Morpheus sat on the thick leather couch in his bedroom. He was nursing a cigar and a brandy while he watched a porno on his big-screen television that the Countess had made featuring Princess Beauty several years before. The young sexpot was dressed in a suggestively naughty schoolgirl’s outfit and was being put through her paces by a sexy school-marm, played by the Countess herself.
It was the role that had made Beauty famous at the tender age of fifteen. Even now he could see why. There was an undeniable sensuality present in the girl; the hunger in her eyes, the passion of her moans as the Countess striped her perfect heart-shaped ass with a thin cane, the pleasure with which she then licked her Mistress’ pussy. It was no wonder that she had become the most sought-after piece of flesh in the world.
And she belonged to him. Even after several years, she still gave him an instant hard-on. He sighed and ran the hand that held the cigar over the front of his silk pajamas. Her passion for him had dimmed, he knew. The Princess was obsessed with adding Gotham’s superheroes and heroines to her stable of pretties. She was particularly smitten with Robin, the Boy Wonder, and mooned over him to the exclusion of all else, including her Master.
It was this that had Sandman depressed, even as he was poised to achieve his greatest criminal victory. He could barely believe it himself, but he had to admit it – he was madly in love with the Princess, and heartsick that she no longer felt the same about him. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do.
“She’s beautiful,” commented Madison quietly, intruding on his thoughts. “How old was she?”
“Fifteen,” he replied.
He had forgotten that he had ordered Madison to attend him this evening. The socialite was looking as tempting as ever in a black leather micro-mini skirt and a tight, white silk turtleneck. The fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra was evidenced by her erect nipples poking against the soft fabric.
His newest concubine sat down next to him and crossed her silky-smooth legs. He could smell the perfume that he used to control her. She ran her perfectly manicured fingers over his hard manhood, before daintily reaching into his pajamas to remove his throbbing cock. His attention was fully aroused now, so to speak; his earlier depression forgotten. This time when he sighed it was in satisfaction and not sorrow.
“Does that feel good my lord?” she asked. “I’m glad. I love to make you feel good.”
“And you do a wonderful job pet,” he told her settling back to enjoy the hand-job.
“Thank you my lord. I just wish the Princess liked me as much as you. I think she hates me.”
“The Princess can be… difficult,” Morpheus soothed diplomatically. “She has a lot on her mind.”
Little did he know that the argument at the breakfast table had been staged. Beauty did not want anyone to know that she was taken with Lady Blush; it could be dangerous for the girl. Better for the Princess’ enemies to know that she regarded the newcomer with disdain.
“Yes, she seems to be a little distant,” agreed Madison consolingly. “I just want her to like me,” she continued breathily. She leaned down and ran her tongue over the tip of his cock, causing him to inhale sharply in pleasure. “I only want to please her;” She licked him again, “to please you.”
Her mouth closed over his shaft, enveloping him in warm wetness. The slut was an excellent fellatrix, no doubt learned in the back seats of the fancy sports-cars that her rich boyfriends all drove. Morpheus didn’t care, so long as he was reaping the benefits of those late-night cock-sucking sessions.
He would reap other benefits from her as well. Soon he would have control of granny’s makeup company and they would start producing his line of cosmetics infected with a chemical that would cause men to fall helplessly in love with the woman who wore it. The formula currently belonged to Marsha, the infamous Queen of Diamonds, but he had plans to liberate it from her soon.
Another plus was the wealthy young bitches that she would be sending into his sleepy embrace. She had a great many rich, cock-tease friends who would make excellent sleep-slaves. But first the grandmother had to be taken care of and Fabulous Face brought under his control.
He placed his hand under Madison’s chin and lifted her head to look him in the eye. She smiled sleepily around his dick but never stopped pleasuring him. On the screen in front of him, the Princess’ pretty mouth was wrapped around the Countess’ strap-on dildo.
“You have done well so far pet,” he told her. “And now I have an assignment for you. Are you prepared to do anything I ask in service to this Court?”
Her reply sounded something like “Yummph milummph”, which he took as an assent.
“Good then listen well…”
He proceeded to explain her task while she gnawed on his knob. When he was finished and reasonably sure that she understood, he reached into the pocket of his nightshirt and pulled out his stethoscope. He pulled his cock out of her mouth and exploded in orgasm all over her pretty face. The Dream Doctor then pressed a button and white powder shot from the nozzle of the stethoscope and blanketed Maddie’s cum-covered face.
