
He stared at the crumpled fabric in her hand. He stared at her bare legs, at the hem of the hoodie which now hung, utterly unimpeded, just below the curve of her ass. The realization hit him like a physical blow. 'She's not wearing anything under this…!'
Her pussy must be right there, just under the frayed edge of the hoodie. His mouth went dry.
"Take it," she insisted, shaking the panties at him. "A token. For your service. My name is Yara Flor. I won't allow myself to be in debt."
Mechanically, he reached out. His fingers closed around the soft, warm cotton. They were still warm from her body. "T-thank you, Yara…"
Yara smirked, a flash of white teeth. "See? Not so hard." The elevator chimed and the doors slid open with a whisper.
As she turned to leave, she grabbed the back hem of her hoodie and tugged it up, just for a second, as she stepped out. It was a casual, effortless motion, like adjusting a jacket.
It revealed everything.
The hoodie rode up, exposing her treasure of a booty. It was round, pert, and too fat for her compact frame. A stunning, jiggling masterpiece of taut muscle and soft flesh. Each cheek was a firm, sculpted globe that bounced with a life of its own as she took her first step into the hallway. The deep cleft between them was shadowed, leading the eye downward. It was an ass that spoke of power, of athleticism, of…of eroticism.
A Brazilian ass, in every glorious sense of the word.
Then the hoodie fell back into place, covering her to mid-thigh again. Yara didn't look back. She just strode down the hall, that incredible, jiggling rear moving with a confident, hypnotic rhythm.
The pizza guy stood frozen, the warm panties clutched in his fist, the elevator doors trying to close on him. He jerked forward, stumbling out into the hallway just before they shut.
He walked and Yara was right ahead of him.
Huh.
He needed to go to the penthouse. He looked at the signs. Penthouse was to the left.
He followed, at a distance, his heart hammering against his ribs. She stopped at a set of double oak doors at the end of the hall—the penthouse entrance.
'No way,' the pizza guy thought.
But it was. He double-checked. Yara raised a fist to knock and it was the door he was going to as well.
It was Diana who opened the door. Tall with regal bearing hips, waves of dark hair cascading over strong shoulders, and eyes of a piercing, compassionate blue. That was her, alright. She wore simple, elegant grey trousers and a silk blouse, but she wore them like armor. She radiated an aura of goodness, of immense, quiet power.
"Yara!" Diana hugged her first and pulled back, hands on her shoulders. "You are late. And…" Her eyes, sharp and missing nothing, dropped to the space between Yara's thighs, then back to her face. "…where are your panties?"
Yara shrugged, brushing past the taller woman into the apartment. "Lost 'em. Don't worry about it."
The woman, Diana, shook her head with a fond, exasperated smile. Then her gaze lifted and landed on the pizza guy, still standing dumbly ten feet away, holding his insulated bag and a pair of black cotton panties.
Diana's expression transformed. The regal warmth ignited into something more personal, more intimate. A blush touched her high cheekbones. Her lips parted in genuine surprise, then curved into a smile of deep, knowing pleasure.
"You." The single word was laden with memory. "Hi."
"H-hi…"
"Let's, um, come in," Diana said, extending a hand, her smile deepening as she saw his recognition. "Please, come in. This is a fortunate coincidence."
Numbly, he walked forward, stuffing Yara's panties into his delivery pocket. Diana put a hand on his back and pulled him gently inside.
The penthouse was vast, airy, filled with light and tasteful art. The view of Gotham was panoramic, almost peaceful from this height. In the living area, two more women were lounging.
The first was curled on a vast white sofa, a book in her hand. She had a timeless beauty—wavy dark hair, kind eyes, and a serene, gentle strength in her posture. She looked up and offered a smile that was both warm and subtly curious.
The second was perched on the arm of the sofa, swiping through a phone. She was blonde, California-golden, with a playful, mischievous glint in her blue eyes and a body that was all lean, sun-kissed curves. She wore yoga pants and a cropped tank top.
