by Doctor MC
He replied, “Sure. Who do you need to call?”
I said, “I need you to call 911. Tell them about the fire.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ve been called.”
“I don’t see the firemen. They’re not here. But Larry and Katie, trapped inside a burning house? They are here. Don’t argue, call 911.”
Maybe it was the magic pheromones, maybe it was my height and rippling muscles, or maybe it was the Captain American costume. Anyway, the guy clicked on his flashlight and hurried into his house. As soon as he was inside his house, I ran back to Kimberly.
She was standing at the burning house’s curb, by a faded-red, dented clunker car. Fortunately, this far away from the fire, I didn’t need to yell. I asked Kimberly, “Was it you who sounded S-O-S with a car horn?”
“Yes, Marvin sir.”
I said, “When the fire trucks come, stand in the middle of the street and play traffic cop. Make sure you’re the first person the firemen talk to.”
“I will, Marvin sir.”
“In a few minutes, if everything goes right, I’ll need you again. Be ready for my signal.”
She nodded, I nodded back, then I ran up to the front of the house and did something hugely stupid—
I opened the front door. Wide.
****
I wasn’t thinking fourth-dimensionally. A fire needs heat, fuel, and oxygen, right? This fire already had heat and fuel enough—and when I opened the door, I gave it fresh oxygen.
The house became a walk-in oven.
Needless to say, I quickly shut the door behind me.
“LARRY? KATIE? I’M HERE TO RESCUE YOU,” I called out.
No answer. I hope it’s because they didn’t hear me, I thought.
Off to the right, next to a formal dining table, was an open doorway. The room beyond that doorway (the kitchen?) was filled with flame. That flame had set the second-story room that was above it (the master bedroom?) also on fire.
That fire was spreading along the top of the second-story hallway, doing a reverse-gravity creep toward the room where the children were. During the three seconds that I spent looking around, flaming two-by-fours fell through the ceiling and landed on (and by) part of the staircase.
Things were not good.
Except for one thing. The living room and dining room had a common cathedral ceiling, which was actually higher than the bedroom-hallway ceiling on the second floor. So the smoke was collecting where nobody would breathe it right now. Which in turn meant that smoke inhalation wasn’t a danger. Yet.
I ran up the stairs, pressing myself against the left-side bannister to keep as far away from the flames as I could get. Still, for one second, the heat was painful. When I got to the top of the stairs, I had to bend down and duck-walk, in order to avoid the burning ceiling.
This was one of the few moments of this past week when I thought that it’d be nice to be 5′2″ again.
“LARRY? KATIE? I’M HERE TO RESCUE YOU,” I called out again.
“WE’RE HERE, WE’RE HERE! SAVE US!” voices cried, from behind a shut door at the end of the hall.
****
I stood just outside the bedroom door and said, “Step away from the door. I’m coming in.”
When I came in, I made sure to keep the door open no longer than I needed to. But in that split second, I saw that the bedroom was blue and decorated with boy-stuff.
My split-second glimpse also showed me that each child was clutching a teddy bear.
While my eyes were adjusting to the blackness of the bedroom, Katie asked me with a worried voice, “Did you see Blackie? Is she all right?”
“Blackie?”
“Our dog,” Larry explained.
“I haven’t seen her,” I said. Then imagining the children’s faces, I added, “But that could mean she’s already out.”
My back was feeling warm, and under the bedroom door was a line of bright orange light. Together, that meant: We were running out of time. I squatted down as low as I could get, saying, “I’m Marvin. Kimberly told me that you’re Larry and Katie.” I put out my hand for each child to shake.
Yes, Reader, I shook hands with each child, knowing what would happen.
Their eyes, and their words, told me that each of them was now my touch-slave. Which was what I wanted—I figured that I had a much better chance of getting the kids out alive if I could count on them doing what I told them.
“Take a deep breath,” I told them. When they and I had done that, I jerked open the door, grabbed a child in each arm, and stepped into the hallway.
I’d been in that bedroom less than a minute. And yet in that time, the fire had gotten noticeably worse.
