Chapter 5 - The Climax

As Barbara felt the heat between her legs flare up at the sensation of Catwoman's descending lips, she realized something she'd never fully understood about foreplay until then: it makes a vagina get very, very wet.

Being a virgin, Barbara had no real perspective on any of this. Sure, she knew why the body did what it did from what she'd read in her biology textbooks — the female anatomy slickened itself in anticipation, readied itself to be entered. Penetration apparently didn't provide most women much pleasure, but the body's sensation of readying itself to be penetrated was apparently very good. Barbara learned this firsthand when, as a senior in high school, she managed to look up from a book long enough to get noticed by a couple of boys her age, and then noticed them back.

Marcus Carter was the school's star wide receiver, and on the fast track to a full football scholarship at GCU. He was handsome as hell, and used to having his looks get girls to move fast with him. Barbara knew this, but Connie and her other friends couldn't stop berating her for throwing away her seemingly amazing luck: "Go for it! He’s so hot!" they'd told her. She thought that, at best, Marcus was curious what it was like to be with one of the nerdy girls. But, for whatever reason, Barbara allowed herself to be a part of that fantasy for him.

Maybe it was just his good looks; it worked on all the other girls, after all. But making out with him in the school's maintenance stairwell felt amazing, right up to the moment where his hands started to wander lower. Once his fingers began rubbing her through her leggings, that same simmering sensation was there. His touch was experienced, and soon, everything started to feel even more amazing. Too amazing. She remembered the thoughts she found climbing from the depths of her mind that she didn't know were there. She wanted him to go harder, faster. She wanted her leggings out of the way. She wanted more than just his fingertips.

Barbara remembered stopping him abruptly as she ran anxiously from that stairwell, all the way to the girl's locker room, and hid for hours. Her and Marcus never spoke again, but she never forgot how hard it was to catch her breath that day. She never forgot how much the pleasure inside her wanted to break free, or how later that night, she wanted to let her fingers wander where his once had. She never forgot how wet he made her feel.

"Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod," Barbara whined as she glared down to the beautiful woman exploring her naked thighs. 'Arousal' didn't describe the level she was at now. After a long, heavy foreplay session with Catwoman that was ending with her mouth just inches from Barbara's sex, she was ten times wetter right now than she had been in that stairwell. Barbara's knees and fingers quivered gently, and she struggled to keep her bearings.

Catwoman's tongue, as ever, was warm and gentle. It confused Barbara that a woman so strong and vicious could also be as delicate as a feather. She kissed the arch of Barbara's pelvis, her inner thigh, the upper ridge of her mound where her red hair would start to grow soon: everywhere except her buzzing slit. That only seemed to make everything more needy inside. Barbara dizzied as she considered the thought that having Catwoman's tongue on her lips for even a moment might cause her to crumple into an orgasm in front of everyone.

"Fuck yeah," Marchetti growled, smashing her out of that thought with his disgusting voice. "Time to see the Pussy eat some pussy."

Only Barbara saw Catwoman roll her eyes in disgust as she dipped even lower, licking the space inside her thighs. She felt Catwoman's hands tease the mounds of her ass from beneath and gently spread them apart, asking Barbara to open her stance a bit. As she did, Catwoman licked long trails up the insides of Barbara's thighs, gently pointing arrows of wet warmth at her vagina.

"Good job, Kitten," she whispered. "Keep playing along."

"Ohhhmygod..." Barbara muttered, the word yes balancing on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it like a chunk of lead. She fell back onto one elbow seated halfway atop the table as Catwoman's mouth did its gentle work, and she moaned through pursed lips and gritted teeth.

As her heart drummed inside her chest, Barbara caught herself as she realized what was truly happening: Catwoman was looking under the table with each long, warm lick. She ran her hands up over Barbara's breasts, kneading them gently to squeeze out another moan before her fingernails raked chills back down over Barbara's stomach. But not all of her fingernails — just two on one hand, and two on the other.

Four.

Okay... only four guns after all, Barbara thought as Catwoman tapped the fingers on her thighs one by one. We can take them.

The realization stumbled for a moment as Barbara felt chills seem to accelerate something inside her body: Catwoman's lips were still nibbling just inches from her slit, sliding the slickened folds. A chorus of moans were egging them on. Most of the whores' mouths and hands were full of short, sticky cocks. One was making out with her girlfriend, sharing a mouthful of cum as her knuckles jammed in and out of her own wet hole. Catwoman's fingers began kneading gently over Barbara's thighs, and something about it teased her clit in just such a way.

