A Life in DC Ch.2 [DC Universe] (Patreon)

A Life in DC

Chapter 2

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He flipped her over, pinning her beneath him. A low, predatory chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Handle anything?" he growled, his hands roaming her curves possessively. "Selina, you passed out. Multiple times." He leaned in close, his voice a hot whisper against her ear. "Let's see if you can still say that when I'm done with you."

Instead of giving her what she clearly expected, he began to move down her body. He kissed a trail between her breasts, over the soft plane of her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. Her breath hitched, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair again. He settled between her thighs, pushing them open. The scent of her arousal was thick, intoxicating. He could see how wet she was, how ready. Her cunt was already glistening, a dark, slick promise against her pale skin.

He didn't wait. He lowered his head and took a long, slow lick, flattening his tongue against her swollen folds. Her whole body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. He did it again, then again, establishing a rhythm. He explored her with his mouth, his tongue delving into her heat, circling her clit, tasting her. He was methodical, relentless. He felt her muscles begin to tense, her hips starting to lift off the couch, seeking more pressure. Her breathing grew ragged, little whimpers and moans falling from her lips.

"Vieri... yes... right there... don't stop," she panted, her fingers tightening in his hair, trying to guide him.

He could feel her building, the tell-tale tremor in her thighs, the way her entire body was coiling like a spring. She was right there, hovering on the edge. He focused his attention on her clit, sucking it gently, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

"God, I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum," she cried out, her back arching.

And then he stopped.

He pulled back completely, leaving her gasping, her hips thrusting into empty air. Her eyes flew open, blazing with confusion and frustration. "What the fuck are you doing?" she snarled.

He just smirked, leaning up to kiss her inner thigh. "Patience, kitty. I'm just getting started." He waited a moment, letting the peak of her arousal recede just enough to be maddening, then he dove back in. He was even more relentless this time, his tongue and lips working her into a frenzy twice as fast. He brought her to the brink again, her body a taut bowstring of need, her pleas a desperate, incoherent stream of curses and his name.

"Please... Vieri, please... let me cum... please," she begged, her voice breaking.

He stopped again.

She whimpered, a sound of pure, agonized frustration. He looked up at her from between her legs, his chin glistening with her. "Begging already? I thought you could handle anything." He blew a cool stream of air over her overheated flesh, making her shudder. "I can break you, Selina. I can make you beg for it. I can make you forget your own name." His voice was a low, dirty promise. "You're going to cum when I say you can cum. And not a second before."

He gave her no time to retort. His mouth was on her again, a third assault. This time, he was merciless. He pushed her past the point of pleasure into a realm of pure, desperate need. She was writhing on the couch, her hips bucking wildly, trying to get the friction she so desperately craved. She was humping his face, a raw, primal motion, completely lost to the sensation. He could feel her entire body trembling on the verge of a cataclysmic orgasm.

He finally took pity on her. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot, and sucked hard on her clit.

The effect was instantaneous.

Selina screamed, a raw, ecstatic sound that was half-pleasure, half-pain. Her entire body seized, her back arching off the couch as a massive orgasm tore through her. Her cunt clamped down on his fingers like a vise, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her. She gushed, a flood of wetness coating his hand and face, and her vision went white, a silent scream tearing from her throat as the intensity sent her spinning into oblivion.

He didn't give her a moment to recover. He rose up, his cock a rigid, angry-looking spear, and hooked her legs over his arms, folding her nearly in half. The position left her completely exposed, her still-spasming cunt open and vulnerable. He lined the monstrous head of his cock up with her entrance.

He entered her in one single, devastating thrust.

The world didn't just tilt on its axis; it shattered. For Selina, there was only the sudden, searing reality of him. The breath was violently driven from her lungs in a pained gasp that caught in her throat, morphing into a high, thin cry that was equal parts agony and ecstasy. It was an intrusion so absolute, so profound, it felt less like a physical act and more like a divine, violent baptism. He was impossibly huge, a searing hot column of flesh that forced her body to reshape itself around him. The stretch was a burning, pleasurable agony, her inner walls straining, protesting, and then yielding to the overwhelming force. He filled her so completely, so deeply, that for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, she felt he was touching the very bottom of her, a presence so immense it felt like it was pressing against her soul.

