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Story that I wrote that I thought folk here would like. Apologies for the partial lack of explicitness, I tend to enjoy it more when it's left to the imagination. I don't intend to write a sequel or anything, so feel free to write your own where more sexy things happen.
Batgirl removed the keys from her batcycle as she pulled up to the warehouse. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Somewhere far away, a police siren sounded. She looked around her, but saw no clue as to why someone would tip off the police about any criminal activity in the area. She got off the batcycle and went inside.
The warehouse was a big, empty space. Not even the slightest sign of any activity, now or at any point in the past. Most unusual for Gotham docks, Batgirl thought.
However, far away on the other side of the building, she could perceive a silhouette, or an outline. Perhaps this was the criminal who was the subject of the tip-off.
“Hello?” Batgirl shouted out across the warehouse floor, her voice coming out less authoritative than she had initially hoped it would. “Is there somebody there?” Realising that she had better impose some of her authority on this mysterious figure, she breathed deeply and yelled: “Whatever you’re up to, you better stop this instant!”
But the figure did not move. Whoever it was, they were perfectly comfortable with Batgirl being there. Perhaps it was a trap. Better keep my wits about me, Batgirl thought.
The figure eventually came into view. It was a woman, not much younger than Batgirl. She was taller than her, no mean feat considering Batgirl was already fairly statuesque, even without her patent leather high heels. She had dark hair, with a touch of auburn and big brown eyes. She was wearing opera-style elbow-length latex gloves, aswell as thigh-high leather boots. She also wore a tightly-boned leather corset, which complemented her tiny waist perfectly, while concealing nothing of her ample breasts. The corset was bound with a sequence of five steel hooks and her entire ensemble squeaked as she moved, gracefully and with a mysterious confidence.
Batgirl was utterly enraptured by her figure and found herself unable to speak for a moment. Her feet simply continued to carry her towards the woman, who calmly watched Batgirl’s approach.
Batgirl found her gaze hovering on the woman’s black lipstick. She had always found women who wore darker shades of lipstick intimidating.
It was not until she watched that lipstick’d mouth curl and smile at her in a gesture of perfect arrogance that Batgirl snapped out of her trance and regained her sense of herself. She felt light-headed and groggy and staring at the woman only accentuated her slight sense of being lost.
“Who, who are you?” Batgirl managed.
“Me?” said the woman, in a tone of perfect innocence. “I’m the domme.”
“The domme? I suppose they had to run out of supervillain names eventually.”
It was a weak line and Batgirl knew it. Nowhere near her regular form.
Suddenly, Batgirl realised what the domme was standing over. It was a bare mattress, exactly the kind of one would expect to find in a warehouse on the city limits.
“Is this your work station? You tip off the cops in order to get clients?”
The domme smirked again, then giggled impishly.
“Why don’t you go over and take a look?”
At the word ‘take,’ the domme produced a long, flexible riding crop with a leather strap at the end and rubbed it against Batgirl’s left cheek. With the cool, soft touch of the leather on her face, Batgirl suddenly realised just how closely she was standing to the domme. She knocked the strap away, but her arm felt sluggish. Her entire body felt enveloped in an odd lethargy that she couldn’t understand, as if under the influence of one of Poison Ivy’s paralysing pollens.
She took a deep breath and steadied herself.
“I’ll take a look, but I’m warning you. Any funny business and I’ll…”
She stopped mid-sentence and her legs simply carried her over to the mattress, impelled to do so by some irresistible force. Batgirl suddenly noticed the straps adhered to the sides of the mattress, adjustable leather ones. She suddenly felt an intense longing, the likes of which she had never known, to be tightly bound within them.
“Oh God,” she said aloud, “What is-“
But the domme was on top of her. Batgirl felt her young body pressing against her, the warmth of her breasts through her corset spilling over onto her own. She felt herself moisten within her purple costume and before she could resist she was massaging her own thighs into one another, trying to reduce her powerful feelings of lust, while only intensifying them.
Before she was in control of her movements, she had launched her face forward towards the domme’s black lipstick’d mouth…
But rather than encountering her watery, pink lips Batgirl felt instead the domme’s long leather encas’d fingers sliding into her mouth. She sucked them appreciatively, moaning deeply in spite of herself. The domme moved them in and out, plumbing Batgirl’s mouth, Batgirl sought the cleft between the domme’s fingers with her pink tongue.
The domme suddenly removed them and Batgirl sighed with the sudden deprivation. She launched forward again, but the domme reprimanded her with a swift slap of the crop.
“No more,” said the domme uncompromisingly, “until you put this on.”
Before the domme had even fully produced the ballgag, Batgirl was reaching for it and pulling it tightly behind her head. The gag went to its furthest point behind her teeth and Batgirl whimpered with pleasure. She then launched herself onto the mattress, the calling of the straps was now too much for her to resist.
The domme could hardly believe how easy it had been to kidnap a superhero and own her. Her powers were irresistible, this was true, but she had barely exhausted half her repertoire to enslave Batgirl. It’s almost as if she wanted to be taken.
As if to confirm this, Batgirl was busily tying her legs to the mattress as tightly as she could, followed by her arms. She only realised after some fumbling with the straps that she couldn’t tie herself down. She looked to her new owner for help, and beseeched her with a helpless gaze.
The domme laughed at her pet and obliged her, instructing her to lie prone and face down on the mattress, so her position could be made permanent.
“Lie face down my pet, and stretch your arms upward.”
Batgirl did as she was instructed, twisting with pleasure, already begging her mistress for release with her movements.
The domme ran the tip of the crop down Batgirl’s neck, back and gently over the cheeks of her ass. Batgirl moaned and pulled at her straps, not to break loose or to test their strength, but to feel how tightly they held her, how impossible escape would be for her.
The domme then dropped to her knees and sat astride Batgirl, placing her thighs across Batgirl’s frame.
“Mmm, I’m going to savour my new slave.”
She massaged Batgirl’s thighs with her leather gloves, feeling Batgirl begin to shake with restrained pleasure. The domme then leaned forward and sucked Batgirl’s earlobe.
“I think you’ve earned a present, my pet,” the domme whispered into Batgirl’s ear.
The domme picked up the crop and began to slowly, slowly massage Batgirl’s clit through her costume with the tip of the leather strap. With a combination of arousal and sexual frustration, Batgirl moaned deeply into her ballgag. She would’ve done anything, anything to have release and come in that moment, straddled by her new owner, her new owner that she would do anything to please.
But the domme maintained her rhythm and kept Batgirl in an agony of postponed arousal, waiting for the last possible moment until beginning to stop and to subside altogether.
There was a pause and Batgirl regained her senses for a moment. Suddenly aware how she had allowed herself to become trapped, to make herself utterly helpless before a criminal, she thrashed her arms, her legs. She thrashed out with every muscle in her body, but to no avail. The straps held her fast and the domme, still astride the crimefighter, wasn’t even partially dislodged.
