The woman in the velvet catsuit had not been easy to pursue through the streets of Gotham.
"Kitty-cat…Won't velvet grey stand out against all the pin-striped..." Her eyes bulged, "…Suits?"
Maybe not.
The redhead recoiled with revulsion as she laid eyes on the wrought iron gates leafed in gold, of a luxurious apartment. Two burly, naked guards opening the gates for a naked couple and last of all, a lithe man with a low raven ponytail, seated behind a reception desk. The male receptionist chattered away on the phone pinned between his shoulder and cheek. His legs folded at the ankles. He wore nothing but sterling silver hoops in his ears, nipple piercings and a polished stone of some kind around his neck on a string.
Barbra sucked back a gasp. Her eyes glaring at the golden plaque: THE GOTHAM CITY HEDONIST SOCIETY. Her brows knitted together. A scowling vengeance radiating through her spandex cowl. Her lips pursed as the word HEDONIST circled - on loop- through her thoughts.
"How may I help you? Besides an honest critique of your fashion sense." The raven haired man quirked a brow as he looked her up and down. Bothered by the billow of her ginger hair and the -what appeared to be claw shaped- scratches in her skin-tight leotard; exposing her pale skin.
"I NEED to see someone." Barbra clenched her teeth. "…I think she just went in there."
"Members ONLY. Unless you are here for a membership tour?"
"A tour?" Around THIS place? Lord, have mercy on my innocent soul. "Yeah, that'd be perfect."
"You are willing to wear proper ATTIRE?" The receptionist steepled his slender fingers.
"You're telling me THIS outfit won't cut it in there?"
"Proper attire behind THOSE doors means no attire."
"No. Attire. As in…no…attire?" The red head thumped her chest. Her hands gesturing violently.
The reality of his condescending tone sunk in. She wrapped her cape around her torn-up suit to cover herself. Her lips pursed with disapproval and he inspected his nails. Her rage towards the cat-burglar for stealing the notebook ebbed away. Replaced by a raging torrent of embarrassment.
Her efforts thwarted by a firm thwack on her ass. It hit harder than expected due to the holes Catwoman tore in it.
"Hey! What was that for, assho-" She spun around to scold him. OMG! I can see his naughty bits.
Her breath hitched. Her spite reprimanded by a resounding smack on her other spandex clad ass cheek.
She did not like this at all. The two Neanderthals on security detail made no moves to stop him.
I COULD take those two meat-heads down. And then what? Barge in looking like this? She'll notice me for sure. I can't let her get away. I NEED to get that notebook back. But how?-
"Yes, I can see why your friend said you wouldn't commit."
My…friend?
The caped-curvy crusader exhaled sharply. She felt her eye twitch. His fingers drummed on the corner of the desk before he circled her again.
Is THIS guy teasing me? THIS guy of all people. Geesh.
Batgirl grabbed at her cowl, pulling it down. Feeling self-conscious about her glowing cheeks.
What would Batman do? He would say infiltrate, but would he do it naked?
Her gaze darted over the guards by the door. Both with matching 10 packs. The first of a dark complexion and a scarred eye. The second of a pale complexion with noticeable blonde hair.
Shit! I think I put my granny-panties on this morning.
She felt her lips tremble with anxiety. She would have felt more confident trying to take on Batman's ENTIRE rogues gallery on her own than walking through those doors wearing nothing but her bat-shaped cowl. How was this practise enjoyable? Why was everyone so unperturbed?
She said I wouldn't follow. Is this a game for her?
Barbra jumped as she felt nails dig into her arm. Clawing back the unforgiving, rubbery material.
I CAN'T DO THIS! Anything but this. I'M GOING TO DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT! Get off me!
The redhead slapped at the hands, hitting herself. The two men remained by the door like statues. Parting to allow a couple through. The couple both seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Did I imagine the...touching? Am I going mad?
Like a game of strip poker, Batgirl pinched her vibrant, yellow gloves between the fingers of her opposite hand. As she fumbled, she decided to use her teeth instead. She had to retain what little dignity she had left. She owed herself that much self-respect. Her knees knocking as she wished she could drop a smoke bomb and disappear into thin air.
Luckily, in her civilian life, no one knew her secret identity. She could leave now with no consequences. Part of her was curious to investigate whatever world awaited her.
She watched through the bars. The silhouettes of strangers as they ground their hips against one another. As their lips connected. Their civilian identities only spared by scant, generic half masks. Would the cat-burglar be able to identify her by her cowl? She could see none like hers.
She tried not to make it too obvious. She hoped that he would assume she was curious or eager to meet this FRIEND of hers. It was disgusting. All the informal chatter. The smells. The nudity.
THE GOTHAM CITY HEDONIST SOCIETY.
Some disguise, huh?
Next, she grabbed her rubber boots, pulling them off, grunting with effort. She wanted to pitch them at that smirking face. Her bare hands skimmed down over her waist to unbuckle her precious utility belt. She shimmied her leotard down to her ankles, unintentionally giving these men an erotic show. She balled everything up, keeping her gaze on her feet to steady her resolve.
Cat-Woman thought I would not follow her here. What is she doing in a place like this?
"Ahem. The cape too."
She stole something from right under my nose. This is the ONLY way to get it back.
Batgirl bit her lip. Hesitating.
