The Dahlia Trust

“It has to be hard for you…”

The words echoed in Mike Reive’s mind as he looked at the glossy images of the woman in the black and magenta  striped lycra bodysuit. There was no real pattern to the suit, it was more like camouflage, patterns designed to break up the shape of a person…

But nothing could break up this woman’s shape.

Toned and fit, the fabric clung to her as tight as a second skin, and it was shaped to her impressive curves. Shapely legs and a bubble butt stood out, but not as much as her chest. He wasn’t being paid to ogle the mysterious woman, whose face was covered by a black mask that went over her cheeks and nose, and while it revealed her mouth it also went up to her hairline, with spirals pf magenta streaking out around the eyes, but her breasts…

Her astoundingly ample breasts simply jutted out and stood prominently. More so as the body suit was shaped to emphasis them, both in the cut, and the fact it had a… the only way he could describe it was a boob window… a section of fabric removed to show off her impressive, deep cleavage, and a fair bit of her breasts… her tits commanded anyone and everyone’s attention.

As he stared at one image of her, one that seemed like she was posing for him, his eyes blurred and he started to see a pattern in the stripes, concentric spirals that seemed to weave together and move, an optical illusion of black and magenta twisting and turning, pulling his gaze back to those breasts… breasts that needed no help commanding the eye.

“It has to be hard for you,” the woman’s voice was soft and compassionate, and more sincere than he would have ever guessed from a stranger, “looking into everyone’s secrets, having everyone lie to you.”

The woman in the body suite was a blonde, a luxurious platinum blonde, hair so blonde it was nearly white, with sapphire blue eyes that sparkled with their own obvious radiance. Knee high, flat soled black leather boots, and a black belt and leather harness adorned with small pouches also helped to shape her amazing body, and he’d had to use a film camera to get reliable images of her, as something about her made digital imagery fuzzy and blurry.

Digital security footage and still images were pixelated, and black splotches, like sun spots, obstructed parts of her, and the rest of the images and footage.

It was obvious that she had some kind of disruption field, but film was dead, and the city wasn’t going to go analogue overnight to try and capture one costumed villaness’s likeness.

He’d had to sleep in his car, one ear glued to the police scanner, waiting for her next sighting, and as much as his old instincts to try and help his former fellow officers had tugged at him, he’d stayed far back, used a long lens for his old film camera, and that led to him combing over the best images of the woman people were calling ‘The Mirage’ anyone had captured to that point.

“It must be hard for you,” the woman’s voice was delicate and considered, soft and understanding. “Looking into everyone’s secrets, having everyone lie to you, and living in a world of deceit. It must make it so hard for you to trust anyone, but you can trust me.”

It hadn’t been The Mirage who’d said those words to him, no he’d never met the masked bank robber who seemed to also have the power to turn people into her willing puppets, or zombies, or brainwashed followers, but those words had started this job, and those words had stayed with him.

On her most recent outing, The Mirage’s henchmen… and henchwomen… henchpeople… goons… he settled on goons… 

Her goons, willing or not, he didn’t know or care which, had done what they always did, led the way as she walked into the bank, zapped the people in there with whatever mind powers she had, then walked out, flanked by the goons that her carried her ill gotten gains.

They also carried guns, lots of guns, but not one had been shot by them yet, and so far, no costumed hero had crossed her path.

It was brazen, more brazen and reckless than it had to be, he assumed, especially in a city with more than a few costumed heroes, even more malignant costumed villains, and police that had enough of it all. He should know, he’d been one of those tired out cops, and he’d left the force to become a private detective because it seemed like no matter what, he’d always ended up on the wrong side of justice.

Now, making his pay by digging in the dirt, he knew it wasn’t a question of right and wrong, it was a question of wrong AND rich… and in the years he’d spent digging in their dirt, he’d done more good  and made a great deal more money than he did behind a badge.

No, the mean streets and glitzy high rises of the city didn’t make sense, but he’d moved from making cents to making dollars a long time ago, and now he was making them the right way.

“I’ve heard wonderful things about you Detective,” Kitty Von Dahlia was a dame. 

She might have been a literal one, or an equivalent in some Eastern European country based on the name, but as she stood there in his office, dressed in funerary black, with her veil still covering her face, obscuring her soft, soulful doe eyes, her round cheeks, and slight, upturned nose, she was every part the kind of dame he’d hoped would walk into his office.

Even her copper highlighted auburn hair, which went down her back in long, loose curls, was something out of his dreams.

She was wearing a black skirt that went just past the knees, black nylons, and high heels with those red soles that rich women wore, and they weren’t so high as to make her look gaudy at a funeral, but not so short as to not make her stand taller… while flattering her legs and lifting her ass.

He couldn’t have helped noticing all of it, not because he’d been looking, but because it had been in his face.

After he’d met her downstairs, she’d walked up the stairs to his office in front of him, and he’d thought maybe she’d given him the view on purpose.

“People say you’re a serious man, and you have a sharp mind and an even sharper eye. They say you were too good at your job to stay on the police, and I can believe that…” her lips were red, her cheeks were rosy, and as a whole her makeup was subtle enough, like her heels, along with the veil, to not seem garish at a cemetery, “...if that’s true. I just hope it is, because…”

In another time, she would have likely pulled out a cigarette from her purse, or he might have offered her one, instead, she lifted her veil and took a sip from the can of sparkling water he’d offered her, and he wondered what kind of drink was “her” drink.

“Because my sister is a mess, not from the loss of her idiot husband, but because he seems to have been even more of an idiot than any of us knew. That’s why I’m here Mr. Reive,” instead of cigarettes she took an envelope out of her purse that was thick with bills and put it on his desk, “I want to know the truth about him, so I can save my sister from it… or rub her face in it, especially if she’s a part of it.”

