The wizard was now fifteen feet away from me. Walking toward him this slowly was terrifying. All I wanted to do was run away, but I kept going forward.
The wizard gestured and the soil-legs pulled Wonder Woman's legs farther apart. He stopped fumbling with his robes. Ten feet away. He leaned over her, grunting and gasping. He wasn't doing anything to her that I could see, which meant he was doing something to himself-getting himself warmed up, I guess. I was glad I couldn't see it. Five feet away. Wonder Woman, seeing me approach, spoke again, this time to the old man, making sure his attention was on her. "Justice is coming for you, old man. You cannot escape it."
"Something's coming for you, my dear. Or it will be in a moment..." He laughed, a series of reedy snorts, at his own pun. I reached down and picked up his staff. My hand sang with pain, and I screamed; it was like holding an icicle. He turned, startled, but I had found my grip, and I swung the staff at his ankles. The blow wasn't forceful, but he was an old man. He fell over with a yelp. He began to chant, but I struck him again with the staff, over the head this time, and he shut up. I was reeling from the pain in my hand. I tried to drop the staff, but I couldn't, it was stuck to my hand. The pain was shooting up my arm. A blue curtain rose up, covering me. I couldn't see. I couldn't feel anything but my arm. I think I screamed again, but I'm not sure. I don't remember anything after that.
So that was the second time I met Wonder Woman, when I saved her from Magnus, Enchanter of the Fifth House. (That was the old man's name, as it turned out.) Most of the time we spent together, I was unconscious. I woke up in a hospital, alone, with my left hand and arm in bandages. I expected to lose them to frostbite, but the doctors told me there was no long-term damage to me. Whatever defensive enchantment was on that old man's staff, it attacked the nerves directly; but it only exercised them, rather than damaging them. I was weak, and it took a few days for sensation to return, but other than that I was fine.
No one could tell me much about what had happened. Everybody knew that Wonder Woman had brought me in herself. She had flown right up to the Emergency Room doors, with me under one arm and Magnus under the other. She had entrusted me to the hospital's care, then flew to a police station, where she had had Magnus locked up. Shortly afterwards both of them had disappeared in a burst of light, he from the cells, she from the captain's office where she was explaining what had happened. She turned up again a few days later, patrolling the city as normal; when people asked her about what had happened, she said merely that Magnus and his confederates were now beyond the reach of the courts, but that they would no longer be a threat to the city. She refused to discuss the subject further. The city and state governments declined to pursue the matter; clearly, fireball-wielding wizards were more the Justice League's department than the Massachusetts Attorney General's office.
People asked me about what I knew, but I kept mum. To explain what had happened I would need to explain just how I had managed to get so close to Magnus without being noticed, and I didn't want to embarrass Wonder Woman on that score. When she had dropped me off, she had been fully clothed in her uniform, as my roundabout questions of the staff had established. I couldn't guess how she had managed it, but however it was done, it meant that her near-rape was not public knowledge. I thought it best to keep it that way.
After a few days of observation, I was released from the hospital. My publishers postponed the rest of my trip, giving me a chance to convalesce, which was fine with me. Even though I wasn't physically hurt, I was shaken by the whole experience, and some time to myself was just what I needed to feel better. My father had left me a cottage in northern Michigan when he passed away a few years before, so I went there to convalesce. The accommodations were Spartan-a kitchenette, small living room, and bedroom-but it had its virtues: it was isolated in the woods, so I had total privacy. There was time to sleep in, read for pleasure, and take solitary hikes. These things were just what I needed to recuperate. My once-a-week trips into town for supplies were all the human contact I needed, or so I thought.
The knock at the door came one evening just after dusk. I had been dozing on the couch in the living room, a slim volume of Terence forgotten in my lap. Hearing the knock, I sat up with a start. I certainly hadn't been expecting anyone. I staggered to my feet and opened the door. Not the wisest of moves, perhaps-it could have been someone up to no good-but I was still slightly groggy and wasn't thinking straight. Opening the door, I became even more confused.
"May I come in?" asked Wonder Woman.
