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Catwoman Climbs the Chonk Chart

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Batman Omnibus? 👍

Arkham City OST? 👍

A couple hours of playing Arkham Knight? 👍

Some quick DeviantArt searches  of curvy girls for inspiration? 👍

I am ready. Time to channel the powers of Batman76. Let’s goooooo

Chapter One

Deep in the rusting husks of Gotham’s old industrial district, a crouching silhouette loomed atop a crumbling wall of brick. Moonlight basked its black, leathery form to reveal a strikingly feminine figure with firm, coiled limbs trained ready to pounce before her prey could blink. Rats scattered from her shadow into every hole and corner. The figure confidently stretched its clawed fingers across the wall with an arched back as she contemplated her next move, smirking.

               “Best not keep them waiting,” she purred to herself. “Cause this cat doesn’t feel like playing with her food tonight.”

               Catwoman – as she was known to most – rose to her feet, spread her arms wide, and took a death-defying step from the three-storey precipice of the abandoned Sionis Steel Mill. The fall would have been the end of ordinary men, but for someone who was neither ordinary nor a man, it was momentum. A lashing whip snapped across the stary sky like lightning, wrapping itself around a beam of steel as Catwoman swung herself high with the whip in her firm grip. A ladylike flick of her wrist was all the finesse it took for the feline thief to unwind her favoured weapon, only for her to snap it once again.

               A few swinging twists more and she firmly landed on all fours before the steel grate on the mill’s rooftop that would lead her straight to her next quarry: Poison Ivy’s newest secret lair. Smirking, Catwoman slinked back onto her legs and rested her clever little hands over her lithe little waist (and cocking her not-so-little hips).

               “Alright Red,” Catwoman smirked to herself. “Let’s see what sort of gardening you’ve been up to.”

               Of course, she had no interest in whatever floral abominations the green-skinned botanist had been cooking-up with her extra-green thumbs. She was a cat-burglar at heart – and Gotham’s ever-vibrant underground had been absolutely buzzing with rumours of stolen tech seen smuggled into the steel mill – tech so valuable, in fact, that it was worth at least two Bitcoins. At least, so said the lunk that had unwisely tried to pickpocket her purse while she was having a nice relaxing shopping day.

               All things considered, a rather simple heist. Catwoman knew Ivy’s tricks like the back of Bruce Wayne’s hand and had full confidence that she would be leaving the mill a richer woman than in.

               She approached the grate with a quick, smooth strut, heels silently hitting the concrete underfoot as her hips gyrated wider than Penguin’s tophat when waddling between poker tables. Her long legs made quick work of the distance, thighs flexing and squeezing against the leather-polyester mesh of her uniform. Every square inch of limb and body was tightly contained in her suit, not one crease spoiling a form toned and trained for dexterity. Only her fair face was free to be kissed by the cool night-breeze – that and a generous amount of chest between a partly unzipped front to let her twins breathe. Some quick handwork with choice tools from her light toolbelt was all that was needed to loose the grate enough for her to slink inside.

               “Nice of you to install a little kitty door in your new place, Red,” Catwoman smirked to herself as she slide straight down a vertical shaft. “Let’s see if you’ve got the treats ready too.”

               Unknown to Catwoman, however, was the fact that she would soon be too big to even think of slipping through the “kitty door.”

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1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

Okay, I am now eagerly anticipating even more of this...

I start work at 5am, so I could totally write at the office 🤔

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Chapter Two: A Heckin Chonker 😏             
               The smells of a hundred orchids overwhelmed Catwoman’s nose before she even reached the bottom of the vent. Blooms of lichen and moss coated the walls as she unscrewed the grating that led out. The light beyond was polluted with a fine mist that was either decades of accumulated dust, days of pent-up pollen, or both. Signs of Poison Ivy’s presence were everywhere; she was close.

               “Catnip? Really?” Catwoman’s sensitive nose quivered as she stretched one arm behind her shoulder after another after leaving the vent. “She must’ve known I’d be coming sooner or later, but I’m more of a bouquet of flowers kind of girl myself.”

               Poison Ivy’s hideout was nothing short of breathtaking – the misty air in the vent was definitely pollen. What had once been the operating floor of a decently-sized factory was now a lush garden that put Willy Wonka’s to shame. Tufts of grass grew from soil that had been spread over concrete and metal flooring, thick enough to make Catwoman’s heels sink if she weren’t resting her weight on her toes. Causeways overhead bloomed with every colour of orchid, and their supports were laced with thick, green vines moistened by mist-spraying pipes in the ceiling that reminded Catwoman of the vegetable section of the grocery store. Mighty trees had taken advantage of every crack in the crumbling floor, forcing them open with thick roots that strangled everything around them. It was more than a garden, it was a jungle hidden right in the middle of Gotham – a wild, deadly, possibly-toxic jungle filled with mutant, hyper-growing plants.

               Catwoman’s trained eye scanned the green expanse with characteristic disdain. Nothing resembled the tech she sought.

               “Hopefully there’s some spare floorspace Ivy didn’t decide to cover with flower pots,” Catwoman mused as she strode carefully through open causeways in the foliage. A control panel was what she needed – any dashboard, really – a patch of metal that marked a clear workspace.

               The causeway overhead dead-ended with a panel of simple levers that used to operate the massive industrial-size cauldron before it. The cauldron had an equally-massive vine spewing out from its centre like a glorified flower-**, but it didn’t matter if the levers and buttons worked. What mattered is that if Ivy hadn’t covered it with her plants, she’d covered it with her work.

               Leathers straining, Catwoman pounced against a gnarled trunk and flipped over the railing. The panel was straight ahead, a clean, clearly-defined desk with a handful of items strewn across its surface. She reached for the closest one – only to catch movement from the cauldron. A human-sized pod she hadn’t noticed earlier unfurled itself to reveal a voluptuous, half-naked woman in its centre.

               “Selina,” Poison Ivy approached with slow, sensual steps, her bare feet walking across wide leaves like a weightless goddess. Besides a simple black jacket and white T-shirt, the embodiment of mother nature had neglected to wear anything besides an eco-friendly thong that showed-off her fertile hips as she slept in her plant-cocoon. Catwoman smirked to herself – she’d caught her rival with her pants down.

