Two Wonders


Furious! Wonder Woman was jet lagged, battered, groggy and sore from her Guatemalan fiasco, but mainly she was––furious! Outraged! About to ease her abused body into a soothing hot jacuzzi, she had turned on the TV, idly, and saw––herself! Or rather, an obscene parody of herself: a busty brunette in a abbreviated version of her patented costume, kung fu fighting with three sinister looking middle eastern types, tripping, doing a comic pratfall, then quickly subdued and tied with her own magic lariat, after suitable kicking and wiggling, to a nearby lampost. For TV, the bondage was fairly elaborate and detailed; wrists and elbows behind the pole, several loops above and below her breasts, a tight cinch around her waist, and then the free end of the rope tugged between her legs up and back to her arm ties. She fought her bonds; helpless, provocative. The three men leered, menacing. Closeup on the tight bondage, the actress's mouth and eyes, wide with fear and anger, close up on her heaving bosom and struggling hips. Fade to commercial.

WW leapt out of the tub, all thoughts of the soothing bath forgotten, grabbed her cell phone, punched in her top secret state department number and, dripping wet, screamed at Josh, her spymaster.

"Josh! Yeah, it's me! Just got back. Don't ask, I'll report in later. Josh, there's some bimbo on the tube playing me! Big slut, all tits and ass! She's making me a clown, a buffoon! A clumsy comedienne! What is this?"

"Now, Wonder, don't get upset" Josh's voice was a little too reassuring, she thought. "When you were––er–-out of comission for so long––it took us months to finally bribe your way out of that Guatemalan whorehouse––we decided here at the agency that we needed to keep your image fresh; you're our terror- fighting poster girl, you know."

"Cut the bullshit! Who is that ––that woman? Why am I on TV?"

"As I said, we wanted to keep you in the public eye, so to speak, and HBO paid us seven millon dollars for the rights to your story, seven mil––that'll cover a lot of the creative accounting we've had to do lately."

"HBO! That's the network with all the swearing and nudity, right? And who is that bitch in my costume, or almost falling out of it?"

Josh gulped. This wasn't going well at all. "Uh, well, she's a starlet, I guess... Jenny Jugster. Worked in a few movies, bit parts, and––well, she did some porn, too. But she looks so much like you, Wonder..."

"Like me! She's got a fat ass and those big sagging tits!"

"Exactly!––that is--" Josh hurried on: "Look, we have script control, you are in charge of your own image, of course. If we need to have you advise the writer and director, I'm sure we can set up a meeting in a few days, after you––feel better.."

During Josh's last speech, the show had resumed. WW felt sick, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the screen. An adorable black boy, about 12, in a hooded sweatshirt, droopy pants and newlooking Nikes appeared around the corner, put his hands on his hips and yelled:"Allah sucks!"

The three Arabs stopped pawing WW (one had his hand inside her skimpy tights, toying with the crotch rope) and, howling with rage, pursued the boy who ducked adroitly around the corner, the camera following, as he jumped into a dumpster while the three men raced by.

Back to WW wriggling salaciously in her bonds. A black woman wearing black gartered stockings, a tiny miniskirt, a blonde wig, a sheer blouse and absurdly high heels appears. She eyes WW.

"Nice rack, girl. You into bondage and that shit, huh! Your pimp tie you up like that to turn on the johns, right? But. Honey, this is my corner. So haul your big white ass outta here!" She flicks open a switch blade knife.

The boy, Leroy, reappears "Hey Lateesha! Don't be like that! Tnis is my new friend, wonder woman. She's going to help us make these streets safe again!"

"Well, I hear you, you little skinny assed loser. You know I'm tight with your sister, so I'll cut you some slack, just this once. But, get her off my corner!"

Leroy is untying WW with some difficulty; they both struggle with the tight breast and belly ropes. One ample breast, pink nippled, escapes her halter; Leroy tucks it back in and is rewarded with a smile.

He blushes. Fade. Time for another commercial, this one for Viagra.

WW turned from the TV with a curse. She was still on the phone.

"Josh! are you watching this shit? This cow is making a joke out of me! I won't stand for it!" WW was livid now, screaming at Josh.

"In a few days..." Josh begins.

"In a few days, my ass! I'm going over to that studio right now!" She watched the closing shot as the credits rolled. "OOH! That slut!" Wonder fumed. On the screen Wonder was walking down the street, arm around Leroy. The shot was from behind; Wonder swayed on her high heeled boots, her barely covered ass jiggling, swaying.