But I wasn’t worried much, because I had a plan, and I had a back-up plan—
My simplest plan was that I was going to carry the kids down the stairs. If that was no longer a safe option, I was going to climb over the hallway railing and, while gripping the kids firmly, fall to the floor below. I had no doubt that I was strong enough that neither the children nor myself would be harmed if I jumped off a second-story railing with a child held in each arm.
I didn’t have a Plan C. It turned out that I needed one.
Because as soon as I got to the staircase (part of which was now on fire), Larry and Katie started squirming.
“Let me go! Let me go!” each child demanded.
“I won’t let the fire hurt you,” I said. “Everything’s fine, believe me. Be still.”
Anyplace else, such words to touch-slaves would have turned them into mannequins.
But Katie started crying. “I don’t wanna die! Let me go! Please, Mister Marvin, I don’t wanna die!” Meanwhile, neither she nor Larry had stopped squirming and twisting.
For one second, I considered climbing over the hallway railing and jumping. But as much as the kids were squirming, I could no longer be sure that I could keep them safe during the drop.
So I carried them back into Larry’s bedroom, and set them down.
Before I shut the bedroom door, thus making Larry’s bedroom dark again, the only thing I saw in the kids’ eyes was terror. They weren’t my touch-slaves anymore.
For ten seconds or so, I was silent. I was thinking hard. I heard Larry and Katie panting in fear.
Then I said, “I’m going to go around to the side of the house and bring a ladder to the window. Now, this is important: As soon as I go through this door, shut it. Make sure it’s shut, and also lock it, if you can. Got that? This door has to stay shut. Then go wait by the window.”
I went out the bedroom door, and quickly shut it behind me. Then I hurried to as close to the stairs as I could get.
I had tried not to scare the kids any more than they already had been, but I was worried.
A glance out that bedroom window had shown nothing but blackness. Meaning, the neighborhood was still without electricity. I needed to find a ladder, in order to rescue the children; but first I needed to find a flashlight, to have any hope of finding a ladder. All this seeking would take time, and the children didn’t have that much time.
Dammit, where are the fire trucks?
The clean air was running out. I was coughing a little.
In frustration, I pounded the bannister that wasn’t burning. I was very emotional, and I didn’t yet know my own strength, and so I broke something.
Then I thought, what’s more fun for a kid than to slide down a bannister? It’s not scary, it’s fun.
With a bunch of well-placed kicks, and a few punches, I had the top of that bannister broken free. Then I jumped to the floor and freed the other end of the bannister from the bottom of the stairs. Then I used both my strength and my weight to rip the bannister completely free of the stairs.
Less than five minutes after I started, I had a piece of carved wood that was roughly two-by-three in thickness, and about sixteen feet long.
By now, burning ceiling stuff was raining onto the dining room and living room. The living-room couch was on fire
.
I yanked open the front door, and jerked the bannister onto the front grass. Before I could shut the door again, there was a yelp, and I was knocked off-balance by a black blur rushing out of the living room.
Well, at least now I can assure the kids that their dog is okay.
When I came outside, by firelight I saw Kimberly talking to a fireman, while other firemen ran away from the fire truck with empty hoses. Behind the fire truck was a white van with something atop it; but I was too fire-blind to see what the “something” was.
When I stepped out the door, both Kimberly and the fireman turned and stared at me. I guess it isn’t every day that you see a muscular man in a superhero costume, who is as tall as the doorframe, step out of a burning house.
I picked up the bannister, called to Kimberly to join me, and I hurried to outside Larry’s bedroom. I didn’t need to tell the kids to open the window—as soon as I came in sight, up shot the window.
Larry and Katie were coughing and rubbing their eyes.
I stuck one end of the bannister through the open window, and planted the other end of the bannister against my chest. To the kids I yelled, “CLIMB ON AND SLIDE DOWN! KATIE, YOU FIRST.” To Kimberly I said, “When one of them slams into me, peel him off the bannister and put him on the ground.”
