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Selina hated New York.
It hadn’t been so bad once. No worse than Coast City or Keystone, last time she’d been there. But that had been back when she was still a teenager. It’d changed since then. Most people blamed Giuliana, but Selina personally held Disney accountable. Them and six other megacorporations. Couldn’t make money on a city with personality. They had to turn it into an oversized playground – a McDonald’s on every corner, an Apple billboard on every roof.
Give her Gotham any day.
Sure, Gotham was a hellhole, but it was a hellhole withclass. The soaring cathedrals, the intricately carved gargoyles, the good old-fashioned brick and masonry—no wonder people still lived there after all the shit that got dumped on it. Living there, you felt like you were in the last bastion of individuality in a world of conformity. Like every Gothamite was in it together, holding out against everyone who wanted things to be safe and rounded. Hell, they threw all their bad guys into a Victorian-era insane asylum. If that wasn’t commitment to a gimmick, Selina didn’t know what was.
But needs must. Selina had been tracking the Statuette of Bast for ten years; the jewel-encrusted ditty was worth millions and it hadn’t been stateside in a decade. And whoever owned it was smart enough not to send a cat-themed museum piece to Gotham. So, road trip. She went to New York, rented an apartment at a cost that used up her entire cut from the Monte Carlo job, and prepared. Soon, that cute little baby would be all hers. She’d hang onto it for a few years, until the heat had died down or she got bored of it (whichever came first), and then sell it. Take a little cut for herself, give some money to the homeless shelter in the East End, and give the rest to her favorite wildlife refuge in Kenya. A big win all around.
Well, except for the good people of New York that wanted to see a sculpture of an Egyptian goddess. But since she’d come to the Big Apple, two dozen of them had called her a dyke, just because she had her hair cut short.
Fuck ’em.
Felicia loved New York. Had the T-shirt to prove it. It was justfun. Something like thirty superheroes in residence, and God knew how many supervillains—there was always something happening. Some plot to destroy the world, some Avengers going out for schwarma… who knew? And with all those heroes around, a girl felt safe walking the streets at night. Of course, Felicia always felt safe, considering that she’d once cracked a man’s skull with a pen, but getting ‘rescued’ by a caped do-gooder was a great way to meet men. Or whatever.
She couldn’t see herself living anywhere else, even Gotham. Sure, with only seven superheroes around—and them only people who dressed up as bats and had seen too many kung-fu movies—it was easy to pull a job there. But at the price of living inGotham! Even the playgrounds had little friezes of demons and shit. Talk about trying too hard. It was like the whole city was going through a goth phase.
Thankfully, there was no need for Felicia to set foot in that craphole. She’d read the paper that morning and seen that the Statuette of Bast was being exhibited at the Jonheim Marcus Museum of History, a new museum that was just getting itself sorted out. This probably wouldn’t help them out much. But cat-god, Black Cat, how could Felicia resist?
Besides, she might run into Peter. Or Matt. Or both.
You had to love the nightlife in New York City.
The museum had good security, Selina would give it that. If she’d been ten years younger, it probably would’ve kept her out. But she was edging up on her forties by now, and if her only consolation was that she’d gotten really good at breaking into places… well, she couldn’t go around wasting that, now could she?
It’d been as simple as buying a ticket. She’d taken the tour, and then wandered at leisure for a couple hours—getting a very nice comment that she looked like Audrey Hepburn in her sun hat and Persol sunglasses. She’d thanked the commenter profusely; obviously not a native, too polite. One of the Midwestern tourists that New York so despised. Of course: couldn’t have someone displaying common courtesy in the City That Never Slept. The rest of the country might have to stop calling them ‘the mean streets of New York.’
Museum security, clever boys, had given out tickets with micro-dot RFID transponders in them. They could track everyone inside the museum, and see if anyone wasn’t who they claimed to be. Still, they could be fooled. After striking up a conversation with her fellow Hepburn fan, Selina had given him a friendly hug—and “accidentally” slipped her ticket into his back pocket. When he left, the system would register that she’d left with him… in his wildest dreams, perhaps. Meanwhile, Selina would be behind a duct in the bathroom, waiting for the museum to close.
The only downside was having to listen to dozens of conversations between New York women. But then, that was why iPods had been invented.
And it wasn’t like Selina had another option.
With her mask off, a coat over her costume, and a nice bonnet, Felicia attracted no attention as she walked around the museum four times, scoping it out. She knew that she would’ve been even less conspicuous if she’d been walking a dog, but—theme.
After four passes, she’d seen all she needed to see. Ducking into an alleyway (one free of perverts, thanks to a massacre by the Punisher last month. Felicia loved New York), Felicia fully changed into her costume. As she did so, she gauged the odds of running into Peter—and remembered that she’d heard something about him being off with the Avengers, fighting Graviton.
With a sigh, Felicia zipped her costume up to the neck. No point in having a big target (two of them, even) flashing about in the dark when there’d be no one to appreciate her. With her luck, she’d probably run into Northstar.
Stupid Graviton.
A little parkour later and she’d made it to the roof. From there, one jump with her enhanced leg muscles left her atop the museum. Nice and clean—Gotham probably had scads of pigeon droppings for ‘atmosphere’.
Felicia made her way to the skylight. It was glowing with alarms. But if it weren’t, there’d be no fun. Flipping her wrist-computer out from where it was stealthily, and fashionably, hidden in her fur trim, Felicia set to hacking the museum’s systems. She may not have known a lot about computers, but she did know a lot about computer programmers, and the smaller the T-shirts she wore around them, the better the worms they made for her tended to work.
In a matter of seconds, skylight security was offline.
Felicia smiled. God, imagine how long this would’ve taken in the old days.
