Time Passages
by flibinite
“I’m . . . counting out time . . . Got the whole thing down by numbers, all those numbers . . . Give me guidance, please . . . Oh Lord, I need that now . . .”
“Just what are you babbling about over there, Wentworth?”
“Sorry, sir. Not babbling, though. I’m singing a Genesis song.”
“Genesis or Phil Collins?”
“Genesis, sir . . . although Peter Gabriel sang the song I was just singing. Phil Collins used to sing for them some, but left to . . .”
“I know, I know, Wentworth. Why do you always assume I’m not up-to-date on current music?”
“Well, his breaking off from them isn’t exactly a current thing, and as you approach your 50th . . .”
“Enough! I’m far more, um . . . hip than you know . . . age be cast into the den of iniquity. But outside of singing under your breath—and more than a bit off key, I might add—what were you doing there?”
“Sorry, sir. Forgive me, sir. I was trying to make sure all the controls are working, and thinking about what will happen at midnight.”
“Ah, yes! The Clarington Ray. In less than a half-hour I’ll have my biggest triumph, Wentworth.
“That is, if you set it up correctly and exactly how and where I told you to.”
Wentworth held back the grumble he felt, simply saying, “I did, Lord Clarington. I had your written instructions and did everything exactly as you described.”
“Excellent! Excellent! If you did all that, then very soon, my loyal and faithful servant, you and I will be up to our eyeballs in helpless, obedient, and begging female flesh.”
“Sounds like a plan to me, sir.”
“Pardon?”
“Please go on, sir.”
“Hmm . . . all right,” Lord Clarington said, giving his butler-slash-servant-slash-assistant-slash-friend what passed for a mischevious grin. “I’ve, well . . . heard you doing things in the middle of the night, Wentworth, and, irrespective of my own such activities . . . um, I mean, my own feelings . . . very, very soon our singular pursuits will be a thing of the past.”
“Meaning?” Wentworth asked, hopefully.
“Meaning that every woman in the city will be at our beck and call, and will be waiting for the words that will free them to be the sexual animals they’ve always wanted to be . . . and with just the two of us.”
“And what are those words, sir?”
“Mortuus sententia.”
“Pardon, sir?”
“Mortuus sententia . . . ‘Dead thoughts,’ my dear Wentworth, as that’s what my latest ray will create in their minds. All the women in the city will become, um . . . intellectually challenged, their libidos driven into sexual overdrive for any person who says those words to them.”
“Anyone like you or I, sir?”
“Of course anyone like you or . . . me. How many people do you think walk around this city speaking Latin?”
“Hardly any, sir?”
“Straight damn, Wentworth.”
Wentworth decided not to bother correcting Lord Clarington, moving to make his final adjustments on their recording devices, thinking about how erotic it would feel to have a female . . . any female . . . rather sexually devoted to him.
It’s not as if such things had happened to him in his last few years in England, but ever since they’d moved to the States, such feminine subservience had seemed more impossible than ever.
Oh sure, Lord Clarington had tried to change all that for both of them, and on both sides of the Atlantic. But there was always something, always this failure or that, that had kept the two of them from their somewhat hedonistic goals.
“I wonder what it will be this time,” he thought.
“So close now,” Lord Clarington was thinking as well, trying not to glance up at the clock. “But we’ve been close so many times, and it’s always something; there’s always someone who says . . .”
“Lord Clarington, I presume?”
“Bloody hell, and dammit . . . was I born under a bad sign, or what? Even given the timbre of that voice, it’s logical to assume that Wentworth hasn’t just been castrated. But, if not, then that means . . .”
He turned, glaring and staring, and then melted a bit inside. “Who the blazes are you?” he whispered, knowing full well what she was, given her strong, yet sexual physique, her tight, clingy, hot pink-and-yellow catsuit and mask, and her matching utility belt and cape. Despite her obvious . . . attributes though, Jeremy was determined to move past such things and try to snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat.
“I’m the Vision, or simply Vision, Lord Clarington, and it appears I’m just in time to deter whatever nefarious scheme you have planned tonight.” The Vision smiled, happy to see, and sense, the feeling of . . . inevitability . . . that seemed to issue from the two older men. Though both were reasonably attractive, she wondered if they were both as lame as they appeared.
