Black Cat Got Your Tongue

The characters in the following story are my own, created for my story "The Adventures of Ultra Woman and Mega Girl." I thought it might be fun to take them out for a bit more fun.

*

"Damn, who could that be at this hour?" Abigail Stone thought as the phone by her bed rang mercilessly.

Normally a phone call, even at this late hour, wouldn't have bothered her that much. The problem with answering this particular call was that Abigail was practically naked and spread face down on her bed, weighed down by one hundred and ninety-two pounds of manhood. Not counting, of course, the six inches of which was buried deep between her legs.

As was her usual Friday night practice, Abigail, or Abby as she normally went by, had met her boyfriend, Sergeant Nick Hamilton for dinner and a movie. Tonight, as had become a pattern the last few weeks, the movie had been skipped in favor of a rumble under the sheets.

There were times, this being one of them, when Abby thought she might have acted a little too hastily when she finally gave in to Nick and invited him to her bed. The twenty-five-year-old hadn't been a virgin the night of that invite, but of course she didn't tell him that. Even in this new modern world of 1947, it was still important for a man to think he'd been the first. Still, it would've been nice if he'd come up with a ring on her finger beforehand to at least make it more respectable.

Those thoughts faded from her mind in an instant when she realized the phone had stopped in mid-ring. The caller had either given up or ...

"Oh no, Nick!" Abby thought in a panic as she looked back over her shoulder and saw her lover had answered the phone. "I'm not that modern that I want to explain what a man is doing in my apartment this late at night, answering my phone!"

"Sergeant Hamilton," Nick answered the phone, not even bothering to pull out of Abby.

Unable to get out from under the large man, Abby could only watch as Nick listened silently to the call, nodding his head a few time and then finally saying he'd be right there.

"That was the desk sergeant at the Twenty-eighth Precinct," Nick said as he finally climbed off Abby. "The Black Cat has stolen the Star of China from the Metro Museum. The Chief wants me down there right away."

Abby sat up and looked at Nick with a stunned expression, barely hearing what he had said. All she could think of at this moment was that the people downtown had known exactly where to call him. He'd told his fellow police officers in whose apartment he was spending the night. They didn't have to be detectives to know what they were doing. Suddenly, Abby didn't feel so modern after all.

"Gotta go babe," the six foot two blond said as he zippered up his pants, "duty calls."

"That's it?" Abby said, now standing in the center of the bedroom, her well proportioned figure garbed in only stockings and a black garter belt. "Duty calls?"

"Hey, what can I say?" Nick said as he checked his 38 special before putting it back into his holster. "We'll have to make it another night."

Then, without another thought about her, Nick Hamilton was out the door.

"Damn him!" Abby cursed as she stared at the back of her apartment door.

The five foot seven brunette wasn't sure if she was angrier with Nick because he had left her unfulfilled or that he treated their relationship so casually as to make it an open secret. She had met Sergeant Nick Hamilton almost a year ago, after she had been assigned to the child welfare section of the Policewomen's Bureau. She had soon found herself taken by his rugged good looks and charm.

The Sergeant, on the other hand, had been immediately mesmerized by her impressive bust the first time he had seen her. Remembering the day they met, Abby cupped her breasts, thinking how men found them so fascinating. She knew they had opened many doors in her life, even the one that had led her to the Policewomen's Bureau.

Ever since she was a child, listening to the stories her father told at his knees, Abby Stone had wanted to follow in what was considered the family business. Her great grandfather had been a Texas Ranger. His son, the Marshal who tracked down Bad Billy Brown and the Walton Brothers. After the family had moved to the West Coast, her father and two of his brothers had become members of the Coast City Police, all rising to the rank of Lieutenant or better. Four of their sons now also served on the Force in various positions. It seemed only natural that she could do so as well. Or so she thought.

When Abby had first broached the idea of applying for a job on the Police Force, soon after her eighteenth birthday, both her Father and her Uncles had regarded the idea as laughable. She would be wasting her time, they'd told her. The Police Department only hired a small handful of women, usually old matrons to handle those few tasks that would be inappropriate for a man.