               “Red!” Catwoman cracked a smile as she gave a wave with the hand that had nearly been caught filching. “Fancy seeing you here! Love what you’ve done with the place by the way.”

               Ivy’s cold gaze betrayed her suspicions; she wasn’t fooled by Catwoman’s front, but as the caught thief kept smiling, Ivy smiled back, if only faintly. Ivy wanted to know what Catwoman was up to, that much was certain. The game was on.

               “You like it?” Poison Ivy fondled a nearby bulb growing past her head. “It took three weeks; I never would have managed without the help of a nearby gang. It’s not everyday that thirty men take to gardening, but I’ve been told that my charms can be quite intoxicating.”

               “Yes, well…” Catwoman struggled to hold in a sneeze. “… I’m sure you gave them a peck on the cheek for their trouble. Or something…”

               “No, most of them are dead.”

               “That’s a pretty harsh rejection, even for you, Red.”

               “Well, it’s not like I swing that way,” Ivy shrugged as she stepped onto the causeway by Catwoman’s side. “Are you hungry? I have all kinds of fruits and vegetables growing here. They’re all-natural too – not necessarily non-GMO…”

               Truthfully, Catwoman was hungry, having spent the whole afternoon planning the heist, and the fruits that were slowly growing over the railing towards them both looked plush and appetizing, but the feline thief was as skittish as she was clever. Ivy’s toxins could not enslave her like they did unsuspecting men, but Ivy was a scientist before she was a green heartthrob. Ivy was constantly honing her skills as a botanist, cross-breeding and splicing thousands of plant species with a mere flourish of her hands. There was absolutely no doubt in Catwoman’s mind that the fruits were more than a tasty snack. Best to leave them untouched; she would be treating herself to a fine dinner restaurant tonight as it was.

               “Thanks,” Catwoman smiled. “But I prefer meat myself.”

               “Same,” Ivy waved the fruits away. “But tell me, Selina, from one friend to another, what brings you into my domain?”

               “Why, to see you of course!” Catwoman cocked her hip playfully. “It’s been far too long since we saw each other. Also, I wanted to pawn something from you.”

               “Is that why you snuck through the vent?”

               “Naturally,” Catwoman blushed hotly. “You had all the entrances locked, right?”

               “Yes…” Ivy admitted slowly.

               “Well, then,” Catwoman leaned casually back against the railing, attempting to mask her unease at nearly being caught in a lie. “While we’re standing here chatting, I was wondering how you and Harley are holding up?”

               “Harley and I are not dating,” Ivy’s lips pursed ever so slightly.

               “Relax, Red, your secret is safe with me,” and half the Gotham underground, Catwoman added silently with no lack of bemusement. “I just happened to be chatting with her last weekend, and she just happened to mention –”

               “She nearly hit you with her bat.”

               “Yes, that… and see, I couldn’t help but remember her mentioning… an absolutely stunningfertilizer formula you’ve been mixing-up.”

               “Rather odd to mention that in a fight,” Ivy folded her arms over a bosom pert enough to betray her mammalian roots. “But yes, I do happen to be perfecting a new fertilizer.”

               “How wonderful!” Catwoman grinned at her lucky guess. Of course you’re making fertilizer, she thought slyly. “Tell me more.”

               “It’s quite potent – designed to give plants enough of a push to grow in hostile environments capped with thick concrete.”

               “Like this factory.”

               “Yes. But it’s not ready yet. It’s hard to perfect the formula when one keeps getting interrupted.”

               “Yes, I can certainly see that,” Catwoman slinked past Ivy towards the dashboard. She kept her eyes focused on the cauldron to divert attention from her true goal. “Must’ve dropped in while you were taking a little cat-nap.”

               “As a matter of fact, no,” it was Ivy’s turn to smile. “It’s dinner time.”

               “Let me guess… keto diet?”

               “Men… do you think I need to diet?”

               “Oh, of course not Red!” Catwoman turned awkwardly to face the maneater, strategically backing away so that her hands were on the dashboard. “You look absolutely stunning! I’m sure if you ever did fancy the dating scene, men would be all over you. Well… in a more romantic sense if you know what I mean…”

               A light adjustment of her palm and her nimble grasp was wrapped around a smooth, metal object the size of a golf ball. A heartbeat later and it was in one of her belt pouches. She had it. All she had to do now was end the conversation and walk out the front door.

               “Having anyone all over me is the last thing I need now,” Ivy sighed. “This formula is nowhere near perfect. I’ve tried almost everything…”

               “Aw, you sure? We could go out on a little girls’ night, do some shopping, order takeout at my place and watch something.”

               “Thanks, but I prefer books.”

               Sighing, Catwoman pushed herself from the dashboard and strut slowly past her outwitted rival. “Well, I suppose if you don’t want to sell me fertilizer, then I’d best be on my way to the Gotham Art Exhibit. The movie night offer still stands; call me when you got the time – or when you’re ready to sell.”

               “I’ll keep it in mind. The exit’s straight behind you.”

               “Got it. Nice seeing you, Red. We’ll catch-up sometime.”

               Smirking to herself as she strut her way for a door barely-visible through the jungle, Catwoman raised her head high and clacked her heels as she basked in triumph. She had won, she had tricked a gullible fool, and most importantly she was rich. Rich enough to take a well-deserved vacation. Her contact wanted to discuss buying the goods in a casino on Paradise Island, which suited a kleptomaniac like her just fine. She’d never been to the Bahamas before…

               “My b**s!” a shrill cry echoed through the steel mill. The whole building creaked and groaned as every living thing began to rustle.

               “Time to scat!” Catwoman sprang into a dash. Forget the door; she was hurling through the windows above, noise be damned. The lowest pane was easily thirty meters above, but the jump was nothing with the help of a wide swing on her whip. A branch swung madly for her torso, but inadvertently served as the springboard with which she made her triumphant escape in a resounding crescendo of shattered glass.

               Catwoman vanished into the night before the last shard had dropped to the floor.


               About an hour later, and Catwoman was crouching atop a spire in downtown Gotham, overlooking the Iceburg Lounge.

               “You’ve done it Selina,” she muttered to herself. “The hard part is done; now you can treat yourself.”

               As if in response, her stomach growled.

               “Oh hush,” she put a hand over her stomach. “It’s only been six hours since I fed you. All we have to do is change out of this outfit and book a table in the nicest dinner in town.”