He laughed, she smiled, and batted her eyelashes at him as he stared into those soft, deep, dark eyes, eyes that held him still, eyes that searched his soul and captivated him.

Then she said those words to him, words about trust, words about lies, and deceit, words he’d always thought, feelings he never articulated, things he’d always wanted to hear, but never hoped for.

“It must be hard for you, looking into everyone’s secrets, having everyone lie to you, and living in a world of deceit.” She smiled at him and her eyes bore deep into his, sparkling with some trick of the light in his office “It must make it so hard for you to trust anyone, but you can trust me.”

She stayed looking deep into his eyes, and there was something there in her smile, something like a question. It felt like maybe she was waiting for him to say something… something specific, and he felt the warmth and heat of her charms in her sparkling, beautiful eyes, eyes that were bright behind her veil that she had lowered again, eyes that had made her words all the sweeter.

She looked briefly at his desk, briefly at the envelope, and he smiled and laughed as he took it and put it in his desk, “I’m certain I can, after all,” she looked puzzled for a second, “we haven’t even talked about price, or terms, so really, I think I should be telling you to trust me not to cheat you or overcharge you.”

The light in her eyes flickered and changed, whatever reflection they were catching, had changed, and she laughed. It was a deep, and surprised laugh, and the artifice of her charm fell away as a wide smile stretched across those soft lips. “You surprise me, Mr. Reive, or should I call you Detective? I’d think a man like you wouldn’t think of a large stack of cash as anything past a retainer.”

“Well,” he looked away from her, and out his window at his unimpressive view. For some reason he felt the need to look away from her, and from those eyes. “If I bill for what you pay me, then things stay clean and tidy, clean and clear expectations, right?”

“Yes…” the word hung there, and she sounded like maybe she’d lost her bearings, or lost her place in the script. “That’s what this is all about, keeping track of everything, nice and tidy.”

Contacts on the force passed interviews and interrogations about The Mirage’s victims and identified goons on to him. It didn’t matter which was which or who was who, they all said the same thing. All they could remember was a warm, happy feeling, and the deep desire to just do whatever she told them… but they couldn’t remember who she was, or what she looked like. Even when they saw themselves on blotchy, sun spotted video, they couldn’t believe what they saw.

“My dearly departed,” the sarcasm in her voice made him smile as he imagined this dead man as nothing more than a greedy buffoon, “brother in law was connected with any number of, if not financial crimes, than at least financial misdealings, putting our family’s security and wealth in danger, and practicing a degree of malfeasance that needs to be addressed both for our reputation and…”

Her voice had changed. There was something subtle in it, something he felt more than heard, and he was suddenly held more rapt by the sound of ehr voice than by her words… but he still hung on them…

“Justice.”

The word broke the spell, and he laughed.

“Sure.” he looked back at her and she wore a bemused smile, “if you want me to trust you, and I think I can, don’t play to my ego, or my morals, or…” Her soft eyes sparkled and whatever annoyance he had at her games, her understandable and predictable social maneuvering and charming, fell away, “...just trust me if you want me to trust you.”

She squinted at him, ever so slightly, then laughed again, that same, deep, full and surprised laugh, “Let me give you the rest of the details…”

“This is The Mirage.”

He put the manilla folder of photos and police reports on the table, on her table, and waited for her to look up from them. She was wearing a red satin blouse that was buttoned down, and tied at the bottom, and black slacks that matched the thick black frames of her glasses. Her hair was piled up, and her tits were on display much more so than the first time. 

They were especially visible as he looked down at her as she sat at the table in the small, comfortable apartment she’d asked him to meet her at.

It was obviously a second, or third home, a place in the city for her, or her family, though the details of the Von Dahlia family were… sparse… even with his connections and the realities of the modern world.

“Superhuman, mind controller, real name unknown, extent of powers unknown, has some kind of magnetic distortion field that prevents digital imagery, and most likely the cause of your deceased brother in law’s…” he smiled at her as she looked up at him, her glasses sliding down her nose as she did, “malfeasance.”

She scoffed, not so much in disdain, but in incredulity.

“And possibly also, his…” he looked deep into her eyes, “death…”

“But,” her eyes sparkled again, a light from inside her deep, soft, dark eyes, “how?”

“The…” the light in her eyes held him as he tried to think of what he was in the midst of saying. He couldn’t find the words that were on the tip of his tongue, and he smiled at her, looking down at her beautiful face, and her soft, heaving breasts. ‘The… uh…”

The light in her eyes, the sparkle, the reflection, seemed to start to shift, and he stared, transfixed by… she pushed her glasses up, and stood up, and he blinked. “How did you find this connection?”

“We know The Mirage robs banks, that’s the obvious thing she does, but she has also infiltrated the minds of people in the financial industry, and the minds of witnesses and victims for those robberies.” 

It was so easy to talk to her, to tell her everything, where once the words had been just out of reach, he couldn’t stop himself now. “Your brother in law, either by happenstance or by arrangement, was present at one of the earliest robberies that she committed, before she started wearing the outfit. Police reports matching her MO have gone back over two years, and the first string of targets are all directly linked to the institution that employed him until…”

Her glasses had slid down her nose, and she’d looked up at him over the lens, and the light in her eyes, in her beautiful, soft, deep, dark eyes caught him, and he blinked again… and she smiled, and as she looked deep into his eyes, her eyes sparkling in the light, the light that seemed to shimmer, he shook his head and continued.

“Well, until his death. It looks like he communicated details of cash deliveries to The Mirage, while also performing more elaborate forms of theft, giving her, or her goons, access to accounts, and using his position to, well, do the things that have concerned you, things that drew his behaviors to your attention. And since the long term effects of mind control, and mind powers, and the extent of her influence on him is unknown, there's reason to believe his increased drinking, and his accident were the result of a psychotic break.”

