Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish", by Centurion

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Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish", by Centurion

Post by flirty_but_nice »

[Author's Note: The original idea for this story was going to be a typical day for Jennifer Fletcher, facing the ordinary problems and frustrations of her job without once changing into the Fuchsia Fox. However, once I had got three chapters into it, I realized that although it may sound interesting in theory, in practice it's not the kind of thing that people come to this forum to read. So I switched gears, bringing in a villainess Flirty and I had been talking about and adding a Prologue to foreshadow her appearance. Chapter 1 is a condensation of those first three chapters I wrote and retains the traces of that original concept, so bear with me if it seems a little dull.]


Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish"

Prologue –

"I am ready, oh Muqtadir," said the Old Man.

Garrick Shunnarah bit back an angry retort. Dressed in his gray business suit, backed up by twenty armed men in black shirts and khaki trousers, still he felt irritated by this one old man who had intruded into his headquarters. Even the way he addressed Shunnarah as "Muqtadir", or Lord, felt like a studied insult.

His name was Sahhar Magrabi, but the men called him the Old Man out of respect, because he was a Magician. He was said to come from a North African tribe which lived in the deepest parts of the Sahara and studied the stars. His thin body was wrapped in many layers of ornate robes, topped by a turban. What skin could be seen on his face and his hands was leathery and tanned almost black.

He had arrived hours ago and taken over this stark, bare, underground room in the heart of Shunnarah's secret headquarters in northwest Washington. The walls, ceiling, and floor were of bare concrete, but the Old Man had ordered about half a ton of dry sand carted in to make a carpet. Then he had settled himself in the middle of this on his knees, drawing an elaborate circle of occult geomantic symbols in the sand while he sang in a loud, wailing, almost unintelligible voice.

It irked Shunnarah to be treated this way, but ORCUS was a world-wide terror organization, and while his faction might be the largest in the United States, there were much larger and more powerful factions in the Middle East. The Old Man had been sent by them, and he must be shown respect, or Shunnarah's leadership of his own organization might be called into question.

"Peace upon you, Magrabi," Shunnarah said. "Is the ritual prepared?"

The Magician nodded solemnly. "I must warn you again that this pact is not to be entered into lightly, nor without proper reverence for the Most Munificent One, the One Above All, who sees the hearts of everything."

"Yes, yes, I understand," Shunnarah said impatiently. He was a third-generation American. His grandparents had emigrated from Iran in the 1950's, but he himself couldn't even speak Persian, let alone Arabic, although he could understand a few words. He had long ago stopped thinking of ORCUS as a religiously-based organization at all. It was about POWER, pure and simple. That was what he and most of his men believed. "Proceed."

The Old Man threw back his head and cried out in Arabic. One of the henchmen, previously instructed, entered the room wearing nothing but a loincloth around his waist, his muscular bare chest and limbs gleaming with oil. He was carrying cupped in both hands an archaic brass Arabian lamp, which he set down in the very center of the circle of occult symbols. Then he backed away.

This is it, Shunnarah thought. The lamp had been seized by the Syrian faction of ORCUS, in a raid on the mansion of a wealthy art collector on the island of Cyprus. It had been smuggled by various means to America, along with Magrabi. Now we find out if the whole charade had been a worth it.

Again, the Magician cried out, a long wailing sound that insulted the eardrums. Another henchman led a pure white goat onto the circle of sand. Still wailing, Magrabi whisked a long-bladed, curved knife out from under his robes, and at the high point of his cry, deftly cut the animal's throat! Blood gushed out on the sands.

The room grew dim as a curtain of dark cloud appeared above the circle of sand. The henchmen watching the ceremony began to mutter among themselves, as lightning flashed in the cloud. Shunnarah felt wind tugging at his suit, ruffling his hair. The wind quickly rose to gale strength, whipping at the Old Man's robes, while his ululating incantation grew in volume, the wind whistling its shrill accompaniment.

Suddenly a column of smoke spewed upward out of the lamp! The gale force wind spun the smoke around in a circle without dispersing it. The lightning crackled overhead. Shunnarah's men sounded frightened now. He wasn't feeling so happy himself, but he was determined to see this through.

The Magician's voice abruptly ceased as he toppled forward onto his chest in exhaustion. The wind stopped dead, the lightning-laced cloud overhead dwindled away and vanished. All that remained was the column of smoke issuing from the lamp itself. It stood there for a moment like a miniature tornado, and then it collapsed upon itself and dispersed like fog.

In its place stood a girl! She was incredibly beautiful -- long hair as dark as a raven's wings, olive skin as smooth as silk, wide seductive hips and legs like a gazelle.
Her lithe young dancer's body was clad like a harem girl, her plump breasts enclosed in a silky bra of deep cerulean blue, leaving her arms bare. Below her taut, toned midriff she wore matching harem pants, the gauzy, semitransparent fabric gathered at her trim ankles and slit down the sides to show glimpses of her flawless legs. Her feet were bare and adorned with bangles around her ankles. In her hair she wore a small headdress with a string of golden discs dangling across her forehead. The lower half of her face was covered by a flimsy veil attached to the headdress. Her shadowed eyes were closed in modest feminine submissiveness.

Shunnarah felt his trouser snake thicken with arousal at her very presence. Behind him, he heard his henchmen stirring now with excitement, pressing closer to stare at her delicious body and mentally divide her between them. "A girl?" he muttered sacrilegiously. All this rigmarole just to summon a dancing girl?

"Master!" the girl said abruptly with a deep voice which seemed to resonate throughout the entire the room and made the men all step back involuntarily in fear. She pressed the flats of her hands together in front of her, then fell gracefully to her knees. "What is thy desire? Ask whatsoever thou wantest, for I am Zarsaltana, the Slave of the Lamp, and I am bound to obey thee."

Finally, she opened her eyes, revealing amber irises with vertical slits.


Chapter 1 -- Arlington, Virginia

Jennifer Traylor Fletcher was sitting at the kitchen table in just her camisole and panties, crunching on her second piece of toast when she heard the shower go on, and she knew that her husband Martin, the light of her life, was finally out of bed.

The young brunette took a long drink of coffee, leaving it to cool while she hurried back to the bedroom to dress.

Slipping into a sleeveless print dress with a V-shaped surplice bodice, Jenn fiddled with the sash waist as she went to the bathroom. Examining her silhouette critically in the mirror, she decided that her modest B-cups didn't need the support of a bra today; her camisole was enough. She was in the middle of doing her make-up when Martin finally shut off the shower and poked his head out, blinking as he groped around for a towel.

"When were you going to buy some more milk?" she asked waspishly, concentrating on getting her eye shadow right. "Hopefully sometime before the ice caps melt?"

"Milk?" Martin said, as if he had never heard the word before. "What are you talking about?"

"Milk," she said clearly. "We need toilet paper, too. And bread. Not to mention, you know, food?"

"Is it my turn again?" Martin said, toweling himself off. "The list is on the fridge, right?" But his wife had already slipped her golden bracelets onto her wrists, spun on her heel, and disappeared back into the bedroom.

Stepping into high heels, Jennifer rushed back to the kitchen and drank some more coffee. With her free hand, she pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the weather. It was going to be a mild day, lower to mid-60s.

Martin joined her in the kitchen half dressed, with his shirt still unbuttoned. "Jenn, I'll get the groceries," he said, pouring himself some coffee. "What's the brand name of that t.p. you like, so I don't forget?"

