This is the fourth in my ongoing series of Batgirl stories, in which I try to explore the developing sexuality of her everyday counterpart, Barbara Gordon and her relationships with those around her, hopefully with a dash of excitement thrown in, for good measure. Grateful thanks to all those readers who have sent me feedback containing their suggestions and opinions. The storyline continues on from that of 'Batgirl Enhanced'.
Warning! This fictional story contains material of an adult nature and is intended for mature readers, and for personal use only. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 5: The Feline Avenger
Tuesday, 11:26 pm
The pretty young girl paced up and down on the street corner, somewhere in the notorious red-light district of Gotham City, her high-heels click-clacking on the paved sidewalk. Charlene was a hooker, a very good hooker, but a very bored hooker. She glanced at her wristwatch, reading the time beneath the light of the overhead street lamp. It was almost half past eleven. Business had been fairly quiet all evening, and it didn't matter how talented she was, at what was often regarded as the world's oldest profession, she couldn't demonstrate her expertise, not without a client!
Charlene, a 5-feet 8-inch tall, slim, shapely brunette, was wearing a tight wraparound Lycra top, that barely covered her more than ample bosom, and tight denim cut-offs, that clung low on her shapely hips and molded themselves about her nicely padded ass & mons. She also wore a black, soft leather bomber jacket, to protect herself from the cool breeze that often accompanied the evening's drop in temperature. The nineteen year old's hands were plunged deep into the generous pockets, pulling the unzipped front together about her slim waist.
When she'd first arrived in the big city, some fifteen months earlier, Charlene's sights had been firmly set on getting herself a job as a Personal Assistant to some rich, important businessman, financier or lawyer, then enticing her boss into her bed and eventually getting hitched to the guy! But things hadn't worked out as she'd envisaged. Jobs like that, had turned out to be few and far between, and she hadn't got the right qualifications... well not the educational ones, anyway! Soon, she found herself struggling to pay the rent, and her oily, unscrupulous landlord had talked her into providing him with regular sex sessions, in lieu of rent. It was then that she'd realized that she had a God-given talent to make a, more than adequate, living from whoring!
She was just thinking of packing it in for the night, when she spotted an approaching pedestrian. She pulled the jacket front apart, to advertise her charms, and swayed, sexily, toward the potential mark. Her steps faltered, as she realized that the figure was that of a dark-haired woman, wearing a baggy, shapeless two-piece uniform of some sort? Still, she would still go through her regular routine. "Ya never know?" she told herself, with an imaginary shrug of her shoulders. "It wouldn't be the first time I've made love to another dame!"
"Hey there, honey, lookin' for a good time?" she enquired, huskily, placing her hands on her hips and thrusting her chest forward.
"I need your clothes!" replied the dark-haired, green-eyed woman, in the drab outfit, looking her up and down.
"WHAT? Are you drunk, lady, or just high on drugs?" Charlene replied, blinking with surprise, and taking a short step backward.
"You look about my size, so get 'em off!" demanded the stranger, a steely determination in her tone, as she advanced toward the younger woman, menacingly.
Charlene backed up against the wall, a frightened look on her youthful face. "Shit! This bitch is fuckin' nuts!" she told herself, trying not to show any panic. "D-Don't come any c-closer," she stammered. "I-I've got a p-police whistle in my purse!"
"Your clothes, bitch, unless you want me to strip 'em off your DEAD body?" snarled the green-eyed brunette, placing a hand against the wall, either side of Charlene's head, bringing her face mere inches from that of the terrified prostitute.
The young hooker, swallowed hard and nodded. There was something in that steely gaze, that told her this beautiful weirdo meant every word she uttered.
The woman stepped back a pace, and Charlene handed over her leather jacket and purse, then quickly pulled her top off, over her head, her naked 35b breasts bouncing against her ribcage, as they sprang free of their confinement. She handed over the abbreviated item of clothing, her hand visibly shaking.
The woman took it in her left hand, a cruel grin on her unpainted lips. Her right hand shot out and gripped the hooker's left breast, in a claw-like hold, digging her long fingernails into the tender flesh, painfully. "Now the cut-offs!" she snarled.
Charlene nodded, her fingers fumbling with the waist button and zip of her shorts, before pushing them down about her ankles and revealing her lacy thong underwear. She stepped out of them and squatted down to retrieve them.
"And the heels!"
The girl rose to her feet, clutching her shoes and shorts. "Please don't hurt m-me!" she pleaded, in a frightened voice, as she handed over the requested items.
Selina Kyle gazed at the shivering girl, now naked apart from her tiny black thong. "Don't try anything stupid, and you can keep your panties on," she warned.
The girl nodded, eager to please, and Catwoman quickly stripped off her prison garb, without the least show of self-consciousness. The naked escapee, quickly stepped into the shorts and shoes, then pulled the top on over her head. It was a bit tight over her size 37c boobs, but it would have to do! She tugged it down, but it refused to hide the under curve of her shapely round breasts.
She kicked the discarded prison-wear over to the cowering girl, as she slipped on the leather jacket. "Here, wear these!" she growled. "A nice young thing like you shouldn't be hangin' around this part of town, at this time of night, near naked! Ya never know what sort of perv might come along!"
Wednesday, 1:00 am
The night clerk of the Beaumont Hotel, eyed Selina, suspiciously, as she lugged the battered suitcase up to the counter, puffing and panting, her impressive tits almost popping out of her tightly stretched top. The dame was obviously a hooker, but he didn't recognize the face. "Not that I usually look at their faces," he reminded himself, with a smug grin.
"Nice ass!" he observed aloud, just as she opened her mouth to speak.