“The Vision? Never heard of you.”
“Perhaps that’s because I’m not from around these parts. No, I’m stationed way off in Emerald City, and I’m just visiting a friend here, Danger Girl, for the holidays.”
“You don’t seem to be visiting Danger Girl right at the moment, though. Aren’t there any after-Christmas sales you could be checking out? For that matter, just what are you doing here?”
“Me? I was just helping the local heroines by going out on patrol for them, it being New Year’s Eve and all, and with the recent terrorist alerts. And then I saw this man,” Vision continued, pointing her thumb over at Wentworth, “hustling around all furtive-like. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that furtive usually spells trouble. So I simply followed him here.”
“Wentworth! I warned you about acting furtive. I used that term specifically, telling you that when you walk around, that you can’t act all furtive and suspicious, that you have to be very nonchal . . .”
“Yes, sir . . . sorry, sir . . . won’t happen again, sir . . .”
“Gentlemen . . . gentlemen! Far be it from me to interrupt, but don’t we have a ray machine to turn off? It’s either that . . . ,” she pulled her battle baton from her belt, pressed its recessed trigger, and snapped the Kevlar weapon out to its full 30″ length, “. . . or I make sure you’re in no mental condition to ever say those trigger words to any woman.
“Your choice, gentlemen.”
“No, my dear Vision,” Lord Clarington told her, noting his assistant moving, well... furtively, two steps to his left to a different lab table. “You missed an option.”
“I have?”
“Oh yes, indeed. Wentworth . . . fire!”
The Vision whirled to face the smaller man, but it was too late. He’d already pushed the firing button on the machine next to him, one that looked like a gunmetal football with one of those frou-frou drink umbrellas sticking out its top. She didn’t notice anything for a split-second; but then, like the expanding shock wave from a real explosion, the air between her and Wentworth seem to distort, racing past, and seemingly right through her.
“What . . . ?” she said, turning back to Lord Clarington. What had happened to her was a bit of a shock, but she wasn’t feeling any different at all after the briefest moment of vertigo.
“That was the small-scale prototype of my Clarington Ray. Though not as powerful as the one Wentworth just deployed, and only temporary, it’s more than enough to stop you from interfering with my plans.”
“Baloney,” Vision told him, stepping toward the smiling “Lord” and raising her baton, deciding to end this before there were any more surprises.
“No . . . not baloney, Vision. Mortuus sententia.”
The Vision stopped, glancing from the man in front of her to the metal stick she held in her raised hand. She wasn’t sure what it was anymore, much less why she was holding it, so lowered it to her side. Looking back to him, she suddenly noted how attractive he really was, and how he was in pretty darn good shape for someone so obviously middle-aged.
And, with that recognition, she could feel her body start to churn, almost as if someone were masturbating her from the inside out. She found herself moaning softly, barely able to keep from reaching one hand up, and one down, and touching all her quickly developing hot spots.
“Excellent . . . excellent,” the man . . . a Lord Clarington, as the Vision now remembered . . . was saying to her, smiling and eyeing her body up and down. “Perhaps there’s no reason to wait until midnight to start our New Year’s Eve party, huh, Wentworth?”
“No reason at all, sir,” Wentworth agreed, even though he knew he wouldn’t be getting a piece of this action. Still, he certainly wasn’t against a bit of quiet voyeurism. And who knew? Perhaps the entranced Vision would want seconds.
“And what are the rules when a heroine becomes helplessly hypnotized?” Lord Clarington asked, staring into his captive’s eyes.
“I’m a heroine? Well, duh . . . of course I’m a heroine. Just look at this get up. Hot pink latex catsuit, mask . . . hey, I’ve even got one of those belt thingees!”
“Ah-hmm!”
“Oh . . . sorry, Lord Clarington. But I’ve sorta like, um . . . forgotten the rules.”
“That’s quite all right, my dear. And please, call me Jeremy. The first rule has to do with, well . . . kneeling, and your mouth, and you . . . ?”
The Vision just stared at him for a moment before her tingling body figured it out for her.
“Giving me, I mean you, a blowjob?” she said, smiling brightly.
“Exactly! And don’t you think you’d best get on with it then, as every moment your arousal and desire for me must be growing.”