“Lady Blush will sleep in my bed tonight,” Sandman told the slave who had brought Madison to him and was waiting to lead her out. “You may go.”
“As for you,” he said to the sleep-walking girl, “come, I will put you to bed.”
Madison followed him over to his huge bed while the slave retreated meekly from the room. The subjugated sweetie didn’t immediately return to her quarters. Instead she went to a deserted room at the end of a dark hall near the Princess’ quarters. Beauty’s handmaiden, Lady Gwendolyn was already there waiting.
“What news slave?” she asked brusquely not looking up from her doll Annabelle, whose hair she was reverently brushing.
“She will share his bed tonight,” reported the petite brunette, a former television news-gal. “She pleasures him well.”
“Not surprising, she looks like a slut. Anything else?”
“She is to kill her grandmother. Then she will be named President of Fabulous Face.”
“Very good slave, you may retire to the slave quarters,” the child-like blonde commanded.
When the servant had left, Gwen slipped through a hidden entrance that led to another part of the mansion. There was a woman waiting for her, almost invisible in the shadows, her face obscured by a filmy black veil. Thin slivers of smoke rose from the tip of a long black cigarette holder.
“The new Lady is sharing the Master’s bed Mistress,” informed the young girl as she dropped to her knees in front of the reposing femme. “He appears to be quite taken with her.”
“So I’ve heard. It is said that she has the wettest pussy in the Court. Has the Princess discussed her?”
“Not much milady; she did enjoy her tongue the night of the Naming but hasn’t spoken of her since. She has been quite preoccupied with Nightwing since his capture.”
“What about the confrontation this morning at breakfast? I heard that Beauty gave our new Lady quite an upbraiding.”
“The Princess has been in a foul mood lately. She has been having servants whipped for even the most minor infractions.”
“Yes, I have heard that. How’s your bottom Gwendolyn? Not too sore I trust?”
“I’m fine thank you Mistress. It pleases me to be able to serve you.”
The mysterious femme drew thoughtfully on her holder as she stared at the younger woman before her. She let the smoke drift nonchalantly from between her open lips.
“Just remember who your Mistress is,” she told the blonde pointedly. “Now you should be getting back to the Princess, she’ll be looking for you.”
The young Lady stood and curtsied before hurrying out. The older woman stood as well and emerged from the shadows to stand in the glow of the moonlight that was streaming through the windows. The Duchess smiled to herself, if the expression could really be called that. Even her smiles were cold enough to freeze the sun.
“Enjoy your position Princess,” she whispered to herself, “it will soon be coming to an end.”
Gwendolyn did indeed go right to the Princess. Beauty was sitting at her dressing table staring into her hand mirror as she often seemed to do. If Gwen had looked she would have seen Morpheus fucking a somnambulant Lady Blush in his huge bed. But Beauty chose to keep her cameras secret for the time being; even though she knew that little Gwendolyn was firmly in her control.
“The heiress is sharing his bed Mistress.”
“I’m not surprised, the little slut. Did they discuss anything before he started shagging her?”
“She is to kill her grandmother to inherit the makeup fortune.”
“Lord Morpheus is having her kill the old hag herself?” Beauty was surprised by that; it seemed rather cruel of Morpheus to make Madison do it. “You have already made your report to the Duchess?”
“Yes milady; she suspects nothing.”
“Good, let’s keep it that way. If all goes as planned, she’ll never see the trap until it snaps shut.”
Morpheus stood in front of the mirror putting on his black bowtie. Having cemented his place in Gotham’s business community as Dr. Morpheus, and its criminal underground as The Sandman, the European super-criminal was eager to put his somnambulistic schemes into action. Already The Huntress and Nightwing had been quietly abducted, and she was providing invaluable information on the rest of the city’s troublesome crime-fighters. The information was coming quite against her will, but it was still quite helpful.