In minutes, WW stood before the huge HBO studios. An armed security guard met her at the door. "Another one" he muttered. "OK, lady, we gotta screen you. Just stand over here."

"Another one?" What was that about, WW wondered as he led her to a neck high steel box some twenty feet long; a 8 inch wide groove ran down the top. The guard directed her to a treadmill, "Just stand up straight, put your neck in that slot," he said. "and I'll close these doors. Arms at your sides."

The doors were topped with two semicircular steel clamps; as the guard closed and latched the doors behind her, the two metal arcs

meshed and clicked shut, forming a rigid collar around WWs neck. Before

she could protest, he pushed a button and the treadmill began to roll . There were various mechanical whirrs, rumbles and clicks; at the same

moment, WW felt more metal clamps trapping her wrists at her

sides, apparently slotted into the side walls of the big metal cage as was the collar; as she trotted on the treadmill moving into the machine, trying to keep from stumblng, her imprisoned head and hands slid along at the same pace.

"Hey! What kind of––ow!" she sputtered at the guard; he was now grinning widely.

'Ow', because some sort of mechanical searching device was now exploring and roughly stroking her body. 'almost like hands–very clumsy hands', she thought. And then: "Ow! OH! Stop that! Stop this fucking machine!" (an appropriate adjective, as she soon was to discover.) The hands had fondled her shoulders, then caught in the fabric of her top, pulling it down; the same rough machinery, or robot, or whatever diabolical device was now pinching and kneading her breasts.

"Just routine, lady, Our patented search robot. Enjoy your trip!" the guard chuckled.

The treadmill was slowing; she was only halfway through the steel chamber. Now the robot snagged her shorts, pulling them down below her knees; as she struggled against the wrist cuffs and the rigid metal

collar the device explored her thighs, then slid up, up into her crotch. She felt a cold squirt of lubricating goo between her legs. Before she could

gasp again, she was deeply penetrated fore and aft, both intimate channels violated. The robotic fingers seemed to linger there, twisting and plunging, as she continued to protest––pain, humiliation and rage combined. The treadmill suddenly sped up; she was whisked to the end of the big box, the metal cuffs released, the exit doors flew open and she was hurtled through them, sprawling on the floor, disheveled, exposed, nearly naked, shouting at the guard even as she tried to cover herself, pulling up her trunks and hastily covering her bare breasts with her gaping top:

"You––you–– I'm going to report you! That ––that torture machine is seriously warped! Look what it did to me!"

The guard's grin was even wider. "Actually, lady, the robot is not at fault––except it's in the shop, being repaired. I asked my Uncle Louie

to fill in today. Louie?"

A small man stuck his bald head out of the box, flashed a wide snaggletoothed smile and waved two dripping fingers at WW in an obscene, mocking gesture.

Should she beat both of them to a pulp, should she?––no, she had to focus on this television slut. First things first. She could kick their asses later. She gave the steel box one mighty kick, crumpling one side panel, and stalked over to the receptionist at the end of the big lobby. 'Wait a second? What's going on? 'she paused and blinked.

The lobby was full of Wonder Woman wannabes; fat, skinny, old, young, a few frankly voluptuous (they wore the scantiest contumes), others butt ugly. And everyone of them was wearing some ill conceived parody of her personal costume: red white and blue, bustiers, bikinis, , saggy shorts, one was topless with patriotic star pasties on her nipples. Some of the worst brunette wigs she'd ever seen were in evidence.

Overhead a big banner proclaimed:


Now WW understood the guards 'another one' comment. She wondered if Uncle Louie had violated all of these––there must have been fifty––women too. She approached the desk.

"I must see Jenny Jugster! At once! I'm Wonder Woman!"

"Right." said the bored receptionist without even looking up. "You're Wonder Woman. Take a number."

This was too much! WW's pent up rage exploded. She reached across the desk and lifted the stout girl by her HBO jacket lapels across the desk and held her there, their faces just inches apart.

"I am Wonder Woman! Now tell me where this Jugster bitch hangs out! Now!"

Blinking and trembling, her feet off the floor, kicking, the frightened

girl gasped: "Trailer 302. At the end of the lot. You can't miss

it. Gee, you really are Wonder Woman, aren't you? Can I have your autogra....."

WW dropped her rudely and sprinted through the huge warehouse-

like studio. Now on a mission, she ran through several sets, spoiling

takes as she went. She caromed off James Gandolfino on the Sopranos

set, knocked down lights and cameras on the Larry David set, and quickly found herself in front of a lavish forty foot trailer. 302, with a star and a cartoon of a naked Wonder Woman on the door. She paused to catch her breath and straighten her hair and abused costume, then knocked ––loudly.


