My first fanfic! Thus, the following is a work of parody. Catwoman and Nightwing are property of DC/WB and I claim no ownership over them. I don't know what the current DCU status-quo is, so if the following doesn't match up, that's why! The following contains elements of femdom and mind control and magic I guess.
All characters are 18 years of age or older.
*****
In a darkened corridor of the Blüdhaven Museum of Civilizations, one sinuous shadow separated from the rest. The figure slid down the hallway, away from the opened panel where the guts of the museum's security system dangled like so much offal. The hush of the empty hall amplified the *tok*tok* of heels as the intruder passed by the exhibits, apparently uninterested in the Native American artifacts on display. Dead cameras surveyed the atrium as the shadow passed, polished lenses reflecting abundantly feminine curves all wrapped up in a skintight blend of technical fabrics and leather, the latter for the sake of aesthetics as much as any contribution to stealth it might have made.
The shadow slid beneath the cordon that separated Special Exhibits from the rest without breaking stride. High above, a banner flapped gently in the breeze of her passing; it read, "THE BOUNTIES OF BUBASTIS- ON LOAN FROM THE SMITHSONIAN" proudly in faux- Egyptian script. The following day's date ran underneath, bracketed by stylized, cat-headed figures.
Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, chuckled quietly to herself. It was almost too easy; she never would have gotten this far back in Gotham, where she'd long since learned to eschew the feline-themed heists that had once been her trademark. The Bat would have been there before she even got through the window, never mind letting her get all the way to the exhibit.
It felt good to get back to basics.
Selina paused for a moment in front of a glass case to preen. His loss. She twisted to the side, checking herself out. Maybe next time she redid her costume, she'd go back to the combat boots; the three-inch heels on these boots were a little impractical, but they did wonders for her ass. The muscular globes of her buttocks stood out even more prominently than usual as she arched her back just a little, pushing her prodigious breasts up further, while silently thanking science for the miracle of the built-in supports just beneath the chrome zipper that ran from her neck to her navel.
"Maybe I'll even put the tail back on," she mused aloud, a smirk creeping across her plush mouth. It was terrible for balance and got in the goddamn way all the time, but it certainly drew attention to where she wanted it. Anyway, back to work. Selina nudged her cowl so that her ears were on straight, and strolled away, hips rolling.
In the centre of the room, on an elevated pedestal, inside a thick glass case, stood tonight's prize: The Handmaid of Bast. Leather creaked as Catwoman flexed her fingers. The "Handmaid" was a stylized statuette of a cat from a recent dig near Bubastis, a foot in height and supposedly solid gold. The emeralds chasing around its neck glittered expensively in the dim light of the room. Selina approached the case; she adjusted her ruby goggles and stared into the red gems that were laid into the sockets of the statuette. With a flick of her wrist, glass-cutting claws flashed out from her left glove and she hunkered down to begin.
"Straying far from home tonight aren't you, Selina?" From above, a familiar voice echoed. Scowling, she looked over her shoulder as another shadow fell from the rafters to the floor.
"I could say the same for you, bird-boy," she said, standing.
"Blüdhaven is *my* town," Nightwing stepped forward, idly twirling one escrima baton; despite the feigned nonchalance, every muscle in his lean, acrobatic form was tense and it showed through his own costume, which looked as though he'd been dipped in black latex. Catwoman unfurled the bullwhip she carried at her hip.
"How'd you even know I was here?" She asked, giving the whip a flicker.
"Are you kidding? I picked you up before you even got inside the building." He smirked. "I can't tell if you were just being disrespectful or getting sloppy in your old age." Selina snarled and her whip cracked. As she approached forty, she probably had ten-fifteen years on the kid, but needling a lady about her age was uncalled for!
"We don't have to do this," she warned. "I don't want to mess up such a pretty face." Under his domino mask, Catwoman had to admit that the Bat's onetime sidekick had grown into his features. If he hadn't gotten into beating up muggers, he'd probably be on billboards selling Abercrombie & Fitch. How old was he now, anyway? He must be out of college by now, surely. She tried to add the years up in her head. He had to be at least in his twenties, anyway.
"Tell you what," Nightwing dropped into a combat stance, raising both batons. "You go back to Gotham right now, and I won't even tell your boyfriend you were here."
"Tell *you* what," she said, slicing the air with a vicious crack of her whip. "You won't even be able to remember this conversation happened once I'm done kicking your ass."
He rushed forward, closing the gap between them; the toe of Selina's boot caught him on his finely-turned chin as she pinwheeled backwards.
"Too slow, sweetie. Maybe-" Whatever else she was going to say was cut short as one of the batons came whistling towards her head. She took a quick step back in a fairly simple dodge, and it screamed past her to slam straight through the glass case holding the Handmaid. Cubes of safety-glass scattered everywhere, grazing her cheek, as the baton continued on, hitting the statue on the flank. It teetered, then began to tip over entirely. They shared a look between them and both scrambled to the other side of the pedestal as the statue tumbled.