And this evening she would perform another service, delivering Batwoman and Flamebird into his sleepy embrace. Sandman would be attending the opera tonight with the Duchess and her nieces. The Dream Lady would be there as well as she had planned tonight’s caper. It would be a dress rehearsal of sorts for Operation Sandbag. He would get to see how his Nod Squad and Pillow Pets, who had all performed admirably during a multitude of small crimes, would work when faced with a job of greater scope. It would also be a chance to test his latest invention, which he had dubbed ‘The Dream Machine’. The device was simply a large canister, which could be attached to a building’s central air system. By turning a few valves he could release any number of gasses into the buildings atmosphere.
The plan for tonight was elegantly simple. The Dream Machine would release a colorless and odorless sleeping gas into the theatre’s vent system. When everyone was asleep, his gang would remove their valuables and make their escape. And if all went according to plan, Batwoman and her attractive assistant Flamebird would arrive just in time to foil the robbery. Instead the Bat-babe would be incapacitated and the scarlet-spandex clad teen would become his sleepy slave and act as bait for the rest of Gotham’s masked minxes. The door to his study opened, interrupting his thoughts.
“The car is ready my Lord,” his aide-de-camp informed.
“Excellent Lady Winter,” he replied admiring his assistant’s long white silk dress. “And may I say that you look exquisite this evening.”
“Thank you my Lord.”
He took her silk-gloved arm in his and escorted her to the waiting limousine. The Duchess and her twin nieces, Campbell and Camilla, were already waiting in the car. The Sandman examined them approvingly. Although only 16, the girls were already very beautiful, and dressed as they were could have passed for 20. Each of the young ladies wore a tight-fitting satin gown with matching gloves and stockings; Campbell in black and her sister Camilla in spotless, virginal white. It was all the criminal mastermind could do not to fuck them right then and there.
However, the presence of their aunt Fiona precluded him from fulfilling his wishes. She was, after all, a member of his Royal Court and therefore was granted a certain level of respect. Fiona Fogg, the Duchess of Bedfordshire, was herself the picture of elegance and sophistication. The “forty-something” femme was resplendent in a gown of deep burgundy velvet with a plunging neckline, which highlighted her enviable cleavage. A fortune in rubies adorned her neck, ears, and velvet-gloved wrists. The twins could only hope that their youthful allure would someday mature into the regal, sophisticated beauty of their aunt.
“Good evening Sandman”, she greeted her master as he settled onto the seat next to her and across from the twins. His security chief, the White Wolf, would ride up front with the driver.
“Good evening Duchess,” he replied kissing her proffered hand. He nodded to the twin teen beauties. “Ladies you look positively scrumptious.”
“Thank you milord,” they cooed in unison.
“They are quite lovely aren’t they,” agreed Lady Fogg resting her hand on her master’s leg. “Good enough to eat in fact.”
To Sandman’s amazement the girls had begun to caress each other. The Duchess meanwhile caressed him, sliding her velvety hand up and down the inside of his thigh. She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear, and the debonair doctor was amazed to hear such filthy suggestions spoken in such a cultured British accent. His eyes widened when he realized that what she was suggesting involved her nubile nieces.
“So, what do you say Doctor?” she finished. “Have you ever had twins before?”
“My dear Duchess, I’ve had quadruplets,” the worldly criminal replied. “However, they were not of Royal blood, and their aunt was not sitting next to me.”
“Are you saying you’re not interested Sandman? The girls will be disappointed.”
“Yes,” agreed Campbell, the elder twin by a matter of minutes, “the Opera makes me soooo horny.”
“Positively randy” concurred her sister enthusiastically. She slowly pulled the hem of her gown up towards her waist, giving him a peek at her white satin and lace panties. “I just adore having my pussy licked by men in tuxedoes. Don’t you sis?”
“Mmmm, I love it,” purred the aristocratic sex kitten.
Never one to disappoint a lady, the Sandman was already on his knees kissing Camilla’s silk-stockinged thigh. He had had the Duchess many times but this would be his first taste of this young, high-class gash. And a finely groomed pussy it was he saw when he pulled her panties gently aside. He doubted most women’s faces received as much time and attention as this girl’s cunt did; dark hair neatly waxed, powdered, and perfumed. The light, spicy scent mingled with her own natural musk to create an agreeably erotic aroma. This of course was a trick she had learned from aunt, who was well versed in the erotic arts. The Sandman knew as well, that the cologne she used was drugged - laced with a mild soporific that would allow her to wrap men around her well-manicured finger. Well most men anyway, he was immune to such things.
