Earth-349:
The Flash
by
Anton Psychopoulos, Ph. D.
Disclaimer #1
This story is set in a hypothetical parallel world within the pre-Crisis
DC Universe, based on a story in Superman #349, and on "Target of
the Magic Bullet" in Flash #***, but is not limited by those
stories or any other.
Disclaimer #2
Some characters appearing in this story are based on copyrighted
characters owned by DC Comics, Inc., Marevel Comics and others. Their use here is not intended to infringe
or disparage those copyrights.
Disclaimer #3
This story is not recommended for persons under 18 or the easily
offended.
In an
easy chair in his laboratory, in an ordinary-looking house on the outskirts of
Hub City, Sam Scudder the Mirror Master sat and admired the immense glass
bottle that sat against the far wall, and the huddled figure within. Although safely concealed in his private
lair, he still wore his orange and green costume, and even his green cowl.
Scudder
raised his right hand and flicked the
reflective surface of his finger ring.
A ray of light reflected from it activated a smoke machine. Green mist issued from the bottle, and the
figure within stirred. Clumsily it
climbed forth to do his bidding.
Scudder
had removed all of the Flash's costume except for part of the cowl, which still
covered the upper part of her face. He
had refrained from unmasking her, preferring to draw out and savor his
triumph. A long, flowing blonde wig had
been glued to the cowl; he preferred it to her own tight cap of close-cropped
blonde hair. He had dressed her in
diaphanous pink harem pants, so sheer they concealed nothing, a tiny red vest
that would never have closed around her breasts, and red slippers.
"Your wish is my command, O Master," the mesmerized heroine
said, obeying her programming.
The
Mirror Master clapped his hands together, delighted.
"Ah, but what is my wish, my lovely genie? What shall I have you do?"
"Whatever you please, Master.
I hear and I obey."
"Yes, yes, of course, now and for the rest of your life, but what
shall I do with you first? Bend you
over the nearest work table and fuck you?
But I can do that any time, and I can only do it for the first time just
once. No, first I'll exploit your
powers. That's what you're really here
for.
"But how . . . ."
Scudder snapped his fingers.
"I
hear that Hugh Hefner has a collection of photos he wouldn't dare print in his
magazine, photos of famous women who could sue him, some of them too smutty to
print. Bring me some of them."
He'd
been about to add, "Especially any of Daphne Dean," but the Flash was
already gone, with a small swirl of air, and returned so quickly the Mirror
Master thought she must have encountered some problem until he saw the sheaf of
glossy papers in her hand.
Scudder
took the photographs eagerly, flipping through them, growing more and more
agitated.
"So that's what she looks like in the raw . . . mmm, that's
a good one . . . hey, that's Carmen Miranda!
But what's so -- Oh my God!
She's not wearing . . . !
Scudder's eyes bulged. Sweat
beaded on his forehead. He wiped at it
for a moment, then glanced up at his slave.
"Bring me the First Lady's panties, still warm from her ass!"
Stopping at a newspaper office to learn where Mrs. Eisenhower would be,
the Flash ran over the plains to Gateway City.
She was standing on a podium set up between the pillars of the Open
Gateway, on the banks of the Long River.
With sad irony, the Flash remembered the last time she'd been in Gateway
City, and had admired the soaring bronze pillars of the symbolic gateway to the
West.
No time
for sightseeing now, she thought grimly as she knelt behind the First Lady,
lifted her skirt and undid the straps of her garter belt. The Mirror Master's programming allowed her
little leeway.
The
Flash did, however, apparently have time to redo Mrs. Eisenhower's
garters. When she felt a slight breeze
around her legs a few hundred milliseconds in the future, she'd be surprised
and puzzled by the missing step-ins, but at least her stockings wouldn't fall
down. The Flash understood at once the
importance of the fact that her programming did contain some room for
interpretation.
Dawn
Allen was an intelligent woman who thought things through carefully, looking
for opportunities in every situation.
The powers of the Flash would not have kept her alive through the past
three years if she hadn't kept her head, even while embedded in amber or
transformed into a living balloon.
Literary agent Peirre-Jules Noire had been one of Hub City's noted
eccentrics. He had filled his home with
all sorts of strange objects which he claimed had come from parallel
worlds. Some were things which could be
easily faked, like envelopes with stamps from nonexistant countries or clothes
cut to outlandish fashions. But others
were harder to explain.
