Cat Toy


My first fanfic! Thus, the following is a work of parody. Catwoman and Nightwing are property of DC/WB and I claim no ownership over them. I don't know what the current DCU status-quo is, so if the following doesn't match up, that's why! The following contains elements of femdom and mind control and magic I guess.

All characters are 18 years of age or older.


In a darkened corridor of the Blüdhaven Museum of Civilizations, one sinuous shadow separated from the rest. The figure slid down the hallway, away from the opened panel where the guts of the museum's security system dangled like so much offal. The hush of the empty hall amplified the *tok*tok* of heels as the intruder passed by the exhibits, apparently uninterested in the Native American artifacts on display. Dead cameras surveyed the atrium as the shadow passed, polished lenses reflecting abundantly feminine curves all wrapped up in a skintight blend of technical fabrics and leather, the latter for the sake of aesthetics as much as any contribution to stealth it might have made.

The shadow slid beneath the cordon that separated Special Exhibits from the rest without breaking stride. High above, a banner flapped gently in the breeze of her passing; it read, "THE BOUNTIES OF BUBASTIS- ON LOAN FROM THE SMITHSONIAN" proudly in faux- Egyptian script. The following day's date ran underneath, bracketed by stylized, cat-headed figures.

Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, chuckled quietly to herself. It was almost too easy; she never would have gotten this far back in Gotham, where she'd long since learned to eschew the feline-themed heists that had once been her trademark. The Bat would have been there before she even got through the window, never mind letting her get all the way to the exhibit.

It felt good to get back to basics.

Selina paused for a moment in front of a glass case to preen. His loss. She twisted to the side, checking herself out. Maybe next time she redid her costume, she'd go back to the combat boots; the three-inch heels on these boots were a little impractical, but they did wonders for her ass. The muscular globes of her buttocks stood out even more prominently than usual as she arched her back just a little, pushing her prodigious breasts up further, while silently thanking science for the miracle of the built-in supports just beneath the chrome zipper that ran from her neck to her navel.

"Maybe I'll even put the tail back on," she mused aloud, a smirk creeping across her plush mouth. It was terrible for balance and got in the goddamn way all the time, but it certainly drew attention to where she wanted it. Anyway, back to work. Selina nudged her cowl so that her ears were on straight, and strolled away, hips rolling.

In the centre of the room, on an elevated pedestal, inside a thick glass case, stood tonight's prize: The Handmaid of Bast. Leather creaked as Catwoman flexed her fingers. The "Handmaid" was a stylized statuette of a cat from a recent dig near Bubastis, a foot in height and supposedly solid gold. The emeralds chasing around its neck glittered expensively in the dim light of the room. Selina approached the case; she adjusted her ruby goggles and stared into the red gems that were laid into the sockets of the statuette. With a flick of her wrist, glass-cutting claws flashed out from her left glove and she hunkered down to begin.

"Straying far from home tonight aren't you, Selina?" From above, a familiar voice echoed. Scowling, she looked over her shoulder as another shadow fell from the rafters to the floor.

"I could say the same for you, bird-boy," she said, standing.

"Blüdhaven is *my* town," Nightwing stepped forward, idly twirling one escrima baton; despite the feigned nonchalance, every muscle in his lean, acrobatic form was tense and it showed through his own costume, which looked as though he'd been dipped in black latex. Catwoman unfurled the bullwhip she carried at her hip.

"How'd you even know I was here?" She asked, giving the whip a flicker.

"Are you kidding? I picked you up before you even got inside the building." He smirked. "I can't tell if you were just being disrespectful or getting sloppy in your old age." Selina snarled and her whip cracked. As she approached forty, she probably had ten-fifteen years on the kid, but needling a lady about her age was uncalled for!

"We don't have to do this," she warned. "I don't want to mess up such a pretty face." Under his domino mask, Catwoman had to admit that the Bat's onetime sidekick had grown into his features. If he hadn't gotten into beating up muggers, he'd probably be on billboards selling Abercrombie & Fitch. How old was he now, anyway? He must be out of college by now, surely. She tried to add the years up in her head. He had to be at least in his twenties, anyway.

"Tell you what," Nightwing dropped into a combat stance, raising both batons. "You go back to Gotham right now, and I won't even tell your boyfriend you were here."

"Tell *you* what," she said, slicing the air with a vicious crack of her whip. "You won't even be able to remember this conversation happened once I'm done kicking your ass."