Back in her leather, Selina felt more like she’d taken off a second skin, instead of putting one on. Outside the suit, she was a whore, a criminal, a dozen other names she didn’t dispute but didn’t particularlylike. Inside, she wasCatwoman—something Jungian and iconic and oh, Bats probably had five words for it. She just knew that she liked it. Liked the way she walked, slinking through the museum’s darkened corridors.
A week ago, she’d bribed an official to schedule some server downtime for now. So the cameras were recording, but not to the security room. When they reviewed the tapes later, they’d see her sashaying around like she owned the place. And tonight, she did.
She’d also spent the past few weeks befriending a security guard in a cancer survivors support group. His wife had it, and he needed a friend. Selina felt like shit playing on his trust, but she’d get over it. A girl did what she needed to do to survive, even in Disney New York. And he’d probably gotten more out of having a shoulder to cry on than she had.
After all, all she’d taken was one little security code.
Boop-beep-boop, and the metal shutters that cut off the ‘Native American beads’ portion of the museum from the ‘my, how expensive’ part were open for her. And thenthere… there was the Statuette. Lovely little thing. Her favorite black kitty sitting tall and proud, slender and regal and fluid, the size of a scepter, polished to a black onyx sheen and encrusted with jewels. Even if the earshadbeen broken off by some unappreciative, unprofessional grave robbers in the past, it was still a thing of beauty.
Of course, the only reason Selina could see it right now was because of her goggles’ magnification. In the real world, there was thirty feet between her and her prize. As well as laser tripwires, tamper-proof glass, a weight sensor, and a security guard whose rounds would bring him here in another thirty minutes.
In the old days, back when she had more purple spandex than sense, Selina might’ve tried doing a gymnastics routine through the lasers. But she was getting old, so why bother?
Carefully, she slipped a few of her lovely little mirrors out of her belt. It would be a few minutes’ work to neutralize all the lasers, but still, the guard wouldn’t come around for half an hour.
All the time in the world.
With her lovely derriere through the skylight, it was a simple matter for Felicia to crawl along the ceiling. Retractable claws on her gloves and boots. An idea she’d gotten from Peter. If he would only give up the Great Responsibility spiel, what a second-story man he’d make…
Not to mention a backdoor man. God, she was getting worked up. Stealing alwayshadexcited her. She checked her phone, and her Supergroupie app showed that Iron Man was flying around in the area. Might he stop by? She’d always wondered if that old dog Tony had built a fly into his suit.
Felicia pulled her zipper down to her clavicle, just in case. And then down a little further, just to be sure.
She made her way to the Egyptian room. Lots of guards, lots of lasers. But the guards didn’t look up, and the lasers were no match for the honey diet Felicia had been on.
What was she forgetting? Oh yeah, escape route.
Felicia figured that she’d just go back the way she came in—maybe a little faster, if a do-gooder decided to do good in her direction. So she flicked a few of her cat’s claws onto the security cameras, reprogramming them to loop footage. A nice clean getaway, just in case.
Who said that she didn’t plan ahead? She had condoms in her belt and everything.
She made it into the Egyptian room. A bunch of dusty old coffins and sepia-toned pictures of guys in pith hats, mostly. What a horrible place for her Bastille to spend the rest of its days. It would look much better in her game room.
But oh, what was this?
Leather catsuit like they were holding auditions forThe Matrix, a whip just in case anyone wasn’t getting the all-points bulletin that ‘I’m sexy!’, goggles and a big D-ring on the zipper for thatElsa, She-Wolf of the SS vibe… she’d fit right in on a Gotham tourism poster.
Oh.
Oh, no way.
It was Catwoman, that old bitch who every wag thoughtshe was ripping off. Like the idea of a cat burglar with acat theme was so original. She was just in it for the puns. Christ! Dressing up a little kid in red and green and sending him to fight serial killers—thatwas original.
And she even had some pathetic obsession with Batman—definitely hadn’t gone anywhere, seeing as the guy had some Brokeback Mountain thing with his clown. WhileFelicia had gotten rimmed byher superhero. Did no one realize this?
Well, no way Felicia was letting some dominatrix get her loot. She scurried along the ceiling to hold herself over the exhibit, quickly pulling ziplines out of her costume to rig on the lights. Then, it was just a matter of descending…
The classics never die,Selina thought as she cut a neat little hole in the statuette’s glass case with her claws. Nice security, but it didn’t work once she’d bypassed the circuit built into the base of the exhibit’s pedestal.
During her last run-in with that nosy reporter from the Daily Planet, she’d lifted a press pass and used it to, what else, pass herself off as a DP reporter (careful, Selina thought; she was getting a little old to be making double entendres every thirty seconds. That had worn thin two Robins ago). One little interview with the museum’s curator, and she’d found out the exact weight of her sweet little baby. One lead weight later, and it was in her hands.
Finally, at last,her precious baby…
And then it was out of her hands, grabbed by a slender fur-trimmed arm and hauled through the net of lasers above the exhibit. Selina looked up, and immediately found herself looking down the cleavage of an amazing pair of breasts. Large but firm, even when they obviously lacked the support of a bra, with proud tips visible through the thin layer of black Lycra that covered it. Some kind of catsuit—the kind that was more body paint than Selina’s body armor.
Selina looked up further. A face—beautiful, yeah, but also trying way too hard. Garish make-up, with blue eyeshadow evident even through the domino mask. High cheekbones. Red lips that put thesuckin succulent. Rhinoplasty nose. She might’ve been pretty back when she was in high school, but now she came off like Megan Fox—and with about as much plastic as a Megan Fox toy.
And more importantly, she had Selina’s loot.
