The Dressing Room, the Villainess, and My Heroine Debut

I woke up with a dry mouth and my hair stuck to the pillow. Through the window, a brazen sun poured in without mercy, as if the rain from the night before had never existed. I dragged myself to the wardrobe mirror and stared at myself with disgust. My mascara had run down to my cheekbones, and there were purplish bruises on my arms, marks from thick fingers that had grabbed me far too hard. I was wearing only my sky-blue panties, and calling them sky-blue was being generous: the fabric was still wedged between the cheeks of my ass, and the elastic was worn out.

“Camila! Are you up yet?” my mom shouted from the stairs.

“Yeah, I’m coming down,” I lied, while gathering from the floor the shredded fabric that had once been my improvised costume.

It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon. I’d missed my college classes, and I couldn’t remember what time I’d gotten home. All I knew was that I’d walked until dawn, hiding in the shadows between street corners, feeling dirty rain against my skin and dodging drunks who slapped my ass as they passed. A disaster. No decent heroine starts out like that.

I got into the shower and let the hot water loosen the memories from me. My powers activated without my asking: I felt every drop running on my command, docile, mine. I could move them with my mind, make them swirl in spirals over my belly, guide them between my thighs. I lowered my hand and touched myself. I was wet inside too. I slipped a finger between the lips of my pussy and remembered how my right nipple had hardened when I struggled against the fat man in the alley. I was about to come when I heard my mom knock on the door.

“Camila, the food’s getting cold!”

Goddammit. I turned off the tap, dried myself quickly, and went downstairs to eat. I definitely needed a new costume. And a name, too.

After lunch I grabbed my backpack and went out for a walk. The day was warm, and the city breathed differently from the Saturday night before. A flower stall, a little girl with an ice cream, a slow-moving bus. Before I knew it, I’d ended up inside the downtown mall. I needed an athletic costume, a new top, and above all, an idea.

The mall’s central hall had that ridiculous fountain nobody cared about, its water dancing beneath the skylight. I stood watching it for a second, gauging how much water I had at my disposal, then moved on. Beside the fountain was a sportswear store. I went in. I asked the employee if I could try on two one-piece swimsuits. He pointed toward the dressing rooms.

I shut myself inside the white cubicle and undressed in front of the mirror. The bruises on my arms were still visible. I was going to have to learn to dodge better. The first swimsuit was black with white trim; I put it on quickly, looked at myself, and wasn’t convinced. I took it off and grabbed the second: navy blue, with white stitching and side openings over the ribs. That was the one. I pulled it over my feet, and the problem began around my hips. The fabric was too small, or my body was too much flesh for it. I stretched it toward my shoulders with both hands and felt the bottom dig between my buttocks, the elastic tightening right between the lips of my pussy and splitting it in two.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked terrible for fighting in that thing: my nipples showed through the fabric like two buttons about to pop off. But I also looked amazing. I turned around, squeezed my tits to settle them into place, and felt my breathing quicken. The too-small swimsuit pressed against my clitoris with every movement. And there, in the dressing room, surrounded by the smell of a new fitting room and my own skin, I got an idea—one of the worst. Or one of the best.

I pushed the fabric aside with two fingers and revealed my pussy to the mirror. I was already soaked. I slipped in my index finger first, then my middle finger, up to the knuckle. I pushed slowly and arched over myself. With my other hand, I pulled my left tit out over the elastic: my nipple was exposed, red and swollen. I squeezed it until it hurt, and I liked that it hurt.

“Slut,” I whispered to myself, looking into my own eyes in the mirror.

I began masturbating quickly, shamelessly, pressing my forehead against the cold glass. My breath fogged up the reflection. I imagined the fat man from the alley watching me from outside. I imagined myself flying between rooftops, the wind slipping between my legs. I imagined some random villainess cornering me against a wall and forcing me to come in front of everyone. My fingers splashed inside me, and the wet sound bounced off the walls of the dressing room.

I was seconds from coming when I heard the screams.

***

I didn’t even realize the dressing-room curtain was being yanked open. I only felt a giant hand in my hair, a pull backward, and a cold barrel against my temple. It was a guy wearing a black mask and carrying a short rifle. He looked me up and down, saw my exposed tit and my fingers shining with moisture, and laughed. Then he dragged me stumbling into the corridor. The swimsuit shifted back into place on its own, badly, leaving one cheek of my ass exposed.

In the central hall, people were kneeling around the fountain. Ten masked men, or maybe more, were searching handbags and tossing cell phones into black bags. Walking along the edge of the fountain, swaying her hips as if she were on a runway, was a woman wearing a green latex mask and a gymnastics uniform cut down to the point of indecency. Yellow boots up to her knees, a useless belt, fringe hanging from her sides. Her entire ass was bare. Her nipples showed beneath the Lycra. I’d never seen her on television or online. Another rookie.

“Nobody play hero,” she said in a shrill, hateful voice. “We don’t want to kill anyone. Cooperate, and before you can say ‘Shazam,’ we’ll be gone.”

I remembered the store next door: a costume shop. I slipped inside, grabbed a gold plastic mask with little stars on it, and put it on. Then I returned to the hall. I adjusted my swimsuit as best I could, swallowed my fear, and raised my voice.

“You’re not going to get very far carrying all that, are you?”

Ten heads turned to look at me. One of the masked men pressed his weapon to my forehead, and I heard the safety click.

“Wait!” said the woman in the green uniform. “Bring her here.”

They shoved me to the edge of the fountain. The green villainess circled me, smelled my neck, and touched my hair with a gloved finger.

“And who are you, sweetheart?”

“Someone who stops criminals like you.”

“I like your costume. What’s your name, heroine?”

“I… don’t have a name yet.”

She laughed heartily, throwing her head back. Then she pointed a long, sharp finger at me.

