The Professor moved through the apartment without making a noise. It was a simple spell, but he was aware that the effect was ominous to those who saw it. Thanks to a separate spell, of course, he knew that no one was watching him. He was alone in the apartment of The Cat, the famed cat burglar. She had done a good job--for normal mortal standards--in protecting her identity. Despite her romantic trysts with heroes of the city like The Spider--or was it the Dark Defender? It was so hard to keep track--none of them knew her identity or her location.
Of course, for the Professor such things were child's play. He didn't use the spell to find her, but rather the object she had stolen from him.
He knew that she didn't know who she had stolen from. If she had known that she was stealing from the most accomplished and most dangerous sorcerer in the world, he liked to think that she would have thought twice about it. As it was, she had broken into once of his workshops, stolen a number of pretty--albeit insignificant--artifacts, and escaped into the night.
Under normal circumstances, the Professor might have simply let the theft go. It was done in ignorance. Any of the objects that he cared to have returned, he could simply cast a spell to do so. Frankly, vengeance in his game drew much too much attention. A few missing artifacts here and there was the price of anonymity.
There was, however, the matter of the security camera. She had known where the cameras were in the workshop. She could have easily avoided them. Instead, there was a single moment--a mere 16 frames of footage--where she had emerged from the darkness, a brazen look upon her face, and blown a kiss to the camera. Her form-fitting leather clung to her like it had been painted on, except for her chest where the zipper was undone--apparently intentionally--to reveal her ample cleavage. She wore her silver wig and domino mask, so identification was difficult for mortals, but she had presented herself in a sexually charged demonstration as a calling card. It was meant to be playful, teasing, and arousing.
As much as the Professor hated to admit it, it had triggered something in him.
Maybe it was the brazenness of it. Maybe it was the skill by which she acted, compared to the near senselessness of her display. Maybe it was some sense of petty revenge for the act of stealing. Maybe it was the playfulness of the kiss. But the Professor knew that above all the thing that most intrigued him, the thing that kept him reviewing the security footage long after new details could be revealed by it, was her great tits. The Professor had sparred with gods, cast magic that rewrote the fundamentals of the universe, and had made himself immortal since before this generation was a glint in their ancestor's eyes... but he was still human and the idea of motorboating those fantastic tits was very appealing to him.
So he had taken the trouble of casting the spell to find the missing object. He had performed the magic to ensure that The Cat was gone from her sprawling apartment. Then, he had simply teleported himself inside.
She had security systems in place, but the laser grids didn't perceive him. The cameras didn't record him. The heartbeat sensors detected nothing. All this magic was performed with almost no thought at all from the Professor. They were trivial accomplishments.
As he wandered through the apartment, he took note of the various displays. Priceless artifacts were on display where nobody except The Cat would see them. Surely, she could have retired on the proceeds after selling the treasures on the black market, but she preferred to keep the best for herself. The Professor sensed deep-seeded self esteem issues offset by the collection of material goods, but he wasn't exactly here for a professional diagnosis.
Of course, the Professor could have simply acquired The Cat--mind, body, and even soul if he desired it (most of the time, he didn't. A soul was a severely overrated prize, considerably less useful that one might think). But he had lived a hundred lifetimes and he found the game amplified the reward. He had surveyed the reward, of course. The sixteen frames of it had filled his fantasies for the last night. Now, he had only to play the game to earn it.
The Professor thought about the brazenness once more. She dressed provocatively and with intention. Her body was on display for her entire crime. Surely it wasn't mere exhibitionism. That could have been met through more traditional means. This was weaponization. This was in case she ran across a man in the crime. This was distraction and redirection. A man finding a cat burglar would arrest her. A man finding an alluring woman, however, would be more amiable.
The Professor felt a twinge of anger inside him. Wasn't it the same sort of force that had brought him here? The allure of those fantastic tits had brought him after her with fantasies of sexual glory. For all the magic that he had learned, earned, and strived for, a woman with fantastic tits was given baser magics that warped men around her to her will. She had to see men as dumb, easy to manipulate through sex, and existing primarily for her to play with.
The Professor suddenly knew how to claim his prize. For his pleasure, he could not simply be another man who succumbed to her whims. She had to be shown powers greater than her own. She had to know what it was like to be struck dumb by sexual desire. And only once she was in her deepest, basest need... only then would he take his prize.