               Undeterred, it growled again. There was no denying it; Catwoman was famished. More so than expected after a night of work.

               “Well… maybe we can steal a bite to eat…”

               It’s debatable whether the half-** college student stumbling out of a nearby restaurant was mad that his takeout was stolen or awestruck that a leather-clad woman in tights had swung away with it in one arm towards the safety of the rooftops. Regardless, Catwoman greedily sunk her fangs into the food on her way to her safe-house. Thankfully it consisted of chicken tenders, fries, and a biscuit – easy pickings for her fingers.

               Halfway home, the empty bag was loosed into the windy sky, forgotten. A cream-filled donut filched from a bakery’s display window soon replaced it, and vanished just as quickly down her quick-acting gullet. Even still her stomach rumbled, empty as ever, so she stopped to slurp on a milkshake from a drive-through who’s service was way too slow to react to her well-timed snatch.

               She sat atop a secluded fence, swinging her legs off the side as she did her best not to give herself brain-freeze as she sucked hard against the straw for the last few drops of shake.

               “Mm,” she adjusted herself as her stomach rumbled again. “I guess it’s been a lot longer since I’ve eaten than I thought. After all, a woman like me works up a healthy appetite.”

               The milkshake finished, Catwoman reached for her rearmost belt pouch and retrieved the prize of the night.

               “You really better be worth it,” she told the ball-like object as she angled it to inspect ever peculiar angle and feature. “Just what exactly are you? Well,” she shrugged and returned it to its place. “So long as my contact pays me, it doesn’t matter.”

               She snapped the pouch shut and gave it a satisfactory pat. As she did, the flesh of her rump gave against her fingers like a firm pillow – as opposed to a full volleyball like it would have a mere hour ago.

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Uh oh! I don't think self-restraint is among Selina Kyles skillset, so I suspect she won't resist the chonk (great word) for long. 

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2 hours ago, flyer33 said:

Uh oh! I don't think self-restraint is among Selina Kyles skillset, so I suspect she won't resist the chonk (great word) for long. 

This is actually a reference to one of my favorite memes. It’s called “the chonk chart”


2 hours ago, scl04 said:

I'm really looking forward to read how this continues from here!

Me too 😏 I’ve figured out how to write faster too

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34 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

I'm really loving this so far. Stealing stuff from Ivy surely will work well, Selina.

It’s like when I was playing Arkham City and Catwoman smashed Ivy’s flowers not once but twice... why, Selina? And then I remembered:

cat table GIF

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Chapter Three: She Chomnk

The slimmest, fittest girls are always the most sensitive to any changes to their weight. Whether they be trained gymnasts or talentless models, calories would be tracked with almost prayer-like devotion, and the slightest binge would blimp their waspish waists enough to inspire more than a few skipped meals and extra jogging miles. A mere three pounds of water-weight would trigger a bout of self-conscious soul-searching for any insecure girl (even the ones with the word “super” in their alias).

               But for the notoriously arrogant Catwoman, who burned an astonishing five-thousand calories on a normal day, binging was a way of life.

               Most any thin girl would break into a cold sweat at the first sign of their buttons straining or jeans pinching. The mere suspicion that a single pound had snuck past their lips and into their body would prompt uncounted minutes in front of the bathroom mirror as they searched their body looking for where it had made its home.

               Not so for Catwoman, whose burglary suit was designed to be skin-tight. A five-minute struggle to shove her muscled thighs into place and yanking the rest of her suit over her hips was not out of the ordinary, so an extra five minutes raised no suspicions in her mind as she greedily daydreamed of a years-worth of vacationing money – nor did the extra fifteen pounds.

               “Ugh, pull Selina,” the softened femme fatal muttered in her five star hotel suite. “You have… hff vaults to visit…”

               Relaxing in the height of luxury in the Bahamas she might be, but she would not be satisfied until she’d tested the security protocols of the very casino she’d booked. A long, joyous day at the blackjack tables had convinced her that the decks were loaded, which was as good an excuse as any to line her pockets. In the meantime, she’d also spent the whole day lining her stomach, which bulged taught as she jumped and shoved her puffy thighs into place.

               “Come on girl, you… hff… got this…”

               Catwoman’s thighs bulged a full inch over the sides of her half-donned suit, and just beyond her sight, her round cheeks bulged even farther. The extra padding was thick enough to split a weak pair of designer jeans or wobble awkwardly in a sundress, but confined in a tight bodysuit, the only thing they did was make it feel even tighter. Every jerk and tug of the burglar’s hands brought the suit just a bit higher, straining against her inner thighs, wedging between globular cheeks, until – at last – they were firmly in place.

               “Well then,” Catwoman began to zip herself in (subconsciously sucking-in as she did so). “Now that that’s taken care of, let’s finish what room service brought – oh!”

               She was interrupted from her self-monologue by her breasts pushing her zipper down a few inches. They had always been large for a woman who jumped and sprinted across rooftops, but had only ever been slightly more than a handful until recently. Recently, however, they had engorged themselves past their old C-cup size into ripe E’s. Even so, their owner was none the wiser since she preferred to go “commando” when working a job that required leaps, flips, and kicks that would wedge the best lingerie so deeply even the most greedy of hands wouldn’t want to dig them out.

               “That’s a little bit too much, even for me,” Catwoman sighed as she resigned herself to zipping it clear to her neck. “Even though it is heated outside.”

               Her eyes trailed the room, past the open bar, over the platter of half-eaten delicacies, and onto the small fridge in the wall. “Nothing a cool drink can’t fix. Day-drinking has its advantages.”

               “Day-drinking” meant something different for a woman who embodied feline grace and mannerisms. Opening the fridge door and leaning in with her round, doughy buns straining the leather confining them, she retrieved a full litre of whole milk and poured herself a glass. Then, thinking better of it, she set the empty glass on the counter and gulped the whole carton.

               “And now,” Catwoman purred, hand resting over an extra curvaceous hip. “For some rich dessert.”

               It didn’t matter if she’d already eaten dessert two hours before. Her body was hungry, and her stratospheric metabolism had always been spoiled with every craving sated. Thus, Catwoman chowed down on succulent fudge, plump pastries, and – her greatest weakness – tuna. Only the clearing of the entire platter stopped her relentless grazing. Satisfied that the immense pressure of her belly pressing against her suit meant her dinner was done, she made for the window and readied herself to scale the wall – only to be interrupted by ominous growling.

