Millenium-Man vs. The Titanium Terror (and Claire)

Shots rang out over the din of lunch hour on Wall Street. The throngs of people on the sidewalks, going about their business as usual, hit the deck spread-eagle in a panic, leaving the only ones standing a masked, hooded man dragging a bulky burlap sack and the NYPD squadron he’d just opened fire on. The masked man had emerged from a corner Citibank, straight into an ambush he hadn’t expected to arrive so fast. But this wasn’t his first rodeo — he always had a contingency plan. 

After firing at the police, he dashed away down an alley, leaping onto a dumpster and using it to propel himself up toward an overhanging fire escape. He grabbed an iron bar with one hand and swung his body forward, up over a ten-foot high wall into another alley. He turned and smirked at the wall, pleased with his acrobatics: “Let’s see those porkers pull that one off.” 

From there the getaway car was only a five-minute dash. There was no way the cops would beat him with all the traffic. Then he was looking at a long vacation in Bermuda with a cool half-mil sitting pretty in his offshore bank account. He careened back out into the street, knocking down pedestrians who stood in his way before they had the chance to realize what was happening. Two more blocks and he’d be off scot-free. He heard sirens, but they were too distant to scare him. There was only one person he had to worry about now. 

The burlap sack, filled with wads of cash, kept catching on the ground behind him, so he hoisted it over his shoulder. Christ, it was heavy, and those weren’t one-dollar bills, either. He rounded the corner onto Liberty Street, feeling the freedom at his fingertips. The car was in sight, a ratty old Ford Contour with a supercharged V8 under the hood. No one would suspect it, not from a high-end outfit like his, but it could outrun any old porkwagon on the straights or around the curves. His wheelman, Reno Jack, was in the driver’s seat, already turning the key. The masked man’s heart soared. Freedom like he’d never known before…

Then from above came the sound he’d dreaded since the early days of planning the operation, the sound which had lately begun to strike fear into the hearts of even the toughest career criminals he knew. The roaring of propeller blades, not those of a helicopter or an airplane, more like giant overpowered fans. A booming voice stopped him where he stood: “Drop the sack and put your hands above your head.” 

He whipped around and looked skyward at the angel of his downfall. Suspended thirty feet off the ground, in a whirring mechanical contraption held aloft by two furious propellers, was another masked man, though this one’s mask was made of cool blue steel and this one had a matching set of steel-plated body armor. The thief, realizing this was his last stand, dropped his sack, whipped out his pistol, and fired two perfect shots right between the angel’s eyeholes. The bullets glanced right off without impact. 

Faster than the thief could react, the angel lifted his fist and shot a single blast of energy from his gauntlet, striking the adversary and causing him to crumple to the ground, unable to move his legs. The thief looked up at his conqueror in pure hatred as he heard the approaching sirens. Even if the stun blast wore off quickly, he’d never get away now. He beat his fist in the air and moaned the refrain which all of New York’s criminals had started hearing in their sleep: “Damn you — damn you, Millenium-Man!”

*

His whole life, Archie Trumbull had wanted nothing more than to be a real superhero. Growing up thin and sickly in an impoverished household in the rural South, picked on at school and beaten at home, he’d found his only solace in the colorful crusaders of the comic book world, defending the innocent and putting the wicked in their place. There were no superheroes in his world, no one who could lift his parents from their misery, no one who could save him from their wrath, but he dreamed of a day when there would be. Like many in his position, he particularly idolized Iron Man, the self-made superhuman who’d been born with no powers but who hadn’t let that stop him from becoming one of the greatest heroes to live. 

As he grew older, Archie became obsessed with tinkering, learning to work with his hands, discovering the ways different materials could be combined under heat to make stronger ones. His early inventions were mostly trifles — a diesel-powered toaster oven, a wristwatch that could catch fire on command — but they nonetheless carried him down the path toward his ultimate goal, to be the world’s first actual superhero. 

His big break came when he was accepted to MIT (Tony Stark’s school!) with a full-ride scholarship. Kissing his podunk town goodbye, he headed up to Boston more driven and passionate than ever. There, he mingled with some of the smartest people he’d ever meet, professors and students alike, swapping ideas, brainstorming theories, excelling in his classes but never taking his eyes off the real prize. 

His closest friend at MIT was a boy named Jasper Throptwait, son of the Throptwaits of New York City and heir to their vast pharmaceutical fortune. Despite their wildly different backgrounds, the two bonded over their boundless love for invention and their shared love of comics, working late nights in underground laboratories and bringing to life product ideas which others had told them were too crazy to work. For four years Archie and Jasper were inseparable. When they graduated they realized it was almost obligatory that they go into business together.

Now, this was around the time of ISIS’s rise and all the hubbub that followed, and Jasper, the more business-savvy of the two, knew that weapons manufacturing was the business to be in. Archie was hesitant, terrified that his inventions would fall into the wrong hands (and knowing that his own government could very well be the wrong hands), but he acquiesced without much of a fight. After all, if he wanted to be a superhero, he would eventually have to learn about the mechanics of violence. So he threw himself into the work, learning as much as he could and producing some of the highest quality contract work the higher-ups in the Department of Defense had ever seen. 

The money began pouring in and soon Archie was rich beyond his wildest dreams. He moved to New York and bought a penthouse apartment, dined with celebrities, made love to women so much more beautiful than him that he almost felt bad for them. He bought a splendid country estate for his parents, who wept and apologized for the hard life he’d had as a child, praising him for his accomplishments. In fact, his entire hometown praised him when he began to send millions of dollars at a time for the complete renovation of its schools and public works. Everything seemed to be going perfectly smoothly in his life, which for him meant it was time to move on.

He announced to Jasper that he was stepping down from the company, and was surprised to find that his friend was furious. “I’ve got to chase my dream,” Archie told him. “You’ve always known, that’s what it was all about for me.”

“What, to be a fucking superhero?” Jasper sneered. “Grow up. This is the real world. The only superpowers for the last seventy years have been us and the Russkies. We’re a multi-billion dollar enterprise making damn sure one of those superpowers is still on the map in ten years. We’re doing real shit.” 

