The kiss. Phoebe realized it all came down to the kiss.

That beautiful woman kissed her. Warmly. Deeply. Passionately. Surprisingly or not, it had never happened to her before. Phoebe found she liked it. She returned it.

And then, quite surprisingly, Phoebe giggled. Not because she found it funny, but because…

Honestly, it would make more sense if you knew the whole story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's unlikely that you know who Phoebe is. But it's equally unlikely that you don't know who Dragonfly is. Who hasn't heard of the tall, lithe, masked superheroine in the black and green tights, who soars over the rooftops and then swoops down into action?

Citizens of the city cheer her, and villains in the city fear her. And unfortunately, cops and city officials rail against her.  Which is a shame. But she is a vigilante, and they don't really unite behind those types so much.

Phoebe and Dragonfly are one in the same woman. In her civilian life, Phoebe is a college student. Though tall, beautiful, and athletic, she keeps a low profile in typical secret identity fashion. She wears her long, dark hair brushed forward over her face, with no flair or styling to attract attention. She also shuffles when she walks, masking an Olympian grace just like her costume cowl and mask hide her facial features in her heroine guise. Finally, she stammers when she speaks and rarely looks others in the eye, epitomizing shyness and social awkwardness.

But as Dragonfly, she exudes power, poise, confidence, and cool. How could she not? She possesses extra-human levels of strength, endurance, speed, and agility. She can also fly, and she has an inherent danger sense that warns of her almost anything that might cause her harm. Added to that, she is whip smart and exceedingly charming, as well as sassy, flirtatious, and irreverent.

Granted, she is still a human being. She still pulls her tights on one leg at a time. But she knows she is good at what she does: fighting crime, helping innocents, and generally being a heroic person. More so, she loves doing what she does. The only drawback is having to operate outside the law to do it. But, it's a price she's willing to pay.

So, there she is, Phoebe/Dragonfly.

There had been mention of a kiss and her reaction to it.

The events that led to that moment began when Phoebe was walking across her college campus. Her last class of the day had just ended, and she was planning her afternoon studies, prior to going on her regular evening patrol of the city.

Suddenly, she saw trail of smoke arcing skyward over City Hall, culminating in a burst of orange light that took the shape of her superheroine name.

Her signal flare! She had sent it to the mayor over a year ago, along with a note saying that any time she was called upon for help, she would answer that call. But the mayor had never issued that call, despite several desperate situations arising. Dragonfly had been branded an outlaw, and there was no way the mayor, or any ranking city official, was going to ask an outlaw for help.

Except that now, someone was.

Phoebe discarded her shuffling gait and took up a jogging pace. She headed for the nearest building, in which she knew all the restrooms--specifically the remote and generally unused ones--where she could change into her superheroine duds.

Five minutes later, Dragonfly alit upon the rooftop of City Hall. Standing there waiting for her was Detective Allison Vargas, alone, with her sidearm holstered and a recently fired flare gun in her hand. The two women approached each other.

A woman of impressive bearing herself, the top of Vargas's head barely reached the heroine's chin.

"You rang?" Dragonfly asked.

"Yes, and you came," Vargas said. "I didn't know if you would."

"I told the mayor that if you called, I'd come."

"So you did. Still, you took a leap of faith that I wouldn't have a squad up here with me, ready to arrest you. Thank you for that."

The truth was, Dragonfly hadn't needed to take a leap of faith. She knew that no ambush awaited her, thanks to the absence of her danger sense as she neared the roof. And boy was she glad of that. Not that she worried about a squad of cops taking her down--they had tried several times in the past and always failed. No, there was another reason.

Her danger sense never failed her. But the way it alerted her was, well, unusual: She experienced a tickling sensation along the soles of her feet. The stronger the sensation, the worse the potential danger. She had, on occasion, squirmed and laughed aloud, as she dodged gunshots from unseen assailants or dove out of the range of explosions. While thankful for her early-warning system that had saved her life and kept her from harm many times, she wished it worked differently than it did.

In any case, she had felt no tickling of her feet this time, so she knew Vargas presented no danger to her. But the detective didn't need to know that.

"No problem, Detective. What can I help you with?"

Vargas hesitated.

"Detective?" Dragonfly prompted her.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm not used to being up close with one you vigil--uh, superheroines," Vargas explained with a blush. "You certainly do fill out your costume well. And it really does leave both little and everything to the imagination."

"Why, Detective, I'm flattered. In fact, I'm so flattered, I may let you take me out to dinner later as a thank you for my help. Of course, I need to know what I'm helping with you first, so I can actually do it and earn your thanks."

