Catwoman strolled through the large space the Gotham City Sirens called their home. They had done what they could to clean it up and make it more livable. However, it was always clear the space was never meant to be lived in, at all. The women put most of their decorating efforts into their own personal bedrooms. Each were unique and had their own décor preferences. For Catwoman, it was elegance and excess.

Her room was spacious, luxurious, and inviting (though she never had guests, lest they run the risk of running into her less hospitable roommates). It was a far cry from the minimally acceptable level of home-ness of the rooms between bedrooms. Not that her guest would know the difference. For the entire trip, he was too busy trying, and failing, to pry himself out from between her snug, sweaty, breasts.

Once inside, Catwoman demonstrated how much more capable she was than him at his size by simply plucking him free of her cleavage. He had only a second to take in a large gasp of air before he was sent hurtling through the air. Though he landed on the heavenly-soft California king bed, it was no less disorienting and terrifying a trip.

“You wait there, Dick,” she called over to the naked man as he did his best to stand up on the uneven surface. “I need to take a shower. My suit tends to make me sweat,” she admitted, “as I’m sure you’re aware.” Catwoman had no doubt her guest had been evenly coated in her sweat during his brief tenure between her girls. She was right.

“That’s Mr. Falcone to you, you bitch!” he cried out, finally finding some steady footing. “And it’s Richard, not Di-“ but in that moment he saw she had already turned around and headed for the bathroom. She ignored him. Another indignity hoisted upon a man who prided himself on his pride.

Richard looked around the room. As he took in the sights of all the impossibly large furniture, along with the revelation he was standing on an impossibly large bed, it started to dawn on him. He had been shrunken. Oh, sure, he was in no small part already aware of this fact. But when you get as angry as Richard Falcone did, you tend to get tunnel vision. Now that anger was being shrunken down to make room for confusion. Soon enough, that too would have to make room for fear.

Priority one was escape. That much was clear to him. It was just a matter of how. He looked around at his options, limited as they were. Right now, all he could choose was which side of the bed he should try to jump off. He’d have to worry about what the impact of a fall might do to him later. Because despite the minimal progress he had made hiking across the uneven surface, which constantly gave way under even his minimal weight, he’d hit another roadblock. Leaping onto the bed from the floor was a sleek, black, cat. And not at all the one who brought him to the bedroom.

The beast considered the sight with curious green eyes. It wasn’t big enough to be a predator, that was for certain. More importantly, it was small enough to be prey. Gracefully and cautiously, the pet house cat approached. As it got closer, every paw-fall it made caused the bed covering to shift and undo any progress Falcone made towards escape.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Nice kitty. Good kitty. Just stay back, okay?” Falcone was trying to reason with the cat. A fruitless tactic, but the only one he had at his disposal. The cat knocked him over when its nose hit him, taking in his scent. The sound of the cat breathing was louder than he expected. Fears start to become realized when the cat found him acceptable and opened its fanged mouth. Richard held up his arms and looked away, not ready to face his own death. “Bastet!” he heard being yelled. When he looked up, the cat was being cradled in Catwoman’s arms.

“No, no, girl,” she gently scolded. “That’s not for you. That’s mommy’s treat.” Her eyes cut back to Richard, betraying any sort of innocence that may have been inferred from her statement. The cat was led away with a handful of treats Catwoman grabbed from a sealed container.

Richard watched as she moved, unable to take his eyes off her. Certainly, the fact she was of an imposing and dangerous size compared to him drew his attention. More so, however, he stared because of how she looked. Fresh from the shower, her hair had been dried but was still a little damp. It hung messily on her head, framing her high and inviting cheekbones. Her lips were plump and naturally pouty while she combed her hair out. The shape of her eyes was, unsurprisingly, catlike. She could have easily been a model, he thought. Her body, on the other hand, made him wish she had been a porn star.