The realization slammed Barbara: it wasn't only Catwoman's scent of arousal she'd smelled before. It was her own.

Barbara felt the simmering wetness inside of her simmer a little too hot. Then, it boiled over.

"Wait!" Barbara squealed. "Waitwaitwait! Oh!"

In a panic, Barbara grabbed Catwoman by the head and drew their faces together, burying her tongue into her mouth as she bent down. She clenched every muscle in her body to stem the feeling of need that she absolutely didn't want to come out. From between her legs, Barbara's sex burned and clenched, barely holding back what she now recognized was the sudden edge of an orgasm. Her cup was full, and Catwoman was the drop that overflowed it.

"F-four... mmmh! O-okay... aah! Ohgod! Mmmm-waitwait... ohmygod... I'm... oh..." she mumbled into Catwoman's mouth as she focused and squeezed and clenched, holding back the sensation threatening to explode out of her. It barely did, and it barely didn't.

"Oh!" Catwoman whispered, sensing Barbara's body. She kissed back, gently. "You're okay. It's okay. Breathe. I... I'm so... I didn't know you were... shit... did you really just..."

There was a silent understanding between the two of them: Barbara, for all her strength and need for control, was a woman. She had a nervous system and erogenous zones just like any other. She'd been stimulated right up to the edge, and naturally, her body did the rest of the work for her. But she saw a gentleness in Catwoman's eyes for a moment at her fearful hesitation at what she'd done to Barbara — Catwoman hadn't expected Barbara to truly climax. It was all a game to tease Marchetti, and she’d never meant for it to go that far. They both breathed and locked eyes as they laid their foreheads together while Barbara's heat seethed out of her.

It was the single most intimate experience Barbara had ever shared with anyone. She hated that it was happening here with the woman who'd stolen her father's notebook. A blush bloomed over her face as she squinted back a tear while Catwoman held her close.

Across the table, Anthony Marchetti groaned.

"Come the fuck on,” he complained. “I want to see you eat up this Bat-chick's pussy! What the fuck was that fake orgasm shit?"

Catwoman lifted her head, and scowled at Marchetti with what Barbara saw was pure, raw hatred. "Nobody asked what you wanted, Big Guy. The deal was you watch playtime with me and my Kitten. No talking during the show."

"Ey, boass," muttered the ogre holding the tiny cat, looking for a polite way to interject.

"Z, shut the fuck up right now!" Marchetti blasted, keeping his gaze locked on Catwoman as he kicked off his pants, stood from his chair again, and started walking across the tabletop. All eyes followed him, and so nobody saw the feline hostage in Z's arm. The orgy boiling around the table stopped cold as Marchetti's rage boiled.

He pointed a sticky finger down the long runway of his dinner table as he stalked closer. "You fuckin' listen to me. The deal is I get to see a show. And guess what? I say I get to direct that show if I fuckin' want."

"Wrong," Catwoman scowled. Barbara shivered.

"Know what else?" he added. "I can even be in that show if I fuckin' want."

Barbara felt the tension seeping back into the room with the return of Marchetti's small, Napoleonic temper. Thankfully, it helped stifle the hot sensation between her thighs, and the warm rubbery clay of her legs began to harden again. She looked at Catwoman anxiously, who only groaned with even more annoyance.

"I'm sure you would love for us to try out your salami, Big Guy," she groaned. "Not happening. My Kitten and I are busy. Now, go park your ass in that chair."

A wave of relief washed over Barbara as a question was answered. At least she wasn’t going to take things any further in front of everyone — at least they were allied in their disgust of Anthony Marchetti. They shared a quiet glance of understanding again.

"Fuck you. You're not the one in charge here," retorted Marchetti, growing unusually calm as he stood at the center of the table, staring them down. The sudden change in demeanor sent another chill down Barbara's spine, and she found herself hugging Catwoman a bit closer. "This is my club. It's my notebook. I have the thing you want, so I make the deal. So here's the new deal, Kitty:

"This just became the Anthony Marchetti show."

Marchetti's crew cheered as he lorded over them from atop the table, his arms spread triumphantly. To them, he was about to turn two of Gotham's most mysterious creatures of the night into his ruined, slutty playthings.

