Wonder Woman: A Bit of Trouble in the Dressing Room at Harrod’s  

By Dr. Dominator

Wonder Woman is a protected copyright character of DC Comics and is used here only for parody purposes. No profit is being made off this story. The characters of Dougie "The Handler" Smullers and Myrtle Jackson are my own and require permission from the author if you wish to use them in your own fiction. As usual, this story is meant strictly for adult readers and as usual, the actions depicted in this story are fantasy scenarios only and meant simply for that purpose. Any relation to real life action is abhorrent and wrong. Just saying....

Diana Prince’s week-long assignment to the IADC’s field office in London had just wrapped up and she had a free day before heading back to Washington, D.C. tomorrow morning. Things had gone smoothly and her liaison with Interpol had successfully located the East End gangster, Dougie “The Handler” Smullers, who’d drugged one of the IADC’s British freelancer’s and beat her badly for providing sufficient information about his illegal activities to prosecute him. His well-planned capture, with Diana’s help, was pulled off without a hitch just this morning.

Diana had always wanted to visit the famous Harrod’s department store so that’s where she was, enjoying it’s famous tea after a few hours of shopping. She was just finishing up and was about ready to pay the check lying on the table in its black leather holder then head back to her hotel and pack for her departure.

Dressed in a sunny yellow silk blouse, tight chocolate pencil skirt and dark brown 5" heels, her outfit combined to show off her alluring figure to such perfection that bystanders had been secretly admiring her all day. The lovely agent sipped the last bit of tea from the elegant china cup and set it down on the saucer gently with a sigh.

“Well, that was just lovely,” she states, then pulls her purse off the back of her chair and digs into it for her wallet. She opens the leather check holder and gasps at the cost of this extravagance. After reluctantly laying down two 20-pound notes, Diana stands up and checks her watch: still plenty of time to spare. She wanders out of the tea room area and then notices a sign that hadn’t been there when she’d entered the dining area. It advertises a 30% lingerie sale. Diana motions to a nearby saleswoman at the leather goods counter.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where the lingerie department is located?”

One floor down, take a left off the escalator, it’s about 50 paces down. You can’t miss it, see?”

Thanking her, Diana heads that way thinking that if she was in for a penny then she was in for a pound at this stage, so she might as well enjoy a sale that would defray the overall expense and make her feel better about the whole excursion to Harrods. She’s also looking forward to getting something very enticing that would get Steve Trevor’s heart racing. Steve was always so proper, such a gentleman. She appreciated that fact most of the time but occasionally she wished he’d be more aggressive in the bedroom. There were times when cordiality and concern for the other party was too cloying. Sometimes one needed just a good hard...how did the Brits put it...rogering!

Diana leisurely saunters through the lingerie section, testing the feel of the bras here and there to find the most sensuous ones. Ultimately she finds a bright yellow Bali bra in her size and three Panache bras also in 44DD; one in classic black, one in dusky silvery blue and one in a creamy pearl color. Because Panache and Bali are new brands for her and she’s unsure about British sizing customs, the shapely beauty heads over to the dressing rooms to try them on for comfort.

The heavyset woman in charge of the dressing rooms stands at a small podium folding unpurchased slips and jeans and laying them neatly in a shopping cart. She’s wearing a Harrod’s blouse and a black skirt that comes to just above her knees. Her black shoes are no-nonsense comfortable flats.

“How many items?” Her surly voice is low and abrasive.

“Four,” Diana replies curtly and is handed a ticket with the number four on it.

“You clean, honey?”

“Excuse me?”

“We have legal obligations with these garments. Did you shower today?”

“It cannot be store policy to be this rude!”

“No, just mine. I have to answer for this department and some of these garments can get real stinky if the women aren’t clean who try on the tit slings.”

“I certainly don’t have to purchase them here,” Diana declares icily, turning to hand the bras to the crude woman and leave.

“Hey, princess, don’t run off. Look, I’m sorry,” the large-bosomed clerk says, putting her palms up and refusing to take the bras. “I’ve been on my feet since eight o’clock and I’m being a prat. Try those lovely things on. I’m sure you’ll be stunning in them with that figure of yours. And look, I’ll take an extra 20% off, just don’t call the manager. I’ve already got two black marks against me this month. That’ll come to a full half off, missus. I’ll ring you up me’self. Be a good lass, eh?”