“I’ll just take that off your hands,” Black Cat said in anaww-geez ‘sultry’ tone as her de-cel line reeled her up. Hey, lady, you don’t need to run a phone sex hotline if you can steal ancient artifacts. “You look like you have someone to spank.”
“Yeah, you,” Selina replied, drawing her whip.
Up close, the witch didn’t look any better to Felicia. No wonder she kept her face covered with that bondage mask. Sure, the chin, the nose, the cheeks: allacceptable. If Felicia were writing a fashion magazine, she’d call her classically beautiful. But as everyone knew, that just meant boring. At the end of the day, men might drop Jackie Kennedy’s name to score points with their wives, but they all wanted to fuck Kate Upton. And Felicia would know; she’d fucked Kate Upton once before.
Her costume, unlikeCatwoman’s creepy Slipknot mess, was designed to show off her body. She’d even calculated her exercise regimen to keep some of her nicer body fat. And, obviously, she wasn’t too worried about some cowl worrying her hairdo.
Poor dear. And now she wouldn’t even be able to buy some new riding crops with her loot. Felicia would try to remember to leave a nice message on her Facebook wall. Something with lots of puppies.
She was nearly to the roof. How sweet victory was.
Then, with the kind ofcrackthat should have stayed in Indiana Jones, the black tip of Catwoman’s whip wrapped around one of her pitons. Felicia looked down to see Catwoman winding her whip around her forearm and giving it an almighty tug—
Clang.
The piton clattered to the ground, taking out half of Felicia’s climbing rig. Unbalanced, she swung off the other piton, barely getting her feet up to absorb the shock of the blow in time before she arced into the wall.
Felicia kicked off against that wall, unclipping her de-cel line so that she would land on all fours unencumbered. If it was a fight the cat-bitch wanted…
Selina came at Black Cat, swishing her whip around her chest for safekeeping before colliding with her opponent in a fury of martial arts blows. Whoever this bitch thought she was, Selina doubted that she had trained with Wildcat, much less the Armless Master. With stiffened fingers, she jabbed into her opponent’s solar plexus with enough force to make a man vomit up everything up to last Thanksgiving’s leftovers.
Black Cat definitely felt it, backing up and doubling over, but she recovered fast, knocking aside a follow-through blow from Selina andbitch-slapping her like an errant hooker before delivering a roundhouse kick that injured far more than Selina’s pride. Selina recoiled, smarting,thinking.
The Cat’s form was good, but untried—none of the brutal street fighting that Gotham had to offer. She could handle herself, but she wasn’t a brawler like Selina. And the way that she’d shrugged off those blows… a metahuman, for sure.
Still, she’d definitely felt the blows that Selina had just landed. So, unless she had some kind of healing factor, Selina would just pound her until she fell.
And if she did have a healing factor, then Selina wouldreally have some fun.
Catwoman attacked again, with a flurry of blowsalmost good enough to floor someone who used to go toe-to-toe with a man that possessed the proportionate speed and agility of a spider. Felicia let the old gal have her fun, slipping in and out of Catwoman’s swings… until the bitch gotvery lucky and tagged her with a right hook.
Felicia felt pain shooting up her cheekbones, reminding her of her last cracked rib, and decided to play it safe and somersault backward, landing atop an exhibit of a golden coffinette. She crouched down and wiped at her face, relieved to find the pain wasn’t lingering too badly.
“You spoiled little brat,” Catwoman cursed, flexing her claws so that they caught the dim light. “This ismy job. I’ve been planning this for months.”
“Really? I’ve been planning it since this morning.” Felicia took the Statuette out of her knapsack and gave it a little spin around her knuckles. “Well, seeing as I’m the superior thief, how about we agree I should have it and you walk away with all your teeth? I’m sure yourclients will appreciate it.”
Like a gunslinger slapping leather, Catwoman drew her whip and cracked it. Felicia barely ducked under it, the supersonicknang of the tip mussing her silver hair. “You steal for fun, little girl. I steal to survive.”
Felicia stuffed Bast back in her pack. “At least I have fun,big girl. You won’t catch me crying over Spider-Man like you do over Count fucking Dracula.”
Catwoman hissed and cracked the whip again. This time, Felicia was ready for it.
She dove, landing underneath the cruel arc of the cat o’ nine tails, and charged on all fours into Catwoman, spinning in mid-air to bring her heel down on her foe’s head in a crescent kick.
Catwoman swayed in the wake of the blow, her goggles cracked on one side, but her reflexes were good. She lashed out with her claws, every bit as quick as the whip, and this time Felicia wasn’t fast enough to avoid it. Her pale throat was grazed, left with the pale red claw marks of Catwoman’s three longest fingers.
“What’s the money for anyway?” Selina asked, observing the blood glinting on her claws. She considered licking it, but Christ, what a cliché. And besides, who knew where Black Cat had been. “Pills and porno?”
“I don’t have to pay for my porn,” Black Cat said haughtily. “I live it.”
“You look it. Give me the damn statue, bitch. The money’s not for me, it’s for a goddamn orphanage.”
A bit of a lie, but itwouldtrickle down. Eventually. Bats might’ve bought it, or at least thought it over enough to be thrown off his game, making him vulnerable to other means of persuasions. But Black Cat was a thief, and true to the old saying, honor was hard to come by in their calling. She answered with a lunge, dropping to all fours one last time before propelling herself at Selina. Who dodged—quite well, she thought—but then, Black Cat lashed out with her foot in passing.
Selina caught the boot glancing off of her head. It left her ears ringing and her vision fuzzy as she skidded along the floor to roll to her feet.
Black Cat landed in a crouch. “Liberal do-gooder. You gonna save the rainforest too, or is that your girlfriend’s thing?”