There was no grace period, no gentle moment to acclimate. Vieri gave her no time to adjust. He held her suspended, her full weight resting on his powerful arms, her body folded and vulnerable. And then he began to move. His hips pulled back, a slow, torturous drag that made every nerve ending scream, before snapping forward with a powerful, bone-jarring impact. He established a rhythm at once, a relentless, punishing cadence that was less about lovemaking and more about conquest. Each thrust was a deep, powerful statement, a declaration of ownership that echoed in the wet, slapping sound of their flesh meeting. His grunts were low, guttural, animalistic sounds of exertion that vibrated through his chest and into hers, a primal soundtrack to her utter debasement.

The world dissolved into a blur of pure, unadulterated sensation. There was no couch, no room, no morning light. There was only the feel of him—hot, hard, and impossibly deep inside her. There was the sheer, unyielding strength of his arms holding her aloft, the effortless way he manipulated her body, using her for his pleasure. The scent of his sweat, the taste of his skin, the overwhelming masculine power that radiated from him in waves—it was a tidal wave that was drowning her, and she was willingly going under. It was too much. It was perfect. It was everything she never knew she needed.

Her body, which had known countless lovers and faced down death a dozen times, was completely overwhelmed. The coil of tension that had been tightening in her core for what felt like an eternity finally snapped. An orgasm hit her not like a wave, but like a fucking tsunami. It was a blinding, all-consuming explosion of pleasure that ripped through her nervous system like a lightning strike. Her back arched into a painful, rigid bow, her toes curling so tightly they cramped. A silent scream tore from her throat, her voice stolen by the sheer force of the sensation. Her cunt clenched around him, spasming violently, trying to milk the thick shaft impaling her, to pull him even deeper as her body convulsed.

The intensity of it was too much. The pleasure was so acute, so absolute, that her brain short-circuited. For a couple of seconds, her world went black. The white-hot pleasure consumed everything, and Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, the queen of Gotham's rooftops, simply switched off. She passed out, a limp, weightless doll in his arms.

He felt her go limp, the sudden dead weight in his arms, but he didn't stop. He didn't even break his rhythm. Her unconsciousness was just another milestone, another testament to his power. He pulled out of her with a wet, sucking sound, her body slumping onto the couch for a moment before he hooked his arms under her again. With a grunt of effort, he lifted her limp body, her head lolling back, her arms dangling over his shoulders. He hooked her legs around his waist, securing her to him. He entered her again in one smooth, powerful stroke, holding her aloft as he pistoned into her.

The new position was incredible. Gravity was his ally now, each downward thrust driving him even deeper than before. He was fucking her standing up, in the middle of his living room, using her beautiful, dangerous body like a life-sized sex doll. The sheer primal power of it was intoxicating, a heady rush that made his blood sing. He was a cop, a nobody, a ghost in his own life, but here, in this moment, he was a god.

Selina, roused from her brief blackout by the renewed, overwhelming assault, could only moan weakly into his shoulder. Her consciousness was a flickering candle in a hurricane. Her body was no longer her own; it was a vessel for his pleasure, a soft, warm place for him to sink his cock, and she was lost in a sea of sensation. Another orgasm crashed through her, a weaker, shuddering wave, but it was immediately followed by another, then another. She was cumming continuously, a series of rolling, ecstatic waves that left her trembling and breathless, her body a limp, quivering mass in his arms.

He felt his own release building, an inevitable tide rising from his balls. The pressure was immense, a coiling serpent ready to strike. He looked down at her, at her face buried in his neck, and with a loud, guttural roar that was part triumph, part release, he thrust himself as deep as he could go and unloaded. His cock pulsed as he filled her with his hot, thick seed, a massive, copious release that seemed to go on forever.

He stayed there for a long moment, his body trembling with the force of his release, his forehead resting against hers. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the faint patter of rain against the window. Then, as the last spasms subsided, he slowly, carefully, pulled out of her. A thick stream of his cum immediately followed, leaking from her well-used, gaping cunt and running down the inside of her thigh in a pearly, obscene river.

He carried her, a boneless, sated weight in his arms, through the living room and down the short hall to his bedroom. The morning light was stronger here, spilling across the simple, sturdy quilt his mother had made years ago. He laid her face down on the bed, her limbs splayed out in a position of complete surrender. She was a mess, her hair a tangled riot, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. A faint, blissed-out smile was on her lips as she drifted in a haze of post-coital exhaustion.

