by Tyler Roper
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I don't know what made me become a supervillain. Part of it, I suppose, had something to do with my being among the least popular girls in school - not only because of my average looks but also because I was smart. Very smart. And no boy likes dating a girl who's smarter than he is - especially when there are plenty of cute little tramps who are willing to prance around in spandex and miniskirts and giggle a lot. After awhile I got really sick of it. If they weren't chasing after the panty flashers on the cheerleading or drill teams, they were mooning over some teenage superheroine in a cute little costume. I guess I really started thinking seriously about it when I found out that Missy Cunningham, head cheerleader and number one bitch, was taking Stanley Presents to the spring dance instead of me. It turned out Missy got burned by some football player, and she chose my date! Not because she liked him, but because she needed a date to get in. And now I couldn't. I wanted revenge. Pure and simple. But I wasn't about to do something stupid and derail my plans for college - I wasn't going to give those twits the satisfaction. But if I were masked and in disguise, well, who would know it was me? Especially if I chose just the kind of sexy little suit these airheads would wear - no one would ever think that I'd wear spandex, let alone in public! All I needed was a name, some kind of gimmick... And a weapon, some kind of weapon. Not that I really wanted to maim or kill anyone, mind you, but I was certainly not a very tough cookie on my lonesome, and it would take too long and arouse too many suspicions if I learned martial arts. It seemed like every good gimmick was either already taken by a villain or too violent for my tastes. Then, it hit me - no pun intended - blackjacks! You see them al the time in movie and stuff, but no one had built an entire identity around them! I ordered a sexy black leotard over the Internet, along with gloves and boots. The mask I made myself, out of an old pair of bike shorts. Being a school nerd has its advantages. I had ready access to the chem lab, the physics lab, the storage closets, the computer system. I could make or order whatever I wanted. Within two weeks I was ready to go. Look out, Santa Veronica High School. Here comes... Black Jackie! My first outing was to teach Missy a lesson. The evening before the dance, she was at cheerleader practice, as usual. I watched from under the gym bleachers. There they were, shaking their maracas and waving their asses at the stands. The little tarts even had the school logo sewed on the asses of their trunks, so sure were they of calling attention to their backsides. I noticed Missy's were French cut, the bitch. Still, there were six of them. I didn't exactly expect them to fight me, but they could run and scream with the best of them, and Missy might get away. That wouldn't do. I'd have to whittle them down a little. Lucky for me a couple of them were smokers. Tiffany and Lark pranced outside for a little smoke, and I followed. Tiffany, it wasn't hard to hate. With long dark hair, a lovely face, and a body to die for, I think every girl was a little jealous. Lark was the only black girl on the team, and the only one who'd ever been remotely nice to me. But put her in with those catty creeps and the claws come out - so I wasn't going to feel too guilty about attacking her. I took out my softest blackjack - I had made it myself from some old socks. The inside was solid rubber - hard, but not enough to crack a skull. Lark got it first, since she backed up almost right on top of my hiding place. Holding my breath, I raised the blackjack and brought it down on her head - whop! She moaned and fell forward into the dirt. Tiffany was so stunned by this she barely could get her mouth open in time before I slugged her across the forehead. She sank to the ground. Now the smoking area was out by this little creek, just an inch deep or so and barely two feet across. I dragged them over and dumped them on their backs in the creek - out of sight, out of mind. God, they were heavy - it isn't easy dragging a girl around, let me tell you! In any case, I slugged them again for good measure, then went back to the gym. Two down, four to go. Next I pulled out my cell phone and called the gym, asking for Cynthia. I was totally making it up, but I pretended I was calling from a doctor's office, she was preggers, and she had to get here right away. Turns out I guessed right. She grabbed her things in a hurry and went to her car. Now, Cynthia was probably the toughest girl there, tougher than me, that's for sure. I switched to a blackjack with a copper-zinc core and a flash battery attached. Then I waited until she opened her car trunk to put her bag in, and wapped her. Not only did she get the full force of my blackjack, but a healthy does of electricity equivalent to a stun gun! Game over, blondie! I stuffed her in the trunk. Three down, three to go! I was really feeling heady. Now was the time for me to show these girls what Black Jackie was all about! I stopped as I passed a mirror on my way in. The suit was skintight, but not like you see on the net or in comics. Instead of wrapping around melon-sized breasts like a layer of paint, it flattened my apples out rather than emphasizing them. Still, the fabric was shiny and tight enough that I looked sexy - and that's something no-one ever accuses me of being in real life. My identity would be safe. I waited until Brooke and Cindy were holding Missy over their heads, still smiling like idiots. I switched to a heavier model, with a special hinge at the handle that increased the force done by the blow. Bye bye Brooke. Thok! Brooke was instantly knocked out! Missy fell right on top of Cindy as both of them yelled. Before they could get untangled, I socked Cindy on the head, and another cheerleader went sleepy bye. Missy looked up, fear in her eyes. "Wh- who are - ?" she stammered stupidly. "I'm Black Jackie," I said, whapping a blackjack in my palm. "Oh, God - you - you're a supervillain. What do you - wait, I didn't know he was married! Honest!" She tried to run. I'll give her credit - those legs carried her like no tomorrow. I had to force myself to catch up to her. I I brought the soft blackjack across her head, stunning her. She staggered around like she usually does on Friday nights, drunk. I slugged her in the stomach, toppling her into the bleachers. She was sitting, but instead of being on the seat her but was where here feet should be. I whapped her in the boobs with the soft model - and was surprised to see her right tit move and stay there. Curious, I hit it hard, up - she squealed as out of her sweater popped a tennis ball. I looked at her. Missy Cunningham, head cheerleader, stuffed her bra. She looked at me fearfully, whimpering. "No-o-o..." "Not even real," I snorted. Then I got an idea and grinned. I lifted her cheerleader skirt to reveal those tight red trunks. "Bet this is real, though." "Oh, God, don't! P-please!" For a moment I thought sorry for her, then every rude remark, every bad thing she'd done came flooding back to me. Sorry, bitch. Not tonight. WHOPP! The sound of the blow echoed through the gym, as did her pitiful wail. I think I smirked - that felt good! I let Missy lie there a bit while I took care of the other two cheerleaders. Cynthia had dropped her keys when I hit her, and I had pocketed them. Now I had Brooke and Cindy join her in the trunk. As for Missy, well, I wish I could say that I had something villainously evil planned for her, but I didn't. Hell, I would have left her alone after clocking her in the cunt, but if I'm gonna be a villain I ought to at least act like it. So. I tied her up in the main hallway, upside down to show off those panties she's so proud of. And with only one "boob" - that ought to humiliate her enough. The next night I was conveniently available when Stanley went to pick her Missy up and found she wasn't around. Too bad she missed it - the dance was fun. Of course, some of the girls made some snide remarks about my brains and lack of looks I simply smiled. Black Jackie would strike again. |