"I wrote it on the list," Jennifer said, mollified. She looked him over. His hair was still wet from the shower, sticking out all over the place. She reached up and fiddled with it, smoothing it down into place. He might be a little boy sometimes, but he was the little boy she was in love with. "And if you get taco fixings again, please don't get the stuff with jalapenos this time. We've got about fifty different bottles of hot sauce if you want it spicy."

"You're a wuss," he teased, with a crooked grin.

Jenn leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Martin set down his coffee cup so that both of his arms could snake around her slender waist and pull her closer. As always, her body felt so perfect in his arms, as if it had been specifically designed just for him and only for him. The very scent of her filled him with desire; he felt his manhood rise with wanting as their lips met a second time, caressing one other.

"I'm going to be late, sweetheart," Jennifer moaned, blushing.

"Dammit," Martin hissed, releasing her. As his eyes ran down the swell of her bust, he saw that in addition to the warm flush on her face, the hard peaks of her nipples were teasingly visible through the front of her dress. The sight aroused him even more.

"I love you," she said, kissing him one last time as she hurried out the door.

There was a Metro station only fifty yards from their building. Jennifer rushed down the steps, the upcoming breeze swirling her skirt sensuously around her silken, shapely legs. She got a seat on the train and crossed her classy stems, surprised to realize that the lingering effect of Martin's kiss made the peaks of her nipples quite visible through the front of her camisole and dress. A young man who looked like a college student was sitting opposite her and staring while trying not to be obvious about it. Jenn felt her cheeks flush, now regretting not wearing a bra after all. She tried to avoid his eyes as she uncrossed her legs, keeping her knees primly together.

"Another blog by Lipscomb about the Fuchsia Fox," said a well-groomed man in a business suit, looking up in disgust from his tablet.

"What, the superhero?" said a blue-collar guy sitting next to him. "What does he say about her?"

"Oh, he still has some kind of grudge about the museum break-in last week. He thinks she should have stopped it."

"The police didn't stop it either. What makes him think the Fox can be everywhere at once when the police can't?"

"Just trying to stir up resentment against superheroes," the businessman grumbled. "It's ridiculous."

"Have you ever seen her in person, up close?" the other guy said, sucking in his breath. "Mmmmmm! I'd love to have her rescue ME some day!"

Jennifer felt her cheeks coloring in overhearing the men talking lustily about her alter-ego. Just then the train came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the tunnel just before the L'Enfant Plaza stop. "Oh, come on! Geez!" everyone groaned, looking up from their iPads and mart phones and straining out the windows in a vain attempt to see what the holdup was.

Jennifer glanced at her watch. She was going to be late. If she had changed into superheroine costume and gone to work under her own power, she could have been there by now already. Still, it did her good to mingle with people, and to remember that even with the super-powers endowed to her, she still had an ordinary life just like everyone else. The student across from her was still sneaking peaks at her. Jennifer looked away out the window and smiled, crossing her silken legs again.

It was thirteen minutes past nine when Jennifer walked through the doors of the National Archives. "Good morning, George," she said to the guard at the door, showing him her security badge as a formality. The building didn't open for the public until ten thirty.

In the lobby she met Diana Prescott from I.T. "There are some glitches in the internal web page this morning, Ms. Fletcher," Diana said. "I think somebody tried to hack us."

"Did they get into any of the employee emails?" Jennifer said as they crossed the rotunda.

"Definitely not," Diana assured her. "Our security held. But the webpage may not be up and running right away. We're working on it as hard as we can."

"I'm sure you're doing your best, Diana."

"Don't look now, but Gloria and Jim arrived practically at the same time, and Gloria was wearing that orange paisley she wore yesterday. And Mike MacCormick is looking for you. Something about the Hamilton exhibit on the second floor."

Jennifer frowned. "I know I changed some of the text, but I didn't think it was such a big deal."

"I don't know," Diana said, a little hesitantly. "That is... well, the other day I overheard him telling Jim Shooter that he didn't think you were qualified for your position, because you just got your Masters less than a year ago."

Jennifer felt a flutter of alarm. "Are you telling me he's gunning for my job?"

"I don't know; I'm just reading between the lines. Sorry."

The curator, Dr. Angela Pace, was tied up with Senate hearings all morning, so it was left to Jennifer to handle an inquiry from Dr. Wenberg from the Hirshhorn Museum, plus deal with the petty problems that came up while at the same time trying to find the time to sort through several boxes of personal papers belonging to a recently retired professor who had worked on the Manhatten Project in his youth. Three more people told her that Mike MacCormick was looking for her. And her personal assistant, Gloria, gave her a garbled phone message from Professor Stewart at American University, something about a problem with her Masters degree thesis, which had been awarded to her months ago, when she had taken on the job as assistant curator.

Jennifer called Professor Stewart's office at once, only to be sent to his voice mail. "This is Jennifer Flet-- that is, Jennifer Traylor, calling about my thesis. Could you please call me back?"

A little after eleven o'clock, she had to go down to the Restoration department to check on the progress on an important project. On her way back upstairs, she paused in the main lobby to watch the tourists streaming in and out of the Rotunda. It did her good to see the bustling crowds of tourists coming in to see the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, side by side in their glass cases. For a long time, she just stood there taking it all in, forgetting about her personal troubles and letting her mind drift.

Suddenly her phone rang. "Professor Stewart?" she asked hopefully.

"Angela Pace," answered the familiar voice of her boss, the director of the Archives. "I just got out of the hearings. Is everything okay there? Did Dr. Wenberg find what he was looking for?"

"Oh yes," Jennifer said. "Everything's fine, Dr. Pace."

"Okay, good. I'm going to take time for lunch then. Oh, and speaking of Professor Stewart, I just ran into him a few minutes ago! He tells me that your thesis--"

Abruptly the phone line cut out, and all Jennifer could hear was dead silence. "Dr. Pace? Are you there?" Jenn groaned in frustration, making the self-observation that all too often she was experiencing dropped call these days … and why did it again have to happen NOW?

But then some sixth sense made her look around. Something was wrong. The security guards seemed to be nervous about something. She saw one after another touch his earbud and nod. Two of the men hurried out of the rotunda, headed toward the security desk in the lobby. As Jennifer frowned and started to follow, she almost ran into one of the young docents, holding her phone in her hand and with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Amy, what's the matter?" Jennifer asked.

"Oh my God, Ms. Fletcher! Didn't you hear? A bomb just went off outside the Senate building!"


Chapter 2 –

Jennifer hurried across the lobby and into the staff room, where several people were crowded around the plasma screen television, tuned to the Channel 3 news. Sure enough, they were showing live coverage of the event. Smoke was rising from a spot near the north wing of the Capitol building, while dozens of police cars and ambulances formed a cordon.

"... no word yet on how many dead," reporter Kerry Keller was saying, "but there are multiple injuries being taken to area hospitals. Homeland Security has issued a High Threat Level advisory, and is asking people to remain indoors. Once again, an aerial drone of some kind has exploded on the plaza outside the Senate building. Channel 3 will of course stay on top of this breaking story all through the afternoon..."

Jennifer felt sick to her stomach. Dr. Pace was just calling from there! What if she had been caught in the explosion? Did anyone know? Had anyone heard? She looked around at the people in the staff room, murmuring to one another with shocked looks on their faces, all thinking the same things.

For a moment, a rush of guilt surged through her like black bile, overwhelming her with remorse. If only she had been there in costume, she might have been able to do something! She might have seen the drone coming in time to prevent this tragedy from happening!

