After a long and arduous day of crime-fighting, Dick Grayson, a.k.a.
Robin, tumbled off to sleep in his third-floor bedroom at stately Wayne
Manor. In his dreams, though, he was not the wholesome hero of his waking
hours. Deep in his psyche, young Grayson enjoyed a touch of evil.
The scene of this particular dream was the Batcave, where he was
interrogating his mentor’s arch-nemesis, Catwoman. He found it difficult to
intimidate his imperious captive. She didn’t seem like a captive at all.
She was, instead, captivating.
“I don’t know why you keep pressing me with these questions,” Catwoman
declared. “It’s not like I’m trying to take over the city, Boy Wonder. I’m
not killing innocent women and children. I’m just a working girl, trying to
make a living. So I’ve got a taste for the finer things in life. Big
fuckin’ deal. The bankers and politicians take twice the toll on the poor
and powerless.”
“But they don’t break the law,” replied Robin, somewhat lamely.
“Well, what can I say? It is what it is, and I am what I am,” she said,
smiling. “Mind if I smoke?”
Robin was startled. “I, uh, didn’t know you smoked, Catwoman,” he
spluttered. “How do you manage without, uh, having those, uh, nasty
cigarettes intrude on your level of physical fitness?”
Catwoman was struck by his confused response. He seemed to be squirming.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t smoke much. I just like it. I
think it’s cool. Have you a light?”
“Uh, sure, I think I can find some matches or something.” Robin walked
over to a desk and retrieved a small Bic lighter.
Catwoman retrieved a pack of Benson & Hedges 100s from a small pocket in
her cape. She tapped out one of the long, slender cigarettes, placed it
just left of center between her lovely lips and leaned in so that Robin
could ignite the cigarette. She noticed his eyes grow wide as she inhaled
deeply, executed a perfect snap inhale, tilted back her head and exhaled a
thin, powerful cloud of smoke upward.
“Is that your desk, Boy Wonder?” she asked.
“Uh, yes,” he said. “I keep a lot of things in there. Boy Scout motto,
you know: ‘Be prepared.'”
“Do you enjoy the occasional smoke yourself, Boy Wonder?”
“No, no. Bad for you.”
“But you do enjoy watching me smoke, don’t you? I can tell. Your tights
betray you.”
It was true. Robin was aroused. He felt sheepish and more than a bit
guilty, even as he squirmed some more.
“I think I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions, Catwoman,” he
said. “You’re changing the subject.”
“Yes,” she said, “but the subject, it seems, you find compelling. Come
here. Let me show you something.”
He got up and walked around the table. She took another voluminous drag,
and all it took was a shrug, a well-practiced shrug, to cause the straps on
her black-leather costume to fall from her shoulders.
“These,” she said, “are my tits.”
Robin was paralyzed, mouth agape.
“Kiss me,” she said. “You know you want to.”
“Yes,” he said, almost in a trance, and when their lips met, she tickled
his tongue with hers and exhaled. The Boy Wonder didn’t cough.
“I believe the Boy Wonder is a secret smoker,” Catwoman said. “And I
believe he would like a cigarette of his own.”
“Well, you know, every now and then,” Grayson spluttered.
And, now, Robin was deeply aroused. Catwoman placed a fresh cigarette in
her mouth, lit it from her own and handed it to Robin. He inhaled deeply
and fell into her arms, barely managing to place the burning cigarette on
the edge of the conference table without having it fall to the floor.
Then Grayson awoke, wide-eyed, and no amount of guilt could relieve the
restless desire he had for the subject of his dream. His penis formed a
little pup tent in the covers, and he couldn’t resist grasping it with his
right hand for a moment. He climbed from the bed, turned on the lamp next
to it and fumbled through the closet, retrieving a pack of Marlboro Lights
from the inside pocket of a navy blazer. Grayson staggered, still half
asleep, into the bathroom, where he flicked the switches to turn on the
light and fan. Feverishly, he scrambled to find the lighter he had hidden
in the back of one of the drawers and lit a cigarette. When he stared at
himself in the mirror, he imagined it was Catwoman smoking instead. From
the middle of an issue of Sports Illustrated, he retrieved an 8×10
photograph of Catwoman.
“When did you start smoking, Catwoman?” he asked the smirking image.
“It’s just fuckin’ cool,” came the imagined reply. “Fuck me, Boy
Wonder.”
He carefully folded a three-foot long strand of toilet tissue, breathing
the smoke from the cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“Gladly, you slut,” he said.
It took only a few moments for Grayson to pleasure himself. He was
unable to quite get the tissue over the head of his penis satisfactorily. A
wad of semen spurted on to the wood panel of the cabinet. When he had spent
himself, he grabbed more tissue to clean the milky fluid from the wood and
the floor. Then he relaxed and sank to the toilet, where he caught his
breath and quietly finished the cigarette. Then Grayson took an aerosol can
and sprayed the room with air freshener. He tossed the butt into the toilet
and flushed, then took a swallow of mouthwash and gargled.
