Chapter 7. In which our heroine makes a new friend

Codename: Majestic Woman
Geocode on file
Portal City, AZ

2013/08/18

Executive Committee
League of Heroes
C/O Codename: Wraith
Spyglass


Dearest Colleagues, Cohorts, Friends All,

It is with a heavy heart that I write today to announce my retirement from the superhero life — and hence from the Legion of Heroes — effective immediately.

When one measures her lifespan in millennia, one must realize at the outset that any mortal endeavor, no matter how noble, is necessarily a temporary thing. More than seven decades ago I walked into the life and role of superhero knowing that one day I would leave it behind, that one day another calling would beckon, that one day I would pursue the next phase of my life. That day has come.

What I could not have known those seventy-two years ago is that the people I would meet in this phase of life, the men and women — heroes all — beside whom I would live and fight and laugh for only a scant few decades, would become some of the closest friends of my entire two thousand, four hundred eighty-two years.

As I sort out what I am becoming, now that Majestic Woman is no more, I will remain based in Portal City. You are, one and all, welcome in my home and in my life, at least until the parts of my life that still hang in limbo are resolved. I ask only that you not show up unannounced, as I will be travelling extensively while I get my affairs in order.

Although I am sad to lose the Legion, I hope never to lose you, my friends. And I hope that I will be in your thoughts and prayers as I run joyously to meet the challenges of this new page in my life’s story.

May the Gods who guide my life ever shine on yours,

Κυνθία

Kynthia, Royal Princess of the Amazons
Formerly known as Majestic Woman

As Cindi put the letter in the envelop, the tears started to flow. «I said I wouldn’t cry. I swore I wouldn’t cry.» However, her emotional state was not something over which she had a very firm grasp these days.

«“Don’t”»

“My Lord? Is that you? Inside my head?”

«“Yes, baby bitch. Don’t send the letter. Don’t resign.”»

Having accepted the miracle of her “dreams” actually being some sort of reality and having accepted the miracle of the second collar found in her “waking” presence just hours ago, it was really not that hard to also swallow that her Lord could speak to her telepathically. She just rolled with it. She was far more startled by what I was saying than by how I was saying it. Being alone in her own home, she decided that it would be less confusing for her to speak aloud in response to my “spoken” thoughts in her head. Being alone with me in her own home, she dropped to her knees in the magical presence of her Lord.

“Why, My Lord? Why shouldn’t I resign? My true calling is to be your property, your ... your slave. You own me now and I couldn’t be happier to be owned. You could have killed me last night. I couldn’t breathe; I was so scared. But I would have died for you. I would have died to make you happy. Why would you want me to continue to embrace this lie that I am some kind of strong heroic leader? Why would I want to live another moment of this flat, sexless life, when I can just give everything to you? I did give everything to you! Come to me here. Come to me now. I’ll give you every part of your slut’s slutty body all over again!”

A tempting thought, but I needed to stay on track. «“Think, fuckmeat, think of the collateral damage. What would Blake do if you suddenly were to resign and disappear?”»

“Oh... Oh Gods! He would never rest. He wouldn’t believe any of my reasons. He would press and hunt and dig until he finds you.” The fact that I know the Wraith’s secret identity passed almost unnoticed in her head. She was not surprised.

«“And what would I have to do if the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ were to find me?”»

“You ... you’d have to break him, My Lord. As thoroughly as you broke me.”

«“I didn’t break you. I repaired you —» Okay. Okay. That was a lie. Mostly. I did break her. I had to. But I did also repair her. Well, enough for my purposes at least. «— I’m still repairing you. I did it for a reason. I have a plan for you.”»

“Plan? What plan, My Lord?”

«“That is none of your fucking business.”»

“Yes, My Lord. Forgive me, please, M-my Lord.”

Thousands of miles away I smiled to myself. Repaired enough for my purposes indeed.

«“You are forgiven. But you are right about the Wraith. I have no plans for him. I will break him if he gets in my way. I don’t want to break him. Or any of the rest of them either. So let’s not go there. Stay in the Legion until the time is ripe. Until you can join me forever.”»

