The edge of the city was a good place to fight crime. The rotting docks and sagging piers of the South Metropolis wharves formed a bleak bulwark against the black waters of the bay. A mournful foghorn moaned through distant mist. Then the night fell silent, save for unseen splashings against posts and pilings that creaked and groaned and seemed to sigh.

It was a nasty place at night, with the sure sense that anything could happen. The fog-blurred moon hung low and nearly half full, but with no hint of magic, no romance. Even the shadows seemed sinister, dirty, and rough, with the grit of black sandpaper.

Crouched in those shadows, behind the bulk of a dark warehouse, was a young dark-haired woman. She was not looking for romance, not tonight. Nor was she looking for magic; she had enough of her own. The ace investigative reporter had been working on this story since before her trip to New Mexico to cover the theft and subsequent destruction of the Air Force's experimental particle beam weapon. The entire terrorist organization responsible had been wiped out. Now she had tracked the drug smuggling operation down to this warehouse down by the docks. Now all she had to do was to get the hard evidence, and she could blow the operation wide open in the next edition of the Daily Planet.

This time she was determined to get the headlines. This time she was determined to keep the bylines to herself. After all, it was her story. She wasn't about to share this with anybody.

Especially that wimp Clark Kent. She'd actually invited him to accompany her on her fact-finding mission tonight, knowing full well that he would come up with some lame excuse not to accompany her. He always did. Well, he could work on whatever story he wanted to, safe and sound at his desk within the Planet newsroom. She was doing what any good investigative journalist did, getting out into the field and digging up the real story.

According to her sources, two undercover narcotics agents had already disappeared while trying to infiltrate this operation. Now it was her turn to go in. And she wasn't going to disappear.

The warehouse looked abandoned, but she knew it wasn't. It was a simple matter to get inside. A cat burglar had taught her the rudiments of lock picking years ago when he'd reformed and become one of her main informants. The skill had come in handy many times before. And unlike law enforcement authorities, she didn't need a search warrant. Just one of the myriad advantages of being with the press.

She could have just broken down the door, but she wanted to be a little more subtle, leave things intact for as long as possible. And the lock on the back door proved to be ridiculously simple. Of course having X-ray vision helped, the inside of the lock fully exposed to her extraordinary eyesight.

Opening the door and stepping inside, she found herself in a small, bare office. The only piece of furniture was an old wooden desk. There wasn't even a chair to go with the desk. Nor was there any need to go through the desk drawers, for her X-ray vision quickly showed it to be empty.

There was a door leading further into the warehouse. Through there was where her story would be. Through there was where the action would be. Taking off her raincoat and dropping it on top of the desk, she smoothed out her smartly tailored pinstripe business suit, checked to make sure the short skirt hung properly, and then crossed the office, opened the door, and briskly stepped through.

Two men caught her as she came through the door, each man taking hold of one of her arms. Both were big burly men, dressed in work shirts and jeans. She could have easily broken free of them, but she hadn't found what she'd come for yet. Hoping that the men were going to take her where she wanted to go anyway, she merely pretended to struggle as they tightened their hold on her arms and forced her forward into the room. The room was filled with rows of wooden packing crates. Taking her halfway down an aisle, they roughly shoved her down atop one of the crates.

"What the...?" she began, trying to stand up. Or rather, pretending to be trying, allowing a rough hand on her shoulder to keep her down.

"Quiet!" One of the men slapped her, hard. She turned her head with the impact, not wanting him to break his hand against her cheek and prematurely end the masquerade and break her cover.

Two more men joined them. One was a short, slim man, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. His Italian leather shoes probably cost more than a month of her reporter's salary. Gold and diamonds glittered on the fingers of each hand and on one earlobe.

The other man was obviously a bodyguard, his suit not fitting nearly so well on his large frame. A frame that looked to be all muscle. Not that it was going to make any difference to her; she knew that she had far more strength in her little finger than any man, no matter how big and strong, had in his entire body. As she'd proven time after time.

"Who's this?" the short man in the good suit asked, drawing her attention back to him.

"We caught her snooping around," the man who'd slapped her replied. Fortunately for both of them, he hadn't slapped her hard enough to hurt his hand. Her cover was still intact, as was his hand.

The short man leaned in, studying her face.

She could smell cigarettes on his breath. She thought she recognized the brand.

"You a cop?" he asked.

She didn't answer. Out of boredom more than curiosity, she peeked into his pocket to determine the brand of cigarettes he favored. Her X-ray vision confirmed her acute sense of smell.

"You a cop?" he asked again.

"No," she answered. "I... I'm looking for my boyfriend. He's supposed to be waiting for me." She looked around furtively, pretending to be scared. She located the cigarette lighter in the little man's pants pocket. It was gold, monogrammed with his initials.

He looked at the two workers. "Either of you supposed to be waiting for her?"

The other worker looked down at her with a leer. He spoke for the first time. "Been waitin' for 'er all my life."

She glanced over at him. She could bet he'd been waiting for all his life. With his bad complexion and broken teeth, most women would have run screaming from him.

The remark caught a chuckle from Slapper, even as he moved behind her to hold her down by the shoulders. Even the bodyguard looked a little amused.

The little man, however, was not amused. He leaned into her face again. "Who knows you're here?" he asked.

"I told you. I'm looking for my boyfriend. He was supposed to meet me here." She glanced at each of the four men in turn, as if she was now beyond merely frightened.

"What's his name?" the little man demanded.

She produced a name out of thin air, the first name of one college boyfriend and the last name of another. "You seen him around?" she added. She hadn't seen either of them for years.

"Ain't nobody here by that name," Zitface said. What a surprise.

"Hold her here," the little man commanded. "Find something to tie her up."

As Slapper continued to hold her down, Zitface crossed the aisle to a forklift and returned with several lengths of steel chain, visibly sagging under the weight.

She had to suppress a laugh. She also had to do a good job of pretending to struggle, being careful not to break free of Slapper's grip as Zitface wrapped the chains around her body several times. She also had to pretend to sag under the weight, though the weight was negligible to her --- they may as well have been laying a silk scarf around her shoulders. Silk scarves, duct tape, ropes, steel chains, it wasn't going to make any difference to her in the end.