"Right, right, sorry. My partner has been abducted. I need your help getting her back."

"Domestic or professional?"

"What? Oh, she's my professional partner. Detective Rosalita Ortiz."

"Do you know the whos, whats, wheres, and whys?"

"I know the where. Though my info isn't...clean, so I can't get a warrant. As far as the rest, I can only guess that someone thought she was getting too close to shutting down their operation and wanted her out of the picture."

"In that case, time is of the essence."

"Yeah."

"Still, one question: Why not go in there with some of your best officers, hell, even with SWAT? Clean or not, you have info on the place, and I know other cops would jump at the chance to help you. Why come to me?"

"The place is fortified. There's no way we could get in there without heavy losses, SWAT or not," Vargas said with a sigh. "A superpowered person is my only option."

"Fair enough," Dragonfly said with a sympathetic pout. "All right, give me the address and any particulars you know about the place. I'll head over there immediately. And don't worry, I'll have Rosalita back to you before you know it. Just remember: I like my steak rare, my greens steamed, and my potatoes with chives. And while I'll have to wear the mask, the rest of my outfit will leave as little to the imagination as legally allowable."

Dragonfly winked. Vargas blushed and hurriedly provided her with the details of the location.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The location where Ortiz was being held was a building at the docks. True to Vargas's intel, getting inside made breaking into a vault look easy. But with her unique set of powers and skills, Dragonfly accomplished what no ordinary person--or even squad of people--could do. She encountered fierce resistance along the way, but she expected nothing less.

Two guards with the pistols elicited a minor tickle from her danger sense, causing Dragonfly a brief tremble before she succinctly pummeled them into unconsciousness.

Next, four guards with submachine guns brought on a more intense tickle, making her bite her lip to keep from laughing. Though more of a threat to her than the previous two, she still made short work of them with a series of strikes, kicks, and one well-placed head butt.

A dozen ninja guards at first didn't spark her danger sense at all, but once they drew and attacked with poisoned blades, she did end up scrunching her feet within her boots as she fought them.

After defeating the ninjas, she encountered several more sets of guards, but none posed enough of a threat to bring up anything more than trifling tickles. And none fared any better against her, all ending up out of commission before being able to sound the alarm.

Finally, she found a locked door emblazoned with warnings of Restricted Area and Authorized Personnel Only. Though she had neither a keycard, nor hacking skills, she did have heightened levels of physical strength.

She put her assets to good use, and with a satisfying crack, the door swung limply open.

Alert now for threats in any form--even before her danger sense might kick in--she entered the hallway beyond. It branched off into three separate rooms. She chose the closest.

Inside an unlocked door resided a chair resembling a cross between what a dentist and a barber would use. It was reclined, with its footrest elevated. The chair housed an occupant: an attractive thirty-something woman dressed in a plain grey jumpsuit that covered her from neck to wrists to ankles. Her head and hands were uncovered, and her feet were bare. Thin but sturdy bands of metal secured her forearms and lower legs to the chair. A dreamy, distant expression on the woman's face indicated that she seemed not to mind the restraints. Neither did she take any notice of Dragonfly.

The heroine took note of a small table beside the chair. It housed a neatly folded stack of clothes, a pair of shoes, a purse, a badge, and a pistol.

Behind the chair, the wall bristled with lights, monitors, buttons, and switches. Dragonfly had no idea what machine(s) they belonged to and what purpose(s) they served.

"Detective? Detective Ortiz?" Dragonfly said, as she slowly and cautiously approached the bound woman.

"...Yes?" the woman said, turning her head towards Dragonfly.

"Are you all right?"

"...Yes."

"Are you hurt in any way?"

"...No."

"I'm going to get you out of here."

"...Okay."

Dragonfly couldn't break the metal bands that held Ortiz in place, so she perused the control board on the wall behind the chair. Sure enough, she found a label for Restraints, along with four individual switches and one master switch. She flipped the master and immediately heard an echoing click from the chair.

Now free, the detective swung her legs over the side of the chair, planted them on the floor, and then stood. She wobbled for a moment and then fell...only to be caught in ever-so-timely superheroine fashion by Dragonfly.

"Easy, Detective. I've got you."

Ortiz leaned heavily on her rescuer and stood up. She only came up to Dragonfly's shoulder, so she had to look up to meet the heroine's gaze.

"Thank you," Ortiz said, her eyes clearer and her voice less far away. "My, but you are a strong one. And you fill this suit out nicely."

"Not that I recommend you keep it once we're out of here, but you don't do a bad job filling out yours, either."