She’d pushed her glasses back up, “I see. So he was mind controlled by a supervillain. Did you discover anything else?”

 CXZ“Nothing of note. He’s just another victim of super-powered chaos, and I’m sorry about your loss.”

“Detective,” she took her glasses off, folded them, and put them on the desk, then put a hand to her breast as she looked into his eyes, “Are you sure you didn’t find anything else out?”

He looked her dead in the eye, ready to say no, even though he’d found loose ends and inconsistencies, and had hunches, but as he stared into her eyes, that sparkle, that light in her eyes shimmered, and started to swirl. The light, the sparkle, became a soft, shimmering, swirling spiral that pulled him into the center of her eyes, deep into her pupils.

He stood there, transfixed.

“That’s right Detective, you can trust me,” he knew something was wrong, something was confused, and he was feeling disoriented. “You know I understand how hard this can be on you, and you do want to keep things nice and tidy, don’t you?”

“Ms. Von Dahlia,” he tried to look away, “your eyes are…”

His words weren’t coming to him, he was struggling to think, “Yes Detective, just look deep into my eyes now, and relax with me. You can finally let your guard down, you can finally unburden yourself. You’ve looked into so much for me, you’ve seen so much recently, now just look into my eyes, just my eyes, and discover how easy it is. You can just look deep into my eyes and let them guide you, like finding a light in the dark… can you see the light now?”

“What are you doing…” he could see the light, he could see the shimmering, spiral of light in her eyes… “to… to…”

“I can see in your eyes that you can see the light now, and now that you see the light, you must be able to see the darkness now too, swirling and spiraling…”

Her pupils seemed to expand until her eyes were pitch black orbs filled with soft, spiraling white light. Twisting and turning in her eyes, he stared deeper and deeper into the spirals.

“That’s it, just lose yourself in my eyes Detective, you live your life finding things, looking into things, now you can just lose yourself, you can finally relax and lose yourself in my eyes, lose yourself in the sound of my voice, and trust me. You want to trust me, and I’ve earned you trust, haven’t I…”

“You… you paid me…” the words came out, and those black and white spirals that were her eyes were pulling on every thread in his mind. He was trying to say more than that, that her payment only bought so much, and he had interrupted her, maybe because it seemed like a question, maybe because he was pushing back against whatever was happening…

“And now you’re doing just what I hired you for, keeping everything neat and tidy, and you see that in my eyes, deeper and deeper into my eyes, isn’t that right? Aren’t you just doing what I hired you for, doing what I told you to? And you want to do a good job, don’t you? And you need to do what you were hired for, don’t you?”

Yes, she’d hired him. Yes, this was…

“Mirage.”

The spiraling eyes pulled on the threads, and he pushed back on her question to let something else out, something that needed to be said.

“What about her?” She was closer to him now, and all he could see was her eyes. “Do you know who she is?”

He didn’t. 

When she asked, he wanted to say no. He felt like he was being swept up in a current, being spun around and around from the inside out as he stared into those spiraling eyes, but he fought against it… 

Against her,

“No… unless… are… are you?” He was curious, not accusatory. The question, his question as an answer to hers, just came out. It was what he wanted to say, it was him swimming against the current, but by answering her, he felt himself letting go and being drawn back in.

“Do I look like this Mirage woman, Detective? You have a sharp mind and a keen eye, obviously I don’t look anything like her, so how could I be her? Unless, did you find something that would…” She put a hand on his chest, and another hand around his wrist, softening her voice even more, “implicate me as The Mirage?”

He stood there, feeling his mind struggling against the soft, compelling sound of her voice, trying to look away from the whirlpools in her eyes pulling him back under the harder he tried to look away.

“You trust me,” he was trying to break his gaze from her, and the harder he tried, the softer her voice became, and the more compelling her eyes became.

There was something electric in her touch too, something erotic and intoxicating, something that felt like more than a simple touch.

“You work for me,” she put both hands around his neck and held him, closer than before, and he felt something else, not quite a scent, but something in the air, an energy almost. It was emanating from her and her touch, and it felt like it was soaking into his skin, like she was soaking into him through his pores.

“You can tell me,” his eyelids were getting heavy and started to flutter, and she pressed herself up to him, pushing her large, soft tits against his chest as the spirals became the only thing he could see, even when his eyes closed.

She was surrounding him, engulfing him, pulling him deeper into her voice and her warmth… and she was sinking deeper into him, like her words were in his bloodstream, like her voice was in his heartbeat.

“I’m obviously not The Mirage, so you can tell me what you found. this is just the job, you can do your job and tell me. Just look at me, I don’t look anything like her, neither does my sister.” 

She touched his face while she held the back of his neck, and when he opened his eyes, he saw her, the red haired, dark eyed, buxom and beautiful woman who hired him, and no, more than his eyes told him, no she looked nothing… NOTHING like The Mirage.

The obvious and clear observation filled him with a sense of euphoria, and his sharp mind was getting dull at the edges.  

“You want to keep things nice and tidy, you want to confide in me, and you need to do a good job for me, don’t you?”

He pushed his hips against hers and let out a little moan as she smiled and massaged the back of his head. He took a deep breath and she caressed his face as relaxation and warm, sensual pleasure hummed through his body and mind.

He twitched.

…except, maybe The Mirage was…

Like a reflex, part of his brain had spasmed the idea into the front of his mind. He was going to say it out loud, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t think straight inside his head. But before he could say anything, he felt the soft caress of her fingers down his cheek.

“Just look deep into my eyes, deeper and deeper into my eyes, and follow the light through the dark, and tell me what you think, and what you know. Tell me what you discovered, and trust me the way I trust you. You have my secrets and my money, you can trust me with your thoughts.”

