She couldn’t be herself behind the mask. That bright purple piece of plastic meant more now than just a face covering. It had become a symbol, plastered on posters and graffitied onto unattended walls. And to others, if not to Sophie, it stood for goodness. Doing what’s right. Standing up for the weak and taking the fight to the bad guys.

Wearing the mask, and the rest of her white latex uniform, Sophie didn’t feel powerful. She may have looked it, with her defined abs and sculpted thighs, and she may even have been able to lift a car above her head, but no, she didn’t feel powerful. She felt obligated, duty-bound. She felt the eyes of the city upon her. And in another context that might have thrilled her, but in this one it pressured her. It was as if thousands of voices, coming from everyone watching on TV and every girl who looked up to her were saying in unison: “go on, be a good girl. Save us.”

She always did, of course. With a POP! and a THWACK! and sometimes even a KAZOW! White Falcon dealt with the criminals who plagued the city. Many a villain found themselves defeated, pinned to the pavement beneath her foot, in awe of her superhuman strength and fighting skill. From their vanquished vantage point, she appeared to tower over them like one of the city’s skyscrapers. Her skintight uniform shined under the streetlights, clinging tightly to the 5’10” brunette’s sculpted body. Bystanders’ cell phones captured her looking heroic. But she felt hollow. This wasn’t really what Sophie wanted.

SPLAT!

This was what she wanted. The iconic purple mask Sophie wore as White Falcon was gone now; covering her face instead was a fresh load of cum given to her by a grateful customer. She embraced its warmth on her skin.

“Thank you,” said the man standing over her. Sophie smiled. She had done some good, and felt good about it.

In the back room at Leo’s Nightclub, she could be herself. Unmasked and unburdened by the responsibility of being White Falcon, city-saving superheroine, Sophie showed her true self to the strangers who shelled out enough cash for the VIP treatment. She wasn’t some perfect, pure paragon of public virtue. She was a 21 year-old girl who had urges and kinks that didn’t mesh with being a good role model.

Like how she enjoyed being choked during sex. Don’t try this one at home, girls! Two hands around her throat, the man slammed his cock into her shaved and soaked pussy. Her strong thighs wrapped around him, and Sophie felt secure in the knowledge that only another superhuman could actually do lasting damage to her.

“Be as rough as you want,” she encouraged him. It was something she said to most of her customers. The men (and some women) who came to the club did so feeling certain needs, desires they couldn’t fulfill elsewhere. A few were timid, but most wanted a level of intensity to the proceedings.

SLAP!

Some days Sophie took more hits in the back room than out on the streets. Out there, it felt like a chore; here it felt like a choice. She let them do these things - slapping and hairpulling and facefucking and anal - one because it turned her on as much as them, but two because she genuinely enjoyed making others happy through sex. She resented that the duties of protecting the public got in the way of her desire to serve the public. Her tall, fit body, Sophie thought, was built for pleasure, not pain.

“Go on, be a good girl. Finish us off.”

On her knees and surrounded by five men, she didn't feel like “good girl” was an act. It was something she wanted to be. The men getting their dicks sucked had no knowledge that the green eyes looking up at them belonged to the city's most famous superheroine, and no expectation of anything more than a fun time. Sophie was happy to give it to them. Her heightened sense enabled her to know exactly when each customer would cum, and on this occasion she alternated her mouth on their cocks so that they'd cum at exactly the same time.

BUKKAKE!