"Better you find yourself a nice job as a secretary or something," her father has advised her. "Something to keep you busy until the right man comes along. Just leave the business of crime fighting to the men."

After being turned down twice by the department, Abby had reluctantly done just that. That was until a manpower shortage during the war had forced the department to open the way for the recruitment of more women. Police officers carried a deferment from the draft, but enough of them had enlisted to cause a small shortage.

The Chief of Police decided to solve what he perceived as a temporary problem by increasing the size and scope of the Policewomen's Bureau. This would prevent a swelling of the ranks in the department when all those police officers turned soldiers and sailors eventually came home. A law put on the books after Pearl Harbor guaranteed them their jobs back with no loss of seniority or pay.

Members of the Policewomen's Bureau were paid less than Policemen and were only allowed to handle certain clerical and non- operational tasks. Still they were useful filling positions that would free up male officers for the real job of keeping the streets safe.

Applying for one of the coveted positions as soon as they were announced, Abby found that there was plenty of competition. The odds of getting one of the limited openings increased against her when her father, displeased with her decision, refused to use his influence on her behalf. He wouldn't stand in her way, he'd said, but neither would he use his influence to help.

On the day of her interview, Abby made a discovery that she knew would help her. Almost to a woman, all of the other applicants were what could only be described as plain looking. At least as compared to Abby. When she sat down for her interview with a Captain and two Lieutenants, she knew they were more interested in her chest than her office skills. They reasoned, she figured, that if they now had to put up with a woman in their previously all male domains, then it might as well be one who was nice to look at.

The newly hired Policewoman justified her use of her sexual attraction to get on the Force by promising herself that she would advance after that on the quality of her merits rather than the size of her boobs. It was a promise that she would find hard to keep.

The main reason for that inability to advance was that there didn't seem to be any second level for Policewomen. Issued a badge and even a gun, they had absolutely no patrol duties. For the first two years, Abby had been assigned as an assistant to the desk sergeant at the First Precinct, Police Headquarters itself. The work was hardly difficult, given the secretarial skills she had developed on her prior job. Still there was a certain fascination in being so close to the action and playing what she believed was a vital part.

That was until the war ended, and as the old song said, Johnny came marching home. In her case, Johnny turned out to be Officer Michael Patrick Mooney, a ten-year veteran who was quite anxious to get back to his old job. A position that happened to be filled at the moment by one Abigail Stone. Hardly unique in her situation, Abby had been called into her Captain's office at the end of watch one Friday afternoon and politely informed that Officer Mooney would be returning to his old job come Monday morning.

"In fact, many of the women hired under the emergency expansion are being let go," he'd told her, "but that's not something you have to worry your pretty head about. In appreciation for all your family has given to the department, we've made sure a position has been reserved for you in the child welfare section."

Abby had been crushed. In the blink of an eye, she had gone from being a vital cog in the war on crime to being responsible to changing dirty diapers and baby-sitting kids passing under the responsibilities of the child welfare agencies. When she got home, her father had given her one of those "I told you so" looks, but thankfully didn't voice it as well.

One uneventful day seemed to just blend into another after that. That was until the warm sunny afternoon that she found herself standing in the same shoes that had been worn by three generations of Stones before her.

Abby had decided to walk home as it was such a nice day. She was headed down Lucas Boulevard when the alarm of the First National Bank filled the air. Drawn across the street by the disturbance, she saw two men racing out of the bank, bags of money in their hands. Without a second thought, she drew her firearm and called out for them to stop.

"Police!" Abby yelled as she assumed a firing position just beyond the curb. "Drop your weapons and put your hands up!"

The closest thief brought up his own pistol and fired, the bullet whizzing past Abby's head. Standing her ground, she returned fire, a single shot hitting her assailant dead center.