“But ... My Lord, I’m not the person I was. I can feel it, My Lord. My will power is gone. All I want in life is to be your slutty ‘good girl’. I don’t care about anything else. I can’t think about anything else. It’s a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time until someone relies on me in the heat of battle, but I hesitate or space out or cower or freeze ... and I fail them.”

«“Lean on me. Use my strength like you use the Shield of Athena. I will guide you. I will carry you. I can cover your timidity. I can cover your weakness.”»

“I ... I don’t understand, My Lord. I don’t see how that will help. My knees are weak, my ... my pussy is wet just from hearing your voice. Inside I want to beg you to magic me off to your place and ‘dump cum’ in me right now.”

«“Trust me, little slut. Submit to my will.”»

Her shoulders slumped, but it was as much in relaxation as in surrender. “I trust. I submit, My Lord. I’ll stay in the Legion. I won’t resign.”

«“Keep the letter though. One day I may allow you to use it.”»

“Yes, yes, My Lord! Thank you, My Lord. I live for the day.”

«“Some day. Patience, baby bitch.”»

She paused. Her mind was still in turmoil. It was still confusing her, but she could at least voice her need. “Do I really have to wait to see you, My Lord? Can’t you take me now?”

«“What did I just say?”»

“I understand, My Lord. I will try to be patient.” Now more tears were coming, but they were accompanied by great wracking sobs. I had remade her into a weak, needy slave to me, to her lust for me. But I was now demanding that she be impossibly strong. It was tearing her apart.

«“No Cindi, you will not ‘try’ to be patient, you will be patient. Have I made myself clear?”»

“Y-yes, My Lord. snif Your slut slave will await your pleasure.” Even after the first two days, such a statement from her would have been half-sarcastic. Today it was utterly serious and contained an implied prayer.

«“My pleasure will one day be your pleasure. You won’t live a lonely, empty life. But in the mean time, you will serve me in every way that I demand.”» And with that I was gone.

And so she had her marching orders, but she had no idea how she would be able to follow them. Before I intervened today she was afraid of being the weak link in a team, of hurting or even killing one of her friends by her failure to act. Now she was even more afraid of disappointing me. She knew, from long centuries of battle experience, that this shift in loyalties was a problem in and of itself. She knew that if her Lord were to call her away from her teammates in the midst of a pitched battle that she would leave them. It would tear her apart, but she would do it.

«The Legion deserves better from me, » she thought.

But she was the thrall of her Lord. If this was his will, then she must obey. She must find a way to make it work.

«“Be ready in one hour.”»

She was nearly done eating dinner when she received his order, clearly “there” in her mind, and then just as clearly “gone” before she could respond. Warmth flooded her as she flushed all over. He wanted her sooner than “bedtime”.

She couldn’t wait. She was exhausted from trying to be “Majesticunt” — as she thought of her now-despised hero self inside her own head — for even half a day. She hadn’t even donned the uniform, but she had tried to get back to her electronic patrol routine: police scanner, LoH communicator, twenty-four-hour TV news, BBC World Service satellite radio, local, national, and world breaking news via her laptop, all scanned continuously in a multitasking frenzy. She was worn out and there hadn’t even been anything that needed her response. In fact, looking back through the news archives it looked like it had been a pretty calm week altogether, not even a major fire in Portal City. And no supervillainy that wasn’t immediately squashed by a nearby hero who was well-suited to deal with it. No one had even missed her during her impromptu vacation.

She had been pondering all this over the last few pungent shrimps scampi when He called her. So now there was no more time for her thoughts. She cleaned up her leftovers and got ready to present herself to her Lord.

After what seemed like an eternity of yearning, of helplessly, hopelessly trying to will the minute hand to turn faster, the time finally arrived. She prostrated herself on her bedroom carpet. She begged her Lord to take her. I did.

She was surprised at the way she found herself upon arrival. She was not prostrate on her Lord’s parquet living room floor. Instead, she was curled up in her dog bed under a rough but warm blanket. She felt groggy; she was just now waking up. Looking around, she saw an envelope taped to the closed door at “hand and knees” eye level. Not surprisingly, “Cindi Cumdump“ was written large on the outside. She was a bit surprised, however, by the round feminine cursive.

She roused herself and opened the letter. Three pages of the same flowing cursive...