“Well, it was never about any of that for me,” Archie retorted. “It was about the money, that’s it. Now I’ve got all the money I need, and I’m gonna use it to do something amazing.”

Jasper’s expression grew severe. “Listen, Archie. You’re half of the engine keeping this company going. It can’t survive with only one half. If you walk, I’m going down.” 

“I’m sorry, buddy,” sighed Archie. “I have to do this.” 

He turned and began walking out the door of Jasper’s office. As he opened it, Jasper screamed from behind him, “You’re gonna regret this! I’m warning you right now, Archie Trumbull, you’re gonna rue this day!” It was the last time they would see each other for over three years. 

It was during those years that Archie became Millenium-Man. He built his prototype suit, the Cyclone, in a three-week period of manic focus, modeling it (naturally) on Iron Man’s, but with a blue color scheme. Of course, it wasn’t quite as refined as Iron Man’s, but then again, Iron Man was a fantasy character and Archie was a real live person who was on the verge of punching through the ceiling of what any individual human was capable of doing. He took his hero name from his desire to confront the problems of a new millennium, problems which his idols like Stan Lee and Jack Kirby could never have dreamed of. 

But first, he had to make sure he wasn’t going to die in combat. He began by testing the Cyclone on petty thieves and cat-burglars, and soon moved up to armed robbers and assailants. The suit worked like a charm, and soon “Millenium-Man” was the name on everyone’s lips in New York. Archie made international headlines, giving press conferences where he detailed his ambitious plans for the future: he was constructing a new suit, the Skystreak, which would allow him to survive war-zones, the depths of the ocean, even nuclear blasts. What would he use it for? Why, for confronting not just minor crime but the fundamental problems of society itself. Terrorists and state violence alike, food shortages, refugee crises, natural disasters, you name it, Archie planned to fix it, within the bounds of the law or not. “The idea is to be a sort of propeller-powered Robin Hood,” he told one gaggle of reporters in an interview which sent shockwaves of indigestion through the political community, who feared that they might soon have a problem too big to contain on their hands.

Archie began receiving threatening letters and sensed that he was being stalked at night, but he didn’t let it deter him. He continued working on the Skystreak in a secret warehouse in New Jersey which housed a working nuclear reactor whose energy allowed him to raise the temperature and pressure of his experiments beyond anything he’d previously been capable of. He kept on giving his press conferences, in defiance of all the scare tactics, using slogans like, “The crime in New York happens in the towers, not the streets.” It was at one of these press conferences that he met Claire.

*

Claire Jiang was a beat reporter with the Channel Five News, a consummate professional with a kind heart and a sassy streak. She’d become rather fascinated, from a journalistic perspective, with the sudden heel-turn of weapons mogul Archie Trumbull, and had followed his rise to heroism with rapt interest. She watched every one of his interviews, even sat in the back of the room for a few, and she grew more and more confident that he wasn’t just another bleeding heart, that he really believed in what he said. Sure, the whole superhero thing was a little wacky, but the guy clearly had a heart of gold.

Claire was on her way out the back of the New York Times building after Archie’s latest press conference, feeling particularly breathless from his riveting speech, when she quite literally bumped into the man himself as he emerged from the men’s room. She gasped and turned white. “Oh my God — I’m so sorry, Mr. Trumbull, I mean, I’m such an idiot, not looking where I was—”

He silenced her with a little chuckle and a wave of his hand. “Chaos theory,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Think about it. A trillion little atoms, all going their own random ways. One disturbance can change the course of history. If I go out the wrong door I could get sniped, if I eat at the wrong restaurant I could be poisoned. Wrong place, wrong time, and it’s over. Franz Ferdinand’s assassination was nothing but a stroke of chaotic, awful luck. I choose to believe that you, in happening to bump into me right now, just altered the course of history to save my life.” 

Claire was stunned. “Well, I don’t know about—”

“I think I at least owe you a drink.”

The next few weeks were a whirlwind, but when Claire finally recovered from the shock she realized with utter amazement that she was dating the richest and most powerful man in New York. Behind closed doors, where Archie would hang up his public image on the coatrack, she found him to be the charming, enthusiastic, and slightly geeky sort of man she’d always dreamed of. He cooked exquisite dinners for her, he secured her interviews with reclusive figures who were inaccessible to the most senior employees at the news station, he made love to her with an ardor that seemed to come from somewhere beyond his sickly frame. Claire had never felt more content, more desired. She forgot all about Archie the billionaire and began to fall in love with Archie the genius, the selfless goofball. 

From the very beginning, Archie was adamant that their relationship remain a secret. He knew he was in danger, but he had the means to protect himself. Claire had no such protections, and the evil forces of the world would hardly think twice about harming her to bring him down. Claire, for her part, found the secrecy and the sense of danger thrilling. Her friends suspected something was afoot when she would disappear for days at a time, but they never in their wildest dreams would have guessed that she was fraternizing with the great Citizen Trumbull. Her colleagues were stunned as she broke scoop after juicy scoop, but even when she was promoted to City Editor at the tender age of twenty-seven no one had the slightest idea that she had a man on the inside of everything.

She grew happier and happier in her relationship with Archie as their first and second anniversaries passed and their third quickly approached. They told each other their deepest secrets, their hidden fears, commiserated about their unhappy childhoods, reveled in their newfound success. 

The only qualm Claire had about the whole affair was Archie’s unflagging, dead-serious obsession with his Millenium-Man persona. He did a good enough job at compartmentalizing his “hero” life from his love life, sticking to a strict crime-fighting schedule which largely overlapped with her work hours, but the enormous Tony Stark portrait in his bedroom, the times his phone would ring and he’d suddenly rush out of the penthouse during dinner, even during sex, kept her wary. It was terribly childish, she thought. He could talk her ear off all he wanted about political economy, fine wine, Italian cinema, but the minute he switched to updates on the beleaguered production of his Skystreak suit or the ludicrously corny catchphrases he was thinking of adopting, she couldn’t see him as anything but an immature man-child. Luckily for her he kept this talk to a minimum, but when it did rear its head she wanted to cringe out of her socks. 

That is, he kept it to a minimum until the rise of the Titanium Terror. Claire walked into Archie’s penthouse one day to find him in a state of total agitation. “I always knew they were after me,” he told her breathlessly. “Now I know how.” 

