The first thing Selina registered was the smell of salt and grease. Then, the rhythmic crash of waves. Her eyes fluttered open to the low, flickering light of an ancient tube television playing a muted black-and-white movie. She was stretched out on a lumpy couch that had definitely seen better decades.
"Oh, hey. You're awake."
She turned her head. He was there, sitting on a rickety wooden stool, a half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand. The pizza guy. Some random pizza guy who she barely knew. He looked relieved.
"I was getting worried. You were out for a while. How are you feeling?"
Selina pushed herself up on her elbows, a movement that sent a twinge of protest through her entire lower body. Fuck. Her thighs were sore. Her pussy… her pussy was a throbbing, well-used memory. A delicious, persistent ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. She tried to play it cool, swinging her legs off the couch to stand.
"I'm perfect, darling. A little cat nap is all I—"
Her legs buckled instantly, a shaky, gelatinous betrayal. She let out a small gasp as she started to fall, but his arms were there in a flash, catching her effortlessly against his chest.
"Whoa, easy there."
She looked up at him, his face so close, his grip strong and steady. A low, impressed purr rumbled in her throat. "Mmm. More hung and more polite than the last hero I tangled with? I like it."
He blushed, a flush creeping up his neck. "Just didn't want you to hit the floor. This place is kinda a mess." He helped her sit back down on the couch, his hand lingering on her waist for a moment to ensure she was steady. The simple, caring touch sent another, entirely different shiver through her.
Selina herself was still in costume. 'Looks like he didn't undress me. Should I be happy?' she thought to herself, joking.
She then took in their surroundings. They were in a small, cluttered back room. Through an open door, she could see the front of a pizza shop, all stainless steel and neon signs. The couch faced the TV and a large window that looked out into darkness. Typical Gotham City building.
"You took me to your work?" she asked, one elegantly arched eyebrow rising.
He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Yeah, well. I thought about my place, but… you kinda stole my keys. Probably when you were, you know… distracting me."
She did indeed. Selina's smirk returned, wide and unashamed. "Aww, fine! You caught me! I did swipe your keys!" She patted a nearly invisible seam on her suit, just below her hip. "It's in my secret pocket! Won't show you where yet! A girl has to have her secrets."
She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on the couch, but the dull, throbbing ache between her legs was a constant, reminding presence. He noticed her slight wince.
"You okay? You seem… sore."
His concern was so genuine it was almost disarming. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against the black material of her suit where it stretched over her inner thigh. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. She could feel the faint, damp evidence of their earlier encounter, the suit clinging to her sensitive pussylips.
She caught his hand, holding it still. Her voice dropped to that low, intimate purr. "You rearranged my insides with that monster cock, darling. Of course I'm sore. It's a good sore. The kind that makes a woman remember every… single… inch."
He swallowed hard. He didn't retract yet. "Right. Sorry. Not sorry."
She laughed, a rich, warm sound, and pulled him down to sit beside her on the couch. The springs groaned in protest. "Don't be. Now. A deal's a deal. You want your keys?" She traced a claw lightly over his palm. "You tell me where my stuff is. The stuff I was about to steal from the museum before a certain delivery driver… distracted me. You know, my jar."
He looked away, suddenly fascinated by a stain on the floor. "I, erm, left it there."
Selina's left eye twitched. "You what?"
"I-I mean, I didn't want to be an accomplice to stealing, so I just… left everything exactly as it was and got you out of there." He trailed off, unable to meet her gaze.
Selina let out a frustrated huff, crossing her arms under her chest. The movement made her wince again. Fuck, even her abs were sore. "You unbelievable boy scout. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Saved you from going to jail?" he offered weakly.
"You've ruined my only chance!" she hissed, though any genuine agitation was undercut by the way she immediately unfolded her arms and slid into his lap, straddling him. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body and boobs flush against his. The pizza guy was totally caught off-guard. He thought he was about to get hit or something, but no. She was...still flirting with him?
"Shhh," she cooed, seeing his panic. "Look, I'm not mad. I'm… disappointed. See, yesterday was my only window. Because tonight, that entire wing of the gallery is being sold off at a charity auction. It was on a magazine when I first arrived."
"First...arrived?"
She puckered her lips. "How do I say this...? I'm not from this world. Or at least this Gotham. The history and some of the layout, it's different from what I know. Although, hah, I suppose I could be crazy."
"....or from a different universe."
"Wait, you believe me?"
"Guess you haven't around for long. On this Earth, we have gods like Darkseid attacking us every other month. Ever heard of Doomsday on your Earth?"
