You really don’t see the truth about being a superhero in any of the comics or movies, Ellen thought.
Ellen had been at this gig for nearly a year now, and while it wasn’t all bad, it certainly wasn’t what she expected. She still had to work part-time at a department store to pay the bills. Fighting crime didn’t have an hourly wage, it turned out. There was the occasional reward, but most people seemed to think that if you had superpowers, you should be saving them out of the goodness of your heart.
Meanwhile, all the big-name heroes zipped around town, secure in their book deals and corporate sponsorships. They only worried about the big, flashy, public-eye types of heroism. The dangerous, painful, down-and-dirty, stuff – the muggers, the car thieves, the assaults, the break-ins – got left to lower-tier heroes like Ellen.
White Bolt, she thought, White Bolt.If you’re going to make it in this business, you’ve got to stick with the name. Even if it is stupid.
All these thoughts were running through her mind as she soared over the city, heading to the art museum downtown. Monitoring the police scanner back at her apartment, she’d heard the call. An alarm tripped. The alarm company would go through all the normal procedures, sending somebody out. They’d arrive in twelve minutes, probably. Odds are it’d be nothing. But on the off chance it was something big, Ellen wanted to be there. An art heist was perfect – your average art thief wouldn’t be ready to fight, and they were usually professionals, so you didn’t have to worry as much about some chump pulling a gun when you got the drop on them.
Ideally, it’d be a quick, simple, headline-grabbing bust. Might be nothing, but it was worth the effort. If things went well, this was her ticket to the big time. Get some photographs of her single-handedly hauling out a few perps, all in black with their cat burglar gear, saving some… Picasso or Van Gogh or whatever. There’s your career-maker right there.
She landed on the room, pulled open a skylight panel, and let herself in. She slid the glass closed behind her, dropping soundlessly to the floor. The building was hushed, security lighting providing the only illumination. Ellen hovered a foot above the floor, gliding soundlessly from room to room, searching for the source of the alarm.
She slowly made her way through a gallery of classical sculpture, which seemed fine. She traced a path through the Impressionist wing, finding nothing out of order. Modern art, photography… everything seemed normal.
Then, as she ascended the stairs to the second floor, she noticed something.
On her left, a small room caught her eye. The light was different somehow. Not brighter, but… more vibrant. Ellen slid in carefully. There were about a dozen small cases arranged around the perimeter of the room. Each held some sort of jewelry – a necklace in one, some large earrings in another. Some simply held gemstones. And one case in particular stood out. There was a multifaceted gem on display, blood red and big as a child’s fist. The light had been adjusted to shine directly on it, making it twinkle and shine. Ellen stared at it for a long moment before realizing why it was so odd – the glass portion of the case was gone. The gem was uncovered, unprotected. This was what the alarm was for. This was where the perps had been.
They must have been close by. Ellen should start looking for them. They’d be here any moment, no doubt. Or they were getting away. Time to spring into action.
She didn’t, though. She looked at the gem some more.
It would be good to look at it a bit longer, she figured. It was important to know what they were trying to steal, after all. Maybe she’d glean something from… just staring at it for a moment.
That didn’t seem like a bad idea.
Some time passed. Ellen didn’t really keep track. The light off the gem was so interesting. She sort of forgot everything else that was going on, but… that didn’t seem to matter.
She could just keep staring.
Ellen didn’t know how long it had been when she heard someone else enter the room. She didn’t look away. Her attention was deep in the heart of the gem now, and there was no getting it out. She felt like she was close to something, like she would learn something deep and significant about herself if she just stared a little deeper. Just a little longer.
The other figure in the room approached. She could feel him next to her. It didn’t matter.
“White Bolt, right?” he said. “Wow, not bad at all. You’re pretty much the perfect haul for this.”
She didn’t reply, didn’t wonder what he meant. Why would she? The gem was right there, right in front of her. Why pay attention to anything else when she could just contemplate that?
She heard him make an irritated noise. He pulled something from his pocket. He fiddled with it for a moment, and the light in the room changed. It took on a slightly reddish tint, and the gem… oh, wow, Ellen thought, it’s so beautiful. The red light shimmered and shone, seeming to wake up parts of her mind that had sank below the peaceful surface.