“Ivy’s not my girlfriend,” Selina protested. The woman was green, for Christ’s sake. “You spoiled rich girl thrillseeker. Why can’t you just date George Clooney, like a normal slag?”
“I’ve tried! He’s booked solid to February!” Black Cat lowered herself to all fours, rocking on her haunches, clicking her claws on the tile. Clearly readying herself for another lunge. “Sure you don’t want to scat, cat? I’m not just any gorgeous villainess. I’ve gotten some…enhancements.”
Selina glanced at her breasts. “Clearly.”
And that got Black Cat’s teeth bared in a feral grin. “They’re real!” she cried as she pounced on Selina, moving fast enough to crack the floor behind her.
She slammed into Selina, even though the latter had prepared for it. They crashed to the ground with Black Cat on top, her arms and legs pinning Selina down.
“Maybe if I carve my plastic surgeon’s number on your fat ass, people will believe me.”
“Maybe if you didn’t have a plastic surgeon, people would believe you.”
“I’m a crimefighter. I get hurt and I don’t want to walk around looking like Mike Tyson. Sue me.”
“I have a better idea,” Selina said, and kissed Black Cat full on the lips.
As it turned out, that wasn’t the better idea.
The better idea had been for the lipstick that Poison Ivy had given her to take effect, knock Black Cat’s ass out, and leave her for the guards to find. Then, Selina could go back to Gotham, where shenever had to worry about someone else stepping on her score unless it had to do with Lewis Carroll, the circus, the number two, plants, fear, movies, riddles, or Lazarus Pits.
It was good stuff, that Ivy-brand lipstick. Selina had used it plenty of times as a last resort. Show a guard a little skin, lock lips with him, problem solved. Not very feminist of her, perhaps, but damn handy.
The only problem was that Black Cat wasn’t falling unconscious. The only effect the kiss had was to give her a great big smile.
“Well, if that’s the way you want to play it…” Black Cat trailed off meaningfully, before kissing her so hard that the back of Selina’s head smacked against the tile.
Felicia hadn’t even been trying to seduce the crazy bitch. But if her usual game was to seduce Spider-Man, a guy so neurotic that he had sex with his mask on, then apparently she could land a simple dominatrix in her sleep.
Selina was surprised to find herself breathless.
Funny. It was a move she herself had used more than once before. But she tended to be assertive, forceful. Bats and his kind seemed to respect that; and even a boy scout like Captain Marvel liked a woman who could kick his ass, or at least kissed like it. But while Black Cat was energetic, she was also… soft. Skillful. Passionate. Like them trying to kick the crap out of each other had been as much foreplay as dinner and a movie.
Selina felt her body responding. Not to the intensity of Black Cat’s advances, but to the desire behind them. Her nipples stung with hardness and she moistened between the legs, even moaning slightly as Black Cat continued to devour her mouth.
Then, Black Cat stopped, burying her wicked smile in Selina’s neck as she flashed her steel-tipped claws.
Selina had a moment of panic, but her body was still floundering in the wake of Black Cat’s sheer need. She could only gasp as Black Cat brought those claws down, into Selina’s shoulders—but not with any force.
Instead, the points just cut into the first layer of Kevlar woven into her leather.
Chuckling darkly to herself, Black Cat pulled her claws down Selina’s body. They didn’t cut through Selina’s body armor, but Selina still felt the slightest prick of their sharpness, the most exquisite pain as they skirted her skin.
Let’s face it, Selina, she thought, you didn’t get into the dominatrix game just for the fashion.
Felicia smiled to herself as Catwoman arched her body into the claws, especially whenever they traveled over her well-sized breasts. The Scratching Post. Bitches loved the Scratching Post. Even Peter had loved it, almost as much as he’d loved complaining about how she left his red and blue in tatters and his skin covered with weird white lines. But back when he’d had that black costume that showed off his ass like a glass case at Zales…
Good times. Felicia moved her hands to Catwoman’s sides, clicking her tongue as she left her little love marks on Catwoman’s hips and ass. Then, she brought one slender finger up to push Catwoman’s ridiculous goggles up the bridge of her nose and over her forehead.
Without those things, at least Catwoman wouldn’t get kicked off Craigslist for promoting bestiality. In fact, she looked great with her skin all flushed and her lips all swollen. Not that it was easy to tell with that dusky skin. Maybe the girl had some chocolate in her milk; that would explain a lot.
And they called her Black Cat…
Felicia kissed Catwoman a few more times than she usually did, just because it was so much fun to shut her up. Then, with Catwoman assured that this would be more sex than violence, she let her claws trail down the lines of Catwoman’s face.
The way Catwoman shuddered was just—magnetic. Felicia ran her tongue from Catwoman’s chin to that quirked eyebrow—classic cat move—before hooking her claw in the oversized D-ring of Catwoman’s zipper. She pulled it down as she shimmied along Catwoman’s body like it was a pole, examining the café au lait skin as she went along. It had enough scars to explain why Catwoman wasn’t making bank as a lingerie model, but that was Gotham for you.
Felicia kissed a few of them, but not the way she’d used to when she’d played nurse for Peter’s scars. No time.
The zipper, thankfully, ran down to Catwoman’s crotch. Felicia got it to Catwoman’s navel, lapped daintily at that cute little belly button, and then yanked the zipper all the way to the end of the line. The leather parted, revealing panties with a familiar cartoon character on them.
“Hello kitty,” Felicia said portentously.
“I live with a gay former prostitute. She does the clothes-shopping.”
“Kinky.” Felicia drew her forefinger under the waistband of the underwear, snipping it with her claw. “Still, doubt you’d mind if you needed a new pair when you got home.”