Needless to say, his eyes went straight to her breasts. That towel must have been held together with a prayer because it didn’t look strong enough to contain her assets. Richard watched every drop of water he could slip down her slender neck, careen along her collarbone, and finally slide down between her tits. He had totally forgotten what it was like between those massive mammaries. All he could think of now was how with every inhale she took, they swelled out, and tested that haphazard knot she made with the towel. Her skin, fresh from the shower, still a little wet, made her glisten. He’d swear she was an angel if he wasn’t already aware of how troublesome and dangerous she was.

He would have loved to see the sleek expanse of her flat stomach (all in good time, Richard). Of course, that was obscured by the towel. The drying fabric was also just long enough to hide her most delicate and private of areas. As he watched the droplets of water slide down her inner thighs, he imagined the journey they must have taken. The blood he needed for his brain to think up a plan was going elsewhere. He nearly lost it when she turned around to put away her brush. Opening the drawer, and bending over ever so slightly, she showed off the bottom curves of her athletically sculpted, and genetically aided, butt. So, lost in the fantasy her body was creating for him, he didn’t even notice when she turned around.

“Ha!” she blurted out, snapping him back to his grim reality. “Would you look at that. Dick’s dick is enjoying the show.” He instinctively covered up his rigid shame. “Yea, don’t worry, it’s already seared into my brain forever,” she said with distaste. Still, she couldn’t blame him. She knew she looked good, and the choice in small towel was no accident. “Now, what should we do first?” she wondered aloud.

“You rotten harpy, change me back right now! Do you know who I am? I’m Richard Falcone! You’re gonna have the entire Falcone family coming down on you! There’s more than one way to skin a cat, let me tell ya. First you can…” And he went on like that, all while she watched, brow furrowed in confusion.

“You know I can’t hear you right? You’re too tiny and far away,” she informed. “Hold on.” Bending over, she reached her hand down, laying her open palm on the bed. She was offering him a ride up, but all he could focus on was her cleavage and the slight sway to her breasts when she moved. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she groaned when she realized why he hesitated. Richard found himself being shoved onto her hand.

Richard felt like he was being squashed down onto the palm by the g-force alone. Finally, the ride stopped on the top floor. Catwoman stared him down with inquisitive eyes. He instinctively clasped his hands over his ears and winced when she asked, “Now, what was it you were saying?” Seeing her mistake, she repeated herself, this time in a whisper. “Oh, sorry. What were you saying?” She couldn’t help but make her whisper sound sultry and seductive. It was likely the smokiness and natural purr she spoke with.

“What have you done to me?” A natural first question to ask for someone in his situation.

“Well obviously I shrank you. Well, Ivy shank you,” she corrected herself. “Semantics. The point is, you’ve been shrinked. Shrunk? Shrunk.”

“Why?” was the natural second question.

“Why? Well, because what woman wouldn’t want a shrunken man? Think of all the fun we can get up to!” While she certainly sound playful, even a little flirtatious, Richard was only half certain it’d be fun for him. “If you mean why you? Well, to answer that, let me ask you something: do you remember me?”

He just stared blankly as those black lips moved. The brief moments he could see inside her mouth, he remembered when he heard Poison Ivy say ‘swallow.’” It was a grim possibility he had trouble swallowing.

“Of course you do,” she answered for him. “Who could forget me?” Catwoman boasted, fluttering her eyes. “But, do you remember what you did to me?” Much of the playfulness in her voice had vanished.

Again, he was blank. He’d done a lot of things to a lot of people. Much of it bad. He could only guess at what he may have done to her to deserve his fate. Clearly, he wasn’t going to recall any time soon, so she once again answered her own question.

“During one of my heists, you caught me. Kudos, by the way,” she said, offering him a rare compliment from Catwoman herself. “You sent your guards, or should I say goons, after me. Understandable and expected,” she went on, not yet revealing why she’d have a grudge. “However, when they caught me, you had them get rather rough with me.” With each word spoken, her eyes narrowed further, and her voice deepened. Her smile had turned into a sneer. “That, Dick,” emphasis laid heavily on the nickname he despised, “was crossing a line. There’s playing rough, which I like, and then there’s what your men did.”