“White Bolt,” the man said, “you want to tell me your name.”
Ellen gasped. She did want to tell him that. She could see it somehow, there at the center of the gem. Her own desire to speak her name, to give away her true identity… it was there, deep in the gem, burning so bright she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it right away.
“Ellen,” she breathed. “Ellen Kendra Parcell.” It felt incredible. The gem seemed to throb with approval.
The man nodded. “Good to see that worked,” he said. “Tricky, getting the light fixtures in here to handle the right wavelengths. Took months to set it up without anybody noticing. And the calculations, figuring out the refraction off the gem, and…” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. You think I’m a genius, and you want to tell me that.”
Ellen watched the inner portion of the gem change, taking new shapes. She saw how brilliant the man was. She felt her mind softening and yielding, accepting the new truth. She wanted to tell him. She couldn’t stop herself.
“You’re a genius,” she gushed, “you’re brilliant, you’re so smart I can’t believe it.”
Another approving nod. He fiddled with something again, and the light… it didn’t get brighter, exactly, but it did seem more lively. More vibrant. Ellen felt the gem pulse, filling her mind.
“Now, listen up, Ellen.” Ellen listened. “You’ve been at this superheroine game for a while, and you’re getting frustrated. You’ve done your best, but it isn’t working. You’re sick of it. You get no respect, no recognition. You can fly, you have the strength of a dozen men, you’re bulletproof and damn near invulnerable, but still nobody respects you. You deserve better. You’ve decided to quit the hero stuff.”
He paused, then said “Think on that, then tell me I’m right.”
Ellen thought. Much of what he said was true. The rest… became true. The gem showed her how. It was easy.
“You’re right,” she said. Of course he was. Every word was inarguable.
“You didn’t come here tonight to stop a heist,” he told her. “You came to retire. You knew you’d find someone here. Someone smart. Someone with a plan. Someone who could show you the way. You came to offer up your services. You’re not a superheroine anymore. You’re a lackey. You want to use your powers to serve someone else. You want to serve me. Tell me I’m right.”
Ellen trembled as the new truths rushed into her. He was right, of course. She was no good as a hero. He was a genius. It made perfect sense that she’d serve him. “You’re right,” she said, her voice low and thick with emotion.
“They never respected you, never gave you attention. But now, they’ll all know your name. The superheroine who gave it all up to be the personal slave of a crime lord. White Bolt, hanging up her cape, turning her back on truth, justice, and all that bullshit. They’ll all talk about you now. You’ll be famous. And that gives you such a thrill. You’ve always wanted to be a bad girl, after all. Deep down, you were never good. You were always just searching for an opportunity to be corrupted, to be turned. You’re so hot knowing that it’s finally happening. Tell me I’m right.”
Ellen was almost panting. Her head ached. Her body shivered. Her pussy throbbed. It was true. She’d always wanted this, but never been brave enough to do it. But now, she’d have the fame she deserved. God, she was wet. “You’re right…” she moaned.
Suddenly, the lights snapped off. The gem was… nothing. Just some sparkly rock. Ellen’s mind snapped like an elastic band, shocked back into position. But everything was… new. Different. Changed. She turned slowly to the man next to her, eyes wide.
“Time to go, doll,” he said, smirking.
“Yes Sir,” she smiled back. She followed him out, obediently.
He hadn’t lied – she became an overnight sensation. White Bolt was no more. She was Bombshell now, and everyone knew about her. They said she sold herself out for attention and money. Nobody knew anything about the guy who ensnared her, but they said she fucked him senseless every night. They say she stole forty-four million from banks and vaults around the city, incapacitating three of her super-powered former allies in the process.
They were right, but they didn’t know the half of it. Bombshell spent every night gazing into one sparkling gem or another, having her mind scrubbed clean. She was the perfect bodyguard – singularly loyal, super-powered, and madly in love with the man she was protecting. She’d given up everything she used to hold dear, and lived now for her new priorities – excitement, greed, lust, power. Her body was her owner’s playground, and she loved nothing more than wildly fucking him for hours. She was insatiable. She belonged to him in every way. She’d finally made it.
I love enslaved superheroines.
For the “I can’t get enough superhero stories” crowd.