Catwoman took in a sharp breath when she felt Felicia skewering the crotch of her panties, only to feel the younger woman gently lift it off her pussy. Felicia had always prided herself on knowing how a woman tended her business, and Catwoman was no exception. Neatly trimmed with a classic landing strip—not a Brazilian wax, like Felicia had. And wet, of course. When Felicia was close enough to do a thorough examination of a woman’s labia, it tended to be.
“Time for this cat to get the cream,” Felicia said before she went to work, hearing a disgruntled sigh from Catwoman before all sound was lost in the muffle of those leather-clad thighs.
Oh fuck, Selina thought, and said, and possibly tasted, judging by the increasingly smug sounds of hunger coming from the woman between her legs. Black Cat really was good at this. Selina doubted she should be surprised, judging by Black Cat’s… everything, but so many people in the business were all tell, no show (who would’ve guessed, for instance, that Green Arrow was packing a dart in his quiver?).
But in half a second, she couldn’t think of men at all. Her legs steepled, knees jumping up in the air, balls of her feet pressing flat to the tile, the muscles of her thighs stretching to their capable limit. She was spreading her legs as far apart as possible, making room for all the pleasure that Black Cat could stuff inside.
And Black Cat didn’t disappoint. She licked so quickly and so well that Selina barely felt the individual strokes of her tongue, just a continuous pleasure that throbbed and grew. It stole from Selina—not her heart, certainly, but something almost as precious.
Control.
Selina could feel her muscles tensing up involuntarily, and almost as soon as she resented that fact, she learned to live with it. She was just going along with this to get Black Cat to drop her guard. As soon as she did, the bitch was going to be left with a ringing headache and no Statuette.
Black Cat would probably drop her guard after Selina came. At least once.
Shit, if she kept giving head like this, Selina might even forgive her that dumb cream joke.
Those leather-clad thighs were surprisingly cool against Felicia’s cheeks, while the rest of Felicia’s body felt overwarm, trapped inside a too-tight suit. So Felicia pulled her own zipper down as far as it would go. Unlike Catwoman’s, it only went to her midriff, but Felicia didn’t think she’d be any less sweaty if she’d been bare-ass naked.
Continuing to tongue Catwoman—though more ladling her juices into her own waiting mouth than trying to please her—Felicia reached up to draw the two halves of Catwoman’s costume apart. Catwoman’s breasts practically sprang out.
Felicia revised her opinion of Catwoman’s body, now that it was no longer confined by tight leather. Though Catwoman’s breasts weren’t as big as Felicia’s—a C-cup instead of double Ds—they were pert and well-formed, with small, brownish nipples topping them. Felicia made a beeline for those, trapping the already-hard pebbles between her claws and carefully drilling into them as she ate Catwoman out.
Judging by the growing moans, Catwoman felt far more pleasure than pain.
Felicia rested her tongue for a moment, proudly looking at the blood-red plume of Catwoman’s labia, aroused and swollen from her efforts. She breathed in the deep scent of a woman—familiar, but always different—and eyed the intriguing hardness of Catwoman’s little clit. A second later, she put a love bite on Catwoman’s pelvis that just missed it—more pain to mix with Catwoman’s pleasure— and then returned to the cunt, losing herself in sweet frenzy.
Felicia always loved this part, where artifice and seduction fell away and it was all instinct: what she’d been born with, and the empathic knowledge of how to please.
Not that she didn’t like strutting around in high heels and deciding just how much cleavage to show and which perfume to use and what syllable to purr on just so. But that was all such work. And sex shouldn’t be work. Not all the time. At times like these, she could just let her tongue do what it wanted and enjoy the ride. Enjoy the show.
Catwoman certainly didn’t have any complaints, not that Felicia expected her to. When Felicia drew the older woman’s clit into her mouth, sucking it like hard candy, the outright gasp that Catwoman expelled from her lungs came as no surprise.
“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
Catwoman was saying it softly, breathily. Not for effect, but just because that was how it slipped from her brain and hit her tongue. Was she even conscious of talking, or was it like a baby crying for its mommy, knowing only that the sounds would lead to its needs being met?
The older woman’s hips were pumping now, her leather-bound ass slapping on the tile like she was being fucked by a prick instead of a tongue. Felicia followed that cunt down and back up. Enjoying the ride.
Until Catwoman’s body spiked, carrying Felicia up to her knees. Felicia’s claws slipped from Catwoman’s nipples, leaving furrowed scarlet trails down the undersides of the older woman’s breasts. But Catwoman either didn’t notice, or quite liked it.
Catwoman’s body was now showing off its incredible athleticism, with only the shoulder blades and toes remaining on the floor. The rest followed the wet flesh that demanded Felicia’s mouth, suffocating her in scent and taste enough for her to remember the Feline Fatale for the rest of her days.
And Felicia did all she could to fulfill Catwoman’s demand. She wanted her to remember the Black Cat for the rest of her life. Remember being fucked. Remember being stolen from. Remember that she could have Gotham, but that the rest of the world belonged to Felicia Hardy.
The touch of Felicia’s own silken catsuit began to feel teasing rather than reassuring. Her chest heaved enough for the teeth of her zipper to gnash her skin. Her panties stuck to her mound, warm and sodden. As soon as she’d proven herself to Catwoman, she promised herself, the old hag would be returning the favor.
Those were Felicia’s plans. The thought of stopping her delirious consumption of Catwoman—even to make Catwoman tend to her growing lust—did not occur to her.
It hadn’t even occurred to Selina that she was competing with Black Cat, much less that her all-important independence had given way to a burning need for Black Cat to keep doing everything she was doing. In fact, not much of anything was occurring to Selina. She tended to not be a deep thinker when she came.
