Getting onto the grounds of Wayne Manor was sinfully easy. All Selina had to do was slip between the bars of the gate. She wasn't even wearing a corset.
Oh, she knew that Wayne Manor was even better guarded than the Hall of Justice, the whole thing an auxiliary line of defense for the Batcave underneath, a sort of early warning system that Bruce could and would sacrifice if he pleased. But that was alright. She'd done this to get Bruce's attention. There was a reason she'd worn a particularly tight catsuit tonight, and it wasn't just to get through the bars. Her high-heeled boots swept through the crisply manicured grass of the lawn, glistening wet with the dew of the morning that hadn't arrived yet.
There were floodlights illuminating the façade of the manor, as well as the mighty oak trees that pillared the landscape. Selina could've evaded them easily, sticking to the shadows, but she enjoyed letting them cast her silhouette about, a shade with wild devil's ears. She stopped flouncing toward the house when she felt Bruce's eyes on her.
Not one curtain had been disarrayed, she couldn't catch a glimpse of him, but she knew he was watching her. He could ninja around all he liked, hiding himself from her, but she always knew when her little show had an audience or was for her own benefit.
At her neck, an O-ring hung like the tag on a collar. It was meant to provide a tempting, distracting target, teasing any adversary with the knowledge that if he just got a hold of it and tugged, he would be graced with the sight of what hid underneath her thin leathers—usually so sheer that he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. Bruce was the only man who'd shown no sign of being tempted. Which was maybe why he was the only one who'd actually managed to grab the brass ring.
She did it for him. For him, and only for him. Moving only the very tip, the clawed tip, of her forefinger, Selina hooked the O-ring that crowned her zipper. Her hold was so precarious that if she'd pulled any harder, her grip would've slipped off—and if the weight she put on the zipper was any less, it wouldn't have budged. But before Bruce's eyes, the part in her zipper slid down the middle of her body, down her throat, between her breasts, over her belly. Replacing the skintight black of her neat, narrow leathers with the dusky suppleness of her bare skin, a swath of it rolling from the lips beneath her cowl to the toned muscles above her groin.
Her breasts were bigger than Harley's, but smaller than Ivy's—C-cups, with a boastful roundness and pertness that seemed to swell against her parted leathers, pushing her catsuit out to make the gulf within her cleavage yawn open. The vee of exposed skin was given a very wide mouth, her suit practically slipping from her shoulders as it struggled to contain her ripe breasts. Selina gave a little meow. She wore no bra.
Bruce took a long look at her. She could tell. Selina felt kind of funny standing there. She had never known the feeling except once before, when she knew she was going to do everything she was told to.
Do a dance for me, she heard, like Bruce was whispering in her ear, and she strutted forward, taking her whip from her thigh and flashing it around to either side of her. Ear-splitting whipcracks struck the landscape, rolling out into the night, before Selina turned it on herself, cracking the whip so it slid around her throat, the girthy handle now hanging from her like a noose.
Now take off your clothes. Do it slowly. I want to enjoy every inch of you.
With her hands free, she dug her claws into the loose folds of her costume and she ripped and she tore, peeling away the material down to her elbow-length gloves and her thigh-high boots. Her beautiful breasts sprang out with the first cut; they were glad to be released from the tight confines of her suit.
Her café au lait skin gleamed, sweat in rivulets like veins of silver running through the rich soil of her body, the hard granite of her musculature. She ran a gloved finger through the trail of sweat on her abs and licked it clean. She liked her own taste, but she thought she would like Bruce's taste even better. Wasn't that always the way?
She was standing in front of Bruce in nothing but her boots and gloves. She could feel the shivers going up her spine as he enjoyed her body. Now her cowl. She slipped the goggles off with one finger, letting them dangle at her side as she used her other hand to undo the chinstrap and slick the cowl away from her pageboy haircut.
"The boots kind of take away from the view," Bruce said. He was behind her. Fucking ninjas...
She turned around, smiling proudly, her hands clasped behind her back as she displayed herself without an ounce of shame, modesty, or humility.
"I fuck with my boots on," she told him.
"Unless I take them off you."
"Oh, what's the matter, Bruce? Afraid I'll sneak away with the family jewels in them?" Selina took hold of her whiphandle again. It came loose from her neck in one tug. She gave it another flourish of a swing and the lash wrapped around her waist, the coarse leather feeling divine on her bare skin. "You should be more worried about my claws."
"Come on over here," he said, "and take my clothes off."
Selina was suddenly sure that she was going to get well-fucked this evening. She peeled his handsome body out of his clothes. She could feel herself shivering every time her fingers brushed against his skin. She could well understand why both Harley and Ivy had allowed him to fuck.
Bruce was the kind of man that all girls dream about. Tall, muscular, well-tanned, and very handsome. And more than that, he was a strong man, a man who knew what he wanted and went after it. He was the kind of guy that told girls how to act, and what he wanted from them. And confidence - there wasn't a person more confident than Bruce was. And last, but certainly not least, of course, he had a huge cock! When Selina saw his enormous tool, she just couldn't refuse him a single goddamn thing.
Which made it all the more fun when she did.
"You know my rules," Bruce said. "No more crime. No more stealing."
"So you want to control me?" Selina asked, looping the whip over her head now. Pulling it down so the base of the lash ran across her face. "Tell me what to do?"
"Yes."
She smiled at him. "If you marry me, I'll let you try."
"If you break the law again, I'll punish you."
"Mmmm... am I not supposed to enjoy that?"
"We'll see," he told her. "Now play with my cock. Show me what a whore you are."
She looked down at his swollen prick. It wasn't quite hard but it was already bigger than she'd imagined it would be. She felt her heart pounding a little faster as she stared at it. She put her hand on his throbbing cock.
"That's it," he said. "Play with it. Love it!"
She wrapped her fingers around his cock and started moving her hand up and down. His cock immediately got hard all the way. She moved her fingers down to his balls and stroked them. They felt so hot and hard.
"You sweet little bitch," he told her. "I've wanted to fuck you for a long time."
"You're married to Harley and Ivy," Selina replied. "I'm not surprised."
He grabbed her by the back of her head and jerked her face down to his cock. Selina could smell his strong musk. She pushed her tongue against the head of his prick and tasted his salty pre-cum. She lifted her head and brushed her hair back from her face.