He’d been doing his routine survey, high above the city, when all of a sudden he’d felt an immense blow against his rear armor plate. Whipping around, he saw hovering in the sky not fifty feet from him another juggernaut clad in black steel. Archie’s heart sank when he saw what his adversary was using for propulsion: hydrogen repulsors flaring out of his hands and feet. Just like Tony Stark. 

“So, you wanted to be a big superhero,” the black avenger called in a mechanical amplified voice. “You didn’t think it would be easy, did you?” 

Archie would’ve recognized that affected accent anywhere. “Jasper,” he gasped. 

“Is that hunk of scrap metal still the best you’ve got?” Jasper mocked. “Should’ve stayed with me. I’ve been working on what we in the defense business call, ‘innovation.’”

He snapped his arm up and fired a lightning-fast rocket at Archie, who just barely managed to spin out of the way. Before he could even get his bearings he was hit by a pulse of energy which paralyzed him where he hovered. Jasper leisurely floated over. “Powerless to stop a little zap?” he sneered. “You’re finished. This town, this world, belong to the Titanium Terror now. I don’t ever want to see your pathetic ass in my skies again. You’re lucky I don’t finish you off right now.” Then he turned, jerked his body, and blasted off at supersonic speed into the upper atmosphere.

*

“I have to finish the Skystreak,” Archie moaned, his head against the kitchen table. “It’s the only way I can beat him.” 

“Babe, please,” Claire said tentatively, “maybe it’s time to let this thing go. Before you get hurt.”

“Let it go? Let it go?” cried Archie. “It’s only just beginning! I will crush him! He’ll rue the day he dared to challenge MILLENIUM-MAN!” 

Claire shrunk back, hating to see her boyfriend in such distress. She prayed hopelessly that the fixation would eventually pass. She loved Archie too much, loved the life they’d built together too much, to leave him over something that had very little to do with her. But she wished desperately that she could cut that part out of his life forever, push him towards pursuing his goals in a more normal, well-adjusted way. He certainly had the money to do whatever he wanted. Why did it have to be this? 

Archie began spending all his time at the warehouse in New Jersey, working endlessly on his project. What hope did he have against Jasper, who in all likelihood had the full backing of the United States government and God-knows what other shadowy entities? When he did see her he was too tired to have sex, too tired even for conversation. Their relationship, as Claire had known and loved it, ground to a halt. 

As the months passed she began to grow despondent. She worked late hours at Channel Five and drank heavily, to the point that Jackie and Mia, her two closest friends from high school, began to grow worried. When they’d ask her what was wrong, she’d always give them the same answer, “boy trouble,” but never anything more despite their persistent badgering. Finally, on the day of his and Claire’s third anniversary, Archie had a breakthrough. 

He called her over and she arrived to find him in a celebratory mood. “I’ve got it!” he crowed. “Repulsor drives! The last piece I was missing!” 

“Happy anniversary to you, too,” she said wryly. 

Archie popped what must have been a thousand-dollar bottle of champagne. “To us!” he toasted. “To a better world!”

She buried that bottle and another one with him, feeling a bit optimistic that at least he no longer seemed so depressed, and as they talked she grew more hopeful that things would be getting back to normal. He apologized profusely for his absence in her life over the last few months, and assured her all that remained on the Skystreak project were the final manufacturing and testing procedures, which he could conduct at a more relaxed pace. “The only variable is… who’s to say what Jasper’s been up to all this time? Who’s to say he hasn’t made his own improvements? What if all my work has been for nothing? God, it’s eating me alive!” 

Perhaps it was the alcohol in her, but Claire suddenly thought to mention to Archie something she’d never told him before, if only to somewhat divert the conversation back toward more grounded territory. “You want to know something funny?” she said. “Remember I told you how I was always picked on in high school? How that guy, who was the worst out of everyone, gave me a fake prom invite from my crush and when I accepted it he was all confused and said no? Well that guy, that one awful guy, was Jasper.”

Archie’s mouth hung open. “You went to high school with Jasper?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t want to tell you because I hated his guts and I know how much you loved him… he was always a spoiled little prick… I thought maybe he’d changed in college… but now I guess you probably don’t care anymore!”

Archie seemed to miss the point of her story. His mind was racing. Suddenly he leapt up. “Claire, that’s it!” he cried. “You’ll be my woman on the inside!” He then detailed for her the most ridiculous plan she’d ever heard. It went like this: she would meet up with Jasper as part of an innocent high school catch-up. She’d seduce him, sleeping with him if needed…

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You want me to sleep with him?”

“Well, I don’t want you to, but if that’s what it takes.”

“Jesus, Archie, are you even listening to yourself?!”

“It’ll feel all the better once I show him who’s boss.”

“You’re being insane right now.”

“Fine, sleep with him, don’t, I don’t care. Just listen…”

… Eventually, Jasper would let her know the details of the project. He’d always been that way with women, eager to brag about his inventions, even when none of them had been half as impressive as the Titanium Terror. Archie figured it would take her about as long to gain access to Jasper’s inner sanctum as it would take him to finish the Skystreak. Then she could relay back to him any improvements he’d made, and if it seemed he was in the clear, he would strike fast and strike hard. 

Claire sat in stunned, sad silence when he’d finished explaining. “You’re insane,” she said. “I think you’re actually insane. I think I need to sleep at home tonight.”

She did take the subway home, and on the way she thought and thought. About Archie, about the fact that he was quite possibly descending into madness, about how much she loved him and how she wished so terribly to go back to the halcyon days of just a few months ago. She thought too about Jasper, that little prick who’d once been the primary reason for her misery and still managed to plague her all these years later. The truth was, when she’d learned that he was now her boyfriend’s sworn enemy, she hadn’t really cared, trying as she was to distance herself from all his superhero nonsense. But now, did she have a chance to really stick it to him herself? To win him over and then betray him spectacularly? She supposed it all depended on whether Archie actually had a shot at beating him… God, fuck, now she was thinking like one of his comic book characters!

She pulled up her phone contacts and saw it still there: Jasper Throptwait. Somehow she’d gotten his number in high school, maybe to prank call him. It certainly hadn’t been Jasper who’d given it to her. 