With the sudden turnabout in attitude, Diana hems and haws for a moment but she does love the colors and quality of the bras and the extra savings off the higher price of lingerie in her size certainly would be welcome. Turning back to the dressing room, the shapely IADC agent relents.

“Okay, I’ll forgive the insolence. Thank you for your apology.”

“Aren’t you a dear. In you go then,” the woman says directing Diana with a sweep of her arm toward the slatted white wooden door leading to the dressing rooms.

In the narrow hallway, six dressing rooms, each with its own wooden door, are open and empty. Diana chooses the last dressing room on the left, closes the door and hangs up the bras. It’s a generous sized room measuring 7' x 4'.

Eager to try on the new lingerie, the sexy agent unbuttons her bright yellow silk blouse, pulls it off and hangs it up on the second of five available hooks. Reaching behind, she unclasps her own champagne-colored bra and strips out of it, hanging that on the third hook. The unfettered breasts sway gently with her movement, upright and firm, regally beautiful.

Diana pulls the bright yellow Bali bra from the quartet hanging before her and puts it on, adjusting herself slightly once it’s clasped securely. She looks in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the wooden dressing room door and swings her hips back and forth, checking out how she looks. The yellow color looks nice against her smooth Mediterranean skin and the girls look very appealing cupped so elegantly in the rounded supporting curves of the smooth luxurious-feeling Lycra. The bra is comfortable and pretty: a definite purchase. The sudden knock on the dressing room door startles her.

“You doing okay in there, dear?”

“I’m fine. I’ve just started. I’ll be out in a while,” Diana announces, somewhat perturbed. The woman was a nuisance!

“No problem. I just thought if you didn’t like one of them brassieres you could hand it out to me.”

Surprisingly, the knob is twisted and the door opens a crack with the woman’s hand reaching through. With no lock, the flabbergasted black-haired beauty just looks down at the hand in shock. The fist opens, seeming to wave for a bra to be placed there but held in the palm is a small silver tube. The end suddenly bursts open and the waving hand disperses a large cloud of bright blue smoke that fills the entire dressing room in less than a second. Diana’s gotten a face full of the stuff. She suddenly can’t breathe at all, her lungs paralyzed, her blue eyes bulging in shock and fear.

With her right hand thrust backward, she falls against the wall opposite the slowly-opening door, trying to steady herself. The gas is too much! The IADC agent drops down hard onto the bench on her rear and sways conspicuously in place. Helplessly choking on the noxious fumes, Diana’s one hand slides down the wall while the other struggles to prop herself up against the bench. Engulfed by the blue plume, Diana can’t handle the choking smoke. Her eyes roll up and she collapses sideways onto the bench and then flops off that and onto the floor of the dressing room in a ungainly heap of arms and legs.

Hearing the thump from outside, the hand withdraws through the slightly-opened door only to return immediately with a whining vacuum tube a foot long that sucks the blue smoke into its chamber in less than 15 seconds. The moment the area clears, the female attendant pushes through the door followed by a man with a large nose, light brown hair, and medium stature who’s wearing a black leather jacket and chinos. It’s Dougie “The Handler” Smullers.

Both people are smiling with satisfaction with Dougie even rubbing his hands in glee as he squats down beside the wheezing beauty. He pulls her body up by her hair until her upper torso rests against his thigh with her limp head against his chest.

“The syringe, Myrtle,” he says, opening his palm out. The instrument is placed there and he quickly injects a very minute amount of his special drug into the neck of his barely-conscious prize before he pulls out the needle. He hands the nearly full syringe back to Myrtle who stores it carefully away it its special clear plastic case and tucks it into the pocket of her skirt. “Okay, Miss Prince, now you’re going to tell me exactly what I need to know,” he says then waits for the drug to take effect. “You sure no one’s going to come in here?”

“I put the ‘Closed for Repairs’ sign out like we planned,” Myrtle snaps back. “I can’t help it if some desperate shopper doen’t go to the dressing rooms in the ladies blouses department next door like the sign tells ‘em!”

“Okay, just keep an ear out for busybodies,” Dougie declares. “I’m paying you good enough to do yer part.”

“You also promised I could play with her titties. Don’t forget that!”