“Th-then go shrink them!” Richard bargained, readily throwing his men under the bus. Or better yet, in this case, her foot.

“Oh, I will!” she exclaimed, all too happy to dash that brief hope he had. “But first, I’m going to start with the man who gave the order: you.” As if that wasn’t obvious before.

Catwoman would then learn the extent of Richard Falcone’s arrogance and ill-gotten confidence. “Well do your worst, pussy cat!” he boldly shouted. “I’m not scared of some two-bit cat burglar!” Understandably, she chuckled dismissively at him.

“You know, I think you genuinely believe that. That you’re tough enough to take it. That I should be afraid of you. But you know what I think?” she asked, not expecting him to answer. “I think you still haven’t come to terms with your situation. Your imagination hasn’t caught up yet. You can’t yet fathom what I could do to you. What I will do to you.” As she hit that L sound with ‘will,’ he got the best look into her mouth yet. “So, I’ll speed things along and get you up to speed,” she explained in a very threatening, but still cheerful, tone. “I plan to get very, very, rough.”

//////////

Despite how clear she was with her intentions, it was clear to Richard he hadn’t understood the scope. She didn’t get “rough” in the sense he’d endure some brutal and torturous death. She got rough in the sense that his torture was seemingly never ending. For a span of time that Richard quickly lost track of, both Catwoman and Richard engaged in experiments. Experiments on just what kind of punishment Richard could take, and just how creative Catwoman could be. They were both learning a lot.

Poison Ivy was practiced and skilled in the art of dealing with tinies; Catwoman had certainly spied on her enough to know that. However, Ivy never let her tinies live beyond the night they were shrunk. Catwoman was looking for more long-term enjoyment. It was as if she was developing the tantric version of “size play,” as she called it. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. She was going to be the best at it. Sure, the tinies seemed to come in various sizes, but Richard would make a suitable baseline. In any case, she was enjoying herself immensely. More importantly, Richard wasn’t.

To begin, Catwoman tested his abilities and limits. He was given menial tasks, but over time they grew in difficulty until she was satisfied he’d done all he could. He was asked to run from one edge of her desk to another. Then to do the same on her bed. To motivate him, she threatened to gobble him up if he didn’t pick up the pace. She always would snatch him up in her mouth; only because that was always the plan, no matter how fast he was. Lucky for him, she’d always spit him out after sucking clean the salty flavor he produced. Afterwards, she’d vocally make a note to try him out with various dips to offset his flavor.

His strength was also tested. Picking up crumbs, to begin with, then moving up to thumb tacks, paper clips, Q-Tips, and even a grape. She was especially satisfied he was able to carry the grape. She had wished he was strong enough to undress her, pulling off socks and pulling down panties, but that proved impossible. At best, he could unclip her bra (after extensive instructions on how). However, she preferred to do that herself, so he’d see her tits fall free, and she could tease him with them.

On that note, he got used to seeing his enemy naked. Her suit had always told an enticing story about the shape of her body, but one always had to wonder if it was lying. Her body did not disappoint. She was ever bit as curvaceous, firm, and outright sexy as her suit promised. He did learn a few things from seeing her naked that her suit never mentioned.

The first things he noticed were about her breasts, because of course that’s the first place he looked. Her nipples were a dusky brown color. Like milk chocolate. They blended nicely with her tanned skin. “I like to sunbathe naked,” she’d say while caressing her skin. “I love soaking up those warm, loving, rays.” Everything she said was laced with at least four kinds of sexuality and seduction. In addition, she also had two gold rings, one through each milk chocolate nipple.