He rushed forward, closing the gap between them; the toe of Selina's boot caught him on his finely-turned chin as she pinwheeled backwards.

"Too slow, sweetie. Maybe-" Whatever else she was going to say was cut short as one of the batons came whistling towards her head. She took a quick step back in a fairly simple dodge, and it screamed past her to slam straight through the glass case holding the Handmaid. Cubes of safety-glass scattered everywhere, grazing her cheek, as the baton continued on, hitting the statue on the flank. It teetered, then began to tip over entirely. They shared a look between them and both scrambled to the other side of the pedestal as the statue tumbled.

Selina felt as though she were moving through molasses as she watched the head come free of the body, spinning away to the side as she swung herself around the pedestal, coming in low to catch the figure. The vigilante aimed too high, and Catwoman watched his open hand swinging just past where the head should have been while she twisted her body to land on her cushioned behind and let the thing *donk* quietly on her bosom. The open neck of the thing stared up at her, and in the moment's breath that followed, a thick slug of something brown and deeply musky glugged out onto her suit.

She was suddenly very much aware that the young hero was standing over her, staring down at her with those piercing blue eyes. He sniffed once, and she saw his pupils contract. Nightwing's eyes lost their focus for a moment, and he straightened up, staggering backwards.

"What the hell-?" He said, wiping his eyes with a free hand. "What is..." Somewhere in the museum, an alarm sounded. Selina wiped the goo away hastily and sprang to her feet, watching him curiously. Outside, sirens began to wail.

"Too bad, kid." Catwoman said with a shrug, scooping up the Handmaid's discarded head with her free hand. "Give my regards to the Bat." She dashed past, taking a moment to sweep his legs out from under him with a well-placed boot, and then she was gone into the shadow.

Dick Grayson lay on the museum floor, watching the ceiling spin above his head as he listened to her heels beat a tattoo on the tile. He struggled upwards against the dizzying haze in his skull, and was on his feet by the time a pair of cops burst in.

"What the hell happened here?" One of the officers shouted. "Nightwing? What the f-"

"Nothing," he said, dismissively. He waved a hand, then slid his escrima batons back in their holsters. "Robber. I'm in pursuit. Don't worry about it." He slipped into the darkness, leaving the officers goggling as he ran.

"I'm not crazy, right? You saw it too?" The first cop said to the second, sidling over. They spoke in hushed tones, as though not wanting the exhibits to hear.

"You mean his-"

"Right? It was huge. I've never seen anything-"

"Well, I mean, you gotta *assume*, right? That anybody who dresses up like that," the second cop waved her hand vaguely at the darkness. "Probably gets off on it, you know?"

"My kid's got a poster of him up on her wall. I'm gonna chuck it when we get home."

"Hell, I'll take it off your hands. Rawr."


From the fire escape, Selina slid open her window and slipped inside. Slamming it shut again, she put the Handmaid gingerly down on the couch, and peeled her cowl off to toss it alongside the statuette. Turning on a lamp, she looked at herself in the mirror; that goop had left a long brown stain across the grey and black material of her catsuit. She gingerly unzipped the front of the suit, only to find that some of it had soaked through, leaving brown beads of the stuff on her milky skin.

"Ah, dammit," she said, striding purposefully into the bathroom, where she cranked open the tap in the shower. As the room filled with steam, Selina unzipped her catsuit the rest of the way, gasping as her thick pink nipples, rock hard and angry, scraped free of the zipper. As she wriggled her butt out of the restrictive grasp of the poly-leather blend, Catwoman ran a hand between her thighs, and was a little surprised to find that she was pretty slick downstairs. A successful heist was always an aphrodisiac, of course, but she hadn't been so turned-on in... well, in a long time.

Stepping out of her boots, she walked into the water and let it beat against her plush body.

"Honey, you need to get *laid*," Selina said to nobody in particular, running her hands through her short black hair to rinse off the sweat built up under her cowl before grabbing the soap. As she lathered up her breasts, she did the math: it had been two weeks and three days since she'd gotten the fuck out of Gotham, which meant that it had been two weeks, two days and roughly four hours or so since she'd gotten fucked last. Catwoman's slick sudsy fingers toyed with her firm flesh, as she thought about the Bat's thick, rampant cock, standing tall and free from his shorts, right before he fucked her that last time atop the First Gotham Savings and Trust building.