"Whoever you are, fuck off!" A slighty slurred voice with a Texas twang answered.

WW pushed open the trailer door, virtually tearing it off its hinges––and stopped in her tracks. There, sprawling in an armchair, legs apart, wearing a flimsy robe open in the front, drink in hand,

was––herself! 'My hairdo' she thought: 'well, that's easy to fake. But my face and my body––gorgeous breasts, slim waist, just the hint of a belly and that delicious pubic bulge, those deep pink cuntlips peeping through that furry dark triangle of––her, no, my!––pubic hair. It couldn't be!'

Jenny was just as surprised. She spoke first. "Shit I"m seein' double! Too much to drink, I guess." She rubbed her eyes.

Over her initial shock, WW screeched: "What gives you the right to--steal my soul! To mock me on that shitty tv show?""

She was across the room in a second, had Jenny's shoulders in both hands and dragged her upright. Jenny in turn grabbed WW's upper arms; her grip was surprisingly strong. Frozen, the two big women glared at one other, flashing blue eyes meeting in an intense gaze. Their oversized breasts touched, flattened.

"Holy shit! You are Wonder Woman, ain't you! I thought you were just some kind of fake government phony. Bush could do that. But--but--shit! You look just like me." Jenny released her grip.

WW, still furious, squeezed her shoulders––broad shoulders, nearly as broad as mine––the thought flitted through her head. "OK. You got my looks down pretty well, I'll admit. But I won't stand for that garbage you do on the tube!"

Jenny tried a little smile. "Wonder Woman! God, you're gorgeous.

Uh, look, I just act, I don't write that shit. Thats the producer, Manny Grossman, he does the stories. He put in that nigger brat as my side kick and all that other hokey shit, how I keep getting tied up and fondled and nearly raped and all like that. Honest!"

WW released her. She was still dazed by the uncanny resemblance. And she has a lovely face--just like mine, she thought.

Jenny was crafty and smarter than she looked. She sensed that

WW's rage was cooling a bit. She chattered on: "I do declare this is the most amazin" thing I ever did see. let me take a look at you, here in this big mirror." She took WW's hand and led her to the full length looking glass, posing the two women side by side. Jenny's robe had slipped off during the confrontation, she was totally nude as she postured, proudly, then gently steered WW into identical poses.

Her ass, WW thought, is maybe a bit fuller, softer than mine, less muscular. But--she's so--beautiful! For a second, WW felt a bit overdressed. comparing her suddenly dowdy costume to Jenny's breathtaking nudity. A confirmed narcissist, WW spent a lot of time nude before her own mirror, loving what she saw; suddenly there were two of her to worship.

Jenny was still talking. "I swear, we could be identical twins! But I'm just a little Texas gal, and you're––yoiu're special! Let me make you a drink; I want to know all about you! I want to try to capture the real you so I can--you know--play you better!"

Jenny busied herself with vodka, ice cubes and a splash of tonic.

"I usually don't drink. Well, maybe just a little one". WW was not

immune to flattery, accepting compliments as her due; the wily actress was winning her over. Then she remembered her mission. "You seem to be––very nice" (glancing once again at Jenny's casual, flouted nudity), "But I demand to talk to your Mr. Grossman, and I mean today!"

"No problem. He's in the studio right now; he has to emcee some

kind of stupid lookalike contest; I"ll call him right now." Jenny smiled and picked up her cell phone. "Manny..Oh its you, Darlene. Get in touch with him as soon as you can, Wonder Woman––the real one–– yeah, no shit!––is here in my trailer. And she's really pissed! I'll tell you why later.

Just get Manny; give him the message."

She put down the phone, smiled sweetly at WW, reached over and patted the superheroine's knee. "You know, I think we can be friends. You look so much like––I look so much like––you know what I mean. Like a twin sister I never had! So, while we wait for Manny, tell me about some of your––what do you call them? adventures? Here, let me freshen your drink. Just don't try to catch up with me, I'm a little bit buzzed. Wow! What a day!"

WW omitted Guatemala, but related a recent triumph. "This is top secret, of course, but...." She went on to describe how she had brought a large ring of senior citizens cheating on their medicare claims to justice.

She was beginning to feel the vodka a bit. "I must stay angry." she told herself, her eyes roaming around the trailer. She saw the scanty TV

costume hanging on a closet door.