Vieri stood over her, his chest rising and falling with the deep, steady rhythm of a predator who has just made a kill. The dim light of the bedroom caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, carving his muscles into sharp relief. He wasn't even close to finished. The fire burning in his gut wasn't sated; it had only been stoked into a roaring inferno. The sight of her, Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, lying so utterly conquered and pliant on his bed, was the most potent fuel imaginable. She was a masterpiece of ruination, and he was the artist.

He reached down, his hands closing around her hips. The flesh was warm and soft beneath his grip. He pulled, lifting her lower body from the mattress. She offered no resistance, a boneless, yielding thing as he positioned her on her knees, her face turned to the side, buried in the pillow his mother had stitched. Her ass was presented to him, high and round, a perfect, pale prize in the gloom of the room. His eyes locked onto the tight, puckered ring of her asshole. It was the last frontier, the one hole he hadn't claimed, the final piece of her to possess. It was a tiny, innocent-looking starburst in stark contrast to the swollen, well-used folds of her cunt just below it.

He ran a possessive hand over the curve of her buttock, the skin smooth and flawless. His thumb brushed against her asshole, a feather-light touch that was both a question and a promise. Selina tensed, a subtle tightening of her muscles, and a soft whimper was muffled by the pillow. It was a sound of fear, of anticipation.

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice a low, dominant rumble that vibrated through her body. "Relax, kitty. I'm about to make you mine in every way that counts." He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of her lower back, making her shiver. "Ever been taken here, Selina?" he whispered, the words a dark, intimate poison. "Really taken? Not some gentle, exploratory poke. I mean ruined. Stretched open and broken by a cock that was made to destroy?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He wasn't looking for consent; he was taking what was his. He spat, a thick, deliberate wad of saliva that landed directly on her tight hole. It was a crude, primal act of ownership. He used his thumb to smear it around, circling the clenched muscle, pressing against the resistance. The intimate, messy preparation made her tremble, a wave of vulnerability washing over her.

He positioned the thick, swollen head of his cock at her rear entrance. The sight was obscene, a grotesque parody of fitting. His cock, a monster of flesh, was impossibly large compared to the tiny, clenched opening he intended to breach.

"This is going to hurt," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. It wasn't a warning; it was a simple fact, like stating the sky was blue. "But you're going to take it. And you're going to love it."

He pushed forward.

Selina’s whole body went rigid as a blinding, white-hot pain shot through her. It wasn't the pleasurable ache of being stretched in her cunt; this was a sharp, searing, tearing agony. She screamed into the pillow, the sound raw and muffled, her hands clawing at the bedsheets, knuckles white as she gripped the fabric for dear life. It was too much, too big, a burning intrusion that felt like it would split her in two. Her mind recoiled, a primal terror screaming at her to escape, but she was trapped, impaled.

He was relentless. He didn't force his way in with one brutal shove. That would have been too fast, too clean. Instead, he fed it to her, inch by impossible inch. A constant, unyielding pressure that forced her body to yield, to tear, to accommodate his monstrous size. His hands gripped her hips like iron vices, holding her in place, preventing her from scrambling away as he claimed her, marking her from the inside out. Tears streamed down her face, silent tracks of heat soaking into the pillowcase. She felt like she was being turned inside out.

Just when she thought she couldn't take another moment, when the pain was a blinding, all-consuming fire, he was fully sheathed inside her. His heavy balls came to rest against her dripping cunt, a final, possessive gesture. He paused, letting her adjust to the agonizing fullness, the sheer, overwhelming presence of him buried deep in her ass. She felt utterly, completely full, a vessel stretched to its breaking point.

Then he began to move.

He pulled back slowly, an agonizing drag that made every nerve ending scream, before slamming back into her. The pace was brutal, a punishing rhythm that stole her breath and shattered her thoughts. Each thrust was a deep, powerful stroke that sent shockwaves through her entire body, a jolt that traveled from her ass to the base of her skull. The pain began to morph, blurring at the edges, mingling with a dark, thrilling pleasure she'd never known. It was the pleasure of surrender, of being utterly and completely dominated. The fullness, the friction, the sheer, dominant force of him claiming her most forbidden place—it was intoxicating, a drug she was rapidly becoming addicted to.

Her whimpers of pain turned into guttural moans of pleasure. She started pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, her body learning to crave the brutal invasion. "Oh god... yes... fuck my ass... Vieri... destroy it," she babbled, her voice a raw, desperate plea, her words slurred by the pillow and the overwhelming sensations.

