Two Wonders

He's taking the red eye, should be here by dawn." He left without his

usual bravura.

There was a long silence as the two women eyed one another. Finally WW spoke.

"Jenny. This is bullshit, and you know it. It'll never work! Untie me, and we can switch back right now, let Manny and Josh straighten everything out in the morning." Her voice was low, almost controlled, but her eyes began to fill with tears. "Please, Jenny! Please!"

Jenny seemed moved for an instant, then reverted to her tough Texas self. "I'm afraid not. honey. LIke you said, the guys will figure this out in the morning. For now, let's get something to eat, and I'm going to have a bunch of drinks. Guess I'll have to feed you like a little baby, because I'm sure as hell not untieing you."

WW lapsed into a morose silence, tears running down her cheeks. She wriggled in her bonds again, though she knew it was fruitless. Jenny bustled around the kitchenette after making herself a big vodka on ice, then collected the remnants of the afternoon orgy: pate, some caviar, soggy canapes, a tired looking plate of fruit.

"Sex always makes me hungry; how about you? Nothin' to say, huh? Well just open wide, and we'll try a little of this foie gras on a cracker."

This was one more humiliation! But she was hungry, even with a bellyful of flat champagne. She grimaced, but allowed the amused Jenny to feed her. "That's a good little superherione! now another bite." Jenny was enjoying herself. "Something to wash it down? a little champagne?"

"No!" WW was vehement.

"Well, then, How about a little dessert?" With a malicious grin, Jenny peeled a banana and shoved it into WW's mouth. "Just suck and chew, darlin' ––I'm sure you know how. Here, I'll help push!" Still smiling, she forced the whole fruit between WW's jaws, down her throat. Gagging, chewing and swallowing as fast as she could, WW managed to consume the phallic shaft in twenty seconds, coughed, sputtered, and glared at her tormentor.

"Now don't be giving me that stink eye look, honey. Where's your table manners? I think I'll have me a little after supper drink." Jenny mixed another vodka, and sprawled back in the armchair, still wearing the authentic Wonder Woman costume––my costume! WW raged inwardly––, regarding her captive with an even broader grin.

Time passed. Jenny had another stiff drink or two as WW fumed inwardly, but in silence.

Later, Jenny staggered over to the couch and sat down next to WW, threw one arm over her shoulder. "Hey, honey, I'm just a wee bit drunk, and horny, too. I think we should be friends, like this afternoon. You're damn near as pretty and sexy as me, you know..." She began to stroke WW's breasts, clumsily, and tried to kiss her.

WW shudddered, recoiled, and finally lost it. 'GET AWAY FROM ME! TAKE YOU HANDS OFF MY––YOU––YOU FILTHY TEXAS SLUT! YOU–– YOU––COW!"

"Now is that any way to talk?" Jenny slurred, stroking and pinching WW's breasts and nipples harder now.

"You––you're disgusting! you're a depraved drunken whore! You're a lousy actress, and I can't stand your smelly old cunt fouling my uniform! I'll have to burn it, when I get loose..."

Jenny staggered to her feet, her mood swinging from amorous to furious in a split second. "Smelly old cunt, huh? You enjoyed it a few hours ago. How about another taste before bedtime?" She dragged WW off the couch onto the floor, on her knees and pulled off the offending shorts then forced the struggling woman's head between her thighs, her face smothered in her hairy wetness.

WW struggled impotently, her cries of rage and protest muffled by Jenny's pussy. Impulsively; her mouth found Jenny's clit; she bit down––hard.

The half drunk woman howled, jumped back, her fingers fumbling at her wounded bit of sensitive flesh. "OOOOW! You'll pay for

that, bitch!"

She sat down on the couch and dragged WW across her lap.

Fueled with adrenalin and vodka and outrage and pain from her super

sensitive swelling clitoris, she was very strong. In any case, the magic lasso compelled WW's compliance. Her ass was a tempting target; Jenny administered a savage spanking until her hands got tired, many minutes later. WW was now sobbing with pain, her butt cheeks glowing red.

'I ain't done yet, honey!" Jenny pushed her victim to the

floor, staggered to the kitchen, and returned with a metal spatula. She dragged WW by the hair up over her lap again, and resumed the punishment. WW's sobs turned to screams , then moans and whimpers; the spatula was worse––much worse, much more painful than Jenny's hands had been; welts and splotches, now deep red, almost purple appeared on her abused bottom; the sharp edges of the improvised paddle were beginning to break the skin; a pattern of linear cuts criss crossed her tender swollen ass.