“Do you like them?” she asked when she saw him eyeing the glint of the gold against her skin. “I got them because they basically keep my nipples erect all the time. I love how my erect nipples feel against the inside of my suit. With these, I can feel that all the time.” She then became lost in the sensation as she had been playing with them as she talked of their purpose. Richard watched her flick them, pull on them, and twist them. Each action eliciting a different response from her face and body.

Further down her body, just above her darling pussy, was the little patch of pubic hair she allowed. It was shaved into a shape. Predictably, it was the shape of a cat’s head. “I know, I know,” she said with pre-existing defeat in her voice. “It’s predictable, and I’m supposed to be anything but. But, a pussy cat above my pussy cat, when my whole thing is pussy cats? I’d be a fool not to have it, right?” As if his answer mattered. And it didn’t.

He also learned that despite her overwhelmingly perfect and large breasts, they weren’t her greatest assets. Certainly, her tits’ size was substantial. “I know people say that more than a handful is a waste…” she’d begin, cupping her jugs and bouncing them slightly in her grasp. “…that it’s excessive, but those people are cowards. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m all about excess,” she added while squeezing her fingers into her pliable and soft tit flesh. It was true. From her body, to her décor, to her closet that was bigger than the bedroom itself, Catwoman lived in excess. As Richard would learn, that policy extended to his torture.

Anyway, her tits were great, that’s been established. But her ass? Her ass was otherworldly. It was plump yet perfectly sized and shaped. It was soft, but firm. Clearly, had she not been such an active parkour fan, she’d have a genetically astonishing ass on her own. With the added life of running, leaping, and climbing all night, that amazing ass was chiseled to perfection. However, that wasn’t the most important thing he learned about the backside of her body.

Just above her ass, right at the small of her back, were two things. Just above that perfect ass he struggled to look away from, was a tattoo. A solid black tattoo of the unmistakable bat symbol. He was surprised, to say the least. He wouldn’t think a criminal would have a marking of the criminal-hating Batman on them, especially in such an intimate spot. Did he mark her, he wondered? The other thing of note was a scar, cutting through that tramp stamp.

Catwoman had her fair share of scars. Despite her reputation of getting out of any situation before anyone knew she was there, she’d gotten into a few scrapes. Scrapes she was given mementos of. The one that seemed to hold the strongest memory was the one that ruined her tattoo. It was also the reason he was there, two inches tall, in her bedroom.

“See this one?” her black fingernails gently ran the length of it, sending chills through her body. “This is from when one of your goons cut open my suit so he could rip it off me,” she recalled with anger and shame. “I guess they were too stupid to figure out how to undress a lady properly.” She tried to bring some levity to the memory, but her face made it clear it didn’t last.

“You know what I originally wanted to do, Dick?” Whenever she put emphasis on his name, he knew she was mad. “My plan was to drop you onto that scar and tell you to hang on tight while my boyfriend fucked me in the ass,” she exclaimed with no amount of modesty and plenty of venom. “You’d have to sit there, trying to not fall off. All the while watching as a real man fucked me proper. Listening to the sounds of me moaning, over and over and over again, until finally…he’d come.” As she described her plan, she got closer and closer to him, speaking more through clenched teeth and her smile growing more wicked. “And I’d have him come on my back. Right. On. You.” Richard was quaking with fear with the prospect and how close she was now. “Then, I’d gobble you up!” She kept her smiling, hungry face against him for a few beats before easing off slightly. “But, as much as I love the guy, he’s too nice for his own good. He wouldn’t approve of me shrinking you, let alone busting a nut all over your trembling body.” She lamented. “Trembling like it is now,” she added with a laugh. “So, we’re going with plan B.”

“Wh-what’s plan B?” Much of the bravado and confidence in his voice had been scared out of him. Catwoman smiled at his inquiry.

“Dick, you have no respect for dramatic tension, do you?”

/////////

Richard learned a lot about her body just by seeing her strip down to nothing in front of him, many times during the “research.” However, he gained the most insight when he got to touch it. Although, it’s probably fairer to say when it touched him.