He obliged. His pace quickened, his hips becoming a blur as he pistoned into her, his heavy balls slapping against her cunt with each wet, meaty thrust. The room was filled with the raw, slapping sounds of their bodies, the obscene soundtrack of her complete and utter debasement. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, and began to rub it in tight, merciless circles.

Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, a cataclysmic explosion that started deep in her ass and radiated outwards, consuming her entire being. Her vision went black, her body convulsing uncontrollably as her ass and cunt spasmed violently. A strangled scream tore from her throat as she squirted again, a flood of juices soaking the bed beneath her.

The feel of her clamping down on him like a vise, her entire body convulsing around his cock, sent him over the edge. With a loud, guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and unloaded, his cock pulsing as he pumped his hot, thick seed deep into her bowels.

He collapsed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the bed, both of them gasping for air. He stayed inside her for a long moment, his body trembling, before slowly, carefully, pulling out. Her ass gaped open, a mess of his cum and her own juices, a raw, red, ruined testament to the brutal fucking he had just given her.

He rolled her over onto her back. She was limp, her eyes glazed, a wrecked, blissed-out mess. His cum was leaking from both her well-used holes, pooling on the quilt beneath her. He looked down at her, at the beautiful, dangerous woman he had utterly broken, and a dark sense of satisfaction settled over him.

He knelt on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his still-hard, cum-and-ass-slick cock jutting out from his body like a glistening, obscene monument to his conquest. It was a weapon, still slick from the battles it had just won, and it demanded to be honored. He reached out, his hand tangling in the dark, sweat-dampened strands of her hair, not gently, but with a firm, possessive grip. He used it like a leash, tilting her face up towards him, forcing her hazy, lust-drugged eyes to meet his.

"Clean it," he commanded, his voice rough, a raw, gravelly sound that scraped against her eardrums.

Her eyes, those sharp, intelligent eyes that had sized up countless men and found them wanting, were now clouded, unfocused. They struggled to focus on the object presented before her. She knew where it had just been. The memory was fresh, a searing brand on her senses. She could see the faint traces of her own ass on it, a milky, translucent sheen that coated the thick, veined shaft. It was filthy. It was debauched. It was the most intimate proof of her utter surrender. A flicker of something—hesitation, revulsion, the last dying ember of her pride—crossed her face. It was there for only a second before it was extinguished, replaced by a submissive, worshipful hunger that was both terrifying and deeply, profoundly arousing. Her lips, swollen and bruised from his kisses, parted slightly.

She opened her mouth.

He didn't let her be gentle. He didn't allow her the small mercy of controlling the pace, of setting the terms of her own debasement. He fed his cock into her mouth, his hand holding her head in place, a firm, unyielding anchor. The thick, flared head pushed past her lips, the taste of him—salt, sweat, and the musky, bitter tang of her own ass—exploding on her tongue. It was a flavor that was uniquely them, a dark, primal cocktail that spoke of ownership and conquest.

"Taste that, Selina?" he growled, his voice a low, dirty taunt that vibrated through his shaft and directly into her soul. "Taste your ass on my cock? You're loving it, aren't you? Such a dirty fucking kitten." His words were a lit match to gasoline, igniting a fresh wave of arousal in her already spent body.

She moaned around his length, the sound a muffled, desperate plea. Her tongue, which had been hesitant for a split second, now sprang to life, swirling around the head with an adoring reverence that was both humbling and incredibly arousing. She was worshipping at the altar of his cock, her movements a testament to her complete and utter submission. She was cleaning him, not just with her mouth, but with her soul, her every action a prayer of devotion.

He began to move, fucking her face, his strokes deep and demanding. He was using her mouth to clean himself, to assert his dominance, to complete the trifecta. Each thrust was a deliberate act, a slow, deep slide that pushed him to the back of her throat, making her gag, her body's reflexive protest a sweet, music to his ears. He could feel the pressure building again, a slow, coiling heat in his balls, a testament to his seemingly inexhaustible stamina. He was a god, and her mouth was his temple.

He held her head, his hips pumping faster, his balls slapping against her chin with a wet, rhythmic cadence. "Swallow it all," he grunted, his voice thick with impending release. "Every last drop."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself in her throat, his cock pulsing as he came for the third time that morning, his hot, thick seed pumping directly down her gullet. Selina choked and swallowed, her body trembling as she drank him down, her eyes rolling back in her head as a small, final orgasm shuddered through her, a last, dying ember of pleasure in the ashes of her own ruin.