In response, Catwoman laughed.

It wasn't at all what Barbara expected, and it definitely didn't match the expression of horror on her own face — but then, Barbara realized part of Catwoman's entire motif was that she never did what anyone expected. Laughing at an armed mobster in his own den of thieves as he loomed menacingly and demanded sexual favors in exchange for a stolen notebook? Nobody could have called that. And with that understanding, Barbara also realized how far out of control the entire situation was. She stood very still, and the laughter among Marchetti's crew died down as they glanced nervously at each other over Catwoman's cackling.

"Aww, poor Tony," cooed Catwoman as she chuckled at the small, threatening man. She was either walking the tightrope expertly, oblivious to the dangerous chasm she was crossing, or both. "Did my Kitten and I tease you too mu—?"

"—Shut!" Marchetti barked, pausing for a moment: "Up. Now, both of you, crawl your tight little asses up here and suck this cock."

Catwoman chuckled again, the mockery crackling in her velvety tone. Her act was as distracting as ever, but Barbara knew the entire thing was out of hand now. Catwoman couldn't seduce her way out of over-seducing someone, and her laughter in the face of Marchetti's annoyed, stony gaze came off more nervous than mocking.

"Denny, how much time till the wire fails?" Marchetti asked the bearded man with the computer.

He turned the suitcase laptop toward himself and struggled to look at the screen over the large fake breasts of the pretty girl sitting in his lap. "Uh... just over three minutes, sir."

Marchetti leered at Catwoman as he pulled his shirt tails aside, revealing his hard, sticky member more openly. "You and your sidekick have three minutes or the deal's off," he stated. "Crawl over here and start sucking."

From behind them all, the cat in Mister Z's arm swished its tail. Catwoman giggled. "But Tony," she whined. "I was getting so wet from watching you stroke yourself and pout."

Marchetti ignored the obvious taunt. Catwoman's secret power over him seemed to have its limitations. "Clock's ticking," he growled.

"Big Guy, we talked about this!" Catwoman purred, waving away his threats like a gnat. "As much as I'd love to have some warm milk before bed, you know I can't. This is a business deal, remember?"

Marchetti ignored her as she talked, instead pointing and snapping at the man he'd called Denny, who refocused on the laptop. "Uh... two minutes forty-four seconds, sir," Denny announced on cue.

The carefully-crafted scene was slowly crumbling onstage, and the room held its breath as the tension rose. The whores were no longer playing with his men, and the men weren't playing with themselves. Everyone was waiting to see the outcome of the power play. It had suddenly grown quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Or a cat meow, Barbara thought as she glanced at Mister Z and his hostage.

Catwoman and Batgirl were nestled together at the foot of the table, slathered in oil and aroused from a foreplay session turned into a VIP show for a man they both despised. Marchetti himself was demanding a sweeter deal, and making Batgirl and Catwoman into the sugar. Just behind him, his massive bodyguard was quietly holding the notebook in one hand, and a small feline hostage in the other. A bank transaction to Catwoman's secret account was literally hanging on the wire. Robin would be on the roof by now, probably checking the skylights as Barbara had. And Batman was coming.

But with chaos, clarity. It felt to Barbara like sailing through a fog and seeing the shoreline clearly for the first time. Through the mists of arousal and fear and shame, she sighted a simple fact on the distant shores:

Whatever happened next, there was no chance Barbara was leaving with the notebook.

If Catwoman's plan played out, the notebook would belong to her, and she'd escape again. And this time, she'd have a bank account full of cash and Barbara's utter humiliation as a bonus. If the plan fell through, they'd probably both be in grave danger very soon, or worse. Barbara was playing along with Catwoman's game for a chance to win, but that chance pivoted around Catwoman winning first. 'The Stage' and Barbara’s participation in the act were all an illusion. The heated foreplay wrapped in coercion and shame — and, even as Barbara hated to admit, pleasure — only had one outcome. It was all to distract her from the fact that she'd been wagering herself on someone else's gamble. 'Uses Seduction to Disarm Opponents'.

Barbara sighed, and her eyes blinked as the truth revealed itself to her. She lost the game long before she'd even started playing. But as the tension grew hotter and the stakes grew higher, the solution simply appeared in her mind, shining as brightly as an old memory.