“Oh no, Batgirl,” the domme intoned sarcastically, but with effortless seduction, “How will you ever get out of this one?”
The domme then ran her hands up Batgirl’s body and unclipped her purple cape easily from her shoulders. She straightened it out, and tied it around Batgirl’s eyes, blindfolding her with her own cape. Batgirl’s meagre resistances weren’t enough to dislodge it, the domme was a bondage expert.
“I don’t think you will, actually,” said the domme, as she tied the final knot. “It might be best to just enjoy yourself while you still retain some sense of who you are.”
The domme then leaned forward and gently tore a hole in Batgirl’s outfit, giving her ease of access to her moist vagina. Immediately the miasma of lust overtook Batgirl’s mind again and she wordlessly implored her mistress to continue.
The domme did so, using her tongue expertly, first spreading it wide for long languorous licks over Batgirl’s vagina lips. First the outer, than the inner, back again, taking as long as she possibly could before beginning to tease her engorged red clitoris with the tip of her tongue. The domme used the barest movements, prolonging all of Batgirl’s sensations as best as she could, ensuring the orgasm would be as potent as possible when it arrived.
It was. The crescendo began and Batgirl practically screamed with delight. She bucked and grinded herself into the domme’s mouth and face, trying to maximise the experience despite her limited room for movement. Batgirl sensed it to be the longest and most powerful orgasm she had felt in her entire life and felt herself began to melt into the mattress, overcome with quenched desire and exhausted from her sexual torture.
The domme stood up, satisfied, bringing the riding crop up and down with satisfaction upon Batgirl’s ass. It made a loud and satisfying CRACK, coupled with a noise from Batgirl that made the domme smile.
The domme laughed, loud and long, then reached out and stroked Batgirl’s long mane of red hair.
“Good girl,” she said, “Good little girl.”
Batgirl arched her back in response the domme’s touch, totally restrained, totally helpless and never feeling more complete.
Batgirl and the Domme
Brilliant in both composition and dialogue. Too short, but hey - at least you had the decency to warn us.
Part Two:
The Domme took a second to enjoy the moment and then got to work. She removed the straps that held Batgirl to the mattress. Batgirl, her limbs free, turned reluctantly to look up at the Domme with questioning eyes.
This is the effect that being in the Domme’s presence had on people, especially after she had made them orgasm. Being out of her bondage and having unrestrained movement made them uncomfortable and uncertain. They needed to remain tied, they begun to crave being impossibly bound and preferably left in a confined space to restrain the function of their minds and fall deeper and deeper under her influence. It was an inconvenience for the Domme when she first discovered her powers and had to leave her sexual partners trussed up like livestock for hours at a time, they simply wouldn’t want to not be.
“Don’t worry my pet,” said the Domme, rubbing her gloved hand across Batgirl’s face. Batgirl’s back arched, “We’ll have you back in your cage soon.”
The Domme unzipped a canvas bag and produced a leather armbinder, which she began to apply. Batgirl agreeably nestled her hands and arms together, allowing the Domme to slide it over arms. The Domme zipped it up, quickly turning to bind Batgirl’s legs together at the thighs and the ankles, ensuring that the straps were tied at the last possible notch. Batgirl squirmed with delight inside her constraints, as the Domme attached the final piece, a leather collar that attached itself around Batgirl’s neck, attached to a leash.
The Domme pulled Batgirl up by her collar and onto her feet, keeping a firm grip on the handle of the leash, using it to direct Batgirl, barely able to move, across the floor of the warehouse.
“Now, my pet, we’re going to teach you how to walk in bondage. It’s a skill that you’re going to have to perfect, because you won’t be untied anytime soon!” The Domme threw back her head and laughed and her laughter resonated throughout the building.
That which was left of Batgirl thrilled to hear that being untied was something unlikely to happen to her in the future, but was uncertain. On her high heels she kept teetering off to one side, only the Domme’s quick movements with the leash, yanking her by the neck prevented her from falling over altogether. She couldn’t use her arms to allow her to keep her balance; whenever she tried she just felt her arms rub inside the soft leather of the armbinder.
Despite the fact that she had just experienced the most intense orgasm of her life, she began to feel her sexual excitement mounting. As her thighs were tightly tied together and in turn encased within her skin-tight latex costume, whenever she took one of her tiny steps forward, she was essentially masturbating. Her suit squeaked audibly, out of time with the clack of her heels on the floor. Batgirl attempted to build herself up into a rhythm without the Domme’s knowledge and achieving release. Though she loved her mistress intensely, more than anything, she knew that the Domme enjoyed her delay and prevent her orgasms, so she did her best to conceal it.
But her horniness gave her away, Batgirl’s ballgag remained in place and she moaned with frustration when the Domme had yanked her leash at the crucial moment, preventing the specific tiny movements her joy button needed to gain release. The Domme smiled and knew exactly what Batgirl was up to. At any other time, she would have stopped to tease Batgirl further, but they were already late for their meeting. Instead, she allowed Batgirl what little pleasure she could derive from her awkward steps, then pulled the leash when she thought she was getting close. Batgirl’s whimpers informed her that she was exactly right.
They came to the Domme’s car, and knowing where Batgirl’s preferences lay, now that she was under her control, put her in the trunk. As a bonus, she pulled a cowl over Batgirl’s head, sheathing her entire head in darkness.
***
Catwoman cast a wary eye over the Domme’s delivery, but there was no mistaking it, it was Batgirl. The Domme had succeeded where Catwoman had failed so many times, in apprehending the caped crusader.
Catwoman released her claws and ran them gently over Batgirl’s breasts, evoking a gasp from the restrained superheroine.
“Mmm,” said Catwoman, licking her lips. “Batgirl’s exquisite juiciness is absolutely unparalleled, I must compliment you on your work. How did you pull it off?”
Catwoman leaned into the Domme, who she towered over, thanks to her stellar physique and thigh high leather boots. The Domme felt Catwoman’s seductive touch on an erogenous spot behind her arm, making her start. Clearly Catwoman’s erotic instincts were almost as acute as hers.
But this was all bravado, the Domme knew. Catwoman was intimidated by the Domme’s abilities and wished to assert her power over her now. She kept her composure and smiled easily.
“Oh, surely you don’t expect me to reveal that much do you? It’s a trade secret Catwoman. Now, you have the Bat, where’s my cash?”
“Mmm, yes, of course,” Catwoman replied drily, stepping closer towards the Domme. “Although I find that I’m asking myself, ‘The Domme,’ is it in my interrrrests to give it to you?”
Here we go. Catwoman never stopped stabbing her partners in the back with those claws of hers.
“I mean after all, here you are, in my lair, surrounded by my kittens,” the Domme felt the loyal servants of Catwoman, dressed in catsuits that imitated the material and design of their mistress, begin to close in, eager for another sexy young woman to add to their bounty. “What’s to stop me taking you, too?”