"What do we have left?" the little man asked as the men finished tying her up.

"We got two more crates left," Slapper answered.

"Okay. Finish bringing 'em in, then take her out and put her on the ship. You know the drill. When we go out in the morning, we can drop her in the drink."

That was as good as a confession. At least she now knew what had happened to the two missing agents. And they intended for her to be next in line to receive the same treatment.

That was so not going to happen.

Over the years, much better thugs have tried to make her disappear. The only things to disappear have been the thugs, disappearing into jail.

She had seen and heard enough to put these goons away and shut down this operation. Now it was time for her other self to take action, direct action. It might be too late for her to help the two missing agents, but she could still make sure that their sacrifices had not been in vain. Chains clanked as she quickly rose to her feet and pulled her arms sharply forward in a gesture that was not much more than a shrug of her shoulders.

The links clinked and groaned as the chain stretched. But she was making no particular effort to remove the chains. There was no point to it; mere steel wasn't going to confine her strength. Bringing her hands up and grabbing the lapels of her own tailored blue suit instead, she quickly pulled her arms apart. The shriek of breaking metal was drowned out by the ripping of cloth. Ripping off her suit --- this was far from the first time she'd ruined a set of clothes on the job and, to tell the truth, she actually enjoyed doing it this way --- and letting the remains of the chain fall to the floor at her feet, the tatters of her outer clothes fluttering down somewhat slower, she now stood exposed in a familiar blue-and-red outfit.

None of the men had reacted quickly enough to even attempt to keep her from standing up, not that they could have kept her down even had they tried. In fact, all four of them seemed to be frozen in shock, staring at the big red S now fully exposed on her generous chest.

"Okay boys, now it's my turn," Superwoman said, putting her hands on her hips after brushing off the last of her outer clothes and smiling at each man in turn.

Slapper, the larger of the two workers, unfroze enough to rush her.

There's always one in every crowd, she thought to herself as she watched the man's clumsy charge, seeming to move in slow motion. Some man who thinks that just because I'm a woman and he's a man, he can overpower me with just his muscles. Some man with muscles between his ears.

Some man who thinks that the big red S on my chest stands for "stupid," or "sex."

Sidestepping him with the grace of a ballerina and the speed of a striking rattlesnake, she took a hand from hip just long enough to give Slapper a gentle push in the back as he careened past her. The little push more than tripled his speed, causing him to leave his feet and fly across the room. He came down more than twenty feet away on a stack of packing crates, the wood splintering under his weight.

Putting her hand back on her hip, she turned to see that the bodyguard had drawn a gun, a snub-barreled revolver. It was pointed in her general direction.

Superwoman had to resist the urge to laugh. Still, she couldn't help but smile. "Go ahead," she told him, remaining where she stood. "Try it. I dare you."

The man looked unsure, looking down at her, then down at the gun in his hand, and then back up at her.

Apparently he wasn't accustomed to shooting beautiful young women. At least not with that "gun." Keeping her hands on her hips and thrusting out her chest, she took a step toward him.

That apparently decided things for him, for he steadied the gun at her chest and squeezed the trigger.

Time slowed for Superwoman as the bullet came out of the smoke and flame at the end of the stub barrel. She stood still and watched as the bullet came unerringly toward her. She continued to watch as the bullet struck her left breast about two inches above and an inch to the outside of the nipple. It dimpled the soft flesh about two inches before meeting the harder underlying pectoral muscles. Then it was the bullet's turn to give, the steel-jacketed lead slug flattening slightly before her resilient flesh popped it out. It flew about ten or twelve feet before falling to the floor.

The impact had caused a delightful tingling sensation. Fighting the urge to add to it, she kept her hands firmly on her hips. "Just one?" she asked. "You don't have any more?"

Fortunately for her, he did. He squeezed the trigger as fast as he could.

The recoil caused the gun to jump around in his two-handed grip. She had to move around slightly in order to take every bullet on her chest, keeping every impact within about three inches of her nipples. At the same time, she was careful to make sure the ricochets went to the sides; while the bullets didn't even tickler her, the ricochets off her softest flesh still had more than enough force to cause the men some damage if they were to hit.

Finally the hammer clicked on an empty cylinder. "Ah, is that all?" she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. Taking a couple of steps toward the frozen man, she reached out and closed her hand the hot barrel. A flick of her wrist pulled the gun out of his two-handed grip. She quickly mashed up the hardened gunmetal in her hands like a snowball before tossing it away over her shoulder. It slammed into a wooden crate like a cannonball, shattering it to splinters.

"Too bad you don't have any more," she told him, reaching out and taking hold of his arm. Another flick of her wrist sent him flying over her shoulder and across the room, landing atop the first man.

"What about you?" she asked, turning to the two remaining men. "You boys have toys, too?"

Zitface, the other warehouse worker, was backing away from her, his loyalty apparently having reached the limit of what he was being paid. At her words, he froze, stopping in place.

Her words had a completely different effect on the little man, who spun and took to his heels.

"Don't go anywhere," she told the remaining worker. Her arm flashed out as she took a step toward him, and the tip of her index finger struck the point of his chin with several times the force of a heavyweight boxer's best knockout punch. He flew across the aisle and came down atop another packing crate. This crate didn't collapse under his weight. Still, he would be obeying her command and not going anywhere for a while.

That left just the cowardly runner, the erstwhile leader of this little bunch. He'd almost made it to the end of the row of crates. As fast as he was running, she was faster. Easily catching up to him before he could take two more strides, she brought her hand down on his shoulder and stopped.

The little man didn't stop quite so quickly. His feet went out from under him as they kept going and she held his shoulder stationary, with not quite enough force to actually break any bones. A twist of her wrist then turned him around to face her.