"No...we have a Superman but..." Selina cackled. "Ah, well, I suppose this makes it easier then. Excellent! My real name is Selina Kyle. I came through… a portal, I guess? Point is, because I'm not from here, my money's no good here. My IDs are useless. I'm stuck, broke, and I need a way in to that charity event tonight." She ground her hips down on his lap in a slow, circular motion, a blatant, potent reminder of the chemistry between them. "You're going to help me get in, aren't you? My big, strong, helpful delivery guy?"
He was putty in her hands, his resolve crumbling under the combined assault of her confession, her proximity, and the memory of what they'd done. He stammered, his hands settling tentatively on her hips. "I—I guess I could… but unless I get a delivery or something, I dunno..."
Selina's entire face lit up. "Mm, it's a start." She captured his lips in a fierce, grateful kiss, pouring every ounce of her persuasive charm into it. "Mmm, yes! Perfect! I knew you were my lucky charm."
Suddenly, the sharp, obnoxious ring of an old telephone shattered the moment. BRRRRING! BRRRRING!
He jerked back, eyes wide. "The shop phone. Uhh, I-I have to get that. It might be the owner." He carefully lifted her off his lap—her legs were still unsteady—and set her back on the couch. "Sorry! One minute!"
He scrambled out of the back room, leaving her sitting there, alone amidst the boxes of napkins and pizza boxes.
Absolute Catwoman leaned back against the worn cushions, a slow, victorious smirk spreading across her lips. She uncrossed her arms, her fingers drifting back to that secret pocket in her costume, feeling the cool metal of his keys within. At the very least, in this strange, new, wonderfully well-endowed world, she'd found herself an ally. A very, very useful ally.
She noticed her snowglobe helmet was not in sight. Huh, she'd have to ask about that…it gave her communications, X-ray vision, thermal vision, the whole package. Without it, she'd be a sitting duck.
From the front, she could hear his voice. Selina pushed herself off the couch, her legs trembling with the effort. "Fuck..!" Every step was a throbbing reminder of the demolition job his cock had done on her pussy. It felt bruised, well-used, and impossibly stretched.
'Bruce might never be able to make me cum again. Not after that.' The thought was equal parts terrifying and thrilling.
She found him leaning against the front counter, hanging up the phone. The neon 'OPEN' sign cast a red glow over his concerned face.
"So," Selina purred, leaning against the doorframe for support. "Who's the boss?"
"The…boss? Oh, of the store. Tony! And Gino too, he's co-owner."
"And the name of the store?" she asked, curious about this strange little beachfront operation.
"Oh, um, well it changes depending on who orders."
Selina tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing in genuine confusion. "What?"
He laughed nervously. "It's a long story. We're 'Gotham Pizza' for the uptown crowd, 'Boardwalk Bites' for the tourists, 'Gino's Slice' for the regulars. It's…complicated."
…honestly? This was Gotham. Shitty place with weird shit. It was normal, even on her Earth. There were some subtle differences, but ultimately, Gotham was Gotham.
BRRRRING! BRRRRING!
The phone was ringing again. He gave her an apologetic look and snatched the receiver. "Hello, Gino's Slice, can I help—?"
This was her chance. A wicked idea, born of soreness and a need to reassert her dominance, sparked in her mind. While he was distracted, listening to the customer on the other end, she moved. Her walk was less of a strut and more of a careful, shaky shamble, but she made it to him. She slid between him and the counter, pressing her back against his front. It was like wanting to sit on his lap, but, well, they weren't sitting. They were standing.
Her ass cushioned into his flaccid cock. She could already feel through his pants. She whistled. "Mm, big boy~!"
He had to speak louder to muffle her for the customer he was speaking to. "Yes, sir. Large half-pepperoni, half-mushroom. Address?" the pizza guy said into the phone, his voice strained as she began to move.
She humped him. Her heart-shaped ass and that cinched waist, she knew her costume showed everything. It was skintight, dark, and meant to make men pitch tents.
Selina reached behind her and found the prominent bulge in his jeans. 'Meu Deus, it's already soft and yet bigger than my Brucie…' She ground her ass against it in a circular motion, feeling the massive outline of him through the denim. Admittedly, the dampness between her own legs was immediate and embarrassing.
She heard his breath hitch. "Y-yes. 2537… 2537 Crestview Drive. Got it."
She turned in his arms, facing him now. She brought her lips inches from his, her hot breath ghosting over his mouth. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he was trying desperately to focus on the order and not on the legendary thief dry-humping him.