"That reminds me, Jenny, That costume you wear. It's not me. I mean it's way too––revealing, I guess. I wouldn't be comfortable in.."

"OH, I bet you would! Listen. We modified it because that old fashioned top of yours wouldn't hold me in. I'd do an action scene and end up flopping my tits all over the lot. All those retakes! So we added the halter, got rid of those old fashioned trunks, made it a one piece; I think it's an improvement. Here, try it on! You'll see!"

"No, I don't think that I..."

"Come on! Wonder Woman never turns down a dare! I know it will fit, and you'll look so much more sexy!"

Sexy! WW's pride and curiosity prevailed (the vodka didn't hurt.) She borrowed Jenny's discarded robe, turned away from the Texan; shy at first, then 'what the hell' proud, she stripped, carefully placing her old costume and her power belt and lasso on the coffee table. She couldn't help sucking in her stomach, taking a deep breath and throwing out her chest as she turned, posing at the mirror. covertly comparing her own stunning nudity to Jenny's. Jenny handed her the costume, and helped her adjust it, smoothing the tight silken fabric over her hips and between her thighs, her fingers lingering for a long moment.

Looking in the mirror once more, WW gasped, pirouetted, posed and gasped again. Jenny had been right. This was––sexy; probably too

sexy. The narrow halter plunged from her neck to her thighs, widely separating and barely covering her full breasts. (Her nipples, now a bit erect, showed through the thin fabric). Her belly and ribcage were almost totally exposed. Just above her pubes the halter straps met and joined as a narrow band that just covered as it defined her labial cleft; in back the outfit bisected her buttocks, leaving them mostly bare, really just a thong. and stretched high over her hipbones to join the flimsy front of the garment. WW was smitten. this was so daring, so obscene, really, but––my God how it set off her ass and boobs!

Jenny clapped and cheered. "Sensational! I could never look that good! ( a lie.) If you start wearin' that , you're gonna need a bikini wax!" WW's dark pubic curls peeped our on either side and above the G-string- like crotch strap. Jenny continued, her eyes narrowing a bit: "Hey! let me try on your old uniform, We can pose together and you'll see how much sexier you are than me!"

WW hesitated for a second, then thought: 'What the hell! I bet I will look sexier than her!' "I'm not supposed to, but––OK." she said,

Jenny slipped into the trunks, then the strapless top. and stood before the mirror striking a pose. "Ta da! Wonder Woman! I guess I need the belt, too."

'Not the belt!" WW started to say, but it was too late. Jenny had buckled the power belt of Minerva around her waist. "Hey! this is cool! And this magic lasso––does it really work?

WW was suddenly sober and very nervous. "Please! Put that down!" she said.

Jenny twirled the lasso. "Yahoo! Just a Texas super gal who knows how to rope!" She flicked the lasso, the loop settled around WW's shoulders as the suddenly grinning actress tugged it taut, just beneath the superheroine's breasts, trapping her arms to her sides.

WW was trembling inside, She felt the power of the lasso; she knew that it rendered her helpless. Perhaps Jenny didn't know!

"Hey! Pretty good roping. Jenny, Now take this thing off. Please!" She tried a feeble smile.

Jenny––a very different Jenny from the artless, slightly drunk actress of the last twenty minutes--confronted WW with a triumphant smirk. "Not just yet, darlin'. Not just yet. I gotcha now, havent I? This thing really works, and you can't get loose until I let you. Right?"

WW was silent as Jenny continued "Lets be real sure you can't get loose. Because I have plans for you. Oh my yes!" She circled behind WW, who was still standing, trembling, helpless in the lasso, and tied her elbows, then her hands behind her back. WW winced as the obedience compelling rope bit into her wrists.

Jenny slipped out of WW's costume, now she was nude again, except for the belt, "Sit down!" she commanded. WW meekly obeyed.

"I just can't stand someone as pretty as me, so maybe before we're done, we're gonna have to mess you up some" She tugged on the halter; both of WW's breasts spilled out and jiggled slightly. 'Why are my nipples so hard?' she wondered to herself. 'I'm in real trouble here.' Jenny fondled and squeezed both soft defenseless mounds, then pinched and tweaked WW's big nipples into full erection.

"I know you've been fucked by lots of guys––that's part of your legend; always captured––like now––always abused. But have you ever

been fucked by a woman? NO? Darlin', this is your lucky day!!" Jenny exulted, putting her hand inside WW's tiny crotch cover, fingering the

superheroines already moist pussy.

"Wet already! MY My! It looks like you swing both ways! Now just

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