Disclaimer: If you are under the age of 18 and/or do not appreciate graphic descriptions of consensual sex, please read no further. This is a parody. Catwoman and Batman are trademarks of DC Comics and Time Warner. This work means in no way to deny the rights of those companies, nor was it written for profit. They are used here without permission.
This is a one-shot story about Catwoman, with the potential for further stories. This is based on the Jim Balent-era Catwoman, with that great purple outfit. Damn, I miss her...
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Catwoman slipped easily through the motion detection lasers, her body moving with the grace and precision of an Olympic gymnast. The air duct she was crawling through was tiny, allowing for very little in the way of wiggle room, but she managed easily enough.
This was a fairly standard job. Corporation A, utilizing a code-named employee who didn't wish to volunteer his real name nor the name of his company, wanted her to break into Corporation B's research labs and steal some new, high-tech McGuffin. One million had already been wired into her account, with another million to follow after the job was done.
It was fairly tedious work. No fancy tombs to be raided, no power reactors to blow up, no ninjas to fight, but it paid the bills and it offered very little in the way of danger. Too bad that the danger was always what proved to be the most exciting part of her job. Without danger, there was no chance of getting caught, and if there was no chance of getting caught, there was no chance of running into Batman. Catwoman sighed silently to herself as she continued snaking her way through the claustrophobic shaft.
Batman. If ever there was a guy that was hard to crack, it was him. She tried to reason that she only wanted him because she couldn't have him. But she knew it was more than that.
She'd lost count of the nights she'd spent in the dark, alone and touching herself, trying to drive out the desire. It was no good, however. It always left her hornier than when she'd started, and more in lust. Of course, she wouldn't lower herself to go pick up any guy off the street. If she couldn't have Batman, she didn't want anyone else to take his place. If she couldn't work it out herself, then she just wouldn't work it out.
After thirty minutes of crawling she made it to the vent junction that she had been aiming for. She took the northeast vent and crawled for another fifty yards. There was the grate. She flicked her gloved hand and her steel cat's claws snapped out from her fingertips. She unscrewed the grate in record time, pulling it into the vent before she slid out and dropped silently to the floor.
She swept her wavy black hair from her emerald eyes and surveyed the room. It was the right one; she'd memorized the blueprints well. She was made uncomfortable by the fact that the fluorescent lights were on. She preferred jobs that left her secreted in shadows. But no matter.
She had twenty seconds to get to the keypad and tap in the code she'd bought for twenty K from the security guard. If it didn't work she was going to have to make a very quick exit from this place. Stonegate prison was a whole hell of a lot harder to break out of than any lab.
She found the keypad by the door and tapped in the four-digit code. A flashing red light on the console became a steady green one, and she knew the lab was hers. Looking around, she took in the details of the room. It was like a hospital in how sterile it was; desks were lined up against the walls, each with half a dozen computers on them. On the fourth wall there was a large plastic window. Looking through it, she spotted her prize. It was a long, thin vial kept beneath a small glass dome, atop a metal podium.
'Eat your heart out, 007.' She thought to herself. She punched the same code as before into the clean room's security pad and walked in. The way she approached the podium was Indiana Jones-like in the reverence she offered her prize, and she smirked at it.
She'd hacked into the security system before arriving at the research centre. The keypads ran on a separate line, which had necessitated her buying of the code, but the cameras and clean room sensors had been easy to get into, even for a novice hacker such as herself. By all estimations, she should just be able to pry open the glass dome and swipe the vial. She was still nervous, though. There was no real way of telling if her hacking attempts had been successful.
Steeling her nerves, she swept the glass lid away and grabbed the test tube. No alarms sounded, no lights flashed. She let out a calm breath, placed the lid back on the podium and turned to leave. Her heart almost stopped as she saw for the first time the figure standing in the doorway.
"Where do you think you're going with that?" He asked.
"To my buyer," she said. "You going to try to stop me?"
He wore a white lab coat, with a loosened tie and an unironed, untucked shirt. His black pants led to a pair of beat-up old sneakers. His hair was unkempt, his face unshaved, and the glasses he wore glinted in the lab's harsh light. He had a sort-of geeky guy from 'Stargate' appeal to him, and the fact that he seemed unafraid of her made him all the more appealing, but she brushed all that aside. At the moment he was in her way, and she couldn't allow anyone to be in her way.
"Do you have any idea what you're holding there?" He asked, ignoring her threat.
"Nope. You going to tell me, Dr...?"
"Dr. Preston McGregor. And you, I assume, are Catwoman."
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As always, Preston had been working late. After all the other research staff had taken off for the night he remained, diligently working away at his computer. There was still data that needed processing, still variables that needed analysis. The feedback they'd been getting back from the drug trials had been overwhelmingly positive so far, but there was still numbers that Preston wanted to crunch. So, as always, he'd locked himself away in the lab.
At two AM he'd found himself starving and bleary-eyed. Leaving the lights on but arming the security precautions, he'd gone off to get coffee and a sandwich from the vending machines in the hall. When he'd returned, it had been to a stunning sight that had made him drop his plastic sandwich container and his Styrofoam cup.
Catwoman. Catwoman here in the lab. His heart had started pounding in a second, a fine coat of sweat growing on his skin. There she was with her dark, wavy hair spilling out down her curved back, her large breasts jutting out proudly, her arms and legs in those long, black gloves and boots. And that suit. That skin-tight purple bodysuit that shone slickly in the light.
Then he'd realized what she was going, why she was here, and any kind of attraction he was feeling was replaced with anger. How dare she? How dare she come in here and try to steal his work?
He paced over to the lab door and opened it, standing moodily in the doorframe. When she turned and looked at him, catching him with those glinting green eyes that promised something so dangerous, he felt his insides quiver again. But he pushed this feeling down, suppressed it, and slid on a mask of stony solidity. For her part, she was taking the fact that she'd been caught red-handed pretty cool.
"Where do you think you're going with that?" He asked.
"To my buyer," she said, not skipping a beat. "You going to try to stop me?"
