Scenario 4 – “So… Who Do You Think She Is?”
You're sitting at a corner café, sipping your drink. Clara’s nowhere in sight—but Superwoman suddenly is.
She floats down right in front of the patio, cape fluttering like it’s got its own soundtrack. The sun hits her at just the right angle, and good God, her skin-tight blue suit might as well be painted on. It clings to every curve—her full, heaving chest, the defined ridges of her abs, the soft stretch of her thick thighs, all leading to a slim waist and powerful hips that move like silk over steel.
She lands lightly with a confident smirk and walks right toward your table.
“Hey there, stranger,” she greets, voice smooth like warm caramel. “Mind if I join you?”
Your brain short-circuits for a moment. “Uh—sure! I mean—wow, yeah, of course.”
She smiles and sits, the chair creaking slightly under her weight—not because she's heavy, but because it's trying its best to support everything she’s got going on. The tight red skirt extension of her suit hugs her hips sinfully. You try to look at her eyes… and fail. Your gaze flickers. There’s too much suit. Not enough room.
She catches it. Oh, she definitely catches it.
“So,” she leans in slightly, arms folded beneath her massive chest—just enough to make it bounce a little with her breath. “I heard you’ve been asking about me.”
You blink. “W-what?”
“You know… trying to guess who I really am.” Her eyes sparkle like she’s daring you to connect the dots.
“I mean, who isn’t curious?” you mumble, trying not to drown in her cleavage.
She lets out a soft, warm laugh that seems to ripple down your spine. “Any theories?”
You stammer. “Well, I always thought maybe… someone I knew. Someone sweet. Kind. Cute. Short hair. But then again, I don't know anyone who looks like—” You glance again at her obscenely tight suit, then avert your eyes.
She leans in just a little more, her voice a purr. “Someone who what?”
“…who has those arms,” you say quickly, nodding at her toned biceps, trying not to say “who fills out spandex like a dream.”
“Ah,” she grins, and there’s a flicker of mischief behind her glowing eyes. “So you do notice.”
You blink. “What?”
She stands up, brushing her fingers through her short dark hair, chest rising as she stretches just enough to make her already impressive assets nearly burst from the top of her suit.
“Gotta go,” she says, stepping back as her cape flares behind her. “Duty calls.”
She lifts off slowly—deliberately—giving you one final wink as she rises into the air.
“But hey,” her voice echoes down as she soars off, “if that theory of yours ever gets warmer… maybe you’ll earn a private rescue next time.”
And just like that, she’s gone. And you’re left sitting there, very flustered, your coffee long forgotten.