"Any… any sides with that, sir?" he stammered, his free hand coming to rest on her hip, seemingly to push her away, but his fingers just dug into the sleek material, holding her there.
Selina smirked, her own hand sliding down his chest, over his stomach, and palming the enormous tent in his pants. He was throbbing. A low, needy groan escaped him, and she was sure the customer heard it. It was a woman, that much she could confirm. Heh.
"N-no? Just the pizza. Forty-five minutes. Thank you." He slammed the phone down, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent shop.
His eyes were dark with a mix of panic and lovely lust. Selina didn't give him a moment to think. She crashed her lips against his, her tongue plunging into his mouth. "Mmmph~!" She tasted what must have been salt, pizza, and something male and unique and addictive. It was a flavor of man that she had never tasted before. He kissed her back, his hands gripping her ass, pulling her flush against the rigid length of him.
When she finally broke the kiss, both of them were breathless. Smirking, Selina slapped his butt, pulled away, hopped up onto the counter next to the cash register. A stack of napkins fluttered to the floor. She spread her legs just enough to give him a glimpse of the damp, black material stretched taut over her pussy. She ran her tongue slowly over her bottom lip, her gaze dropping to the formidable bulge she'd just been grinding on.
Holy fuck, it was huge. The black pants were stretching to the side comically. Pointing forward would just rip his pants. That wouldn't do. Unh-uh!
"So…" Selina said in a husky whisper that promised absolutely filthy things. "Wanna fuck or what?"
The pizza guy swallowed, his mind clearly trying to process the whiplash from phone order to carnal invitation. He looked from her, sitting on his counter like the queen of everything, to the kitchen, to the clock.
"I… I can't," he mumbled, the words seeming to pain him. "I'm so sorry. That was a double order. I have to make the pizzas. Tony will kill me if the reviews drop."
He practically fled, pushing through the swinging doors into the kitchen, leaving her alone in the front of the shop.
Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, the woman who could reduce billionaires and superheroes to putty, sat perfectly still on a cheap Formica countertop, completely and utterly stunned. Her mouth was slightly agape. The smirk had vanished, replaced by a look of uncomprehending disbelief.
'He… he said no?'
A cold, unfamiliar knot formed in her stomach. It wasn't just rejection. It was… jealousy. He'd chosen dough and cheese over her. Over this. She looked down at her own body, at the suit that hugged every legendary curve. She was Catwoman. Men begged for a fraction of the attention she'd just lavished on him.
Yet, he'd apologized and gone to make pizza.
The low hum of the pizza oven was the only sound. For the first time in a very long time, Selina Kyle felt a flicker of something she despised: insecurity. This random, beautifully-hung pizza guy had just done.
'If my legs weren't so damn sore, I'd be chasing after him and riding him like a horse…!'
Absolute Catwoman humphed.
***
First batch of pizzas were done. Phew. Man, was it just him, or was it only him running the store? Ah well. The phone was ringing again. It was like a spike through his skull. He ran over grabbed the receiver.
"Hi, how may I help you?"
"Hey, just checking on my pick-up. Name's Starr."
The voice was warm, smooth, and effortlessly confident. It cut through the hormonal fog in his brain. He knew that voice. "Uh, yeah. It's, uh, it's ready. Just… one sec."
He set the phone down, his hands slightly unsteady. He turned to the heat rack where two boxes sat waiting. As he turned back, the front door chimed.
And there she was.
The woman who filled the doorway wasn't just beautiful; she was a whore-made bombshell. A breathtaking blonde in oversized sunglasses, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. And her outfit… Jesus. A navy blue wrap dress that was tied just enough to be considered decent. The deep V of the neckline plunged recklessly, showcasing a spectacular expanse of smooth cleavage. She wasn't wearing a bra. He knew because the glorious, heavy swell of her breasts, each one the size of his head, wobbled with every step she took into the shop. The thin material of her dress did nothing to conceal the distinct, tempting outline of her areolas or the pronounced points of her nipples, which pressed eagerly against the fabric.
Who could ever forget those tits? It was Karen Starr. The woman from the high-rise on the west side. The one he'd "helped" with her yoga delivery.
Karen pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing bright, intelligent blue eyes that immediately found his and crinkled with a smile. "Well, hey there. Fancy meeting you again."
"M-Ms. Starr," the pizza guy managed, his throat suddenly dry. His gaze helplessly dropped to her chest again, then snapped back up to her face, a flush heating his neck. "Your, uh, your pizzas."
