The day after they took down Colonel Pyre, the Justice Guard finished dealing with the fallout - rescuing trapped victims, tracking down his underlings, and talking first responders, politicians, emergency response co-ordinators and reporters through the essential information they needed - just after 6am EST.

Amy dictated the first draft of their report to D.A.N.I.E.L., their base’s management AI, and then flew home to Tennessee under her own power, usually something that would take her five minutes or so, but it was closer to three-quarters of an hour. She touched down on the roof of her apartment building at first light, checked for signs of activity in the complex, and flew quickly down to her fourth-floor balcony facing the inner courtyard.

From there she just went to bed, exhausted. The flight itself had told her just how much the battle had taken out of her, and dictating the report had been enough time for the adrenaline to burn off.

She woke up just before dusk, mostly wrapped in her comforter, face lost in an implausibly tangled mass of blonde hair, one leg flung not just out of the comforter but out of the bed, hanging in the air under her power. That was when she realised she was still in costume, only the tall turquoise boots kicked off on reflex as she fell into bed. One boot had flown through the bedroom’s open doorway and landed twelve feet further along the hallway. The other had thumped off her wall, leaving something between a scuff mark and a dent. She made a mental note that it would need buffing out later.

Amy tried her best to keep her ‘real life’ and her life as Ms Miracle separate, but it wasn’t always that simple. Usually on days like this, when there’d been a full-scale sake-of-the-world battle the day before, everything seemed to run together.

She was just grateful that since joining the Justice Guard she’d been able to abandon her day job. She remembered countless arguments with three or four different bosses over the years, after days like this. But the Guard salary made it possible for her to fight the good fight several hours a day and still budget some time off for herself.

Stumbling out of the bedroom, she collected the stray boot and underhanded it back in, this time with enough wakefulness to properly control the force. There were times when the level of superstrength the “Memphis Miracle” had given her was a real pain in the ass.

She paused outside the bathroom door, peeling off the cyan-and-turquoise, high-collared swimsuit-style costume she wore, which also got skimmed across the floor back into her bedroom. Keeping her identity secret mostly involved steps she took outside the apartment, but you always had to be careful. The costume stayed in the bedroom.

The tights she’d worn underneath were mostly gone, incinerated off her resilient flesh, except for what were now two sheer booties and a little fragmentary mess of material above the fabric of her underwear. Amy shrugged, ripping the remainder off. It gave against skin that could stand up to high explosives, landslides, and the occasional meteor.

Her tights had been beyond repair anyway; she let them fall and stepped into the bathroom, where she ran a shower and studied herself in the mirror as she waited for the water to heat. Her skin had been red and blistered where she’d taken the brunt of Pyre’s onslaught, but that had already started to recede; just the slightly-too-deep red of a fading sunburn. She shrugged out of her underwear, letting it fall into the laundry bin.

She made a mental note to take care of her laundry before she turned in again. Ms Miracle’s power made her overkill for a lot of situations, so a minor evening patrol would probably be enough for today. She could take the night to relax and recover.

Amy stepped under the showerhead and closed her eyes, let the events of the last few days wash away completely. A shower was a good time for that, a time when she didn’t have to be Ms Miracle but also didn’t have to be Amy.

After what might have been too long she emerged from the steam, collecting a towel to wrap around her. Colonel Pyre was set aside for now. Instead Amy was mentally calculating how to divide up her evening. Coffee first, she quickly decided. She made her way into her living room, next to the balcony, and from there into the kitchen.

Coffee these days meant an expensive coffee maker she’d bought on a whim with her Justice Guard salary. It was mostly automatic; keep it loaded, push a button, make sure you have a cup in place. Which was just fine by Amy; she took advantage of every short cut and convenience in her home life. It was just better that way.

It was already evening, and she’d slept all day. She decided to add some cream and she wandered back into the living room, warming hands that were almost entirely immune to heat rays against the warmth of the mug.

She wandered over to the glass door onto the balcony. Looking out over the complex as a whole, it was a view she often took in when she wanted to remind herself that Ms Miracle didn’t make her life a bad one, just a busy one.