She gently tugged at one nipple before shaking her head, sending a spray of water splattering against the shower door. It *was* definitely going to be the last time. However pleasantly fat his member happened to be, no matter how wonderfully full it made her feel, that didn't make up for his other shortcomings. Ten years they'd been hooking up, off and on, and he always, *always* had to be in control. A rough, dominant fuck had been fine when she was just starting out, but the older she got, the more tiresome it became. Not to mention that around the same time the first grey pubes started curling out around that big cock, he started having trouble not only getting it up, keeping it up and fucking her through to an orgasm. Rough sex was one thing, but frantic five minute rabbit fucks without even some cursory head for her simply weren't going to cut it any longer and she'd told him as much on that roof, packed up her shit, and got the hell out of Dodge.

Selina snarled and pulled more violently on her nipple, letting it snap back into shape.

But since then, the only thing she'd had between her legs had been either her own hand, or one of an increasingly-large collection of toys.

Not that Selina had any trouble attracting male attention. Quite the opposite, in fact, but none of the men she'd run into since leaving Gotham had quite turned her crank. They all seemed so aggressively...normal. Boring men with boring jobs and boring suits and boring stories.

More than once, she wondered if she'd picked up a cape fetish. Hardly surprising. Half the country had one by now, but that only compounded her problem. All the capes she knew were more or less like the Bat: big, hulking, driven, aggressive, dominant. What the hell was the point in moving if she was only going to end up back where she started?

She wasn't about to live without cock for the rest of her life, either. She liked cock. Big fucking cock.

Her long, delicate fingers, clean of soap, slid between her thighs as she carried on twisting one fat nipple, washing forgotten.

Where did that leave her? What she needed was a cape cock. A big, fat cape cock. But a young one this time, some young stud cock that could fuck her relentlessly for as long as she needed, but only as much as she wanted. Someone she could mould and shape, turn into her private fucktoy at her beck and call, put her pleasure first and foremost.

Selina's fingers were driving in and out of her wet hole now, palm slapping hard against her clitoris as she did.

Someone young. Someone young and hard and hardbodied.

As she fingerfucked herself, the image of Nightwing flashed through her head, back at the museum. Except this time he was on the floor and she was standing above him, looking up at her with those Vogue model eyes and waiting for her to make her next move.

"Pull down your pants," she growled in her imagination. "And show momma what you've got." He hooked his thumbs in his waistband and-

An orgasm ripped through Catwoman's body, unannounced. She gasped and trembled and her knees grew so weak that she had to grab onto the shower door to steady herself.

"Ngh! Fuck!" She gasped as her index finger strummed furiously away at her clitoris. "Fuck fuck fuck." Wet fingertips squealed against the glass as she held herself up.

Selina pulled her sticky fingers out of her pulsing hole, and stood up. "Jesus, you *are* hard-up, honey." Fumbling fingers searched for the bar of soap, as she started washing again. "As if any of *his* little minions would ever- would ever-" She found her fingers toying with her nipple again, thinking. The skin on her chest was tingling a little; she assumed it was from the afterglow, not really noticing it was localized around where the goo had soaked through her zipper.

"Oh get a grip, Selina." With a rueful grin, she let go of her breast, and carried on with her shower. Later, after she'd dried off, it'd be time to find out what the deal was with the Handmaid of Bast.


At his own apartment, Dick Grayson's fist was wrapped tight around the base of his cock. It was harder than he'd ever seen it, even during his midnight teenage fumblings with Barbara before college. Six inches of it stood straight out from his fist, the plum head a shimmery, angry purple. Precum drooled from the pulsing slit at the tip.

It had been this way since leaving the museum, and had presented serious obstacle to leaping from rooftop to rooftop. He'd actually considered taking care of it on top of some building, but figured the risk was too high. As it was, he'd barely been inside the apartment before yanking his pants down to his muscular thighs and starting to stroke his rampant member. His buttocks clenched as he did, feeling his pulse rate rising; what was going on here? Dick couldn't remember ever feeling so fucking horny. It obviously had something to do with what happened at the museum, something to do with Catwo-

"Ungh," he grunted as a frisson of pleasure slid up his spine.

A chime sounded. Glancing over, he saw it was Babs calling. Fist slowly pumping his cock, he picked up the phone in his other hand.

"Hey," Dick said, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, but not missing a stroke. "What's up?"

