Reacquainted

20.

The jumpsuit was comfortable, and he could even get used to the mask, but the cape was a real pain in the neck. It wasn't attached to the mask—had it been that way in the comics?—and had to be tied separately, and he kept sitting on it and half choking himself. The boot tops felt kind of silly too. He was wearing them over a pair of lace-up rubber-soled oxfords: good comfortable cop shoes. If he had to move fast for any reason...

Theo had thought about showing the email to Serge, then thought about showing to his Lieutenant. He probably should have. What if there was really something? Man, he'd never pretended to be Einstein, but he was sure feeling dumb now, getting out of his F-150 in a stupid Batman suit in an empty parking lot ten miles from nowhere. But the lot wasn't quite empty either. That was Jen's Elantra, so she'd driven herself here, probably. He supposed that was a good sign, and there was another truck as well, a Toyota, couple of years old. Theo got a pen and a pad from his glove compartment and wrote down the license plate number. Should he call it in? Course he should. It'd take almost no time, and any information could be useful just now. Feeling self conscious, he reached back into his truck for his cell phone, called the plate in, waited a few, took the call back: 2010 Tacoma registered to a Magnolia Sutter, no tickets, no red flags, nothing.

"Well hell!" Swearing; Serge would have swallowed his Tic Tacs. Deciding he'd rather not be recognized, Theo untied the cape, put the cowl and mask over his head, and retied the wretched thing. Then he took his gun—Glock 22, .40: don't leave home without it—and headed around the side of the warehouse.

He found an unlocked door which led into what looked like a reception area. A construction paper bat signal, black on yellow, was taped to a door to the right of an empty desk. Feeling more foolish by the minute, Theo raised his gun, stood to one side and pulled the door open with his left hand. He saw a warehouse floor divided haphazardly into workspaces by everything from cinderblock to felt partitions. Pinned to one of the later he saw another bat signal. A note under it said: "Back of the building, first door after the water fountain." The gun, the bat-suit: Theo felt like a prize idiot as he headed to the back of the building, found the door with—whaddya know?—another effing bat signal taped to it. Underneath another note: "Please knock."

Theo thought back to the email. Behind this door was Jen, and somebody was holding an empty gun to her head. All he had to do was say 'red', and whoever it was would hand him the piece, right? OK, so, knock? Kick it in and lead with the gun? 'Your treat will continue.' Better be a hell of a treat. Officer Theo Sutcliffe raised a blue-gloved hand and gave three loud knocks.

21.

"Come in."

The voice was unfamiliar: female, low, a little husky, a sexy voice. Strange thought to have just then. For no reason at all, Theo decided not to lead with his gun. He'd hold it down by his side, but if this was just some kind of a joke... He pushed open the door, and walked into the room.

He saw his wife, her wrists shackled together and attached to a hook in the ceiling. She was wearing a white dress—her Vicki Vale costume, probably; she hadn't let him see it, wanted it to be a surprise. She looked...lovely. Behind her and slightly to her right, holding a small revolver under his wife's chin was...Catwoman?

His was startled to discover he'd raised his gun. He saw the other woman—Catwoman—react. She lowered the revolver to her side. She spoke. Four words: "Unnecessary. Remember the email." He lowered his gun, breathed deeply, said "Red."

Catwoman—he had to keep calling her that; he was sure he'd never seen her before—walked towards him. She was...it was as if she'd walked out of his most secret erotic dreams...she was beautiful...sexy...he didn't have the words. She moved gracefully, hips undulating in a hypnotic rhythm. The black catsuit looked painted onto her, and it was opened to...he watched her breasts bounce gently as she walked. He looked up to her face, saw her notice his stare. He blushed under the mask. She smiled. Then she handed him the revolver. He broke the cylinder: empty, as promised. He examined the gun, noticed the sealed barrel.

"This is...useless. It's a prop, a toy."

She smiled and nodded.

"OK, first I'm going to check on my wife, and then I'm going to examine this room."

She nodded again.

With a gun in each hand, he walked towards his wife. She watched him come. Her eyes were bright and alive, but she seemed to be making an effort to keep her face free of any expression.

"Jen, did you write me that email?"

She nodded. No words; like Catwoman."

"Are you alright?"

Another nod.

"Are you here...um...of your own free will?" It sounded stilted, almost official.

Another nod.

"Is this...my treat?"

A small smile.

Theo stood, uncertain. Finally: "I'm going to take a quick look around." She nodded again.