“He’s right,” she thought. She was getting uncontrollably horny. And though she suddenly had the half-thought that this wasn’t something she normally did, the idea of sliding his cock into her mouth was quickly becoming utterly attractive to her, and something she desperately needed to do.
So she did . . . as rules were rules, after all . . . dropping to her knees and letting go of her baton as he stepped closer to her. After sliding the zipper of his trousers down, she fished around inside for her prize. When she pulled it out, she was happy to find it much larger than any toy she’d ever found in a Cracker Jack box.
“Mmmm,” she sighed, starting to lick the long, hard thing all over, still thinking about sticky, tasty treats.
“Mmmm,” Lord Clarington sighed, thinking this young heroine might be a keeper, as she was showing so much early skill and enthusiasm.
“Hmmm,” Wentworth sighed, once again assuming he wasn’t going to be getting anything for a while yet.
Moaning and writhing as she knelt there, basically overwhelmed by the libidinous heat and submissiveness that coursed through her, Vision simply sucked Jeremy’s cock into her mouth. She took it as deep as she could, her mouth filling with flesh, her mind filling with lust. She didn’t leave it there for long, though, starting to bob her head, sliding her wet tongue and tight lips along its full length over and over. Not sure how fast to go, she was happy when Jeremy buried his fingers in her hair, which allowed her to cede control of her motions to him.
She just wanted to suck, anyway, wanted to feel her mouth being filled and used by the man she needed to please and obey. She didn’t care how fast, and barely cared how deep, moaning louder as Jeremy slowly fucked her face. She was dripping wet already, and loving every second of her clamoring arousal.
“This is heaven,” Lord Clarington thought, feeling her warm, wet, velvety mouth sliding all around his erection, so very insistent and demanding. He knew that shortly after midnight he’d be able to do this to, and with, any woman within a 12-mile radius of downtown St. Louis. Though he’d only been working her head for a short time, the thought of all that wonderful female flesh, all that jiggling, moaning subservience, quickly became too much for him.
With a passionate groan, he came, not caring that poor Wentworth could only watch, or even whether the Vision swallowed.
She was, though, sucking and swallowing, groaning as well, his cock deep in her mouth as he spurted his creamy seed down her throat. She got most of it, too, the rest dribbling down off her chin and onto her tightly-covered breasts.
“I think I’ll just leave that there,” she thought, “as it makes me feel all oogy and slutty to have Jeremy’s cum all over my . . .
“No . . . wait . . . That’s not right, is it? I . . . I need to get my catsuit cleaned. No self-respecting heroine would ever go around with cum on her . . .
What the hell am I doing on my knees, with his cock in my . . . ?”
Gasping, she wrenched her head off his cock and out of his hands, staring up at him.
“You . . . you bastard!”
“Umm . . . I think the prototype’s ray is wearing off, sir.”
“Your first clue being, Wentworth?” Lord Clarington said, stepping back as the Vision stood up, wiping her lips with her right hand while picking up her battle baton with her left. She didn’t look all that happy, either.
“That she called you a bastard?”
“Very good, Wentworth. I knew the small power output of the prototype wouldn’t keep her affected for long, but I was hoping for more than this.”
“Shut up, you two!” Vision hissed, reaching out and putting one end of her baton right under Lord Clarington’s chin. Still quivering with arousal, as she wasn’t the one who’d just orgasmed, she used her anger to fight off her lingering sexual desire. She remembered that time was running out, and knew she had to be strong.
“Look, you louse . . . you have five seconds to tell me where your ray machine is before your pleasure turns into some really serious pain!”
The evil villain just smiled at her.
“Why should I, frankly? I mean, what do you think you can do in . . . ,” he turned to look at the wall clock, " . . . four minutes, Vision?
“No, no one can stop my ray now, and soon, all the women currently here in St. Louis will be mine!”
“And mine, too, sir?”
“Yes, yes . . . yours too, Wentworth.”
“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Shut up, shut up, I said,” Vision yelled, trying to think. What could she do, though? Even if she knew where it was, there was no way she, or anyone, could stop it in time, was there? That left only the one final option.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to knock the two of you out and get you away from this city . . . in perpetuity. Now, if you’re both good, I can just use my sleep spray on you, but if you want to make a fight of it I’ll gladly put your lights out by hand. Again, your choice,” she said. Then she sighed, almost glad Wentworth actually thought he might be sneaking up behind her, unawares.