The plan was ridiculous, but it might also be kind of fun. She’d never really tried the art of seduction before, was more accustomed to picking up men by bumping into them as they came out of the bathroom. She had Archie’s blessing. Even if he chickened out of the fight, even if he lost, even if he died (she shuddered) she’d have her way with that rich asshole, yes she would, she’d slap him, spill wine all over his favorite clothes, burn his house down, dismantle that absurd superhero costume. God, she hated superheroes. 

She emerged from the subway station and dialed the number. It rang three times, then a voice picked up. “Yo, who’s calling?”

“Jasper?” she breathed, trying on a ditzy voice. “It’s Claire from high school! I’m back in town and saw you were on the Today Show and was wondering if you wanted to catch up!” 

“Claire?” he said “Claire, Claire… ohhhh, Claire! I remember you! How’s it hanging?” 

She gave him a brief, mostly truthful rundown of her life, and he said, “Huh, that’s cool. I don’t think I need to tell you about me, you’ve probably heard it a million times already.” 

Claire gagged but kept her facade up. “Of course not! Who hasn’t heard what you’re up to?” 

They decided to meet up at an Italian restaurant on Thirty-Fourth Street, and Claire ended with what she hoped was a suggestive, “Can’t wait to see you!” 

In his own penthouse, drunk as hell, Jasper hung up the phone and burst out laughing to his friends. “This ugly chick from my high school just hit me up like she’s trying to gold dig. I’m like, ‘are you for real?’ Chick’s a four out of ten on a good day! Well, I tell you what, I’m gonna teach her a thing or two about gold digging.”

*

Archie was thrilled to hear that Claire was on board with the plan. “We’re a crime-fighting team!” he exclaimed. “We take care of this and I’m gonna take you on vacation somewhere warm, tropical, no more superhero talk, and we can stay there as long as you want.”

“How about forever?” sighed Claire wistfully.

Her meetup with Jasper was tomorrow, and she’d already gone to pick up a cute outfit for it. She was a little excited, she admitted to herself. Her whole life she’d worn little else besides modest, conservative school attire which later became modest, conservative office attire. Plus, since she’d been with Archie, she’d never felt the need to dress to impress in public. It would be nice to wear something that made her feel pretty for a change. 

“Well, back to the lab,” Archie grinned. “Enjoy your date tomorrow, my loyal sidekick.” Claire rolled her eyes at the term of endearment.

Archie left her apartment and she got ready for bed. Trying to fall asleep, she kept imagining all the ways the scenario could possibly go wrong. “What if he’s still an asshole? Well, I know he is, but what if he’s still an asshole to me? What if I can’t seduce him? God, that’s so gross… seduce him. I can’t tell what would be worse, if he still thinks I’m hideous or if he doesn’t and I have to fuck him… I can’t really fuck him, can I?” Her thoughts kept swirling around as she drifted into a restless sleep. 

The next day at work she could hardly focus, allowing a typo to slip through onto the evening news ticker. She’d brought her change of clothes with her since she wouldn’t have time to go home before dinner, and she put it on in the bathroom after her shift. On her way out the door the secretaries smiled at her unctuously. “Aww… got a date tonight?” one of them said. Claire wanted to tell her to shove it, but just smiled cheerily and kept walking. “Patronizing bitches,” she thought. 

Approaching Marley’s on Thirty-Fourth, she saw Jasper sitting at an outdoor table before he saw her, and stopped in her tracks. Was she really about to do this? She could walk away now, no harm, no foul. But she thought about how happy she’d made Archie… that sick, twisted, cuck fantasist. She laughed to herself. “Screw it. I’m already here.”

She put on a smile, walked up to Jasper’s table, and greeted him warmly. When he looked up at her, he could barely keep his jaw from dropping. “C-Claire?”

The truth was, Claire may have been selling herself a little short when she worried if Jasper would even be attracted to her. Yes, she’d certainly been a bit squat and pudgy in high school, with bad hair and a bad case of acne to boot, though in no way deserving of the treatment she’d gotten from him. But since then, what she’d gone through was possibly the mother of all glow-ups. 

Gone were the zits, falling down in a nice straight silky cascade was the hair. Largely because of the treatment she’d received in high school, once she’d entered Columbia she eagerly hit the gym, eating as healthfully as possible, till the extra weight was all gone and she had fine, toned legs, a large firm butt, and a soft but more-or-less flat tummy. Furthermore, possibly thanks to her improved diet, she’d managed to sprout up another two inches, most of it going to her legs, leaving her a svelte, well-proportioned beauty. 

But the kicker came her junior year, when she started taking birth control pills which really messed with her hormones, causing her formerly almost non-existent breasts to slowly enlarge to what were quite massive proportions for her petite frame. It got to the point that she would have to buy new bras every month, much to the chagrin of her parents’ bank account, along with new clothes to better hide her increasingly voluptuous figure. She grimly remembered having to explain to her conservative Chinese mother, who at the time feared she was a shopaholic, that she was actually growing into the form of the average American roughneck’s dreams. Her first boyfriend, who she was seeing at the time, was naturally thrilled at first, marveling at how girlfriend’s new size felt in his hands, at her own confused reactions to the insane amount of power she was starting to wield over men. But even he began to grow jealous and resentful as Claire’s body continued to expand and swell, terrified that she would eventually leave him for someone more worthy. 

Unknown to him, that was the furthest thing from Claire’s mind: she hated what was happening to her, hated the hyena stare people would give her, even grew to hate the way her boyfriend looked at her, fondled her, focusing less and less on her eyes and more on her chest — even though the sex was better, even though she was happy to finally be desirable, it seemed the sacks of fat hanging off her ribs, growing bigger and more noticeable with each passing day, were sitting in the driver’s seat of her own life. 

Eventually, her boyfriend’s fears came true, though they wouldn’t have if he’d just been normal. She did break up with him, and in a fit of nihilism she slept around with at least twenty men in the first six months afterwards, men more attractive than any she’d even fantasized about. She wore clothes that clung tightly to her chest, shorts that exposed her muscular thighs and even the bottom of her succulent ass. She tried to embrace the power she held over her partners as she took off her bra, the way they shuddered when she would place their hands on her breasts, let them feel her considerable weight…

But she couldn’t do it, couldn’t shake how hollow and disgusting it felt after the treatment she’d received in high school, and so she ran back to her modesty, back to heavy coats and baggy T-shirts and khakis… until now. 