With his feet dangling above the floor, he was trying to reach a hand into a pocket of his suit. Her X-ray vision quickly found what he was reaching for. Still holding him up with one hand, she reached in with the other and pulled out the small automatic before he could get to it. With one hand holding her captive, she couldn't easily mash it up like a snowball as she had done with the first one. Instead, she pulled the weapon into her stomach and up against the underside of her breasts.

Her ample breasts couldn't completely muffle the tortured squeal of the hard metal as it bent against her far harder flesh. Nor could it muffle the sound of the bullets cooking off under the immense pressure and heat.

The little explosions washed over the underside of her breasts. The warmth spread over the entire front of her body. She closed her eyes and let out a low moan.

The little man didn't moan. He cried out in pain, making her open her eyes. She obviously hadn't contained all of the blasts, for there were several small scorch marks on the front of his tailored suit. No blood was visible, but she suspected that he'd shortly have some bruises. She pulled her hand away from her stomach and let the fragments of the gun fall to the floor at her feet.

Now that flight was no longer an option, he'd apparently decided to put up a fight. Drawing back a leg, he brought his foot up in what he probably thought was a powerful kick. The force behind it was laughable. The aim was a different matter, though she did help him out by lifting him just a bit higher. The pointed shoe came up between her legs, lifted her short skirt, and struck her softest spot.

He yelled in pain as his big toe broke, the expensive Italian leather unable to protect his toe from the most delicate and intimate portion of Superwoman's anatomy.

"Oh, did that hurt?" she asked sweetly, showing no indignity at his attempted assault of her most private parts. "You want me to kiss it and make it better?" Without waiting for an answer, she pulled him swiftly down and toward her.

Not that she had any intention of really kissing him. Before their lips could meet, his chest struck her large full breasts. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and he lost consciousness. Now he would definitely have bruises on his chest.

Carrying him across the room, she dropped his limp body atop that of his underling. Dusting off her hands, she glanced around. The entire building dissolved into a wireframe drawing as she looked for more people. Somewhat to her disappointment, there were none.

The fight had been short, much too short. But then, there had been only four of them. Gathering up the other unconscious men, she tucked them under her arms as if they were nothing more than a couple of sacks of groceries. Carrying all four men to a side door, she kicked it open, barely noticing that it had been chained and padlocked on the other side. Stepping outside onto the loading dock, Superwoman was just gathering her legs under her, preparing to leap up into the sky when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Lois? Are you all right?"

"Huh?" She raised her head from her crossed arms and opened her eyes, blinking several times as she focused on the Daily Planet newsroom. Since it was a Sunday, the place was almost calm. She wouldn't have been here at all had it not been for the incident down at the docks last night.

"Are you all right, Lois?" Clark Kent repeated.

"Of course I am!" Lois Lane snapped, turning her head around to look up into his face, genuine concern showing in his eyes through his glasses. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Did Superman get to you in time? Did those smugglers hurt you?"

"Yes, no, and I'm all right!" she snapped again.

Her movements had jogged the mouse on its pad. The screensaver dissolved and there before her in phosphor dots was the story on the smuggling operation she'd written and filed. Superman had burst in, apprehended the smugglers, and led the police to the site. She had been there, seen it all.

In fact, she had been inside the warehouse. The smugglers had caught her and tied her up for disposal in the morning. She might not be alive now had it not been for Superman's timely arrival.

That was a detail she had deliberately omitted from her article.

Kent's eyes had followed her gaze to the screen. "I caught up with Superman this morning," he said. "He hoped he'd been in time, but was afraid the smugglers might have roughed you up a little."

"I'm fine," Lois replied. She was not about to admit to anybody --- especially to Kent --- how scared she'd been. Where had he been, anyway, while she was digging into the story? Going into that warehouse alone? It was so typical of Kent to make himself scarce just as soon as things got rough. And then, to add insult to injury, Kent had gotten the interview with Superman after the Man of Steel had freed her and then...

... disappeared.

"Well, I got his view of the story," Kent continued. "Perry's going to run it this evening as a sidebar to your piece."

Disappeared only to grant an exclusive interview to Clark Kent. And she'd thought Superman'd had a bit of a thing going for her. Instead, he drops her off with the police and spills the story to Kent.

Oh, great, she thought. So she got the byline, so what? Who would care about her part in the story now? People weren't going to remember that it was Lois Lane who had exposed the smuggling operation. They were only going to remember that Superman had burst in and broken up the operation, apprehending the smugglers.

"You know I care about you," Kent was saying. "You know I don't like you doing things like that. Someday, Superman might not be there for you."

"Don't patronize me!" she snapped. "I can take care of myself!"

"I'm not saying you can't, Lois. I just worry about you, that's all."

"Well, don't!" She turned off her computer with more emphasis than was strictly necessary. She then pushed her chair back from her desk.

As Kent tried to back away form her, he tripped over one of her chair's casters. Stumbling, he tried to catch himself on the desk next to Lois's. His hand dislodged a coffee mug, spilling pens and pencils to the carpet.

Picking her purse up from her desk, Lois stepped around Kent and headed for the door as he bent down to pick them up.

"Lois! Wait," he called out to her from the floor.

She continued walking, not slackening her pace.

"You've had a rough night, Lois. Let me at least take you out for lunch," he offered, getting up and running to catch up with her.

Under other circumstances she might have accepted. For all his patronizing attitude and rustic country way, he wasn't all a bad sort. Today, however, spending more time with Kent was the last thing she needed. "I'm going home," she snapped over her shoulder, knowing with whom she was having lunch today. "I have a cat to feed," she added, before hurrying to the elevator and pushing the call button. This time of day she didn't have to wait long before the doors whooshed open. She stepped in and immediately turned around, pointedly preventing him from joining her.

"Lois..." he began even as she punched the button for the lobby.

He had started to reach toward her. Now he had to pull his hand back to keep it from being trapped by the door.

Lois rode down to the lobby in silence, thankful that the powers that be had seen fit not to provide the normal elevator music in the Planet's elevators.

It was still drizzling outside. Fortunately, a cab stopped directly in front of the door. As one of the sports columnists emerged, Lois ran out and flagged the cab before the cabby could drive off. Getting inside, she closed the door and gave him the address of her apartment building.