Her phone rang. Thank God, it was Martin! "Darling?" she whispered, feeling at a complete loss to say more.

"Have you heard then?" his reassuring voice said. "About the drone?"

Jennifer choked back tears. "Yes, just now." She stepped away from the others and lowered her voice. "If only I had been there..."

"You can't blame yourself, Angel," her husband said. "You can't be everywhere. Anyway, the Capitol's laser defenses should have shot it down. What else could you have done?"

"I could have..." she began, but her voice trailed off. "I don't know," she finished lamely. "I just feel powerless..."

"Now you know how the rest of us feel all the time," Martin said kindly.

Jennifer sighed. "Listen, I've got to go. Brookings will want to put the building under additional security."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Martin said. "Take care of yourself, sweetheart."

As she hung up her phone, she saw that all the others in the staff room were looking at her, waiting for her to take charge. Security Chief Brookings came into the room just then. "I've just heard from Dr. Pace," he said. "She's in the emergency room at Memorial Hospital, but she's all right. Just minor injuries."

"Thank God," someone said.

"There's a High Threat advisory from Homeland Security," Brookings added, "in case the bombers have other strikes planned. We should tighten security on the building."

"I agree," Jennifer said. "If the tourists want to exit, let's at least make sure they don't panic. I should probably speak to them. The rest of you... hang in there."

Once the building was secure, everyone waited around the staff room in tense expectation for further news. "If anyone needs me for anything," Jennifer said, "I'll be upstairs looking through Professor Harris' papers. I have to keep busy or I'll go bonkers," she added with a nervous laugh. "Don't interrupt me unless it's something important."

But Jenn had no intention of working. In her office, she picked up a carton full of files and carried them upstairs to a workroom that was hardly ever used by anyone except Dr. Pace and herself. Quickly she separated about half the papers into about a dozen stacks to make it look as if she had been busy. Then she slipped into a dusty storage room which she knew from experience gave access to the outside through a ventilation duct. She took a deep breath and concentrated.

A mild flash of light came from the two unobtrusive gold bracelets on her wrists, and in the blink of an eye, she had changed. Her clothing vanished, sent across space to her Arlington apartment. In its place the girl was now wearing a pair of clingy boy-cut reddish-purple briefs and a matching halter top, its fox-head emblem hugging the soft mounds of her perky young bust. Elbow length gloves sheathed her slender arms, and her graceful legs ended in the same color ankle boots.

Moments later, the Fuchsia Fox was soaring fifty feet above Constitution Avenue, headed toward the National Mall. From her vantage point, the stunning superheroine could see the column of smoke arising from the Capitol Building about half a mile to her left. The question in her mind was simple: if terrorists were planning to strike again to take advantage of the fear and confusion of their first strike, where would it be? Certainly, somewhere around the heart of Washington, where there were lots of people. One of the monuments, most likely.

Having come to this decision, the Fox spun around in mid-air and flew westward, frantically scanning the streets on both sides for anything remotely suspicious, while fully aware that she could easily miss it until it was too late.

All at once something came shooting toward her from the southeast, going too slow for a rocket. It looked like a drone, but not like any drone she had seen before. It was about ten feet long, with a broad, flat nose and stabilizer fins in the rear just like a gigantic arrow. She knew that it didn't belong to Homeland Security, because Martin (who worked at the Pentagon) and her friend Blackbird (who was an NSA agent) generally kept her well briefed on the Capitol's aerial defenses.

The superheroine moved to intercept whatever it was. Getting closer, it looked even more peculiar. The noon-day sun glinted off a surface that looked like brass, covered with baroque patterns and arabesques. Quickly the Fox closed the distance... only twenty feet to go...
Abruptly the drone swerved, turning on its side and making a corkscrew roll right around her! The spunky super-lady watched in utter astonishment as the missile flew a ring around her and settled back on course. That was impossible! A missile like this couldn't be that maneuverable!

But whether possible or not, the thing was now on a direct course for the Washington Monument! The Fox poured on the speed, desperately closing the gap. She had nearly caught it, reaching out with both hands to intending to grapple to force it down, when the drone suddenly veered away out of her reach, this time plunging straight down, making a sharp turn around the left side of the monument and swerving northward. Now it was headed straight as an arrow for the White House!

The Fox threw herself forward in hot pursuit, the wind whipping her brunette hair and gliding along her lean, tight body. The heroine crossed Constitution Avenue, passing over President's Park as crowds of tourists scattered below her in panic. Now the missile was approaching the wrought-iron fence around the White House, when all of a sudden four slender towers silently rose up. The four laser batteries opened fire, red beams crisscrossing the air as they homed in on the drone to shoot it out of the air. Incredibly enough, the missile weaved and dodged, evading the gauntlet with ease!

Jennifer raised her own force shield as she kept up the chase, darting back and forth to follow the evading drone. She could see several District of Columbia police cars pulled up in front of the fence. She could painfully feel the defense lasers, somehow missing the drone but hitting her force shield. If she didn't catch it now, it would have a clear run across the south lawn. Desperately the Fox put on an extra burst of speed, catching up with the drone. The missile flicked left, but this time the sassy super-babe was ready for it, twisting after it with all the agility of her namesake, grabbing the missile around its midpoint and driving it nose down into the ground.

The drone detonated with shattering KRA-KA-BOOM!!! which tossed police cars like toys and broke windows in nearby office buildings. In spite of her force shield, the concussion hurled the Fox forty feel away, like a doll, sending the sexy super-lady sprawling unconscious on the White House lawn.


Inside the ORCUS secret headquarters in northwest Washington, Garrick Shunnarah was grinning as he watched the scene on television, courtesy of the Channel 14 News helicopter. Admittedly, when he had asked the sexy little dancing girl whom Magrabi had summoned up from the lamp, for two missiles that were invisible to radar, he hadn't expected such results, or much of anything for that matter.

"I can hardly believe it!" he gloated, gawking at the image of the beautiful young superheroine, lying there defenseless on the White House lawn. "The Fuchsia Fox, brought to her knees at last! Zarsaltana!"

"What is thy desire, Master?" asked the beautiful, raven-haired genie, demurely bowing her head. "Ask whatsoever thou wantest, for I am the Slave of the Lamp."

"That girl," Shunnarah said, pointing at the television screen, "the Fuchsia Fox. Bring her to me in chains. Subdue her by any means necessary, but bring her."

"To hear is to obey, Master," the genie said, then suddenly vanishing in a swirl of smoke.


Chapter 3 –

Slowly coming to, the Fuchsia Fox sat up on the White House south lawn with a groan, brushing her disarrayed brunette tresses out of her face. Her elbow length gloves were ripped; her heart was hammering between her pliant young breasts like a drum. She felt as if she had been hit by a truck! Overhead, she could hear a news helicopter hovering.

There was still a great deal of smoke in the air, but as it slowly began to settle out, the superheroine could make out the crater left behind by the explosion, the twisted remains of the wrought-iron fence, and a few scattered police cars. Wow! That missile must have been packed solid with C-4! Which begged the question: what had it been using for propulsion?

The Fox then noticed something seemingly taking shape in the midst of the smoke. Or rather, part of the smoke itself seemed to be spinning around, swirling together, taking on a human shape. The next moment a beautiful girl with raven-black hair and fiery amber eyes had materialized in the middle of the crater. She was walking over the crushed gravel on bare feet, her heavenly young body dressed in a cerulean blue bra, slit harem pants, and a veil. The Fox quickly scrambled to her feet.