"Donna, Cassie," Diana said, her hand still lightly on the pizza guy's arm. "Pizza is here."
The blonde—Cassie—looked up. Her eyes scanned him, from his worn boots to his uniform, and a slow, appreciative grin spread across her face. "Well, hello there."
The darker-haired one—Donna—closed her book. "Finally. And…oh."
For some reason, everyone seemed to react to his presence. He swallowed thickly and smiled. "Hi there."
Donna smiled. "Hi there. You're, ah…hm." She looked to Diana. "He's cute," she told Diana, a knowing lilt in her voice.
"You could say that," Diana said, finally releasing his arm. "I told you, he's a friend."
Cassie's grin widened. "No way! You're the mystery pizza guy? Diana would not shut up about you for a week. 'So grounded,' 'such honest hands.'" She mimicked Diana's accent poorly, but affectionately.
Donna swatted at her leg. "Be nice." She stood, graceful as a cat, and approached. She was almost as tall as Diana, with a similar athletic build, but her energy was calmer, more centered. "It's a pleasure to meet you properly. I'm Donna."
"Cassandra Sandsmark," the blonde said, hopping off the sofa arm. "But call me Cassie. Everyone does." She walked a slow circle around him, her eyes twinkling. "Cute."
The pizza guy felt like a specimen under a microscope. A very appreciated specimen. "Uh. The pizza." He held up the bag, the last vestige of his purpose.
"Of course!" Diana took it from him, her fingers brushing his again. A deliberate touch. "We ordered it for our little gathering. A 'Wonder Party,' we call it. Just us girls."
He had no idea what that meant, but he nodded.
"You should stay," Cassie said immediately, planting herself in front of him. "Have a slice. We have plenty."
"It is the least we can do," Donna added, her voice soothing.
Diana was already unpacking the box onto a vast glass coffee table. "Please. I insist. As a… thank you. For last time."
He was outnumbered by four of the most wonderful women he had ever seen, all looking at him with varying degrees of open interest and affection.
"Okay," he said. "One slice."
He sat on the edge of an armchair. Diana brought him a plate, her hip brushing his shoulder as she leaned over. Cassie plopped down on the wide arm of his chair, her bare arm pressed against his.
"So," Cassie said, taking a bite of her own slice. "Diana says you're strong. Like, really strong. For a civilian."
'Probably not in the way you think….'
"I did not say that," Diana declared.
"You said...what was it?"
"A man of strong character," Diana emphasized. She looked at him, embarrassed. "Apologies for her, she's young."
"I'm twenty-two. And it was the way you said it too! Like now!"
"Cassie," Donna chided gently from the sofa.
"What? I'm just curious! It's not every day a man leaves my great teacher flustered."
'Teacher?' The pizza guy was a bit confused. Diana shot Cassie a look and Cassie listened this time. His old sex partner sat on the sofa opposite, her legs crossed, watching him.
"Ignore her. So, how was your day been?"
"M-mine? Well…" Mention Harley Quinn? No. "Um…I guess I got promoted."
"Congratulations!" Cassie said.
"Congrats," Donna added.
Diana beamed. "That's amazing."
Having three chicks congratulate on you a promotion…not a bad feeling.
Yara came back from the kitchen and still not pants. Moreover, that sweater was pulled up and he could see her thicc figure. Holy fuck, his gaze snapped away. With four chicks, there was no way he was going to get caught staring! Nope!
Not noticing his tension, Yara grabbed a slice and leaned against the doorframe, her amber eyes studying him with renewed interest. "So, how do you know Diana?" Yara asked between mouthfuls of cheese.
"We met, um, here," he said. "She ordered pizza and stuff."
"Huh." Yara's gaze was intense, probing. "Just pizza…and you're somehow friends?"
"Y-yeah…actually, we were trapped in an elevator and she helped me."
Diana nodded in order to affirm the story. Yara stared like she half-believed it.
"Mm." Yara took another bite. "Mm, this is good. You make it?"