Once she had tested out what Richard could do, she moved to testing out what she could do to him. She started out as gently as she could by simply pressing down on her with her finger. Over time, she graduated to other parts of her body.

Richard was forced to try and stop her bare foot from coming down on him. He failed. Lucky for him, he found that hiding under her high, smooth, arch, provided some respite from the weight of her foot. She wouldn’t always let him have that, though. Other times she squeezed him, tighter and tighter, between her toes, until she was confident he was about to burst.

Next came her breasts. Trying to push up against them enough to keep them from squishing him was like trying to hoist up the tarp used to cover a baseball field. There was some give, but not nearly enough. Of all the parts of her body she crushed him with, though, her tits were the easiest to endure. Being sandwiched between them, though, that was trying. It certainly didn’t help when she shook her chest left and right, screaming “Kitty Titty Mountain! The wildest ride in Gotham!” Though all he heard was his head ringing from the physical trauma.

For a brief time, she squeezed him between her creamy thighs. This particular experiment didn’t last very long. He didn’t know why, but for Catwoman it was only because she couldn’t think of a good application for the information. Everything was in service to a greater ambition. So, when she was done with that, she’d just lay him on the bed and lie down on him. Being “crushed” under her stomach was the least physically taxing of her crush experiments. The bed, and how soft and flat her tummy was, didn’t impose stress on him. Listening to her belly grumble, however, did. That was Catwoman’s true intention.

Then the day came to test her ass out on him. She was as gentle and methodical as she could be. Not for his benefit, though he did benefit from not being crushed immediately. Rather, it was so A) she could make him last, and B) she could draw out his suffering. Bit by bit she applied pressure. No matter how futile he knew it was, he still tried to push back. Once the ass was down, he struggled. A lot. She was surprised he was still moving even with her full weight on him. Have I been going easy on him this whole time? She wondered. Left and right she grinded her ass. Up and down she bounced her ass. Forward and back she rolled her ass. She was in heaven, because he was in hell.

With all the initial testing out of the way, Catwoman was ready to get more creative.

However, the night between the initial tests and the future ones, Catwoman decided to celebrate. She didn’t want to miss a chance to torture Richard, though. She dropped him into her underwear drawer, where he could become easily entangled in all the lace and string if he wasn’t careful. And from the drawer, she pulled out the first toy of the night. Then, she left him inside the drawer, and the drawer open.

With the drawer open, he was privy to hear all the lewd sounds she made but couldn’t climb up high enough to see. He really wanted to see. Her moans were enticing, her words were enchanting, the sounds her body made were engrossing. He wanted more, but she denied him. Even the gift of letting him hear was a punishment. After she let out a scream, letting him know she came, she returned to the drawer. In fell the vibrating egg, though not currently vibrating. It was just the slightest bit damp from the juices that made it onto there. It rolled toward him, knocking him down. Then, she grabbed the next toy.

All night it was like that. She’d grab a toy, make herself cum, forcing Richard to listen, and then return it, soaked from use, before grabbing the next. Normally she’d clean them off before returning them, but she figured Richard might as well get used to the smell of her now. The scent, by the way, only grew in intensity as more used toys were added. It would have been all he could think about, if it weren’t for the noises. The moans from her mouth, the vibrations of the toys, the slick wet sound of one of the dildos entering her. It enticed and infuriated him. She terrified him, he knew that, but even so she still aroused the hell out of him. It was creating a mix of feelings culminating in him wanting to just obey her dark whims in the hopes of a reward of her pleasure pleasing him. He did what he could to shake off those feelings, but over time, he’d find that harder and hard to do.

//////////

With the experiments over, the next day began the “games.” Now knowing what limits Richard had, which were surprisingly few, Catwoman began to get creative with his punishment.