The Professor turned to the objects around him. There were works of art, ancient artifacts, and even a few lower-power magical items. Let these be the tools by which he brought her low.
The Professor envisioned one of the books within his library, swirled his hands in an arc, and summoned it to him. It appeared in his hands with a small puff of smoke. He found the proper spells, and began casting them. To the magic-trained eye, there was a faint glow to the priceless artifacts. Normal mortals would detect nothing. He summoned all the lust he had felt over those sixteen frames of camera footage and channeled it into the spells. He took the anger he felt at being manipulated by her sexualization, just like any mere mortal. He didn't hold back on the spells. He added a few twists of his own design.
When he was done, the entire room seemed to glow with magical energy. He thought again about the trophies, on display for her only. They would be the perfect conduit to focus the magic on her only. And when it was all done, she would be his own little trophy--for him only.
Satisfied that his work was done, the Professor teleported out of the apartment and back to his mansion, tightly packed in a pocket universe between 39th Street and 40th Street. He thought about his various interactions with the various so-called Superheroes in their world. Sometimes they caught whiff of his magics and attempted to apply the puny laws of mortals to him. Thanks to his magics, none of them actually recalled fighting and losing to him. He let them go deal with the various perceived threats. They were great maintainers of the world, if annoying at times. This would be the first time that he was actually interacting with them in a more permanent manner.
The Professor took another glance at the sixteen frames of security footage. He admired her exposed chest just once more, then closed the footage. It would be worth the interaction with the outside world for this prize. For now, however, he simply had to wait.
---
The Cat slinked into her apartment, descending through the secret door in the ceiling. She never used the front door, just in case her apartment had been compromised. A small screen near the secret entrance displayed the security updates. No trespassers, no abnormalities. Safe.
The Cat pressed a button on the wall and the apartment lights rose. The various artifacts and art works each had display lighting--self-installed, of course--which lit up brilliantly. There was something magical to her every time this happened. Hundreds of millions of dollars of art, history, and magic, here for her own amusement only. She didn't need the money, of course, and her private collection entertained a part of her that the dollars wouldn't have.
She pressed her hands on the small of her back and stretched. She had held herself between two rafters for almost an hour, while a security guard had worked out a marital dispute on his phone below her. She could have gone longer, of course, but she was still sore. She had been tempted to drop down and simply bat her eyes at the man--based on the conversation she overheard, the man was very agreeable to flirting with those he shouldn't--but it was always safer to simply not be seen.
The Cat stripped, undoing her front zipper down the rest of the way. She peeled the leather back from her skin and dropped it in her bedroom. She put on a nightie--a silkie thing that she had first worn for her super-boy-toy's amusement and then found it was very comfortable--and some underwear.
As she crossed her living room, headed for her bar, she found that the silk material brushed on her nipples in a very specific way. She was reminded of her super-boy-toy's eager tongue greedily devouring her chest. Ordinarily, she had been annoyed at the selfishness he had approached her body with--for a superhero who spent his life in service of others, he was very quick to revert to a juvenile, sex-crazed frat boy when her top came off--but now the thought made her flush.
It had been a while, of course. The Cat's super-boy-toy had found out that she hadn't stopped stealing, as she had promised. In fact, a few items from the super-team-up's lair had found their way into her possession. It had been a big fight, they had broken up, and it had been almost a year since The Cat had felt the eager, greedy tongue on her chest. She hadn't thought that this would be a memory she missed.
Was it cold in here? Her nipples were stiff, amplifying the feel of the silk on them. She shifted the nightie, trying to find the position necessary to stop the feeling. No position was quite right, and to her alarm she found that her underwear was also starting to rub against her in a not-unpleasant way.
Distraction. That's what The Cat needed. She pushed hard, trying to remove the thoughts from her brain, and marched to the bar. She had some of the finest liquors in the world, stolen from some of the most exclusive collections. She selected a fine whiskey, poured herself a glass, and took a long sip. It was delicious, with the aged taste perfected over decades in a barrel. It was one of her favorites, but even the delectable taste couldn't distract her from the awareness of her own body.
