The Cat

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.

The Cat set the glass down, went back to her secret entrance, and found the bag of loot from the evening. It was a comparatively sparse night. Mr. Jackal had wanted Damien Dahmer's ledger, and the Cat had gotten it. She had also gotten several pieces of jewelry from Mrs. Dahmer's collection and an external hard drive that appeared to be full of things that Mr. Dahmer wouldn't want to get out. She had made a plan throughout the robbery on the various ways to get paid. The ledger to Mr. Jackal, of course, who was good about repeat business. The jewelry to her normal fence. And the hard drive for blackmail. Now, however, the plans were a little fuzzier. Which fence? And how did she get in contact for blackmail? And, for that matter, how did Mr. Jackal want the ledger delivered?

The Cat shook her head and took a breath. It had been a long day. The pleasant itching of silk over her body wasn't doing her concentration any favors, either. Why was she so bothered? Had it been that long since she had gotten off? Of course, it had been almost a year since her super-boy-toy. And since then, it had happened so infrequently. Was it... six months? No wonder The Cat was so bothered.

The Cat took an instinctive glance at the windows. They were heavily tinted. Even though the inside was lit and it was dark outside, nobody on the outside should have been able to see her or her collection. Still, before stripping there was always the instinctive check to make sure you weren't being watched.

The Cat slipped off the silk, dropping it on the floor between two priceless busts from the Roman empire. The underwear was quick to follow. She stepped out of them, now naked, with no pesky material to rub against her body. Still, the need had been awoken and would not now be quiet.

For just a moment, The Cat thought about the irony of it all. Normally, she was able to use her tits--did she normally call them that?--to control the men around her. Now, they and her pussy--again, was that the normal word? Did it matter?--were controlling her. For a moment, The Cat thought about how crazy the men who she had teased would be if they knew she was so horny that she just needed to strip down to nothing. She allowed herself a giggle at the thought.

The Cat knew this wasn't normal, but she also knew that she wasn't going to be able to have a clear thought until she got off. Maybe then she could consider what had made her so needy. Until then, thinking clearly had gotten very difficult.

The Cat slipped into her bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and plunged her fingers into her pussy. She was shocked at how wet it had gotten so quickly. She must have really needed a good dicking. If only she could have been this horny when she had her regular super-boy-toy. As great as her fingers felt already, she could tell that a thick dick inside her would have felt even better.

The Cat allowed herself a soft moan as she played with herself. Waves of pleasure echoed through her flesh with every flick of the finger. Still, as great as it felt, satisfaction was apparently illusive. That was no matter. The Cat, careful to not remove her fingers, scooted across the bed, reached with her free hand to her nightstand, and removed the vibrator from the drawer. She turned it on and replaced her fingers with the sturdier hardware.

"Ooooooh," The Cat purred as she felt the vibration. She was aware that her free hand was now squeezing her own tit, pinching her stiff nipple. It hurt in a very pleasing way. As she increased the intensity on her vibrator, she didn't even try to stop the deep, needy moans from escaping her throat. She knew she sounded like a cheap whore. If she had heard a woman making the noises she made, The Cat would have said the girl was trying too hard to fake it. When she heard them from her own throat, however, she only heard the desperation.

Again, she thought about how hard it would have made so many men to see her like this now. She sunk her teeth into her lower lip, thinking about how many men would love to watch her stuff a vibrator in her pussy, pinch her tits, and moan like a whore. Why did that resonate so deeply within her? Sure, she had her cleavage out for most capers, but she had never gotten so much of a thrill over envisioning men watch her play with herself. Of course, why shouldn't she? What was wrong with it? She was having fun. Why shouldn't they?

The Cat summoned an imaginary audience of men. She envisioned them surrounding her, watching her with the vibrator. She envisioned them taking out their dicks and jerking off over the scene. Why shouldn't they?

Despite the thrill... despite the sexual pleasure... despite the purest ecstasy she had ever felt... she could not send herself over the edge. She continued on and on until eventually she felt a horrifying sensation. The vibrator in her hand stuttered, slowed, and stopped as the battery gave out. The Cat moaned pathetically, trying to use is as a dildo and rub out the illusive orgasm. She knew even as she tried that it was hopeless.

Angry and unsatisfied, The Cat tossed the vibrator onto the floor. She glanced at the clock and found with horror that she had spent an hour and a half playing with herself without satisfaction. She pouted her lips and whimpered, as if she could seduce the orgasm out of her like she seduced men into underestimating her.

The Cat stood, finding that her legs were wobbly. Her arm was numb from the vibration. Her legs were soaked with her own wetness. She staggered out of the bedroom, finding her way back to her bar. She downed the rest of the whiskey, set the glass on the counter, and slumped down to the ground. She realized that her vibrator was dead and not charging. She knew that she should go put it on the charger, but she found that she was unable to rouse herself from the ground. She was weak, her mind was empty, and she needed to get off so badly.

Maybe she should call her super-boy-toy. Maybe he could dick her down good. Let him suck at her titties if he wanted, so long as he stuffed her. Where was her phone? The Cat looked around the room, past the various artifacts, and found that she couldn't remember where she had last put it. Did she even have the right number in there? She didn't know.

The Cat thought about two options. She could sit here and masturbate bitterly--and probably unsuccessfully--all night or she could call someone to dick her down. She moaned bitterly and forced herself back to her feet. She found her phone, resting on a display table that showed four ancient masks from various cultures (rumored to give the wearers magical abilities) and found her super-boy-toy's number. She went to press "call", then hesitated. Could she form words right now? She knew she could moan--she had been doing that all night--but could she speak? She didn't think so. She texted.

"Need to see you." Sent.

She paused, then sent another: "Urgent."

She set the phone back on the table, staring at the open message and waiting for a reply. When the phone dimmed, preparing to sleep, she pressed it again to keep it awake. Come on, she thought, where are you?

A text finally arrived: "Where?"

---

She had dressed again, but in a slightly different outfit. Her special grip boots had been replaced with a tall, spiked heel. The zipper on the front of her costume had been left all the way down. It stopped just above her still-wet pussy. Her tits, allowed greater freedom than normal, were barely contained by the leather outfit. She normally did makeup for her capers, but now it was thick. The lipstick was bright red. She knew she looked like a cheap porno version of herself, but she didn't care. She needed to be fucked.

The Cat arrived at the rooftop long before her super-boy-toy. As she waited, she frequently lost the battle with her own will and slipped her hand down the front of her outfit to play with herself. In the fresh air, outside of her apartment, she felt a little better. Her pussy was still dripping and her hand constantly found its way back to it, but she was at least able to convince herself to pull it out again. Maybe she needed some fresh air all along. Of course, The Cat knew that was a lie. She needed dick. What was taking him so long?

Finally, he arrived. He showed up in his trademark manner on the rooftop, his eyes scanning for potential danger. They saw only The Cat. As soon as his eyes found her, however, she could feel them all over her body.

"Cat?" he said with alarm. "What... what's going on?"

"Thank you for coming," The Cat said, doing her best to make her voice thick and seductive. She slinked towards him, knowing she looked good as she moved. Her tits were threatening to wiggle their way out of the zipper and she wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't catching glimpses of her stiff nipples. Good. Let him see. Let him fantasize about sucking on them. She sure was.

"I needed to see you," The Cat added.

"What's the urgency?" he demanded. The Cat knew he was starting to realize that this wasn't the emergency she may have led him to believe it was.