The other thief had jerked his head around, taking in the woman with a gun pointed at him and the body of his partner on the pavement, a large pool of blood spreading out beneath it. Not filled with a desire to join him, he opened his hands and lifted them into the air, letting both his weapon and the bag of money fall to the ground.

The press had a field day with the Hero Lady Cop. The Mayor himself had pinned the medal on her dress uniform with all her relatives on the force standing behind her on the platform. The Chief of Police said in his own speech that she was a credit to the traditions of her family. Beaming with pride, Abby knew that things were going to be different from now on.

For the next few weeks, things were indeed different. The hero of the hour found herself giving speeches to one civic group after another. There was even some talk of having her join the actual Police Force itself. Abby was overjoyed as her dream seemed within her grasp.

Then the winds of interest changed once more and all such talk faded away. The requests for speeches stopped, as did the instances she was asked her opinion. The following week, less than two months since the bank robbery, Abby found herself back at the child welfare section. It was as if she had never left.

On that night, Abby Stone came to a life changing decision. If the department wouldn't let her fight crime as her forefathers had, well then she'd do it without their help. Aside from her Father's stories of family history, Abby had also grown up on tales of other heroes. Zorro, the Scarlet Pimpernel and most recently on the radio, the Lone Ranger. Masked heroes who had wielded their own brand of justice. That all of these adventurers had been men didn't bother the twenty-three-year-old in the least.

Abby took a quick shower, thankful that her renovated apartment was one of the few in the building to have one. It wouldn't do for her to go out with the scent of their aborted coupling still clinging to her. Stepping back into her bedroom, her skin still damp, she unlocked an old handmade closet that had once belonged to her grandmother. From within it, she pulled out a specially designed bra.

When she had first joined the department, Abby had considered the idea that her own particular dimensions might impair some physical activities that might be demanded of her. That was in the days when she foolishly thought the Department had any intention of letting her actually fight crime on the front lines. The well-endowed women had sought out the help of Tony Pastore, the nice old man who ran a neighborhood shop that specialized in bras and undergarments.

She explained her problem to the sixty-six-year-old and he promised that he could solve it. After working on it for almost a week, he came up with a support bra that was almost as lightweight as it was supportive.

Next out of the closet came a red costume, the tunic of which bore a passing resemblance to the navy blue uniform Abby normally wore as a Policewoman. In fact, the design for the costume had begun with one of her old uniforms.

When she had first decided to fight crime on her own, Abby had again sought out the help of the old man who had come to think of her as an adopted granddaughter. Tony Pastore's still talented fingers had turned a simple sketch Abby had made into reality.

The tunic was double breasted with gold and white trim. A matching skirt was also red, with the same trim, the boots that completed the outfit were red as well.

The last item out of the closet was a mask that was sort of a half cowl. It covered her face but let her hair hang free. Abby stepped over to the large dressing mirror to check her appearance. She smiled, happy at the result. The image that looked back at her was not that of an unappreciated and ill-used Policewoman, but rather the adventurer the press had named Ultra Woman.

"Well, Black Cat," she said to her reflection, "this time you've gone too far."

The fire escape out of Abby's bedroom window led up to the roof. Soon after she had taken the apartment, she had discovered that she had the only apartment that faced the sealed off alley between buildings. It made for a perfect and private route out of her top floor rooms. After a quick trip up the metal ladder, it was a quick two rooftops to the Kirby and Lee Garage. Hidden in a sealed off section of the garage was the sleek black racer know as the Ultra-Glider. Less than five minutes after leaving her apartment, Ultra Woman was on the prowl.

Lifting the small microphone under the dash, Ultra Woman sent a high frequency message letting her partner Mega Girl know she was in the field and her destination. At the same time, she activated a small electronic homing device in her belt buckle. Abby didn't pretend to understand half the gear Mega Girl had set them up with, she only knew that they all seemed to work flawlessly. The Ultra-Link, as it had been christened, was a homing device, would allow each of them to find the other, anywhere in a twenty-mile radius.