               “Ugh… again?” Catwoman pressed a hand to her side, as if she could calm her stomach like it were a mewling kitten. “Fine. But at least wait until we reach the penthouse – can’t hide if they hear you whining.”

               At last, she crouched atop the window’s ledge, her belly noticeably rounded. Then, with some choice fingerholds, began scaling the casino wall towards the glittering logo overhead. For a moment, she paused thoughtfully before releasing a surprisingly baritone belch, and proceeded to climb again.

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Chapter 4: Heftychonk!

Catwoman’s suit was the cutting edge of dexterity and grace. More than a mere suit of leather, the outfit was a cleverly-stitched combination of firm padding and flexible synthetics that was the perfect fusion of flexibility and deadliness. The suit breathed, allowing the cat burglar to climb the casino’s wall with all the ease her flexible limbs could manage – which was only slightly limited by the full gut between them.

               “Ugh…” Catwoman rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to hold her belly lest she fall fifty storeys. “There better be something up there to eat. I’m positively famished.

               She eyed the overhanging balcony looming above, a mere arm’s reach from her grasp. “Well… only one way to find out. This cat’s about to drag herself in.”

               A darting glance at the stone balcony was all that was needed for the acrobat-turned-thief to leap straight into the air, loose her whip, and swing herself safely onto the ledge. The force of impact  was fully-cushioned with a graceful landing only a cat would be expected to hit, heels notwithstanding. Only the sound of her wide hips spreading and straining against her suit betrayed her arrival, but not a soul was there to hear it. In fact, the sliding-glass door was wide open.

               “This is just too easy,” Catwoman smirked as she strode confidently into the penthouse suite, a confident sway in her hips. “How do they expect to keep a stray out of their – oh!” her self-absorbed puns were interrupted by her hips swinging unexpectedly against the wall like a wrecking ball. She paused only briefly to stare at the wall that had betrayed her before strutting onwards as if nothing unusual had just happened. “Let’s see… aquarium… lounge… ah, there’s the safe! Right next to the wine rack, just like the blueprints said…”

               Tempted as she was to indulge in a bottle or two, she resisted the urge knowing she might have to climb back down if there were too many cameras in the hallway. This did not stop her stomach rumbling madly for her attention as she tried her best to listen for clicks as she cracked the safe’s lock combo.

               “Hush…” she rubbed her rounded gut. “You can eat when the job’s done… there!” she smirked as the safe swung open. “That’s a lot of pounds. Looks like this cat’s got the cream.”

               British pounds, to be specific, stored in wads of thousands, stacked clear to the top. A smaller pile of diamonds shone in a small corner. It was the latter that she snatched and pocketed. After all, this had been a mere fling to titillate her burning curiosity. The handful of precious gems packed into the same pocket as her mysterious ball of stolen tech would make for fine bartering items on the black market.

               “Now then,” Catwoman shut the safe again. “Speaking of cream…” she was interrupted again, this time by her smartphone vibrating against her extra-fat, extra-sensitive ass cheek. “What? Who is…” her smile spoiled into a scowl when she saw the caller ID. “Harley? This better be good… Harley…” her face broke into a fake smile even in spite of being alone.

               “Heya Pussin’ Boots!” Harley’s shrill cackle was a strain on Catwoman’s sensitive ears even over the phone. “How’s it hangin’ with ya?”

 “So good to hear from you! How’s you and Joker coming along?”

               “We’re not dating anymore,” Harley stated loudly. “On account of me ‘n Red – uh, I mean, yeah! We’re not on speakin’ terms, but Puddin’ just needs to cool down fer a couple nights.”

               “Sounds reasonable,” Catwoman smirked to herself as she hunted for the fridge.

               “Yeah! Red and I aren’t together or nuthin.’ Dat was just a Freudian slip if ya know what I mean because, uh…” faint whispers could be heard over the call. “… uh, yeah! I just so happened to be talkin’ wit Red the otha day and was thinkin’ I would ask ya somethin.’”

               “Really Harv?’” Catwoman spotted the double-wide fridge and beelined for it, stomach churning for nourishment. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be calling someone you tried to fight six days ago?”

               “Aw, I only did it cause I had ta put on a show fer Two-Face. We’re pals, aren’t we Kitten?”

               “Whatever you say,” Catwoman replied, grinning as she found that the fridge was loaded more than the safe was.

               “And also fer tha record, ya really shouldn’t crash someone else’s bank robbery anyway. Like, what were ya thinkin’ anyways?”

               “Mmm…” Catwoman chewed vigorously on the sausage halfway into her mouth before trying to answer back.

               “Huh? Sorry, I didn’t hear ya dat first time.”

               “…anyway,” Catwoman licked her lips. “What was the question you wanted to ask?”

               “Did ya happen to make out with any of Red’s toys?”

               “Perhaps,” Catwoman smacked her lips as she dipped the rest of the sausage into some dip she’d discovered.

               “You see, uh… how do I put this… that thing you took was very precious to my – my friendhere – not that she’s here…

               Chuckling to herself, Catwoman fished through the diamonds in her pouch and retrieved the tech so she could admire it. “How dreadful! Must have slipped down my chest by accident when I visited her last night. We should really make sure she gets it back. Remind me what it looked like again?”

               “Eh… what’s it look like again? A small ball – like a fruit?”

               “Not sure if that rings a bell, Harv. What’s it do, exactly? Maybe that will jog my memory.”

               “Look, I dunno what the hell it does! You have it, so why don’t ya tell me?”

               “Are you so sure? Did you check the couch cushions?”

               “Now you listen hear ya big dummy! Red here is very upset that you took her precious baby, and you better bring it back cause its very dangerous – but not as dangerous as my bat in yer face!”

               “Oh, sorry I gotta go,” Catwoman nipped at a stack of crackers. “Mm… you hear that? You’re…mmph… breaking up…”

               “Don’t you dare hang up that phone Pussy Boots or I swear I’ll shove my bat straight up yer ass –”

               “Oh my,” Catwoman said as she hung up. “Seems I was just a bit to late to hang-up. At least… mm… the food is worth it.”

