[M4F] [First Debut] Every “(State Name) Smash!” Results in Villains Crushed by Tits, Thighs & Ass
“Faster than a cumshot, more powerful than a Hitachi, and able to leap toward the nearest thick cock, it’s SUPERSLUT!” The reporter exclaimed as the click-clack of 3-inch heels attached to knee high crimson and gold boots skittered down the alleyway, their wearer in hot pursuit of the last robber. He turned, brandishing a reloaded handgun and firing several shots at Metropolis’s idol. But today’s foolish felon hadn’t anticipated the strength of the legs clad in thigh high pearl white stockings as she ducked, weaved, then bounded off the alley’s walls like a rubber ball toward him. Propelling herself 6 meters into the air in a final leap, the blonde heroine executed a perfect triple frontal flip as everyone on the block heard her exclaim, “TEXASSSSSSSSSSSSS… SMASHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” before a pair of buttocks clad in a skimpy bright blue thong collided with the villain’s face and pinned his head against the ground.
Yup, Superslut was Metropolis’s loudest screamer when she felt like it.
Congratulating herself on another successful takedown, Superslut grinded her groin against the victim’s(?) face while keeping him pinned down between her taut globes. She ignored his muffled protesting besides smiling when he yelled into her crotch repeatedly for mercy in an increasingly hoarser voice until he fell unconscious. It was only when blaring sirens heralded the arrival of law enforcement that she bounced up with a spring to her step and a new stain on her outfit. After the criminals were cuffed, she was just about to leave when the reporter intercepted her.
“Superslut! Superslut, may we have a quick word? You’ve just completed your 100th takedown, do you have anything to say about this milestone?” He held the microphone to her face, also unable to hold his gaze away from the plunging neckline of her crop top barely containing Metropolis’ second most wanted pair.
The heroine gave the camera a wholesome wink through her simple domino mask while brushing aside the blonde waterfall cascading from her head. “Gosh, 100 already? It seems like yesterday that was I just putting away my first baddie.”
The impromptu interview progressed until the reporter finally asked for a closing statement. She then flashed the camera her biggest smile yet, pulling in her elbows against her chest to make her already pronounced breasts pop out even more as she flashed two peace signs for everyone watching. “Thanks for all the support guys! If you’re following me on Twitter and Instagram, you already know I’ve got my first convention ever this Saturday! Stop by to meet the girl of your dreams! And if you’re one of the lucky few…” She turned around, bending over slightly at the waist before slowly tugging her thick, exposed cheeks upwards before letting them all back down with an enticing jiggle. And to cap it all off, she gave herself a hearty playful slap that caused her apple-bottom to ripple invitingly. “You might even get to have me perform one of my signature moves on you, minus the asphyxiation!” She giggled, turning back around and blowing a kiss to the camera before she jumped and soared into the air, leaving the awestruck duo behind.
“Christ, you wouldn’t believe what these fuckin’ things are going for.” Lance Lang muttered with a much more irritated expression than usual as he held up three tickets to Metropolis’s biggest event.
“It’s her first.” Louis Lane remarked as Claire Kent scuttled into the office, making sure her black blouse’s buttons were affixed properly while sliding into a seat in a plain ankle length skirt. “And it won’t just be her millions of horny fanboys trying to attend. Every news station is going to send over a crew as she’s never held an official press conference before either. And I wouldn’t doubt if representatives of every major modeling agency and fashion brand were there too. Imagine being able to claim that Metropolis’s star shot for them or wore their apparel. Besides, look at this event list…” The Daily Planet’s more hunk than reporter brought up the webpage for Superslut’s itinerary for the weekend. Several events caught the eye immediately:
Autographs with Superslut: I’ll sign one of your things or you can sign one of my cheeks!
A feature length film showcasing my signature takedowns, opponents, and all 37 smashes I’ve used so far in public! Tissues and lube provided!
Official Q&A with my adoring fans! Those with the best questions get to ask it up close and personal!
Every attendant gets a free raffle ticket to participate in a mock battle with yours truly! 5 winners total! 1 additional ticket for every $50 donated to St. Jude’s!
“Well, she picked a good charity at least.” Louis gave Claire a friendly wave as she readjusted the tight bun that she customarily arranged her golden locks into. “Lance, can you bring up the file we have on her?