Selina felt as though she were moving through molasses as she watched the head come free of the body, spinning away to the side as she swung herself around the pedestal, coming in low to catch the figure. The vigilante aimed too high, and Catwoman watched his open hand swinging just past where the head should have been while she twisted her body to land on her cushioned behind and let the thing *donk* quietly on her bosom. The open neck of the thing stared up at her, and in the moment's breath that followed, a thick slug of something brown and deeply musky glugged out onto her suit.
She was suddenly very much aware that the young hero was standing over her, staring down at her with those piercing blue eyes. He sniffed once, and she saw his pupils contract. Nightwing's eyes lost their focus for a moment, and he straightened up, staggering backwards.
"What the hell-?" He said, wiping his eyes with a free hand. "What is..." Somewhere in the museum, an alarm sounded. Selina wiped the goo away hastily and sprang to her feet, watching him curiously. Outside, sirens began to wail.
"Too bad, kid." Catwoman said with a shrug, scooping up the Handmaid's discarded head with her free hand. "Give my regards to the Bat." She dashed past, taking a moment to sweep his legs out from under him with a well-placed boot, and then she was gone into the shadow.
Dick Grayson lay on the museum floor, watching the ceiling spin above his head as he listened to her heels beat a tattoo on the tile. He struggled upwards against the dizzying haze in his skull, and was on his feet by the time a pair of cops burst in.
"What the hell happened here?" One of the officers shouted. "Nightwing? What the f-"
"Nothing," he said, dismissively. He waved a hand, then slid his escrima batons back in their holsters. "Robber. I'm in pursuit. Don't worry about it." He slipped into the darkness, leaving the officers goggling as he ran.
"I'm not crazy, right? You saw it too?" The first cop said to the second, sidling over. They spoke in hushed tones, as though not wanting the exhibits to hear.
"You mean his-"
"Right? It was huge. I've never seen anything-"
"Well, I mean, you gotta *assume*, right? That anybody who dresses up like that," the second cop waved her hand vaguely at the darkness. "Probably gets off on it, you know?"
"My kid's got a poster of him up on her wall. I'm gonna chuck it when we get home."
"Hell, I'll take it off your hands. Rawr."
--
From the fire escape, Selina slid open her window and slipped inside. Slamming it shut again, she put the Handmaid gingerly down on the couch, and peeled her cowl off to toss it alongside the statuette. Turning on a lamp, she looked at herself in the mirror; that goop had left a long brown stain across the grey and black material of her catsuit. She gingerly unzipped the front of the suit, only to find that some of it had soaked through, leaving brown beads of the stuff on her milky skin.
"Ah, dammit," she said, striding purposefully into the bathroom, where she cranked open the tap in the shower. As the room filled with steam, Selina unzipped her catsuit the rest of the way, gasping as her thick pink nipples, rock hard and angry, scraped free of the zipper. As she wriggled her butt out of the restrictive grasp of the poly-leather blend, Catwoman ran a hand between her thighs, and was a little surprised to find that she was pretty slick downstairs. A successful heist was always an aphrodisiac, of course, but she hadn't been so turned-on in... well, in a long time.
Stepping out of her boots, she walked into the water and let it beat against her plush body.
"Honey, you need to get *laid*," Selina said to nobody in particular, running her hands through her short black hair to rinse off the sweat built up under her cowl before grabbing the soap. As she lathered up her breasts, she did the math: it had been two weeks and three days since she'd gotten the fuck out of Gotham, which meant that it had been two weeks, two days and roughly four hours or so since she'd gotten fucked last. Catwoman's slick sudsy fingers toyed with her firm flesh, as she thought about the Bat's thick, rampant cock, standing tall and free from his shorts, right before he fucked her that last time atop the First Gotham Savings and Trust building.
She gently tugged at one nipple before shaking her head, sending a spray of water splattering against the shower door. It *was* definitely going to be the last time. However pleasantly fat his member happened to be, no matter how wonderfully full it made her feel, that didn't make up for his other shortcomings. Ten years they'd been hooking up, off and on, and he always, *always* had to be in control. A rough, dominant fuck had been fine when she was just starting out, but the older she got, the more tiresome it became. Not to mention that around the same time the first grey pubes started curling out around that big cock, he started having trouble not only getting it up, keeping it up and fucking her through to an orgasm. Rough sex was one thing, but frantic five minute rabbit fucks without even some cursory head for her simply weren't going to cut it any longer and she'd told him as much on that roof, packed up her shit, and got the hell out of Dodge.
Selina snarled and pulled more violently on her nipple, letting it snap back into shape.
But since then, the only thing she'd had between her legs had been either her own hand, or one of an increasingly-large collection of toys.
Not that Selina had any trouble attracting male attention. Quite the opposite, in fact, but none of the men she'd run into since leaving Gotham had quite turned her crank. They all seemed so aggressively...normal. Boring men with boring jobs and boring suits and boring stories.
More than once, she wondered if she'd picked up a cape fetish. Hardly surprising. Half the country had one by now, but that only compounded her problem. All the capes she knew were more or less like the Bat: big, hulking, driven, aggressive, dominant. What the hell was the point in moving if she was only going to end up back where she started?
She wasn't about to live without cock for the rest of her life, either. She liked cock. Big fucking cock.
Her long, delicate fingers, clean of soap, slid between her thighs as she carried on twisting one fat nipple, washing forgotten.