               She would have spent the next hour savouring the choicest delicacies from the fridge if not for the sound of violent bangs from just outside the front door.

               “Get it open!” a large man was yelling from the hallway. “Kick it down! Any longer and our asses are fired!”

               Catwoman instantly dropped to a low crouch, claws ready (though covered with crumbs). “Can a woman ever get some privacy at night?” her eyes traced every corner of the suite as she planned her next move. The security outside would no doubt be armed, so facing them would be suicidal, and leaping back out the balcony would leave her too exposed. However, her gaze quickly rested upon a third option: a large vent in the wall.

               “A tight squeeze,” she smiled as she sprang for the makeshift escape route. “They’ll never suspect a thing if I fit the grates back on behind me. Time to scat.”

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The vent truly was a tight squeeze, and got tighter the further in Catwoman shoved her body. She began legs-first, backing-up and tucking her legs downward so she could replace the grating behind her. Her nimble fingers had made quick work of the screws, and the speed with which her legs slipped through the opening was executed so fluidly, she may well have been beyond human.

               This lasted until she was rudely interrupted by her bulging cheeks hitting the vent’s upper lip.

               “What on Earth…” Catwoman glanced back with notable disdain at wide, rounded cheeks that bulged against the wall. “Really? Could the universe pick a better time to pick on a woman’s figure? I’m not that big…”

               The pounding of boots against the door was only growing louder. “Forget it!” a voice behind it yelled. “The hinges! Shoot the hinges! Oh, fuckme the boss is mad…”

               There was no time to lose. Catwoman shoved and shimmied her broad hips into the chute inch by inch. After all, the guards wouldn’t hear her struggles through all that racket. Something small and metallic snagged the crack of her ass and she felt the worst wedgie digging deep – until at last a liberating rip signalled that her ass was free.

               “Oh, give me a break,” Catwoman grunted as she let herself slide down the chute and close it behind her. “That better not be what it sounded like; it’ll take hours to stitch together again.”

               Regardless, she was sliding down a vertical shaft straight back to her own suite. So long as the guards above were too stupid to notice the screws still lying on the carpet, she was safe. Judging from the frustrated echoes above, they were even dumber than she thought.

               She turned her attention back to the task at hand, sliding straight down until she was on her level. Her room was three storeys directly beneath the chaos she’d left behind; all she had to do was count the light from the grates and ignore the years of dust on the sides. It was easier said than done, considering there was a six-inch tear on her butt.

               “I’m treating myself to a long shower after this,” Catwoman sighed. “Let’s see… third vent. Home sweet home. Time to…” in spite of herself, the dust forced her to sneeze. “… definitely showering.”

               She could see her half-unpacked suitcase and Gucci purse lying on the bed through the grates. She just needed to put some subtle pressure on it, slide through, and make sure the Do Not Disturb sign was on the door handle so that housekeeping didn’t discover the displaced vent until after her scheduled meeting with a prospective buyer for the tech bauble, which was in a few hours.

               “Ah!” Catwoman forced her head and shoulders through the vent, forcing her breasts through the narrow space with an audible pop. “Fresh air! Now I can… ‘choo! Ugh, what’s stuck now?”

               Unhindered by the confines of the suit, Catwoman’s butt pushed through the new tear like fresh bread rolls. A full, sumptuous, extra two inches of girth was jutting out, pressing tightly against the lips of the narrow vent.

               “Oh no, not this nonsense again,” she muttered as she pushed and strained against the wall. “It’s the same size as the one above! Seriously!”

               Dignified pushing turned quickly to frustrated wiggles, which turned to forceful jerks, which turned to slightly-panicked grunts tapering into resigned sighs.

               “I really don’t want to do this, but a cat will do anything to keep from getting cornered.”

               And so, with all the strength she could muster, she pushed longer and harder than ever before. Her arms shook with the strain, every muscle popping as she grit her teeth and arched her back with the effort. The flesh of her cheeks bulged tight against the vent’s lip, refusing to yield until – with a mighty push – they budged a half-inch.

               “Hoo…” Catwoman paused for breath. “… what a woman wouldn’t give for a little help… unless…”

               A glancing thought made her perk-up. No one was there to save her, but the bedframe was just to her right. She grabbed it hesitantly, breathing deeply to prepare herself for potential failure, and pulled as hard as she could to find that, yes, her left cheek was coming out!

               “Oh no you don’t!” Catwoman grunted as the bed budged an inch. “You stay there until I –”

               With a sudden pop, Catwoman was free, spilling gracelessly onto the floor. True to form, she sprang to her feet as if nothing had happened and proceeded to brush the dust from her body.

               “Tsk tsk,” she twisted around with a hand on the small of her back to inspect the tear on her outfit – her outfit! A custom-designed, tailored work of art sturdy enough for the most gruelling jobs, ripped wide open like denim jeans against a barbed wire fence. The seams arching over the upper crests of her muscled cheeks had split wide open, plush, tanned skin pouring through the space.

               “At least the damage is done,” the burglar sighed. “No time like the present to wash my problems away.”

               Turning the TV onto the news for comforting background noise, the successful thief raised both hands to her head and peeled the protective headcover away and let it drop to the floor. She shook her hair loose, fluffing it up with her fingers to air it out, and then began unfastening the flaps on her neck.

               “Is that Vicky Vale?” Catwoman chuckled at the sight of the blonde reporter on screen. “Withdimples? Call me rude or catty, but someone should tell her she’s getting fat. She is a reporter after all.”

               The sight of one of Bruce’s ex’s struggling with their weight tickled her, leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach that made her smile. Almost equally satisfying was the sensation of her body decompressing as she drew the zipper down her torso. Full, massive breasts the size of cantaloups spilled-out between the widening gap with a fluttery bounce, drooping heavily though jutting an impressive five inches, effectively concealing the soft, round dome of a belly just below them. Every square inch of skin pressed eagerly outwards when freed, revealing to the world a body once toned and defined to have grown rounded and squishable.

               “What’s the deal with Batman’s flings putting on weight?” the barely-chubby hypocrite asked herself. “First one of them starts getting a little tubby, then another and another, all seemingly at random,” she shook her head as she pulled her arms out of her sleeves, revealing soft, buttery upper arms. “And it isn’t even his fault cause its always because of some impossible coincidence out of nowhere, almost as if there was some sort of curse or maybe... wait – could it be? Could he… no, Bruce isn’t a chubby-chaser. I’d have noticed by now.”