Catwoman had reached for her belt, for a dose of Cataphrenic, a hypnotic agent that weakened the will of those exposed to it, making them pliable for Catwoman’s purposes. But the Domme moved quicker, placing her hands on either side of Catwoman’s head and pulling her in for a deep, long and wet kiss.
The kittens looked on in amazement as their mistress was sexually dominated, something that they would have never dreamed possible. The Domme ran her fingers up and down Catwoman’s body, taking her cat o’nine tails which usually hung by her side and used its solid handle to work Catwoman’s rapidly moistening slit between her legs. Catwoman all but collapsed into the Domme’s embrace, groaning into her neck, her eyes rolling back into her head.
And then, as soon as it had begun, it was over.
The Domme pulled back, replaced Catwoman’s whip and neatly fixed her smudged lipstick with the thumb of her latex gloves, looking bemusedly at her would be captor.
“Is that reason enough?” she asked.
Catwoman, eager to save the face she had lost in front of her kittens, hastily handed over the cash and saw the Domme out, eager after that mini-session with the Domme to use Batgirl to fulfil her frustrated desires. She had gotten cocky, she knew. She had spent too long in the Domme’s presence and now, like all the others that did, she was addicted. She yearned to be owned by her.
“I hope that there won’t be any, hard feelings after that. Just a little fun, you understand,” Catwoman said to The Domme as she left.
The Domme just smiled back at her, and Catwoman gulped, feeling within her an intense wish that the Domme would take her whip from her again and stick her handle in her mouth, eat her out, tie her down, use her and use her over and over again.
The Domme took a second to enjoy the moment and then got to work. She removed the straps that held Batgirl to the mattress. Batgirl, her limbs free, turned reluctantly to look up at the Domme with questioning eyes.
This is the effect that being in the Domme’s presence had on people, especially after she had made them orgasm. Being out of her bondage and having unrestrained movement made them uncomfortable and uncertain. They needed to remain tied, they begun to crave being impossibly bound and preferably left in a confined space to restrain the function of their minds and fall deeper and deeper under her influence. It was an inconvenience for the Domme when she first discovered her powers and had to leave her sexual partners trussed up like livestock for hours at a time, they simply wouldn’t want to not be.
“Don’t worry my pet,” said the Domme, rubbing her gloved hand across Batgirl’s face. Batgirl’s back arched, “We’ll have you back in your cage soon.”
The Domme unzipped a canvas bag and produced a leather armbinder, which she began to apply. Batgirl agreeably nestled her hands and arms together, allowing the Domme to slide it over arms. The Domme zipped it up, quickly turning to bind Batgirl’s legs together at the thighs and the ankles, ensuring that the straps were tied at the last possible notch. Batgirl squirmed with delight inside her constraints, as the Domme attached the final piece, a leather collar that attached itself around Batgirl’s neck, attached to a leash.
The Domme pulled Batgirl up by her collar and onto her feet, keeping a firm grip on the handle of the leash, using it to direct Batgirl, barely able to move, across the floor of the warehouse.
“Now, my pet, we’re going to teach you how to walk in bondage. It’s a skill that you’re going to have to perfect, because you won’t be untied anytime soon!” The Domme threw back her head and laughed and her laughter resonated throughout the building.
That which was left of Batgirl thrilled to hear that being untied was something unlikely to happen to her in the future, but was uncertain. On her high heels she kept teetering off to one side, only the Domme’s quick movements with the leash, yanking her by the neck prevented her from falling over altogether. She couldn’t use her arms to allow her to keep her balance; whenever she tried she just felt her arms rub inside the soft leather of the armbinder.
Despite the fact that she had just experienced the most intense orgasm of her life, she began to feel her sexual excitement mounting. As her thighs were tightly tied together and in turn encased within her skin-tight latex costume, whenever she took one of her tiny steps forward, she was essentially masturbating. Her suit squeaked audibly, out of time with the clack of her heels on the floor. Batgirl attempted to build herself up into a rhythm without the Domme’s knowledge and achieving release. Though she loved her mistress intensely, more than anything, she knew that the Domme enjoyed her delay and prevent her orgasms, so she did her best to conceal it.
But her horniness gave her away, Batgirl’s ballgag remained in place and she moaned with frustration when the Domme had yanked her leash at the crucial moment, preventing the specific tiny movements her joy button needed to gain release. The Domme smiled and knew exactly what Batgirl was up to. At any other time, she would have stopped to tease Batgirl further, but they were already late for their meeting. Instead, she allowed Batgirl what little pleasure she could derive from her awkward steps, then pulled the leash when she thought she was getting close. Batgirl’s whimpers informed her that she was exactly right.
They came to the Domme’s car, and knowing where Batgirl’s preferences lay, now that she was under her control, put her in the trunk. As a bonus, she pulled a cowl over Batgirl’s head, sheathing her entire head in darkness.
***
Catwoman cast a wary eye over the Domme’s delivery, but there was no mistaking it, it was Batgirl. The Domme had succeeded where Catwoman had failed so many times, in apprehending the caped crusader.
Catwoman released her claws and ran them gently over Batgirl’s breasts, evoking a gasp from the restrained superheroine.
“Mmm,” said Catwoman, licking her lips. “Batgirl’s exquisite juiciness is absolutely unparalleled, I must compliment you on your work. How did you pull it off?”
Catwoman leaned into the Domme, who she towered over, thanks to her stellar physique and thigh high leather boots. The Domme felt Catwoman’s seductive touch on an erogenous spot behind her arm, making her start. Clearly Catwoman’s erotic instincts were almost as acute as hers.
But this was all bravado, the Domme knew. Catwoman was intimidated by the Domme’s abilities and wished to assert her power over her now. She kept her composure and smiled easily.
“Oh, surely you don’t expect me to reveal that much do you? It’s a trade secret Catwoman. Now, you have the Bat, where’s my cash?”
“Mmm, yes, of course,” Catwoman replied drily, stepping closer towards the Domme. “Although I find that I’m asking myself, ‘The Domme,’ is it in my interrrrests to give it to you?”
Here we go. Catwoman never stopped stabbing her partners in the back with those claws of hers.
“I mean after all, here you are, in my lair, surrounded by my kittens,” the Domme felt the loyal servants of Catwoman, dressed in catsuits that imitated the material and design of their mistress, begin to close in, eager for another sexy young woman to add to their bounty. “What’s to stop me taking you, too?”
Catwoman had reached for her belt, for a dose of Cataphrenic, a hypnotic agent that weakened the will of those exposed to it, making them pliable for Catwoman’s purposes. But the Domme moved quicker, placing her hands on either side of Catwoman’s head and pulling her in for a deep, long and wet kiss.
The kittens looked on in amazement as their mistress was sexually dominated, something that they would have never dreamed possible. The Domme ran her fingers up and down Catwoman’s body, taking her cat o’nine tails which usually hung by her side and used its solid handle to work Catwoman’s rapidly moistening slit between her legs. Catwoman all but collapsed into the Domme’s embrace, groaning into her neck, her eyes rolling back into her head.