“Cute” was indeed one way to describe the outfit she’d bought especially for her meeting with Jasper, but there were a few choice words which certainly would have been more applicable. Her jean shorts were cut high and proud, showing off every inch of her impressively long legs and clinging tight to her luxuriously round derriere. Her crop-top was a thing of beauty, and she was quite proud of herself for finding it. It was a low-cut tank top which called to mind haute fashion and a makeshift bra in equal measure. The top part essentially was a bra, two cups of fabric looped through each other to stay together, their small knot looking ready to burst trying to contain the pressure of her absurd proportions. The bottom section was a smaller reproduction of the top that did a passable job covering part of her stomach and was held together by a far less stressed knot. In between the two sections, where they bunched inward vertically toward the knots, was a diamond-shaped window offering a view which could have killed a medieval peasant. It looked into a deep canyon of flesh, hidden in shadow but not enough to hide the lighter coloring of those engorged, braless globes being squished together to form its walls… An “undercleavage” window, as Claire thought of it, perfect accessory to an outfit that managed to look both classy and excessively slutty at once. It certainly had Jasper’s full attention. 

Claire smiled widely at him. “It’s so good to see you again!” She sat down and they began their “catch-up,” which mainly consisted of Claire talking in her same ditzy voice about her job, her coworkers, and her friends while Jasper struggled to choke down his food and keep from staring at the wrong places. He was clearly in pain, so she threw him a bone while going on about her college days. She lifted her boobs up as high as they’d go, giving him a good view of their enormity without being too indecent. “And then I grew these!” she went on. “Birth control, it’s a hell of a drug! It’s wild, I couldn’t get a date to prom, but everyone at Columbia wanted to go with me to senior ball!” 

Jasper’s eyes boggled and Claire continued to smile warmly at him, allowing her breasts to plop back to their normal elevation. Jasper made a small noise as he watched them briefly overflow out the small window. He watched the upper cups bulge outward like hand-holding lovers being torn apart and prayed that they would get a speedy divorce…

Claire returned to her previous thread, back in a direction that was clearly far less interesting to Jasper, and enjoyed watching the light drain from his eyes. “At least it seems like he’s a boob guy,” she thought. “I’ve got two of those!” 

Jasper hardly said five words besides “uh-huh” the rest of the dinner, until the bill came and Claire offered to pay it. Talk of money seemed to snap him out of his reverie. “Don’t be silly,” he said, suddenly swaggering. “I’m a fucking billionaire.” 

Claire nibbled on her finger seductively. “Then at least let me sign the check,” she said. 

Jasper looked at her in confusion. “Be my guest.”

When the receipt came, he moved to offer it to her, but she leapt up and walked over to him, saying, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

Standing right behind him, she bent down and reached out her long slender arm for the pen, grazing his neck, and then bent down further, allowing her breasts to press firmly into his shoulder blades, bobbing her entire body up and down rhythmically against him while she wrote on his receipt, in silly balloon letters, “Jasper Throptwait,” and added a little heart. Jasper sat absolutely rigid.

“Thanks for letting me do that,” she said in a small, cute voice. “I love to sign other people’s check’s.”

She put out her hand to help him up and he took it, dazed, holding a folded napkin over the crotch of his pants which were, unfortunately for him, mostly linen. She gave him a big hug, really pressing herself in, making sure he wouldn’t forget about her during his next high-end call-girl session. “I’ve got to be going now, but hopefully I’ll see you around sometime soon?”

“Yeah,” breathed Jasper, “Yeah, hopefully.” 

“Yay!” Claire laughed, blew him a kiss, and pranced away down the street, affording him one last look at her bounteous ass. “I did it!” she thought to herself. “I really hooked him!”

Suddenly she heard his voice calling from behind her, “Claire! Hey, wait up!” She spun around and waited for him to approach her. When he got to where he wanted to be, she took a step closer, still in seduction mode, putting her body nearly up against his again. He was a small man, not much taller than she was after her college growth spurt, with arms like string beans. Altogether very distasteful, and she would have loved to let him know that, were she not trying to seduce him. “What’s up?” she asked.

“I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for how I treated you in high school,” said Jasper. “I didn’t get a chance to during dinner because, uh, you were kind of talking a lot, but it was really fucked up and I’m sorry. And I’m not just saying that because you’re hot now. I mean — not, hot — I mean you’re a very decent looking person—” He tugged at his collar. “Anyway, I don’t know if this is some kind of joke you’re playing on me to make me feel bad, but I know the way you acted tonight wasn’t the way you were in high school, and I really don’t think it’s the way you are now. I work with the government, I can spot a faker a mile away. So if you’re just fucking with me, it’s cool, I deserve it. But if not, if you really want to see me again, how about we get drinks tomorrow and talk like normal people instead of sorority pledges, huh?” 

Claire awkwardly took a step back, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, unsure whether to keep doing the ditzy voice. “Sure — uh, I mean, yeah, that — that works for me. I’d like that. You’ve got my number, just let me know.”

Then she turned and hurried away. He remembered her personality from high school? And he wanted to talk to that personality again? Admittedly, that personality did become a lot more attractive with DD-cup breasts attached to it, but still, maybe she’d been doing something right back then after all. Strange ending aside, the events of the night gave her a skip in her step as she darkly thought to herself, “Well, at least if he kills Archie, I won’t have trouble finding another rich man!” 

*

The next day Claire went out and bought herself another new outfit before work to prepare for what she could only assume was her first “real” date with Jasper. She hadn’t even asked him about the Titanium Terror the previous night, since he hadn’t been particularly talkative, but tonight she’d give him no leeway to be shocked by her appearance. She would be all business, and she had the perfect cover: intrepid reporter wants to know more about local billionaire’s secret projects. Off-the-record, of course, but just a little taste to give her an inside scoop should anything develop down the road.