Like the experiments before, she started off small. Now it wasn’t a matter of reducing the risk of breaking him early. Now it was just…well it was like foreplay for her. She wanted to be tickled by the feather before she was spanked with the paddle. So, the first game was almost like an experiment. A good segue from one part of his torture to the next. First, she would use her mouth. A grim omen for his future.

Richard was forced to stand on her bottom row of teeth and hold onto the top row. Before he went in, she told him he’d have to keep her mouth open, or she’d crush him between her teeth. She had no plan to, but he didn’t need to know that. He was doing a good job, she had to admit. Even though her teeth were cutting into his palms and the soles of his feet, he was holding his own. That was until she started tickling his back with her tongue. Completely distracted, he lost his grip and fell back onto the tickling tongue. The teeth slammed shut before him.

She lashed at him with her tongue for a while. He got dangerously close to her throat many times. Much to his relief, he was spat out. “You’re lucky I’m such a merciful goddess,” she called down to him. Catwoman wanted to let him think that she had just done him a favor. Really screw with his mind.

Next came her ass. He wasn’t inserted into it, not yet, but rather just clenched tight between the squeezing cheeks. Left, right, left right. Over and over she spanked either cheek. The sound and reverberations through her cheeks were shaking Richard to his core. Between the intense pressure, the sound, and the vibrations, he thought he was going to come apart at the seams.

A more complicated game involved her breasts. Two lengths of floss were taken and tied to either of her nipple rings. The other ends were tied around Richard’s wrists. She couldn’t do that part herself, so she ordered him to do it. Under penalty of being dropped into one of her dirty socks and spun around like a centrifuge until he was liquified. He didn’t want to consider if that were even possible, so he obeyed. When he was secured, hanging between her breasts, she gave his body a tug. It caused her tits to jiggle and her to giggle. It caused Richard tremendous pain.

Richard watched, swinging from his bounds, as Catwoman walked over to her Sybian. Once she sat down and got comfortable, she turned on the large sex toy. Even at its lowest setting, the vibrations greatly disoriented him. He tried to look up when he heard her moan, but it was hard to even get a clear view when constantly shaking, and the size of her breasts somewhat obscuring her face. Richard would have loved to have been witness to her sitting on the toy. Hands starting at her thighs, nails dragging against her skin as they rose up. Fingers gliding along her stomach before grazing over her breasts, stopping only to squeeze her nipples briefly. Then the hands continuing up her body, along her neck. Fingers disappearing into her black hair. All while she cooed and purred. Instead, he was given a front row seat, and like in a movie theater, that made the show unwatchable.

Up and up the dial went, taking Catwoman to more and more orgasms. Richard was focused on two things. The outrageous pain in his wrists, arms, and shoulders, and the steady stream of vibrations rocking through him. He thought his bones might crumble. He couldn’t even enjoy the sounds of Catwoman repeatedly coming.

And of course, he would do some spelunking. Into her mouth, ass, and pussy he was forced to explore. Each cave having its own degrees of heat, pressure, smell, and terror. Each had their own elements that made them worse than the other. So, going into one over the other was never a respite. Catwoman, however, certainly made her enjoyment known.

Making the best of a bad situation, even Richard tried to enjoy himself. While inside her pussy and ass, Richard got a little naughty and started humping her inner walls. She had, after all, told him to move around a lot. He had left several loads inside of her over the course of her games. The idea that she man get pregnant gave him one of the few smiles he’d had since he was kidnapped. It didn’t work out so well when he tried that in her mouth, rubbing himself against her tongue. Catwoman was able to pick up on what that taste was. After she spat him out, she inflicted a punishment too intense to mention here. However, he never tried to cum inside her again.

Over time, Catwoman noticed something. He wasn’t fighting back. He wasn’t squirming or fighting, unless she had instructed him to do so. She had found that she had broken him. While this wasn’t her intention, which was just her own pleasure and his pain, it was welcome surprise. Being an opportunist, she capitalized on it.