At this precise moment, as she raised her mug to her lips, she saw someone climbing down from a balcony above her level to one on her level. Dressed all in black, they had a heavy backpack strapped securely in place.

They dropped smoothly onto the balcony and Amy groaned. A catburglar wasn’t exactly a threat - three seconds, tops - but she’d still need to get back into her costume, and there was always the possibility someone might work out she’d have to have noticed from nearby.

That thought got even worse when she saw that the catburglar wasn’t alone. A shadow moved into the living room in the apartment opposite, and the light came on.

Amy was just accepting what she was going to have to do to save a fellow resident when there was an odd flare of green light. She frowned, focusing her senses - telescopic vision was sometimes incredibly helpful.

The green pulses seemed to flow out of the eyes of the resident. Energy was pouring from him into the thief. What in the world was going on? Was she not the only one who had powers in this place?

The resident’s face was pretty familiar. Which made sense - they’d lived in the same complex for at least a few months - but something about that felt wrong. Like she’d seen the face in another context.

But it was hard to focus on that. Something about the situation was somehow draining. That probably wasn’t the right word, but it felt like it was taking everything she had to stay focused.

Clearly she’d really needed that coffee. She felt somehow as if she’d never been sleepier. She had to stay awake, though. She might need to intervene. Protect the resident. Stop the crime.

And figure out what the green meant. She kept her vision focused on the resident’s eyes. Kept looking into the overflow of that energy as it poured from resident into criminal. Kept looking even as her head started to spin. This energy was dizzying, disconcerting.

The resident started speaking. At times like this, Amy was usually glad to be able to lip read.

“Who sent you?” he was asking. A little startled, head still spinning, Amy softly said “No one sent me. I live here.”

The eyes continued to pulse. Amy wondered why she’d said what she’d said. The man continued speaking. “Buddy,” he said, “you made one hell of a mistake.”

That didn’t need a reply, and Amy wasn’t sure what her mistake was anyway.

“Picking me to rob was the dumbest thing you could have done. You make much money doing this?”

The first part made no sense, but Amy whispered her salary into the empty room around her.

“Alright. Well, you owe me. And you pretty much have to do what I say right now.”

Amy shivered despite herself. The towel around her shook loose, slid to the floor.

“Go do your thing, but you come back here when you’re done so I can take my pick of what you’ve got to offer.”

The green glow died away. Amy blinked, tried to re-orient herself. She was aware of the catburglar turning away, but it was an irrelevance. Instead she was turning back inside her apartment, setting down her coffee untouched, and headed for the costume awaiting her in her bedroom.

Moments later, Ms Miracle took off from her balcony to go do her thing.

*

Amy had planned to have a short patrol, but under direction to do her thing she stayed active as long as she normally would. Four robberies - gas station, skeezy motel, smash & grab at a jewellery store, and a simple hold-up at an ATM - bookended a six-hour overnight block, along with a couple of muggings, one arson, a recruitment event by a new local supervillain (Panthor, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean, but at least he was in jail now), and finding one lost child and helping her back to her crying parents.

It had gone by in a blur. Somehow it always did, and she was always surprised just how much there was to do in Memphis. Sid didn’t see how heroes in more populous cities ever dared take a break.

Now at last she took to the skies, oriented herself for a moment, and paused as she always did to admire Memphis at a time so late it was early, a dark quilt of sparkling jewellery laid out before her.

Ms Miracle would never understand supervillains, at least not flying ones. If you could see a city like this laid out before you, it was only natural to fall in love with it. To protect it.

She had a soft spot, too, for Philadelphia, where the secret institution that eventually became the public Justice Guard had held its offices since it was founded in 1783. Same reason; seeing it from above made you fall in love.

After that moment to centre herself, her patrol was officially done. Dawn tinged the horizon as Ms Miracle flew back to the apartment complex which housed her secret identity.

Entering into the central courtyard, she touched down on a balcony, as always, and then hesitated. This wasn’t her apartment. She didn’t know if the door would be unlocked. She stepped forward and tried the door; locked. Ms Miracle sighed. It wasn’t right to do this, wasn’t nice to do this either, but it needed to be done; she could at least minimise it.