Finally––an eternity for WW––Jenny was exhausted. She dumped the suffering captive off her lap, sent her sprawling to the floor. As WW writhed in pain, Jenny took the end of the lasso (magic lassos always have plenty of excess rope) tied WW's ankles together, flopped her over on her belly and pulled her ankles behind her, linking them to the wrist bindings. And pulled tight––tighter––until the woman's hands and ankles almost met. Her body arched painfully; she was in a severe hogtie.

WW pleaded with Jenny; the Texan was too spiteful (her clit still throbbed) and too drunk to pay any heed. "G'night, dearie." she slurrerd and stumbled to her bed. Soon she was snoring loudly.

WW flopped on he floor, one side, then the other, then back on her belly, breasts and face digging into the shag rug. No position was remotely close to comfortable. She endured a long, agonizing sleepless night, the unyielding lariat a mocking reminder of her initial foolishness.

*********

Dawn. WW stirred, still arched in the implacable hogtie. The

rug under her was cold and wet ; she'd had to urinate; twice. One more little torment, she thought, totally depressed. Jenny was still snoring loudly, sprawled nude on her bed. Ther was a knock at the door, than another, louder. Then Manny's voice; loud:

"Jenny! Rise and shine for chrissake! The man is here! let us in! Open the door!"

Jenny blinked awake, groggy. She stretched, winced, held her head, grimaced, and dragged herself upright. 'Wow. Shit." She raised her voice. "Manny, I hear you. Just a sec."

She hastily pulled on Wonder Woman's star spangled shorts, then her red and gold top and high heeled red boots, ran her hand through her tousled dark hair, and opened the door, with a wide fake smile and a throbbing headache.

Four men entered: Manny and others in dark suits and conservative ties––the men from Washington: Josh Grantley and his two federal agents. Will Gretz was stocky, militarily erect, his face giving away nothing, and Sam Jackson was a tall african american, his face equally impassive. Given the scene they were witnessing, this was not easy.

Wonder Woman stood in the doorway, slightly shaky, but

with a broad welcoming smile: "Josh! You must be Josh--er. I mean, good

to see you again. And Manny! Thank god you're back. Jenny's been all kinds of trouble!"

"Josh! It's me! She's a fucking liar!" another voice shrilled at the same moment; the men looked down on the rug, where a nearly naked woman was struggling on her belly trussed tightly with a golden rope. She was so furious she sputtered.

Josh looked quickly at Manny, than at the apparent

superheroine standing in front of the bound figure. "What's my last name, Wonder? And where's my office?"

Jenny's smile froze. "Why, its in Washington, Washington, DC!! Our capitol! Mister––er––Mister––ah....."

"You do look a lot like her. Nice try, Jenny." Then: "Will, untie our unfortunate heroine. Wonder, in deep shit yet again I see! What's your story this time?"

Gretz knelt, close to her delectable bare bottom, marred by red and purple welts and a few linear lacerations. The knots were tight, made more so by WW's long futile struggles; it took several minutes for him to finally untie her. She sat up, rubbed the circulation back into her wrists, glared at Jenny, and began her tale of woe; she was too angry to be aware of her virtual nudity; the tattered remnant of the TV costume exposed both breasts, and a tiny soggy remnant of her thong only half hid her damp crotch. The two feds were transfixed; Josh, usually

imperturbale, coughed uneasily; "Sam, get her something to––to wear."

The tall agent draped Jenny's silk robe over her shoulders.

Josh was ordinary looking. This was a blessing in his undercover work, but left him somewhat less than charismatic as a powerful spokesman––which he was. Medium height, forgettable features, sparse blond hair––WW had told him once:"Josh, give you twenty, thirty pounds and a fat double chin, you could be Karl Rove."

Wonder poured out her side of the story: too eager to confront the evil actress defaming her on televison, she had acted hastily, meeting Jenny who "seemed so nice, at first", foolishly swapping

costumes, captured; then Manny came in--her story got a bit vague at this point. "They got me drunk, somehow, I let her tie me up with the magic lasso and there was––a little bit of partying, and then they got this crazy idea..." She described what she remembered of the afternoon (leaving out the champagne enema and the orgy, of course), the identity switch, Manny's big speech about drugs and public arrest, and her long ordeal at the hands of "that vicious, drunken slut".

Both Manny and Jenny had been silent during this tirade; at

one point Jenny wanted to mention that she had been savagely bitten on the clit, but thought better of it. There was an uncomfortable pause. Josh frowned, took several deep breaths, shrugged, and said:

"We have a situation. First, Wonder, you must never, I

repeat, never, let anyone use your lasso! Never! Secondly, Manny and

you too, Jenny, that was a crazy idea, that switch places bit. What were

you thinking? Or were all three of you stoned at the time?"