"How do you want it, Marchetti?" Barbara asked suddenly.

Catwoman's eyes widened a bit as she turned her gaze to Barbara and glared. It was the third time now that Barbara had seen an honest reaction out of the woman: first, regret at Barbara’s accidental orgasm; then, rage at Marchetti; now, that same rage at her. Even Barbara wasn't sure if she'd actually said the words aloud, and the cold chill over her thighs signaled her body's rejection of the sound of her own voice: No, don't do that, Barbara. Still, the show had to go on. Only now, Barbara wasn't going to read the lines that Catwoman had written for her in the script.

She gazed deeply into Marchetti's eyes as she spoke: "Like this?"

Barbara lifted Catwoman's hand to her lips and quietly sucked a finger into her mouth before letting it slide free, wet and glistening in the soft, warm light of the dining room. She licked all around Catwoman's finger as she stared unblinkingly into Marchetti's eyes. A short while passed as she traced circles around the phallic totem, teasing it from all angles as she pretended to relish in the salty, olive oil flavor. Finally, she pulled away, leaving a small thread of spit that dribbled onto her chin.

Atop the table, Marchetti's cock flexed, a daub of fluid leaking from the tip. Barbara flexed her stomach to quench the disgust, and smiled. Marchetti's body language relaxed, speaking the truth behind his words.

"I don't care how you do it," he grumbled. "Just get the fuck over here and do it."

"Ooh, but see, I think you do care, Marchetti," Barbara said before releasing Catwoman's hand and brushing a gentle caress over her face, relishing the confusion in her eyes. "You can't rush quality."

"I think I can," Marchetti countered.

"I think you can't," Barbara countered without skipping a beat. She pulled away from Catwoman and glared at him as she placed her hands on the table's edge, presenting her body to him. Her breasts wobbled as she leaned over, and she watched his eyes dip momentarily. "And while I bet you'll probably pop in five seconds flat the moment you're in my mouth, I think you'd rather be taken care of the right way."

"Oh, is that so, sidekick?" Marchetti chuckled. "And you're just the girl to do it, huh?" He snapped over his shoulder at Denny again.

"Two minutes, sir," Denny said.

Barbara lifted a leg to the table's edge and climbed atop it. Her hands and knees left oil marks on the polished wood with every motion as she crawled towards Marchetti, just like he wanted. The response in his body was clear and almost instantaneous.

"Well, Marchetti," Barbara said as she slinked toward him, her back arched to show off the slow, sultry sway of her ass, "first of all — and this is important — I'm not. Her. Sidekick." Barbara glared as she chided him. Marchetti's face wrinkled in confusion, but he looked down his nose at her, standing his ground.

"Second of all: I most certainly am the girl to do it," Barbara said as she drew closer. She made sure to keep herself lower than him as she arrived; he obviously liked being the feeling of being bigger than everyone else. She chewed her lips as she settled at his feet, and watched his hardness flex nervously even if he didn't.

"And how's that?" he asked.

"I've got nothing to lose and everything to gain," explained Barbara. She could have swore she heard Catwoman shifting uncomfortably behind her, and the joy that her new plan was working made her fake smile glow with real mischief.

Barbara flexed her stomach to avoid recoiling at the smell of alcohol and sweat radiating from the man's sticky cock. "If Catwoman seals the deal? I don't get anything. Certainly not any of the money that's coming through that wire transaction in..."

She snapped at Denny, who reacted just as quickly to the sound of Barbara's fingers: "A... minute thirty-six seconds?"

"...A minute and thirty-six seconds," echoed Barbara, kneeling at Marchetti's feet and gently running her fingertips up his taut thighs. "Does that sound like a good way to treat your sidekick? I get nothing."

She glared at his erection and studied it carefully, submissively. Looking at it from different angles like an art gallery patron appreciating a master's sculpture. She made sure he could feel her breath over his skin, and she watched as his fingertips trembled a bit.

"That so?" was all he could manage.

"Mm-mmm," Barbara pouted, shaking her head like a sad girl who couldn't have any dessert after dinner. "Nothing."

"So now you pretend you're a slut, huh?" Marchetti quipped, calling her bluff. "Like you didn't stumble in here all scared like a little girl? Making threats at me?"