When he finally released her, she slumped back against the pillows, completely spent. She was a ruin, a beautiful, broken thing, covered in his cum, her lips swollen, her body marked by his possession. Vieri stood up, looking down at her. The hangover was gone. The self-pity was gone. All that remained was a raw, primal satisfaction. He had taken one of the most dangerous women in Gotham and claimed her completely. He had found a use for his useless, absurd asset. And it felt fucking good.

***

The Batcave was a cathedral of cold shadows and colder purpose. Monitors hummed with the silent, steady rhythm of Gotham's diseased heart, each screen a window into the city's myriad sins. But one screen held his attention. It was a private feed, a micro-camera he had managed to tag on Selina Kyle's suit during their chase last night, a precaution for tracking her to her lair. He hadn't expected this.

He hadn't expected her to find a lair so quickly, so brazenly. And he certainly hadn't expected him.

Oliviero Vieri. A GCPD patrolman. A ghost in the system, a man with a spotless but unremarkable record. Batman had run the face recognition an hour ago, the algorithm spitting out the file in seconds. A cop. A simple, flatfoot beat cop. The irony was a physical blow, a punch to the gut that was far more painful than any Croc could ever deliver.

On the main screen, the footage from last night played. He had watched it already, his jaw a hard, rigid line of stone. He had watched as Selina, his Selina, was thrown onto the couch. He had watched as Vieri exposed himself. And he had watched as her eyes, those sharp, defiant eyes, had widened in a mixture of shock and raw, undisguised lust.

The cock.

It was the focal point of his nightmare. A monstrous, humongous thing that seemed to defy biology, a weapon of flesh that was both absurd and terrifyingly real. He had seen Selina with men before—playboys, criminals, vigilantes. He knew her appetites. But this was different. This wasn't a game. This was a conquest.

He watched as Vieri entered her, as her body arched in a silent scream, as she passed out from the sheer overwhelming force of it. He had watched, his gloved hands clenched into fists so tight his gauntlets creaked, as the cop continued to fuck her unconscious body. A hot, foreign feeling had churned in his gut, a bitter, acidic cocktail of rage and a horrifying, unwilling fascination.

He had cum then. The first time. It had been a shameful, violent release, a betrayal of everything he stood for. He had gritted his teeth, his body shuddering in the cold, leather embrace of his suit, as he spilled himself into the darkness of the cave. He told himself it was a reaction to the stress, a biological response to the extreme stimuli. A lie. He knew it was a lie.

Now, he was watching the live feed. The morning light in Vieri's apartment was a cruel, unforgiving spotlight. He watched as Selina, the woman who had led him on a chase across rooftops, who had matched wits with him and spat in his face, was on her knees. He watched as she worshipped the cop's cock, her adoration so blatant, so absolute, that it felt like a personal attack. He saw the way she looked at Vieri, and he understood. He had lost.

The screen switched to the wall. Vieri, holding her as if she weighed nothing, pinning her and driving into her. Batman's eyes were glued to the point of their union, to the thick, veined shaft disappearing into her, to the way her body convulsed in orgasm. He could feel the phantom sensation, the memory of his own inadequate, four-inch erection, a pathetic, shriveled thing in comparison. The thought was a poison, eating away at the foundation of his identity. He was the Bat. He was fear. He was justice. But in this one, primal arena, he was nothing. He was a joke.

His hand moved almost of its own accord, sliding down the front of his suit, the armored plates parting with a soft hiss to reveal the hidden fastenings beneath. He freed himself, his own cock already hard, a traitorous response to the debauchery on the screen. He was pathetic. A voyeur in his own temple, masturbating to the woman he desired being utterly broken by another man.

He watched as Vieri carried her to the bed. He watched as he positioned her, her ass raised in the air, an offering. Batman's breath hitched. He knew what was coming. He had fantasized about it, in his darkest, most private moments. Taking Selina there, claiming her last bastion of defiance. But he never would. He was too controlled, too bound by his own rigid code.

Vieri had no such code.

He watched as the cop prepared her, his movements crude, primal. He watched as he pushed into her ass, the camera angle giving him a perfect, horrifying view of the impossible stretch. He could see the pain on Selina's face, even muffled by the pillow, and then the shift, the slow, mesmerizing transformation into pleasure. She was loving it. She was loving being destroyed.