And then, as soon as it had begun, it was over.
The Domme pulled back, replaced Catwoman’s whip and neatly fixed her smudged lipstick with the thumb of her latex gloves, looking bemusedly at her would be captor.
“Is that reason enough?” she asked.
Catwoman, eager to save the face she had lost in front of her kittens, hastily handed over the cash and saw the Domme out, eager after that mini-session with the Domme to use Batgirl to fulfil her frustrated desires. She had gotten cocky, she knew. She had spent too long in the Domme’s presence and now, like all the others that did, she was addicted. She yearned to be owned by her.
“I hope that there won’t be any, hard feelings after that. Just a little fun, you understand,” Catwoman said to The Domme as she left.
The Domme just smiled back at her, and Catwoman gulped, feeling within her an intense wish that the Domme would take her whip from her again and stick her handle in her mouth, eat her out, tie her down, use her and use her over and over again.
Damn it, deleted the third part by accident when I was trying to put in the newest part. Is there a way to restore the old one? I don't think it was the best so it's not a huge loss. Next part is better. Damn it all the same.
Last edited by Creat1936 7 years ago, edited 3 times in total.
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DrDominator9
- Emissary
- Posts: 2460
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Quality stuff. And hot! Batgirl1969 hot!
Ever since she had handed her over to Catwoman and received her ransom, the Domme could not stop fantasising about Batgirl. There was something about the million tiny little ways Batgirl squirmed in her bondage, the way that the Domme’s special ropes and intricate bondage methods packaged that perfect body of hers, exquisitely toned, curvaceous, not to mention the oily, liquid soft purple latex the whole package was encaged in at all times…
Stop it. Often the Domme would find herself sliding down this train of thought involuntarily, and then realise that she was playing with herself, slipping her leather gloves on and sliding her fingers back and forth over her clit, sucking her own fingers, already wetter than she thought herself capable of being without trying. She had tried to distract herself from the curious wanting that kept overtaking her; she never usually felt this strongly about any quarry that she had ensnared, particularly after a job was done. There was nothing else for it.
The Domme had never abducted women on a freelance basis, but her need was becoming more uncontrollable daily. She would find herself so overwhelmed by desire that she felt that she couldn’t breathe, or that her deep breaths were only shallow, incomplete. So she went to clubs, cornered women late in the streets, talked with them, grazed the backs of their necks, asked them to come back to her apartment.
It never took long for them, being in the Domme’s presence to become just as hot as she was, just as submissive as she wanted them. She preferred targeting curvaceous redheads, unassuming types, exactly the ones that would remind her of Batgirl. She would submit them to any number of sexual experiences usually outside of their comfort zone, x-frames, arm binders, spider gags, hoping that she could rid herself of her lust. But nothing was working. It didn’t matter how she made the women dress in purple catsuits in perfect imitation of Batgirl’s own, how long she delayed their gratification, made them squirm, moan, plead for release. There was only one that would do, and the Domme knew that asking Catwoman for her back was not an option.
So, the Domme began to look into alternative methods. She perused websites that sold dildos, magic wands, rabbits, perhaps there was some kind of device that could help her assuage her desire for the absent Batgirl. Then she saw an ad for a device that she had never seen before. An auto-erotic bot made of mouldable erotic plastic, newly developed for maximal stimulation, for all parts of the body. The Domme massaged her thighs together. This sounded interesting.
The device was programmed with smart technology, which carried out an automatic scan of any user, altering itself relative to their erotic needs. The plastic was a unique compound that the user could sculpt to the body type they wanted and, best of all…it even came in purple. The Domme ordered it, paying extra for same day-delivery.
***
When it arrived, the material had begun scanning and accommodating itself to the Domme before she had even removed all the packaging. There was no mistaking it. Before her, the device was taking the shape of Batgirl, down to the exquisitely proportioned breasts. If anything, it might even appear…sexier. The ass of the device was taut, and shone with a synthetic, but indisputably appealing sheen. Knowing that it was constructed of a material designed specifically for erotic pleasure just made it all the hotter.
The Domme reached out and touched it, and the squeak her gloves made against its impossibly smooth surface was…everything. The material reacted to her touch, and seemed to reach through the Domme’s own gloves, to her fingers, and through her nerves.
“Ohhhhh, oh.” she said, not able to prevent herself.
She was similarly powerless to act against her physical impulses, when she threw itself at the fully-formed device, encasing its soft hips, within her firm, muscular thighs.
The feeling was incredible. The material rippled along the surface of the Domme’s flesh, every tactile sensation seemed to resonate throughout her whole body. When the device touched her skin, it expanded outward, and rippled infinitesimally, playing on her skin’s nerves as if it was an instrument. The Domme felt her pleasure centres sing; it was as though her whole body had been transformed into an erogenous zone. She reached out her long, pink tongue, and licked where she assumed the device’s cheek is, and to her surprise, the device produced a plastic, realistic feeling tongue to respond, wrapping the Domme’s within its own.
“MMmmmmpppmmmh…” she moaned as the plastic tongue grappled with her own, and felt its hands grab the sides of her head to pull her closer.
They fell to the floor, the material spreading itself over her thighs and then tightening, in order to bring her closer, into greater contact for the vibration effect that began to emanate now, through her vagina.
Although, the Domme thought, as its tongue reached deeper into her mouth, absorbing her lips over its own it is a bit more dominant, than I usually like. How do I turn down its aggression settings?
As if in response, the machine suddenly sprouted two more arms from its torso, one of which locked both of the Domme’s arms behind her, tightly together at the wrist, the other slammed hard onto her ass, pulling her closer into the automata’s hips. She was powerless. She tried to turn her face away, but her entire lower face and chin were deep into the plastic, and it was spreading fast, over her nose, over her eyes.
She tried to take her thighs away, give herself some wiggle room, but they were sixty, seventy per cent under its surface now too. How was this possible? How was it swallowing her. Try as she might, she couldn’t remove herself, though part of her couldn’t, because she didn’t want to. The more the plastic pooled around her, the more her nubile form was absorbed into its surface, the more pleasurable it became. The plastic tongue penetrating her throat, gaining access into every part of her, every breach in her body…her brain was on fire with stimulation, and though she resisted her captivity, she was in thrall to it at the same time.
She couldn’t see or hear anything…she merely sank endlessly into a sea of impossibly cresting orgasmic release.
Stop it. Often the Domme would find herself sliding down this train of thought involuntarily, and then realise that she was playing with herself, slipping her leather gloves on and sliding her fingers back and forth over her clit, sucking her own fingers, already wetter than she thought herself capable of being without trying. She had tried to distract herself from the curious wanting that kept overtaking her; she never usually felt this strongly about any quarry that she had ensnared, particularly after a job was done. There was nothing else for it.
The Domme had never abducted women on a freelance basis, but her need was becoming more uncontrollable daily. She would find herself so overwhelmed by desire that she felt that she couldn’t breathe, or that her deep breaths were only shallow, incomplete. So she went to clubs, cornered women late in the streets, talked with them, grazed the backs of their necks, asked them to come back to her apartment.