The cab started moving just as Kent came out of the building, still struggling to get into his raincoat. Only after the cab had rounded the corner onto Jefferson did she let out a sigh and relaxed, slumping into her seat.

Why couldn't she be the one with the amazing Kryptonian powers? Why couldn't she be the one to stop evildoers and rescue innocents?

The place never closes down. Not for weekends, not for holidays. There's always at least a skeleton crew on hand, and we all rotate through the duty. Ambrosia Amazons and Superior Girls as well as the men.

It was no different when I walked in this Sunday shortly before noon. None of the amazons were on duty today, though of course they're always on call if something pops up that requires our special brand of female muscle. We can't always plan for those things in advance, though we do try our best.

I was still feeling the afterglow of a delightful night with Trevor. I'd made the most of his ambrosia-embued body and, when he'd finally fallen into exhausted slumber, held him in my arms while dozing a little myself. When the ambrosia wore off, I'd roused, kissed him tenderly on the forehead, dressed, and left his hotel room.

Wanting to put off just a little longer the prospect of facing the paperwork that must have accumulated on my desk during my absence, I strolled around the office. The sound of metal clanking against metal drew me to the gym.

Somewhat to my surprise, Kyle MacGregor was in there pumping iron. I stood in the door to the otherwise deserted weight room, watching him work out, doing bench presses on a weight machine.

Even I have to admit, the guy is a major hunk. Tony and Kurt aren't bad specimens of the male of the species, but this guy, the way muscles rippled on his bare chest, biceps and triceps flexing...

It was enough to set any girl's mind wandering. Or wondering, as the case may be. Not for the first time, I wondered what it would feel like to have his big hands on my body, caressing and fondling, and then, with a drop of my golden ambrosia in him, to have him in me.

I shook my head to banish the thoughts. The hunk was already spoken for and as delicious as he looked, I needed his girlfriend in the office more than I needed another hunk in my bedroom. The first woman to receive my ambrosia, Caroline Hunter is physically the smallest and weakest of the amazons, though still far stronger than any ordinary man. But it's not her muscles that make her invaluable to me. Without her running the office, I know the place would just fall apart.

As Kyle finished his set and reached for a towel, he saw me standing in the doorway. "Jessie?" he said, wrapping the towel around his broad shoulders. It did almost nothing to cover that gorgeous bod of his. And that's without using my X-ray vision. "I didn't know you were back."

"Got back yesterday." I took a step inside.

He flinched and took half a step back.

"Relax, Kyle." I stopped in place and held up a hand. "I'm not going to rape you."

He smiled and visibly relaxed. A little. I had come awfully close to raping him that one time.

"I'm surprised to see you here," I said, taking a cautious step forward. "You're not on weekend duty. I thought you'd be with Caroline."

He grinned sheepishly but didn't move away. "I... I needed the rest."

"So you came here to work out?" I grinned back at him. Or maybe it was a leer. I have some idea of how hard a man has to work when he's with an amazon, even when she gives him a drop of her ambrosia. Compared to that, pumping iron would be relaxing.

Kyle waved an arm around the weight room. "Well, we've got better gear here than at the condo health club."

He should know; we'd followed his suggestions when we refurbished the place.

He then shrugged his broad shoulders. "Of course, some of it's too much for me, but..."

He knew that well too. Much of the equipment had been customized to challenge the ambrosia-fueled strength of the amazons, limits measured in tons instead of pounds, far beyond the capabilities of an Olympic powerlifter. Even with Caroline's ambrosia in him, Kyle wouldn't be able to handle them. And I was sure Caroline and Kyle had much better uses for her ambrosia and the strength it would lend to his muscles, using it for something other than merely pumping iron.

"Well, enjoy your rest." After a final lingering look at his bulging muscles, I turned and left the gym, finally making my way to my office. Sitting down behind my desk, I booted up the computer and turned to my IN basket.

There wasn't much waiting for me there. Caroline had taken care of all the routine stuff, as she always does, and with her usual efficiency. No emergencies had cropped up while I was in New Mexico, and nothing requiring my personal attention was urgent. Still, I have to do some work, or Caroline would finally decide that she really didn't need me around at all.

Some of what was there concerned the upcoming biochemistry conference in Metropolis. Caroline had already submitted the paperwork for my attendance, and the confirmation letter was there, along with a sheaf of abstracts of papers to be presented. I set that aside to take home with me and turned my attention to the other stuff.

It took me the better part of an hour. I guess that's another indication of how much work Caroline really does around here --- the boss can be gone for much of a week and there's only an hour's worth of work for her to do when she does get back.

Most of it really was routine. Duty rosters, mostly. Which security details were assigned to which operations, stuff like that. And vacation schedules. Caroline had set it all up, and I merely rubber-stamped everything, figuratively.

After finishing up the paperwork, I returned to the now silent gym. Well, almost silent. I could hear the sound of a shower running in the locker room. The men's locker room.

I couldn't resist taking a peek with my X-ray vision. And sure enough, it was Kyle, washing away the sweat of his labor. But I was a good girl. I didn't look too closely, nor for too long. I headed for the other locker room and a quick change of clothes.

The weight room was still empty when I emerged.

Of course, the machines had originally been designed to exercise the muscles of strong men. Even with our customizations to accommodate the amazons they still posed no challenge to the muscles of a superior girl.

I decided to start out slow, on one of the uncustomized machines.

Picking out a leg machine, I set the weight to the maximum and then lay down on the bench. I didn't even bother to take off my shoes before putting my foot against the bar and giving it a little nudge. The weights came up as if they were made of air.

Pulling my leg back, the weights came down with a loud CLANG, shaking the bench.

"That's not how you're supposed to do it."

I turned my head to see who'd come in. "Oh, hi again, Kyle." His T-shirt did little to hide his fabulous upper body, and his jeans didn't do much more to cover the lower half.

He shook his head, hair still damp from the shower, in mock disapproval. "That is not how you're supposed to do it," he repeated.