Good morning (what’s left of it).

Your Lord has allowed you to sleep in. He has gone out but expects you to be ready for Him when He returns. Please follow these directions carefully. You will find everything you need in the master bath and the laundry room.

And with that beginning, Cindi — made eternally beautiful by Aphrodite herself — was introduced to the utterly foreign concept of a “beauty regimen”: special facial wash, three separate stages to washing her hair, how to dry herself without chafing her skin, two different skin conditioners, dental care including gentle cleaning of gums, tongue and palate, complex and confusing instructions for blow-drying and brushing her hair, nail filing (not clipping!) and cuticle care, saddle soap for her collar to avoid chafing her neck, and on and on.

So thusly, one of her last suspicions was confirmed, «This is not my body, magically transported and weakened. This is someone else’s body that I’m borrowing. And now she has even left me an owner’s manual.»

But even more was revealed by the instructions themselves. Her nameless beauty instructor was thoughtful enough to include the following: “Do not shave! Your body is naturally hairless wherever you might want to shave or wax.“ There were other surprise “don’ts”, but only by omission; there was no mention of perfumes, makeup, or nail polish.

Rereading the instructions as she went, she made her way to the shower, determined to present her most beautiful self to her Lord.

After a surprisingly long and frustrating time for our heroine, she was finally by the front door, kneeling, awaiting my arrival, feeling sexy. It seemed to her like another frustrating forever before I finally arrived, but eventually I did.

She heard the key in the door and bent over, head to floor, ass to sky, arms stretched toward the opening door. “Welcome home, My Lord. How may I serve you?”

I dropped my gym bag on the floor and said, “Clean my shoes, bitch.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Inside her head, for the first time in her two and a half millennia, she echoed the disappointment of women throughout the ages, «“He didn’t even notice!”» But the let-down was fleeting. He was demanding her obedience, and she wanted the joy that came with being a “good girl”, so she gave it.

“Less talk, more action.”

She clearly understood by now that she should interpret most commands from me in the most humiliating way possible. So she rejected her own disappointment and crawled to me and my muddy shoes.

But before she started, she was determined to surprise me. She knew she had to lick my shoes clean, but first she kissed them, repeatedly, lovingly, soft little kisses interspersed with sultry affirmations: “I missed you”, “I was so lost without you”, “I felt so alone”, “I need you so much”. This gradually gave way to moaning, caressing licks. She was romancing my shoes as she ate their filth. She had not only swallowed her pride, she had digested and eliminated it. Without pride there was no humiliation, only humility. She had turned a disgusting, unsanitary, mortifying symbol of slavery into a smoldering hot act of love and devotion; we both felt it. I wanted to pick her up and ravish her against the nearest flat surface ... but not yet.

Eventually she was done. She looked up at me with eyes as big as dinner plates and hugged my thigh. I looked down, smiled, caressed her flushed cheek. “Good girl.”

The wave of pleasure that hit her at that moment showed beautifully on her face. I forced a serious expression back into my face. “Now, deal with these dirty clothes, and go make me some coffee.”

She grabbed the gym bag. She was up and moving away from me, but I could see that she was smiling with her whole body. In her mind we were already fucking, we just hadn’t put the round peg in the slotted hole yet.

When she opened the bag though, my sweaty clothes almost overwhelmed her. Her body was hardwired to love the way I smelled, and there was almost more of my smell here than she could bear. If she could figure out how to make love to my gym bag she might. For just a moment she buried her face in the sweaty, wet clothes. But the moment passed. She knew that she was wasting time and that I surely would not reward her for dawdling. And at this moment she so wanted me to reward her that she could almost taste it. So she overcame her knee-weakening lust and got on with her work. She was ready to start a load of laundry combining my gym clothes and the contents of the clothes hamper, but first she had to empty the washer. Last night’s bedsheets were already clean in the washer so she transferred them to the dryer, loaded and started the washer. And then she was off to the kitchen.