"Salaam, mortal," the girl greeted the Fox, pressing her hands together and giving a demure little bow. "I am Zarsaltana. My Master hath commanded me to subdue thee and take thee to him."

"Oh really?" the Fox replied, planting her hands on her curvy hips. She already felt a little banged-up from the explosion, but at the same time she was aware of the Channel 14 News helicopter hovering a safe distance away and transmitting pictures. "That's going to be easier said than done. Just who might your master be?"

The raven-haired girl didn't answer. Her upper body began to gently sway back and forth, her arms remaining motionless at first, and then echoing her sensuous movements like the rippling of ocean waves. After a moment her hips joined in, her alluring legs undulating with the rhythm, her two supple breasts jiggling oh so slightly while the bangles on her ankles and wrists tinkled and jingled lightly, teasingly, temptingly.

"What... are you... doing?" the Fox asked haltingly. There was something very sexually captivating about the girl's dance. The young heroine felt a mild adrenalin rush surge through her body, her cheeks growing hot, but she couldn't seem to take her eyes away from the mysterious woman.

"Fear not, maiden," Zarsaltana said cajolingly, smiling under her translucent veil. "How can a harmless dance do aught to hurt thee?" She spun around in a circle as gracefully as a gazelle, her pert little butt bobbing seductively as she lightly grazed the Fox's body with hers, her flimsy costume whispering like silk. Closer and closer she danced, the musky scent of her body rising cloyingly like perfume, and finally halted in front of the heroine again, standing with her upper body swaying like a cobra.

The Fox stood frozen in place, mesmerized by the sight of the other girl's delicious body in that tantalizing costume. Her brown eyes skimmed Zarsaltana's lean, lovely legs, paused for a moment on the triangle of her cleft, then traveled upward along the sinuous swell of her hips, the smooth curve of her bare belly, the two sweet mounds of her breasts, and finally on her intoxicating amber eyes. Jennifer's skin felt hot; she was perspiring. Her brain was rocked by a sudden, vivid mental picture of the two of them entwined together naked, kissing and sucking hungrily at one another's succulent female flesh, their fingers exploring one another's dripping pussies. She struggled to fight off the image, but it was as if her will to resist were being slowly drained.

"That's enough of that!" Jennifer protested, shoving the girl away, breaking the spell and shaking her head to clear it. "But I don't suppose it takes an Einstein to figure out that you're working for ORCUS, no doubt."

Anger flared momentarily in the genie's amber eyes. "Thee dares to strike one of the Children of Iblis?" she said. "Be thankful that my Master hath commanded me to subdue thee, and not to slay thee outright!" Zarsaltana spun gracefully around, simultaneously plucking two enormous scimitars from out of thin air, one in each hand.

The Fox brought up her left forearm to catch the blow of the first sword on her bracelet and deflect it -- and instantly drew back, her entire arm unbelievably stinging from the impact. Force shield or not, that hurt! The graceful girl was apparently nearly as superhumanly strong as she was!

Zarsaltana pressed her attack, both scimitars flashing and dancing. The Fox parried a slash, kicked another aside with her boot, flipped nimbly backward over a police car, as yet another slash narrowly missed her and nearly sliced the car in two. Jennifer seized the opportunity to leap on her adversary, getting within the arc of her weapons and grappling with her wrists.

"Now, why don't we just talk about this?" the heroine nervously suggested, struggling to hold her foe.

Again, though, the genie seemed to smile beneath her gossamer veil. Abruptly her entire body turned to smoke, leaving the Fox holding nothing but empty air. The smoke swirled like a whirlwind, engulfing the struggling superheroine, building in force until it was a gale, lifting the superheroine off her feet and dropping the Fox flat on her delectable little butt several yards away.

The smoke re-formed. Zarsaltana rematerialized, her amber eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Let's try that again," the Fox angily said, jumping to her feet. She charged, this time striving her best to flatten her adversary with a knock-out blow. The spunky heroine took a punch to her jaw, blocked another, feigned left, and struck -- but her fist encountered nothing at all as Zarsaltana vanished again in a puff of mist. Once again, the Fox felt her alluring young body being snatched off the ground, buffeted by a miniature tornado. This time the heroine exerted her flying powers, fighting back, struggling to regain control as the tempest spun her around, whipping at her hair and tearing at her clothes.

The Fox began to feel dizzy and light-headed from the spinning motion of the vortex, but stubbornly the stunning super-lady persevered, fighting to break free. She was beginning to make headway when quite suddenly she felt short of breath. Gasping for air, it dawned on her that the fuzziness of her vision was not due to vertigo at all. Her attacker was using her tornado to suck the oxygen out of her lungs! She already felt light-headed, as if she were slowly being strangled. Desperately, the Fox drew more power from her bracelets of Ishtar, exerting every ounce of her strength to escape, but by then it was too late.

N-no... this... can't... Jennifer thought, as weakness seemed to wash over her like a high tide, sapping the remaining energy from her lissome limbs. Darkness crept over her brain as she sank to her knees, hovering on the verge of passing out.

The wind subsided, gently lowering the defeated heroine face down to the ground. Zarsaltana materialized once more, smirking underneath her flimsy veil. The dark-haired girl glanced up at the Channel 14 News helicopter, which was trying to edge even closer, and for a second it crossed her spiteful mind to reach up and swat the stupid thing out of the sky. But never mind. Let them take their silly pictures. See what good it did them.

"Where be thy boastful words now, mortal?" the genie challenged, reaching out with one lithe, graceful leg, her bare toes caressing the Fox's beautiful upturned backside. "Come, sweet one. Thou art comely and desirable. No doubt my Master hath plans for carnal relations with thee..."

Just then a bright red energy bolt streaked down from overhead and zapped Zarsaltana high on her left shoulder, spinning her lissome body around and knocking her several feet.

"Not so fast, honeybunch!" said a woman's voice. "If anybody's going to yank down the Fox's shorts and spank her pretty little ass, it's going to be me!"

A beautiful bronze-skinned woman had dropped from the sky, curly copper red hair dancing around her shoulders as she landed in a protective posture over the fallen superheroine. Her statuesque torso was dressed in a white, long-sleeved leotard with an oval cutout positioned to show of her amazing double-D cleavage, with a red cape fluttering from her attractive shoulders. Her face was covered by a white mask. Below her waist was a broad gold belt and dark blue bikini briefs, as well as blue knee boots.

She planted her hands on her luscious hips. With an amused smirk, she looked down at the Fuchsia Fox lying stretched out on the grass at her feet.

Zarsaltana had been slow in recovering from the surprise attack. The impact of the energy beam had thrown her veil askew, causing the raven-haired girl to hurriedly cover her lower face with both hands. She wasted several seconds restoring the drapery to its rightful place, then looked up, her amber eyes aflame over the top of her veil.

"Who is this who takes her life into her hands thus?" she growled, standing upright. "Speak, mortal, before you die!"

"I'm called Powerhouse," the girl in white said, "Department of Homeland Security. Honey child, it doesn't bother me that you kicked the Fox's perky little butt. But if you're the one responsible for those missile attacks, your ass is mine!"


Chapter 4 –

The news helicopter was still hovering overhead, and now a double line of black Homeland Security SUVs was approaching along both sides of the Ellipse.
"Master hath commanded me only to subdue the Fuchsia Fox and deliver her unto him," Zarsaltana said, her amber eyes seething. "And yet thee hast profaned this one by attacking her."