"Oh, no, I know what I did," Barbara said honestly. She was ready for this, and had only shown part of her hand intentionally. "But that was before I realized I had nothing to gain. So let me make it up to you. Because I also know what I can do next."

"And what's that, little Bat-girl?" Marchetti wondered aloud, punctuating the words of her name wrong.

"I can suck every last drop out of you..." Barbara said, her face beaming with desire as she licked her lips before finishing her sentence:

"...If you give me the notebook instead."

Suddenly, Marchetti understood what was happening. His face brightened, and he started rumbling with a laughter all his own. This was exactly what Barbara wanted, and so was the thinly-veiled whine of protest from over her shoulder.

"Now, Big Guy, let's not do anything unbecoming a businessman here," Catwoman said, trying and failing to assert her voice over the laughter that the whole room was echoing now. "You and I had a deal, remember?"

That deal didn't matter now, and Barbara had no choice but to use it to pick at the one part of Catwoman's plan that she hadn't sealed tightly enough: Anthony Marchetti wasn't a businessman. He was a thief playing as a businessman. "Anthony Marchetti stole the notebook from me," Catwoman's voice whispered in Barbara's memory. If he was willing to steal from her or alter an agreement between them once, he'd do it as often as it suited him. All he just needed the right reason to do so, the right whim to strike his fancy. Barbara was more than happy to provide it.

"Now we're talking!" announced Marchetti. "Looks like we have ourselves a little competition here!" He snapped his fingers at Denny.

"Just one minute left, sir," he replied obediently.

Catwoman rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Tony. My Kitten might be a fun little toy to play with if it were about that. But it's not about that. It's about our deal."

"Looks like I got a better deal!" announced Marchetti to cheers that drowned out Catwoman's voice.

Barbara smiled at Marchetti. Secretly, she was smiling inward, allowing herself a moment of pride. Appealing to Marchetti's sense of honor was the wrong move — he didn't have any. If he did, it was clouded by arousal, by the red haired girl pooled at his feet like a loving pet, caressing his thighs and glowing happily. He didn't want to make sound business deals or honor his word. He wanted to watch two women fight over the right to suck his cock for something they wanted from him; Marchetti wanted power. So, with the best stripper-eyes and promising lips Barbara could muster, she gave it to him.

"What's it going to be, Marchetti?" Barbara asked. She gazed up at him coyly from beneath his shaft, glancing around the side of it to meet his gaze like a girl peeking at someone from around a corner. "Can I put this in my mouth now?"

Catwoman scoffed. "You really think she wants you, Tony? She's buttering you up, Big Guy."

Marchetti considered the words, glaring down at Barbara. "What do you say to that, 'Kitten'? Eh? Denny, what's the clock?"

"Thirty-two seconds, sir."

Against every impulse in her body, Barbara stretched out her tongue and teased away any doubt Catwoman's words may have given Marchetti. She opened her mouth wide and breathed heat onto the warm, prickly skin of his scrotum as her tongue feigned a long, gentle lick, then traced a soft, gentle fingertip across his balls. The whole shaft flexed at her touch, the droplet of fluid blooming at the tip.

"I don't have to like you, Anthony Marchetti," she said with a steely, sultry gaze. "I just have to suck your cock."

"Fifteen seconds, sir."

Marchetti nodded his approval of the idea, pleased that his little impromptu competition seemed to have a frontrunner. "Denny, pause the wire," he ordered.

Catwoman, to her merit, hadn't budged from her spot at the foot of the table, and to her it must have felt like her patience paid off. She barely concealed a sigh of relief as he stopped her money from scattering into the wind. Catwoman didn't intend to go into this meeting a sex toy to be used for Marchetti's pleasure and money — at least not in a hands-on sort of way. But she also hadn't wagered on Batgirl doing exactly that in her stead, forcing both their hands.

Her protests and warnings came off as whiny and defensive: "Tony, come on, you aren't actually buying any of this, are you? You can't seriously—"

"Finish the wire if I say, Denny. Not before," Marchetti ordered. The man muttered a short, obedient reply.