Jasper, meanwhile, had stayed up all night, wracked by a strange, abominable mixture of guilt and arousal. He couldn’t believe that he’d once treated this exquisitely beautiful woman like she were a piece of dirt, and it was giving him a real crisis of conscious. After all, despite her affected persona, she was clearly the same person she’d been in high school, only her physical appearance had changed, and it made him want to treat her like a goddess. He’d begun having this crisis during their dinner while she tormented him with her irresistible flirtations, the full truth of what a superficial oaf he’d always been hitting him over the head like a sledgehammer. It simply wasn’t fair that he’d treated her so poorly due to her looks, that probably would have kept up the condescension at their dinner if she hadn’t looked quite so stunning. Whether she wanted him or not, Jasper decided it was time to make things right.

Of course, he also desperately wanted her to want him. He knew she was in all likelihood putting him on somehow, that it had to be either a practical joke or something more malicious, but just the small possibility that she was serious made him shiver all over. The thought of this woman he’d put through hell, now more gorgeous than anyone he’d ever seen, was almost too much to bear. Despite his massive wealth and influence he’d always been a failure with women, having to settle for the call girls and gold diggers he often spoke about with such disdain. Ashamed as he was, he couldn’t stop from pleasuring himself all night long thinking about Claire’s ludicrous crop-top, her curves stretching it to its limit, but even more about the way she’d had that witty glint in her eye even when playing dumb, the fact that she was actually intelligent and self-aware. If there was any chance at all that he might have a sincere future with her, he had to take it.

They’d texted about when and where to meet, and at seven o’clock Jasper donned his favorite baby-blue three piece suit and spritzed on a bit of Caron Poivre. He had his chauffeur drop him a block away from the Maro cocktail bar, figuring he’d appear sportier showing up on foot. He entered the bar and looked around, taking in the dim environs, the moody orange glow emanating from the overhead lighting. Up on the stage a live pianist was tinkling out a mellow rendition of “Só Danço Samba.” Jasper spied Claire already sitting at a table in the corner and gulped hard, steeling himself. At least he wouldn’t be caught off-guard by her enhanced appearance tonight, distracting as it might be. This would give him a chance to actually attempt to be somewhat charming. He swallowed again and approached her.

“Jasper, I’m glad you could make it!” she exclaimed in a cheerful voice that was significantly more natural than the ditzy one she’d been using last night. 

“It’s great to see you, too.” He flashed his best smile, sitting down. “I hope I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself last night. I was just feeling a little under the weather.”

“You’re totally fine, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she lied. "I’ve been getting over a bad breakup, I haven’t been myself.”

“Well, let’s start over on the right foot tonight, how about that?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Jasper was amazed at how quickly his anxiety dissipated upon hearing the compassionate, genuine tone of her normal voice. Unfortunately, he realized that keeping his libido under control would be a problem in itself: Claire’s outfit for the night managed to leave even less to the imagination than the last one. It was a simple floral sundress, criminally low-cut and too small in the bodice, which forced the upper halves of her breasts to bulge out mightily like overfilled water balloons. Jasper pinched himself painfully on his leg under the table. His baser instincts wouldn’t get the best of him tonight. He kept his blue eyes fixed on her deep brown ones, remembering to be suave, charming. 

A waiter came over to take their orders and they both picked out a specialty cocktail, Claire’s a gin and bitters concoction, Jasper’s a variant on the classic negroni. Claire apologized for dominating the conversation the previous night, imploring Jasper to talk freely about what his life was really like. He gladly spoke at length, glossing over the more pathetic details of his love life but otherwise painting for her a realistic picture of his day-to-day at the defense company and his amateur passion for Formula One racing, how he’d built his own car out of junkyard parts and hoped to someday race it in a grand prix. All the while he maintained steadfast eye contact, looking down only to take sips from his drink, laughing with ease at her jokes and barbs, a consummate gentleman. 

Moving on to their second round of drinks, Claire leaned forward mischievously, so that it took all of Jasper’s fortitude not to drop his eyes toward her dazzlingly exposed cleavage. The pianist had switched his tune to “Cheek to Cheek,” finding the melody and losing it again in jazzy runs. “So,” said Claire, “I don’t want to pry, but I’ve heard you’re quite the inventor these days.” 

Jasper’s heart swelled with pride. There was nothing he loved talking about more than his inventions, though discussions of them in the past had only led to his dates’ eyes glazing over. Was it possible she was genuinely interested?

“I do some tinkering,” he said slyly. “You remember the Concorde, the supersonic jet? Well, don’t look now, but it might be coming back soon, and faster than ever.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding. You built a jet?” 

“I had some help — I hired a guy to come in and clean up the oil spills.” 

“Well, that’s — that’s amazing!”

“Just the tip of the iceberg, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t say — which one are you the most proud of?”

“That would have to be my organic synthesis device. Think about it — you feed it ordinary trash, the kind you find in landfills, and it pulls out whatever nutritional material it can find, sterilizes it, and uses artificial intelligence to turn it into delicious, edible food. If I can get it built to scale, we’re talking a forty, fifty percent reduction in world hunger.”

“No way…” 

“That’s nothing. I’m working on the most efficient carbon extraction mechanism the world has ever seen. Climate change? I wouldn’t sweat it if I were you, it’s going to be a thing of the past.” 

“That’s amazing! You’re a genius, a real genius!”

Jasper continued to regale her with descriptions of his creations, ranging from the goofy to the revolutionary, as they downed drink after drink. Claire never appeared to lose interest, growing more and more astounded at the sheer volume of his output, the intense care he put into choosing how to go about solving seemingly intractable problems. Eventually they were both quite drunk and Claire was resting her head in her hand, looking at him sideways, smiling in an achingly endearing way. 

Jasper took this as his cue to make a move. “You know, if you’re really interested, what do you say we go back to mine and I’ll show you what I’m talking about?”

Claire’s batted her eyes at him. “You would show me this stuff?” 

“Why not? I’m happy to give people a taste of how much better this world can be.” 

