This is Ishmael. Here, the Afroasian, Turkic, and Austronesian nations are superpowers...as is the common Allah they worship.
Ah, National City... This city is the pride of the California Islands. If only so many supernatural threats from outer space would stop attacking it...
CatCo Worldwide Media is among the city's biggest businesses. CatCo Tower, by now, is the envy of many who work in National City...as well as Sacramento. A panther statue has been added to the front steps leading up to the tower's front doors.
Throughout the city, Intergang is hard at work again. Rumor has it that they have a new leader. But then, the same people probably say that Doomsday was an Apokoliptian...
Upstairs in her tower, Cat Grant, the founder of CatCo, works away at her desk. She's very deep into it. Every now and then, she makes a phone call. Just as often, she video-chats with numerous people at the same time. Just as often, she meets with small crowds of people in her office.
Cat Grant is black. Her hair is raven, bobbed, and flowing. She's been feeling a bit more depressed, than usual. Clark Kent, a man who she once had a crush on, was reported missing years ago. Rumor has it that Kent was one of the many casualties of Doomsday's attack on Metropolis...an attack which the hero Superman sacrificed himself to end.
It rarely happens...but Ms. Grant has reached a dull moment in her work. Leaving her shoes under her desk, she closes her office doors. Next, she sits at her laptop, and reviews old news footage...of a certain rookie reporter her company hired less than a year ago...
His name is James Kent. He hails from Lusk; the county seat of Wyoming's least-populated county. Naturally, Ms. Grant has already done the research; while he and Clark Kent's parents are related, it's not directly so. A long time ago, one of Jonathan Kent's paternal ancestors had a brother. Later in life, one ended up in Smallville, while the other ended up in Lusk.
Ms. Grant doesn't know how she feels about farm families who settle down in cheap towns. But from time to time, she can become a HUGE fan of some of the male products that come out of them. To her, it's almost as if Max Lord IV doesn't exist.
Most times, Ms. Grant thinks, Mr. Lord is a good guy. But sometimes, Ms. Grant needs a boy who'll make her feel like a goddess. James often does...although he often runs, most times Ms. Grant tries to seduce him. Sad thing; he's like Clark all over again...if she were old enough to be Clark's mother.
All alone, Ms. Grant reviews footage of news that James Kent has covered. As she does, she unbuttons her shirt and unzips her skirt. For now, she's somewhere between vigilance and heat.
She shouts a curse word, as her phone rings. She puts her computer on mute, and puts the phone on speaker.
"Ms. Grant," someone says, "there's a package for you downstairs."
"Thank you." Ms. Grant hangs up, stands, buttons her skirt, and tries to sanify herself, before going downstairs. "Whatever it is," she mutters, "it'd BETTER be a 3D sculpture of Clark Kent's cock!"
She barges through her own office doors, and heads to the elevators. In her absence, her office grows quiet.
She's left her shoes under the desk. With luck, the delivery man won't notice. But of course, Ms. Grant's general experience with men is that they're so distracted by her physique, that they never notice if she's in the nude.
Near the heel of one of her abandoned pumps, a tiny portal of day magic appears, glowing white, and wreathed with billows of white-glowing day magic. From it, a boy falls. He's now a thousandth his normal size. He lands in the carpet, near Ms. Grant's humongous shoe. Just above him, the portal vanishes.
The boy pants, and observes his surroundings. Meet James Kent. He's just spent a spontaneous moment in the Day Dimension. Clearly, it's left him short-changed. Now, he wears little else, other than Superman S-patterned briefs.
Many moments later, Ms. Grant's office doors storm open again. The delivery men follow her in, with her package in tote. She points at where she wants the package's contents assembled, circles her desk, and reclaims her seat.
To little James, Ms. Grant's giantess feet make thunder, as they circle the desk. Soon, after she's sat, one of her feet is right over him, like a big ceiling of sorts. Ms. Grant's legs are in hose...as they often are.
James lies on the floor, cowering up at Ms. Grant's big black toe. As he does, he hardens. His cock pitches a tent, in his Superman S-themed briefs...
Mindlessly, Ms. Grant's huge toe bops the poor boy's cock. She's not even trying. And if James knows Ms. Grant...he's pretty sure he doesn't, but if he does...she can't feel his tiny cock against the bottom of her big toe.
"All done, ma'am," the delivery men soon say.
Ms. Grant waves, and thanks them. She waits for them to close her office doors, as they leave. She moans when they don't. She stands, re-closes them, and goes back to her desk.
On her computer, she resumes the footage of little James Kent reporting for CatCo. Once again, her skirt is loosened, and her top buttons are undone. As long as she's in the midst of a slow moment at work, she dreams and lusts for her favorite cougar bait.
The poor black woman has no clue that the poor white boy she lusts for is just under her big toe, cowering up at it, getting an accidental footjob from his boss's boss's boss's boss's boss...or something like that.
Ms. Grant is a lonely woman with a thriving sexuality. And to think that all she's got to do to have it sated is look right under her big toe...