He wandered around the mostly empty room: gray industrial carpet on the floor, three non-descript lighting fixtures on the ceiling, also some ring bolts and hooks, more of the same on the walls. It occurred to him suddenly that the ceiling itself was a later addition. At 10 feet high, it was much lower than the unfinished ceiling of the warehouse proper. He took in the flogger and the riding crop, both now hanging on hooks behind Jen. He noticed—and wondered how he'd missed seeing it before—what looked like a large hardwood table top canted almost vertically on some sort of mechanical base. Various chains and strips of fabric hung from it. What the...? After a moment he headed into the small bathroom, took at quick look into some trashbags—clothes in one, some sort of cushions in another—and examined a purse and the duffel, brought out a large folding knife, held it out towards Catwoman. "What's this?"

She smiled: "Remember the email. Trust me. Your wife does."

He looked toward Jen, who nodded.

Theo said: "If I give you this empty, filled toy gun back, we...um...do something...like play...or..." His imagination failed him. "If I say 'red' at any time during the evening, whatever we're doing stops. And the same for Jen, right? She can say 'red' too?"

Catwoman: "We'll call her Vicki, but yes, that's right."

"Am I going to...enjoy this?"

"I have no idea." Then she let her eyes travel slowly down the length of his body. Her gaze lingered on his thighs, then on his chest, arms and shoulders. Then she spoke softly: "I know I will."

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" At her nod, Theo left the room, went back out to his truck, and locked his Glock in the glove compartment. Then he came back into the room, and held out the Taurus. The little golden claws clicked as Catwoman took back her gun.

22.

Without another word, she turned and sauntered back to her captive. She stood slightly behind the bound woman, grabbed a fistful of blonde hair, and jerked her head back violently. Vicki squeaked in pain, and Batman started forward. But before he had taken two steps, the gun was again pressed into the hollow of her throat just below the chin. He froze.

It was silly, he knew the gun wasn't loaded, but her moves were so quick, so vicious. He had checked, right?

"Just so we're all clear on the rules, Handsome: you will do exactly what I say, when I say, or I will blow what few brains your little bimbo has all over the nice carpet. Copy that, lawman?"

"OK, sure...just...don't hurt her."

"Aw...why not?" She giggled. "It's kind of fun, you know? You should try hurting her a little. You might develop a taste for it."

"Alright, you're sick!" He was shouting. Why was he shouting? And she was laughing at him.

"...and depraved and evil, blah, blah, blah. Stop talking, and listen."

He obeyed.

"Walk over to the platform." She pointed at the upright table. "At the bottom you'll find a pair or ankle cuffs. Take off your shoes and socks, and those idiotic boot covers, and the cape. You can leave the mask. Then bend down, put the cuffs around your ankles, and fasten the buckles."

"Wait a minute..."

"Do it now, or I'll hurt her." The gloved fist tightened in the blonde hair. Jen/Vicki made a little frightened sound. But she didn't say 'red.'

Slowly he moved sideways, never taking his eyes off the two women, until he stood in front of the table, or whatever it was. Then he did as ordered, taking off shoes, socks, boot covers, and cape and cuffing his ankles. The shackles were low enough to allow his feet to remain on the floor. He straightened, and saw that Catwoman had moved quickly. She now stood perhaps five feet to his right, the gun in her right hand still trained on Vicki.

"Stretch out your right arm, NOW!"

His body responded to her shout without conscious though, and she handcuffed his right wrist with a pair of cuffs attached to a chain which led around the back of the platform. He raised his hand to see how much play there was in the chain, but she darted behind him, and he heard the chain rattle at the same time as he felt his arm dragged down to his side. She re-emerged from the other side of the table holding another pair of cuffs on another chain. She gave him an evil smile.

"Got you now, Batman." she purred. "Both ankles and one wrist, and I can have you flat on your back at the pull of a lever." She dropped the cuffs and sauntered back to the row of hooks, letting him watch the roll of her hips under the skintight spandex. Then she came back and stood directly in front of him, just out of his reach. "Now, why don't you be a good little superhero and let me cuff your left wrist, so you don't get any cute ideas. That way I won't be tempted to shoot your girlfriend."

"I don't think so." There really wasn't much he could do physically—the ankle cuffs restricted his range of motion more than he would have anticipated—but he felt like Batman wouldn't just...