Manny broke in, anxiously. "Hey, we messed up. But, we can talk to the media, say it was just a publicity stunt, no drugs, no crazy acting Wonder Woman; problem solved, am I right?"

Josh continued. "Not solved. You promised them red meat, Manny, and they––the media, the citizenry, the mob––are howling for it. Did you notice that crowd at your studio gate when we drove through,

Manny? At dawn? These are your fans, Wonder, your adoring vicious fans, and they want to see you doing the perp walk, handcuffed, or you, Jenny, doesn't really matter which one, but... one of you––just like Martha Stewart."

"It's got to be Jenny, of course. She's the one who does the drugs, gets all high and delusional, crazy, thinks she's me. Manny, that's what you told them!" WW said gleefully. Until Josh spoke again:

"Ahh–– not so fast, Wonder. Let's think this through. If we give them Jenny, you're going to have to stay on and do the show, a few rewrites, maybe, but the same tits and ass production that we've bankrolled. For at least a season. And also, Wonder, some of the big boys back in DC are increasingly annoyed by your appearances and speeches in favor of clean air, women's rights, stem cell research. That just won't do! Why do you think we let you to stay in that Guatemalan brothel for

so long? If you went to prison ––or a mental hospital, if you persisted in

claiming you are Wonder Woman–– you wouldn't have Cheney and the boys displeased with you for a while, would you?"

WW's confident smile had disappeared as Josh blandly

proposed to sell her down the river. She started to protest but he held up one hand, quieting her.

"On the other hand, Jenny." he stared at her coolly. "You were the one who started all this lets-change-places shit, weren't you? With the incomparable help of Manny, who has escalated a little afternoon of bondage , booze and sex––maybe rape, maybe consensual, we're never quite sure, with Wonder––into a national news item, It's like

the Romans in the Coliseum; if the lions and Christians don't show up, they're going to get pissed. Besides, Jenny, if you stayed on playing the real Wonder Woman, all those banquets and supermarket openings, instead of a ditzy actress in a sexy role, I don't think you could pull it off for very long. Wonder, here, has a level of sweet gullibility that you lost years ago in Texas, I'll bet."

"So. Jenny––you're taking the fall." Josh permittted himself a tiny smile. Jenny erupted. During her tantrum, Will whispered to Samuel."'You're taking the fall'- dude thinks he's Bogart with Mary Astor in that Falcon flick."

Jenny's tantrum was Vesuvian, over the top. She screamed, she threw things, she tore off her costume she tried to assault Wonder, then Manny then Josh. Manny, frantic, tried to calm her.

"Jenny, baby––Jenny. No big thing, OK? I promise! I'll get B.

Wilford Bromley, the studio lawyer, he'll fix it up with a tame judge, we'll plea just a little misunderstanding, and we're outta there."

Jenny was quieter, but still dubious. "Well, maybe. It's publicity, right? Can't be all bad...."

"Right! Publicity! And that's why you gotta do the papparazzi thing, cute little dress, handcuffs. You'll be back here by noon, party time again. Wonder, you don't care to join us, I suppose?"

WW replied: "Party with you two beautiful people again? I'd rather eat hyena shit!"

"Hey, Wonder, just a little joke. C'mon, Jenn, baby, let's get you all spiffed up." Manny was playing big shot, the man in charge again; Josh let him. 'Hollywood types; who needs them?' he thought. 'I think we're going to be OK on this one, got to talk to Wonder, though, chew her ass. Unbelievably dumb!'

Jenny closed her bedroom door, gulped down two Vicodin (her headache and hangover were killers!} did a quick line of cocaine, (there! that's better!) showered, did her hair and makeup, and emerged

thirty minutes later.. after just one more line.

"Ta da! Jailbird time!" She struck a pose. She had put on a cllinging very short black leather dress, its wide neck cut down to below her navel, laced together with shoestring-like leather thongs criss crossing her largely exposed breasts. The dress was backless and plunged much lower than her waist, almost to the crack between her prominent ass cheeks. No underwear, of course; that was part of Jenny's

legend; and no stockings, just highheeled black pumps.

'J LO, eat your heart out." she twirled like a model on a runway, suppressing a tiny giggle. "Law officers do your duty! Take me into custody!" She held out her wrists dramatically.

"She's high! Omigad! maybe that's better..." Manny's thoughts were mixed. The two agents looked at Josh, who gave a slight nod. and stepped towards the prancing sexpot.