Sandman looked up at the object of his affection. Her eyes were closed and her red lips were slightly parted in an expression of feminine rapture. At 16, Camilla had bedded more men than most girls would claim in a lifetime, but none were the equal of Lord Morpheus. His sensitive fingers massaged her slowly, managing to find the sweetest of spots seemingly at will. Her sister Campbell looked on jealously; she was eldest after all and should get first dibs. In the meantime she settled for pleasuring herself with her satin fingers. Her annoyance grew with each sigh, gasp, and moan that emanated from her sexy sibling.
The Duchess, on the other hand, was enjoying herself immensely. The Princess was already quite smitten with Gwendolyn, and if her Master enjoyed the twins’ twats as well, so much the better. Lady Fogg knew better than to have designs on her lord Morpheus’ power. But when he rightly claimed his crown as the King of Crime, she fully intended to be sitting at his side as Queen. She would stop at nothing on her climb to the top, and if that meant sacrificing the “innocence” of her young nieces, then so be it. It simply wouldn’t do to come in second to that Parisian harlot, the Countess, let alone that insufferable German slut, the Baroness. They weren’t even true Royalty. No she decided lighting up an elegant Dunhill cigarette, that wouldn’t do at all.
The action across from her had meanwhile grown quite heated. Unable to contain her passion any longer, Campbell had managed to capture Sandman’s attention by placing his rather erect cock into her mouth. Her sister was somewhat put out by the interruption, but after three orgasms one could hardly complain. And, silly as it may sound, she did enjoy watching her sister suck cock. So she entertained herself by using her tongue to tantalize her twin’s tits. Erect nipples were so sexy she thought - much nicer than some big, fat dick all purple and covered in veins. Ewww. Not that she hadn’t ever had one in her mouth of course; or in her pussy and ass as well. But girls were just… sexier. She found herself day-dreaming about that divine young tennis player she had been screwing before her aunt dragged her away from London. Anna, now that girl had tits. And sooo athletic; she could contort herself into any number of intriguing positions. Maybe she would be playing in the Gotham Open next month. Just the thought was enough to give her orgasm number four.
Sandman couldn’t believe his good fortune. He had been planning on bagging these two birds another time, when their aunt was distracted. To be having them right in front of her like this was icing on the cake. The little doll wasn’t a bad fellatrix, not as good as the Countess’ girl Anastasia, but that wasn’t too surprising. French girls always seemed to know what to do with a cock in their mouths. He decided that he had had enough foreplay, so he pushed Campbell back onto the comfy leather seat. The girl immediately spread her legs like a proper slut. Not surprisingly, her twat was just as well tended as her sister’s.
Then, without so much as a ‘How do you do’, he was in her. She was nicely wet, as he expected her to be. Juicy pussies seemed to run in the family. He slid in easy as you please and started pumping away. He had a thick nine-inch cock and he knew what to do with it. It wasn’t long before young Campbell was panting and moaning as loud as her sister had been. Camilla, despite having just had her cunt thoroughly tongue-bathed, quickly became jealous of the attention that her sister was receiving. So she turned around and stuck her cute bottom into the handsome doctor’s face. Not surprisingly, he responded by licking her asshole. The girl had a bum that simply begged to be licked.
The Duchess sat back and smoked while she enjoyed the show. She had invested a lot of time and money in her nieces, teaching them how to be a wiz in the boardroom, proper ladies in the ballroom, and utter sluts in the bedroom. Watching the enticing teens giving her Master a world-class romp, she knew that her efforts hadn’t been wasted in at least one area. If they didn’t become businesswomen or marry royalty, as she had done, at least they could have a lucrative career as high-priced call girls.
But she doubted that it would come to that. Campbell had a good head for business and was an absolute bitch besides. She had a future in management. Camilla wasn’t as bright, but was sweeter and docile. She would make a fine wife for a rich nobleman someday. And the little slut would probably cuckold him on a daily basis. Still, she mused, she could make a fortune by turning these two out. And they’d have more fun fucking than they would selling pharmaceuticals and such nonsense. Something to keep in mind for the future.
“Excuse me my lord,” interrupted Lady Winter from the front seat, “but we’ve arrived at the Opera House.” With all the noise in the back nobody had even noticed the glass partition slide silently down.
