Accidental Villainy 22 (Patreon)

I took a deep breath after my uninvited guest left, and finally loosened my desperate trembling. 

I had just bluffed a man who was so far above me that it wasn’t even funny. One mistake, and even with Tara’s powers, we were dead. The stress was unimaginable, and the horrible headache that followed my power overcharging didn’t help. 

I wished that I discovered it before. That way, maybe I could have discovered that the warehouse didn’t belong to the Slasher, but he was just the cover for it. 

If I knew that, I would have definitely moved away and chosen to fight Slasher directly. Fighting a minor villain was troubling, but nowhere as troubling as suddenly having the attention of a major one. 

I had no problem believing that they would dig my past … but that, I didn’t fear too much. If there was one good thing about the constant hero and villain battle, it was the constant destruction of government property. No record was entirely complete, and it was too easy to fake information. 

Especially for forces at the scale I had implied to be working. I watched him on the cameras around the street, walking away calmly, accompanied by his bodyguards, but only truly lost my immediate concerns when I saw the other team pulling with him. 

One problem, gone. 

Just hundreds left. 

I sighed as I turned toward the shelf, and pulled my most expensive gin, pouring myself some before mixing it with some tonic. Three pieces of ice, and I had myself a perfect drink to enjoy, which had the added benefit of hiding my expression from Tara. 

I didn’t want her to see my pained wince. 

Overcharging my power was useful, but not free. 

The drink worked against the pain as I drained it quickly, but I didn’t reach for another. As a bartender, I have seen many people from different walks of life ruining their future once they leaned on alcohol to combat stress or pain. 

Two affliction I had been suffering right now. I didn’t want to add alcoholism to the mix to complicate my life even further. 

Luckily, drinking wasn’t the only way to fight against headaches. 

“Lock the door and come here,” I ordered Tara, who was more than happy to stand up — clear even with her outfit — and do so, doing her best to walk rather than run to hide it, and failing spectacularly. 

“Get rid of that annoying outfit,” I ordered, and she did so, happy to get rid of her costume even more than me. Helmet and gloves went first, showing her pretty face. She was calmer than I expected, which surprised me for a moment…

Then it clicked. For Tara, the only challenge in the event was the presence of the bodyguards, which had been removed quickly. She saw no risk in the discussion itself, unaware just how many times we had flirted with annihilation. 

I thought about explaining, but then I decided against it. It would make her more paranoid, but wouldn’t help. Actually, it might even be more problematic if she tried to act on her limited knowledge. No, it was far better to not bother with such concerns. 

Instead of bothering with the past, I focused on the present, watching her as she tried to control her rising excitement as she removed her shirt, her deep breaths doing wonderful things to her bosom … her bosom that was finally clad in a bra that was worthy of their perfection. White, lacy, and just low enough to give a hint of her areolas.

Almost as beautiful as her matching panties, revealed as she kicked off her pants and boots, removing any signs of her drab and boring costume — intentionally so — to reveal her incredible beauty instead. 

She paused for a moment as she leaned against the bar, her pose begging me to run around the bar and take her there. Instead, I gave her an order, sharp and measured. “Come here!” 

The order hit her like a whip, and her body reacted. Her breathing finally got out of control, her pupils dilated, and her nipples got erect enough to threaten her new bra. She tensed, ready to jump over the bar. 

“Walk around, slowly, just like I taught you,” I said, deliberately extending the show. I might have changed my mind about making her a waitress, but there was no harm in her practicing her sexy walk nonetheless. 

After all, it was an important skill for a secretary as well. 

“Y-yes, sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she followed my request, her hips swaying with each step as she pushed forward, earning my attention, struggling to control her rush of arousal, the order working to awaken her submissive tendencies even further.  

Beautiful. 

She walked slowly, almost lingering, her hips moving with a pace that would rival a model — her power helping her to learn faster. I ignored the strategic implications for once as I focused on the erotic dance of her hips, each slow step tempting me to change that order.  

I did not. Not just because constantly giving contradictory orders would develop a habit of second-guessing in her, but also because I didn’t want to ruin the mood. Her approach was like a delicious wine, and hurrying her up would ruin the taste a bit. 

Her arousal needed to climb up a bit more, just like a wine needed to breathe after opening. 

She was trembling with anticipation as she stood in front of me, her hands to the side, making no moves to hide her beauty. I raised my finger, caressing her cheek, and she whimpered. “You did good during the mission,” I said. 

She whimpered again, this time even louder. “T-thank you, sir—” she said, which died halfway by yet another helpless sound as I caressed her neck, her arousal already near the edge, making me wonder whether I could make her cum without touching. 

But, my pants were already raging. “On your knees,” I ordered. 

In her excitement, she hit hard enough to actually crack the floor, her own powers protecting her knees. I thought about warning her, but I decided to let it go for once. 

“Now, the belt,” I ordered, and she reached with her trembling fingers, unbuckling it slowly and carefully, afraid of ripping, showing she also realized her earlier mistake. She was learning to better control her power every day … but I was still happy with my power warning me about the dangers of approaching her from a bad angle or anything else. 

Her lips parted open widely the moment my shaft was revealed, not even waiting for my order as she took half of it into her mouth, her arousal enough to make her commit minor disobedience. 

I didn’t comment on that, letting her enjoy the rewards of her excellent work. Even though she didn’t do anything more than kick an arrogant man out — which was an insult to her powers to actually say that was a challenge — her silent presence was the key to my victory, earning her some leeway. 

As she pushed herself forward, taking more of my length despite her struggle, I wrapped my hands around her hair, but didn’t push, instead enjoying the moment. I was honest with myself to admit that, my pleasure was only partially about her beautiful lips doing their best to milk me and the incredible heat of her lips. 

It wasn’t that they were boring, as they were spectacular, but the mental pleasure I got from the fact that she had the power to destroy me completely yet responded to my orders immediately was equally fun. With everything going on in my life — before opening the bar, and certainly after opening it —  I felt weak, and out of control. 

The ability to order her around finally gave me a sense of control, elevating my pleasure to the next level. And, control, I had, even as she moved back and forth with all her boundless passion, her hair getting as messy as her makeup. 

“Take it all,” I ordered, and she pushed immediately. I grabbed her head, changing the pace as I invaded her throat aggressively, her power not giving her immunity to gagging while I did my best to push for more. 

The reason, is another movement on the cameras. A man wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase. He wasn’t a super, and he wasn’t tense like a man that carrying a bomb, implying that he was carrying the last-minute money I had demanded from my visitor. 

I didn’t want to deal with it while sporting a raging boner, so I quickened my invasion, her gags doing wonders to bring me to an explosion until I painted her throat with my seed. 

Just in time, the courier knocked on the door once before he left the briefcase there and walked away. 

“Just wait here,” I said as I walked, not fearing an ambush or a trap. I trusted what my power told me about the old man and his intentions … if that was wrong, I would have bigger problems than a bomb hidden in a briefcase.

The new life I found myself in was … troubling.