She lifted her arm and placed her fingertips against the glass door, then extended her arm. The door cracked and then shattered, razor-sharp glass edges spilling harmlessly off impervious skin, a huge din and clatter as it spilled onto the floor inside the room. Ms Miracle stepped inside and cast her gaze around, depending on her enhanced senses to filter out the tinkling glass to hear the resident’s movement.

There had been a sudden noise, a combination of indrawn breath, exertion, and creaking springs. Now, moments later, there was a brief silence, but Ms Miracle at least had a direction to move in. As her boots crunched past the glass radius she heard more commotion; frantic scrabbling and something metal thunk-ing off dull carpet flooring. Then a shaky sequence of high-pitched beeping, with fingers clacking at a keypad in between.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she called out, feeling more than a little guilty at driving this person to panic.

There was a long pause, and then the man’s voice called out. “Do you work for MacLaren?”

“No,” Ms Miracle replied, and if there was a sting of indignation in her voice, it hadn’t had to be faked. MacLaren wasn’t Ms Miracle’s nemesis, but he probably fondly imagined he was. If he had powered muscle, he might be, but as things stood he was a recurring problem whose operations she busted up regularly, but who was teflon as far as the law was concerned. One of the few gang leaders nationwide who might have as many lawyers and accountants as he had thugs.

There was another pause, shorter this time, and she heard the bedroom door open. A man - the man, the resident, with the glowing eyes, the man who got to take his pick of what she had to offer now she was done doing her thing - emerged, a little sheepish.

Seeing someone close up was always different to seeing them through her telescopic vision. The enhanced focus seemed to stress different parts of the person. So she was seeing her fellow complex resident properly for the first time; thinning on top but not quite going bald, average height at best, a regular gym visitor but not a full on gym rat. He was dressed in a baggy pair of boxers, a still-locked gun safe in his hand.

He stopped dead the moment he saw her. Ms Miracle was, at least, used to this. She flashed him a reassuring smile, but his expression cracked.

“Oh my God, you found me - I was so careful - I barely even interact with you costume types!” He looked like he might be about to start hyperventilating, and she had a few moments to put the pieces together. That was where she knew him from; not seeing him around the complex, though she probably had, but seeing a sketch artist’s attempt at his face a few months ago when she’d visited Detective Ryan. Rumours of someone new making strides in the city’s unpowered crime, and nobody really understanding why.

She was face to face with one of those rare powered villains who stayed away from the super-community. A mind controller, but one who probably couldn’t take over in time to avoid a takedown - so he carefully punched below his weight class.

Except that today he’d definitely scored above it. Whatever he had was slow, but it was effective, and it was subtle - or maybe the orders he’d given had been. Either way, she hadn’t actually realised she was being manipulated until just that moment.

He wearily set the safe down and raised his hands. “Just please don’t hit me,” he began. “I couldn’t take that. And - hey, how the hell did you find me? I was sure I was under your radar.”

“I only just found out who you are,” she said. It was uncomfortable how easy it was to just tell him the truth. But right now it was; maybe it was something to do with how his power affected her.

He blinked slowly, confused. “Then - why are you here?”

“You told me to come here after doing my thing. So you could take your pick of what I have to offer.”

His lips moved silently, repeating what she’d said to himself. Trying to make it make sense. “Wait,” he said. “I told some jackass who tried to rob me that. He’s been and gone.”

“I was watching.”

“You were watching me?”

“I was watching him. I thought he might need catching, and then you put him under. And then I had to go do my thing.”

He blinked again, mouth open, and then he laughed. “Are you telling me I got you with the overflow?”

“Yes.”

“So you have to do whatever?”

She wanted to dissuade that idea as much as she could. She was confident that even if he took control she’d be rescued before too long, but this sort of thing was embarrassing. So she forced a slight alteration to the honest line. “I’m here so you can take your pick of what I have to offer,” she said again, instead.

“Holy shit. What, do you - do you live here or something?”