I stood there, jaw dangling slackly, staring at her. Part of my voicelessness was due to surprise: I hadn't expected ever to see her again, much less in my cottage. Most of it, though, was due to her: she had the same aura of power she'd had in the bookstore. It banished one's presence of mind. After a moment, I stammered something and stood aside, and allowed her in.
She brushed past me in the doorway, her shoulder pressing alongside mine, and that brief contact was electric. My mouth dried and my crotch stiffened. I've already mentioned how her costume (that's what she was wearing) made an alluring package; and just feeling her, even inadvertently, set my hormones flowing. Get a hold of yourself, man, I thought. You're acting like a teenager on his first date. I tried desperately not to think about her body and how exciting even the brief connection between the two of us had been. She had come here for a reason, and what it might be I couldn't guess; the last thing I wanted to do was come off as unrefined or rude.
"Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable. May I offer you something to drink?"
She sat down on the couch-the only place to sit-and looked up at me with a smile. My knees felt like water. "Something to drink would be nice; it was a tricky flight."
"There's distilled water, and milk; oh, and some red wine, if you'd like it."
"Wine, please."
While I opened the bottle, found some glasses, and poured the wine, I asked, "To what do I owe the honour of this visit? And did you say you flew here?"
"Yes, I flew. I'm not as fast as the Flash, but Hermes is one of my patrons, so I have some ability to travel quickly when I want to. It took less than an hour to get to here from Boston, and that included tracking down this cottage."
"How did you find it?" I put the glasses on a tray and carried it over to the couch. Setting it on the side table, I sat down on the other end of the couch. It was a small one, though; we were only a few feet apart.
"I inquired at the hospital, and they told me you'd mentioned you were coming to a family place in Michigan. The League database told me where the property was, and I have some experience tracking down sites from the air." She sipped her wine. "This is nice. Thank you. As to why I came..." She put her wineglass down on the table and looked at me.
"I have two reasons. The first is to explain just what sort of incident you fell into during our encounter on the Green. The second was to thank you for saving my life."
I was unsure of how to respond. Several clichés came to me-"it was nothing," "you'd have done the same for me," "it was my pleasure," and so on-but I refused to sink to platitudes. While I was thinking, she continued:
"That man we fought; his name was Magnus of the Fifth House. He was a member of a band of wizards. It's best, I think, if I don't tell you too much about them. Suffice to say that this coven had decided to... summon... a being to our world from outside, a being of particular malevolence and power. I don't know why; perhaps they expected gratitude or a reward from it once it got here, though I find it hard to believe they could be so naive. Anyway, to do this thing, they needed to harness the power of several magical artifacts, to use as a battery of sorts for their spell. Magnus chose to try and take my golden lasso. He would have succeeded, too, if you hadn't stepped in." Clearly, that was my cue to say something clever, but I still hadn't thought of anything. "I'll tell you", she went on, "what I didn't tell the media or authorities, because you have a right to know. Magnus' compatriots were able to rescue him, and abduct me, but the League and I, after some... difficulties... were able to track him and the rest down and halt their plan. He won't pose a threat to the world, or to you, any more."
She looked at me expectantly. "I see," I murmured quietly. "To be honest, I hadn't considered the possibility he might come back for revenge against me."
"Oh, he would have. He was a small, petty man, with more power than such a person should hold. Don't worry, though. Although he isn't dead, he is now imprisoned in a place he'll never be able to escape." She gave my knee a comforting squeeze. Comforting, but also exhilarating. The fire her touch had given me before sprang up again. My toes clenched, and my crotch stiffened once more. I tried to meet her gaze without blushing, and hoped she wouldn't notice.
"I want you to understand. What you did was very dangerous. If Magnus had seen you coming, he could have blasted you to ash, or frozen your blood, or ripped out your heart with a word. He had powerful spells of protection on him; if you had hit him with your fist, or a rock, or anything put a powerful magical weapon, you would have been struck dead for your pains. You were very lucky you chose to strike him with his own staff, and that he had guarded his staff less well than his person.
"What you did was also not strictly necessary. Given a few more moments, I could have escaped the bonds I was in; they were strong, but not, ultimately, stronger than I was. Believe me that when I say this, I speak from experience: Magnus and I fought again, before the end. His attentions, had you not intervened, would have been unpleasant, but he would not have been able to kill me. I suspect I would ultimately have had the victory."