"T-thank you, yeah, it's me. All me." Although today it was Selina. She was taking over the pizza making for today. If there was a complicated order, then he'd do it. But simple cheese pizza like for Diana? All Selina's job.
Yara smirked. "Think you can give us private lessons?"
"H-huh?"
"I don't exactly live in the city. I'd love to learn how you make the dough," Yara said.
"Oh, do you live outside the city?"
"Brazil, actually. And you didn't answer my question: do you have time on your schedule?"
Diana huffed at her forwardness. "Ignore her, please."
"What? I've never had pizza this good. Your silly New York City pizza was overrated. This man though..." Yara chewed and pointed. "He has a secret. I'd love to take it back home with me."
"Pfft." Cassie jabbed an elbow at his side. "She's just saying that to get on your good side."
"But it is good," Yara said. "Unless you disagree?"
"No way!"
"You haven't had one," Donna pointed out in a murmur. Cassie's cheeks went red and she stammered out an excuse.
The flirting was…relentless. Donna asked him about his route with a genuine curiosity that made him feel interesting. Cassie's leg swayed, her foot occasionally bumping his. Diana's eyes never left him for long, and when they did, they traced the lines of his body in the uniform with a possessive familiarity that sent heat straight to his groin. Even Yara, in her abrasive way, kept engaging him, challenging him with her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips when he held her gaze.
It was overwhelming. They were a constellation of power and beauty, and for reasons he couldn't fathom, their gravity was pulling him in.
That was until his phone buzzed.
He finished his slice. "I should… I should really go. More deliveries."
A chorus of soft, disappointed noises filled the room.
"So soon?" Donna asked, sincerity in her tone.
"The grind waits for no man," Cassie sighed dramatically, but she squeezed his arm before standing up.
Diana rose, regal once more. "Of course. Thank you for coming in." She walked him to the door, the others following at a slight distance like a gorgeous, attentive honor guard.
At the door, Diana stopped. The others lingered behind her in the foyer. She looked up at him, and for a moment, the powerful presence softened into something vulnerable, wanting. "It was good to see you again," she said quietly. Her hand rose, as if to touch his face, but she stopped, curling her fingers into her palm. The restraint was its own kind of intensity. "Perhaps our paths will cross again. Without the pizza."
"Maybe," he managed.
Cassie blew him a kiss. Donna gave a gentle wave. Yara just nodded, her arms crossed, that assessing look still in her eyes.
He stepped into the hall, the door closing softly behind him, sealing him out of that world of light and impossible women. He stood there for a full minute, breathing slowly.
'My balls are killing me.'
Then he walked to the elevator, descended to the lobby, and walked back to his car in a daze. He slid into the driver's seat.
He just sat there.
His pants were uncomfortably tight again. In one pocket was Harley Quinn's fifty-dollar tip. In the other, Yara Flor's still-warm panties. And in his mind, the memory of Diana's eyes, Cassie's touch, Donna's smile.
"Fuck. Fuck."
Selina was too far away to blow his load. Who else was nearby?
He blinked. He smiled. He turned the engine back on.
There was someone nearby that would be happy to empty him…
***
Knock, knock, knock!
The metal door swung open and an enthusiastic voice greeted, "Hello! How is…it…going. Oh."
There was a fall in tone. An excited, loving squirm.
"Oh my~!"
The pizza guy had followed through on the impulsive, insane thought that had struck him in the car. After the panties, after the lingering looks, after the constant, aching pressure in his jeans… he'd thought of her. The alien princess from Tamaran. Her culture. Her lack of Earthly hang-ups.
Facing the equally nude woman was for once an equally nude male. Facing huge tits was a huge cock.
In a reckless, adrenaline-fueled moment parked in the building's garage, he'd shucked his uniform pants and briefs, stuffing them in his delivery bag. Everything hung open, doing nothing to hide him.
His flaccid banana-cock hung heavy between his thighs, leading to a pair of full, heavy nuts. Starfire's eyes tracked from the thick root, up the pronounced veins, to the broad, plump head, then back down to the weighty sack below. Her lips parted in a soft, audible inhalation.