But when her mouth fell open and she heard her own scream fill the room (the yowl was downright catlike, she would’ve been pleased to note in any other setting), reality came rushing in. Her body was marked, in multiple places, with stinging cat-scratches. She was half-naked. Her costume had lines of frayed thread and rent leather all over it. God knew what had become of her goggles—
Oh, yeah, they were on her head.
Selina looked around to see if anyone had heard. And more importantly, if this was a good time to bash what little there was of Black Cat’s brains in.
But both her thoughts and her sight were quickly eclipsed by Black Cat’s perfectly rounded ass. Black Cat had swung herself around in a millisecond like an Olympian on a pommel horse, ending up on her hands and knees directly above Selina, but now facing the opposite direction.
Selina couldn’t complain. While Black Cat’s face was no chore to look at (aside from every facial expression Selina had seen on her, which were more annoying than your average Arkham break-out), her ass was simply heavenly. Plump enough to be desirable, but still firm and understated. Selina was actually a little jealous on behalf of her own boyishly flat backside; the price of being able to jump off twenty rooftops a night. Who was Black Cat training with that she could run a four-minute mile and still have an ass as soft as a pillow? Fucking Black Canary?
“There’s a zipper,” Black Cat said. Selina shivered as the words landed right against her oversensitive clit. “Right where you think there is.”
Selina saw the thing, cleverly concealed in the seemingly unbroken black lycra. “Of course there is.”
“Unzip me,” Black Cat cooed. “And join the party.”
Selina did. Of course, Black Cat had one of those infantile waxes, like it wasn’t clear enough that she was young.
Then Selina raised her head, but Black Cat scooted her ass up out of reach, and then chuckled to herself as she lowered it back down. Selina waited patiently until it came down on her face. Then, she stuck out her tongue. Then, she tasted Black Cat.
As she kept reminding herself, she was only going along with this until she had a chance to teach Black Cat a lesson, and that lesson was going to come any minute now. Any minute…
Catwoman’s ‘cream’ turned out to be an acquired taste that Felicia was acquiring very quickly. When she came up for air, it was dripping from her mouth like lazily-applied lipstick. She wiped her chin on her glove, which had absorbed far worse, and then reseated herself to press even more tightly against Catwoman. Now, she was nuzzling the other woman’s sex, stroking it with her withdrawn claws and mirroring Catwoman’s oral caress on her own sex.
In turn, she heard Catwoman’s claws came out—a more intimidating sound than her own stealthy click—and felt them dig through the bottom of her catsuit, drawing blood from the firm cheeks of her ass.
Felicia winced; though it stopped short of really hurting her, it stung like hell. And felt just dangerous enough to be a damn good bit of fun.
In seconds, they’d squirmed closer together, with Catwoman on her back and Felicia hunched over her, riding her. Felicia worked her breasts out of the loving tightness of her suit and rubbed them on the cruelly cold leather over Catwoman’s stomach, feeling her over-sensitive nipples rebelling with pleasure.
Felicia wondered if Catwoman could feel her nipples through all that body armor. She definitely felt Felicia’s tongue dipping affectionately into her splayed cunt. The claws in Felicia’s ass twinged, adding more spice to the pleasure coming from the tongue slithering into her pussy, not to mention the hungry lips satiating themselves on her swollen clit.
They writhed together like they were trying to generate heat, groaning both loud and soft, with need followed by fulfillment. An orgasm welded their bodies together; it seemed like they were so close together that the climax had directly spread from one to the other. Felicia couldn’t even tell who had gone first.
She got smug. Drew her hand over the smooth leather across Catwoman’s ass, brought her hand up, slapped it back down with resounding force. “I know you love it, cat-bitch.”
“Cat-bitch?” Selina repeated, like it was a word in another language. Maybe to Black Cat, she sounded amused.
In a heartbeat, she’d flipped them over so that she was on top, one hand on Black Cat’s foot and the other on the stupid fur trim over Black Cat’s leg. She twisted the ankle painfully, making Black Cat howl.
This time, it was Selina’s body muffling her mouth.
“Lick,” Selina ordered, twisting Black Cat’s leg a few more degrees in case the younger woman thought of not complying.
She then eased it back to a painless position as she felt Black Cat’s arms and hands encircling her hips, clasping her ass, pulling her pussy down to where they both needed it.
“Good kitty.”
Felicia regrouped. She wasn’t beaten yet. She loved it when sex got like this. A fight for dominance, instead of mutual surrender. Back when Peter had worn the black, it’d been like this a lot. She’d even let him win a few times.
But lose to Catwoman? No. But she could let Catwoman think that she was going to win. For a little while. A very little while.
She kissed soothingly along Catwoman’s exposed skin, tasting the sweat and wet leather at the same time. Teasing Catwoman more than pleasing her. And then she spread her legs wide and clenched the muscles of her thighs in turn, stimulating herself, broadcasting her arousal to all of Catwoman’s senses.
“Don’t you want it?” she asked, her lips smearing against Catwoman’s sex but never quite kissing it. “Doesn’t it smell good? Isn’t it close enough? Can’t you just taste it?” Her hands streaked up the smooth leather of Catwoman’s back, urging Catwoman down.
Felicia felt Catwoman’s breaths lift her hands. Fast and hard. Then, the older woman gave in.
Catwoman’s head dropped down between Felicia’s knees, every feature disappearing from Felicia’s view save for a bobbing pair of cat ears. Felicia felt hands caressing her legs, her hips, her thighs, her sides. They found their way under Felicia’s body and squeezed her ass, stirring up pain in the little claw marks that Catwoman had left. Literally threatening pleasure.