Barbara talked over Catwoman, ignoring her while she complained in a barely-restrained panic: "Good choice, Marchetti. Now, here's a deal for you. I'm going to stroke every drop right out of—"

"—just going to betray you as soon as she finishes the job, Tony, you know that don't y—"

"—then you're going to put that notebook in my hand. Then, maybe I'll suck you a little extra fo—"

"—thought you were smarter than this, Tony! How could I have thought I was working with a real—"

Barbara teased, and Catwoman raged. But only one of them was kneeling at Marchetti's feet, right where he wanted them. His eyes never left Barbara as she smiled a hungry smile and made promises to him while his cock waited only inches away from her face, aching for a wet, warm mouth to thrust into. She let her voice run low, using the space between them to drown out Catwoman's whining.

"How much of a blowjob can Catwoman give you in fifteen seconds?" Barbara asked with the best pouty, sexy lips she could pucker for him. "Me? I'll suck you off for an hour if it means I get to gloat in front of her while I walk out of here with Catwoman's prize."

"The hell you will," tested Marchetti.

Barbara pooled a load of drool in her mouth and opened it wide, stringing the spit from the roof of her mouth as she stretched out her tongue and showed Marchetti where he could stick his cock. She turned her mouth toward it, dribbling some of the hot saliva onto the shaft, then suddenly pulled away leaving her breath teasing against his aching tip. Marchetti mumbled to himself, seemingly entranced by the debased slut kneeling at his feet.

"The hell I will," said Barbara, licking her lips.

"What's she telling you, Tony?" Catwoman asked from far away. "It's all bullshit."

Marchetti winced away a shudder as Barbara teased another suck at Marchetti's cock, then pulled away at the last moment. "I don't know, Pussycat," he replied. "She's doin' more than you're doin' right now, I'll tell you that." Everyone chuckled; Barbara feigned a giggle as well.

The room was relaxed again as the entertainment seemed to be picking up again: Barbara teased at Marchetti's feet, the whores played with his men again as they admired her performance, and the sounds of moaning and pleasure were starting to simmer. ‘The Stage’ was set; Barbara was running the show now. Only Catwoman stood stiffly at the foot of the table, unwilling to participate. Come on, Catwoman, Barbara thought. Give up.

"Please, Big Guy," Barbara begged. "I bet you want to watch her suffer after all that teasing."

"Oh, how rude, Kitten. Honestly, sidekicks these days," Catwoman chided. Barbara noticed it was the first time she'd addressed her directly. Come on, damn you, she thought to herself as she teased Marchetti.

"Maybe you really don't want to wait anymore," Barbara thought aloud as she eased in even closer. She traced a single fingertip over the length of his shaft, stringing along some of the spit she'd laid there.

"You don't have the guts, Kitten," groaned Catwoman.

At the center of the table, with all eyes in the room fixed on her, Barbara pressed on. "Why don't you cum in my mouth right now while Catwoman watches? Wouldn't that be hot?" she asked. "After that, you can do something even hotter with me," she said.

"And what's that Bat-chick?"

"You can give me the notebook while Catwoman watches," Barbara said, winking. Everyone chuckled and cheered for Batgirl. Nobody paid Catwoman any mind.

She slid beneath Marchetti's cock again and stretched her tongue out long and low, offering it as a warm, wet target, and he winced in anticipation as she teased. Come on, Catwoman.

Then, as if answering Barbara's thoughts: "Fine, Kitten. You win."

Barbara paused and glanced coyly over her shoulder. "Oh?"

The thief cocked her hip and posed in a now-familiar way as she cracked a wry smile. "If that's the way you want it, be my guest!" she spat, calling Barbara's bluff. "Enjoy that mouthful of spoiled milk."

Barbara was already much too deep into this than she'd ever imagined, but she knew she had to sweeten the deal beyond any doubt either of them possibly had. Strangely, it felt wrong to betray Catwoman, especially after the intimate moment from before. But beneath that, Barbara knew all of it was part of Catwoman's talent for manipulation. The idea that this scene was the two of them teaming up to take down Marchetti was an illusion covering the fact that Batgirl was the one being thrown to the wolves. Still, she felt a knot of guilt as she twisted the knife one last time:

"I will, Catwoman!" Barbara replied, smiling. "Enjoy walking out of here with nothing."