He wanted to tell her.

Her voice was pulling at his words, at the core of his thoughts, but he was still a secretive man, and not prone to sharing theories before they were provable.

“It would make me so happy to hear your thoughts. You would make me so happy sharing your mind with me, and I think…” she leaned in close and whispered in his ear “you would enjoy sharing that trust with me too.”

Involuntarily, or instinctively, maybe just compulsively, he put his hands on his hips and held her as she stared up into his eyes.

The swirling, spiraling light and dark pulled on him, pulling his words free from his cares, and his well honed sense of reserve and resolve.

“Maybe The Mirage is an illusion or she can change her appearance, or distort it, and maybe you’re actually her, because she has mind control powers and you’re doing…”

She stroked his cheek again and his eyes closed, only to see the black and white spirals behind his eyelids. 

“But you didn’t find any evidence? You didn’t find any connections or implications in your research, and investigation?” 

He was floating, on the edge of sleep, on the edge of dreams, but as much as he was being pulled down, he was still resisting, still thrashing about inside, refusing to be wholly submerged.

She whispered in his ear, “Tell me the truth.”

“No,” it was easy to tell the truth, “no, it was just a theory based on tonight.”

“Oh,” she laughed, “Detective, open your eyes and look at me.” The spirals faded from her eyes, but he still stared deep into them, “what else are you thinking? What else did you discover?”

“You’re… doing things to me… hypnotizing me…” his eyes were half-closed, “and… I couldn’t find anything out about you, your sister, or your family. You’re hiding something from me… I don’t care what it is, unless it’s what you told me to find… but you’re hiding things from me…”

“If I were hiding something from you, you would have found it, and if I were hypnotizing you, you’d be able to resist it. You’re too strong willed, and too sharp to be manipulated, or misled. Nothing’s happened tonight, I’m not hypnotizing you, we’re just talking, and it’s getting very late, and you’re very tired. Nothing unusual has happened tonight…”

It was very late.

He was getting very tired.

“You’ve worked so hard.”

He’d worked so hard.

“And you’re so used to secrets and lies, so used to mistrust and dishonesty. You just need to let yourself trust me. I know it’s hard for you, but you can just let yourself trust me, because I do know how hard it is, especially in your world. But I trust you… completely… and I’d like to hire you again, because you’ve done such a good job. So if you’d like to continue working for me, you can just accept that we had a perfectly normal conversation where you debriefed me about your work so far.”

Whatever was pulling on his mind, trying to pull him under, or guide him and influence him, whatever it was, was gone. Now, his mind had to make a choice, and it chose the pragmatism of more work and another large payday.

“Tell me nothing happened tonight, and that we had a regular conversation about work. Tell me the only thing that happened was you debriefing me.”

“Tonight was a normal night, nothing happened.” The words came out of that same pragmatic place, and as they spoke them, they became true. 

As Mike walked out of the apartment, his memories rewrote themselves into believing that nothing unusual had happened, and that she would come to his office on Monday about the next job.

He didn’t see her sigh with exhaustion and slump down into one of the chairs by the table, nor did he see her start to sweat profusely, but as he stood on the other side of the door he did feel a strange, warm, magnetic pull, like something in the air was trying to pull him back into the room.

It was something tantalizing, something sensual and undeniable that he felt lighting up his nervous system… something undeniably erotic. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and forced himself to keep walking, because he knew if turned around and walked back in, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.

And with every step he took, he had the feeling, the sixth sense, that if he did go back inside and take her in his arms, that would have been exactly what she wanted too. 

“It has to be hard for you…”

The words echoed in Mike Reive’s mind as he looked at the glossy images of the woman in the black and magenta  striped lycra bodysuit. There was no real pattern to the suit, it was more like camouflage, patterns designed to break up the shape of a person…

Nothing like the shape of Kitty Von Dahlia.

Sure, they were both attractive women, sure they both had remarkably large breasts, but they looked nothing alike…

But… he had a hunch…

Then there was a knock at the door, and before he could open it, she stepped into his office.

“Good morning, detective.” Kitty stood in his doorway, smiling at him, a to-go tray of coffees in hand.

She looked different.

Not like a six foot tall, pornographically buxom supervillain in a bodysuit, but not like she’d looked in their last two meetings.

Gone were the overt trappings of her class, replaced by a much more casual attire. She wore black leggings, tennis shoes, had her reddish brown hair up in a ponytail, a small, casual purse slung over her shoulder, and a tight, very tight and low cut pink tee shirt made of some kind of synthetic athleisure wear fabric.

“I brought you coffee.” She wasn’t wearing glasses, and he looked at her face, studying it, trying to superimpose the image of the busty bank robber over her. “I didn’t know what you drink so I brought you a selection.”

There wasn’t any evidence this woman was or could be The Mirage, but he had a hunch. He didn’t have one until his debriefing with her on Friday evening, but over the weekend the conversation, unremarkable as it was, both planted and watered that seed of a hunch. Now, as she smiled at him, looking deep into his eyes, all he could wonder was… how?

“Thank you,” he started taking drinks out of the holder and lining them up on his desk. “What is it that I can do for you, going forward?”

She wasn’t wearing glasses, and it seemed to him that as he looked into her soft, warm, brown eyes, that she blushed and leaned forward on his desk a little bit more, giving him a better view of her cleavage.

She was a beautiful woman, strikingly so, and he’d been afraid if those parting moments, those feelings of barely contained desire, of passion, would come back and overwhelm his as soon as he saw her.

Luckily for his dignity, his pride, and his professionalism, they didn’t. 

“I was wondering,” she bit her lip and shifted, then put a hand to her chest, tracing the neckline of her top, “if I could hire you to…”

Her entire energy was different, she seemed, if not younger, then less authoritative, less bossy, and… she was flirting with him.