“We’ll both get a chance to play with her, Myrtle my lass. No worries ‘bout that! Cor, look at them beauties!”

“Better even than her pictures you showed me,” says the henchwoman, her eyes glued to the massive breasts straining urgently against the containing bright yellow lycra.

“...whuuhhh...” the splayed agent mumbles in the hold of her leering assailant.

“Can you hear me clearly, Miss Prince,” Dougie says, his demeanor switching to alert attention as he checks his watch. The drug should have taken full effect by now according to his previous experience using it.

“...y...yesss....” she answers dully, her mouth slack and her eyes half open.

“Good. Then tell me the address where your agency squirreled away your little female friend Miss Alcot.”


“Hells bells! They didn’t tell you?”

“...no...was better that way...they said...”

“Did they even say what city she was being kept in? Did they tell you anything about the locale at all?”

“..nothing...just safe from your...evil clutches...”..”

“That’s a bloody huge bother!!”

“Dougie! Keep yer voice down. You don’t want to be attractin’ no one,” Myrtle whispers loudly. She kneels down on the floor of the dressing room beside her cohort and drinks in the view of the drugged woman helplessly restrained by her boyfriend.

Prodded by her agent training, Diana suddenly murmers, “...how’d ju...get ‘way from...police...?...Had you... in their van...this..morning...”

“They did. And well on the way to the station we were. Fortunately, they were too dumb to check me back pocket and even with me hands cuffed, I was able to give them all a big dose of that same blue fogger that done you in, lassie. I had the foresight to put in my nose plugs during their raid when I saw the jig was up for me. So, I just had to hold my mouth shut tight, see, and sure as Bob’s yer uncle, I was out of that van and sprinting away at the next red light. Neat as you please. Myrtle here was trailing a couple of blocks behind in my car. Lucky enough she’d gone out for a cuppa ‘cross the street and saw the whole raid through the window of the café.”

“....dumb luck...”

“That’s just sour grapes, Agent Prince. A good backup plan is worth it’s weight in gold. I just wish I had one now to keep that little Alcot twat from testifying against me. I was going to put her down quiet and permanent like. Now I got no leverage!”

“Not no leverage, Dougie. You got pretty Miss Casaba Melons here. She’s gotta be worth something! She sure is to me,” Myrtle says, unable to resist a second longer as she reaches out and squeezes the weighty tits in her two palms with pure delight. “Wow, these are bloody unbelievable! Firm and cushy at the same time. Where do they grow women like this?” The mauling hands of the wide-eyed moll move round and round before pulling down the yellow cups and twisting on the nipples there, bringing them to life.

“....uuuhhhnnn....don’t...do......that...” murmurs Diana as she sluggishly tries to pull away. The Handler easily pulls her body into place and lets Myrtle play some more, her strong hands plying the smooth globes like dough.

“You might have an idea there, Myrtle. Let’s see if Agent Prince here knows any secrets worth trading for. What do you know that will keep me safe from prosecution, Miss Prince? What’s the biggest secret you know that can help me?”

“...i...c...can’t...tell that....”

“‘Course you can, missy. You have an overwhelming need to tell me. Just feel that drug loosening yer tongue and let the words slip right out. Come on, me lovely. Spill it.”


“What was that? What did she say,” Dougie looks at Myrtle who’s firm grip on Diana’s tits releases as if they’re red hot and she tips backward onto the floor in an awkward jerk that sends her sprawling with her dress flapping up giving Dougie an unwelcome upskirt view of pale pink grannie panties that he’ll have a hard time blocking out in the coming weeks. Myrtle’s eyes are like saucers.

“She said she’s Wonder Woman!”

“Get out. No? Really?” Dougie looks down at the gorgeous woman in his grasp. This one did have the body and size of that famous heroine.

Pulling herself together, Myrtle gets back up on her knees and brushes her skirt down with a blush that is completely lost on Dougie.

“Well, that is a shocker...but one I can use,” he says, his mental gears turning as he clings firmly to his ‘Get out of Jail Free Card.’ He carefully probes his prize for how to make the most of his advantage.

”How do you change into Wonder Woman?”

“...have to....twirl...”

“Then what happens?”

“Inter...duhmenshunal...phase shift...causes bright light...costume arrives...in place... of c’vilian clothes...”

“How long does that...that change take,” Dougie Smullers probes, thinking things through.