               Bending down to pull the suit past her thighs, the vain woman hardly noticed the way her new belly fat folded into little rolls as she leaned down, or how her thighs wobbled as she kicked free of the suit, naked. She was too engrossed in her own thoughts as she made her way to the bathroom and readied the shower.

               “The batgirls have dieting problems of their own, come to think of it,” she thought aloud as she ran her hand through the falling water, waiting for it to turn hot. “Now Barbs I understand, you can’t expect a woman sitting on her ass for years to have a high metabolism, but the other two are young and fit for their age. Makes no sense… Bruce really knows how to choose them. Not that it’s any of my business…”

               The hot, cleansing droplets pouring down her body soothed her like nothing else, bouncing and dripping down the surface of her skin like the little hands of a thousand massage therapists. Water cascaded over her head and trickled down her shoulders, trailing through her cleavage and around the swell of her belly.

               It was heavenly, enough so that she basked under the flow for several minutes before reaching for shampoo and setting to work with her hair.

               “Should be another two hours before I’m due for dinner downstairs,” she lathered suds through her hair as she stared onwards. “Which means I have maybe half an hour to choose what outfit to wear… dress or trousers?” she rubbed soap between her hands with a smile. “Do I want to show my wild side, or keep my cards close? Definitely something with a low neck line to flatter my – hm?”

               As Catwoman rubbed her hands across her body to spread the lather, she paused when reaching her breasts.

               “Odd…” she cupped them lightly, giving them an experimental squeeze. “When did I get these? No. Focus, Selina. You’ve been thinking about big girls, so of course you’d… you…”

               Her hands trailed down, finding no sign of the flat, leaned midriff she was used to and instead discovering a mound of softness akin to a new mother.

               “Stop it, Selina!” she forced her hands away, breath rattling. “You ate five times today; of course you’re a little bloated! Let’s rinse this off and get dressed; we’re wasting time thinking like this.”

               The suds flowed and fell from her body into the drain between her feet within moments, but the act of rubbing herself clean did nothing for her brittle nerves. She felt soft. Doughy. Flabby. The seeds of doubt had begun to aggressively take root. She dared not think it, but her subconscious was screaming: fat!

               “It’s fine,” Catwoman said as she turned the water off and attacked herself with a towel. “It’s totally fine. You’re just nervous. It’s all nerves – don’t even look at the mirror, Selina; don’t you dare!”

               But she did glance in its direction in spite of herself. Thankfully for her increasing anxiety, it was too steamy to see anything.

               “See? You’re fine, girl. Let’s towel ourselves off and get dressed.”

               Hurrying out of the bathroom and shutting the door, she hastily approached the bed and inspected the contents of her open suitcase – a collection of her favourite outfits. Business suits and blouses, fashionable dresses designed by and for Gotham’s richest, an assortment of jewellery, and – of course – a few of her more racy lingerie for nights for when she felt like stealing young mens’ hearts rather than their watches.

               “What was I thinking back there?” she chuckled to herself, albeit somewhat nervously. “I’m as slim as ever. That vent was just tight. Nothing out of the ordinary. And I wore this just last week! Of course it will fit…”

               The outfit in question was a tailored suit jacket of navy blue matched with rose trousers and a white blouse. Catwoman had seen Karen Starr, CEO of one of the biggest corporate giants in the country, wearing it at a press conference and decided to upstage her by buying one of her own with a literal handful of stolen gold. She’d only ever had three excuses to wear it, and damned if she didn’t take this one!

               But first came the lingerie: a laced, white two-piece with a garter belt and stocking accessory that complimented her slender waist and strong hips.

               “Stop doubting yourself and get dressed!” she told herself as she stepped into the panties. “You literally wore this last month. There’s no way they’ll… oh… oh no…”

               Instead of sliding into place, the panties were meeting resistance halfway up her chubby thighs. In a bought of desperation, she yanked them hard, and then harder still, until they were firmly wedged into place – though a full inch of crack remained to be covered.

               “There’s no time!” she said desperately. “Dinner starts in less than an hour; I’ve got to fit… I’ve got to get dressed!”

               Next, the bra, a frilled masterpiece that was the perfect combination of support and comfort. Catwoman drew breath as she nervously fit her velvety arms through the shoulder straps and mentally prepared herself to fasten the back.

               “There’s no way I’m this big,” she moaned as the bra cups squeezed her breasts against her collar bones. “It’s impossible! No one gains weight overnight!”

               As she hastily slipped into black stockings and strapped them into place with straps on her garter belt. She couldn’t help but notice how much different her body felt. Every move made her breasts wobble like balloons in the sea, threatening to spill out if she bent down too far. The garter belt left a noticeable imprint against her plush skin, and the straps against her cheeks had to be let out to their maximum length just to keep from snapping altogether. Her panties were equally tight, riding-up uncomfortably into her crack no matter how carefully she moved.

               “This isn’t right!” she shook her head as she finished stuffing herself in the lingerie. “I can’t wear this! It’s too… no. There’s no time; I need to put these on before the meeting.”

               Heart pounding, she drew the suit out and began to dress faster than she ever had in her life. She was in the beginning stages of a panic attack, though she refused to acknowledge it. One by one, the items were strapped to her chubby frame. Trousers were squeezed over a soft bubble-butt and buttoned over a prominent pooch. A belt sinched it into place a good few notches farther out than normal. Blouse buttons were fastened one by one, failing to hide a soft gut and straining against hyperventilating melons. A suit jacket was draped over it all, though the sleeves were uncomfortably tight around the upper-arm fat.

               Her work done, Catwoman could only stand in place, feeling-up her voluptuous form with increasing angst.

               “How? Why? These fit just a month ago! I need a mirror…”

               Next to her bed was a closet and vanity mirror. She approached with slow, pained steps that audibly strained half a dozen seams. She hardly had the courage to look, but staring down to avoid the mirror only gave her a view of her straining blouse buttons. She had to look up…

               “What on Earth… I’m hideous!” she gasped at her own reflection, cradling her new gut and giving it a shake that spread all over her body. “I look like I’ve gained thirty pounds! This is not…” she twisted around, her spare hand coming across the spread of her plush, cushioned ass. “Where did this come from? I look like I’ve had five children –”

               The act of twisting back to look at her bulging mom-butt put enough strain on her blouse to pop a button that had been the only barrier holding back a tidal wave of titty fat. She yelped and stared at her own cleavage struggling free and popping yet another button through sheer weight.