It never took long for them, being in the Domme’s presence to become just as hot as she was, just as submissive as she wanted them. She preferred targeting curvaceous redheads, unassuming types, exactly the ones that would remind her of Batgirl. She would submit them to any number of sexual experiences usually outside of their comfort zone, x-frames, arm binders, spider gags, hoping that she could rid herself of her lust. But nothing was working. It didn’t matter how she made the women dress in purple catsuits in perfect imitation of Batgirl’s own, how long she delayed their gratification, made them squirm, moan, plead for release. There was only one that would do, and the Domme knew that asking Catwoman for her back was not an option.
So, the Domme began to look into alternative methods. She perused websites that sold dildos, magic wands, rabbits, perhaps there was some kind of device that could help her assuage her desire for the absent Batgirl. Then she saw an ad for a device that she had never seen before. An auto-erotic bot made of mouldable erotic plastic, newly developed for maximal stimulation, for all parts of the body. The Domme massaged her thighs together. This sounded interesting.
The device was programmed with smart technology, which carried out an automatic scan of any user, altering itself relative to their erotic needs. The plastic was a unique compound that the user could sculpt to the body type they wanted and, best of all…it even came in purple. The Domme ordered it, paying extra for same day-delivery.
***
When it arrived, the material had begun scanning and accommodating itself to the Domme before she had even removed all the packaging. There was no mistaking it. Before her, the device was taking the shape of Batgirl, down to the exquisitely proportioned breasts. If anything, it might even appear…sexier. The ass of the device was taut, and shone with a synthetic, but indisputably appealing sheen. Knowing that it was constructed of a material designed specifically for erotic pleasure just made it all the hotter.
The Domme reached out and touched it, and the squeak her gloves made against its impossibly smooth surface was…everything. The material reacted to her touch, and seemed to reach through the Domme’s own gloves, to her fingers, and through her nerves.
“Ohhhhh, oh.” she said, not able to prevent herself.
She was similarly powerless to act against her physical impulses, when she threw itself at the fully-formed device, encasing its soft hips, within her firm, muscular thighs.
The feeling was incredible. The material rippled along the surface of the Domme’s flesh, every tactile sensation seemed to resonate throughout her whole body. When the device touched her skin, it expanded outward, and rippled infinitesimally, playing on her skin’s nerves as if it was an instrument. The Domme felt her pleasure centres sing; it was as though her whole body had been transformed into an erogenous zone. She reached out her long, pink tongue, and licked where she assumed the device’s cheek is, and to her surprise, the device produced a plastic, realistic feeling tongue to respond, wrapping the Domme’s within its own.
“MMmmmmpppmmmh…” she moaned as the plastic tongue grappled with her own, and felt its hands grab the sides of her head to pull her closer.
They fell to the floor, the material spreading itself over her thighs and then tightening, in order to bring her closer, into greater contact for the vibration effect that began to emanate now, through her vagina.
Although, the Domme thought, as its tongue reached deeper into her mouth, absorbing her lips over its own it is a bit more dominant, than I usually like. How do I turn down its aggression settings?
As if in response, the machine suddenly sprouted two more arms from its torso, one of which locked both of the Domme’s arms behind her, tightly together at the wrist, the other slammed hard onto her ass, pulling her closer into the automata’s hips. She was powerless. She tried to turn her face away, but her entire lower face and chin were deep into the plastic, and it was spreading fast, over her nose, over her eyes.
She tried to take her thighs away, give herself some wiggle room, but they were sixty, seventy per cent under its surface now too. How was this possible? How was it swallowing her. Try as she might, she couldn’t remove herself, though part of her couldn’t, because she didn’t want to. The more the plastic pooled around her, the more her nubile form was absorbed into its surface, the more pleasurable it became. The plastic tongue penetrating her throat, gaining access into every part of her, every breach in her body…her brain was on fire with stimulation, and though she resisted her captivity, she was in thrall to it at the same time.
She couldn’t see or hear anything…she merely sank endlessly into a sea of impossibly cresting orgasmic release.
Catwoman watched, satisfied, as the Domme wrestled on the floor of Catwoman’s dungeon, with her newest, and permanent, lover. It had been easy to design the device, it merely required Catwoman to expand her repertoire of erotic devices somewhat, but it had been difficult making sure that the Domme would invest in a device of this kind just the way that she did. But it had worked out in the end, placing the advertisement in sex-driven sites that only the Domme would be able to access…close encounters with Batgirl can have an intoxicating effect, as Catwoman well knew. She turned her head back and began to rub the seam of her oil-black latex catsuit against her labia, pushing its knot up into herself, thinking of her newly trained Bat-kitty, ready to begin her own ‘recruitment drive’ of Gotham’s superheroes. Oooh it was delicious to contemplate.
“Can you hear me, Domme?” Catwoman asked derisively, knowing that, swamped in her erotic plastic compound from which she emerged only enough to breathe, and sometimes not even then, staying in her sexual miasma until she lost consciousness.
“Do you like to play with your new toy? Or rather, does it enjoy playing with you?” Catwoman laughed chillingly, timed just as the Domme was trying to grind herself into a particularly warm, alive section of her living plastic doll, her face screwed up in concentration, lost to the world and to her surroundings.
“My favourite part about the design of this little device, apart from its power to harvest those all-powerful hormones you use to trick little girls into your lair, is that allows the user to escape if they want to… But of course,” she said, watching a trail of purple plastic reach up suddenly to twist itself around the Domme’s mouth, gagging her while bringing her to climax “They never want to. I lost some very good kittens who haven’t been right since, during the prototype stages…ah well. You can’t kidnap the Domme without breaking a…a few…I…”
Whatever was the addendum to this pearl of wisdom was not quite clear, but whatever it was, it was now quite beyond Catwoman’s abilities to articulate it. Perhaps it was the fact that she had played with herself a moment ago, plying her sex just enough to activate her libido, maybe it was her own wish to submit herself to the doll that the Domme was enjoying, maybe she had underestimated the residual effects of the Domme’s ambient pheromones, maybe an admixture of all three, but whatever the reason, a potent lust had seized control of Catwoman, and she dove at the Domme, beginning to massage the inside of her thighs with her tongue, and gain traction on doing so by dabbing the flesh around her ass.
The Domme, deprived of oxygen from the erotic bot’s gag, looked as though she might pass out through sheer stimulation, Catwoman’s exquisitely tuned erotic instincts were unparalleled, even when compared to the kind of sensation occasioned by her sensual plastics. She righted herself though, and using her ruby-red sharpened nails, began to work at the belt that hung slanted over Catwoman’s ample, toned hips and ass.