“...just a few seconds...once I twirl...least...twice in place...”

“Is there any lag time from the time the light fades before this phase shift is done.”

“Maybe one second....to adjust...and....react...”

“Okay then, let’s get you on your feet, Wonder Woman,” Dougie says, rising to his own feet.

“...not Wonder Woman....yet...After the change...then I’m me...”

“Well, pardon my ass, Princess Precise!”

Myrtle chuckles at this, standing up as well. Barely able to stay on her feet without help, Diana Prince is held up by her biceps on both sides by the two criminals.

“Get the syringe out of the case again, Myrtle. We’ve got to time this thing exactly right if I’m going to be able to blackmail Wonder Woman into keeping me out of jail.”

“What’re ya goin’ to do, Dougie?”

“Take my cell phone. You’re going to take a video of her spinning from Agent Prince into Wonder Woman. Her secret identity is going to be caught for posterity. If that little twat pal of hers talks, this bitch’s big secret gets plastered world wide. I’ll be holding the cards. They wouldn’t dare take me to court for just tooling up on an agent of theirs when I got Wonder Woman’s secret identity in my back pocket. It ain’t like I murdered Alcot anyway. They got to drop the case.”

“That’s good thinkin’, Dougie.”

“You just be ready. Now let’s get her twirling, then I’ll be ready with this needle. You be sure she don’t fall.”

“I can handle this cunt. She ain’t that hard to handle when she’s like this.”

“Okay, let’s start ‘er up,” The Handler says, holding the syringe in one hand and taking the agent’s wrist with his other and holding it out, her elbow slightly bent. Myrtle’s right hand squeezes Diana’s shoulder while her left hand rests on the disoriented beauty’s hip, pushing her into a twirling motion.

“Come on, Wonder Woman, do your twirly thing,” says Myrtle while Dougie keeps the syringe ready, waiting to pounce.

The befuddled IADC agent is just aware enough to use her muscle memory and although it’s one of the most ungainly twirls in her life, with her head badly angled and snapping around, her irises half-hidden under her lids, she completes her first turn and then her second. Just then, there is a blinding flash of light that has Dougie and Myrtle wincing against the glare. But the cell phone held up by Myrtle has captured it all, including the vison of Wonder Woman with both arms extended standing before them, her head straight up, her posture suddenly perfect just as she finishes her third turn. Dougie pounces, jabbing the needle deep into Wonder Woman’s left buttock and injecting her with the full syringe worth of very powerful sedative. The last dose had been 20 ccs worth, but the nearly full syringe was ten times that much.

Wonder Woman looks at Dougie “The Handler” Smullers with complete disdain for a fraction of a second and then her eyes roll up into her head and she grunts loudly before collapsing forward into the waiting arms of Myrtle Jackson. Wonder Woman’s limp arms are draped over Myrtle’s shoulders and their breasts crush against each other as the shorter stout woman bears the weight of the completely flacid superheroine. The henchwoman’s arms encircle the small waist of the brightly-costumed beauty and her face looks directly into the drugged eyes of their victim.

“Hello there, gorgeous!” Myrtle is ecstatic with her prize and kisses the slack-mouthed woman with an eager jut of her neck, meeting the open lips with her own. She crushes down on them with a lusty need and then slides her tongue into the mouth of the helplessly stupefied Champion of All Women, running it in circles and dancing over the slackened tongue she finds there. Drool seeps out and drains down Wonder Woman’s chin until Dougie pulls back on Myrtle’s shoulder.

“Enough, Myr. We don’t have forever. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn. And take plenty of still pictures of this, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, okay, Dougie. I got you,” the sullen Myrtle replies. That had been twenty seconds of heaven: her french kissing Wonder Woman. But it’d been over way too fast. But she’d gotten to feel up the bitch’s boobs too and that had been great fun as well. Not too bad a day for memories now that she thought about it.

The Handler takes Wonder Woman away from her cohort, holding her by the neck and her hair. He lets her body slump to the ground until the famous heroine’s nose is pressed tightly against his crotch.

Myrtle holds up the cell phone and snaps a shot of Wonder Woman’s body being held aloft one-handed at the height of her boss’ crotch by her raven locks alone as Dougie unzips his fly.