               “I-I’m fat,” she gasped, breasts heaving and snapping a third button. “I’m getting fa – no! Selina! Stop this nonsense!”

               Chubby though she might be, but she was still Catwoman, and she’d forced herself through tighter squeezes than this. As quick as the panic attack had begun, it was over. The terrified, gasping maiden was gone, replaced by a suave, confident woman who had fought gangs single-handed, burglarized the most secure facilities, and fought toe-to-toe with the most notorious fighters in the Gotham underground.

               “It’s just some spare pudge,” she sighed. “Obviously it’s not normal, but we can figure that out after we sell this stupid thing… and I’m not wearing this to do it. This outfit has got to go…”

               Thus began the hasty try-on of Catwoman’s clothes. Try as she might, nothing hid her widened curves completely, but damned if that would stop her from trying ever last one on!

               “Wait…” she thought as she modelled herself in a stylish, orange and black dress. “Could it be the tech doing this to me…? Damn you, Red! I’m a lady, not a pumpkin!” she cupped her gut and gave it a shake. “… and speaking of pumpkins, this dress won’t work either! It hides nothing… I can even see my naval imprinting against it. What will the waiter think? No, this dress goes on the burn pile…”

               As she negotiated the dress around the sharp curves of her barely-contained assets, she made her way to the suitcase, ready to try another.

               “Honestly, why would she make something like this? Whatever she was thinking, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just sell this thing as quickly as possible and get back to – oh no.”

               The suitcase was empty.

               “Did I really just go through my entire wardrobe?” Catwoman put her hands on her ample hips. “Must’ve crossed a black tabby to get luck this bad… well, nothing works. What almost works?”

               One particular outfit caught her eye: a leopard-print bodysuit and a matching furry jacket. She’d barely spent time trying it on, for she knew just by fitting her arms and legs in that the thing would hug her flab like a sausage before the back-zipper even reached the small of her back. The bodysuit was as comfortable as pyjamas: loose enough to fit, but tight enough to showcase every extra pound. Every step would send shockwaves though her ass, cheeks, and breasts. She didn’t want that kind of attention, but had no choice.

               “Stop fretting and get yourself dressed!” Catwoman chided herself. “No one is going to know who you are, so just act natural and sell the stupid bauble!”

               Once she was suited up, she had to check her figure in the mirror. The woman staring back at her was a chubby vixen nervously rubbing the swell of her belly as her breasts shook with each movement.

               “Get into the role,” she told herself. “You’re a rich cougar roaming the city for one-night-flings. Cougar… a young, chubby cougar. With a mom-butt,” she twisted around and gave one cheek an experimental lift. “A lot of boys really go for the look. You’ve got nothing to worry about… alright stop procrastinating and get yourself down there. Let’s sell this thing and get it over with. Then we can jump-in on Ivy and get to the bottom of this… or buy liposuction…”

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Right. Ivy will definitely not laugh or due horrible kink related things to you if you ask her for help. Totally.

*sigh* this is why I’m more of a reptile person.



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So I'm wondering what other fat moments we can get....

Too tubby for a plane seat back to Gotham

First out of shape moments when she can't leap or climb like she used to

Getting confronted and teased by someone who recognizes her, bonus points if it's batgirl who's chubby herself...




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16 hours ago, Batman76 said:

Damn but every bit of this was perfect. The stuck description, her oh so confident shit talking if the other Gotham femmes

And the subtle nod to DCWG tropes, which I love

43 minutes ago, Mr.Grignard said:

Right. Ivy will definitely not laugh or due horrible kink related things to you if you ask her for help. Totally.

*sigh* this is why I’m more of a reptile person.



Reptile? What!?

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7 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

So I'm wondering what other fat moments we can get....

Too tubby for a plane seat back to Gotham

First out of shape moments when she can't leap or climb like she used to

Getting confronted and teased by someone who recognizes her, bonus points if it's batgirl who's chubby herself...




I have an epic climax planned for the next chapter or two 😏 plus a few of my characteristic plot twists. I love twists

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Chapter Six: Oh Lawd She Comin’ 😨

The dining hall was a two-storey masterpiece of playboy luxury. Strategically situated between a room of slot machines, gambling tables, and live horse betting, wealthy visitors could spend their winnings on the best cuisine the Bahamas had to offer while marvelling a wall-sized aquarium, a live piano performance, and gold-embroidered pillars.

               But all Catwoman could think about was the way people were staring at her flabby, jiggling body.

               “It doesn’t matter Selina,” she muttered to herself. “They don’t know who you are. Don’t let them know you care. Strut your stuff.”

               Strut she did, with all the grace and sexual appeal of a woman suddenly a couple dozen pounds fatter, but as one of Gotham’s most adventurous man-eaters, she knew the look of a man trying not to be caught staring. At least half of them were ogling her.

               They had a lot to stare at. Catwoman’s leopard-print bodysuit was an eye-popping display of wobbling flesh that outlined all and supported nothing. Round, bountiful breasts that had been the perfect balance between prominent and manageable had swelled into cantaloupe-sized behemoths that sloshed and rolled against the lacey bra doing its best to confine them. Below them was a bona-fide gut that was just barely too big to suck-in, its foremost point rubbing against the soft fabric as a constant reminder of its new size. As if that weren’t enough, the plump femme fatale had a massive ass to contend with as well. Against her better judgement, she’d slipped into her favourite pair of four-inch heels. A mere two days ago, the heels would have showcased her flawless grace and dexterity, adding an extra oomph to her slender curves and fluid gait. Now, unfortunately, each step sent shockwaves past chubby thighs and into round ass cheeks that quaked like Jell-O.

               “You still got it, girl,” Catwoman muttered quietly as she pulled her furry coat a little higher onto her shoulders. “You’re deadly, you’re a predator, you’re a cougar. Act like it. You’ve got nothing to lose… except this flab,” she couldn’t help but sneer as she stared down her cavernous cleavage where she’d hidden golf-ball sized tech. “But one thing at a time! We’re selling this thing, alright? We’re doing this. We’re going to get richer, and then we’re going to get thinner – somehow.”