There was some awkwardness in the three of them, orbiting and shaping each other all of a sudden; the Domme was shunted for about ten seconds up against Catwoman’s soft, exposed breasts, which, in her desperation, she tried to work through her catsuit, or chew through with her teeth, she couldn’t decide, but the plastic was adaptable, not to mention dominant, and it swam , dove over the two women, straddling them, encasing them in its grip mercilessly, forcing their arms by their sides, over them, encasing their arms by their sides, and sealing their legs together. The material then mobilised underneath them, and began to force them into contact with one another, forcing mouth to mouth, breast to breast, groin to groin, which Catwoman and the Domme were only too happy to resume, with their hungry, lustful movements. The plastic leveraged behind them, applying pressure at their hips and asses, forcing them closer, closer still, while at other points enveloping them, and stimulating their erogenous zones.
“Can you hear me, Domme?” Catwoman asked derisively, knowing that, swamped in her erotic plastic compound from which she emerged only enough to breathe, and sometimes not even then, staying in her sexual miasma until she lost consciousness.
“Do you like to play with your new toy? Or rather, does it enjoy playing with you?” Catwoman laughed chillingly, timed just as the Domme was trying to grind herself into a particularly warm, alive section of her living plastic doll, her face screwed up in concentration, lost to the world and to her surroundings.
“My favourite part about the design of this little device, apart from its power to harvest those all-powerful hormones you use to trick little girls into your lair, is that allows the user to escape if they want to… But of course,” she said, watching a trail of purple plastic reach up suddenly to twist itself around the Domme’s mouth, gagging her while bringing her to climax “They never want to. I lost some very good kittens who haven’t been right since, during the prototype stages…ah well. You can’t kidnap the Domme without breaking a…a few…I…”
Whatever was the addendum to this pearl of wisdom was not quite clear, but whatever it was, it was now quite beyond Catwoman’s abilities to articulate it. Perhaps it was the fact that she had played with herself a moment ago, plying her sex just enough to activate her libido, maybe it was her own wish to submit herself to the doll that the Domme was enjoying, maybe she had underestimated the residual effects of the Domme’s ambient pheromones, maybe an admixture of all three, but whatever the reason, a potent lust had seized control of Catwoman, and she dove at the Domme, beginning to massage the inside of her thighs with her tongue, and gain traction on doing so by dabbing the flesh around her ass.
The Domme, deprived of oxygen from the erotic bot’s gag, looked as though she might pass out through sheer stimulation, Catwoman’s exquisitely tuned erotic instincts were unparalleled, even when compared to the kind of sensation occasioned by her sensual plastics. She righted herself though, and using her ruby-red sharpened nails, began to work at the belt that hung slanted over Catwoman’s ample, toned hips and ass.
There was some awkwardness in the three of them, orbiting and shaping each other all of a sudden; the Domme was shunted for about ten seconds up against Catwoman’s soft, exposed breasts, which, in her desperation, she tried to work through her catsuit, or chew through with her teeth, she couldn’t decide, but the plastic was adaptable, not to mention dominant, and it swam , dove over the two women, straddling them, encasing them in its grip mercilessly, forcing their arms by their sides, over them, encasing their arms by their sides, and sealing their legs together. The material then mobilised underneath them, and began to force them into contact with one another, forcing mouth to mouth, breast to breast, groin to groin, which Catwoman and the Domme were only too happy to resume, with their hungry, lustful movements. The plastic leveraged behind them, applying pressure at their hips and asses, forcing them closer, closer still, while at other points enveloping them, and stimulating their erogenous zones.
Batgirl was suiting up for her first mission on Catwoman’s behalf to abduct a super heroine and begin indoctrinating her in the same manner that she had been transformed from Batgirl into…whatever is was that she could be called now. Batgirl didn't really think about her name much. She didn’t really think about anything much, apart from pleasing her mistress and the sexual advances of the other kittens.
When she first came here she had been tied up compromisingly on the floor of the kitten’s play-room, her arms and legs spread eagle, offering ease of access to the kittens, and to Catwoman, when she deigned to join in on their torture sessions.
The depths of the sexual sadism visited upon her by the girls seemed to lack a boundary. It all began with Catwoman unzipping her catsuit, and removing Batgirl’s underwear. Catwoman laughed at this humiliation, passing her panties around the kittens, before spraying them with an ominous looking perfume bottle. Catwoman made sure they were good and doused before balling them up, and shoving them into Batgirl’s mouth! One of the kittens sealed a tight, cherry-red ballgag behind Batgirl’s teeth before she could spit them out, so they stayed lying on her tongue, Batgirl’s sense of them being there, with her latex catsuit torn at the legs, and the kittens working on removing the rest of it, while keeping her hands and legs held down, making her nauseous.
Catwoman, amidst all this, lay down astride Batgirl, and, using her thigh high latex boots, specifically the nine-inch stiletto, ran it up and down Batgirl’s thighs and calves, while sensuously massaging her exposed, pale stomach with the barest tip of the golden claws on her gloves. Catwoman placed her full red lips right next to Batgirl’s ear, and her words tickled as she whispered:
“Mmmmm, ahahahah, how do you taste Batgirl?”
She sunk her teeth into Batgirl’s neck playfully, and Batgirl squirmed in response, but not with disgust, or not entirely. Because Batgirl was realising, that she, tasted, if that was the right word, pretty great. Amazing, in fact.
In as much as was possible with the big red gag in the way, she began to chew her panties, getting what she could from them.
“Do you like my Kataphrenic Batgirl? It’s a special cocktail I made just for you, just for re-making you the way I want you…”
The Kathaphrenic was already taking effect, weakening Batgirl’s will, making her pliable to suggestion, making her increasingly, unbearably horny. The kittens began to feel Batgirl struggle more urgently under their grip, trying to thrash herself free, to get herself off. The ache started in her midsection and travelled down to her vag, leading her to buck wildly upwards, which Catwoman resisted.
“Hold her kittens!” she commanded, authoritatively, as she placed herself between Batgirl’s writing thighs.
She took a moment to examine Batgirl’s vagina, wet and red and raw and dipped her head towards it slowly. She let her long black hair fall onto the labia’s surface, and Batgirl moaned, displaying just how sensitive the drug had made her to the least provocation. Catwoman then extended her tongue, and grazed it off her clit, making Batgirl scream into her gag, rabid with sexual frustration.
“Now just relax Batgirl, this won’t hurt a bit,” Catwoman cooed, producing a small, egg-shaped device. She liberally slathered it with liquid Kataphrenic, and then inserted it into Batgirl’s vagina.
The effects of Kataphrenic directly administered on the inside of the body were even more pronounced, almost explosive, and Batgirl was wondering, as she trembled with desire beneath the kitten’s warm, soft bodies, how it was that she hadn’t come yet through sheer force of will.
“Now Batgirl,” Catwoman began to whisper, unbearably close to the heroine, assuming her previous position at her ear, “what I have just done, is I have inserted a little device that will prevent you from reaching orgasm until I say so. That way,” she said, suddenly clawing Batgirl’s breasts without warning, just to hear her whimper, “we can be sure that when you do come, you’re willing to serve me, do exactly what I want, when I want. But I just don’t want you to say it…I want you to mean it. So, Bat-slut, that’s why we’re going to keep you in a state of hyper-arousal for as long as I think you need…and then maybe a little longer!”