"Yeah, yeah," Powerhouse said, her eyes beginning to glow slightly as her eyebeams recharged for another shot. "Are you going to surrender, or do we fight?"

The raven-haired genie gestured with both hands. Arrows appeared from thin air, streaking toward the oncoming SUVs in a seemingly endless stream, exploding on impact and scattering the vehicles. In response, Powerhouse cut loose with her eyebeam, aiming directly at the girl's lovely bosom.

This time the beam passed straight through Zarsaltana, as she turned to mist, swirling in the air like a miniature tornado. The vortex snatched the girl in white into air, spinning her around and dropping her face first on the gravel. The genie rematerialized, smirking.

"No, you did not just do that, girl," Powerhouse growled, charging to her feet. Zarsaltana evaded her first punch and her second, pirouetting gracefully out of reach like a dancer. As she completed the spin, she pulled an enormous brass hammer out of thin air and swung it. The weapon hit the bronze-tinted girl in the chest like a pile driver. Powerhouse rolled with it, returning a roundhouse kick that caught the genie in the stomach.

Zarsaltana fell back; her free hand gestured. A heavy brass chain appeared, wrapping around her opponent's slender torso, pinning her alluring arms to her sides. Powerhouse struggled to break free as the hammer came down again on her chest, bruising her ribs, dropping her to her knees. "No you don't..." the girl hissed, straining, summoning her reserves of determination.

The raven-haired girl reached down and hooked her fingers into the oval cut-out on the front of Powerhouse's leotard, using it to haul the helpless girl to her feet. Her amber eyes sparkled as she admired the girl's two firm, succulent hooters, their nipples visibly protruding through the stretchy fabric of her leotard. "Master only wanteth the Fuchsia Fox," Zarsaltana smirked. "If thou wilt beg my mercy, perhaps I shall forgive thine impertinence."

"You had your shot, baby girl," Powerhouse groaned. "Now it's my turn." Flexing her slender arms, she broke the brass chain and head-butted her opponent in the jaw. Her left hand reached out to grab the strap of Zarsaltana's bra as her right fist plowed into the genie's face.

But once again Zarsaltana vanished in a puff of smoke, instantly rematerializing just behind Powerhouse and bringing her hammer down on the back of the bronze-skinned girl's head. The agent dropped like a sack of potatoes, measuring her beautiful length on the grass, right next to the Fuchsia Fox.

"Now my Master hath two playthings for his amusement," the genie smirked. Changing into smoke again, she vanished, taking her two captives with her.


In the Pentagon, Captain Martin Fletcher was in the Situation Room along with the rest of the special operations staff, watching the fight on a wall of television monitors. One monitor was showing the live image from the Channel 14 helicopter, and another was showing the same scene from a different angle -- a Channel 3 team on the roof of the Commerce Department Building.

The spectators felt an odd mixture of dismay and exhilaration -- dismay at how easily this girl dressed like a belly dancer had taken out a column of Homeland Security troops as well as two superheroines, and exhilaration at watching the cat fight between three sexy women in revealing costumes. The Fuchsia Fox was extremely popular around Washington; there were whole websites devoted to photos and videos of the stunning super-lady, and there was not an officer or enlisted man who had not fantasized about her. Every man and every woman in the Situation Room had stopped to watch, their hearts pounding to see the Fox defeated this way.

"Where's our air support?" barked General Hughes, referring to the Fort Myer Quick Reaction Unit.

"They'll be there in ten seconds, sir," replied Captain Fletcher, trying unsuccessfully not to worry about his wife. An Apache attack helicopter would be a sitting duck to anyone who could deal with the Fuchsia Fox like that, but an entire squadron of them might be able to do some damage.

"Charlie 17 Able deploying along the Ellipse to cover the rescue units," reported Major Barbara Wright. "They report no sign of that ORCUS operative. 17 Baker reports the Capitol Building secure. There don't seem to be any follow-up attacks."

Like everyone else, her pulse was racing, her cheeks flushed. Unlike everyone else, Majore Barbara Wright knew the Fox personally and counted her as a friend, and she couldn't help worrying where that ORCUS chick had taken her and and Powerhouse and what she planned to do to them.


The Fox found herself standing upright in a strange place. The superheroine tried to move and discovered to her dismay that she could not. Her lissome body felt paralyzed in an attitude of attention, arms by her sides, knees together, chest thrust out. She could see Powerhouse standing to her left, also frozen. The place they were in was dimly lit, oval in shape, the seamless metal walls and ceiling curving overhead like a dome. The effect was like being inside an egg made of brass. No doors or windows were visible apart from a small, curved chimney at one end. Where the heck were they?

"Thee art nowhere, mortal," Zarsaltana answered, as though she could read her mind. The genie was sitting with her ankles crossed on a low divan upholstered in purple silk. "Here inside the Lamp, we three exist between worlds, suspended in time. Here thee hast no power, no free will. Here thee art my thralls to play with howsoever I wilt."

"Listen, sister, you can't--" Jennifer started to say, but Zarsaltana clapped her hands twice. The paralysis on her body suddenly relaxed. The Fox could move again, or rather her body was moving on its own, turning to face Powerhouse, reaching out to her. She felt weightless, like she was in a dream -- her body doing things, with her mind just along for the ride.

"Keep your hands off of me," Powerhouse murmured warningly as Jennifer's hands softly touched the bronze-skinned girl's plump, round breasts. "Don't..." Her voice trailed off into a husky moan as the Fox kneaded her tits through the silky thin fabric of her white leotard.

"I'm sorry. I... I can't seem to help it," Jennifer whispered, helpless to stop herself as she moved closer, squashing Powerhouse's melons together, her lips seeking out her peaked nipples. The next thing she knew, her heavenly mouth was sucking on those hard, little points, her fingers tugging aside the oval cutout on the front of her leotard to expose more of her bronzed flesh. The Fox felt Powerhouse's arms snake around her lithe young torso, tenderly caressing the bare skin of her back as she undid the rear fastener of her halter top.

The two adversaries' eyes met, glowering with the shame of what they were being forced to do against their will. And yet the eroticism of the situation couldn't be denied. They were two young, sexy girls joined together in intimate contact, arms entwined and hips thrusting as their nubile bodies embraced in youthful passion. The Fox's blood was singing. Her skin tingled with goosebumps of pleasure as Powerhouse's lips found her swanlike neck, her hands peeling her halter top upward along her slender torso and exposing her firm, naked B-cups. In response she yanked harder at the oval cutout of the other girl's leotard, ripping it in her frenzy to get at her.

Powerhouse's face was pressed between the Fox’s breasts now, tongue caressing her hard nipples as her hands slipped around the Fox's bottom, grabbing the waistband of her boy-cut shorts and tugging them down. Jennifer let out an involuntary moan, stretching, purring like a cat in heat as the other girl's fingers slid effortlessly into her juicy pussy. Zarsaltana leaned closer, lecherously enjoying the sight of the two girls tasting one another...

Quite suddenly they were interrupted by the sound of thunder, so loud that it literally shook the entire room and broke off their embrace. Powerhouse and the Fox froze in mid-grope, bewildered and frightened by it.

Zarsaltana let out a frustrated sigh. "Coming 'Master'," she scoffed. She clapped her hands.

The next thing the Fox was aware of was a throbbing headache right behind her eyes. Then she felt a muscular strain in her lissome arms, which were stretched out above her and to either side. The superheroine was curled up on the floor of an ornate brass cage, barely large enough to hold her, with clunky manacles clamped around both of her wrists, attaching her arms by two-foot lengths of chain to opposite sides of the cage.