The look in Catwoman's eyes made Barbara understand truly, if just for a moment, what it must be like to be her. Catwoman was so used to using her body and her sexuality to manipulate others. It never failed; it was her power. As natural to her as walking or breathing. But as the smile melted down over Catwoman's shocked face, the cocky sureness turning to fear and uncertainty, Barbara felt an undeniable rush of pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

She turned back to Marchetti and gazed up at him, channeling an image of Dick in her mind to warm the smile on her face to something real. She summoned every ounce of strength she had to ignore the impulses in her body screaming at her to stop, and wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft. Her palm began a slow, careful stroke of Marchetti's sticky erection. The bead of clear-white arousal balancing at the tip stretched low and splattered quietly on the tabletop as she pumped out whatever was pooling up inside him. The spit squished in her hand like lotion.

Barbara moaned and looked up at him with kitten eyes. "Come on, Marchetti," she urged. "Say it."

Marchetti's eyes were glassy and distant, and his hips swayed with Barbara's hand. "Say what?"

"Say you'll give me the notebook," Barbara replied.

She quickened her stroke a bit and licked her lips as she imagined kissing Dick on the rooftops. Marchetti groaned and mustered whatever strength he could. "Give me a little preview, yeah?"

At the table, the whores stroked and teased their men as they watched Barbara. She saw out of the corner of her eye that one of the women gave an impressed gesture towards her man, who agreed. Catwoman's silence loomed behind her like a monster in a dark closet. Come on, dammit, she thought.

"Nuh-uh," Barbara pouted, shaking her head. She stroked harder and feigned a lick at the new sticky mess oozing from the head of his cock, then pulled away. "Say it."

Marchetti's thighs shivered. "Just give it a little kiss, yeah Bat-chick?"

"That's not my name," Barbara corrected, raising her eyebrows.

"Suck my cock, Batgirl," Marchetti groaned.

"Say the words, Anthony Marchetti."

Marchetti let out a breath as Barbara slowed her stroke to a painfully slow, air-tight grip and squeezed his wet, sticky cock down to the base. She faked at him with her tongue again, and his hips bucked forward, trying to push himself into her mouth. Barbara resisted with a smile, using only a little of her strength to hold the small man at bay.

"Say. It." Barbara ordered. It was just as much a command for Catwoman as for him.

Marchetti groaned, unable to take anymore teasing. "Alright. Catwoman's out. It's yours, baby," he said. "Now, suck."

"Wait!" shouted Catwoman. And, for the first time that night, Barbara licked her lips with genuine hunger.

"Don't listen to her, Marchetti," Barbara whined, her eyes sad as though disappointed she wasn't sucking him already. "We have a deal."

"Wait, Big Guy!" Catwoman begged. "Don't do this! It's... it's mine!"

"Hold on," Marchetti ordered, yanking Barbara's head back by the hair. His touch disgusted the core of her being, and Barbara clenched her teeth tightly enough to wince as the nerves inside them screamed in protest.

But still, there was the word she was waiting for: 'Wait.' She savored the sweetness of the sound of Catwoman showing her belly for Marchetti. It had taken far longer than she wanted and she'd had to do something she'd have to meditate for weeks to wash the memory out of her mind, but she'd done it. She'd beaten her at her own game.

"Please? It's still mine right? Please?" Barbara asked, opening her mouth like she'd seen the whores do before.

"I..." the words stalled in Catwoman's mouth, but only for a moment. "...I'll do it."

"No, Marchetti," Barbara squeaked up from his feet, feigning a frown as she winced through the pull of her hair. "You said it's all mine. And I want it all."

Marchetti's mind seemed to whirl at the fantasy of power literally playing out at his feet — two sexy, naked women fighting over the chance to give themselves to him. What happened next wasn't a surprise at all, but she was relieved that it came:

"Now, let's not be hasty here," Marchetti said. "I want to know what the Kitty Cat has to offer."

Catwoman slid into character almost invisibly as the power shifted in her favor again. She climbed up onto the tabletop, heavy breasts swaying temptingly for Marchetti's hungry eyes as she did. The hesitation and fear only showed up in her own eyes as anger, and it beamed at Barbara like a laser. Right back at you, Barbara whispered with her own narrowing gaze.

"What I have to offer, Big Guy, is a better, more experienced technique than my treasonous sidekick here," Catwoman countered, spitting the word 'sidekick' at Barbara as she crawled across the table, submitting to Marchetti's wishes. She oozed sexuality and dirty promises as she crawled her most sensual feline crawl. "How's that sound?"

Marchetti gathered himself as Catwoman approached. "Not bad at all," he muttered as he stared at her tits and bit his lip.