Then Grayson returned to the bed, pulled the covers up to his neck and
slept ever so soundly.
After a shave and a shower, Dick Grayson made his way down to the
kitchen of stately Wayne Manor, where Arthur, Bruce Wayne’s butler, had a
breakfast of pancakes and sausage ready for him.
“Master Bruce wanted to tell me that you will be on alert in his stead,”
said Alfred.
“Oh?
“Master Bruce has been called out of town to attend to some business. I
think he intimated that he wanted you to attend to the extracurricular
activities of the household.”
By that, Alfred clearly meant that crimefighting was to be Robin’s
domain for a day or so. It was a rare opportunity for the Boy Wonder but
one for which he was well prepared. He had assisted Batman in countless
deeds of crimefighting derring-do, and the two had worked together to
escape numerous traps at the hands of evildoers. Grayson was excited by the
prospect of going it alone.
But Grayson merely nodded, knowing well the benefit of humility.
“I’ll alert you if a need should arise, Master Dick,” said Alfred before
leaving the kitchen to attend to other duties.
In fact, the prospect of taking on some criminal mastermind alone
exhilarated Wayne’s youthful ward. He had learned a lot from his mentor. He
hoped to have something to show for Bruce Wayne’s absence. He wanted Batman
to be proud of him.
Selena Kyle was, as always, torn between good and evil, between her lust
for the good life and her concern for the downtrodden. When she stealthily
crept the streets of Gotham, she was perpetually torn between the light and
the dark. There was a bit of Robin Hood buried beneath the intimidating
facade of Catwoman, but also a bit of the vamp and the seductress.
When she experienced the exhilaration of a good jewel heist, it wasn’t
much of a stretch for her to enjoy a good fuck. She was breathtakingly
beautiful, but never more so than when she wore the leather Catwoman outfit
and wielded her whip.
It just so happened that Bruce Wayne was out of town. Selena knew of
Batman’s secret identity. The fact that she didn’t use that tidbit to her
advantage was evidence that she had her good side. She had, on occasion,
assisted Batman, for she had no taste for criminals bent on senseless
violence and bloodthirsty savagery.
Selena had nothing against Batman — or Robin either, for that matter —
except the possibility that he might send her to jail. The Caped Crusader
knew of her redeeming side, and he had expressed his gratitude at the fact
that she had saved his life a few times by charitably keeping her on the
streets. In many ways, they were both vigilantes. Batman had more in common
with her than he cared to admit.
Tonight, though, she felt the delectable evil boiling up inside her.
Tonight she simply couldn’t resist the temptation of pulling a heist. In
fact, she kind of yearned for a bit of violence. It wouldn’t be bad to sink
her nails into someone or something truly evil. On nights like these, the
leather gave her a certain bloodlust, and before she even donned the
uniform, she enjoyed a cigarette and touched herself in all the familiar,
alluring places.
Just enough to get the juices flowing, so to speak.
Dick Grayson kept telling himself that something would happen. He almost
felt as if it was his destiny to perform some great deed in the absence of
Bruce Wayne, who was off somewhere attending to his business interests. All
day long, Grayson went about his own little menial duties, secretly hoping
for word from Alfred that something was amiss in Gotham.
Nothing. Batman and Robin had never just swooped in to collar criminals
in routine activity. They didn’t have Superman’s super powers. The Dynamic
Duo only made appearances when called upon by the authorities in the
pursuit of particularly diabolical figures.
Alfred could sense young Grayson’s need to make his mark. There were,
however, no urgent rings of the Batphone, no spotlights of Batman’s image
being frantically launched in the skies over Gotham.
Finally, deep in the night, a restless Grayson announced he was going
out.
“I’m going out on the Batcycle alone,” he told Alfred. “I think I’ll
just cruise the streets of Gotham to make sure nothing sinister is afoot.”
“Very good, master Dick,” said the butler. “I’ll prepare your uniform.”
The events of the evening had a certain eerieness. At the very time that
Robin was riding the streets of Gotham, longing for destiny wuold reach out
to grab him, there was Catwoman nearby, scanning the streets for something
to satiate her own restless desire. All of a sudden, there he was! Robin,
unaccompanied by Batman. The prospect was delicious. He would be the
Catwoman’s prey.
Robin knew not why he parked his cycle. He told himself that, by taking
an elevator to the roof of Gotham Towers, he could view the city in all its
glittering majesty and perhaps notice something amiss. The building was
deserted. Where were the security guards? Making their rounds?
Flooded with melancholy, Robin stood alone in the elevator as it
streaked to the observation deck. The doors opened and, as he walked out,
with all the lights of Gotham around him, he thought he detected a hint of
cigarette smoke. Could it be, just before the stroke of midnight, that he
was not alone?