"Just checking in," Barbara said; the gorgeous redhead known as Oracle was calling from her nerve centre back in Gotham. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," he said, pumping faster. "I'm good. Just out of breath." Maybe he should ask her if he could drop by; maybe a booty call was in order. Though confined to a wheelchair, Babs' figure was still as fine as it had been when she was active as Batgirl. As he thought about fucking the pretty college coed, Dick felt the need that had driven him home begin to abate and despite himself, the erection in his fist faltered. What the hell?

"I saw someone hit the Museum of Civilizations," she said, oblivious.

"Y-yeah, nothing serious." He watched as his dick flagged and deflated.

"Cops didn't nab anybody, though. Were you there?"


"Anybody we know?"

"Yeah, just Ssss-" Catwoman's name fell back into his throat as his cock surged back to life. The shaft inflated so rapidly in his fist that it made him dizzy.

"What was that?" Babs said. "I lost you there for a moment."

"It was Sssss-" pleasure shot up through his spine as images of Selina flashed through his head, as he remembered how she looked there in front of the Handmaid of Bast, posing with one hand on her hip, the plush globes of her ass wrapped glove tight and pushed out.

"What?" She asked again. "You're breaking up, Dick."

In his head, Catwoman strode around the pedestal, posing for him while he panted and pumped and tried to choke back the grunts.

"Just Ssssss-" just the effort of saying her name made his balls churn. "Ssssome random, nobody important." In his head, Selina nodded and smiled and just watching her lips curl made his balls jump and precum leak over his fist.

"How come you let him get away? Are you sure everything's alright?"

"No," he insisted. "I'm fine. Great." The imaginary Selina drew the handle of her whip up the length of her thigh; in his apartment, Dick fell to his knees.

"Are you sure? Do you need me to tell Bruce?"

"No!" He shouted. "I'm fine. I can handle Ssss-" he shuddered as his balls drew close to his body. "Ssssome dope, okay?" His fist flew up and down his slippery shaft, dreaming of Selina.

"Alright okay. I get it."

"G-good," he stammered. Catwoman tapped one heel impatiently against the floor. "Look it's been a long night, I should hit the sack."

"Already? It's only-"

"G'night, Babs. I'll talk to you later." Gritting his teeth, he hung up the phone even as Oracle was still talking.

In his head, Selina said one word: "Cum."

Dick had to choke back a scream as the cum sprayed forth from him, fine-tuned acrobat's body rigid as steel as the orgasm ripped through his body, pumping thick plumes of cream out of his balls. It was so intense it drove all thoughts and words and doubts out of his brain; his eyes rolled back in his head as he came and came and came, spurting out what seemed like a lifetime's worth of semen.

Eventually, his fist wrang his balls dry and Dick fell to the floor, spent. Once he could gather up the energy to stand, it'd be time to find out what the deal was with the Handmaid of Bast. For now, however, it was just easier to lie here.


The Director of Special Exhibits for the Blüdhaven Museum of Civilizations lived just outside the city core, in a (relatively) modest little McMansion that was hardly Catwoman's usual target. It was all so very *suburban*; she sneered. Nonetheless she took the time to case the place, making sure that there were no surprises in store.

Which is why, when Dick eased himself out of a third story window the night following her heist at the museum, she was seated atop a nearby gable, watching. He really did have a very nice butt, Selina mused as he wriggled his tight behind out the windowsill. He was much slimmer than his mentor, but it was all lean, sculpted muscle. She squeezed her thighs together, reminding herself to focus.

"Find anything interesting?" Selina asked as Nightwing straightened himself. The younger hero whirled around, and she noted the stricken look that he was quick to wipe from his features; what he had less control over was the flush in his cheeks. "No?" She tapped one leg against the shingles of the house, and his eyes flickered over them.

"What are you doing here?" Dick ignored her question and took a slightly unsteady step backwards.

"Well," Catwoman hopped off her perch; the boning in her catsuit provided significant support by necessity, but even so there was no restraining a certain amount of jiggle as she did. He rewarded her curiosity by flickering his gaze over her bosom for a moment longer than he had her legs. "The same thing you are, I imagine. I want to find out what I poured all over myself last night at the museum." Dick's eyes zeroed in on the elongated brown stain that crossed her leather-encased tits. Why didn't he even have his silly batons out? "Did you find anything?"

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