Her voice softened. "But think me not ungrateful! You put yourself at considerable risk, because you thought my life and my... my 'honour' were in jeopardy. You must never do something like that again; the next time a superhuman battle erupts around you, you'll serve yourself and your protectors best if you get out of harm's way. But, this time, I thank you for what you did. I am in your debt."
She bobbed her head slightly, in acknowledgement. Was it just my imagination, or did her gaze brush across my lap? I struggled to control myself. "There is no debt," I managed, aping her courtly style of speech. "True virtue consists of doing the right thing, regardless of cost. You and your colleagues put yourself at risk every day for the sake of others. I did it only once. You deserve my thanks much more than I deserve yours." I nodded my head as she had done.
She looked at me closely for a long moment, and her grave expression slowly gave way to a smile. "As you say." She continued to pierce me with her gaze, as if weighing and measuring me. She seemed to come to a decision. "Nonetheless, I am in your debt, not least for your discretion." She gestured at her chest and hips. Following her gaze, my breath caught. My erection was raging, now. I was certain she knew it was there. I kept still, not wanting to make it more prominent than I was sure it was. "There are enough rape fantasies about me out there already, I imagine; that flame needs no more fuel. So. Is there anything that I can do for you, to settle the balance between us?"
My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry, and my cock was stiff as a board. There was something she could do for me, any number of things. But I would not embarrass us both by naming them. "No," I rasped. "It was my pleasure." I winced internally, but it had been the first thing to pop into my head. "I don't need any reward."
She smiled at me again, but this time it was smoky, not bright. She shook her head slightly. "Men," she said. "Why do I always have to make the first move?"
She leaned forward and gently gripped my shoulders. Shocked, I didn't move. She pulled herself in toward me until that beautiful face filled my vision. She kissed one cheek, and then the other, and then pressed her lips up against mine. In a moment our tongues met.
It was a deep kiss. After a long moment, she broke away. "How was that?" she whispered. "Does that count against what I owe you?"
"You don't have to-" I began. "I know I don't have to," she breathed. "I want to."
She pressed in against me and we kissed again, harder this time. Before, surprised, my arms had laid limp at my sides, but I wasn't surprised any more, or reluctant either. I reached up and ran my hands through her long silky hair, parting it with my fingers and stroking its length. She broke our kiss and purred. "I like that..." She bent forward and kissed me again. I felt her shift her weight, and suddenly she was no longer sitting next to me on the couch, but was sitting on my lap, her legs spread on either side of me, her thighs pressed up against mine. (Later I thought about how difficult a trick that must have been to pull off, to move like that without breaking liplock with me. For obvious reasons, I couldn't see what she did. I suspect a combination of flight and litheness.) Her hair fell around on me in a wave. It smelled clean, with hints of spice. Her weight bore down on my already-stiff crotch; the pressure was painful and exciting at the same time. She felt me shudder, and deliberately ground herself against me; I gasped in spite of myself. Then the pressure released, and I realized she was flying, her body suspended just above mine.
"Let's get more comfortable, shall we?" Her voice was husky. She reached down and pulled at my flannel workshirt. Gripping the sides firmly, she tore it open in one smooth motion. Buttons flew everywhere. Gripping the back of my collar, she pulled again, and my shirt, now tattered and torn, fell away from me. So much for 'why do I always have to make the first move?' I thought. She likes to take charge. And I didn't mind a bit.
"Now it's my turn." With sure fingers, she reached behind and undid her belt, which she tossed aside. Then, gripping her corset, she pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. Her breasts, now free, bounced and quivered. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. They were every bit as huge as I had imagined, round, full, and perfectly proportioned. Her nipples were tiny pink buds on her small dark aureoles. Despite their vast size, her breasts still pointed perkily upwards, as if in defiance of gravity. It didn't seem possible.