“Why? It’s not like we have anything new to add. Just her general physique, that she lives in Metropolis and a small repertoire of her signature moves. Nothing that our competition doesn’t know about already.” Lance muttered, pulling up Superslut’s profile and flicking through a photo album of the heroine taking down evildoers. Texas Smash: Superslut sitting on Dickseid’s face. Virginia Smash: Superslut squeezing Ballzarro’s head in between her thighs. Alabama Smash: A clip of Superslut sprinting up to Doomshaft before executing a flawless pirouette and slamming her ass against the side of his head. New York Smash: Superslut kneeling while crushing Lex Lustful’s head between her calf and the back of a thigh. “You’d think a self-proclaimed genius would be smart enough to not find himself in such a compromising situation.” He muttered in a disdainful, yet aroused voice as he stood up to stretch, not even hiding the self-made tent propping up his slacks from his colleagues.
“Dude, can you not?” Louis jerked a thumb in Claire’s direction, the woman’s face flushed upon seeing the outline of Lance’s well, lance. “We all know that you want to fuck her, but can you keep it-”
BAM! Louis and Claire jumped in their seats as Lance lifted his fist off the table, jabbing a frustrated finger at his colleague. “You’re damn right that I want to fuck her! You want to fuck her! Neil Patrick Harris would want to fuck her! FUCK, even Helen fucking Keller could fucking figure out she wanted to fuck her! You know what I want? I want to spread those fat cheeks, bury my nose in between them, lick, kiss, grope, bite, spank them all over before I pound her silly, then bend her ankles behind her head and pound her again! But instead I’m here, getting blue-balled for the thousandth time while having to watch this buttslut prance around to keep my job!”
“And you know what bugs me most of all?” Lance fumed, his hand shaking back and forth, “That how the FUCK has no one figured out who this slut is? I mean, look at her, look at her!” Furiously typing into his laptop, Lance brought up Superslut’s interview today and turned the screen around. “We can see 80, 90 percent of her and yet an entire city can’t match her profile to a citizen. You’re telling me that no-one, not a single person after seeing those tits, thighs and ass can do it? Is the mask really that significant? What about facial recognition technology, like the NSA or fucking Hong Kong man!” The man blustered as Claire nervously adjusted her glasses sporting thick, black rims.
After proclaiming he needed to walk it off, Lance kicked his chair aside and stormed out. Louis watched him leave and shook his head, “Sorry. You know he’s been frustrated ever since Whitney dumped him. But he’s got a point: we don’t have any edge whatsoever. What if she gives a rival outlet an exclusive scoop and we have to pick up the leftovers?” He sighed, taking a kind, considerate tone as he glanced her over. “Claire, you all right? You’ve been flushed ever since you’ve walked in today.” He pressed a palm against her forehead, eliciting a stifled squeal that he completely and utterly failed to notice. “Don’t think it’s a fever, but get some tea for yourself. We don’t need you getting sick before the convention.”
The blushing woman nodded when he removed his palm, “I, um- read someone on Reddit say that she’s got a secret move, a 51st smash. We could ask her about it, this secret move. Maybe she’d speak to us privately if we revealed we knew about it.” Claire murmured in a quivering voice, despite knowing full well that she’d started that rumor anonymously.
Louis’ brow furrowed. “But… there’s only 50 states?”
The blonde nodded, biting down on her bottom lip as she surreptitiously rubbed her thighs together underneath the table before she leaned forward off of her seat toward Louis’s ear. “She doesn’t name it after a state; she calls it the…” Claire Kent paused dramatically before her luscious, plump, pink lips finally formed the words that rolled off her tongue.
“…United States of Smash.”
She returned to the damp spot on her seat, leaving Louis to wonder what overwhelming power resided behind the move named after America itself. Under what circumstances and against whom would she use it? What state would it leave behind the soul unfortunate enough to face it?
But Louis couldn’t be further from the truth: because the United States of Smash wasn’t a move that Claire Kent/Superslut used on someone else, it was a move that she begged others to use on her.
And if she was lucky, she’d find just the perfect pupil(s) at her convention to learn it.
A second tribute to all the eager buttslut writers I’ve admired. Had a lot of leftover ideas/fuel in the tank so I cranked out another!
Posted Nov 8, 2019, 5:49 PM UTC