Felicia wasn’t intimidated, but she was also just as hungry as Catwoman was. When Catwoman forcefully brought her hips down, Felicia obligingly lifted her head and opened her mouth. Catwoman’s labia fit into it like a hand to a glove.
There was nothing then for Felicia but a sea of flesh: warm, welcoming, and sweet. The leather was like an oil slick atop it. She moved it out of the way as best as she could, delighting in her “drowning”. Then Catwoman found her clitoris, and open air became a distant memory.
Felicia let her tongue roll through Catwoman’s wonders in turn, almost feeling the electric pleasures passing through Catwoman in response to each savored taste. Their costumes were more off than on, leaving nothing between them but sweat as they became an Ouroboros—a snake hungry enough to devour itself.
Selina came almost immediately, almost the moment she’d exerted her power over Black Cat. It compelled her to suck hard on the sweet petals of Black Cat’s cunt, as if that would prolong her own ecstasy.
And maybe it did.
Like floodgates had been opened, Selina felt her climax flow through her and into Black Cat; they shuddered at the same time and clasped each other even more tightly. By now, not even sweat remained between them.
And then, Selina shook, feeling her own quivering body and Black Cat’s. Inseparable. Attuned to the same frequency with lips and teeth and tongue.
Finally, Selina broke away, gasping for breath. She tried to roll away, feeling the fresh sweat covering her body like it was one more part of her that wanted to be in contact with Black Cat.
But Black Cat wouldn’t let her. She rolled on top of Selina, not even thinking of the plateau of delight her sex had reached—just her hunger for Selina’s pleasure. Knowing, instinctively, that it was connected to her own.
Felicia bobbed her head between Catwoman’s legs, ramming her stiffened tongue into the girl’s groin. Catwoman’s moans were music to her ears. Felicia knew that she’d be letting out the same sound in just a few moments.
Selina looked up at Black Cat’s cunt, once more demanding her tongue. She decided to try a little experiment first, reaching up and spreading Black Cat’s nether lips with her gloved hands. Black Cat cooed in pleasure just from that, while Selina just stared at all the wetness inside the neat little slit.
How much of that had been her doing, and how much of it was just Black Cat being a great damn slut? The question intrigued Selina…
As much as she detested Black Cat, she loved the way that pussy looked. And how it smelled. How it felt. How it tasted. To Black Cat’s soaring gasps, she opened it further with her tongue, knowing what Black Cat liked from what the thief had done to her.
One thorough exploration later, she found Black Cat’s clit, and flicked it with light strokes of her tongue—up and down, left to right. She pushed Black Cat to the brink of over-stimulation before stopping to move lower, her tongue being tightly gripped by Black Cat’s cunt. Her attempts to escape had Black Cat screaming into her own pussy.
Muffled as they were by each other’s cunts, the fierce sounds of panting and groaning were growing louder. Only one thing was keeping it from being perfect for Selina: she was still on the bottom.
Without slowing her tongue-fucking, Selina rolled them over once more. Black Cat didn’t even seem to notice; and for Selina, it just felt better to have her pussy throbbing on top of someone else’s face. To reward Black Cat for her humility—as oblivious as she was to it—Selina decided to give her the orgasm that she had almost entirely earned.
Thinking back to the best cunnilingus she’d ever had—a mishap with Poison Ivy’s pollen, not that Ivy was her girlfriend—Selina picked a rhythm and stuck to it, almost taunting Black Cat with its regularity. The lick; the brief wait for more; then the fresh taste that would follow. Selina could’ve set her watch by the pattern of disappointed groans and fulfilled sighs that emanated from Black Cat.
Black Cat matched her, either an insulting mimicry or following her dom’s lead. Selina didn’t care anymore. When she licked, Black Cat did as well. Each stroke of Selina’s tongue sent an answering thrill of pleasure through her body. It was like she was licking her own pussy.
The masturbatory excess—the feeling of complete dominance, real or imagined—brought Selina’s orgasm to the forefront. She knew what she needed, and actually hoped it would please Black Cat as well. With a deep breath, she bit down on Black Cat’s clit. And as if the bitch had been thinking the same thing, she did the same at the exact same moment.
For the next few minutes, any fool that walked in would’ve seen that Black Cat and Catwoman were coming. Their exposed chests were flushed, each rising and falling as far as the other’s tightly pressed body would allow. When a nipple happened to peek out from their sealed flesh, it was always erect to the fullest. Wetness gleamed on their thighs and mouths—only part of what the women were drinking from each other.
They rode each other until the bitter end, when even their phenomenal bodies couldn’t keep up with the demands of their lust. And with wistful disappointment, they sunk into a tangle of arms and legs and leather. Burned out, they rolled to either side, and lay panting beside each other on a floor speckled with their lovemaking.
Or at least, they would’ve. If Black Cat hadn’t rolled into one of the displays, jostling the exhibit and setting off an alarm.
“You idiot!” Selina sprang to her feet in instant hatred. Only her need to clothe herself was keeping her from clawing Black Cat’s eyes out right now.
“Me!? You’re the one who was rolling around like a pig in mud!”
“Freak!”
“Slut!”
Now fully dressed, they shot simultaneous glances at Black Cat’s knapsack on the floor. The Statuette was still sticking out of it. The entire thing was equally far from both of them.
They dove for it at the same time.
Felicia grabbed it first, and pivoted it out of the knapsack. But a microsecond later, Selina grabbed the other half with both hands, and held tight. They each pulled on their end.
“It’s mine!” Felicia screamed.
“I saw it first!”
“Hope you got a good look.”
The two women looked at one another in confusion upon hearing the third, distinctively male voice. Just long enough for a webline to snag the Statuette, and pull it from both of them.