From her perspective, there was nothing to do except gush. "So big…!" Dick Grayson—her beloved, agile, wonderfully human Dick—was beautifully proportioned. A solid, satisfying six inches of hard, loving manhood. She adored it. But this… this was superior. No need to be coy. "So much bigger…!"
This soft, dangling flesh already surpassed Dick's length, and the sheer girth of it, the prominent veins mapping its potential, the heavy, full balls… it dwarfed anything in her considerable experience. A flutter, warm and unfamiliar, stirred deep in her belly.
The pizza guy, his face burning a crimson red, forced himself to speak. He was eye-level with her spectacular chest. It was hard not to be speechless when faced with Starfire's big boobs and when looking away meant her navel, her pussy, or her face. All three were arousing. But, of course, the face was least arousing. The best option for a "normal" conversation so he picked that and started flapping his lips.
"T-t-t-thank you. You too. You look...great."
Eyes flicked down. Pussylips were right there. His dick twitched. 'Dammit.'
"W-wow, this...I mean...thank you." Starfire managed to say with wide eyes and parted lips curled into a smile. She wasn't meeting his gaze, her head was tilted down to his groin. "It feels like home."
A small silence went by, accompanied by Starfire's loud, excited breathing. She was still looking. Still smiling. Still wide-eyed.
Because of his penis. Because of that cock. It stirred something in her.
He was the same in that he felt a stir in emotions. 'H-how does she do it?' he asked in a gulp. Starfire was unashamedly nude. Posture casual, while he was tense. A statuesque alien goddess with big tits framed in the doorway.
"R-right, I, um… I brought pizza."
She gasped and put a hand on her chest. "For me?" Then with a small whisper, leaning down to be eye to eye with him. "For free?"
Her tits were right fucking there. Huge areolas and nipples a-and a face that was smiling and truly. It wasn't all about the perviness. That was what made Starfire delectable. She genuinely liked you for more than you; and on top of that wanted to be nude.
"Y-y-yeah. Friendly visit."
Holy fuck, holy fuuuck.
'Keep your eyes on her eyes. Keep your eyes on her eyes. Keep your eyes on her eyes.'
Not down to those amazing titties…!
"W-w-with extra mushrooms." He swallowed, his throat dry. He was doing this. He could do this. Initiate. Initiate.
'Be the one who knocks!'
"Aww, how kind of you!"
Masculine ego was damned when faced with a tall, alien woman whose hands came together happily, she smiled brightly, and her boobs jiggled when she made any kind of emotion. It was oh-so impossible. She was like a living lightbulb. She was optimistic. She did that thing, you know? Hands clasped, eyes closing for a bit, laughing a little, and standing at full height.
Starfire believed him when he said that he was here for friendship.
"Y-y-yeah." He suddenly had to urge to explain his own nudity. "Y-you said stuff about Tamaranean, uh, customs. About… nudity. Wanted to… be respectful. Of your culture. And stuff. If I wanted to visit as a friend."
But that was what he was counting on. Friendship for Tamaraneans was NOT the same as friendship for humans. The words sounded ludicrous even to him. It wasn't easy to get rid of decades of human social engineering. But he had experienced it for himself before and now he was leveraging it. He could DO this. A naked man offering pizza as a cultural exchange of "friendship". Yes, logically, for aliens, it was possible and real.
"As a friend? Oh my, you really are a gentleman."
This constituted being a gentleman. Yes. Yes, yes, yes! A brilliant, unguarded smile lit up her face, transforming her from stunning to radiant. "Please! Enter! This is a most welcome surprise."
He shuffled in, painfully aware of his soft cock swinging with each step. Thwap, thwap! "I-Is Raven…?"
"No, she's out at the hot spring. You know her." Starfire flew over him and he saw her cunt and cheeks spread above. The ceiling was high enough for it. He gulped when she landed and walked him to the living room.