As I stared, gape-mouthed, Diana chuckled. "Aphrodite is one of my patrons, you know. Thanks to her, I am as supernaturally gifted at love as I am at battle. Wouldn't you agree?" She leaned forward. Slowly those titanic breasts engulfed me. I reached up and cupped the sides with my hands. They were so soft, so warm, so pleasant. I lay there, holding them to my face, while she hovered in front of me, quietly humming some tune and gently rubbing my shoulder blades. I don't know how long I stayed there, in her embrace; minutes at least. I felt perfectly relaxed, every part of me loose and at ease. Every part of me except my cock, that is. That was as hard as stone, and screaming to be released from its cloth prison.
She gently pulled away from me. "You like that, hmmm?" She pulled back into space, hovering in the lotus position, just within arm's reach. She reached out and gently stroked my cock through my pants, giving it a tiny squeeze. "Yes, I can see that you do." Again, she took matters into her own hands: she grabbed my trousers at the top of my fly and tore: the fabric parted easily in her grip, revealing my tent-like boxer shorts. She repeated this move on them, and my cock sprang to attention, up at a sharp angle. Smiling seductively, she gripped her star-spangled tights and pulled them down, managing somehow to pull them over her boots in a single, graceful maneuver.
I wish, now, that I could have a photo of that scene: me, essentially naked, with just fragments of my shirt and pants hanging off of my body, particularly my legs; and her, half-dressed in her Wonder Woman costume-tiara, earrings, bracelets, and boots, but no more. Normally I preferred to make love perfectly nude, and my partner the same way, but in this case, her partial costume was intensely arousing. Don't ask me why.
Without warning, Diana reached out and grabbed me, pushing her arms under mine and pulling me close. Pulled up against her, her breasts pressing hard against my chest and her cheek to mine, she lifted me up into the air. The experience was uncanny, although I must admit I was as intoxicated by her closeness as by the flying. Although she'd never been in my cabin before, she had correctly worked out which room was the bedroom; we flew around the couch and through the open doorway, and she gently deposited us on my bed, a solid affair of wood and brass I'd inherited from my parents. I lay on my back, head on the pillows, but she didn't come to rest next to me; instead, she rose up again, a few inches above me, and drifted down the bed, until her head hovered just over my swollen prick. Without a word, she set to work.
Her tongue, moist and pink, darted out and began licking me, starting at the tip and working down to the base of my shaft, then back up again. Each brush was firm, more like a stroke than a caress; I suppose her tongue muscles are as potent as the rest. It felt good, but so inadequate, so much less than I needed, and I began to jerk my pelvis upwards. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Naughty..." she murmured. She wasn't cruel, though; she knew what I wanted. Staring directly into my eyes, she took me into her mouth.
It was exquisite. At first she just took the head, bobbing up and down on it, her cheeks dimpling as she rolled it around her mouth, her tongue flicking around the sides and brushing against it. I settled back, relaxed, and watched her. Her hair threatened to fall in front of her face, but her tiara held it back, except for a few wisps; I could see what she was doing. Her round eyes watched me as she sucked at the tip of my cock; she made little moans of pleasure as she did so. Suddenly she broke contact, pulling away. "How was that? Was it good?" she asked archly. I groaned in pleasure and desire. She giggled-she giggled!-and went back to her work. This time she was serious. Her hands reached under my body and grabbed my buttocks. Squeezing slightly, she braced herself against me and took all of me in.
I'd never been deepthroated before, and I suspect I never will be again, at least like that. Her superhuman powers make her, I think, the most talented fellatrice in the world. She took the whole length of my shaft, and she didn't gag, and she didn't come up for air. Somehow, she tightened her throat muscles, contracting and expanding them, creating rushes of pressure and pleasure along my member. (And all the while, she massaged my ass with her hands.) She held that position for long moments, and then pulled back so she only had the head in her mouth; a few strokes of the tongue, and she deepthroated me again.
I was so entranced that I don't know how long she used her mouth on me, but it was a while. When I approached climax, she took it easier; then, when I had relaxed, she sped up again. I know she deepthroated me at least four times before, finally, I couldn't take it anymore. She knew it, too, from my moans, and made the most of it: she pulled back so she had the head in her mouth and furiously bobbed on it, sucking and sucking until, in a final burst of pleasure, I came. She swallowed quickly, but even so small streams of come escaped her lips and trickled down my shaft. She kept going, working me until I had finished, then she conscientiously licked me clean.