After all, open skylights and ringing alarms tended to attract attention from one’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.
“I swear to God, Spider, if you make a catfight joke, you are never seeing my breasts again,” Felicia said, picking herself up off the museum floor.
“I don’t want to see them,” Spider-Man argued. “But I’ll refrain from that joke just because it’s too easy. Now, are you two going to come quietly?”
Selina scoffed. “Didn’t two minutes ago, won’t now.”
While Selina crossed her arms, Felicia delicately put a hand on her chest and advanced on Spider-Man, her hips waving like a seismograph. “You wouldn’t throw me in jail, now would you Spider? Not after all we’ve been through?”
As Felicia spoke, she inched her finger under his chin. She was pleased to feel the fabric jump up quite a few degrees in temperature.
“Well, uh, I…”
“If you let her go, you can’t very well bring me in,” Selina added. “Preferential treatment. Bad behavior for an Avenger.”
“I’m bringing you both in!” Spider-Man said firmly, almost fisting his hands on his waist.
“But Spideeeeer,” Felicia whined. “It’s not our fault. It’s the Statuette. It called to us.”
“It did?” Spider-Man asked.
“It did?” Selina also asked, though she added a nod at the end to make it seem like a statement.
“The two of us, we’re avatars of the Cat Totem,” Felicia ‘explained’. “This artifact is filled with mystical energy. We were helpless to resist.”
Spider-Man could hear footsteps bumbling outside. By now, the cat burglars were both giving him—ironically enough—puppy-dog eyes.
And Batman would probably be pissed at him if his girlfriend ended up in Ryker’s Island…
“Try harder next time,” Spider-Man said, setting the Statuette down and covering it in webbing. Both women winced, but hid it quickly.
Spider-Man shot a webline up to the window that he’d entered through—one with a lock that was easy to force when the alarm was already going off. He quickly scurried up that line, gesturing for the others to follow.
Felicia hesitated. “Won’t this hurt your reputation?”
“Being seen in the company of two gorgeous jewel thieves? It might help.”
Felicia shrugged and followed him. Out in the night air, she could see a red glow coming from four blocks away. Housefire.
“Aww nerts,” Spider-Man swore. “I’ve gotta do the thing. You two!” He pointed at them each in turn. “No more stealing tonight! I mean it!”
With that, he fired off a webline that miraculously—as per usual—found an anchor, and swung off.
“Hey, wait up!” Felicia called, readying the grapple-line built into her glove. She stopped to look back at Selina. “Cat-totem. Bet you wish you’d thought of that. Shame. I thought we really had something there.”
“I only kissed you because my lipstick is a sedative. It should’ve knocked you right out.”
Felicia grinned. “Maybe it really was Bast. I don’t usually do that sort of thing with just anyone.”
Selina rolled her eyes. “Probably just your enhancements counteracting it.”
Felicia’s face screwed up. “Silicone can do that? Oh, you mean—yeah. Maybe.”
“But tell you what—” Selina hefted the Statuette, enjoying the little-kid-with-a-magician-at-her-birthday-party look on her foe’s face as Felicia tried to figure out how Selina had lifted it. “Here’s my room key.”
She tossed the laminated keycard to Felicia. It had the name of the hotel written on it.
“Come see me and maybe we can work out a way for you to prove you really, really want it.”
Felicia’s face reddened. “You–!”
The younger woman flicked her claws out, but then Spider-Man’s voice came on the wind.
“Cat, you coming? Innocents! Danger! Lots of jokes to be made about how hot you are! What with the fire and all!”
Felicia retracted her claws, and dropped the room key into her cleavage. “I’ll be there.”
“Oh, you’re wearing your purple bodypaint instead of your leather sex mommy outfit. How exciting.”
“I wanted to see if it still fit! I had a baby, you know!”
“Mmm… wonder what else’ll fit.”
“Only one way to find out…”
Felicia left Selina’s hotel room, not walking particularly straight. Sitting down would not be an option for a while, either. And gagging would be… interesting.
It was worth it, Felicia thought, before remembering that she had also gotten her hands around the Statuette.
Well, she’d gotten a lot of things around the Statuette. Had the ancient Egyptians known that it was so well-suited to… stimulation? Well, no wonder they’d worshipped it.
Thankfully, the cabbie that she’d hailed had made no comment when she’d laid down in the back-seat rather than sitting. She gave him the address of her fence. She didn’t want to look at the Statuette any longer than necessary. As much fun as it’d been, it was too painful a reminder of how Catwoman had almost got one over her.
Hell, it didn’t even vibrate.
Who knew? Maybe it really was haunted or possessed or however ‘totems’ worked. Peter was pretty smart, for a guy who could be very stupid at times, and if he bought into this totem stuff even a little…
After all, she had done some things with Catwoman that she hadn’t done with anyone else. Not even the Foreigner. Both ends of that whip of hers had seen some good use. And while Catwoman was a no-good skank of a thief, she was competent. If she said she was wearing knockout lipstick, it should’ve worked.
Unless Catwoman had just gotten into a fight with her green-thumbed girlfriend…
Twenty minutes later, she was at her destination. Her fence looked over the Statuette from all angles, his head-mounted magnifying glass turning his eyes into giant orbs. Polite to a fault, he didn’t comment once on the smell.
For her part, Felicia had smuggled far more precious things in way more… interesting places. Though never anything quite so big. She wondered if he was impressed…
“Well? How much can you give me for it?” she asked at last.
The fence raised his magnifying glass. “There’s a problem with it, ma’am.”
“Problem? Is it the ears? It was like that when I found it!”
“No, ma’am, it’s this.” And he held it up, showing her the bottom of the Statuette of Bast.
The End.