“Circle the block,” the Duchess ordered brusquely without even turning around. Sandman and the twins continued to fuck without even noticing. Campbell was bouncing up and down on his pole and quickly collapsed against his chest with a shuddering climax. Camilla had been licked and finger-fucked to another orgasm of her own and was slumped exhausted on the seat. Morpheus himself was the only one as yet ‘unfulfilled’.
“Get off the man Campbell,” the Duchess told her still panting niece.
The girl rolled off his lap and onto the seat where she slumped breathing heavily. Both of the teen temptresses looked thoroughly satisfied as they leaned against their master. He, however, was anything but, as his still erect and throbbing hardness would attest to.
“Come here you poor man,” cooed the glamorous gal in mock sympathy as she patted the seat next to her. “Those wretched little girls started something, but it’s obviously going to take a woman to finish it.”
She stubbed out the remains of her cigarette and began peeling off her right hand velvet glove. Sandman came and sat on her left side knowing that Fiona’s gentle caresses would soon soothe his tension. The former London street hooker, now heralded as one of the world’s most glamorous women, unceremoniously spit into her ungloved hand and began to slide it up and down the Sandman’s engorged shaft. Her motion was casual, efficient and, she knew, quite effective.
“Let me know when you’re close darling,” she instructed, “You have no idea how difficult it is to get a cum stain out of velvet.”
She then turned her attention to the girls; her elegant and nimble fingers never ceasing their ministrations. They were busy giggling to each other like love-struck schoolgirls.
“Enough with your prattling ladies,” she commanded, “and pull yourselves together. Your hair is a mess, your makeup is smeared, and your gowns are a disaster. You look like you’ve been gang-banged by the entire rugby squad.”
Properly chastened, the teen queens pulled out their compacts and began to tidy themselves up under their Aunt’s watchful eye. She seemed to forget that she had a loaded gun in her hand, as it were, until it quite unexpectedly went off. The Sandman offered a belatedly gasped “Duchess”, before shooting a hot sticky load into the air. As good fortune would have it, his ejaculate, while making a mess of the ceiling, seat, and floor of the limo, missed spoiling the gowns of his opera companions. Alexis, knowing how unpredictable the male sex organ could be, had it pointed slightly away from her as she stroked, and it just missed landing on Campbell’s lap.
“Well then, that’s done,” she announced cleaning the excess cum off of her fingers with her silk handkerchief. “Shall we go to the opera?”
Minutes later the Sandman’s gleaming black stretch limo pulled up in front of the Gotham City Opera House in downtown Gotham. Natasha Nemerov, looking sleek and dangerous in white gown and gloves, was the first to exit the vehicle. Her eyes scanned the crowd for possible danger to her master. She saw only the usual bigwigs, celebrities, and socialites that one would expect. Satisfied, she pulled open the rear door of the car.
The Sandman emerged first looking handsome in his tuxedo and overcoat. He turned and offered his arm first to the Duchess and then to the twins. All three elegant femmes looked like they had just come from the salon, with perfect hair and flawless makeup. No one would ever guess that they had just been fucked so thoroughly. There was not so much as a spot of lint on their gowns or a run in their elegant silk stockings. Lady Fogg snuggled her black mink cape over her shoulders as she took the Sandman’s arm. Campbell and Camilla followed each wearing mink stoles that matched their respective gowns. It was a slightly chilly autumn evening, which suited the Sandman just fine. More women would be wearing their furs, which would in turn be his before the night’s end.
He led the way into the grand old building and over to the coat-check area. The girls, who had spent a good amount of time in British palaces and castles, were unimpressed by the Opera House’s gilded and velvet accoutrements; they were accustomed to much nicer. They waited in line for a few moments before approaching the coat check.
“Good evening sir,” greeted the girl behind the counter. “How many coats will you be checking this evening?”
“Just my topcoat,” he replied, eyeing the buxom blonde appreciatively. “The ladies will be keeping their wraps in case there is a chill in the theatre.”
“Very good sir,” replied the sexy servant.
She took the coat from him and handed him a ticket. He glanced at the ticket; it was #7. Excellent. It meant that the Dream Machine was hooked up and that the plans were proceeding smoothly. If the blonde, who was in fact one of Sandman’s pillow pets, had handed him the #13 ticket, it would have meant problems. Sandman had quite a few members of his gang, the Nod Squad as he called them, working here tonight. Some as ushers, some in the stage crew, and some as waitresses; in addition to the lovely coat-check girl. In all an even dozen of his goons and gals, ready to pick the wealthy patrons clean once they were asleep.