She glided to the counter. She leaned forward, far more than necessary, to take the boxes. The neckline of her dress gaped open, offering him an unrestricted, jaw-dropping view of her magnificent breasts, hanging heavy and full and right there. He could see the delicate blue veins under her skin, the perfect dark pink circles of her areolas.
He swallowed hard, the sound absurdly loud in the quiet shop.
"I told you, call me Karen," Karen replied, her eyes twinkling with amusement at his obvious distraction. She made no move to cover herself. "How's the delivery business treating you? You still running all over this crazy city?"
"Y-yeah. It's… busy."
"How many runs you do a day? On average?"
He blinked, trying to focus on her face and not the spectacular display inches from him. "Uh, at least eight. Usually, it's ten or more. Sometimes a lot more."
Karen let out a low, thoughtful hum. "You be careful out there. There've been… issues plaguing Gotham recently. Weird stuff. Justice League business."
His brain, still half-full of Selina and now completely flooded with Karen's tits, finally made a connection. "P-portals?" he blurted out.
"Oh? So you've heard?"
"A-a little. Going around means you hear a lot. And, um…you? You, um, work for the Justice League or something?"
She threw her head back and laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound that made her chest jiggle mesmerizingly. "Haha, no! God, no. I work at an art gallery. Just a lowly curator. When you're with the rich and bored, you hear things." She winked. It was a practiced, flawless move. A half-truth, delivered perfectly.
'An art gallery….?' The words hit him like a lightning bolt. 'No. It couldn't be the same one… could it?' His mind raced, thinking of Selina's desperate pleas in the back room. This was insane. This was fate.
"Is… is there an auction going on? At your gallery? Tonight?"
Karen's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up in surprise. She blinked, her full lips parting. "Why, yes. The Cresthill Charity Auction. How did you…? Are you an art lover?" The question was laced with genuine curiosity and a flicker of new, intense interest.
Instinct took over. He nodded, the lie coming easily. "Yeah. Big time."
Her face lit up with an ecstatic, brilliant smile. It was like the sun coming out. "Really? That's wonderful! You know, it's a dreadfully stuffy affair. A bunch of millionaires pretending to care about art while they size each other up." She leaned in even closer, her scent—something expensive and floral—washing over him. If it wasn't for the boobs, her smile might have reminded him of Kara. "I owe you for helping me, don't I?"
Her voice dropped to an intimate murmur. The memory flashed—her apartment, her in nothing but tight yoga pants and that erotic top, bent over, her incredible ass in the air as she'd "struggled" with a yoga pose. He'd gotten a hard-on so powerful he'd had to jerk off for a solid hour in his car afterward.
"H-huh?" was all he could muster now.
"I'm saying you should come with me," Karen said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "Be my guest. My plus-one. It's black-tie, so you'll have to do some clean-up." Her eyes raked over his pizza-stained t-shirt with playful judgment. "Think you can get ready by eight? You know my address, don't you?"
Yes, yes.
"Y-yes."
Beautiful woman, sultry voice, and huge tits in a navy blue wrap dress. How could he not say yes?
Karen's smile widened. She looked genuinely, supremely happy. "Excellent. I knew you had the balls to just accept. No hesitation." She gathered the pizza boxes, holding them in front of her magnificent chest like a shield. She leaned in one last time, her voice a whisper meant only for him. "You can tell a lot from the size of a man's balls, and I mean that literally."
She gave him a final, devastating wink, turned on her heel, and left the shop, the door chiming softly behind her. The air felt still and empty without her. He stood there, frozen, staring at the spot where she'd been, the scent of her perfume and the phantom image of her breasts burned into his senses. From the back room, he could have sworn he heard an intrigued and distinctly feline "Hmmmm…"
Fuck. His brain was flickering between images of the blonde with the big, wobbly boobs or the Brazilian baddie with the fat, wobbly ass. It was a double-whammo. His schlong curved into a full erection. He throbbed and throbbed and throbbed, thinking about going to the back, pulling Selina into a kiss, and smacking her ass.
Then he thought about doing the same with Karen on the other side. Groping both of their fat asses. Getting them to lavish their tongues on him.
Spurt, spurt, spuuurt!
He came right then and there, and he wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed about it or not. He certainly didn't feel it as his schlong roared and fought against the cage of his pants. He took a step back, gasping and grunting. He wanted to chase after Karen Starr, grab her boobs, rub his cock between her ass cheeks, stain her dress, kiss her, and then bend her over to pound her silly—all in that order. He wanted to spend his life with that big titty blue-eyed blonde.
But alas, he would have to live with cumming in his pants as a cashier. Oh, and wait some hours for their little art gallery "date".