"No!" Barbara shouted as she released his shaft from her grasp and slapped her knee in protest, thankful to have an excuse to take her hand off the disgusting, sticky penis. She made a mental note to scald her hands with hot water and medical-grade cleanser later. "We had a deal! I get the notebook!"

"He doesn't want a girl, Kitten," Catwoman purred as she gazed into Marchetti's eyes. "He wants a woman. Particularly, a woman who can put his entire cock in her throat and make him cum hard enough to forget all about you."

Barbara whined theatrically as Catwoman approached, just as Barbara had planned. "I want it Marchetti! You have to let me! I... I can suck you off better than she can!" She hoped that her own disguise wasn't failing as she feigned the words in her most pathetic, desperate voice. "Please! We had a deal! I heard you say it!"

"That was then, Bat-chick," Marchetti replied as he threw her away by the hair and stared at Catwoman, who slinked up his leg like she was a pet begging for a treat. "I think I'll give the Kitty Cat here a chance to prove her case. You'll get your shot if she doesn't perform."

Barbara scoffed, putting on her best expression of ghastly disgust at the uncouth rascal who had previously agreed to shove his gift to the world into her mouth. Catwoman sidled up to Marchetti and shoved Barbara even further away from Marchetti's feet with her shoulder. Barbara slinked back in defeat as Catwoman took her rightful place beneath him.

"Try not to shoot all that warm milk down my throat too fast, Big Guy," Catwoman purred as she smiled up at Marchetti, squeezing her tits. "I might go around telling people you're a two-pump chump. Oh, and Kitten?" she paused, shooting a disgusted glance at Barbara. "You might want to watch and take notes. If only you had some kind of notebook to do it with."

And then, having heard its mother say the magic word aloud, the cat in Mister Z's arm meowed proudly in response.

Everyone turned to look.

The obediently silent Mister Z offered the animal up for his boss' appraisal, seemingly happy for the opportunity to finally explain what he couldn't before. "Lookit dis cat, boass," he said in his deep, calm voice. The small dining room was utterly silent for either the space of a heartbeat or an hour.

Marchetti was the first to look back to Catwoman, his face twisted with confusion. "The fuck is that?" he asked. "You... brought a cat? How'd you get it in here?"

Catwoman struggled to hide her shock at the discovery of her little spy, and her performance slipped a bit. "I... am the Alley Cat, after all," she reasoned, "the things just follow me around. Is that going to be a problem?" Catwoman licked her lips and eyed Marchetti's erection, attempting to draw attention back to the literal matter at hand.

But Marchetti, for all his faults, wasn't stupid. His eyes darted about, and Barbara could almost hear his mind asking questions: Why would a cat follow Catwoman into my club? Why into this room? Why did it only meow just now? Why is Z holding it? What was he trying to tell me earlier?

"The fuck are you up to?" Marchetti grumbled, sensing the lie but not being able to piece it together just yet. He was so busy trying to construct something meaningful out of the cat, the notebook, and the beautiful, naked woman curled up at his feet that he failed to notice an important detail.

Barbara was standing quietly at the foot of the table holding a Batarang.

This night had been one that Barbara wouldn't soon forget, mostly from all the mistakes she'd made that brought her down this path: the kick from atop the Clarefield building that should have left her dead on the pavement; the chase through Gotham, and the fight atop the Hedonist Society building; Marchetti's dining room, the shame, and the grime. But most of all, Barbara was tired of people gawking over her naked body. She was tired of nakedness as an entire concept. It felt good that things were about to end, one way or another, on her terms. And while Catwoman had set 'The Stage' for her, Barbara stole the show. Now, she'd bring the house down.

"Hey Catwoman?" Barbara said, brandishing the small, polished blade. "I'm ready with that throwing knife now."

The look of shock and rage on Catwoman's face froze for a long breath. Barbara gave her a moment just long enough to realize what had happened — she was in the center of the table with Marchetti, and Barbara wasn't.

Barbara wound up, and threw. The knife whispered through the air, slicing the chandelier's suspension chain neatly.

She caught a glimpse of Catwoman's fearful understanding as the flash of the electrical line plunged the room into darkness, burning the image into her mind forever like a photograph. The chandelier flashed, and fell quietly above Catwoman and Marchetti.

It was quiet and dark for a moment. Then, the crash.

Then, the screams.