“Grab her!” Lord Clarington yelled.
Wentworth tried, but without so much as looking at him, the Vision twisted slightly to her right, threw her right fist up and back, and punched him square in the face. The resulting splat felt very good to her.
“My nothe . . . she busted my nothe!”
“No, no, Wentworth. It’s not busted. Believe me, I know when I break someone’s nose,” Vision said, smiling sweetly at Lord Clarington. “Your turn now?”
“Hmm . . . yes, my turn. Stumble over and turn on the TV, Wentworth . . . there’s a good chap.”
“Yeth, sir.”
“As for you, Vision, let’s see about residual effects. Mortuus sententia.”
“That won’t . . . umm . . . won’t . . . work, Jeremy,” the suddenly struggling heroine whispered, feeling new waves of obedience and desire coursing through her. They weren’t quite as strong, and she knew she’d soon be able to fight them off, but god, she was still so horny!
“That’s okay, my dear,” Lord Clarington said, pushing past the Vision’s unmoving baton to get close to her again. “It only has to work for a couple of minutes, and then my big ray will take care of you, permanently. Let’s see . . . you just stand there and obey your Master while he takes this silly belt off you.”
She tried to ignore his command, but couldn’t quite, or at least not yet. She felt him loosening and removing her utility belt, then shivered as he found the nearly invisible crotch zipper that began there.
“I’d say ‘naughty, naughty, Vision’, but we all know you’re still human,” Lord Clarington said, leaning down to unzip her, his hand moving between her spread thighs as he did. “But this zipper merely proves you still have all the normal bodily functions . . . and desires.”
As he said that, he pulled his hand back through, dragging a finger along her decidedly wet seam as he did.
Vision couldn’t help but moan, already so aroused. This time, at least, she retained enough awareness to continue her mental struggles to resist.
Lord Clarington didn’t give her much of a chance to think, though, moving right up to her, his revitalized cock at the ready. Ducking under her still-raised left arm, he hugged her and began sliding his erection back and forth over the wet, excited flesh he’d just teased with his finger.
“Ohhh . . . stop . . . don’t,” she gasped, even as her lust spiked again. She managed to move a bit, defying his last command to “just stand there”, but that was only to move her hips and to hump her needy pussy over his rigid length.
“You don’t really want me to stop, do you?” he asked her, enjoying the lost look on her face.
“Noo . . . I . . . I mean, yes, damn you. Stop . . . ohhh . . .”
“Okay, I’ll stop sawing my manhood through your sex, Vision. But that’s only so I can move onto the next step of your sexual enslavement.”
With that, Lord Clarington lowered, adjusted his own hips, and slid his cock slowly into her very well lubricated pussy. “Turn that up, Wentworth. I want to hear the countdown.”
Struggling with her own rather desperate needs, but unable to raise herself off him, Vision heard that old, familiar, if slightly slurred voice, saying, “. . . here in Times Square, where hundreds of thousands of revelers are staring up, waiting for the ball to begin its annual descent, and to ring in the New Year. It’s lighting up, the crowds are cheering, any second now . . .”
She moaned, partly in despair, partly in arousal, not wanting to be anyone’s slave. Still, she could quite find the will to resist, or stop, Jeremy’s deep thrusts into her. Besides, it was obviously too late to prevent his hypno-ray from going off, even though she could already feel his mental control over her slipping away.
Knowing she’d lost, but needing to cum so very badly, Vision decided that at least this last orgasm would happen because she triggered it, and not because she’d been forced to, or commanded to.
“It’s moving, it’s dropping now, and the people are chanting it down. 10, 9, 8 . . .”
Jeremy felt so good inside her, stretching and filling her, the vigorous bastard timing each thrust and withdrawal to the countdown.
“7, 6, 5, 4 . . .”
“Oh yes . . . starting the new year out with a bang,” she thought, lurching against him and waiting for a different trigger phrase now.
“3, 2, 1 . . . Happy New Year!”