The two women shared a smile. Then, Ortiz stood up on her tippy toes. She suddenly had a look in her eye of longing and desire. Dragonfly frowned, as something stirred within her, too. She leaned down.

Then, that kiss happened. The one discussed way back at the beginning. The one that was key to everything. You remember it--initiated by Ortiz, warm, deep, passionate, and returned by Dragonfly.

And then, there was giggling. Even more so than the kiss, it was a surprise. And not a pleasant one.

Dragonfly felt the intense tickling on the soles of her feet. Trouble was close. She had to act quickly.

She pulled away from the kiss.

"Come on," she said, "we're in danger. I have to get you out of here."

Turning back to the door, she took a step...and wobbled. She stopped. Assessed. And even without moving again, she found herself shaky on her feet and getting worse by the second. Her lips buzzed. And the buzzing spread rapidly across her face, down her neck, and throughout her body.

"Relax," Ortiz said. "We're not in danger. We're quite safe. And everything will be fine. Come back over here. Sit down."

"What's going on? Wait...when you kissed me...y-you...d-drugged...m-me."

The detective repeated her suggestion to sit down, patting the seat of the chair she had just occupied as she did.

Dragonfly's eyes had glazed over, and she wore the expression of dreamy contentment that Ortiz had earlier. With a sigh, she walked back to the chair and sat down in it. Ortiz gently eased the bedazed heroine's head back and then nudged her arms and legs into the open restraints. Then she moved over to the control board and reversed the master switch, locking Dragonfly in place.

"There, that's better," Ortiz said. "All secure. And comfy, too. You are comfy, aren't you?"

"...Yes, I'm comfy."

"Good. Mm-mm, but I do like the look of you. Of course, I can't see much of your face with that mask on."

Ortiz removed Dragonfly's mask, then peeled back her cowl.

"Wow! You are a looker, aren't you? And I wonder…"

She ran her hands along the restrained heroine's body. When she had traveled the length of it, she moved back to Dragonfly's breasts. She cupped them, squeezed them, and massaged them. Dragonfly moaned softly.

"That's all you, no padding. Delightful! I could very much enjoy you. And maybe I'll get to. But, sadly, work before play. Tell me, why did you think we were in danger?"

"...I have...a danger sense."

"That sounds nifty. How does it work?"

"...I feel...a tickling...on the bottoms...of my feet...whenever I'm...in danger."

"Do you now? Well, that is handy little superpower. And it's good information to have. Tickling, you say?"

"...Yes."

"Let's investigate that…"

Ortiz moved to stand at Dragonfly's feet. She removed the heroine's boot and stockings, exposing smooth, unblemished feet proportionate to the size of their owner.

"Even your peds are lovely. Head to toe, you are amazing. Tell me, does your danger tickle feel like this?"

The detective lightly danced her fingertips along Dragonfly's soles. Even in her stupor, the heroine squirmed and smiled.

"...No."

"How about this?"

Now Ortiz used her fingernails and a little more pressure. Dragonfly shook her feet and giggled.

"...No."

Ortiz frowned in thought. Then, she broke into a devious grin.

"This?"

She leaned close and flicked her tongue up and down the heroine's feet, and in between each toe. Dragonfly shuddered and laughed.

"Yes! Yes! Like that!"

"Good to know," Ortiz said, pulling back and wiping the saliva from her lips. "Now, I need to get more intel on you. Tell me about yourself. Tell me everything."

When the tickling had stopped, Dragonfly had sighed and relaxed. Now, having been commanded, she did as she was told.

"...My name is Phoebe…" she began, giving her all her personal information, powers, skills, methods, and allies. A few minutes later, she ended with, "...That is everything."

"Everything, indeed," Ortiz said. "Good. Now, I think we should experiment more with this danger sense of yours. Or, at least with tickling the heck out of you."

Dragonfly groaned and shook her head.

"N-no. S-stop. D-don't touch me."

Ortiz frowned, realizing what was happening.

"I guess the drug doesn't work as long on super-powered women," the detective surmised. "Time for another kiss, then. Which, honestly, I don't mind at all."

"I think not."

The voice sounded from outside the room. All at once it was soothing and commanding. Hearing it, Ortiz straightened. She turned to face the speaker, her eyes again glazed over and her jaw slack.

"Master," she said in a monotone drawl. "I serve and obey."

"Yes, you do, slave. And you have done well. You predicted that Vargas would send a superheroine to rescue you. She did. You predicted that you could ensnare your would-be rescuer with a kiss. You did. From here, I will take over."

"Yes, Master."

Ortiz stepped aside. A man entered the room. He was nondescript in all respects, except for his eyes. They were lovely, piercing, pacifying, and demanding all at the same time.