"Pretty please?" Her fingers were toying with the zipper just over her cleavage. She pulled it down an inch. Her breasts were large, and thrust against the slackened tension. "More?" He said nothing. She said "Give me your wrist."

He said: "Make me."

23.

"Make me." Mags could swear the two little words were rearranging her molecules even as she stood in front of him, teasing him with her breasts. Her blood boiled, her thighs twitched, her mouth was dry, her lips were wet, and her pussy, her cunt, her honeypot her fuckbox was melting like butter in a skillet. Mags had become a dominatrix for a couple of reasons. At first she'd thought she was doing it for the money, and the money had been nice. But she'd also known that the work reflected her sexual inclinations. She liked being on top, controlling, seducing; the active partner rather than the passive. In the almost three years since she'd begun topping, she'd been in potentially sexual situations with many partners: mostly men, but some women; old, young, tall, short, attractive, ugly, from all sorts of places and all walks of life. But she hadn't actually had sex with any of them. A major component of domination was denial. Dressed in pantsuits, school uniforms, twin sets, lingerie, rubber, and faux-fur, she had denied...had to be thousands of orgasms, and half of them had been—potentially—hers.

Professionally, of course, she'd had to. Doms don't fuck clients; prostitutes do. And whether you agreed with the law or not, prostitution was illegal. Mags loved most aspects of domination, but denial just plain sucked. So she'd looked elsewhere for satisfaction. Her last few lovers had come from the art world, and they'd been gentlemen: intelligent, handsome, gym-fit, more-or less wealthy. Like Don, they'd been good in bed, but not surprising, not spontaneous. And when she'd tried to push...

But now, things were different. The man bound before her was tall and powerfully built. He was confused and a little angry, but he was aroused. She could feel it pouring off of him, and she could see it too. The blue shorts were a little less tight than the nylon under them, but she had watched as she'd teased, and now she noticed...hmmm. That must be uncomfortable.

She grinned to herself. And she could do anything, everything with her big, handsome, hung prisoner. She could be capricious, cruel, or very generous with him, or with her, with both of them. No denial tonight. It was Halloween—or near enough—and she was Catwoman, and Batman had fallen into her trap. She had him and his little princess at her mercy, and she wasn't feeling particularly merciful.

24.

"Make me."

She looked him in the eye. Then slowly and deliberately—making sure he knew what she was doing—she let her eyes wander down to the bulge beneath the blue shorts. "Guess what, Princess?" she called over her shoulder, "I think your boyfriend's cock is getting hard. I've been showing him my tits, and I think he likes them."

Color rushed to his face, and she laughed in triumph. "You do like them don't you, Batman?" She dropped the cuffs, and reached up to cup her breasts beneath her catsuit, squeezing them, jiggling them, pushing them together to emphasize her cleavage. She pouted and purred. "M-rrow. Do you like them better than hers? They're bigger, aren't they? Is that why you won't let me cuff your other wrist? You want to 'cop' a feel?" She laughed again, as she watched his jaw set. His body writhed. His erection was probably really uncomfortable now, and he had a hand free, but he made no move to rearrange things. Instead, to her astonishment, he held out his left wrist.

"Oh that's purr-fect," cooed Catwoman. She stepped back, allowing her other captive a better view. "Have a look at this, Vicki-kins. You must suck a mean cock, Honey. I think he wants me to cuff him, so he won't be tempted to touch. Am I right, Bats?" She giggled. "Oh goddess, I am right, aren't I? You're afraid of what you'll do if I were to let the girls out to play, aren't you?"

"Will you shut up and cuff me already!" snarled Batman, through clenched teeth.

Maybe I don't wanna anymore." Her voice was high and girlish now. "Maybe I wanna get naked and nasty, and feel Batman mauling my big, soft titties. Maybe I want you to see how much nicer they are than your little slut's over there. Oh, I know!" The wicked grin was back. "We'll have a little beauty pageant: just two contestants and one event." She stalked into the bathroom, came out with the folding knife, and opened it with a click. She paused for a moment. "Anybody have anything colorful to say?"

Jen and Theo were facing each other over a distance of about eight feet. Their eyes met. Theo looked the question. In his mind, the knife had replaced the gun as his primary concern. Catwoman, whoever she was, was crazy; hotter than hell, smart, inventive, whatever, but crazy as a loon. Who acts like this, talks like this, outside of the movies? But Jen seemed to know this woman. Jen trusted her. Jen was here because she wanted to be, and he was here because Jen wanted him to be here too. Jen's lips were parted. She looked beautiful, terrified, maybe even turned on. She wasn't going to say a word. Fair enough. Neither would he.