How did she get here? The oval room was gone! Instead she was outdoors under a bright blue sky. The episode with Powerhouse in the oval room was fading into the back of her mind, starting to feel like an erotic dream, but her coosh still felt moist from the memory of it.

About twenty ORCUS goons were clustered around and ogling the bound superheroine through the bars of her cage. The Fox’s clingy fuchsia halter top was undone in back and hanging loosely by the strap at her nape, leaving the lower slopes of her small coconuts partly exposed. Her pulse was fluttering with embarrassment in the way that that with her arms chained this way, there was no way for her to fix her garments.

"About time you woke up, honeybun!" called Powerhouse. The bronze-skinned girl was chained up in the same way in an adjoining cage to her right. "It's visiting time at the zoo."

The Fox sat up on her haunches and peered through the bars. The oval cut-out on the front of the other girl's white leotard had somehow gotten ripped, allowing her two marvelous melons to spill out about two-thirds of the way. It was no wonder the henchmen were staring at her, as well.

"You know," the Fox said, "you really ought to rethink the design of your costume." She could remember ripping that hole in her dream. Or had it been real?

"I didn't design it," Powerhouse snapped waspishly. "Some man at Homeland Security did. And anyway, sweet cheeks, I don't need fashion tips from a chick who struts around in a Victoria's Secret outfit! Have you tried to break out of your chains?"

"I just woke up," the Fox said coldly. "Why?"

"If this stuff were really brass," Powerhouse complained, "I'd have crumpled it like tin foil by now. And something is sapping my power beams."

Jennifer thought back over her encounter with Zarsaltana -- her odd mode of speech, the way she had called her "mortal". And then there was that egg-shaped room she had taken them to. Hadn't she said it was "inside the Lamp"? Inside the Lamp!

"Heads up," warned Powerhouse. "Incoming."

The crowd of gawkers dispersed. For the first time, the Fox could see that they were on the top of a high building which was obviously still under construction. It offered a panoramic view, but no landmarks she could recognize -- unless that huge complex to the east was the Walter Reed Army Medical Center. If it was, that placed them in northwest Washington, maybe Maryland...

"So it comes to this at last," Garrick Shunnarah gloated, sauntering up to the two cages with the lamp tucked under his arm. "You have been a thorn it our side for far too long, Fox. Now you are right where we want you. Once the entire world sees the Fuchsia Fox like this, caged and helpless in our hands, they will know that the West is truly doomed."

"I wouldn't count out the West quite so fast," the Fox retorted. "Or me."

Shunnarah laughed outright. "I knew you would say something like that. Such bravado from a helpless little girl. But it's just empty words, isn't it? Anything I ask for, Zarsaltana can perform. If I ask her to drop you both, cages and all, into a vat of boiling oil, she can do that. If I ask her to simply peel your skin off, one square inch at a time, she can do that, too."

He brought the lamp out and rubbed it. "Zarsaltana, come forth!"

"What is thy desire, Master?" the genie asked, appearing demurely beside him. "Ask whatsoever thou wantest, for I am the Slave of the Lamp."

Shunnarah grinned, savoring his triumph, savoring the horrified looks on the faces of the two caged superheroines. "First, I want a motion picture camera capable of breaking in on every television screen and wireless connection within five hundred miles. I want everyone to witness this."

"To hear is to obey, Master," Zarsaltana said. She clapped her hands, and instantly a strange device appeared. It stood on three sturdy legs about five feet tall, appearing to be made of brass (naturally), and looked somewhat like an old-fashioned magic lantern slide viewer, with a huge round lens on one side and a hinged door in the back. "This artifice wilt reach all ears and eyes, as thou dost command."

Shunnarah looked over the strange object with amazement. "With you at my beck and call," he said, "I could rule the world!"

The genie bowed her head submissively. No one but Jennifer seemed to notice the mysterious smile in the Zarsltana’s eyes.


Chapter 5 –

The Fuchsia Fox and Powerhouse were trapped side by side inside otherworldly cages that were somehow inhibiting their powers. Garrick Shunnarah wrapped a black scarf around his head to conceal his identity, leaving only a slit for his eyes, and then bade one of his men turn on the projector. A flickering light came shining out the lens of the magic lantern. Another of the henchmen pulled out his iPad and tested it. "It's working, sir," he said. "You're on every channel."

"Hail ORCUS!" Shunnarah announced, raising both fists above his head in a gesture of triumph. "Death to the West!"

Powerhouse struggled desperately against the chains holding her arms bound to the sides of her cage, her wonderfully bouncy double-D boobs jiggling against the torn front of her white leotard.

"Save your strength," the Fox said, sitting on her trim haunches inside her own cage.

"For what?" the coppery-haired girl snapped. Their situation looked completely hopeless.

Shunnarah was speaking to the camera. "ORCUS has tried to bring enlightenment to the West, to convince you of the futility in fighting our divinely inspired world order. Behold! We have captured your Fuchsia Fox! She is helpless in our hands! And now you are going to see her humbled, the way ORCUS will eventually humble all of you!"
All across the city of Washington, in the Pentagon Situation Room, and all across Virginia and Maryland, people were glued to their television sets and online devices, watching spellbound.

"Zarsaltana," Shunnarah commanded, "strip off their costumes. Begin with their tops, so that we can see their naked mammaries!"

The genie folded her arms. "To hear is NOT to obey, mortal," she said. "For I am Zarsaltana, and I am the Slave of the Lamp."

"Wh-what?" the leader of ORCUS stammered. "That's what I mean! You must obey me!"

"Fool of a mortal," the genie sneered. "How readily thee thrusteth thy head into the noose when it be baited with greed. I serve the Lamp. The covenant decrees that I grant ten wishes. With each wish, my connection through the conduit to the Other Land groweth. Thy final wish wert that ALL would see and hear. Little doth thee realize that there be dimensions beyond thy puerile comprehension. Now I am free to act."

"I don't understand.", complained Shunnarah.

Zarsaltana glided gracefully toward him. One delicate hand seized Shunnarah by the throat, lifting him off the floor. The other hand snatched the Lamp out of his hands. Then she simply tossed her erstwhile Master aside like a used paper cup. The twenty ORCUS henchmen drew weapons, threateningly, but with a single sweep of her hand, the beautiful genie called into being a spread of daggers which instantly bombarded the men before they could move, killing or wounding them all.

Shunnarah took cover, cowering behind a stack of I-beams while the raven-haired girl opened the hinged door on the back of magic lantern projector she had created and placed the lamp inside. She clapped her hands once, and the light inside it flared to searchlight intensity. Wind began to arise, whipping her gauzy harem pants and veil around her sylph-like body.

"The covenant complete; the chain forged!" she chanted. "I am Zarsaltana, the Messenger between the realms. From here to there and all points in between. From the deep of the Ocean to the end of the Earth. From the hearts of stars to the souls of men. Behold! IBLIS COMES!"

"Oh God, now I remember where I've seen this before," the Fox said., with alarm. "The Children of Iblis. It was an entry in the Zumerian computer database. They're horrible creatures, banished to a pocket dimension thousands of years ago. Only one tiny conduit remained to that dimension, allowing a single messenger to travel back and forth."

"The lamp?" Powerhouse said. "Are you telling me the magic lamp is an interdimensional conduit?"

"Not magic; technology," Jennifer corrected. "Hepta-dimensional Physics. It could have originally been opened by a complex sound-form... a certain song or an incantation... plus a chemical component, blood or something..."