Swallowing her uncertainty, Batgirl folded up her cape. She knew what she had to do. It felt like she was stripping away her identity. She was no longer Batgirl. She was no longer Barbra Gordon. She was just a pretty face. A hollow disguise. No real worth.
No. No. Nonononono. NO!
Her eyes wide like a hunted rabbit while the receptionist stood with an empty silk bag the same colour as her cheeks felt. It had golden initials embroidered on the front and back. The drawstring bag, mercifully hid his manhood. The empty bag triggered a flash of irrational paranoia. She realized, upon watching the couple strip off their clothes and scrunch them up into the bag. They walked in, hand in hand. Laughing. The receptionist postured with one hand for her to disrobe faster.
"Either you put your Halloween costume into this bag or you leave." He huffed with irritation.
Is Catwoman jealous? Testing me? Expecting me to fail?
The doorkeepers cracked their knuckles. As a reflex her gloved hands flew to her utility belt.
I'm going to get THAT notebook back. No matter what it takes!
"Since you caused so much trouble, you are going to be punished for your indiscretion."
Barbra's brain was distracted to brace for the impact of his fingernails against her bare ass. He delivered a rapid succession of blows to both her ass cheeks until they both glowed them same colour as her cheeks.
"M-my indiscretion?" She yelped.
"You are going in there with this tray." He smirked, holding a silver service tray out to her. "As our waitress."
"What if I don't want to?"
He raised his hand, smacking the V between her legs with the accuracy of a hit-man.
She inhaled sharply, snatching the tray from him to avoid further humiliation.
"Very good. We'll hold your…Halloween costume in the coat room." He said, hanging up the bag on the ornate coat-rack.
"Uhm…Okay."
"You can go in now."
"Uh...Yeah. Will you be staring as I walk away?"
"I've seen a million cuter keisters, kid." He rolled his eyes.
"Uhm…okay?" He's probably gay. Yeah. That must be the reason he's so abrasive. Is he looking? He better be looking.
She thought with a pounding heart. Feeling his breath on the back of her neck. Her spine jittered. She stumbled forwards with both ass cheeks and her intimate folds throbbing.
Mortified. Stupefied. Petrified. But not paralysed.
Batgirl picked at her own fingers before re-grasping the service tray. Her hands trembling. Her voice refusing to cooperate. Was she really a superhero? She couldn't stop an ordinary naked man from telling her to undress. Here she was being a nude waitress for perverted nudists.
Just think of it as undercover work, Barbra. Very undercover work.
"Be careful with those pointy ears, okay?" He smirked as she was pushed through the gates.
"Uh…huh." She felt violated despite the fact no one laid their hands on her in any unsavoury way. She prayed that she would not trip on her own feet. No mask would save her resolve if such a thing happened.
The atmosphere hit her. The sickly sweet mixtures of masculine colognes and feminine perfumes. It was a whole other world. Nothing like the gritty streets outside. This was...too serene. Like an out of body experience on an alien planet. Her throat was parched. The naked truth hit her. Despite her flesh being literally exposed to them, she was the only one who felt this way. The redhead was the ONLY one who knew, by proxy she was the only one who cared. It was humiliating.
If Batman ever found out about...THIS, I could never show my face again. Anywhere. Ever.
Her eyes shifted around the room, trying to distinguish one mound of moaning bodies from the next. She was grateful that everyone here was also masked. She could not compose her thoughts into anything coherent. Her raw emotions slipping through her fingers like sand. She would have preferred if someone had tried to strip her by force. That way she could justify feeling this way. And validate herself by delivering a cartilage shattering punch to...someone.
Okay Barbra, Don't be so childish. What would your father think? YOU wanted to become Batgirl. YOU wanted to make a difference in Gotham City. Fighting crime in the darkest nooks and-
Her breath hitched as something erect poked her in the small of her back. She whipped around, seething.
"That better be your finger." She scalded, pushing through the sea of naked, sweaty bodies.
She was not sure if she had said that out-loud or in her own head.
She was fondled as she sashayed by. They seemed amused, flirting AND laughing at her. Mocking her. She was a cat-person, but she would be damned than admit that, given her current objective.
Maybe I am going batty?
Barbra grimaced so much that her face hurt. She would rather take the stairs up here again than be wedged between all of these drunken male AND female bodies. Her bashful skin crawling.
She whirled around with her head on a swivel. Against feeling overwhelmed by a visceral feeling. She HATED that woman in the velvet catsuit. She hoped she was suffering this badly.
Where is she? I thought that was her I saw her before. Did I? What if she never came in? No! She HAS to be here. Calm down Barbra. Run a profile. Five-seven to nine. One-twenty. No accent. Caucasian. Pale complexion. Green eyes. Probably sees less sunshine than I do. Blonde? No. Didn't sound like a blonde. THERE! Scars on her back. That MUST be her. Finally! I'll get out of here sooner than I thought. This was NOT the way I expected to spend my night.
The redhead never thought she would be so glad to see the cat-burglar. She lurched through the crowd, elbowing a degenerate who had the nerve to cat-call her. She forgot her situation. Laser focused on the woman in front of her. The woman with a short bob. Shiny, jet-black hair. Memorizing her every curve. To her delight, she noticed the spiral-bound notebook she was looking for. She had no doubts now. This individual in the lacey pink mask was THE Catwoman.
Admit it Barbra. Is this demeaning? Yes! I NEVER want to see nudity again. But it's kinda thrilling.