"Oh, really?" I sat up and then bent forward, unable to resist teasing him a little. "How 'bout like this?" Reaching forward with my right hand, I extended my little finger and placed it on the bar.

The weight came up smoothly as I pushed with just my finger. "Is that any better?" I asked, turning my head and smiling up at him.

Kyle just turned and started to walk away, shaking his head and mumbling something about women not knowing how to work with weights.

I don't know if he'd intended for me to hear the comment, but a superior girl could hear the beating of his heart from across the room. I lay back and laughed.

Hearing me, he stopped at the door and turned around. At first he just looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Then he smiled. Then he started to laugh.

You know what they say about laughter; it's contagious. The more he laughed, the harder I laughed. The more I laughed, the harder he laughed. It was a vicious feedback cycle.

Kyle left the door and came staggering back toward me, weaving on legs unsteady with laughter. I reached out and caught him just as he fell, softening my body as much as possible in order to give him a softer landing zone. Then, before he could bounce off or roll off me onto the floor, I managed to get my other arm around him to hold him in place.

I was laughing too hard to really enjoy the feel of his big muscular body on top of mine. In fact I was laughing so hard that my entire body shook, and shook Kyle's much bigger body with it. Wrapping his arms around both me and the bench, he was also laughing as he lay on top of me, his head turned to one side so that his cheek rested on my left breast.

"Here," I said through my laughter, rolling him over so that he was on his back. "You show me how to do it." Wrapping both arms gently around his waist, I used my feet to guide one of his feet to the bar.

He gave it a try, but he was still laughing too hard to be able to put much of his strength into it. Not that he could have done it anyway, with the weight maxed out. He may as well have been pushing against a brick wall. The bar didn't move a single inch. All that happened was that he ended up pushing his back harder against my chest, my breasts flattening ever so slightly under his shoulder blades.

"C'mon, Kyle, do it," I said, scooting myself a little closer to the bar. My breasts flattened a little more until there was no more give in them. Something else had to give, and it was Kyle's thick muscular legs. His knees rose up as his legs were bent over nearly double. Not enough to cause him any pain, for he was still laughing. "Here, let me help," I said, freeing a leg and putting my foot on the bar again.

I too was laughing too hard to be able to exert myself fully. But then, I didn't need to. The bar began to move, and with it the weights.

Somehow, Kyle must have thought that was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. I don't know why, by now he should be used to the sight of young women easily handling weights he couldn't even hope to budge. He just laughed even harder, throwing his head back against my chin, his still damp hair tickling my nose.

That was too much for me. Still laughing, I started to slide over the side of the bench. I fell to the floor with a thump. Kyle landed on top of me with another thump, his back still against my front.

"What's going on here?"

My laughter died as I turned my head and saw my admin standing in the doorway. Caroline was Kyle's boyfriend, and she'd once caught me all but raping him. I started to push Kyle's body off of me. At least our clothes, what little we were wearing, were still on us.

Kyle was still laughing too hard to stand on his own. Holding onto the bench for support, he lifted himself off of me, making it up to his knees. "Oh, hi, Caroline," he said through his laughter. "I was just showing Jessie here the right way to use this machine."

"Yeah, right," I managed, before another fit of laughter hit me. I then rolled away as Caroline came toward us.

I stood up in time to see Caroline reach out with one hand and lift Kyle the rest of the way up to his feet. She then reached down with her other hand and grasped the bar.

Caroline's the first of my Ambrosia Amazons and the weakest. Still, the petite redhead's slender arm had no trouble lifting a weight that Kyle couldn't have budged on his best day with both legs.

Seeing his girfriend's casual demonstration of her strength merely set Kyle off again.

"What is so funny?" Caroline demanded of us, releasing the bar and letting the weights clang down.

"Women," Kyle paused in his laughing just long enough to mutter, shaking his head.

I started edging toward the door, perfectly happy to let the two of them work it out on their own.

"Oh, Jessie!"

Caroline's voice froze me in my tracks. I turned around.

"Mr. Luthor just called. He wants you to call him back when you have a chance."

Leave it to Caroline to check her messages even on her day off. And what she relayed to me sobered me up completely. When my boss says "when you have a chance," he usually means, "before you hear this." I headed straight back for my office without bothering to change clothes. It wasn't as if I had worked up a sweat, after all.

Even though it was Sunday, his admin picked up when I punched in Lex Luthor's private number on speed dial, and she put me though immediately.

"How was New Mexico?" Lex Luthor isn't big on small talk when there's work to be done.

"Pretty quiet so far." I started to fill him in on what had happened, but he cut me off.

"Can you stop by on you way home today? There's something else I would like to discuss with you."

"Sure. I'm finished here. I can be there in a couple of minutes."

"Fine. I'll see you then." He hung up.

I put down the phone and walked back to the gym, wondering what he wanted to see me about. Granted, it could just be something he didn't want to discuss over the phone, despite the scramblers. Still, I wondered about it as I went back to the locker room, changed into my flying clothes, walked out the back door, and took to the air.

It doesn't matter how often I do it, this is still my favorite mode of travel. High above the street, free of the traffic. Not that there was a whole lot of traffic on a Sunday afternoon, but a city the size of Metropolis never shuts down completely.

Not that I could loiter. I still had to make sure I was going fast enough to be safe from casual observation from the ground. Even then, without going anywhere near my top speed, it was still less than thirty seconds before I was making my steep descent toward the penthouse office atop the LuthorCorp Tower.

Not long enough for me to figure out why my boss would want to see me on a Sunday afternoon.

Somewhat to my surprise, Lex Luthor was there in person to meet me instead of having sent some underling, opening the door and holding it for me. He followed me inside and then led the way to his private office. He gestured for me to take a seat, and then gestured toward the decanter of brandy on the sideboard.

He knows alcohol doesn't affect me, and it wasn't as if he was going to try to seduce me. I nodded. He poured a couple of inches into a crystal snifter and handed it to me. He then poured himself a little and then took his seat behind his desk.