He couldn't help but watch the mesmerizing sway of her round, perfect ass, each cheek flexing with a hypnotic rhythm. It was high, jiggly, and beautifully shaped, a masterpiece that made his mouth water.
"Dick is away on a mission with the Titans," she said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. She took the pizza bag from his numb fingers and placed it on a low glass table. "I am alone. And I must confess, I am often… glad to see a penis." She turned to face him, her expression open and earnest. "On Earth, the modesty is SO confusing. The hiding of the beautiful body. It is a foreign sadness to me. To see one so openly presented… it is a happy thing."
"R-right," he stammered, standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room. "Happy to… help."
"Sit!" Starfire gestured to a large, plush sectional sofa. "We shall share the pizza. And you will tell me of your day."
He sat, perching on the edge. Starfire settled beside him, not with Earthly modesty he suspected. It was too comfortable a proximity. Her thigh pressed warmly against his. She opened the box, the cheesy aroma filling the room, and handed him a slice. As she leaned over, her magnificent breast brushed against his arm.
"So?"
"Y-yeah, I, um…I got promoted."
"Oh my! Congratulations!"
She hugged him and his face was suddenly buried in her boobs.
'I-I could get used to this.'
She promptly released him, smiling wide. "You're a hard worker! You deserve it, my friend."
"T-thank you."
Any chewing of the pizza was punctuated by Starfire's cheerful questions about his delivery route, his car, the weather. He answered in monosyllables, his entire being hyper-focused on her tits. The bizarre normalcy of it all—eating pizza with a naked alien superheroine—somehow made the tension even thicker.
Finally, she put her crust down and turned to him, wiping her hands on a napkin. Her green eyes were serious, yet glowing with that innate, joyful curiosity. "I have a suggestion," she said, her tone as casual as if proposing another slice.
"Yeah?"
"I would like to have sexual intercourse with you."
He choked on nothing, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I… wh-what?"
"It is a natural, beautiful thing," Starfire explained, tilting her head. "You are here. You are obviously virile and unashamed. I am here, and I am… appreciative. And my boyfriend is not." She huffed a little. "And he knew what he signed up for."
"G-guess he neglects you?"
"Ah, no! Not that! Never neglect! But, well, I have a high libido and our work stops us from fucking. So..." She eyed his penis again and smiled widely. "In my world, these kind of temporary sexual relationships are normal. And I have suggested Dick we do this. I'm sure after we do it, he'll come around to it."
"Really?" Somehow, he doubted that but...who was he to disagree? It wasn't like he knew Dick Grayson all that well.
"Indeed! And come now, you find me alluring, no?" She put her arms under her bust and deliberately wiggled them.
"Y-yeah. You're hot. A-and your boobs are big. It's...amazing." He swallowed to stop his mouth from watering.
"I appreciate it." Starfire giggled. "And I like you too. Your penis and testicles are simply...breathtaking."
Silence. Both of them were just admiring the other.
Then in a whisper and a smile, Starfire said: "A woman with big boobs is most compatible with a man with a big cock, wouldn't you agree?"
Yes. Yes. FUCK yes.
He nodded silently, trying not to gulp and to seem confident. This was months in the making. "Is that...a cultural thing?"
"It is indeed."
The pause lasted for two whole tense seconds.
"So...would you like to?"
Her offer stripped away all pretense, all game. There was only the offer. And his body answered before his mouth could. At her words, at the sight of her leaning forward, those incredible tits hovering so close, his cock surged.
The thick, soft flesh between his legs transformed, engorging with a rapid, aching pulse of blood. It stiffened, rising from his thigh like a heavyweight being lifted. Thick veins bulged along its length as it ascended, curving slightly upward toward his navel. In seconds, it was fully, devastatingly erect—a monstrous, twelve-inch pillar of rigid, flushed flesh. The head was a plum already leaking a bead of clear pre-cum. It stood proudly, utterly dwarfing any prior reference she might have had.
Dick Grayson's very capable six inches would look almost delicate next to this throbbing behemoth.