Ms Miracle smiled in spite of herself, a lopsided, crooked little thing acknowledging that the two of them now had something of a private joke. “Yeah.”

“I, uh, I’m gonna have to hit you with my power again.”

“I understand,” she said, her tone a little tight.

His mouth quirked into a smile of his own. “This has gotta be embarrassing for you.”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Alright, well…” She saw him nerve himself up to it before the green flare spilled out of his eyes again. Looking steadily back into it, she felt its power this time. But then, this time she was looking for it, awaiting it. And it was his pick of what she had to offer, which meant it felt like something she’d already accepted. That made it extremely hard to try to shrug it off.

He hadn’t earned her surrender. But something inside her was sure he had.

“What would happen if you just fell off the map?” he asked. Ms Miracle relaxed. If he was even thinking about that, he was cautious. Which meant he could be talked into letting her go.

“My team would come looking inside a week.”

“So that’s no good.”

“No,” she agreed. Her scalp was tingling how. Everything felt so good, and since she’d relaxed it was like nothing could harm her, nothing could upset her, nothing could go wrong.

She’d never have a sustained burst of feeling like this before. Very occasionally, when things had been at their worst and she’d realised the flaw that would allow her to topple her adversary in one fell swoop, she could feel this kind of euphoria for a few seconds.

Now it was sustaining, simply from facing this man with the power and knowing that his control could not hurt her. Could only help her.

She wasn’t sure exactly where she’d got that idea from, but all the same, she knew with confidence and certainty that it was true.

“I guess you’ll have to stay on the side of good, then,” he said. “Mostly, anyway. I bet you could put together a Madam Miracle outfit, something like that. Like you were your own evil duplicate.”

“Yes,” she agreed, then hoped she’d been agreeing only to the first part. It was harder to tell than it should be.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean you can’t stick around,” he continued. “What else d’you do with yourself?”

There were too many things this question could mean. “Huh?”

“You got a job?”

“Ms Miracle is my job,” she said.

“Meaning if you’re not in costume, nobody knows where you are.”

“Yes.”

The energy flooding her eyes and shrinking her perceptions down to just that glow seemed to bob, as if he were nodding. Considering how nervous he’d been when they came face to face, he’d recovered quickly. It was becoming obvious how he’d got so well established in the underworld here so quickly - and why MacLaren might want to deal with him.

She hadn’t been given any instructions on that yet, but she found she didn’t feel like she wanted that to happen.

“What else do you do? Any special skills?”

Ms Miracle didn’t have time to think about the question before she was responding. “I used to be a hairdresser, once,” she said.

“Not exactly what I was looking for. You a good cook?”

“I’m alright.”

“Hm. Well, you’re going to be doing a little work in the kitchen for me either way,” he said with self assurance.

“Yes,” she agreed. It sounded perfectly natural. Honestly most of what he was saying sounded perfectly natural. It just had a rightness to it. Perhaps that was why her own voice sounded so placid and monotone.

It didn’t even occur to her that this was probably down to his glowing eyes and his power.

“But there should be more to this.”

Her senses were restricted at the moment. Her sight only took in the glow in which her mind was basking. Her hearing seemed to be filtering out everything that wasn’t his voice. Nothing else seemed relevant.

So when she felt something brush her arm, tracing up the side, she assumed it had to be his hand. He hadn’t been close enough to do that recently, but now he clearly was. She should, she knew, resist that, but it felt perfectly reasonable for him to move in and take control of the situation. It didn’t feel like there was a single good reason for her not to let him, even as his hand reached her shoulder, became phantom fingertips brushing across her collarbone, feather-light, setting her nerves tingling. And like her scalp, they seemed to stay tingling.

“Yes,” she said. She couldn’t remember what he’d said but she was sure agreeing to it would be acceptable.

His hand traced its way down to the edge of her costume, fingertips touching the fabric before pausing, as they always did. Her skin was tougher than diamond, but soft and smooth as silk; her costume material, however, was a gift from Professor Mordecai. Mordecai had been associated with costumed types for decades, and there were constant claims that he was one of two power-armoured heroes himself, but nobody had ever settled it. Both heroes had worked with the Justice Guard at one point without confirmation.