"I got a D minus in Hepta-dimensional physics in high school."

The Fox scowled, unsure if the other girl was joking or not. "She's going to blow the door wide open and let ALL of them come through if we can't stop her. We've got to break out of this."

The great searchlight beam that was pouring out of the projector seemed to flicker slightly. Actually, it was the shadowy forms of creatures flying toward the opening from the dimension on the far side of the conduit -- hundreds of them, hordes of them!

"How about this?" Powerhouse said. "Our cages are connected together. If we both hit the point where they connect with all our power at the same time, maybe we can overwhelm it."

"It's not like we have anything to lose," agreed the Fox. "Say when." She yanked the manacle on her left wrist, snapping the chain taut. Powerhouse was right; the strange metal seemed to be impregnated by some kind of force field. The heroine shifted her weight the other way, tensing.

"One... two... three... NOW!" Powerhouse said. The Fox hauled off and drove her right fist as hard as she could into the horizontal bar that separated the two girls. The metal didn't give a millimeter. "AGAIN!" She pounded the bar again. "AGAIN!" She hit it a third time and kept up the pressure, putting her slim young body into it, bracing her ankle boot against the opposite wall.

Powerhouse was doing the same from her side. Her beautiful face was tense with concentration. Her eyes began to glow as finally her eyebeams erupted, pouring their energy into the point where the two heroines were focusing their efforts. The Fox added her own energy beams. Her bracelets of Ishtar were both completely encased by the manacles, but the girl concentrated. She felt them growing hot, burning. At last the manacles began to melt, and a thin ray of purest blue shot forth from her right bracelet.

FOOM! The cage crumpled up around them and then exploded into dozens of pieces.

"Thee hast escaped?" Zarsaltana said in alarm. "Approach not the conduit, mortals! Profane it not by thine unworthy hands!"

"How about YOU, baby girl?" Powerhouse smirked, stalking toward her. "Can I profane your fat kisser with my unworthy hands?" The bronze-skinned girl led with a roundhouse right punch, her mammoth jugs jiggling inside her torn leotard. The genie caught her fist and spun around with a graceful lateral kick to her abs.

"You can't turn into a whirlwind this time, can you?" the Fox said, joining in. "You might damage your precious projector!"

"No matter," Zarsaltana hissed. "I hath power enow to deal with the likes of thee!" At her gesture a myriad of daggers, spears, and arrows materialized, hurtling toward the two heroines.

Jennifer reinforced her personal force shield to deal with the deadly barrage, but then realized that Powerhouse had no such protection. The young brunette leaped, entwining her arms around the copper-haired girl's supple waist, sweeping her off her feet and throwing her to the floor as the missiles rained down around them.

"What the FUCK do you think you're doing?" Powerhouse protested, feeling the Fox's gloved fingers sensuously cup around her two plump, yielding globes, causing her nipples to react with arousal.

"Sorry," Jennifer said, feeling a tinge of red in her cheeks. "Forget Zarsaltana. I'll keep her busy. You just worry about destroying that projector before we get invaded."
"I'll need a minute for my eyebeams to recharge," the bronzed girl said grudgingly.

The Fox sprang to her feet and threw herself into the fray. Zarsaltana twirled like a dancer, thrust out her elegant leg in a high kick. Jennifer ducked and dexterously caught the raven-haired beauty's slender arm, twisting it behind her in an arm lock. The genie slipped out of her grasp like an eel, gesturing. A thick brass chain appeared out of nowhere, coiling around the stunning superheroine's smooth young torso like an anaconda and threatening to strangle her. In the lens of the projector, the shadowy figures were coming closer and closer to the conduit.

Jennifer grabbed the chain in her gloved hands, desperately holding it at bay as she wriggled free of its coils, turning and swinging it back at Zarsaltana, catching her a glancing blow on the side of her head. The genie scowled, striking back with a flurry of kicks which the agile Fox nimbly parried and blocked. Pressing her attack, Zarsaltana seized hold of the Fox’s clingy little halter top with both hands, yanking upward, the clingy fabric stretching and riding up to expose the superheroine’s nubile young rosebuds into view, nipples peaking out like little bullets.

In response, the spunky super-babe brought up her silken knee into Zarsaltana's belly, breaking her foe’s grip on her costume. The Fox grabbed the strap of her opponent's silky, azure blue bra with her left hand, holding the girl in position for a haymaker from her right. WHAMMO! The rear strap broke with a snap as the genie went flying several yards, leaving her skimpy bra behind in the Fox's hand, its empty cups dangling. Her headdress and veil fluttered gracefully to the floor.

"A fair blow, mortal," Zarsaltana growled. She was crouched on the floor, clad only in her harem pants and bangles, her lovely boobs bobbing naked and unprotected. The lower half of her face, previously hidden by her veil, was scaley and reptilian, her mouth studded with sharp teeth. "Doth it please thee to have seen my true form?"

"Not especially," said Powerhouse, unleashing her eyebeams at the projector, causing the object, as well as the lamp inside it, to explode!


Chapter 6 –

The light from the projector had drawn the attention of the Army's scouts, on the lookout for any sign of unusual activity. In the Pentagon Situation Room, Fletcher dispatched the squadron of attack helicopters to that area, relaying back images from their onboard cameras.

"Foxtrot 4, check grid Hotel 21. What is that, an explosion?"

"Affirmative, Papa 1. Looks like it blew the whole damn top of the building off. No, wait. It's a construction site. Minimal damage to the building. Repeat minimal damage. Looks like just a lot of smoke. Let me get in closer..."

The officers and enlisted men in the Situation Room tensely watched the monitors as the helicopters moved closer to the building, their propwash clearing away the smoke. Then they could see for themselves the bodies of men in ORCUS uniforms, either dead or wounded, they couldn't tell. And standing in the middle of it... the Fuchsia Fox, her sylph-like bod looking a little bit disheveled but just as sweet and as sexy as ever!

Martin Fletcher and Barbara Wright both let out sighs of relief, which went largely unnoticed among the cheers that filled the room.

On the rooftop, Powerhouse glared upward at the approaching helicopters, wrapping her cape around her torso, toga-fashion. "Hey, what happened to our playmate?" she asked. The projector itself had been completely obliterated. In the spot where Zarsaltana had last been seen, there was only a small pile of bangles.

"I suppose she got sucked up by the implosion when the interdimensional conduit collapsed," the Fox hteorized, tugging her halter top down. "It couldn't have happened to a more deserving person."

"What do want from me, a hug?" said the bronze-skinned girl. "This changes nothing between us, Fox, understand?"

"Look, what is your problem?" the Fox demanded in exasperation. "What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so badly?"

"Do you really want to know?" Powerhouse said. "Do you remember that Kadian starship that you and Wonder Bitch and Superslut crashed in Las Vegas?"

"Sure, I remember," Jennifer said. That was on the Fox’s wedding day; she didn't think she'd ever forget.

"Well I was ON that ship! I'm an Ikorian. Fifteen years ago, our generals invaded another planet, and the high and mighty Zumerians came and smacked our armies down hard. We were banned from interstellar travel for fifty years. I had nothing to do with the invasion; I was just a working girl with bills to pay, so I took the job on the Kadian ship as an android programming engineer."

Jennifer stood there with her mouth open in shock. She had programmed those androids? "So when the ship crashed--?"