Catwoman laughed, loud and long, and all her kittens joined in a chorus of giggling. Batgirl hadn’t quite understood what she had just been told, her thighs felt slick, every part of her that was clothed was pouring with sweat, she needed release, she needed it now.
“Which is why it’s such bad news for you, that we’ve decided to make you your own kitten play-suit!”
Batgirl was now fully nude, and the kittens were moving her arms and legs, twisting her around to fit her in a new catsuit, made of a slick, lightweight material that felt like latex. It was purple but was leopard skin print, perfect for her new role as one of Catwoman’s kittens. She tried to resist, tried to escape, but it was no use, the kittens held her fast. One of them even slipped a collar around her neck with a little bell, that jingled mockingly as she tried to throw the kittens off her.
Even as the suit was coming into contact with her skin, she knew something was strange about it, it felt slick like rain, but soft as an eiderdown, she couldn’t quite understand it - it was also…exciting. It felt like being touched, but with electricity, in a hundred different places at once. It intensified her longing for release as it slipped and slid around her flesh; even when she was lying still, it felt as though it were in motion around her.
Which made it all the more frustrating that Catwoman’s implant made her resistant to orgasm. It was clear that Catwoman’s strategy was to make Batgirl crazy with lust, reduce her mind to mush and give into whatever she wanted. And it was working.
The sessions with the kittens in the play-room in the play-suit seemed endless. They dug out new devices from Catwoman’s laboratory every day and tried out obscure bondage on her, cawls, cat’s whiskers…sometimes they merely dosed her with more and more kataphrenic and left her there to roll around, desperately seeking release.
The worst was going to sleep. At a time in the day when Batgirl thought she would be free from torment, Catwoman would send for her as her own Bat-pillow, to lie between Catwoman’s silk sheets, and warm the bed before Catwoman came. The kittens would mummify her in the most stringent layers of bondage, sometimes as much as two or three layers on top of her punishing arm binder and cowl.
She would always know Catwoman was there by the claws that would poke through her shell and begin to tease at her most sensitive areas, and there was nothing she could do to resist, she couldn’t even move a millimetre, all the while listening to Catwoman’s moans, and subject to her punishing twists and soft caresses.
She didn’t know how long it was of this before she surrendered, but it wasn’t until long after Batgirl had forgotten her own name, forgotten was she was here for, forgotten everything, that Catwoman removed her gag, and asked her if she surrendered to her.
“I surrender, mistress.” Batgirl had said, the words ripped from her throat, a pure conduit for obedience to Catwoman.
Catwoman smiled, and straddled her neck with her perfectly toned and shiny-black latex-encased thighs. She lowered her ass onto Batgirl’s neck, until she struggled to breathe, with Batgirl looking up, looking up at her breasts and her nefariously curved smile with adoration.
“Eat me out, Batgirl, and perhaps I’ll consider letting you come tonight.”
Her lips and tongue finally free, Batgirl set to, trying to make Catwoman come as quickly as possible to get herself off, after so long, so long of being trapped in her arousal.
But Catwoman knew what she was doing, and slapped her suddenly across the face.
“No! Bad Bad-slut! I thought you were ready, but I think my optimism was misplaced. We’ll have to start from the very start until you learn your lesson.”
Batgirl was ashamed, and looked ashen, guilty.
“Perhaps you have earned the right to one little treat, but tomorrow we’ll be starting all over before I let you eat Mistress out again.”
Catwoman inserted a clawed, gloved finger into Batgirl’s soft pink mouth, and Batgirl began to suck, obediently, eagerly, as Catwoman lay down beside her, gently stroking her hair, whispering “good Bat-slut, good, good girl.”
Batgirl had eventually gotten to the point where she was worthy of eating Mistress Catwoman out, but only when Catwoman had herself dosed with Kataphrenic, to increase the pleasure for herself, and to weaken Batgirl’s resolve yet further. But at this stage, it was not needed. Batgirl was now a kitten, once and for all.
She went now to the dungeon, to collect a synthesis of the Domme’s pheromones for her use tonight.
When she went in, she saw Catwoman, held in the plastic bot’s thrall, her arms far up her back, her legs knotted at her heels, deep between the Domme’s thighs. The Domme’s arms were herself held high above her head by the bot, who was from behind, forcing Catwoman deeper into her pussy. The Domme was moaning loudly. Neither moved as Batgirl walked in, both totally enwrapped in their own sensations.
Batgirl acted quickly, not wishing to become caught in the same trap Catwoman had, by freeing her mistress, grabbing her by her waist, and pulling her from the bot. Surprisingly, it yielded her easily, and resumed its normal congress with the Domme.
Batgirl pulled Catwoman to the other side of the dungeon, and began trying to rouse her from her erotic stupor.
“Mistress! Mistress!” she called.
Catwoman was confused at first, but quickly came to her senses,
“How dare you touch your Mistress without your permission!”
Saying so, she struck Batgirl’s ass with her whip, lashing her harshly in reprimand.
Batgirl cowered immediately.
“Pray that you capture Batwoman easily tonight, or you’ll be punished severely!”
When she first came here she had been tied up compromisingly on the floor of the kitten’s play-room, her arms and legs spread eagle, offering ease of access to the kittens, and to Catwoman, when she deigned to join in on their torture sessions.
The depths of the sexual sadism visited upon her by the girls seemed to lack a boundary. It all began with Catwoman unzipping her catsuit, and removing Batgirl’s underwear. Catwoman laughed at this humiliation, passing her panties around the kittens, before spraying them with an ominous looking perfume bottle. Catwoman made sure they were good and doused before balling them up, and shoving them into Batgirl’s mouth! One of the kittens sealed a tight, cherry-red ballgag behind Batgirl’s teeth before she could spit them out, so they stayed lying on her tongue, Batgirl’s sense of them being there, with her latex catsuit torn at the legs, and the kittens working on removing the rest of it, while keeping her hands and legs held down, making her nauseous.
Catwoman, amidst all this, lay down astride Batgirl, and, using her thigh high latex boots, specifically the nine-inch stiletto, ran it up and down Batgirl’s thighs and calves, while sensuously massaging her exposed, pale stomach with the barest tip of the golden claws on her gloves. Catwoman placed her full red lips right next to Batgirl’s ear, and her words tickled as she whispered:
“Mmmmm, ahahahah, how do you taste Batgirl?”
She sunk her teeth into Batgirl’s neck playfully, and Batgirl squirmed in response, but not with disgust, or not entirely. Because Batgirl was realising, that she, tasted, if that was the right word, pretty great. Amazing, in fact.
In as much as was possible with the big red gag in the way, she began to chew her panties, getting what she could from them.