The material itself was as thin as cotton, but impossibly resilient. As a result it felt very strange indeed to the touch, until you got used to it. Right now, he was clearly more than a little surprised. She found herself wishing he would follow through, pull down her costume, explore her body.

That wish had to be something he’d put there somehow. It had to be. But only logic was telling her that. The thought was perfectly camouflaged as one of her own.

“No,” he said, eventually, taking his hand back. “You take the outfit off.”

“Yes,” she agreed. When he put it that way, how could she refuse? Her hands went back behind her, found the seam, and tugged gently. It was designed to open easily, so long as you knew what you were doing, and to cling tenaciously when anyone who didn’t tried to remove it.

She drew the seam open and paused, letting the front of her costume fall away to reveal her bra. There was a moment where he might have appreciated the show, but he was focused and said nothing, so she continued to drink in the energy and reached down, hooking her thumbs under the costume over the swell of her ass. She eased it past the curves, and its cling began to fail, sliding easily down her thighs. She stepped clear, now in bra, panties, tights, and boots, and paused.

Lifting her left leg, she reached for her boot.

“Stop,” he said, and she stopped, standing still on one leg in an awkward posture. Her eyes were still on his; she felt like the energy pouring into her eyes was a physical thing, holding her up, keeping her upright and supported.

“Jesus,” he said, and he sounded frustrated - not with her but with himself. “This is a cliche for a reason. Stand to attention.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and was surprised to hear the edge of delight to what had been, for a while, an even tone. Her spine straightened, chest pressed out. Her arms went rigidly to her sides, and her booted left foot clicked heavily onto the floor.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Why is that hot?”

It wasn’t the first time Ms Miracle had been under someone’s control. Wasn’t the first time she’d been put to attention, or even the first time she’d stripped. But it was the first time the person doing it seemed to be discovering this for himself.

“You’re taking control,” she said simply. And there was still that edge to her monotone. She heard him give a short, sudden, surprised laugh.

“I guess I am, when you put it like that,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance. It takes me time to get in someone’s head, and I know you move crazy fast.”

“Not while I’m at attention,” she noted. Was she…

Was she flirting with him?

Maybe that had given him more confidence, or maybe at this point he was always going to put his hands on her again. He cupped her breasts through the bra, sighed audibly in a satisfaction and relief Ms Miracle had heard before. Any time she dated someone who knew her as a heroine, there was a sound like this if they got close enough; delight to be touching one of the world’s most famous bodies, relief that bulletproof skin could be so soft and yielding to the touch.

She suddenly realised she had a broad smile on her lips, a goofy grin of giddy delight. She tried to tell herself that what this man had done so far shouldn’t qualify for that. She found she couldn’t tell herself any such thing. Her mind refused to accept it.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly. He’d already been silent, but now his silence was somehow much more prominent and obvious than before.

“I need to call you something,” she said.

“Those are two different things,” he said, seeming cagey. Against her better judgement but completely in line with the judgement she was following, she decided to let him off.

“Whatever you say, sir,” she offered. At the word ‘sir’ there seemed to be almost a pulse within the energy her eyes were hungrily drinking in. It was as if she’d pushed his button and briefly supercharged him just by doing it. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed.

He stepped closer, reached behind her for her bra strap. As he screwed up his face in concentration, only one eye continued to be filled with his power. A tiny voice in the back of her mind demanded to know why she wasn’t taking advantage of this lesser input, but she wasn’t interested enough in doing it.

He was clearly used to having help when he did this. She was beginning to wonder how much experience he had. Surely, with these kind of powers, he’d been able to have any woman he might want. On the other hand, many people would have jumped at her name question to compel her to call them Master. He didn’t seem ready for any of this.

He had a power that seemed perfectly suited to capturing people he had the time to lock eyes with, but he didn’t seem to have used it for sex yet. Could that possibly be right?

Finally her bra was unhooked. He stepped back and hooked a finger in between her breasts, then gently pulled. While her body remained ramrod straight, locked in place, her bra easily slipped away and fell to the floor.