That made him more defensive, or at least more curious about his hunch. It did not, however, rekindle that moment of desire he’d walked away from when he’d walked away from her.

“Do you think you could revisit all the work you did for me and see if you could use that as a launching point, or a way in, to discover The Mirage’s identity, or barring that, if she has more tendrils of influence in my family’s interests.”

He laughed, “Because you want to see if anyone can prove that you’re actually The Mirage?”

He was laughing as he said it, but he was serious. He was serious, and he was unnerved by how easily he’d said it. It was uncharacteristically direct of him, at least as far as clients went.

“Well,” she laughed too, and she saw that he was serious, “feel free to investigate me, but…” there was a light in her eyes, warm, and welcoming, sparkling like a beacon in the night, “you know I’m not The Mirage. You said as much when we talked about it on Friday.”

That was what he’d said, and there was no evidence he’d seen, but that was the problem with powers. “That is what I said, but I’ve been thinking about it more, and the more I think about it, someone with an unknown power set like hers could be hiding in plain sight. We don’t even know what she looks like.”

“There is it again,” she was still looking deep into his eyes, and he was still staring up into hers, up into the light that was sparkling deep in the center of her pupils. “It has to be hard for you to be so sharp, and so questioning all the time, harder even now that you think you can’t even trust what’s before your own eyes. I can’t prove that I’m not The Mirage, but I’m not… only you can prove who she is, and isn’t… at least…”

Her cadence slowed, the sound of her voice became softer, and even warmer, and instead of leaning in closer to him, she stood up and started to take off her shirt. “You can prove who she is if she’s only one person. And you showed me her pictures, you showed me what she looks like, and I know you noticed my chest, but you haven’t seen me in a bodysuit, so you can’t say for sure that we don’t actually have the same sized breasts. I mean, mine are large, detective, you’ve detected that…”

“Ms. Von Dahlia…” she peeled her tight top off and stood in front of him in a well fitted, plain white bra. “Kitty… please, what are you….”

“Oh please Mike,” she was pulling down her straps, laughing, “I know you want to see them, and compare them. Naked is as close to a skin tight supervillain outfit as I can get.”

She slid her bra down, showing him her large, larger than he’d guessed, and he’d guessed and seen that they were quite large, very large breasts, as she turned her bra around to undo the clasps, before setting it on his desk.

“Look at the picture of her,” she pointed at the glossy images he still had on his desk, now next to her bra, “and look at my tits.”

The sound of her voice was so compelling, it sounded different, it felt different to hear her speak, like there was something in the air, something physical moving from her lips into his mind, and it was smoothing… welcoming… and warm. 

It felt so warm to just listen, so deeply, undeniably warm, like his whole mind and body were bathing in warm water, and it was easy, so impossibly easy to simply do what he was told.

He didn’t think of Friday.

He didn’t think of anything.

He was more than simply caught up in the moment, he was ensnared by her.

He looked down at the image of The Mirage and studied it. The Mirage was tall, muscular, statuesque, and proportioned like a porn star. Everything about the image was larger than life, which was what it was like to see a super-human in person. Even through the lens of the camera when he’d taken her picture, The Mirage seemed impossible, unknowable, and surreal, until the shutter clicked.

That click had broken the spell, and he’d seen her, truly seen the impossible woman he’d been survealing. She was everything he’d seen before the shutter, and he saw that even more clearly. At first it was the mystery and the absurd, then it became a matter of keen observation, a hunter’s eye examining its prey.

He looked up from the picture just like Kitty had told him to, and as he did, she cupped her very large breasts in her hands and said, “Now look at these. Really look at them. Just ignore everything else and focus on my tits.”

Her voice was full of the soothing, overpowering, deep warmth that relaxed every muscle in his body, and every tense strand of thought in his mind. He felt like he was breathing in her words, and it all seemed…

Natural.

There was no critical disconnect, no second thoughts, just a feeling of deep and all consuming warmth as he stared at her breasts just like she told him to.

It didn’t feel like obedience, or acquiescence, only a natural act of agreement and engagement with a beautiful, charming, buxom woman who was doing a great deal more than flirting with him. Looking at her tits in her hands as she massaged them gently felt like more than looking, it felt like more than objectifying this woman, Kitty Von Dahlia, it felt like…

Like falling in love… almost.

And maybe, maybe if he wasn’t so enthralled in her he would have felt more in himself, but she was smothering everything, and the more she did, the more he wanted it.

“They aren’t as big as The Mirage’s,” she pushed them together, “if they were, they’d be spilling out even more. I mean my tits are too big for my hands, but hers are enormous. You can imagine how they would look if they were that big…”

He stared at her tits, bouncing softly in her hands, and tried to imagine those proportions. He had a sharp eye, and a sharp mind. He was capable of being a very visual thinker, and as he stared at those tits, watching them moving in a steady, predictable jiggle… bouncing up and down… and up and down… he could see what Kitty would look like with breasts that went from large to massive.

“You can imagine now just how different I would look with tits that were too big for me to do this with.”

He could see her standing there, trying to manage tits that were more than the size of her head… pornographically huge tits that were too big for her frame… tits that she couldn’t get a handle on… the tits of a six foot tall superhuman bank robber… tits so big she would be conspicuous anywhere she went…

“And clearly, when you see my tits, which are very big,” he blinked and the phantom image of Kitty trying to play with massive breasts dissipated into her own large breasts bouncing softly, up and down… and up and down… as the sound of her voice, so warm and so welcoming, so undeniable and so soothing and smothering… “Tits you have enjoyed staring at, you can clearly see that I’m not The Mirage…”

She pushed them together then let them fall, “Am I?”