The coffee maker in my kitchen was a far cry from the espresso-cappuccino-railroad-engine monstrosity she had in hers. Even so, it was not exactly a “Mr. Coffee”; it was taking her a little while to figure it out. She was determined to suss it out herself though. Not out of fear, certainly not out of pride, but out of a sense of duty and of trust. I gave her a job to do and she wanted to do it, believing that I had given her everything she needed to get it done. She was learning to submit to me and to trust me at the same time. Hey, she was not exactly ready to face down Johnny Reb and the Sons of Dixie under my guidance yet; we were still rebuilding. Baby steps, baby steps.

It actually didn’t take her very long to figure it out, and soon she had everything bubbling and brewing. She came to the couch and knelt beside me.

“My Lord, how do you prefer your coffee?”

“Depends. Which bean did you choose?”

“Oh, the Tanzanian. Um, the peaberry, My Lord, not the regular.”

“Ah, good choice.” In her mind, self-triggered, «“Good girl!”»

“Just an ounce or two of cream and a level teaspoon of brown sugar then.”

“Some breakfast, My Lord?”

It was after one PM, but she had just woken up. Actually I was glad she was not watching the clock. “It’s a bit late for breakfast. But you can make me a sandwich from the leftovers. And fix yourself something if you’d like.”

She was off and running, thinking to herself «“Less talk. More action.”» Soon she was back presenting the filet mignon sandwich, complete with bacon and dijon bearnaise. Then she brought a tray with a full coffee service to the coffee table. She knelt and prepared my caffeine prescription and presented it. Then she was off again. In a few minutes she was back with her doggie dish and what appeared to be an omelet. She put it on the floor between couch and coffee table “where I can reach her”, then knelt waiting.

“Fix yourself some coffee if you’d like.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Cream, sugar, cinnamon, and coffee all went into the water dish as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was waiting again.

“Eat, baby bitch, eat.”

She dove face first into her food. I stroked her curves idly while I watched the tube.

What was really happening though — what’s happening in most of my “idle moments” — was that I was sampling minds around the globe. My ten thousand (about a quarter of whom were asleep at the moment), about four hundred waking world military and political leaders, about a thousand sentries at various hot spots worldwide, scientists nearing important breakthroughs, et cetera, et cetera. But that didn’t mean I was not here in the moment too. Feeling those yielding curves, that flawless skin. I gave her upraised ass a small squeeze, eliciting a happy noise from somewhere in the vicinity of the doggie dish and a playful wiggle under my hand.

“Do you dance?” I asked, apropos of nothing.

“Mmm, um, I ... know some line and circle dances that we do on celebration days in the Amazon Queendom, but...” She sat up, wiped her chin, and gave me a look that could melt steel. “That’s not the kind of dancing you mean, is it?”

“No, no, it’s not.”

She lowered her gaze. “I-I’ll take some classes.”

“Good. No hurry.” Somehow we both had missed the lack of “My Lord” in that last exchange, but noticing it now I wasn’t concerned. Inside she had never belonged to me more completely than as she imagined herself dancing for my pleasure.

Soon she was up and moving again, done with her eggs, pouring me more coffee, collecting and washing dishes. While she was fussing in the kitchen, the dryer had sounded. So now she was off to take care of that. Folding the sheets, finding where I kept them in the bedroom. Moving the wet clothes into the dryer. Then she was back, kneeling, looking a bit ... nervous.

“My Lord, may I ... um ... touch you?”

Seeing what she had in mind I assented. She laid her head gently on my thigh. She reached up and stroked my stomach and chest, feeling hard muscle, drawing lazy circles, daydreaming with a vacuous stare and a satisfied grin. Her need for me was an ever-rising tide, but she would wait on my will. I reached down and played with her hair. Not a bad way to pass the time really.

There was a bank robbery in Portal City, but the police had it in hand; no need to bother her. Ares appeared to be on the move again, as evidenced by the odd timing of a new border skirmish in central Africa. But he was not out in the open yet, so Majestic Woman couldn’t act anyway without causing an international incident. If everything went according to plan, Ares wouldn’t be a concern much longer anyway. An LoH call went out, but plenty of other heroes answered. The villain was subdued in short order. A beautiful naked woman who would have been thrown into frantic action by any of these events was instead pooled bonelessly by my side, head resting on my leg, gazing longingly at her Lord/Master/Lover/Owner.