For a brief moment her eyes weren’t flooded by his energy as his eyes darted down to enjoy the moment of truth; however, she didn’t find any part of her willpower stirring.

“Holy shit,” he said at last. “There are whole websites of people wondering what these look like, and I’ve got access the first time we met.”

“Well,” Ms Miracle pointed out, “right now I can’t resist any command you give me, sir.”

Yeah. She was definitely flirting with him. Not only that but her flirting was built around trying to push him to take more control.

Once this was over she was going to have to give serious thought to taking up the standing Justice Guard offer for a therapist. Apparently there was plenty going on in her head she hadn’t expected.

(Or this was all ideas he’d put there, somehow. But they felt like her own thoughts. How could she tell?)

“You have to do whatever I say,” he said, his tone halfway between agreeing with her and persuading himself.

“Whatever you say, sir.”

The energy winked out finally, as he stopped keeping up the influence. This low-key feed of his lasted longer than most, with less effectiveness at the time - but she was discovering that it was astonishingly effective over time.

Instead, he looked at her speculatively, like he was trying to read her. Ms Miracle blinked several times, returning his gaze, and smiled. It felt natural that way.

“I have to know without affecting your answer,” he said. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Yes, sir,” she said promptly. Unbidden, but daring, she ventured “I don’t know if that’s you or me, though.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned forward, stretching up a little on his toes. His hand slid into her hair, holding the back of her head still. His lips met hers, and her mouth opened to welcome him. He had kissed her, and she kissed him back, exactly as passionately as she could while holding her pose at attention as ordered.

One hand kept her head against him. His body pressed in against hers, and she rocked on her high heels in her boots, before digging her feet in to maintain that commanded posture. His other hand began to roam, groping urgently at her breast, sliding down her side, finding her ass inside her panties - which was the first time Ms Miracle’s mind allowed her to notice that she was wet, that arousal had been building in her subconscious probably since he started looking directly into her eyes, and was now at a point where only his control prevented her from picking him up and carrying him through to the bedroom.

Eventually he broke the kiss, stepping back and grinning with a giddy delight. “I should have known I’d give in eventually,” he muttered.

Ms Miracle remembered the incident that led to Mentros’ former pupil, PsyKick, being kicked out of the Justice Guard. “Everyone does eventually, sir,” she said. Curiosity made her go further. “You’ve already been using your power for crime, right?”

He nodded, no longer worried that a stray confession might give him trouble in future. She was so clearly his, and so firmly owned, that he no longer needed to worry.

“What’s held you back from this?”

“I guess I thought I didn’t want to need mind control to get women.” He almost sounded dejected, and something inside her - possibly herself and possibly his influence, although right now she didn’t honestly care which was which - wanted to comfort him.

“I’m sure you could, sir. But you needed this to get me. And you have me.”

He looked up sharply, shocked, and she simply smiled back, warm, willing, utterly devoted.

“OK,” he said, abruptly. “No more second-guessing. I can figure out a plan later.” He pointed behind him, to a doorway. There was enough ambient light now that it wasn’t hidden by shadows. “Get in there.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with satisfaction. Given no direction on how to move, she practically slinked out of attention, strutting toward the door, carefully crossing her long legs and rolling her hips with each step. If he was going to watch, she was going to give him a show.

Maybe she was just too determined to do a good job, and when she had someone she had to follow, she was going to give them their fantasy?

Sure, she told herself. Let’s go with that. She knew it wasn’t true, but it’d do as the lie she told herself until she accustomed herself to how this worked.

To add to the effect, she flipped the light on as she entered the room, then paused at the foot of his bed - which was bigger than her own, one of those big King beds named for a state, and looked lush; being a mind controlling villain, even one running below the radar of the heroes, clearly payed pretty well - and fell back to attention.

It seemed like he was just discovering his kinks. Why not encourage him?

Her first reward was an intake of breath in the doorway. “Shit,” he said in a tone of reverence.

“I never skip my workout, sir,” she said. Some whim led her to add “Unless you order it.”