Letting herself go, Vision came, and came hard, clenching and spasming on his cock. Lord Clarington was cumming too, both of them gasping and shuddering out their sexual pleasure. A small part of her tried to sense the vertigo she’d felt from the prototype’s ray, but the way her orgasm was twisting her up inside, it didn’t surprise her when she couldn’t.
As they both came down from their orgasmic rush, they stared at each other, Lord Clarington smiling and happy, the Vision not so much. She was surprised the urge to punch him in the face, too, was so strong, but realized he’d only have to say the “magic words” to stop her in her tracks.
And, still smiling, he did.
“Mortuus sententia.”
She froze, waiting for her arousal to skyrocket again, or at least to feel the urge to obey him. Neither of those things happened, however.
“Oh, my god . . . Has his big weapon failed?”
To test that, she slid her right hand down between them, wrapping her fingers around his balls, happy to see Jeremy’s . . . no, Lord Clarington’s eyes go very wide.
“Umm . . . umm . . . Mortuus sententia?” he tried again.
She gave them a little squeeze. “Something seems to have gone wrong, Lord Clarington,” Vision told him, a wickedly feral look on her face.
“Yes, it does appear so. Wentworthhh!”
“Y . . . Yes, sir?”
“You did place the weapon in the highest spot in the city, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You did think to arm it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You did remember the one-hour time offset between here and New York, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t forget that, sir. We’re an hour behind them so I set the timer clock back an hour.”
“Back an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Clarington sighed, staring at the Vision. “It really is terribly difficult to get good help these days, you know.”
“Yes, it must be. But if you’ll kindly help yourself out of me, I won’t have to go all Captain Queeg with your nuts, or let your skull become my piñata.” To emphasis her point, Vision gently tapped the back of his head with her baton.
“Certainly, certainly. One can only hope you enjoyed your brief moments of slavery as much as I did,” he told her, pulling free and setting off post-orgasm jangles for them both.
“Actually, I did, Lord Clarington. I’d be lying if I said differently.” Vision reached down to close her zipper, biting her lip as it slid closed over her still-excited sex. “However, I prefer to be asked, you know.”
“Of course, and my apologies,” Lord Clarington said, working himself back inside and closing his own zipper. “So, what now?”
“Now? Now I call this in and let the authorities disarm your weapon. Highest spot in the city? That would probably be on the roof of One Metropolitan Square, wouldn’t it?”
It would be. “I’m impressed, Vision. How would you know something like that, considering you’re not even from around here?”
“Well, if I’m going to be doing some patrolling in a city, I make it my business to learn a bit about it first. Actually, the Gateway Arch is the highest point in the city, but there’s very limited access to it, given its structure, and I know security for it is rather intense. That leaves One Metropolitan Square.”
She reached out for her utility belt, putting it on and grabbing her cell phone. “Wentworth! Please get over here where I can watch you, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, walking over to stand beside his employer.
Vision dialed the police access number she’d been given, and asked for the Homeland Security Officer of the Day. Giving him Danger Girl’s authorization code, she told the officer about the hypno-ray, making sure they’d treat Lord Clarington’s weapon as if it were a bomb, taking the appropriate care while “defusing” it.
“Sorry, sir,” Wentworth was whispering to Lord Clarington. “Being from England, I’m not used to time zones changes.”
“I suppose that’s understandable, Wentworth. I mean, we don’t even have to adjust for Greenwich Mean Time there. Still, setting it back an hour? You made it Denver’s time, not New York’s. If you weren’t certain, you could’ve called me and I would’ve helped.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry again, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Of course it won’t happen again, Wentworth,” Vision interrupted, smiling at them and holding two pairs of handcuffs she’d taken from her belt, “because you’ll both be dealing with just jail time for the next few years.”
“Is that really necessary, Vision?” Lord Clarington asked. “After all, you did say you enjoyed our time together, you’re back to your old, um . . . assertive self, and no harm done to anyone else. I promise you, Wentworth and I have learned our lesson, and plan to become model citizens from here on out.”
“That’s right, ma’am. Learned our lesson, ma’am.”
Vision had to laugh at that, and did. In fact, she laughed so hard, and for so long, that the two men eventually started laughing with her. “Turn around,” she finally managed, brandishing her pink handcuffs.
“And, oh yeah . . . Happy New Year!”