"Behind your back, ma'am" said Jackson, gently forcing her arms behind her. Gretz was the one with the impressive looking cuffs––almost shackles––that he clicked on her wrists.

Manny was at her side, hyper, the showman again. "Baby, you look awesome! March through that crowd, head high, real serious look, don't say anything. It's Marie Antionette going to the guillotine through the streets of Paris in a tumbrel; chained, naked, but proud––tragic and proud. Got it? You guys, you feds. Look real fierce, real stern, OK?"

"We always do." Gretz drawled.

"Jenny! One more thing. Ill be at the courthouse with Bromley and Judge Shively. Piece of cake! Let's do it!" He kissed her on the cheek, and gestured grandly. "Do your duty, officers!"

The two straightfaced agents, one on either side of their

gorgeous brunette prisoner, headed through the studio gates toward the waiting police car. Flashbulbs, TV cameras, shouting reporters,

overhead TV channel helicopters, and a jostling, screaming rabid crowd of onlookers crowded in on the proud, tragic, and oh so sexy near naked star; Manny's publicity dream come true. Gretz and Jackson, skilled as they were, could scarcely make it to the car; slowly parting the crowd, until they could drive away through the surging mob.

At city hall, pushing through another crowd of media types and screaming fans, the trio: Jenny, cuffed in her provocative leather minidress flanked by the two agents, walked down the long hallway to the courtroom, now joined by the self assured studio attorney, G. Wilford Bromley.

"Don't worry, my dear." he purred. "Manny and I have everything under control. The judge is a golfing partner of mine, Roger Fenwick. We'll plead misguided publicity stunt, exaggerated charges, no reasonable cause for action; you'll be home by noon."

Jenny almost resented him. She was well into her role: striding erectly, proudly into the courtroom, wronged, victimised, but unrepentant––she was thoroughly playing her self-assigned part––her brow was furrowed, agonized; her lips slightly apart, her eyes glistening, almost tearful. She didn't need any soothing words from some slick lawyer at this, her most ambitious dramatic moment.

Then she looked up at the judge now seating herself on the

bench, and reconsidered. This surely was not the Hon. Roger Fenwick!

"I'm Judge Myra Slusser.' the robed woman said. Judge Slusser was middle aged, heavy and unattractive. She looked sourly at

Jenny's provocative leather outfit and continued: "Judge Fenwick has been detained in a freeway fender bender. He called on his cell phone to say he's not seriously hurt, but is being checked out in the hospital. He asked me to take this case, if there is one.""

"Your honor" Bromley began: " I am J. Wilford Bromley, counsel for HBO and the accused, Jenny Jugster. and I intend to show..."

"I know who you are, Willy." the judge said." Roger asked me to do him a favor. But what have we got here? Nothing on the docket, no case record; am I wasting your time and mine here?"

A slilghtly flustered young woman burst into the courtroom. clutching a sheaf of papers and press clippings. "Your Honor! Your Honor!" she gasped. "I represent the district attorney's office, and we are prepared to press charges in this matter!"

Jenny and Bromley, both surprised, turned towards this new voice; she was a skinny blonde in an unfashionable business suit, her shrill voice trembling, unsteady.

Judge Slusser scowled. "What matter? I watch TV like anybody else; I've seen the media hoop-di-do about this––actresses alleged impersonation and dope charges. Sensationalism! What else is new? I

see nothing about this on my calender!"

"Excuse me, your honor. My name is Jessica Pratt, junior assistant DA. This is my first time in your court, Ma'am, so I'm a bit

nervous, but.." she tugged at her her collar. "we––our office––are charging Ms. Jugster with inciting a riot––that would be the melee at the studio gates this morning––willful impersonation and, maybe some assault and drug charges later."

"This is highly irregular!" Bromley protested. "My client is already in the custody of federal agents, as you see. There is no need to proceed in this venue!"

"With respect, your honor, this is not a federal case. These crimes took place in our city. Our national television image should not be besmirched with the impression that we turn away when a celebrity commits criminal acts. We demand a full investigation: initial arraignment and interrogation of the suspect––there's been none of that–– and then charges, if warranted, a proper court hearing, charges, and full exoneration, if that is the outcome." Flushed, Jessica sat down as Jenny glared at her.

"Ridiculous!" Bromley blustered, his portly form puffed up with indignation, his famous long silvery locks flying. "This was a minor

misunderstanding, a perhaps unfortunate public announcement. by Mr. Grossman. Our government, which employs Wonder Woman, is fully capable of sorting all this out. We're wasting the court's time here, just so some publicity hungry district attorney can..."