When
Noire disappeared mysteriously, Dawn Allen was a rookie forensic scientist
assigned to comb his house for clues.
She had been intrigued by the device labelled "Cosmic
Treadmill", and had violated police protocol by stepping onto it to try a
few paces.
Two
hours later, according to the treadmill's pedometer, she had run over a
thousand miles, her speed still increasing, and twenty pounds had fallen off
her formerly plump body. A week after
that, her powers still growing, she had appeared in public for the first time
as the Flash.
The
Flash returned to her master's lab and handed him the drawers. He mopped his brow and looked her up and
down.
"Do your titties get sore, running all over creation with no bra,
slave?" Scudder asked in mock-sympathy.
He
leaned over and cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs.
"No, Master," the Flash replied. "The same control over my body's molecules which allows me
to turn corners at speeds faster than sound, and protects my feet from
friction, protects my breasts from the effects of my super-speed."
The
Mirror Master chuckled.
"That's not how you'd answer if you had control over your voice, is
it?"
"No, Master."
"Heh. Why not? For the next five minutes, slave, you have
my permission to speak freely."
The
Flash clasped her hands before her (apparently her unconscious considered
gestures to be part of "speaking freely") and leaned close to
Scudder.
"Thank you, Sam. I've
wanted so much to tell you how much I've been enjoying this."
Scudder's jaw dropped.
"All my life I've dreamed of belonging to a strong, masterful man,
a real man who knows what he wants and takes it. That's why I became the Flash in the first place, to tempt and
tease powerful men like you into finding a way to master me. The Top, Abra Cadaver, the Elongated Man,
none of them were able to do what you have.
Only you were able to enslave me.
Only you deserved to."
The
Flash dropped to her knees, straining her programming (and her stomach) to the
limit, looking up imploringly at Scudder.
"Please, Master, let me give myself to you completely. Use me, not as a performing puppet but as a
willing, loving slave."
She
reached out but had to stop short of touching him.
The
Mirror Master looked down at the Flash, astonished but still slightly
suspicious.
"You want me to give you freedom of action, do you?"
"Only to serve you more perfectly, Master."
"Very well, but you may not use your speed powers. You are free to give me pleasure, nothing
else."
"Oh, thank you, Master," the Flash gushed, lowering her face
to the floor and kissing the tips of his green boots.
She
kissed her way up his orange tights, then shyly raised her hands to unlatch his
belt. It took her a moment to figure
out how it worked, but then his tights were worked down and his manhood sprang
free. With her fingertips she brushed
lightly up and down its length, lowering her head as though suddenly modest,
hiding her disgusted expression.
The
Flash took the Mirror Master's penis lovingly in one hand, cupping his scrotum
with the other. She felt him tremble
under her touch
"There is a trick I have learned to do with vibrations that I would
love to show you," she said truthfully."
"Yes, yes, go ahead," Scudder moaned.
The
Mirror Master had just enough time to see the Flash's hand blur visibly before
he doubled over in agony, his testicles vibrating at precisely the frequency
she had learned would cause the most exquisite pain to a man. He tried to gasp out a command but was
unable to articulate, and a few seconds later he lost consciousness.
The
Flash still could not use her speed powers except for vibrating the palms of
her hands at the ball-busting frequency.
She could move at normal speeds, but only to give him pleasure. Of course, Scudder would still be terribly
sore when he awoke, so obviously calling for an ambulance consisted of giving
him pleasure. And of course when one
calls for an ambulance, it is necessary to give the address and the patient's
full name, and title if any. Obviously.
Dawn
Allen told herself all this over and over, straining against her programming
all the while she was on the phone. It
was a great relief to hang up the instrument and go stand at attention before
her unconscious master. Now she could
wait for the ambulance to arrive, and the police moments after.
It
would be embarrassing to have to stand there in her "genie" costume,
but she was on good terms with the HCPD, and she didn't think anyone would take
advantage of the situation. They'd call
in some reliable hypnotist or psychic healer to remove the Mirror Master's
controls, and things would be back to normal.
From
where she stood, she could see herself in a couple of the many mirrors in the
lab. She had to admit she looked good
in Scudder's "modified" Flash costume.
She'd
keep it. Her boyfriend would get a kick
out of it.