“Yes, Marvin sir,” Kimberly said.
But there was a problem: Nothing was happening up there. Katie looked down at me and said worriedly, “Mommy told me never to slide down the bannister. She says good girls don’t do that.”
I said, “Your mom won’t mind tonight. This is a special case.”
Kimberly said, “It’s okay, Katie. Get on the bannister.”
Katie said, “I won’t get in trouble?”
Kimberly said, “If anyone’s in trouble with your mom, it’ll be me. Please, Katie sweetie, the bannister?”
Just before Katie let gravity work, Kimberly and I got hit with a bright light, hitting us sideways. I was too busy to look around, but I figured that the electricity had come back on, and someone’s halogen light was making up for lost time.
In seconds, Katie and Larry were on the ground and safe—while the bright light continued to shine. Three fireman ran up then, and picked up (or dragged) the children and Kimberly away. A fourth fireman walked up to me and said, “That’s a damned fine thing you did for those kids.”
I shrugged.
****
As soon as I knew the kids were out of danger, I started to feel horny. Really horny. I wanted to claim women and fuck them—
Starting with Kimberly, the babysitter. But opposing that desire was the desire not to offend my parents. And having sex with a girl who might not yet be sixteen, was certainly not eighteen, and who was tonight in charge of two frightened children? My parents wouldn’t like that at all.
I was about to walk over to Kimberly, and lay the “let’s just be friends” line on her before I lost control, when I realized that a woman was calling to me. “CAPTAIN AMERICA, CAPTAIN AMERICA! CAN I TALK TO YOU?”
A blonde who was wearing a lemon-green blazer and holding a microphone came striding up to me. A cameraman hurried to keep up with her. (It was the cameraman’s lights that had been shining on us during the last few minutes; the neighborhood was still dark.)
I looked at the blond TV reporter and I thought, I deserve sex from you.
Then I thought, Cool it. You’ve got seven women waiting at home. Not to mention, making a touch-slave of a woman while the camera is filming, is NOT smart.
But the lizard part of my brain was thinking I did a manly thing, and I deserve a manly reward.
Meanwhile, the TV blonde was saying, “Hi, I’m Gennifer Ashton with CBS-10 Eyewitness News. That was an amazing and brave thing you did, rushing into that burning house to rescue those children. What’s your name?”
“Marvin.”
“Marvin what?”
“Just ‘Marvin’ is fine.”
I gestured for Kimberly to hurry over.
“So how does it feel to be a hero?” Gennifer asked.
By now Kimberly was standing next to me. I told Gennifer, “The real hero is right here. When Kimberly realized that she couldn’t call 911, she signaled S-O-S with her car horn to alert the neighbors. If she hadn’t been clever like that, Katie and Larry would be dead now.”
Kimberly blushed.
It was obvious that Gennifer would rather talk to me, but she briefly interviewed Kimberly. Kimberly Paulsen, it turned out, was a sophomore at Ewert Grant, and she tried to be a good babysitter.
Then Gennifer turned back to me. “Watching us talk are several people in costumes. So obviously, you came from a party. Why are you wearing Captain America and not something else?”
“I’m wearing this because the girl who invited me to this party had this specially made for me.”
Kimberly looked disappointed, believing that I’d come with a date.
Gennifer continued, “Is it because of your regular job? Are you a policeman or firefighter?”
“Me? I’m a high-school student.”
“Oh? What school?”
Just then, the neighborhood’s house lights came on, as did the streetlamps. So did two house alarms—oh well.
Now I could see that there were a dozen costumed people who were standing on Rhonda’s lawn. Most of the men were watching the firemen work; but one of the men in costume, and all of the costumed women, were looking at me with admiration. Among this crowd of admirers were strippers Christi Ellen and Brenda.
When I saw this, my alpha-male urges overpowered me.
****
After I had saved the children from the fire, and when I saw that I had many young and attractive admirers, my alpha-male urges short-circuited my brain. I said, “ARGGH! I WANT TO FUCK WOMEN! LOTS OF WOMEN!”