Just because alcohol doesn't affect me doesn't mean I can't enjoy the aroma and the taste. And my boss does have superb tastes when it comes to the luxuries in life. Not that I could really tell a good brandy from a poor one, but anything that my boss indulged in was bound to be nothing but the best. I swirled the brandy around in my snifter and sniffed the bouquet before taking my first sip.

My boss took a sip from his snifter. Then he peered at me over the rim. "You know I have a shipment coming in tonight."

I nodded. It's part of my job to know these things, and I'd refreshed my memory by going over the schedule. There was a shipment of electronic components scheduled to arrive by boat this evening. Expensive stuff, but nothing illegal as far as I knew. Though when those components were assembled in a particular way...

I'd overseen the security arrangements for the shipment. In my absence Caroline had assigned the security detail for the reception here in Metropolis. Nothing out of the ordinary, and I had approved the detail, along with everything else she'd done while I'd been away. Not that there was much time to change anything even if I'd wanted to.

"I assume you heard about that incident last night at the docks?"

"Superman and the dope smugglers? I heard a little something on the radio," I admitted. "I figure all the details'll be in the evening edition of the Planet." I took another sip of the brandy, getting a feel for where this conversation was headed.

"No doubt," he agreed. It wasn't general knowledge, but we knew why the Daily Planet always had the scoop on Superman and his activities. "I realize you've just come back from New Mexico, but I think perhaps we'd better make sure there's no follow-up incident here."

"No rest for the wicked," I sighed. "But then, that's what you pay me the big bucks for."

"And speaking of wicked," he said, swirling the brandy in his snifter. "I'd like for this operation to be kept quiet. If he shows up that's one thing, but I don't want you going out of your way to look for him."

I set down my snifter and stood up. I gave my head a quick toss, making my hair whip about my face in a wild spray of gold. "You know I wouldn't do that." Thrusting out my chest, I put my hands on my hips.

It was my most intimidating pose. Men have been known to have their knees turn to jelly, unable to take their eyes off the big red S displayed so prominently on my generous chest. Not that they're in any state to read even that single letter.

Usually right before I pound the rest of the guy to jelly for real.

Though if I'm feeling playful --- or generous --- I'll let the guy feel up my chest a little. And if I'm feeling really playful, I'll even let him have a taste of me. When I do that, he's mine. All mine, body and mind.

Not that such a man ever has much in the way of a mind, but after one taste of my body's magic, the only thing in that mind was the desire to please my female body as much as he could with all the feeble strength in his pathetic male body.

All this posturing was wasted on Luthor, of course. Not that he's gay or anything like that. At least I didn't think he is, even though he'd never made anything resembling a play for me, judging by the women he always seems to have on his arm at social occasions. Or maybe it's just his money and power. After all, they do say that money and power are two of the most powerful aphrodisiacs known.

Anyway, I was just acting and he knew it. We both knew exactly where we stood with each other. If he was alarmed at all by my words or actions, he didn't show it. He simply gazed calmly at me over the rim of his snifter without saying anything, the barest hint of amusement in his eyes.

The silence stretched on. My boss may not have any superhuman powers, but he does this as well as anyone I know. It was enough to make me wonder whether he knew exactly how I usually kept Superman "occupied" whenever he tried to disrupt any of our operations.

Not that he'd ever had any choice in the matter. The Man of Steel, I mean. For all his vaunted Kryptonian powers, he just is no match for the girl who'd taken all of his cousin's powers, and then some.

A true Superior Girl.

One who had only one use for a super man.

Of course, being a superior girl only goes so far. I mean, I've got the strongest muscles on the face of the planet, and my nerves are better than most. But Lex Luthor's been doing this kind of stuff a lot longer than I have. Longer than I'd been on the face of the planet, in fact. In his world, a lot of things boil down to a matter of staring at each other and seeing who blinks first.

And in this case I blinked first, figuratively speaking. "Okay, I'll be a good little girl," I said, remaining standing. I shrugged my shoulders, reached up to brush the hair back out of my face and smooth it down, then crossed my arms across my stomach, under my breasts.

"You're neither good nor little," he said with a hint of a smile. I wasn't sure, but I think I saw his gaze drop momentarily from my face to something that wasn't so little.

"Well, there is that," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders again and allowing my smile to match his.

"And since you're not so little, you don't have to keep standing," he said, his smile widening a little more. "It's giving me a pain in the neck." He gave one shoulder a little half-shrug.

"Okay." I gathered my cape behind me and sat back down, not quite sure of what to make of this unusual banter.

"Just to be on the safe side, you understand." He continued to look at me over the rim of his snifter.

"Of course," I repeated, smoothing out my short red skirt.

"And, as you've just mentioned," he said, his smile widening even further, "I am paying you the big bucks to safeguard my operations, not to draw unnecessary attention to them."

"Of course," I said yet again, picking up my snifter and taking another sip.

"I normally wouldn't worry about it, but since you happen to be back in town, and after that incident last night..."

"And since you're paying me the big bucks..." I took another sip.

"That too, my dear. Just to be on the safe side."

"Okay, I'll be there. And I promise to behave myself."

"Good. With you there I know I have nothing to worry about." He got up and walked over to the sideboard, picking up the decanter and refilling our snifters. "And now, how was your stay in New Mexico?"

I gave him my take on things. The few comments he made and the questions he asked told me that he'd been getting daily reports from Bergman and Sullivan. Which was only to be expected, of course. A good boss always knows what his people are doing.

I told him I was planning to fly back out there first thing Monday morning. I also made sure to tell him how impressed I'd been with the cousins Dusty and Sandy, who taken me in under their wing, so to speak.

After that he started to tell me just what he needed the electronic components for. After about a minute, I held up a hand in surrender.

"You're getting way over my head. You don't pay me the big bucks to understand why you need the stuff. The fact that you need it is good enough for me."

"Of course, my dear. Anything else? More brandy?"

As I accepted the refill, I decided this was a good time to broach the subject of adding to the ranks of my Ambrosia Amazons. I'd already mentioned the cousins while recounting my experiences on the ranch, but now I told him I thought Dusty and Sandy were suitable candidates. How they were already working on the ranch's security details, taking their places alongside their male colleagues. And how they weren't afraid to get their hands dirty, so to speak, not afraid to get right into the thick of the action when needed.