Who had she been saying was just discovering their kinks? What the hell did she need to know about herself?

She felt his hand on her ass. Suddenly she knew she wanted him to spank her. It couldn’t hurt her. It wouldn’t be punishment. But one sharp swat to her ass would confirm he was accepting total control over her.

He just stood there for a moment. Basking in the idea as much as her, she figured. Although controlling Ms Miracle, she flattered herself, had to be worth at least a little bit more than controlling just some random person. She could be compelled to do anything for him.

She definitely intended to remind him of that first idea involving a new costume for her. She might get some temporary hair dye. Claim she had a redheaded interdimensional double…

…She was building his alibi for him. As a member of Justice Guard that wasn’t technically against the rules, but only because it was assumed no member would ever want to do that. She should stop.

Except it was hot, and for as long as he was just admiring her, she had time to decide how to reward him for taking over her mind, for changing her purpose to a different one, one which seemed to come with rewards of its own and a blissful buzz.

A sharp smack filled the air as he evidently followed the same line of thinking she had. It was followed by two exchanges of breath; one contented exhalation from her, one sharp intake from a man who hadn’t realised how much feedback would reach his hand.

“OK. Not doing that again.”

“Sorry, sir,” she said softly. “But thank you.”

“Thank - never mind.” He paused, then tutted. “Man. I want those tights out of the way, but the boots are really hot…”

“May I?”

“Uh…” May you what hung unspoken in the air. As she’d hoped, he chose not to say it. “You may.”

This was getting expensive, she thought, as she took in hand the second pair of tights she’d ripped off her body in just a few hours, and, a firm grip at each hip, brought her arms up smoothly into a full flex, listening to the fast, staccato tear of the rip as she did. Once her arms were into that flexed pose, she held it, realising on a whim that her power might be as attractive to him as her body - maybe even more so.

“Fucking hell,” he said, his tone awestruck. “If you get free, I’m so fucked.”

“I’m in no hurry, sir,” she said, her tone as deferential as she could make it.”

“Holy shit. Alright.” He hooked his thumbs into her panties at the waist, then tutted. “Legs apart.”

“Yes, sir.” She spread her legs, making sure her feet were at least shoulder width apart. She could tell what was coming, and she couldn’t wait - except that, if she was told to, she’d have to.

He pulled her panties down, peeling them off her at first, then kneeling as he slid them down, and stopped when they were just an inch or two below the top of her boots. “Bend over,” he instructed, and she did, pivoting smoothly at the waist, holding her legs rigid, putting on a show.

She grinned at him, upside down, through her legs. He grinned back, then reached through her legs to take a nipple between thumb and forefinger then tug. She gasped, bit her lip, and he laughed at her reaction. “I’m glad to see you have some sensations get through.”

She swallowed. “Oh,” she began, and then, her mouth dry, she cleared her throat and tried again. “Oh yeah. Even pain sometimes. But I’m lucky. My incident didn’t mess with my ability to feel pleasure like it did for Furia.”

He opened his mouth as if to ask a question and visibly thought better of it. She wasn’t sure if he just didn’t want to press her in case he lost control. Wondered if she should tell him she’d stopped trying to take control back. Then wondered if he’d believe t-

Her thoughts all stopped abruptly for a moment when he planted a kiss on her wet slit. That couldn’t just be her physical reaction. The idea of that level of approval had to be part of it all its own.

Regardless: Fuck, that felt so good.

And then he straightened up. She placed her hands on his mattress, felt them sink into memory foam - this guy was making waaaay too much money as a crook to have flown under their radar, and right now she was okay with that - but saw his baggy sleep shorts slid down off his hips and drop down. He stepped out of them, giving himself freedom of motion while her panties made an ineffective restraint around her legs.

She decided she’d seen enough from that angle and tossed her hair, lifting her head up to face his headboard but letting her blonde locks fly for a moment.

She’d had at least one long-term boyfriend she’d never put on this level of show for. Either this was something in his control or she had a fetish she’d never been able to explore until she had no choice.