As the high powered Ultra-Glider raced through the dark and for the most part empty streets, Ultra Woman couldn't help but think how much her life behind the mask had changed over the last year. Originally, Ultra Woman patrolled the city using an old 1938 Ford that Abby had rescued from the police impound yard. The Sergeant who ran the yard was more than willing to lose the paperwork on a car headed for the scrap heap in order to give much needed transportation for the daughter of an old friend. Another friend, one who had more ulterior motives, had volunteered to restore the car to working condition. He'd succeeded in that, but not in obtaining her thanks in the form he'd hoped for.

Her weapons of crimefighting were simply those she had been taught to use all of her life. Carl Stone might not have wanted his daughter to live the life he envisioned for her brothers, but he still saw to it that she spent just as many hours learning self-defense. In her early teens, it was obvious to all the men in her family that Abby was growing into a body that would draw men like moths to a flame. Not all of these men would have honorable intentions and they wouldn't always be there to protect her.

Aside from that, there was little in the way of specialized equipment. At least nothing that hadn't come her way in the form of misplaced or even misappropriated police supplies. As a result, a year into her career and all she had little to show for her efforts were a few minor accomplishments and some good press. Most of which had come from a cynical press that was more curious than impressed.

It was at one of those press functions a year ago, a carefully staged event to promote Coast City tourism, that Ultra Woman had first met Priscilla Ann Wellington. Only recently eighteen, Priscilla was the daughter of John and Cynthia Wellington and heir to the Wellington Electronics fortune. Five six and a gifted athlete as well, she was already a millionairess the day she was born. In addition, the strawberry blond had also inherited her grandfather's genius with gadgets.

Fascinated by the mystery woman since the day Ultra Woman had first appeared; Priscilla had used her family name to arrange both an invitation to the event as well as a personal introduction to her idol. Ultra Woman was slightly embarrassed by the almost outright adulation the young girl displayed. In fact, it took all of her self-control not to laugh when Priscilla stated her desire to help with the fight against crime.

Before the Crimefighter could politely turn her down and give her the standard "you can best help by growing up to be a good citizen" speech, the girl had already started her own speech about all these wonderful inventions she was working on and what a big help they could be. Ultra Woman was actually relieved when a reporter she normally detested interrupted and pulled her away.

Ultra Woman might not have been so quick to dismiss the girl if she'd known that Priscilla was a child prodigy who held a college degree when most girls her age were happy with a high school diploma. Or the fact that Priscilla wasn't the type who was used to taking no for an answer. On her own, the teenager set out to prove both her worth and that of her ideas.

Two weeks later, there was a highly publicized threat on the life of Mayor Roger Browning following the conviction of Boss Thorne, the head of the local crime family. In an act designed more to sell newspapers than insure the Mayor's protection, the Coast City Sun had called on Ultra Woman to safeguard the Mayor. Despite having no idea on how to do it, Abby had accepted the challenge.

Standing besides Mayor Browning at the opening of the new Civic Center a day later was a highly visible, if ineffective, bodyguard. Somewhat out of her league, Ultra Woman gave no notice to the two men slowly moving through the crowd. In her defense, neither did the Police pay much attention to the pair who were working their way closer and closer to the Mayor.

It was only at the last moment, just before the would be assassins could draw their weapons, that a young girl in a home made costume suddenly leapt from the parapet of the Civic Center and caught everyone's attention. In her hand, the red and white clad girl held a small, unknown electronic device.

"Stop those men," she cried out as she hit the ground, "they're going to shoot the Mayor!"

Taking the beeping device in her hand to be a possible bomb, the Police rushed the new arrival instead. Only Ultra Woman followed the girl's command and rushed the two men, just as their guns came into view.

The hard impact of Ultra Woman's reinforced baton off the side of the closest gunman's head sent him tumbling to the ground. A hard right cross took care of the other, but not before he got off one shot, which thankfully went wild.

The loud single gunshot split the air, grabbing everyone's immediate attention. In the deafening silence that followed, a single voice was heard. The voice of an unknown bystander who gave birth to a new legend.