“Cut tape!” Gennifer exclaimed.
For a split second, Gennifer looked afraid of me. But then my hand shot out, lightning-quick, and I said, “Do you have a fiancé?” Gennifer’s hand was showing no wedding ring.
As soon as I touched her, her look of fear vanished, and she lowered her gaze submissively. She replied, “I have a boyfriend, Marvin sir. But we’re not serious.”
I nodded. “I claim you.”
Next to me, Kimberly said, “You deserve to be served, Marvin sir, but she is not worthy! Let me introduce you to someone who is.”
I said, “Before you do that, Kimberly, let’s just be friends.” I said that because my alpha-male urges were still pushing me to fuck Kimberly, which would be wrong for so many reasons.
But Kimberly, even though she was no longer my touch-slave, started walking toward a costumed redhead who was dressed like that character from that 1960s show. The one who always was baking coconut pies.
If you’ve seen that show even once, you know that the red-haired woman in that show was the sex bomb, while the innocent girl was a brunette. And while the woman facing me on the grass had the tits to look good in an evening gown, she also had the face of a total innocent. The freckles were part of the reason why—she had zillions of freckles, as many redheads do. But however it came to be, this woman looked like she’d never had a wicked thought in her life.
I followed Kimberly toward the virgin-looking redhead, and I noticed that Gennifer was following me. I pointed to the cameraman, trusting that my magic pheromones would make him docile. I said, “Go sit in the news van and wait for Gennifer to come back.”
Once Kimberly and I (and Gennifer) were standing in front of the freckled innocent, Kimberly said, “I need to get back to Larry and Katie. But before I do—Olivia, this is Marvin Harper, who saved the children. Marvin, this is Olivia Robb, who was in drama plays with me last year at Ewert Grant, and now is an actress in Hollywood.”
“A struggling actress in Hollywood,” Olivia corrected.
Olivia and I shook hands. You know the drill.
By the time Olivia said, “I am yours,” I’d checked the third finger of her left hand. So
far, so good, I thought. Then I asked her, “Do you have a fiancé?”
“You mean, seriously date an actor? No.”
I told her, “I claim you. I’m going to fuck you in a minute, but first I’m going to walk Kimberly back.”
It turned out that the two little kids were sitting by a fire truck. By now the fire was out, and the firemen were inspecting things inside. Katie was clutching a black cocker spaniel.
Seeing me walk up with Kimberly, little Larry got to his feet, and said very solemnly, “Thank you for saving us, Captain America.”
I said, “You’re welcome.” Then I kissed Kimberly on the forehead, then I ran back to Gennifer, Olivia, Christi Ellen, and Brenda.
I’d already claimed Gennifer (TV reporter) and Olivia (Hollywood actress); that night I also claimed Christi Ellen and Brenda (the strippers) as touch-slaves.
Then I moved into Rhonda’s side yard (being sure to shut the front gate), and then four young women and I got ready for sex. I wanted Gennifer to get back to the news van quickly, so I had her stay dressed, and she started things with a quick blowjob.
I told Gennifer to stay dressed, but I was glad to see Christi Ellen get out of her Paula Sarin costume. Yes, Christi Ellen had a great naked body, but also I was glad to see her dis-costume because I had no interest in fucking Paula Sarin.
As soon as Gennifer swallowed my cum, I told her my cel-phone number, made her say it back to me (twice), then ordered her to leave me—but to call me Sunday morning.
Then I told Gennifer, “This is very important. I want you to break up with whoever you’re involved with, but other than that, you are to do nothing and say nothing to show that you are connected to me. Until I say otherwise.”
“But Mas—Marvin sir, how can I serve you then?” Gennifer asked.
“If there is any news about me that you’re going to report and I don’t know about, I want you to tell me on the sly. You’re my spy in the newsroom. And don’t worry, I will fuck you.”
“Thank you, Marvin sir,” Gennifer said. Then with clear reluctance, she opened the gate, walked through, and was gone.