“You could be…” the words were soft, soft but certain, and they were his voice, his words, uninhibited by doubt or conscious thought. They were a statement of fact, and her enthralling energy fell around his words and made space for his truth.

“And,” she cupped under her breasts again and gently pushed and massaged them together, “why is that?”

He watched as the circular motion of her breasts started to create spirals in his eyes, shapes of transparent light twisting like tracers from her nipples and radiating out. All he could do was sit and watch them, mesmerized by her breasts and the translucent spirals.

“Because The Mirage could be a shape changer, or she, or you, could use her mind control powers on me, if you were her, and make me think something. You can’t trust anything or anyone around mind control and visual manipulation.”

Her spiraling breasts continued, and he sat there, placated by the sight of them, his conscious mind engulfed by the spirals.

“All you see right now are my big tits, tits you’ve been thinking about and staring at since you met me the first time, just my tits.They’re very nice tits, nice and big and pretty, and they look like normal, big tits, just nice, beautiful, big breasts. You see that they’re not as big as The Mirage’s massive tits, impossible tits, and if I had mind control powers I wouldn’t need to hire you, pay you, or convince you I’m not The Mirage. And since you can’t trust your eyes, just reach out your hands…”

He felt an odd disconnect from his body and his mind, from rational thought and any kind of critical thinking and decision making. Instead of thinking, or choosing, he just went along with what she said, and went along with what he saw in front of him, entranced by her breasts and the swirling spirals that emanated from them, seeing them but not consciously recognizing or cataloging them in his memory.

Then his hands moved, not on their own but with her guidance, and when he made skin to skin contact with her, her hands around his wrists, guiding his hands to her breasts, it felt like there was no distance between the two of them, no separation in body or mind, and an immense weight lifted from inside his mind, body, and even his soul.

He felt her there with him, connected to him inside and out, and when she spoke next, he felt her words resonating in his mind as purity of thought, and vibrating in his body the same way a yawn sent a wave of sleepy warm release through him.

“...and feel my breasts. Feel just how big they are. It’s okay, I want you to touch me, to touch them, feel what you feel, and tell me if your eyes are deceiving you.”

Just the gentle touch and skin to skin connection between their bodies was wonderful and powerful, but the way they connected, the intimacy he felt with her, the closeness that moved beyond the physical, made him feel incredible. It was euphoric, like falling in love, but if love was an actual energy, a heat that radiated through every sense.

“No,” his eyes did not deceive them, “I see what I feel.”

“And do I feel like The Mirage looks?” She had let go of his hands, and as she asked the question, she put her fingers to his temples and looked deep into his eyes. He stared up into hers, moved by some electrical current, some impulse to do so, and saw the light in her eyes welcoming, spiraling, pulling him in closer and closer, pulling his mind closer to hers until he felt her thoughts radiating out… reaching out… touching his…

“I don’t know…” there was a shock there, a pulse of confusion from her and as her mind recoiled from his, he felt himself pulled in, sucked in by the wake of her thoughts, and then he felt her all around his mind, and he knew what he needed to say, “I don’t know what she really looks like.”

“Bu…,” the warmth and the euphoria of being so close to her, touching her, breathing her in, and listening to her melodic voice as he fondled her breasts, became all consuming. He didn’t know where she ended and he began. He didn’t know if his thoughts were hers or if her voice was simply echoing his own desires, and what he wanted to believe. 

“You know I don’t have powers, don’t you? You know I can’t make myself look like her, or control people’s minds. You believe me down to your core that I don’t have powers, and you know that I understand you. You trust me. You need to trust me. You want to trust me. Only I know how hard your life is, how hard your world is, and I’ve earned your trust, haven’t I?”

He’d thought everything she’d said. 

He’d felt everything she’d said.

“I want to,” there was no choosing anymore, no deciding what to say or how to say it, there were only answers, unbridled, unadorned truth. “I want to think you’re not The Mirage, and I want to believe you don’t have any powers, but I don’t know. I don’t know and I can’t know until I discover who she is, not who she isn’t.”

“But,” her voice was soft, soft and pleading, and he felt her begging him with every ounce of her being to just agree with her. “we’re having a normal conversation, aren’t we?”

He wanted to say yes, it was easy to see this as a normal conversation, “As normal as you can have while I’m fondling your breasts.”

He said the words and felt her laughter before he felt his own.

“That’s true, and I love the way you touch me. I trust you to touch me, to hold me, to be this close to me. Am I wrong to trust you, Detective?” 

She was still pleading with him, still pulling him into her line of thinking and her desires, and he felt them, he felt her in his hand, The warmth of her skin, the weight of her breasts in his hands became her yearning, and his touch became his acquiescence. He felt her, he felt the truth.

He felt the size and shape of her breasts in his hands, and he felt the weight of her trust. “No, you’re not wrong to trust me.”

“There’s nothing between us now Detective,” the way she used his title felt like an honor, like an honorific she was recognizing that he deserved, “there are no secrets we can’t share because we trust each other.”

She put her hand on the back of his neck and guided his head to her breasts. His hands fell away and she cradled him there. He heard and felt her heartbeat, and he could even see it behind his eyes as they closed. It was a pulse of warmth and heat that moved through his body and soul, turning everything she was into a song.

  “You trust that I don’t have powers,” the words and feelings were so soft and warm, and so comforting, he welcomed them. He welcomed them and wanted to agree with them. “You believe me when I say I don’t have power.”

Kitty Von Dahlia did not have powers.

“Do I have powers?”

The question teasing, leading, calling to him.

“No…” he wanted to say she didn’t have powers, desperately wanted to say that, but he couldn’t… “you don’t have powers that I know of, but absence now isn’t proof of absence always.”

“Am I using powers on you?” He felt her curiosity, and her compassion. He felt her desire to simplify everything for him, to find a place where they could agree.