The man walked up to stand beside the brainwashed detective and the restrained, now rousing heroine.

"What's going on?" Dragonfly asked, her eyes now clear. "Detective, are you all right? And who the hell are you?"

Ortiz stared blankly ahead and didn't answer. The man smiled coldly down at his captive.

"I am Cyril Wellington. Rosalita is my slave. You will join her in that role very soon."

"Good luck with that," Dragonfly said with a dismissive snort.

"I won't need luck of any kind. But I won't try to convince you. I've learned from experience that superheroines in their right mind will argue to the death that they can't be defeated. It's easier to just defeat them than try to make them believe that you really can."

"When I get out of this chair--"

"Yes, yes, you'll beat me up, destroy me operation, send me to jail, etc., etc. Tell it all to me, or keep it yourself, as makes you happy. I couldn't care less," Cyril said, then to Ortiz, "Slave, tell me what you learned, as I prepare the processing of our guest."

Cyril walked behind the chair to control panel on the wall. He began operating it. As he did, Ortiz moved to stand beside him. She then began telling him the information she learned about Dragonfly.

"...And, she is attracted to women," Ortiz said after a minute or so. "Her suit isn't padded. That is all her beneath that thin fabric--"

Cyril looked back over his shoulder at Dragonfly's restrained and reclined form. He raised an eyebrow and nodded approvingly.

"--She has a danger sense that warns her of threats. It manifests as a tickling sensation on the bottom of her feet. It feels the same as her when I lick her soles."

Wincing as she heard her secrets revealed, Dragonfly steeled her jaw and began straining against her bonds. They held. She relaxed for a moment, then tried again. Still no dice.

"Very good, slave. I believe I'll be able to make use of that information. Now, prepare her."

"Yes, Master."

Ortiz reached down below the chair's headrest and brought up something akin in shape and size to a bathing cap. It differed from such a cap in a few ways, though: A wide, flat cable ran from its rear to the bottom of the control panel that Cyril worked at; two earbuds dangled from its sides; and various LEDs were inset along its front.

Standing behind Dragonfly, the compliant detective gingerly fitted the cap over the heroine's scalp. Then she gently pushed the earbuds into place.

"Detective, listen to me," Dragonfly said, trying to not laugh at the intense tickling she felt on the bottoms of her exposed feet. "You need to snap out of it. He's controlling your mind. Think for yourself. Regain control. Get me out of this, and I'll get us both out of here."

"Shh," Ortiz said. "It's all right. In a few minutes, you'll serve and obey Master, just like I do. Things will be better then. Easier. And you'll be happier."

"I'm going to have to disagree with you on that," Dragonfly said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the increasing tickles that her danger sense inflicted upon her, while she renewed her struggles against her bonds.

"Slave, is she ready?" Cyril asked.

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Initiating brainwash."

Dragonfly couldn't see what Cyril was doing behind her. But she heard a loud click on the control board, followed by a reverberating hum around her head.

Then, the most ferocious tickling she had ever felt assaulted her senses. Some of it originated from the insidious device on her head--those tickles erupted over her scalp and spread quickly to cover her entire body. The rest of it stemmed from her danger sense--those tickles couldn't have been more intense if her feet were covered in mayonnaise and stuck into an anthill.

Gone was any ability to struggle or break free of her bonds. All she could do was howl with laughter. She did this for the better part of a minute. Her eyes watered freely. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She trembled. She kicked feebly. Her laughter warbled and cracked, as she fought for breath.

Slowly, the tickling from the brainwashing cap subsided. No, not subsided. Changed. It transformed into a massage. Something relaxing. Tranquilizing.

It took Dragonfly a moment to realize that the tickling had lessened. Though it remained at her feet from her danger sense, the worst of it was gone. The massaging sensation was better. So much better. But she knew that it was bad. It was meant to lull her to sleep. And it was working.

Try as she might, she found herself drawn deeper and deeper into a passive, contented, dreamlike state. She fought to keep her eyes open. She fought to stay awake. But it was a losing fight.

She knew that if--when--she lost that fight, she would be hypnotized. And then, in that suggestible state, Cyril would brainwash her. She couldn't let him do that to her, like he had to Ortiz. She had to keep fighting. She had to escape.

But there was no more fight in her. No ability to escape. As her eyes closed in sleep, her last thought was that she no longer felt the tickling on her soles. Even her danger sense had been pacified. Her last defense had been overcome. She was helpless.