Batman's hand moved faster, his strokes matching the brutal rhythm on the screen. He was a pathetic creature, hunched over in his command center, the epitome of control and discipline, reduced to this. A slave to his own base desires, a spectator to his own emasculation. He watched as Vieri came inside her ass, a thick, possessive release. And he came with him, a second, weaker, but no less shameful orgasm that left him feeling hollow, empty.

He didn't stop. He couldn't. The final act was about to begin. He watched as Vieri presented his soiled cock to Selina's lips. He watched as she hesitated, then opened her mouth, her submission complete. He watched as the cop fucked her face, his dirty words a low murmur in the cave's vast silence. "Taste your ass on my cock? You're loving it, aren't you?"

The words were a dagger in his heart. He saw the adoration in Selina's eyes, the worship. He saw the final, triumphant release, the third load that Vieri pumped down her throat. And as Selina's body went limp, a beautiful, broken thing, Batman came for the third time. A dry, painful shudder that wracked his body, leaving him gasping in the cold, silent darkness.

He slumped back in his chair, the evidence of his pathetic disgrace cooling on his suit. On the screen, Vieri stood over her, a picture of primal satisfaction. The hangover was gone. The self-pity was gone. All that remained was a raw, primal satisfaction.

Batman felt nothing but a cold, vast emptiness. He had lost her. Not to a rival, not to an enemy. He had lost her to a common cop with a god-sized cock. And in the sterile, silent heart of his sanctuary, surrounded by the tools of his war on crime, the Dark Knight had never felt more like a pathetic, helpless little boy.

***

The scent of sizzling garlic and onions eventually replaced the musky, sweat-and-sex-soaked air of the apartment. Vieri stood at the small stove in his boxers, a worn t-shirt thrown on, deftly stirring a pan of pasta sauce. The domesticity of the scene was absurd, a stark contrast to the primal, animalistic chaos that had consumed his living room just an hour before. Selina, wrapped in his bathrobe, sat at the small kitchen table, her legs tucked beneath her, watching him. The robe was too big for her, swallowing her small frame, making her look almost delicate. She held a mug of coffee in both hands, the warmth a small comfort against the lingering aches that were a testament to their morning.

"Good thing it's my day off," Vieri said, not turning around. He gestured with the wooden spoon towards the general direction of the couch and bedroom. "I think I'd need a hell of a sick note to explain this to the captain."

Selina let out a small, husky laugh. "I'm sure 'fucked a wanted fugitive into a coma' wouldn't fly in HR."

"Probably not," he grunted, draining the pasta and adding it to the sauce. The simple, rhythmic motions were calming, a return to a normalcy he hadn't realized he missed. He plated two generous portions and slid one in front of her before sitting down opposite.

They ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clinking of forks against ceramic. Selina watched him, her gaze no longer just lustful, but deeply, intensely curious. She saw the way he moved, the easy confidence in his own space, the complete lack of awkwardness. This wasn't a man who was surprised by his own prowess; this was a man who was finally using a tool he'd long kept in its sheath.

"Alright," she said, putting her fork down. "I have to ask."

He looked up at her, chewing slowly. "Ask what?"

"Don't play dumb. You know what." Her eyes flicked down towards his lap, then back up to his face. "How? I've seen... a lot. In my line of work, you see everything. But you... you're a fucking anomaly, Vieri. Was it a lab accident? Did you piss off a wizard? What's the story?"

He took a long drink of water, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. "It's just a thing, Selina. A genetic lottery ticket I didn't want and spent most of my life trying to hide."

"Bullied," she stated. It wasn't a question.

He gave a short, mirthless nod. "From the moment I hit the locker rooms. The 'freak,' the 'horse,' the 'donkey-dick.' It was a great way to make sure I never got close to anyone. Turns out, most girls are intimidated before they get a taste, and the ones who do... they tend to get a little obsessed. Most guys are just assholes about it." He shrugged, a gesture of profound, lifelong resignation. "So I hid it. I became a ghost. A flatfoot who kept his head down and didn't cause trouble. It was the most useless fucking thing in the world." 

Selina reached across the table, her fingers brushing over his. Her touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the ferocity of their earlier coupling. "It's not useless," she said, her voice soft but firm. "It's not a tool, Vieri. It's just... you. And it's magnificent."