Starfire's eyes went wide again, her luminous green gaze drinking in the spectacular transformation. A soft, delighted "Oh!" escaped her lips. "It is even more impressive than I anticipated! This is… wonderful."
She didn't wait for his stammered, "Y-yeah… okay… sure…" She was already moving. Starfire happily crawled onto the sofa, looming over him where he sat. He was down and she was on top of him.
Starfire giggled. "I like you when you're nervous."
"T-t-thank you."
Her breasts swayed tantalizingly above his face. "For Tamaraneans, the first act is important," she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky, intimate register. "There is a… sacred timing. A test of skill and connection."
Her hands pushed gently on his shoulders until he was lying back against the sofa cushions. She straddled his legs, her bare pussy just inches from his towering erection. Then she lowered herself, slinking down his body until her face was level with his cock.
"Thirty seconds." Her warm breath washed over the sensitive head. "That is the perfect time. To bring a man to completion with the mouth… it is a celebration of life's urgency."
Before he could process the number, her lips parted and she took him in.
Starfire's mouth really was alien. Her mouth wasn't just hot and wet; it seemed to hum, a subtle, vibrational energy that resonated through his cock from tip to root. Her tongue, meanwhile, did not simply lick or swirl. It rippled. Her tongue acted in rapid, undulating waves along his underside, pressing and massaging his frenulum with a precision that felt engineered for maximum pleasure.
"Waitwaitwait—!"
Oh my fucking god. Zatanna and Raven were based on magic. Amplifying his sensitivity. This chick, however…
'What IS this? Ngggghh—!'
Starfire took him halfway, not with a slow, gagging struggle, but with an impossible, elastic ease. It was a different biology, he realized, like Mera. Her throat opened, swallowing inch after monstrous inch without hesitation, until his pubic bone pressed against her lips and her nose was buried in his coarse hair. She'd taken all twelve inches in one smooth, shocking glide.
"Guh—!" His back arched off the couch—or would have if not for Starfire. Her deepthroat kept him down. To her, he was as light as a power. Perks of super strength. Her head began to bob, not with a human rhythm, but with a superhuman, piston-like speed and consistency.
"S-so fast, so fast! S-Starfire!"
How the fuck did Dick Grayson survive? What was this speed!? I-it was like Supergirl but so much more! It was like she was built for sex! Bred for it! Blessed with functions to make her saliva wet and sticky in all the right ways.
"Ngggh—!"
The rippling, wave-like motion of her tongue was an assault on his senses he was utterly unprepared for. It was too much, too perfect, too fast.
He stared down, dazed, at the surreal sight of the gorgeous alien princess's head buried in his lap, her orange hair fanning over his thighs. Her green eyes were closed in concentration, her cheeks hollowed with effort. A timer in her head, set to a sacred thirty-second countdown.
He felt the pressure coiling. 'No, not yet, it's too fast—' But his cock and balls were both slaves to her otherworldly technique. At the twenty-eight second mark, a violent, full-body tremor seized him.
"Cummiiing!"
He sounded pathetic. Starfire's lips curled. She loved it.
The princess felt the first powerful, pulsing throb against her tongue and immediately redoubled her efforts, her throat fluttering wildly around him. At the exact thirty-second mark, the cum actually started cumming out. It might have been accurate to say it was ripped from him by her. Thick, heavy ropes of cum shot down her waiting throat. The volume was immense, a torrent of pent-up release from a day of relentless teasing.
Starfire swallowed diligently, her throat working, but…
She couldn't believe it.
Thick, creamy strands spilled from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin and onto his balls and the sofa below. She pulled back, gasping, with a final, fat spurt landing on her tongue and lower lip. She swallowed what she could, a blissful smile on her cum-glossed mouth.
"I don't believe it. The timing was perfect," she sighed happily, licking her lips. "And yet I couldn't swallow it all…!"
"I, um…"
"What amazing balls. Mwah! Mwah!" She planted the kisses on each testicle, fucking lifting them just for the kiss. She grinned up at him. "You cum much more than Dick ever did! Actually, on my world, male Tamaranean do not cum this much. Dick for me was quite a lot and you…you shatter any record our people have had!"