“But if I had powers, we both agree I would have used them on you, isn’t that right?”

She held his head in her hands and pushed him gently away from her breasts so he could stare at them, and as he stared, he saw the spirals swirling out of her nipples, pulling him deeper into her warmth. The skin to skin connection of her fingertips on his temples started to flood him with euphoria as he stared at her breasts.

“Yes,” in the thrall of her breasts and flooded with her touch and her voice, seeing the swirling spirals radiating from her tits, he spoke the truth, “you would have used your powers on me before.”

“Am I,” he felt her joy, and that made him joyous, “using powers on you now? Powers I don’t have?”

“No,” it felt good to say that, and her happiness at his answer echoed back on him, flooding him with even more simple euphoria. “You’re not using powers on me… I don’t think you have powers, but I can’t know for sure.”

“That’s okay Detective, I won’t ask you to trust me or take my word on it, but I don’t have powers, and you think I don’t have powers, so…” her words came from inside his own mind, they were his words, his thoughts, she didn’t have powers…

“You don’t have powers,” a weight lifted from his shoulders, from his mind, from everything that was his innermost self. “I believe you don’t have powers and I trust you.”

The spirals swirling in his eyes, radiating from her breasts, reflected in them, and if he could see himself, he’d realize he looked like a hypnotized character in a cartoon or a comic book.  

“Do you believe me when I say I’m not The Mirage?”

The question was soft and simple and matter of fact. It was curious, and teasing, and compelling him to answer. He wanted to answer, he wanted to agree that she wasn’t, but that was something he couldn’t do.

He just couldn’t do it, because he just didn’t know.

“I just…” he felt something powerful from her, and it bloused in himself, sympathy. “I just don’t know.”

She pulled his head to her breasts again, and he lost himself in her warmth.

“But The Mirage has powers and you believe I don’t have powers, so that means you believe I’m not The Mirage.”

He felt something break, and he felt her filling the broken space that opened up. The simple logic had him reeling, and he was untethered from himself as she held him.

“So, you just need to find her real identity, that way this won’t be between us anymore.”

He couldn’t see the look of resignation on her face, and he couldn't feel the shift in her energy as she closed part of their connection off.

“Some things just have to be done, Detective, and you have always needed to do what has to be done.”

 He would just do what needed to be done.

“I’m going to leave now, and just like before, you’re going to remember that this was just another normal conversation, where I hired you to find The Mirage’s real identity. I have left another envelope of money on your desk for you, and when you see it, and count it, you will remember accepting this job, and you will feel good about it. And as you investigate, you will feel extra aware, and extra focused on the task at hand. You will feel sharper, and faster, and you will do your best work trying to find her true identity.”

Weeks had gone by since the last time Mike Reive had seen Kitty Von Dahlia, and he… he missed her. Sometimes he dreamed of her, he dreamed of being with her, or holding her, of touching her, of being held by her, resting his head on her breasts, feeling her sympathy and understanding, feeling her radiance and her warmth…

Making all the doubt and distrust, all the dishonesty and the need for vigilance fall away.

They’d spoken on the phone a few times, mainly because The Mirage had been so active, and there was so much to investigate.

He was busy, he was close, and he was dreaming of the voluptuous super-villain as much as he was dreaming of his employer… but not in the same way. His subconscious, he assumed, was trying to untangle everything, not even letting him find peace in sleep.

He couldn’t rest, he couldn’t stop, but he’d never been this good.

Even when he was young and idealistic he wasn’t this locked in and this sharp, He was on top of everything, and it was…

Not coming into place?

To prove that Kitty wasn’t The Mirage he had to prove that she was, which meant investigating her even more, and as he did, as he looked into materials he’d dug up the first time around, it just reinforced what he already knew… or at least thought.

The Von Dahlia sisters were mysterious, and wealthy, but aside from the dead brother in law, there was no connection.

And as he followed up on every Mirage lead, including trying to follow her from the scene of the crime… which got him close, but he didn’t want to get too close, and so she kept escaping. It was obvious to him that she could alter perceptions, bend light, and tangentially influence people around her.

Crowds moved and formed, cars stopped and sped up, and nothing terrible happened in her wake, just chaos, unadulterated chaos.

“No shadow,” none of the other photos he’d taken had been at an angle to capture her shadow… especially because his most recent batch so clearly captured her absence of one.

“I don’t need one,” a woman’s voice, strong, and sultry filled his ears and made him jump.

He spun around and went for his gun, that was not on his belt, and stared at the woman he’d been chasing.

“You’ve been looking for me, Detective Reive, you’ve been following me.” She looked down at the pictures on his desk. “These are nice.”

Up close, she was overwhelming.

“How’d you get in here? How’d you sneak up on me? How’d you find me?”

She tossed her long blonde hair back and rubbed her hands over her massive breasts, then stuck her hip out sideways, showing off her narrow, muscular core.

“The same way I got in last time, I clouded your senses, I told you not to hear me. You asked me that last time too.”

“Last…” he felt a shiver run down his spine. “What are you…”

“What…” her voice changed, her words started to swim around him and as he looked into her eyes, her sapphire blue eyes that stood out against her mask and glowed, not just in contrast to her mask, but were actually glowing. He was frozen, locked in her gaze. “Am I talking about Michael? I’m talking about the time I made you kill Kitty Von Dahlia’s brother in law…”

She reached up and untied her mask, and as it fell away, he stared at her shocked and dumbfounded, “...my worthless husband.”

“You… you’re not…” He blinked and stared at the woman, “Petra? No. Petra Von Dahlia?”

“In the flesh,” she smiled at him and winked, “again.”