He pulled his hand back, a flicker of his old cynicism returning. "Look, this was... intense. Unbelievable. But I'm not going to tell anyone. My lips are sealed. You don't have to worry about me." He leaned back in his chair. "And if you want to slip out the window and we never see each other again, I get it. No hard feelings."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Selina's face. "Oh, I'm not worried about you talking, Vieri. I'm worried about you not being here when I decide to come back." She leaned forward, the robe falling open slightly, giving him a glimpse of the bruises he'd left on her skin. "I very much mind the idea of never seeing this again. I'm a woman who collects beautiful, dangerous things. And you," she purred, "are the most beautiful and dangerous thing I've ever found. I'll be visiting. Occasionally."

He studied her face, searching for any sign of a lie, of a game. He found none. He saw only raw, genuine desire. "Sure," he said, the word coming out more relaxed than he intended. "My door's usually unlocked."

"Good." She finished her pasta, stood up, and stretched like a cat. "I need to freshen up. And then I have to go see a man about a jewel."

She disappeared into the bathroom, and he heard the sound of the shower. He cleaned up the plates, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. This was insane. He was harboring a fugitive, the city's most wanted cat burglar, who was now promising to return for more sex. It was the kind of thing that could get him fired, or killed.

When she emerged, she was back in her catsuit, the dark leather clinging to her curves like a second skin. She looked every bit the Catwoman, a dangerous, sleek predator. But as she walked towards the window, she stopped. She turned to him, her expression softening.

She didn't say a word. She simply dropped to her knees on the floor in front of him, her movements fluid and graceful. She reached for the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down, freeing his cock, which was already beginning to stir at the sight of her. It wasn't about sex anymore, not entirely. This was something else. A ritual. A benediction.

She leaned in and nuzzled her face against his semi-hard shaft, her cheek rubbing against the warm, heavy flesh like a kitten seeking affection. "I'm going to miss this," she whispered, her voice thick with a sincerity that startled him. "I'm going to miss you."

Vieri looked down at her, at the woman who had clawed her way through the gutters of Gotham, now on her knees before him, not in submission, but in worship. He felt a surge of power, but it wasn't cruel. It was warm, possessive. "You're going to be thinking about this cock while you're out there jumping across rooftops, aren't you, kitty?" he murmured, his voice a low, dirty rumble. "Thinking about how it felt in your ass, how it tasted in your mouth. You're going to get distracted, and you might fall."

"Maybe," she purred, taking the head into her mouth and sucking gently. "Or maybe I'll just be more motivated to get back here in one piece."

Her enthusiasm was breathtaking. She wasn't just sucking him off; she was making love to his cock with her mouth. Her tongue was everywhere, her lips soft and yielding, her hands stroking his thighs and balls with an adoring reverence. She took him deep, her throat relaxing to accommodate his size, her eyes locked on his the entire time. The sight of her, the Catwoman, on her knees, worshipping him with such abandon, was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

He could feel the pressure building, a familiar, tightening heat. "That's it," he grunted, his hand tangling in her hair. "Show me how much you want it. Show me you'll be a good girl and come back."

Her response was a moan of pure, unadulterated need, and she doubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her movements more urgent. With a loud, guttural groan, he came, his hips bucking as he emptied himself into her eager, waiting mouth. She stayed with him, swallowing every pulse, her eyes never leaving his, a look of triumphant satisfaction on her face.

When he was finished, she licked him clean, a final, possessive act, then rose to her feet. She leaned in and gave him a deep, lingering kiss, allowing him to taste himself on her tongue.

"Goodbye, Vieri," she whispered, and then she was gone, slipping out the window and into the Gotham afternoon without a sound.

He stood there for a long time, staring at the empty window. He looked down at his own body, at the instrument that had brought him both shame and, now, this strange, electrifying connection. A wry, tired smile touched his lips. I guess the joke finally had its moment, he thought. Its use.

The next day, he was back in his patrol car, the stale coffee in his thermos tasting like every other day. He responded to a noise complaint, broke up a domestic dispute, and wrote a parking ticket. He was Oliviero Vieri, GCPD patrolman, a ghost in the machine. But as he drove through the grim, rain-slicked streets, he felt a subtle shift. The city was the same. The job was the same. But he wasn't. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't just a ghost. He was a ghost with a secret. And he was a man who was expecting a visitor.