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” 

Jasper discreetly nixed his chauffeur on the way out the door, choosing instead to enjoy the walk back with his beautiful date. Claire was clearly tipsy and kept brushing against him and bumping into him as they walked, inducing a frightful stirring in his trousers, her bounteous bosom heaving and jiggling. She talked at length about her desire to use her journalistic platform to share his ideas with the world, to expedite their release and mass production. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Jasper. “I’ve got to be absolutely certain my products are ready for mass use before I can ship them out. When they’re ready, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Of course,” giggled Claire. “I’m sure you’ve got it all mapped it out.”

They arrived at Jasper’s building just as a light rain was starting to fall. Upon their entering the opulent lobby, the doorman greeted Jasper and called for the elevator. Inside the cab, they stood close to each other in silence, their hands inches from touching. The bell dinged and they proceeded into Jasper’s penthouse.

*

Although Claire had worked hard to maintain her sunny demeanor for the course of the night, her mind was reeling. It was only her second time meeting with Jasper and she was already on the verge of entering his inner sanctum! She certainly hadn’t predicted that things would progress so quickly, but then again Archie had been dead-on about Jasper’s weakness for beautiful women who allowed him to go on and on about his inventions. There was only one problem: her date hadn’t once mentioned the Titanium Titan or whatever it was, the one invention she actually cared about. Well, she supposed the others were cool, but they certainly didn’t seem as cool given the knowledge that their creator was a potentially murderous psychopath. 

Jasper led her into his foyer. Soft ceiling lights faded on one by one automatically, revealing a futuristic living space adorned with curved sofas, enormous TV screens, and appliances straight out of a sci-fi movie. Subdued electronic music began playing over the speakers. Jasper stretched his arms out. “Neat, isn’t it? I’ll give you the tour in a bit. I’ve got to show you something first.” He touched a panel in the wall and it slid back smoothly. They passed through the opening into a vast, dim space littered with workbenches, spare parts, complex tangles of wires, and giant pieces of machinery in various states of assembly. 

“My workshop,” breathed Jasper. “Well, it’s my smaller one, but… I prefer the intimacy.” He took her on a grand tour during which she ooh-ed and ahh-ed as he demonstrated for her with painstaking completeness a few of the designs he’d described in the bar. An hour passed, and she began to feel a strange kinship with the scores of women before her who’d likely had to endure their own grand tours. Suddenly, just as she was trying to suppress a yawn, her eyes fixated on a dark shape hidden away in a cluttered corner. She clutched at Jasper’s arm. “What’s that?” she asked.

Jasper slowly turned his head. “That,” he said gravely, “is the invention I’m the least proud of.” 

“It looks like a… it looks like a superhero suit. Are you a superhero? Just like Millenium-Man?”

Jasper gave a wry smile. “I am nothing like Millenium-Man,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. You’re probably bored silly.”

“You’re not going to tell me about it?”

“It’s something I’d rather not think about.” His expression was visibly pained. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Claire reluctantly followed him to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of scotch. He sipped it in silence as she contemplated what she’d just witnessed. The dark suit, the source of her boyfriend’s profound troubles, hanging dusty in a corner, apparently despised by its creator. Could it be true — was Archie in the clear? There wasn’t enough evidence to say for sure. She had to dig deeper. Fortunately, Jasper began talking readily again, in the same grave voice.

“What do you think it costs to make the world a significantly better place?” he said. “Must a man give his entire soul to truly benefit mankind?”

“That got deep all of a sudden,” she said tentatively. “It’s a question I’ve luckily never had to ask myself.” 

“I’ve been asking myself that question every day for the last two years, and I still don’t know the answer. I think I’m going to find out soon.” 

“Well, I think Millenium-Man was doing a decent job helping the world, and he seems to still have a soul. Haven’t seen him around lately, though.” 

“Millenium-Man has done nothing for the world. He’s a glorified policeman. And if he ever decides he wants to do some real good, it will cost him spectacularly. No man can be so perfect, there is no such thing as a superhero. He’ll have to give up everything first, allow himself to be consumed by evil so that he can learn what it truly is, know where to look for it. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

“And you do?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please.” Claire moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder, causing his body to shiver. “You can talk to me about it. I care.”

Her head was spinning from Jasper’s sudden change in demeanor. She was so close to finding out whatever terrible truth he was hiding, she couldn’t stop now. “Come on,” she said, “why don’t we sit down?” 

She took his hand and led him to the couch, where they sat down next to each other. Jasper hung his head morosely. “I think you’re a good man,” Claire said, leaning close to him. 

“Then you don’t know me.”

She lifted his chin with her hand and looked into his eyes, her face inches from his. “I want to know you.” The terrible part was, it all felt so natural to her, so right. It seemed like she had no choice than to do what she was about to do, what Archie had asked her to do, but it had never occurred to her that it might be so cinematic, so romantic. Filled with feelings of disgust and passion in equal measure, she pressed her lips to his, allowing herself to fall into him, pushing him gently onto his back. Jasper’s eyes went wide, but he quickly closed them and relaxed his body, giving himself over to her advance. 

His dark, swirling thoughts evaporated instantly as he felt Claire’s warm body press against him, felt the thin fabric of her dress sliding over her skin as she rhythmically moved her head. He wasn’t a bad kisser, Claire realized with shock as she wrapped her arms around him. Those high-end call-girls had taught him a thing or two. 

With a bit of maneuvering she was on top of him, her legs wrapped around and under his, his head propped up on the arm of the sofa. She felt the stiffness in his pants against her crotch and smiled as she continued to work on his mouth, giving him naughty little bites on the lips, feeling his teeth with her tongue. Her breasts hung lightly against his chest and he shuddered at the feeling of their weight, their warmth, against him. As though reading his mind, she took his hand and guided it to her chest, pressing it into her. Even through her sundress and bra he could feel her flesh compressing, squeezing outward, and glancing down he saw that she was nearly popping out of her skimpy little sundress, causing him to thrust his loins into her involuntarily. 

Slowly she sat up, pulling him with her, still kissing him, his hand still massaging the mass of her left breast in its sheath of cloth and wire. She pulled her face away and leaned back, placed her hand against his and held it still. “Do you like these?” she whispered, almost shyly. Jasper nodded. 

“… Do you want to see them?”

His eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets. “Please,” he breathed. Claire smiled in satisfaction. She had never been so pleased by her effect on a man, even on Archie, who she knew loved her body but who’d never been driven to this level of insanity by it. Here was Jasper, the ruthless executive, the genius inventor, the possible supervillain, and she held him in the palm of her hand, reduced to a groveling heap. God help her if Archie ever found out about these thoughts she was having…

She slowly unzipped the back of the sundress and as she did her breasts surged forward, feeling the sweet release of their newfound freedom of movement. With one hand she tugged the garment over her head and flung it on the floor, revealing a set of lacy black undergarments, her panties held tight against her pubic area and swallowed by her enormous round butt, her hefty, semi-transparent bra crushing her boobs together to create that impressive chasm of cleavage. Unable to control himself, Jasper placed his finger on the lip of her bra gingerly then slid it inside, wiggling it around. She fished it out, still grinning. “Hold on a second.” Then she unhooked the bra and with a flourish cast it aside, finally giving him the view he’d been fantasizing about all day. 

His brain went fuzzy as her titanic mounds undulated before him, two glorious orbs the size of small cantaloupes, culminating in large puffy nipples that seemed to reach out and beckon him. “Do you want to touch?” she asked in the same shy voice. Transfixed, without speaking, he reached both his hands forward and began to massage them both at the same time, feeling them swell out of his hands no matter how wide he stretched them, totally uncontainable, beyond his wildest dreams. And to think that this was Claire, from high school…

Suddenly, she sat up straight and thrust her chest into his face, putting her arms behind his back and pressing him into her. She began gyrating her spectacular ass against his crotch, sending waves of pleasure up into his stomach. Her vast bosom surrounded his face but his hands were now free, and he decided to use them to grab her narrow waist and press her harder against him, alternately sliding them down to caress and squeeze the planetary expanse of her butt. 

Still thrusting her breasts against him she ripped the buttons of his vest apart with startling force and slid the garment off him, then proceeded to do the same with his tie and button-down shirt. Under any other circumstances he would’ve been furious, but now it only made him want her more. She dragged her breasts down his face and along his body as she backed up along him, till her face was even with his crotch, and then she undid his belt and pants and pulled them off along with his underwear in one swift, expert motion. Grinning at him devilishly, she thought to herself, “Thank God I remember how to do that.” 

Then, at last, she guided him back into sitting position, wrapped her legs around his waist and her hands around his neck, and lowered herself onto his throbbing, aching cock. This had been her boyfriend’s favorite position in college, once her boobs had grown so big they were all he could think about, and it had suited her well in her continuing exploits. She rode him up and down, flexing her muscular legs and butt, deftly working the muscles of her vagina against him to find what drove him wild, alternately kissing him and allowing him to suck at her nipples, a sensation which drove her to utter ecstasy. Jasper was lost in the throes of pleasure, moaning and gasping, and Claire found herself joining him, overcome by pleasure, finally in love with the rawness of her sexuality, feeling no shame. She furiously ran her hands over his back, wanting to own him, to take his entire being inside her. Their moaning reached a glorious crescendo until finally she screamed, her body convulsing rapturously, and he went silent, and she realized that they’d both climaxed at the same time. That had never happened with Archie. 

Afterward, they sat on the couch together and she cradled him, his eyes closed, his head resting between her boobs, which had swollen even bigger and more tender from her arousal. In all honesty, she had forgotten exactly what she’d been trying to accomplish by fucking him. It had been amazing for sure, possibly the best sex of her life, but it’d been so mainly because she hated his guts, because in the back of her mind she’d been thinking of how he’d treated her in high school, of the misery he’d caused her, and of how wonderful it had felt to own him entirely, knowing how badly she was going to get him back. Finally, she’d found a good reason to love her insane body — it was allowed her to carry out the kind of justice that most people could only dream of. 

She heard a soft sniffling sound and looked down. To her amazement, Jasper was crying. “I don’t want to do it,” he mewled, “but I have to.” 

“Do what?” she asked, concerned.

Jasper sobbed. “I just… I hate him so much.”

Claire felt her blood turn cold. “Hate who?”

“Oh, just a friend, just a friend who fucked me over, cost me a zillion dollars and made me look like a villain so he could go prancing around being everyone’s favorite.” He suddenly sat up and grabbed Claire by the shoulders, pulling her forward. She looked fearfully into his eyes. “Don’t you see? He gets to live in a fairy tale, but I live in the real world! Who’s going to love a defense manufacturer? No one, but at least I go out and get the job done instead of acting like a Tony Stark wannabe pretty boy! He fucked me, he fucked me, and he was my best friend…”

Claire gasped, pulling away from him. “You don’t mean Millenium-Man? You want to kill him?”

“Kill him? No, no, I’m not insane! I just want him to shut his pretty mouth and give me what he owes me: the spotlight, the public adoration. I did it once, but it looks like I’ve got to do it again. See, by tracking materials shipments across the Tri-State area, I’ve located his lab, where he works. Little warehouse out in Jersey. Pathetic. And I know all about the new suit he’s building. He gets awfully chatty with the mailmen. Anyway, I’m gonna blast that thing off the face of the fucking Earth. Then we’ll see if Millenium-Man ever shows up in town again. Ha!” His manic smile faded. "By the way, have I offered you a nightcap?”

Claire was already throwing on her bra and panties, a look of terror on her face. “I’m sorry, this is insane. I’ve got to go.”

“Listen, don’t go,” Jasper pleaded, “I know that was TMI, I just can’t stop thinking about it. It’s just a little work grudge, that’s all. I’m not gonna hurt him, just rough him up a little. Imagine if someone you loved abandoned you when you most needed them. How would you feel?”

“Well, I wouldn’t start trying to ruin their life, for starters!” said Claire, slipping into her dress and heels.

“Please! Please, Claire, don’t go! Listen, I really like you, I’m just going through a bad time…” 

“Listen, I’ve just got to think about some things, okay?” said Claire. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Feeling satisfied about leaving the night on that quasi-hopeful note, she slipped out the door, leaving Jasper with his arms out, physically begging her to come back. She took the elevator down to the lobby and said goodnight to the night watchman, who couldn’t help gawking at the figure bulging out of her skin-tight dress. She really did have some thinking to do.