I redirected her gaze toward my bulging package and pulled her in. Empty stare became laser-like focus. Wistful grin became lecherous smile. Idle hands sprang into action, soon freeing my member from its prison of cloth. Holding her prize, she looked up at me with yearning, silently begging me for permission. I nodded. Her eager mouth consumed me.

Later that afternoon, she was draped over me, not asleep, but completely at rest. Small satisfied sighs escaped from her mouth onto my chest. I was reading a book while I played with her hair.

A ringing doorbell disturbed our peace. Cindi had a minor panic attack. It had somehow never even occurred to her that a third person could ever come to this perfect place.

“Get the door, Cindicunt.” The overwhelming flood of questions and uncertainty was worse than the sandwich on that first day. Who could it be? Should she throw on a bathrobe or answer the door naked? Should she stand to greet them as equals or kneel as a slave? Would kneeling be enough or should she prostrate herself? Should she let them right in or hold them at the door until He says they may enter? And there was no time for her to think about any of it. She had to answer the door now.

«Well, when in doubt, go for max humiliation, right?» She fell to her knees away from the door but in reach of the knob, opening the door.

Bowed down and curled into a ball — and hence not as utterly prostrate as before her true Lord — she welcomed His guest. “Welcome to My Lord’s home,” noticing the shoes, “ma’am. Please ent —”

Two feminine hands grabbed Cindi’s shoulders and pulled her roughly to her feet. A lilting Aussie accent said, “No, Annette, what the fuck?”

Cindi looked up, eye-to-eye really, and saw shock turn into amusement on the lovely stranger’s face. “So. You’re the one.”

“The one?”

The woman looking Cindi over was maybe an inch shorter than Cindi herself. She was wearing a long trench coat, buttoned all the way up to the neck. She had cascading red hair, piercing green eyes, and perfect porcelain skin with just a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

“Master’s new pet hero,” the woman continued, “Majestic Woman.”

“I am My Lord’s new pet, Majesticunt,” she said, showing her nametag, “former hero. Is it that obvious?”

“Well, Annette never would have met me at the door naked, bowing, and scraping. She would have thrown on some clothes first and given me a hug,” the woman said, smiling.

Then “the look” came over the stranger’s face, the same one Cynthia had seen innumerable times over the last seven decades. “Oh God, you have no idea what a fan I am of y — Master!”

Looking over Cindi’s shoulder she had seen me walking up. She hit the floor kneeling, eyes downcast. Cindi turned and did the same.

“Cindi Cumdump, meet Julia McKenna. Julia, meet Cindi. Julia, you can ask for her autograph later. Cindi, take her coat and hang it up.”

As Julia unbuttoned the coat it became obvious that there was nothing under the coat but more Julia, lots more Julia.

«Nice tits, not as big as mine though.» It was the universal fem-fem checkout comparison, the human equivalent of butt-sniffing in dogs. It’s not related to slavebody urges. It’s not related to how I had changed her. It’s not even related to gender; guys do it too. Even you. Yes, you do it, even if you’re not aware of it.

«But does the carpet match the drapes? ... Woah! No carpet! “naturally hairless wherever you might want to shave or wax,” eh?» Clearly Julia was another of her Lord’s slave girls, as if the kneeling and the word “Master” hadn’t given it away. Thinking about what she knew of me so far Cindi instantly extrapolated, «If He has two then He has a harem ... No, an army.» Jealousy flickered through her for just a second, and then it was gone. Good girl.

As Cindi hung the coat in the hall closet, I called after her, “In the bedroom, the top drawer has a false bottom. Put on what you find there and meet us in the living room.”

Top drawer, neatly folded men’s underwear and socks. At the bottom she saw a thumb hole and lifted it. It was her Majestic Woman uniform. The bodice and panties were authentic, one set of the gifts of Aphrodite, but she stifled her curiosity about how I got it. «Hey, He’s magic.» The boots, vambraces, and tiara were from a high-quality cosplay set. Everything fit perfectly.

She returned and started to kneel beside Julia. But I stopped her and had her stand beside me instead.

She was confused. “Stand, My Lord?” She hadn’t stood in my presence — unless she was performing some task that required her to stand — since the second day. She felt awkward. She felt presumptuous. Especially with Julia kneeling. She felt ... bad.