He reached down and gathered a handful of her hair into a grip, then, with his free hand anchoring him against her hip, he positioned himself against her, his tip held, almost tentatively, brushing against her.

“Remember you said I should take my pick of what you have to offer?” he said, and she was suddenly sure he’d spent the last few moments planning that line.

“Yes, sir.” With a grin, she shifted just slightly, shivered at her hips, grinding invulnerable body against his tip, driving him to distraction just as she was already almost gone.

“Behave,” he said firmly. “Because I’m about to start.” His hand tightened in her hair; he kept her steady with his free hand; he drove himself oh so slowly inside her. She squeezed gently around him in welcome, rewarded by another startled gasp, then a contented moan. “You’re into this, aren’t you?”

She bit her lip. Could she get away with this? “The only way I tell you is if I have to, sir.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “So the answer is yes…” He paused, then, his tone suddenly firm, “Admit it.”

A direct order and that felt even better than having him inside her. “Yessssssss…”

That was the last thing that fired him up. Suddenly he wasn’t just inside her, he was wild inside her, picking up the pace as fast as he could, pounding her hard enough that the slapping set up a rhythm. She rocked along to the same rhythm. Not held in place by instruction she was free to fuck back just as hard as she could.

She knew how worked up he’d become. Knew it wouldn’t take him long, and by the steadily growing fizz and bubble of sensation and euphoria in her own head she knew the spell he had her under would carry her along with him. So, to give him a bit more of a thrill, she took a double handful of mattress and lifted her feet from the floor, pushing for the same lightness of body she used to fly - then closed her legs around his back.

“Full of… surprises,” he grunted, losing his rhythm for a moment but getting it back by pumping in sync with her own body. “I’m going… to…”

Whatever thought he was having, he didn’t voice it. He kept his grip on her hair tight, hung on with his other hand, and picked up his pace, faster and faster, feeding off her own heat, her own need to cum.

She was his to use, and it felt so good. When he came, her eyes rolled back as her own body responded instantly, betraying her earlier self with an orgasm that felt like sealing a pact.

*

Ms Miracle picked up one of the muggers around the collar, one-handed, and sent him sprawling with a practised flick of the wrist. Then she turned around into his friend’s gunfire and walked forward.

As usual, that was enough; he broke and ran. She blurred forward, so he collided with her at the edge of the alleyway, bouncing off her folded arms and practically knocking himself out.

She smiled at their nearly-victim and waved a hand. “It’s safe now, honey,” she said. “I’ll see these guys into the station. Are you good to get home?”

The young woman smiled, a little, fragile thing, but one that might grow more comfortable again given time. She hurried out fast, muttering something that might have been thanks.

Ms Miracle secured the two muggers for the cops and glanced down the street. Delivery vans were beginning to appear, so her ‘shift’ was probably over. She reached up and toggled the button in her earring, sending her location and a ‘please come detain’ request to the local precinct, then took to the skies.

She made straight for the apartment complex, where she touched down and went straight to her bedroom, stowing her costume away. Then she headed for the bathroom, and a long shower.

Amy emerged from the shower, feeling much better about herself. She took some time over her makeup, then opened yesterday’s package, a large white box - which, as with most of her deliveries these days, contained lingerie that Master had seen online and ordered in her size, for her to wear.

She was beginning to really love the weekends, when she could descend into pure obedience for a day at a time (supervillain emergencies permitting). It was a perfect way to give both her costumed and real identities a break.

Once in the lingerie, she no longer thought of herself as either Ms Miracle or Amy. She was simply his.

She shrugged on a pair of track pants and a hoodie and took the lift down to the ground floor. Crossing the courtyard, she was already speculating on how to wake her Master, and she wondered if this would be the day for her ‘evil self’ to finally see the light of day. They kept flirting over the idea, but he hadn’t been willing to pull the trigger yet.

Honestly, more superheroines probably needed to have their minds rebuilt. She felt like her performance in patrols and in Justice Guard had become better since she started all this. But it would be difficult to persuade any of them, especially that flighty minx Solitaire.

And she didn’t want Master’s attention divided. Not yet, anyway.

Not unless he ordered otherwise.