"Y-you're welcome?"
"Perhaps I should bring you to my sister…"
"Y-your sister?"
"Yes! For the experience! She's always wanted to have sex with a human! I preferred not to share Dick but, well…" Her eyes dropped to his cock, which, despite the cataclysmic orgasm, was still semi-hard, twitching and glistening with a mix of her saliva and his cum. "Well, for now, you are mine. Mm. And this size…you might become king of my planet if you came around with something like this."
"K-king…?"
"You think I'm joking?" Starfire giggled. "Perhaps I will explain it to you later." She moved up, kneeling over his chest this time. "Your size… it is a glorious challenge." She took her massive breasts in her hands, pressing them together from the sides.
Literal melons, man.
With a firm grip, Starfire lowered them onto his still-impressive erection.
The feeling was sublime. Her tits were impossibly soft, warm, and pillowy. They enveloped his shaft in a velvety, squeezing embrace. But as she'd predicted, they could not contain him. The plum-like head of his cock peeked out proudly from the top of her cleavage, glistening in the light.
"Ah! You see?" Starfire laughed, a sound of pure joy. "You are the first! No man has ever surpassed the summit of Starfire's breasts!" She seemed delighted by this.
Starfire's tittyfuck began. She used everything, rocking her upper body, sliding her magnificent tits up and down his length. The soft flesh squeezed and massaged him, the friction delicious and smooth from the mix of saliva and cum.
This was royalty. This was a princess. This was Starfire. This was a taken woman.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Y-yes!" the pizza guy answered. "Very much!"
And yet the pizza guy currently had his cock between this noble, strong alien woman.
Every time she pushed down, the head of his cock would pop free, and she would lean forward, her long, agile tongue snaking out to lick and swirl around the sensitive tip before burying him again in her warm, soft prison.
"Ngggh!"
"Haha, us female Tamaranean possesses a special aphrodisiac. I'll leave it to you to figure out if it works, my friend~!"
Don't bother. He wasn't going to try anyway.
The visual was beyond erotic after all. The big titty alien goddess, her face flushed with pleasure and tongue hanging out. She was a taken woman and yet she was using her tits to worship his oversized cock, which continually escaped her attempts to fully contain it. The lewd, wet sounds of flesh on flesh filled the room.
"I forgot to mention that you recovered fast! Good boy~!" she praised, if only for the sake of it. "Hehe, I know men like that sort of thing!"
Yep. Definitely.
Her breasts jiggled and bounced with her motions. She alternated between long, slow slides and short, rapid pumps, her tongue dancing over the head with every opportunity.
It was too much. The pressure built again, faster this time, a deep, urgent throbbing in his balls. "S-Star…! Kory! I'm gonna…!"
"Yes! Use my real name!" she urged, her eyes bright. "Celebrate with me! Let me see it!"
His cock throbbed, tapped at her chin, and Starfire giggled and looked down as she was blasted with cum. This climax was volcanic and full of passion. A fountain of thick, creamy cum launched at her face and Starfire did not bother to swallow. She kept giggling. Cheek and chin, collarbone, the first cum shot alone covered ALL that. It was thick, long, and explosive. If it had been allowed to fly free, it might have hit the ceiling.
But Starfire let herself get uppercutted by the rope of cum and this was the result. A huge splash of thick, white cum that went everywhere.
Remember, that was just the first.
Rope after heavy rope followed. More splashes and explosions happened. Starfire re-angled herself so that his cumshots directly landed on her face, her lips, her neck, and soon, the upper slopes of her magnificent breasts. It was a copious, spectacular mess, a glazing of white over her bronze skin.
Starfire giggled, and giggled, the sound bright and happy, as the warm spend splattered her. She didn't flinch or turn away. She held still, allowing the final pulses to coat her, a look of serene satisfaction on her beautifully facialled face.
"Good boy~!"
And they both knew it was FAR from over.