“STAND.” I was amused at how firmly I had to reinforce it. “Julia is here to help me with a demonstration. You are here to be Majestic Woman. Look.”

Suddenly Julia’s face changed somehow. A horrified look came over her. Her voice had a strangely gruff American accent, “No. No! I did everything you said! Please don’t drown m —”

“Shut up!” I interrupted. “Tell her who you are. Tell her everything.”

“Julia” was clearly not home. Whoever was using her body was male and definitely not in Kansas anymore. Looking down and cupping breasts, he muttered, “What the fuck?” Then his eyes lit on Cindi.

“Majestic Woman!”

“Tell her,” I yelled.

“M-my name is —” He stopped when he saw me wave him off impatiently. “Um. I am, uh, was ... Portal City’s best and highest-paid torch. But not anymore! I took all my loot and moved back to Nebraska. Just like you told me to, M-master! I’m clean! Please don’t drown me again! I’m clean! I’m retired!”

With that he was gone, and Julia was back. Cindi looked over at me. “Who was that?”

“He was responsible for over half the large building arson in your adopted home town. Now he’s not a problem.”

Slightly peeved, Cindi forgets herself a bit. “There’s more than one arsonist in Portal City.”

“I can show you eight more like him, all with the same story —”

“And there are eight more after that, ready to take their places.”

I was tired of this shit. I didn’t know if it was the uniform or the confrontation itself, but Cindi had clearly forgotten who she had become. “‘Take their places’, what, cunt?”

Mortal fear suddenly overwhelmed her. Her knees weakened, but she remembered my command and remained standing. “M-My Lord! I’m sorry, My Lord, but-”

“Better. When those eight come along I’ll deal with them too.”

She had a rejoinder but stifled it. Instead she searched her heart for what was really bothering her, and asked, “Why ‘retire’ them, My Lord? Why not make them turn themselves in?”

“I hate waste. They’re no good to me in prison.”

“You collect torches, My Lord?”

“Watch your tone, cocksucker. I never know what I’ll need.”

Her eyes fluttered; it hurt her to think she was displeasing me. But she had one last question. She had to know. Eyes lowered she asked, “You tortured them, didn’t you, My Lord?”

“I tortured you too, slave. What’s your point?”

She shook her head, wiped her tears, then looked up with a smile. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“You’re welcome. Now, are you ready to see the rest?”

“The other torches, My Lord?”

“The other hidden thorns in your side.”

She nodded. Out through Julia’s mouth came a cavalcade of corrupt politicians going straight, mobsters closing their drug and gambling operations and volunteering their men for the neighborhood watch, pimps resolving to put the girls in their stables through college and then let them go, dirty cops who’d become zealous defenders of justice, more and more and more. It was all a bit too much for her, but finally it was done. Realizing the show was over Cindi fell to her knees, happy to join Julia in her rightful place. She didn’t know what to think. She knew He had done it all for her, but she didn’t understand why.

Looking up into my eyes searching for... she didn’t even know what ... she asked, “So this is how an amoral God fights crime? ... My Lord?”

I looked in her heart and saw no judgment, no bitterness, only a sad resignation and acceptance.

“This is how an amoral Master helps his weak, needy slave carry out impossible orders. Do you understand now?”

“Yes, My Lord, thank you. I —” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I really do love you.”

I stroked her hair. “I know you do, baby bitch,” I murmured softly, “You can’t help it.”

I looked down at her attire. “Go put that gaudy thing away and come back. Julia wants to worship her favorite superheroine some more. I think both of your heads might stay screwed on better in the process if that happens without that uniform in the way.”

Julia was still kneeling/sitting and squirming uncomfortably in the floor. It was hard for her to be around me — or any male slavebody, really — this long without fucking, but she had a lifetime of discipline keeping her in her place. I was petting her lovely red hair and telling her that she had done well, that she was a good girl. It helped some.

Soon Cindi was back and kneeling beside Julia again. “My Lord, may I make some dinner for Julia and myself? There are plenty of leftovers.” But then a stricken look crossed her face. “Oh no, I’m a bad sl — My Lord, um, would you like some dinner? I’m sorry, My Lord. Please don’t be angry. Please don’t d-d-discip —”