For minutes that seemed to drag on forever, Robin took out his
binoculars and scanned the streets below. In the distance, he could barely
make out the whine of police sirens, but there wasn’t anything that seemed
to be of consequence, no convergence of police cruisers, just the routine
process of officers answering routine calls that required no expert
intervention. Gradually the heightened awareness subsided. Robin sighed.
“Rrroowwwlll.” Robin tensed, his eyes darting around. It wasn’t the
sound of a playful little kitty. It was something larger and more
malevolent. Catwoman!
Crrraaaccckkk! It was the sound of a whip, simultaneously accompanied by
a split second of numbness and then the sting of his skin breaking. Robin
reflexively grabbed his side, and even in the darkness, he could see the
blood on his hands. In this split second of revelation, she was on him. He
fell to the concrete on his back, and there was Catwoman, straddling him
and pinning his hands with hers.
“Boy Wonder,” she snarled, “you don’t work as well alone as you and
Batman do together.”
He was speechless, overcome with humiliation. There had been no
confrontation, no battle of wits. It was game, set, match, and now he had
been completely overwhelmed, 800 feet above the heart of the city.
“I could kill you now,” she said, eyes flashing with desire, “but
instead, I prefer to play.”
He stared into her eyes, dumbly, still too shocked to speak. Catwoman
waited for him to relax. Then, shockingly, she relaxed, too.
“Shit,” she said. “You’re no threat.”
Catwoman rose and stood over him. She reached into a pouch, a pocket.
Robin tensed. Catwoman pulled out a silver cigarette case and a lighter.
She retrieved a long, slender cigarette and lit it. Here, Robin thought,
was his chance to escape, but instead, he continued to stare as Catwoman
inhaled deeply from her cigarette. The smoke lingered as she parted her
lips, then drew it into her lungs.
The dream. Now Robin no longer felt imperiled. Instead, he felt …
aroused.
Catwoman saw his manhood rise and, just as in the dream, she performed
that same effortless shrug, shaking the leather straps from her shoulders
and exposing her breasts.
“Ah,” she said, “you like.”
She knelt down again, but this time she drew heavily from the cigarette
and kissed him … hard. Her tongue thrust into the Boy Wonder’s mouth, and
she exhaled, sending the smoke into his lungs as he began to breathe
heavily. At the same time, with her hands she yanked at his fly, reached in
and pulled down his jock strap. His swollen member popped out. She pumped
it with her hands.
“Oh, goddamn,” blurted Robin.
“Do you want me, Boy Wonder?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Well, hang on,” she said. “Prepare to be ridden.”
Catwoman got up again, the cigarette now dangling from her lips as she
removed the black leather outfit. Now she stood naked in the Gotham
moonlight as midnight chimed in the night air. She took one more deep draw
from the cigarette and flicked it from the roof of the skyscraper. Robin,
still lying on his back, scrambled to get his shorts off. But his eyes
never left Catwoman as she exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
She sprang back on him, sending Robin’s upright penis deep into the
space between her legs. She rode him like a bucking horse and shrieked
shamelessly as he exploded inside her.
But then she turned tender as she rolled off Robin and took him in her
arms.
“There’s no need to be ashamed, Robin,” Catwoman said quietly. “You
proved you were a man.
“And besides, kiddo, I ain’t all bad. It’s not like I killed you or
anything.”
“No,” Robin replied, chuckling. “All you did was wear me out.
“Oh, fuck, that was so great.”
“Would you care to smoke, honey?”
“Oh, God, yes,” Robin said. “I want one so fucking bad.”
In slow motion, they both rose. Both put their outfits back on.
“Come on over here, baby,” Catwoman said. “Sit next to me. Cuddle me.
Let’s smoke.”
It was quite romantic, sitting there on a bench overlooking the
glimmering city. For a long while, they just held hands.
“Well,” Catwoman said. “I guess I’ll have to go release the guards.”
“Why don’t you let me rescue them?” Robin asked. “That way I can tell
them you’ve been brought to justice. No need for anything to be in the
papers.”
“Sure,” said Catwoman. “That sounds like a plan. Want one more
cigarette.”
“Yeah,” said Robin. “That’d be great.”
The silence then became a bit uneasy. Catwoman seemed to be waiting for
Robin to say what he was thinking.
“Uh, Catwoman, honey …”
“Yes?”
“This is gonna be, like, our little secret, right?”
“Sure, I don’t think there’s any reason for, oh, maybe, Batman to know
about it.”
“Thanks,” Robin said.
“But I don’t think,” she said, “that he’d really disapprove, if you know
what I mean.”
“Uh, what? You don’t mean that you, like …”
“Did him?”
“No,” Robin said. “No way.”
“Look, Boy Wonder, why do you think I’ve never been sent to prison.
Batman and I have had our own little arrangement for years.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. I’ve fucked him. I’ve sucked him. I’ve jacked him off.
Crimefighting isn’t the only thing you two have in common.”
“Really.”
“No, Boy Wonder,” Catwoman said, her eyes gleaming again. “Batman gets
off on the smoke, too.”