The room had grown quiet. Dragonfly's guffaws had faded into contented moans and sighs. Cyril and Ortiz could now hear both the hum of the brainwashing cap and an intermittent buzzing coming from its earbuds.

Soon, Dragonfly began responding verbally to the buzzing. In a whisper soft, monotone drawl, she spoke:

"Cyril is my master. I am his slave. I will serve and obey him. I will do whatever he says. Cyril is my master. I am his slave. I will serve and obey him. I will do whatever he says…"

Over and over she repeated the words. Dozens of times over several minutes.

Finally, Cyril operated another switch on the control board. The cap ceased humming, the earbuds stopped their buzzing, and Dragonfly fell silent.

Cyril gestured at Ortiz, who in response removed the earbuds from Dragonfly's ears.

"Who is your master?" Cyril asked the still entranced heroine.

"You are my master," Dragonfly said.

"What must you do as my slave?"

"Serve and obey you."

"Release her," Cyril said to Ortiz. "Then bring me a chair."

The detective did as she was commanded. First she removed the cap from Dragonfly's head, then she opened the restraints, and then she raised the chair from its reclined to position to an upright one. After that, she left the room and returned a moment later with a rolling chair for her master.

Cyril positioned the chair in front of his new slave and sat down in it. He waved Ortiz off, and she again left the room after uttering a dutiful yes, Master.

"From now on, slave," Cyril said, "whenever your danger sense goes off, you will imagine that Rosalita is licking your soles. That feeling will arouse you. You will want it to continue. The more your danger sense is triggered, the more this will happen, and the stronger your arousal will become. And the feeling will be even more intense when you have nothing on your feet. You will want to go barefoot as much as possible to fully experience the sensation when it occurs. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"That should mess with you nicely. But fun and games aside, I need to condition you to bring me more women to brainwash. Rosalita's partner, Allison, would be a good one to start with. Then perhaps another superheroine. Here's what I want you to do…"

Cyril laid out his plan.

"Yes, Master," Dragonfly said obediently, when he was done.

"Now to have some fun before I let you go. How agile are you, slave?"

"Very agile, Master."

"And your manual dexterity?"

"Very high, Master."

"And your pedial dexterity?"

"I...I don't know, Master."

"Then we shall find out. Place your feet in my lap."

Dragonfly raised up her legs and put her feet in her master's lap. Cyril gave her instructions, one task at a time. She followed each and every one to the letter. When he had finished instructing her, he sat. She continued to do as he had bid her. The entire time, her eyes remained dreamily distant and her expression blank.

And her feet proved themselves to have the dexterity to rival--really, to exceed--those of any woman whose brain Cyril had washed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Detective Vargas stood on the roof, watching the sky. Soon, she spotted a small, rapidly moving figure above the horizon. A moment later, Dragonfly landed gracefully next to her.

"That's not a sight I'd quickly get used to. Or bored of," Vargas said. "New look, huh? Not one I'd expect from a non-aquatic or jungle themed heroine. But...you pull it off well. You pull that whole thing off well."

Vargas eyed the heroine head to toe appreciatively. Dragonfly glanced down at her bare feet. She wiggled her toes and smiled. She agreed that she pulled the aesthetic off well. But she did like hearing it from Vargas.

"Thank you, Detective. As for our business, I delivered Detective Ortiz to her home an hour ago. She needs rest, but she's fine."

"Yes, she called me the moment you dropped her off. I can't thank you enough. You really came through for me, when I don't think anyone else could have."

"It's my pleasure. Of course, there is the matter of payment…"

Vargas frowned. Then she remembered, and she chuckled.

"You were serious about that, huh? Well, sure, I can take you out for a nice steak dinner. You've certainly earned it. Though you did say you'd be wearing less. Technically you are, and your feet are very pretty, but that's not what I imagined."

"You're on for dinner, except...I'm going to take you out."

Dragonfly placed her hands on the detective's shoulders and drew her close. Vargas, though surprised by the move, didn't seem upset by it. In fact, she looked pleased.

"I know a great place," Dragonfly continued. "You'll love it."

She leaned down and kissed Vargas. Warmly. Deeply. Passionately.

Vargas kissed back. At least until the dizziness overtook her, and the fog befuddled her mind. Dragonfly held her tight, keeping her from falling over.

"The only thing is, the place does have a dress code," Dragonfly said. "Bare feet only for the ladies. You understand."

"...I...understand."

Reaching down, Dragonfly helped Vargas shed her shoes and stockings one foot at a time.

"All right. We're all set. It's time to meet our master."

"...Time to meet...our master."

Our tale began with a kiss. And with another kiss, we end it, as our two barefoot, brainwashed heroines take to the sky.