Richard was turned into her useless little slave. Useless in that anything she asked him to do took a tremendous about of effort on his part, and usually wasted more time than if she had done it herself. But she got off on ordering him around.

She had him paint her toenails and fingernails. It took a long time, and he often messed up. But when he did, that meant she got to punish him. Her favorite was just spilling the polish into a small dish and dipping him into it. Each nail would be painted, then, with him as the “brush.” He was also asked to apply her lipstick. Difficult to do, too difficult in fact. So, she demoted him to lip gloss duty. That task was more possible for him, certainly, as the gloss stick was lighter than the lipstick…stick. Still, having to work over her yawning cavern, watching her tongue twitch at the air, beckoning him, made him incredibly anxious.

Her favorite use for him, however, was feeding her. Not like that. With food. Grapes, specifically. Catwoman laid back in her bed, reading or browsing on her phone. At random intervals, she’d turn her head and open her mouth. This was Richard’s signal to grab a grape and take it over to her. He could roll it along the bed to her, but once at the mouth, he had to pick it up. Because she wanted him to deliver it to her mouth directly. Into the cavern he braved. His bare feet squishing against her wet inner cheek. Then, as if he was trying not to wake some terrible beast, he laid the grape down as gently and quietly as he could, near her molar. Then he ran. Right out of her mouth before it closed in on him. Catwoman was of course aware of his fear and made sure to chew with her mouth open. So he could see the grape get pulverized easily by her teeth, collected by her tongue, and swallowed by her throat.

The simplest use was just dropping him into a glass of ice-cold milk. It didn’t take long for Richard to know what he’d have to do next. While Catwoman idly watched TV or read a book, she’d sip from the glass. As there was less and less milk in the glass, he had to struggle more and more. With each sip, it became harder to swim away. Every time, he lost that battle. She never swallowed, but it was fun to make him think she would. Once he was spat or plucked out, she made a note of how she forgot he was in there. How he should be more careful if he didn’t want to go down her gullet. This would often be followed with a demonstration. Catwoman pressed him against her stomach and made him listen to it growl.

Catwoman wasn’t always home. Every night, she made time to go out on the prowl. Every night, Richard would come with her. Sometimes she kept him against her breast. He’d be forced to hang onto her nipple ring, or risk slipping further down. Not that there was any risk of that given how tight the suit was. Sometimes she’d stick him against her ass, right above the crack. That way all the sweat that went down her back had to go through him. Other times he’d be pressed against her nether lips. Not inside, no, but the risk was always there he could slip inside. She warned him against that. Occasionally she’d keep him in one of her boots. While she did like stepping on him all night, it made it hard to move around. Like having a pebble in your shoe.

One night, while tucked away against her breast, he heard her talking to someone. He was too disoriented and tired to hear or understand anything, but it sounded like a man. Deep voice, too. When Catwoman got home, she didn’t say anything, but she looked more flushed than usual. She used him a lot that night to get off.

Even in sleep, he didn’t get rest. Whether he was trapped between her tits or tucked away in her panties, front or back, or hidden in her sock, he was with her. If he wasn’t always so exhausted from the day before, he’d never get any sleep. The fear of being absentmindedly crushed was almost as intense as the pressure of her breasts themselves. He’d learned to doze off to the sound of her heartbeat.

Richard had become oddly used to his life with Catwoman. His old life was becoming a distant memory. His new life was simpler, in a lot of ways. He no longer had to manage a criminal empire. He just had to manage one woman, who was also good at managing herself. It was stressful work, even torturous, but he did have pride when he made her smile. Plus, the scarce food she gave him, and the constant physical activity, caused him to be in the best shape of his life. He had the love, as he twistedly saw it, of a good, smoking hot, woman. He no longer needed to worry about the cops, rival gangs, or even Batman. He was content. His life was good.

But all that would change on one dark and stormy night.