Mags regarded them both. The moment passed; no safe word. She walked slowly over to Jen/Vicki, who watched nervously as the light caught the sharp steel blade. Catwoman was back, and she wrapped a long arm around Vicki Vale's slender waist as she examined the knife in her right hand.

"We're going to have a 'Best Boobs' contest, Handsome. Vicki's going to show you hers first. You'll like that. I mean, you've seen them before, but I'm assuming you like them. Then I'm going to show you mine. You can't touch hers, because I don't want you to, and anyway you've touched them before." Then, in a seductive purr: "But you can touch mine. It's only fair, right? You're the judge, and you should have all the information you need to make an informed decision."

"Now for the prizes: if you like hers better, all you have to do is say so, and I'll let you go: both of you, all done, free as little birdies. But if you like mine better...you stay a little longer, and tell me what else you like. Deal?"

Batman: "All I have to do is say I like...um...Vicki's better than yours, and we can go?"

Catwoman: "That's right, but you do have to...touch. Fair is fair, right? And it's not like you don't want to."

Batman: "Fine. It's a deal."

"M-rrow!" Catwoman looked at the bound blonde next to her, and licked her lips with her long tongue, making sure Batman could see. Then she came around in front of Vicki and put her arms around the smaller woman's waist. She leaned in and kissed the side of her captive's throat; then she dragged her tongue up towards Vicki's right ear. She traced the delicate curve with her tongue, and nipped the lobe. Vicki groaned. Mags breathed, as softly as she could: "How you holding up, Honey?"

Jen's eyes widened. She whispered: "Can I..." Mags kissed her lips, gently, effectively hiding Jen from the sight of her bound husband. "Just talk into my ear, low and slow. I'll hear you. You having fun?" Her lips moved back to Jen's throat.

"Oh God, yes!" Jen sighed. "Oh, Mags, you are so hot, and Theo is so...yummy, my panties...mmm, that feels good...my panties are drenched!"

Mags flicked Jen's ear again, eliciting another hum. "Good. Now in a minute, I'm going to cut away the top of your dress. Stay still while I'm holding the knife, but after that, struggle a little."

"Why?"

"Trust me, OK? He obviously adores you, but he's got a real damsel-in-distress jones too. Just go with me on this."

"OK. Are you going to use the..."

"Shhh. Trust me."

"'K." Then louder: "Stop it! Leave me alone. Take your hands off me...oww!

Catwoman's hand was back in the blonde hair. She pulled Vicki's head back, exposing her throat. Then she raised the knife, and let the blunt edge glide, very gently down the front of her prisoner's neck.

"Feisty little bitch you've got here, Bats." Then with a twist of her hand in the hair, she forced the smaller woman to look her in the eye. "Nice and still now, Kitten," she sighed. "Be a shame if my hand slipped and I had to shampoo the carpet. Blood stains can be a bear."

"No, please don't..." whimpered Vicki, but she held still as Catwoman put the knife to the neckline of her dress, and forced it outward, making a jagged tear in the beadwork. She then folded the knife, tossed it on the floor, walked around the now-squirming blonde, and grabbed the fabric on either side of the cut.

"Pay attention now, Handsome," Catwoman called, "we want an honest opinion, don't we, Cutie-pie?"

"No, oh God, don't...let go of..."

Vicki screamed as Catwoman tore the top of her dress apart, exposing her bra-less chest. Her breasts were apple-sized, pale, round and high, with tiny pink areolas surrounding fat red nipples, and they bounced enticingly as Vicki struggled to escape Catwoman's clutches. To no avail, the clawed gloves reached around, cupped and squeezed, as the mocking voice sounded close to her ear.

"M-rowrr! Ooh, Batman, I can see why you'd want to keep these around to play with! What pretty little cupcakes you have, Princess." Then: "Stop squirming, bitch! This is a contest. Act like a professional!"

Catwoman wandered over to Batman, keeping to his right. He had said nothing, but his body was bent slightly forward at the waist. Watching the beautiful brunette tease and torment his woman had made him angry, but it had also made him as hard as he could ever remember being. His cock was tangled somewhere between his underwear and the jumpsuit, and he was really uncomfortable.

"Aw, poor Puddin'," said her mocking voice over his right shoulder. "I'd take care of that for you, but I wouldn't want to prejudice the judging."