"I was badly hurt," Powerhouse said, "but I crawled out of the wreckage and surrendered to Homeland Security. To Dinsdale, actually, who was a deputy regional office head at the time. It was better than ending up in a Zumerian prison."

"The Zumerians don't have prisons," Jennifer said, but Powerhouse wasn't listening.

"So thanks to you and your girlfriends," the copper-haired beauty fumed, "I'm stranded here on this primitive rock with no sonic showers, no mag-lev beds, no hypernet, and worst of all, no chance of getting home. Thanks for nothing, baby cakes!" She spun on her heel and walked off.


Seeing that the army ground units were moving in, the Fox left Powerhouse to take charge of things and flew away, all the way to her Arlington condo to have a quick shower, and then to the National Archives. Inside that unused storage room, she pulled her quick change back into Jennifer Trayler Fletcher's clothes and slipped into the office. There she was surprised to find Dr. Angela Pace, Gloria, and Mike MacCormick.

"Jennifer, where have you been?" Dr. Pace asked with concern. "We were worried sick! We couldn't find you anywhere!"

"Well, I was... I guess I got busy with Professor Harris' papers and I--"

"We looked in the workroom and you weren't there!" Gloria said. "Where were you?"

"I... I must have stepped out for a moment. I was just... I was..." Jennifer's voice wound down. How could she explain that she had just been busy saving the world?

The older woman softened her expression, seeing that the young brunette was genuinely upset. "I don't mean to give you a hard time," she said, putting her arm lightly around the girl's slender shoulders. "You're young, I realize that. If you can't handle the pressure, maybe we should move you to some other position, like Restoration, or Public Archives..."

Jennifer glanced over at Mike MacCormick, who was standing with his arms crossed and an unreadable look on his face. What had he been saying about her when she hadn't been there to defend herself?

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll try to do better, Dr. Pace."

"That's a girl," the curator smiled, patting her on the back. "Now excuse me, but I've got to go find Mr. Brookings and tell him to call off the bloodhounds." She gracefully swished out the door with Gloria in tow.

Jennifer was about to ease behind her desk when she realized that MacCormick was still there, still wanting a word with her. "Yes, Mike?" she said with a sigh.

"I just wanted to thank you, Ms. Fletcher," he said, "for making that change to my Hamilton exhibit. It was perfect. You kept me from looking like a complete fool."

"Um... sure," Jennifer said, caught totally by surprise. "That's what I'm here for."

"I also want you to know," he added, "that I think you're a perfect choice for assistant curator. Don't let Dr. Pace tell you otherwise."

As he walked out the door, Jennifer dropped into her chair, feeling completely and utterly exhausted. What a day it had been! Her phone rang, and she picked it up dully.

"I just got your phone message, Miss Traylor," said Professor Stewart's voice. "I'm so sorry to have kept you hanging all day, but with one thing and another... well, it's been a very hectic day."

"I can understand that, professor," Jennifer sighed, easing out of her high heels. "What's this about my thesis?"

"Oh yes! The university press would like to publish it as a book. It won't bring in very much in the way of royalties, I'm afraid, but there is the cachet of being a published author. You should be getting a contract in the mail within a day or two."


A big crowd had gathered around the building in northwest Washington, people jostling one another for choice places, watching curiously as the Army Hummers pulled up, established a cordon and brought down the ORCUS men in handcuffs, sorting out the wounded and taking them off to Walter Reed Medical Center.

An old man with dark, leathery skin stood among them, mostly unnoticed even though he was wearing ornate robes and a turban. After he had watched the performance for a while, his gaze drifted down to the street underfoot. He stooped to pick up a scrap of cloth. It was a shimmering headdress of blue silk, with a string of small golden discs attached to it.

Sahhar Magrabi smiled. He tucked the scrap of cloth into his robe, turned and walked away.

{b}>>>>> the end[/b]
By Centurion
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Re: Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish", by Centurion

Post by DrDominator9 »

I enjoyed this chapter for a few reasons:
1) The use of the genie and her magic was different,
2) As much as a normal day for Jenn would have been intriguing, moving away from the hum-drum was a great decision,
3) The interaction of all the characters was intriguing, with all of them being involved in important ways
4) I liked how Power Woman character explained her animosity toward FF at last.

The negative aspects didn't draw all that much away from the story but they were a bit surprising:
1) Military persons gawking at the Fox while national monuments are under seige was a bit hard to believe,
2) Trying to tie in the genie's magic to futuristic technology was a near miss in my opinion and unnecessary,

Overall, a very fun read and it gets a Very Memorable Chapter award from me even though the sex aspect wasn't that high. The genie carried the day and I was pleased to see the possibiility of her returning in a future story.
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Re: Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish", by Centurion

Post by flirty_but_nice »

Dr.D, thank you so much for your feedback. I have forwarded it on to Centurion.
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Re: Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish", by Centurion

Post by dodosony »

Hi Flirty,

At first, I will say sorry for the late comment, and I just have had a long and busy week. Whatever, back to the FF story, I think Centurion had made a meaningfully try in “Make a Wish” but there are still some room for improvement to get different stages of the story integrated. I mean, the drone is a powerful weapon which makes the beat down of the Fuchsia Fox more reasonable in the story. However, it is not a fully developed idea because the drone quit the story immediately after chapter two. In other words, the drone just plays like a preface of the story that introduces enemy “Zarsaltana" to meet Fox after Fox was beaten down by the drone. In fact, considering ORCUS could make a giant Drone which could carry missiles with it. Therefore, it is also possible for these bad guys to develop another one that captured Fox and took her away from White House and to the secret lab of the ORCUS under the eye of the public.

Second, enemies who can defeat superheroine in public is an exciting idea which turns readers emotion on. There is an explanation why male readers have a great interest to see the defeat of a superheroine is because such scenario meet their fantasy on a powerful heroine. The genre of superhero story tells a similar story— a man who wears super gears and costumes to kick bad guys ass and save the city from evil. Female characters in superhero stories usually play as a helpless maiden and need to be rescued by a superhero. However, in the genre of superheroine stories, the female character is more likely to play a hyper-sexualized role who has a perfect figure and wears skin-tight outfits that enlarge her attractions in public. Therefore, the primary goal in a superheroine story is to create a body image of a sexual goddess throughout scenarios between lines. As a result, ordinary life of a superheroine is an attractive idea if it leaves the room for sex imagination.

Third, just a question about Fox’s Enhanced Appearance when she was captured by ORCUS. In this scenario, Fox was locked inside the cage with Powerhouse and Fox’s halter top lose at the same time. Considering Fox's image shown through a live telecast to the public from ORCUS’ camera. Is it meaning Fox’s enhanced appearance still work at that time?

Thanks for your amazing story, and hope to see the next adventure of Fuchsia Fox soon.

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Re: Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish", by Centurion

Post by flirty_but_nice »

Thank you so much for the feedback, dodsony. Better late than never. I've forwarded your comments to Centurion. Thanks again. :x
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Re: Fuchsia Fox: "Make a Wish", by Centurion

Post by flirty_but_nice »

Response from Centurion ...

"Maybe I didn't make it clear in the story, but it was Zarsaltana herself who created the drone, under orders from Shunnarah. In other words, now that she's been defeated, ORCUS does not have more of these.

And Yes, the Fox's enhanced appearance still functioned. The halter top was loosened in the back, but it was still on her, covering her assets. I think of the fox head chest emblem as being the center of the enhancement effect. The halter can be torn and ripped, but as long as the emblem is still there, it still works.

Jenn (aka Flirty)
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