A second shot is a near repeat of the first except Dougie’s schlong is now hanging out with the tip of his pecker just touching Wonder Woman’s moist red lips.

A third shot has Dougie tilting the famous heroine’s head back as his penis goes halfway into her mouth. The heavy eyelids of the Amazon princess dip low over cloudy blue eyes showing little awareness.

The fourth photo is a closeup catching the instant of Wonder Woman’s involuntary gag reflex as the offending penis is buried to the hilt, grazing against the back of her throat.

Myrtle kneels down and shoots a humiliating side view of Wonder Woman’s face getting fucked by a slightly blurred penis thrusting into her gaping mouth. Liking it so much, she rattles off a series shots in sequence: the plunging cock caught in mid-stroke; the mighty heroine being deep-throated; the tip of Dougie’s prick resting on her lip; and one especially shameful view of Wonder Woman wide-eyed as she has to take the full dick pushing out her bulging cheek like some retarded chipmunk.

“You liking this face-fucking, hero?” Dougie rants with pride. “Is this what you woke up hoping for today? Truth is, I was just hoping to get my life back by tailing you and forcing the whereabouts of that stoolie bitch friend of yours. But this, this is so much better!”

The Handler now grips Wonder Woman’s head with both hands, her black tresses gripped tight in his fists as he thrusts his hips back and forth faster and faster. He’s enjoying the friction of her mouth and the opening of her throat squeezing the length of his cock. Again and again he pounds himself into the helpless heroine’s gaping maw. Myrtle is taking a video of this sequence, letting the camera capture the ultimate domination of one of the most powerful females on the planet.

The famous belt caught in frame within many of the pictures does nothing to help the powerfully-drugged champion. She has been completely bested by a mere London street thug and his syringe full of sedatives.

“So, now I got my life back on track and all the rest of this, well, this is just gravy,” Dougie pants, reaching the peak of his pleasure now. “And speaking of gravy, what do you say you swallow mine, champ!”

And so saying it, his back arches and he unloads his jet of cum down Wonder Woman’s throat, a rushing burst she’s forced to swallow before the cock is suddenly yanked from her open mouth and rested on her nose. Myrtle captures this picture to perfection and several more after it as the flying spurts of semen clog the famous heroine’s eyelids, dribble down her cheeks, coat the surface of her upper lip and her nostril and land in a heavy clot on her smooth wide forehead.

For the final shot of this sequence, The Handler once more grabs Wonder Woman by the throat and by her hair and directs the dazed and cum-covered face right at the phone’s camera lens. Myrtle snaps the shot happily. Wonder Woman’s eyes are slits of foggy confusion and shame, her lips are drooling a whitish string of clotted cum, the weight of her head on her neck almost seems too much to bear. The mighty heroine is a complete mess and it’s all recorded in the phone’s memory.

Suddenly, the gagging noise from the back of the heroine’s throat alerts Myrtle to an encore performance and she snaps one more photo of the Champion of All Women gagging up a thick stream of semen and gooey saliva all over the front of her bustier.

“That’s the cover photo of the Daily Mail, Wonder Woman if you don’t force the authorities to drop all charges against me forever. You hear me?!!!”

“...awgghhkkk.....y...yes...yesss...” the defeated beauty answers sullenly.

“Maybe I’ll see if I have anything left for you, bitch,” The Handler says with a swagger as he lets Wonder Woman drop like a dead weight to the floor. Reaching down, he grabs the crotch of her famous blue and white briefs and yanks them down roughly to mid-thigh.

“Who’s back there?” A strong male voice suddenly rings out in the hallway of the dressing area.

“Crap, that’s the manager,” whispers Myrtle. “We got all we need. Let’s get out of here, Dougie!”

“When you’re right, babe, you’re right. Run, I’m right behind you.” the disappointed man says with a frown, zipping up. He gathers up the silver tube of knock out gas, the empty syringe and its case and finally looks down at the inert heroine at this feet. “Maybe we’ll meet again, Wonder Woman, but til then, I’ll see you and your sweet giving mouth in my dreams.”

Dashing out the dressing room door, the happy hoodlum knocks the shocked manager into the wall for a second time, the bulldozing Myrtle having been the first. With a howling laugh, Dougie “The Handler” Smullers crows as he dashes through Harrods, “Clean up in dressing room six!”

The End