               As she closed-in on an open table by a wide window overlooking the fountain display outside, her stomach betrayed her and rumbled hungrily.

               “Quiet, you!” Catwoman grunted as she seated herself, wincing as she felt her cheeks spread wide and hang an inch off either side. “This is your fault. I should have noticed I was more than a little famished lately.”

               But her hunger was greater than ever. She glanced at the people around her dining on fresh-caught lobster and crab, pasta and noodles, sirloin steak, and rich slices of fudge cake. It was enough to drive a starving girl mad, especially one who’d never denied herself life’s culinary pleasures.

               “Don’t look, Selina!” she clenched her fists and focused on the bare tabletop. “We’re here to get richer, not f…” she stopped herself, refusing to say the word. “So life’s thrown us a few curves… more than a few curves… nothing to worry about. This will stop once we get rid of that cursed thing.”

               “But then…” her stomach churned and twisted as she bit her lip thoughtfully. “What’s a little more padding if I’m just going to slim-down as soon as I get Ivy to – ugh, what are you thinking, Selina? You can’t possibly be justifying eating at a time like this?

               “Well,” she replied to herself. “This is a dining hall. Got to order something to blend-in.

               “Are you seriously going to eat more? You just had two dinners not two hours ago!”

               “Oh, can it Selina. You’re a fat girl now. I said it. Skipping a meal isn’t going to change that, so why not enjoy this tropical vacation and indulge a little? We can worry about slimming-down when we get back to Gotham.”

               Her mind finally made-up, Catwoman waited patiently for the nearest waiter to walk past and gently gripped his arm to gain attention.

               “Darling,” she put on her widest smile and arched her back to raise her breasts just enough to hide most of her pooch. “Do you mind? Pardon me, but I’m absolutely famished. I haven’t had a chance to look at your menu, but I would love it if you got me the chef’s special along with the soup of the day.”

               “Of course, madam,” the young waiter’s eyes struggled to keep from glancing down her chest. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

               “How about a cocktail – a Sex on the Beach if you can make it. And a rich dessert of some sort.”

               “Might I suggest a slice of key lime pie?”

               “Two slices,” Catwoman grinned as she placed a tiny diamond into the waiter’s palm. “The faster the better. I wasn’t lying when I said I was starving.”

               “Right away, ma’am.”

               The next ten minutes felt like the longest in her entire life. Her hunger only grew as she hungrily eyed the fish swimming in the aquarium, regretting not asking what menu items had tuna. Still, her short-lived angst gave way to girlish joy as she spotted the convoy of waiters arriving with multiple platters. She rubbed her hands with barely-contained excitement as they carefully fit the meals onto her little table, a mouth-watering array of smoky flavours teasing her nostrils.

               “And your cocktail, madam,” her waiter handed the yellow-red drink to her directly. “If there’s anything you need, I’ll be ready.”

               “Thanks, love,” Catwoman smiled as he bowed himself out. Then, smacking her lips, she took a moment to adore the sight of so much food (and find the silverware) before digging-in.

               “Mm,” she moaned at the first mouthful, closing her eyes blissfully. “I know I shouldn’t enjoy this – I really shouldn’t – but I’m enjoying myself while I can.”

               So began her third dinner of the night. The chef’s special vanished down her throat faster than she could ask what exactly she was eating (if only she’d remember to ask), followed quickly by guzzling the French onion soup to wash it down. The key lime pie was fit into her mouth with dainty, thoughtful bites. She savoured its soft texture, and the tangy sourness of the lime, along with the overwhelmingly satisfying sweetness of every bite. She was in heaven.

               Still, her cunning, careful mind couldn’t help but worry at the sheer size of her ravenous appetite. She’d lost track of just how much she’d eaten in the last day alone, but she knew that it was more than she could ever have imagined possible. It was far more than could physically fit into her narrow – formerly narrow, feminine waist. The new gut she’d grown should be taught and full. It should be twice as big as it already was. Where, then, was all this food going? She knew all too well.

               Pausing her feast to take a light sip of her Sex on the Beach, she put her fork down and explored the curve of her body with light, hesitant fingers. Her belly was definitely rounder and fuller; she could feel its girth easily now that she was aware of the changes her body was making. A third round of feasting had made its upper half pleasantly-taught, and the indent of her navel grew ever more visible as the rounded-dome filled-out. Two subtle creases were beginning to fold on her sides.

               “Is it my imagination…” she whispered. “… or am I growing rolls? Were they always there?”

               She ran a hand of one of the unwanted lobes of fat, tracing her fingers through the creases. She grabbed it curiously, as shocked that it was a part of her body as she was disgusted.

               “I really am turning into a big woman, aren’t I?” she leaned slightly forward to grab her fork, but the movement made her realize her bodysuit was getting tight against the small of her back. She jumped slightly to loose some of its fabric with a mild grunt, only to realize that her ass had added another few inches to its circumference entirely without her permission. “Oh wonderful,” she wriggled uncomfortably as the seat creaked. “My ass too. I regret eating already.”

               Even as she said the words, the last slice of key lime called to her from across the battlefield of empty plates. A peculiar bubbling bloomped from deep within her – a rallying cry for the final assault.

               “So this is what it’s like being fat,” Selina sighed as she brought the pie close and began to nip at its corners. “What’s a pound or two here or there when you’re already a fat cat? It’s not like anyone will notice if I grow a little bigger. After all, no one knows who I am, much less my client – wherever he is…”


               Catwoman’s blood chilled, and her fork clattered noisily against a naked plate at the sight of the suit-clad man looming before her table.

               “B-Bruce!” she gasped. “Oh my god you’re – hic – you’re… how did you find me?”

               “The tech you stole from Dr. Isley’s hideout was in turn stolen from Wayne Enterprises,” the billionaire playboy vigilante stated, only the slightest hint of human warmth flickering behind his stoic expression. “I’m here to retrieve it.”

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1 hour ago, xandercroft said:

Ok boys, do we put her in Arkham for dressing like a cat or for talking to herself...cell next to the ventriloquist?

Catwoman could never be kept in Arkham. She’s just sneak her way out through some vent — oh 👀

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