"Have you spoken to them about it?" he asked when I'd finished.

"Not yet," I admitted with a quick shake of my head. "I was planning to do that when I go back out there this week. After observing them a little more," I added.

"Then I will leave that decision in your capable hands. They are your personnel, after all," he said, ending that discussion. Like any good boss, when he puts a trusted person in a position of authority and responsibility, he trusts that person to make the right decisions. He's always in charge and he knows what's going on, but he doesn't micromanage. Of course, should that person ever make the wrong decision...

Okay, if that person made what he or she believed was the right decision, and could defend it, that's one thing. Luthor doesn't destroy people for doing their best. But if that person simply got careless, or worse, stupid, then it's another matter entirely. Luthor does not tolerate incompetence. And, fair or not, a superior girl often gets held up to a higher standard.

Of course, a superior girl also has additional opportunities to fix her mistakes.

Thankfully, that's something I've yet needed to do, at least with regard to my choices for my amazons. And, hopefully, something that I'd never need to do. I didn't relish the thought of having to eliminate a woman to whom I'd given the give of my ambrosia.

Though I was pretty sure that I wouldn't be making a mistake with Dusty and Sandy.

We talked about a few more things, then it was time for me to get going. He accompanied me outside, where I again took to the air, my initial leap taking me more than three hundred feet straight up, high above the tallest buildings in downtown Metropolis. In less than a second I was out of sight of any unaided eyes down below.

As I leisurely soared high above the streets of Metropolis, I was half hoping that Superman would show up tonight. If he did, I was certainly more than capable of keeping him from disrupting our operation.

As delightful as Trevor had been last night, there's only so much that a man could do for me, even with my ambrosia flowing through his veins. I'd still had to hold myself back with him, unable to use anything near my full strength. Sometimes a superior girl just needs a super man. Even if he is a total jerk, at least he has a body that wouldn't just crumple in my arms as I used it to scratch my itch.

Well, maybe I'd get a chance later tonight. Arriving home, I didn't bother to change clothes. I did have Tony fix me a quick snack, and then it was back to work.

Arriving high over the harbor, I quickly spotted the ship in question. From the air there was little to distinguish this one ship from the dozens of others coming in, carrying cargoes from Europe and South America and, like this one, even from the Pacific Rim, via the Panama Canal. It takes a lot of stuff, especially food, to keep a city the size of Metropolis going.

Descending, I landed and changed clothes before entering our dockside office. The man in charge had been alerted to my coming and knew who I was. Or at least he knew my job title, even though we'd never met before and he didn't know of my special qualifications that had gotten me that job title. We shook hands and he didn't try any macho bullshit like trying to crush mt fingers.

I returned his handshake in kind. "Just here to make sure everything goes okay," I told him as he offered me some coffee.

I took a sip without bothering to add any sugar or creamer. The stuff was strong. It probably had been brewing all day. Or maybe he'd had it made especially for me, as some kind of test. To see whether I was man enough for the job, or some such stupid macho thing, in place of the handshake. Fortunately my stomach lining is as invulnerable as the rest of my body. I drained the cup and held it out for a refill.

He seemed to be suitably impressed. Maybe I'd passed his little test. As he poured my refill, I walked over to the window. He brought me my cup and stood beside me, close but not too close, as we both gazed out the window.

From the office window we could see the whole operation. It wasn't a particularly big ship as these things go, and it docked without the assistance of tugs. Almost immediately the unloading commenced.

All of the cargo seemed to be contained in either railroad boxcars or trailer rigs, ready to be hitched to the waiting locomotive or tractors and hauled to their next destination.

Since it wasn't carrying any contraband, Customs wasn't a problem. But contraband or not, the cargo was valuable. Our people had checked it as it was being loaded in Singapore, and again while transiting the Panama Canal. And we'd had one of our people aboard the ship for the entire journey. Now that it was finally here in Metropolis, we still had to make sure that it got to its final destination.

After finishing the second cup of coffee, I went down and strolled around to watch the unloading process. It was kind of amusing to watch the huge cranes as they hoisted the trailers off the ship and down to the dock where the tractors waited, since I was the only one on the docks who knew that I could have easily lifted one of the trailers with just one hand. But I was here just as an observer. Besides, the union probably would get upset if I did the longshoremen's work for them. Even if one superior girl could easily do the work of a dozen men, crane or no crane.

Of course, not everyone was working on the unloading. Our security men --- my security men --- had been in place all day and were also watching the unloading. I went among them, exchanging a word here and there. Some of them clearly wished to exchange more than words with me, but they were professional enough to keep their minds on their jobs. Even on a weekend. If they hadn't been, they wouldn't have been working for me --- or for my boss.

The sun had already set when the last of the trailers had been hitched up. The man in charge of the escort offered me a seat in his car for the final trip to the laboratory but I declined, telling him that I had my own transportation arrangements. Just what those arrangements were, I didn't bother to tell him. After congratulating the dock manager on a job well done, I took my leave. Ducking between a pair of railroad boxcars, I changed back into my traveling clothes and launched myself into the sky.

From the air I followed the convoy --- four semi-trailers each with a driver and an armed security guard riding shotgun, one car with two more men, and two vans with a dozen more armed security guards --- as it made its way through the evening streets. There wasn't much traffic since it was a Sunday, and the trip went without incident. No hijacking attempts by a rival organization, nor a street gang trying to hijack a truck without even knowing what it carried. Not even so much as a speed trap along the way.

The LuthorCorp laboratory was one of the most secure establishments in Metropolis. Once the convoy had made its way through the gates and into the facility, my job was done. I was relieved that the shipment had arrived safely, yet at the same time a little disappointed that there'd been no action, no call for a superior girl. After hanging around for a few minutes, I headed back to the harbor, flying high above the thin wisps of cloud.

Finding a cloud positioned right over the center of the harbor, I "sat down" upon it, throwing back my head and letting my hair cascade down my back as the cool tendrils of frozen water caressed my body.