It was her, but it wasn’t. The body was wrong, but the face was right, and as he stared at her, he watched her proportions diminish. Not vanish, not change, not dramatically shift, just diminish. She still had huge tits and blonde locks, just smaller and less, and her elaborate body suit became nondescript athleisure wear.

“My sister was only supposed to make sure there were no loose ends. She was only supposed to manipulate you with her powers to double check my work and layer contingencies in to protect us.”

Petra was almost identical to her sister, but the similarities and differences were uncanny.

“Clones. We’re not sisters, we’re clones. We’re Soviet super spies, well we were supposed to be, but… history had other plans. In the early days of the Cold War our genes were harvested from a woman you may know as the Red Menace, but that is, well, not unimportant, but yes my sister has been using her powers on you, and that is why we are here. You were… too resistant, you were a loose end she created.”

The Red Menace was a name everyone knew, a legendary super-criminal, super-villain, super-spy, and even occasional superhero. She’d disappeared a long time ago, but the Red Menace was a bonafide legend.

“Your sister… your clone… doesn’t have powers!” He said the words with a sneer, “And I didn’t kill your husband. He was a drunk, he drove into a phone pole, and I’ve never met you before in my life.”

His rage broke the thrall she’d pulled him under, “And I don’t…”

His rage started to slow… “I… don’t…”

“That’s the problem,” her words washed over him again, and her eyes glowed brighter, the blue light quieting his rage and smothering his confusion. “You wanted to believe she didn’t have powers, so her hypno-empathic pheromones made it easy for you to accept the idea she didn’t have powers. It made it easy for you to forget certain things, and remember certain conversations happening one way… when they didn’t. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“That…” he was starting to drool, staring blankly at the bright blue light of her eyes, “...makes sense.”

“I know it does. And since you just couldn’t accept the idea she wasn’t The Mirage, she wasn’t me, it meant two things to her. First, that you wouldn’t stop chasing me, or us really, and…”

He blinked, and forced himself to look away from her. It was a moment of pure willpower, “Stop, no. I wouldn’t… you couldn’t make me forget killing someone.”

“Oh,” she laughed, “I pushed you with my powers. I control light and sound in a range that creates fundamentally irresistible hypnotic states in my targets. For example, I can whisper, “don’t hear me” as I walk up the stairs, and the sound travels to you and you don’t hear me. You, I pushed into helping me, and then I pushed the idea that you could just forget what I made you do in your head, because that would be easier than living with it, or remembering it. And I, of course, have the evidence. So, you’re not going to do anything, or I show a homicide detective in the most convincing way possible.”

Her words were pulling on him, pulling at him, but he kept his eyes closed and refused to look, just as he refused to let the melodic, enthralling sound of her voice to make it stop listening and just start hearing.

“No, you’re lying.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you’re just as exhausting as Kitty said. I got lucky with you the first time, now please shut up and listen. My sister’s powers, she secretes a pheromone that forms a psychic, empathic link that lets her feel and communicate emotions, it also can create psychic visuals shared between her and her victims. Mostly she uses swirls and spirals, things that the subconscious recognizes as hypnotic, and also uses hypnosis, but, when she infiltrates a mind… especially when she does so multiple times, and has to really dig in, like with you, she sees and understands your entire emotional inner life.”

“Why are you…” he stood with his back to her, and he wished he could do something, but he was outplayed at every angle.

“Ugh,” she groaned again, “my idiot sister is in love with you. She can’t overwhelm you and dominate you completely. She can’t crush you, or change you, or turn you into a puppet like she can anyone and everyone else she’s ever been attracted to, and she likes the fact you’re a sad, noble puppy who doesn’t want to be a compromised man in a compromised world. Now would you please look at me.”

The words hit him like a brick.

Not the last few, but the ones before it.

He looked at her, and watched her shake her head. “No shadow because I turn it off. Makes me sneakier. Anyway, my sister loves you, and because I love her I’m telling you who I am, and because I have leverage over you. So even if that sad noble puppy heart of yours wants to try and do the right thing and bring me down, I’ll destroy you.”

He walked past her, sat back down at his desk, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and took a drink. “You made me a killer.”

His gun was in the drawer with the booz, but he left it there.

“If it makes you feel better,” she put her mask back on and he watched her turn back into The Mirage. “I made him drink too much, and I put him in the car. You just sabotaged the vehicle, and made sure he didn’t survive if he survived the wreck. You were, and are a contingency, Detective. And before you ask, not even I can order someone to kill themselves, and he was a stupid man, a stupid stupid, useful man. But, you can’t fix stupid, and usefulness runs out.”

He took another long drink.

“So, what now?”

“Well, I’m going to walk out the door, and you’re going to call my sister and tell her you need to see her immediately.”

As The Mirage started to walk out of his office, his vision started to blur, but he heard her footsteps on the stairs and the door close.

Her voice carried into the room, floating from further away than her breathy whisper could carry it, “And don’t worry too much Detective, the sabotage worked, you didn’t have to do anything more… hands on.”

Mike Reive took another long, deep pull from the bottle and thought about everything he’d heard and seen, and what to do next.

He hadn’t seen that Kitty was in the room with him the entire time.

He hadn’t seen through the illusion that was Petra Von Dahlia, the woman that didn’t actually exist, and under the full assault of Kitty’s powers, power’s she’d explained to him, from an origin that had been partially true, he couldn’t sort the truth from the lies.

Contingencies.

Her existence was built on them from the cellular level. She had “Kitty’s” powers, and she had “The Mirage’s” powers, but she wasn’t a clone of the Cold War super spy, she was THE spy.

And this man was the first man she’d met that was worth loving in a very long time.

She watched him getting ready to call her.

She watched him take another long drink, and she thought about a timer when, maybe, she could come clean to him about everything.

But the power she had over him… the power he fought against… was part of where the love came from.