“Well, then you’re nobody. I am somebody. I’m Gorgona. And in five minutes, I’ll remember you only for how good that wet swimsuit looks on you.”

She felt one of my tits through the damp fabric, squeezed it with her fingertips, and laughed again. Silently, I had begun lifting the water from the fountain. Very slowly. A thick stream coiled above our heads, and she didn’t notice. The plan was to dump the entire fountain over them, ruin their weapons, and teach Gorgona a lesson.

“Gorgona, watch out!” shouted a masked man with green hair, pointing upward.

She turned around and leveled her finger at me. I felt my body harden all at once, as if I’d been set in cement. I couldn’t move my arms, my legs, or my mouth. The water I’d lifted fell over the three of us like a bucketful, and I was left dripping, my swimsuit shifted aside, one nipple exposed again, the fabric clinging to my pussy like a second skin.

Gorgona splashed furiously toward me and slapped me across the face hard enough to send me to the floor. I couldn’t close my eyes. I couldn’t cry. She stepped on my hair with her yellow boot and asked one of her men for a weapon. She aimed it at my forehead and smiled.

“Bye, nameless heroine.”

***

I saw the arm that appeared from behind her. A pale, firm arm that crushed the weapon in his hand as if it were a plastic cup.

“Enough. All of you are going straight to the police station.”

The white cape blocked my view. Fuchsia boots. A white star over a fuchsia chest. Extremely long black hair. I recognized her before turning my head: Stellar. The heroine of a thousand covers, invulnerable to bullets, capable of returning the force fired at her.

Gorgona tried to paralyze her. It worked. But the moment she stopped looking at me, I felt my muscles loosen. We realized it at the same time: she could only use her power on one person at a time.

I began moving the water again. Gorgona ran to paralyze me once more. Stellar shot into action. Gorgona alternated between us and couldn’t keep up. In the end, the green-haired masked man grabbed her hand, and with a strange vacuum-like sound, the two of them vanished into the air.

The mall erupted in applause. Cell phones began closing in. Stellar covered me with her cape before they could film the nipple that had slipped out again and whispered in my ear:

“Good work, rookie.”

***

She flew me out of there. Literally. She pressed me against her chest, and I felt the muscle beneath the warm, hard fuchsia suit. We landed on an abandoned rooftop five blocks from the mall. She gently set me against the wall of the water tank and left me standing.

“You’re trembling,” she said. “Let’s get this off you.”

She pulled down the neckline of my swimsuit with both hands, without asking permission, and both tits were left exposed. She smiled as if she found the whole thing amusing. Then she ran her palms over my arms, drying me. Her hands were warm.

“You know you almost came in there?” she said softly, looking me in the eyes. “I saw your fingers when they dragged you out of the dressing room. I’d been in the hall since before Gorgona started her speech.”

I blushed all the way to the nape of my neck. She laughed and licked my earlobe slowly, tracing the path with the tip of her tongue.

“Finish what you started,” she told me. “I’ll help.”

She slipped one hand beneath my wet swimsuit, two fingers making their way into my pussy as if they knew the map. And she kissed me. A brutal kiss, all tongue, biting my lower lip. I grabbed the back of her neck and tore away the elastic holding her hair back. All that black hair fell over me like a curtain.

“Pull my suit down,” she ordered.

I ran my hands over her back and found an invisible zipper beneath the cape. I yanked it open. The fuchsia suit opened to her waist, and I saw her tits: large, round, with dark nipples raised like rivets. I knelt without thinking and took one into my mouth. I sucked it hungrily, pushing at it with my tongue, biting right at the tip. She pressed my head against her chest and moaned.

“That’s it, that’s it, don’t stop, rookie.”

She turned me against the wall of the tank, tore the swimsuit off completely until it was bunched around my ankles, and knelt down. She opened my legs with her shoulders and buried her face between my thighs. Her tongue was quick and precise: she licked my clitoris with the tip, then moved lower, pushed her whole tongue inside me, sucked and slurped. She drove two fingers into me, and with her other hand lifted one of my legs onto her shoulder. I gripped the tank’s rusty metal so I wouldn’t fall. I screamed. I was coming. I was coming like a fucking animal.

“Not yet,” she said, pulling away abruptly, her lips gleaming.

She stood up and pulled down the bottom of her suit. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She sat on the edge of the tank, opened my legs again, and dragged me toward her until our vulvas met. She began moving over me, riding me, rubbing her clitoris against mine, mixing her wetness with mine. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at her: the mask still on, her hair falling across her face, her nipples hard beneath the afternoon light. I grabbed one tit with one hand and squeezed my clitoris between two fingers with the other, matching her rhythm.

“Come,” I told her. “Come on top of me.”

She moved faster. Her whole body began to tremble. So did mine. Our pussies slipped against each other, pressed together, opened. Every thrust drew a moan from both of us. At last I grabbed her by the waist, pulled her down against me, and felt my orgasm rising like a wave. She let out a hoarse cry. We came together, pressed tight, biting each other’s lips.

We stayed like that for a long while, breathing hard, our sweat mixing with the still-warm water from the fountain clinging to our bodies.

“You need a name,” she said as she adjusted her suit.

“I’m thinking of Marea.”

“Marea,” she repeated, savoring it. “I like it.” She ran her tongue along my neck one last time. “The next time Gorgona shows up, I’ll let you know. Come with me.”

She stood, kissed me on the forehead, and leaped into the void. I watched her cut through the air like a fuchsia bullet until she disappeared among the buildings.

I adjusted my swimsuit as best I could and sat on the edge of the rooftop. The sun was beginning to sink. I looked at my hands, which still smelled like her, and smiled.

I still had to learn to move faster. Not to get distracted. Not to come in the middle of a mission.

But at least I had a name now.