Sure, the operation had gone smoothly. No call for a superior girl. In the big picture, that was what counted. But from the viewpoint of the superior girl, it had been a bit of a disappointment.

Maybe I was still feeling the aftereffects of the night with Trevor after the week on the ranch in New Mexico. Maybe, having been an athlete most of my life, I just wanted to see some action. Or maybe I'm just naturally horny. Whatever the reason, a part of me wished that Superman had shown up to try to disrupt the operation.

I'd had the chance to look through the evening edition of the Planet during the unloading operation. It really was a fascinating story, how Superman had rescued Lois Lane, who'd been captured by the smugglers. It was almost enough to make me wish I'd been there to get a piece of the action.

A wild thought crossed my mind. I wondered how Lois would do as one of my Ambrosia Amazons. A ridiculous notion, really. Underneath that tough investigative reporter façade, she probably enjoyed always being the damsel in distress, always needing to be rescued by her knight in shining armor. Or blue long johns, rather. All the while not once dreaming who he really was.

Sort of pathetic, in a way. What sort of woman always wants a man to be bailing her out of trouble? That damsel-in-distress routine went out with the Middle Ages, didn't it?

Of course, I remembered playing the damsel-in-distress routine myself, the first time I'd encountered the Man of Steel. The first time I'd proven that while he might be super, I was superior. Superior in every way.

And almost every time he'd opposed me since then, I'd reinforced that lesson.

But tonight he hadn't, and I hadn't. I'd promised my boss that I wouldn't go looking for trouble while the operation was going, and I hadn't. But now the operation was over. And I was still in the mood for a little action of some kind.

The sun had set long ago. The half moon that had been up earlier was also gone. Dawn was still hours away; the sky to the east hadn't even started to get light. It may as well have been high noon as far as my eyes were concerned, though. But just because it was still dark to ordinary eyes didn't mean that there was no activity out on the water. Looking down and spotting a police launch making its rounds, I dropped down through my little cloud, descended toward the water, and pulled alongside the speeding boat.

The poor cops on the boat gave no sign that they were aware of my presence. I leaned back until I was nearly horizontal, again all but lying on my back as I floated over the water, barely flexing my calves in order to generate enough speed to match the boat's chugging engines.

Easily keeping pace alongside, my hair and cape streaming behind me, I turned my head to look at the boat. There were three men on board, one driving while the other two looked bored with their routine patrol. One of them actually looked directly at me a couple of times, but obviously didn't see me in the dark.

Since these gallant guardians of harbor harmony seemed bored with the drudgery we taxpayers pay them to go through, I decided to give them a little excitement to liven up their shift. Flexing my calves for a little more speed, I pulled ahead, the increased speed whipping my hair around my face and filling my cape and making it billow behind me like a sail. But I didn't go very far, swinging around ahead of the boat and coming back down the boat's right side. Crossing the churning wake, I then came up the left side.

Completing the circuit, I went around again. Faster this time. And another circuit, even faster. The boat rocked each time it crossed my path.

The fourth circuit was even faster, my passage pulling up a roostertail that completely encircled the speeding boat. The boat bucked wildly as it crossed my wake this time, nearly capsizing in the suddenly choppy water.

Watching the men grabbing for handholds gave me an idea. Swinging out wide, I flew on ahead of the boat. I then turned and headed back, flexing my thighs and accelerating hard. Then, spreading my arms wide, I began to roll as I skimmed just above the wavetops, my fingertips almost brushing the water with each rotation as I approached the boat head on.

But not quite on a collision course with the police launch. Like a figure skater going into a lutz or an axel or whatever they call it when they spin around in place, I pulled my arms in and spun even faster as I zipped by the side of the boat close enough that I could have reached out and touched it had I left my arms extended.

But of course I didn't need to touch it. The shock wave of my passage and the roostertail behind me was enough. More than enough, really. The vacuum created by my spinning passage lifted the boat and tipped it over precariously. The roostertail behind me finished the job, flipping the boat over as if it was nothing more than a leaf caught in a hurricane, dumping all three men overboard into the cold dirty waters of the harbor.

I pulled up and swept back to hover over the boat, now capsized, its hull still bobbing in the disturbed waves like the shell of a giant turtle. Eventually, as the waves died down, three heads broke the surface, sputtering for breath. Locating their capsized boat, they began swimming toward it.

Still hovering over the boat, I pursed my lips and gently exhaled. The boat shot away as if it was still under power despite the screws now churning uselessly in the air. The men changed course, pursuing their boat with their pathetic strokes.

The boat changed course as I blew another kiss at it. The men swam in pursuit again. This time I waited until all three of them reached it and started to climb up onto its turtleback before blowing them another kiss, sending the boat and the three wet, shivering men further out into the middle of the harbor. A couple of more puffs left them more than half a mile from the nearest point of land.

Not once while they were moving did any of the men bother to look up to see what was causing their trouble, not that they could have spotted me in the dark. Instead, clinging desperately to the slick hull, they were looking around them, as if there was anything on or in the water that could have been responsible. Maybe they thought they'd been attacked by delinquent dolphins. Or maybe they'd seen Jaws and its sequels too often.

As I continued to hover above them I thought about doing a little more, like sinking their precious little boat. Or maybe getting underneath it and making it fly --- with or without shaking it hard enough to drop the men back into the water. Or even following up on my earlier kisses and joining the men aboard their capsized boat and seeing what they could do to scratch my itch. But I'd been thinking too much about Superman tonight. The three wet, shivering men down below wouldn't be able to provide nothing more than a few more minutes of entertainment.

In the end I decided I'd had enough fun for the night. I blew them a final kiss, aiming for one end of the overturned hull and making it spin like a top, as if it was caught in a draining bathtub. Or maybe a flushing toilet. And I had been a good girl all night, not having laid so much as a single finger on either the men or their boat. Leaving them clinging helplessly to their wildly spinning boat, I climbed into the night and headed for home.

After all, I still had a cross-country flight to make this morning.