“Do you like my Kataphrenic Batgirl? It’s a special cocktail I made just for you, just for re-making you the way I want you…”
The Kathaphrenic was already taking effect, weakening Batgirl’s will, making her pliable to suggestion, making her increasingly, unbearably horny. The kittens began to feel Batgirl struggle more urgently under their grip, trying to thrash herself free, to get herself off. The ache started in her midsection and travelled down to her vag, leading her to buck wildly upwards, which Catwoman resisted.
“Hold her kittens!” she commanded, authoritatively, as she placed herself between Batgirl’s writing thighs.
She took a moment to examine Batgirl’s vagina, wet and red and raw and dipped her head towards it slowly. She let her long black hair fall onto the labia’s surface, and Batgirl moaned, displaying just how sensitive the drug had made her to the least provocation. Catwoman then extended her tongue, and grazed it off her clit, making Batgirl scream into her gag, rabid with sexual frustration.
“Now just relax Batgirl, this won’t hurt a bit,” Catwoman cooed, producing a small, egg-shaped device. She liberally slathered it with liquid Kataphrenic, and then inserted it into Batgirl’s vagina.
The effects of Kataphrenic directly administered on the inside of the body were even more pronounced, almost explosive, and Batgirl was wondering, as she trembled with desire beneath the kitten’s warm, soft bodies, how it was that she hadn’t come yet through sheer force of will.
“Now Batgirl,” Catwoman began to whisper, unbearably close to the heroine, assuming her previous position at her ear, “what I have just done, is I have inserted a little device that will prevent you from reaching orgasm until I say so. That way,” she said, suddenly clawing Batgirl’s breasts without warning, just to hear her whimper, “we can be sure that when you do come, you’re willing to serve me, do exactly what I want, when I want. But I just don’t want you to say it…I want you to mean it. So, Bat-slut, that’s why we’re going to keep you in a state of hyper-arousal for as long as I think you need…and then maybe a little longer!”
Catwoman laughed, loud and long, and all her kittens joined in a chorus of giggling. Batgirl hadn’t quite understood what she had just been told, her thighs felt slick, every part of her that was clothed was pouring with sweat, she needed release, she needed it now.
“Which is why it’s such bad news for you, that we’ve decided to make you your own kitten play-suit!”
Batgirl was now fully nude, and the kittens were moving her arms and legs, twisting her around to fit her in a new catsuit, made of a slick, lightweight material that felt like latex. It was purple but was leopard skin print, perfect for her new role as one of Catwoman’s kittens. She tried to resist, tried to escape, but it was no use, the kittens held her fast. One of them even slipped a collar around her neck with a little bell, that jingled mockingly as she tried to throw the kittens off her.
Even as the suit was coming into contact with her skin, she knew something was strange about it, it felt slick like rain, but soft as an eiderdown, she couldn’t quite understand it - it was also…exciting. It felt like being touched, but with electricity, in a hundred different places at once. It intensified her longing for release as it slipped and slid around her flesh; even when she was lying still, it felt as though it were in motion around her.
Which made it all the more frustrating that Catwoman’s implant made her resistant to orgasm. It was clear that Catwoman’s strategy was to make Batgirl crazy with lust, reduce her mind to mush and give into whatever she wanted. And it was working.
The sessions with the kittens in the play-room in the play-suit seemed endless. They dug out new devices from Catwoman’s laboratory every day and tried out obscure bondage on her, cawls, cat’s whiskers…sometimes they merely dosed her with more and more kataphrenic and left her there to roll around, desperately seeking release.
The worst was going to sleep. At a time in the day when Batgirl thought she would be free from torment, Catwoman would send for her as her own Bat-pillow, to lie between Catwoman’s silk sheets, and warm the bed before Catwoman came. The kittens would mummify her in the most stringent layers of bondage, sometimes as much as two or three layers on top of her punishing arm binder and cowl.
She would always know Catwoman was there by the claws that would poke through her shell and begin to tease at her most sensitive areas, and there was nothing she could do to resist, she couldn’t even move a millimetre, all the while listening to Catwoman’s moans, and subject to her punishing twists and soft caresses.
She didn’t know how long it was of this before she surrendered, but it wasn’t until long after Batgirl had forgotten her own name, forgotten was she was here for, forgotten everything, that Catwoman removed her gag, and asked her if she surrendered to her.
“I surrender, mistress.” Batgirl had said, the words ripped from her throat, a pure conduit for obedience to Catwoman.
Catwoman smiled, and straddled her neck with her perfectly toned and shiny-black latex-encased thighs. She lowered her ass onto Batgirl’s neck, until she struggled to breathe, with Batgirl looking up, looking up at her breasts and her nefariously curved smile with adoration.
“Eat me out, Batgirl, and perhaps I’ll consider letting you come tonight.”
Her lips and tongue finally free, Batgirl set to, trying to make Catwoman come as quickly as possible to get herself off, after so long, so long of being trapped in her arousal.
But Catwoman knew what she was doing, and slapped her suddenly across the face.
“No! Bad Bad-slut! I thought you were ready, but I think my optimism was misplaced. We’ll have to start from the very start until you learn your lesson.”
Batgirl was ashamed, and looked ashen, guilty.
“Perhaps you have earned the right to one little treat, but tomorrow we’ll be starting all over before I let you eat Mistress out again.”
Catwoman inserted a clawed, gloved finger into Batgirl’s soft pink mouth, and Batgirl began to suck, obediently, eagerly, as Catwoman lay down beside her, gently stroking her hair, whispering “good Bat-slut, good, good girl.”
Batgirl had eventually gotten to the point where she was worthy of eating Mistress Catwoman out, but only when Catwoman had herself dosed with Kataphrenic, to increase the pleasure for herself, and to weaken Batgirl’s resolve yet further. But at this stage, it was not needed. Batgirl was now a kitten, once and for all.
She went now to the dungeon, to collect a synthesis of the Domme’s pheromones for her use tonight.
When she went in, she saw Catwoman, held in the plastic bot’s thrall, her arms far up her back, her legs knotted at her heels, deep between the Domme’s thighs. The Domme’s arms were herself held high above her head by the bot, who was from behind, forcing Catwoman deeper into her pussy. The Domme was moaning loudly. Neither moved as Batgirl walked in, both totally enwrapped in their own sensations.
Batgirl acted quickly, not wishing to become caught in the same trap Catwoman had, by freeing her mistress, grabbing her by her waist, and pulling her from the bot. Surprisingly, it yielded her easily, and resumed its normal congress with the Domme.
Batgirl pulled Catwoman to the other side of the dungeon, and began trying to rouse her from her erotic stupor.
“Mistress! Mistress!” she called.
Catwoman was confused at first, but quickly came to her senses,
“How dare you touch your Mistress without your permission!”
Saying so, she struck Batgirl’s ass with her whip, lashing her harshly in reprimand.
Batgirl cowered immediately.
“Pray that you capture Batwoman easily tonight, or you’ll be punished severely!”