“Thank you my dear,” he said, and dropped a hundred dollar bill in her tip hat.
“Oh, thank you sir!” she replied, dropping a curtsy which allowed him a nice view of her considerable cleavage. “Enjoy the show.”
Sandman walked away, arm in arm with the Duchess. Lady Winter and the twins followed behind. The debonair dream doc presented their tickets to an usher, who led them upstairs to their private balcony box. They took their seats and settled in just as the house lights dimmed. The curtain would be rising shortly, as the extra-curricular activities in the back of the limo had made them slightly late.
Sandman and the Duchess sat next to each other in the front row of the six-seat box, while the Wolf sat between the twins in the row behind them. The ladies all had their opera glasses at the ready, and the Duchess was already scanning the crowd. All the fabulous jewels adorning the wealthy women of Gotham would soon be hers. She usually enjoyed the Opera, but waiting for the real show to begin was absolute torture. She could close her eyes and see all of these rich fools swooning, overcome by the Sandman’s devious dream device. The mere thought was beginning to make her wet. The anticipation was delicious. The curtain rose and the music began….
Camilla thought that the night would never end. She was so sleepy after being fucked by Morpheus that she was tempted to take a nap right there in the box. But Auntie Fiona expected her to be a lady and appreciate a fine opera as much as a fine shag. Still she was thrilled when the curtain closed and the lights came up signifying the intermission. She was dying for a drink and a cigarette.
“So ladies, did you enjoy the first act?” Morpheus asked the girls, as they rose to stretch their legs.
“I enjoyed the ride over more,” replied Campbell flirtatiously.
“What about you Camilla, did you enjoy the beginning?”
“Yes my Lord” she responded. “But there were a few points I didn’t quite get.”
Her hand reached out and lightly stroked the front of his pants causing his cock to become instantly erect.
“Perhaps you could explain it to me more… deeply.”
“Yes, I think that can be arranged,” he said as he escorted them all out of the boxes. He grabbed the young Brit babe around the waist and let her feel the hardness of his cock on her ass.
“Lady Winter, why don’t you take the Duchess and Campbell downstairs and get them some champagne. I am going to help young Camilla develop her taste for the fine arts.”
His hand was already under her panties.
“We will join you shortly.”
“As you wish my Lord,” agreed the statuesque blonde as she led the other two women downstairs.
The hallway was now empty except for the sophisticated criminal and the teen tease.
“Now my dear, just relax,” he instructed as he backed her up to the wall. “I won’t even muss your hair.”
She closed her eyes and panted softly as he fingered her wet slit. He helped her remove her white satin undies, which he then held in her face.
“Such a fine young lady you are, all pampered and perfumed,” he teased. “Nobody would ever guess what a depraved little slut you are, would they?”
“You are a little slut though aren’t you my dear?”
She heard him unzip his pants.
“Oh yes milord.”
He lifted her easily, and held her against the wall. His cock slid against her pussy causing it to twitch and the girl to gasp.
“Shh. We must be quiet my lovely,” he whispered as he guided the throbbing head of his dick into her waiting cunt.
She stifled another cry as he buried his meat balls deep in her. He took her slowly and leisurely in long hard strokes, his strong hands clenching and pulling at her girlish buttocks. It ended quickly in a rush of passion as he exploded inside her. She would have screamed had he not covered her mouth with his hand. He placed her lightly back on her feet and put his sword back in its sheath. Then he offered his arm and led her downstairs as if nothing had happened. She was grateful for the support of his strong arm, as her legs were still shaking. Halfway down he turned to her.
“Are you beginning to understand ‘art’ a little better my dear?” he asked.
“Oh, yes my Lord,” she agreed smiling. “I have a whole new appreciation for the Opera.”
She began rifling through her white sequined clutch and retrieved a silver make-up compact. She examined her face thoroughly and touched up her lip-gloss. She returned the items of feminine enticement to the purse and extracted a silver cigarette case. She removed an all-white 120mm cigarette, which Dr. Morpheus gallantly lit for her.
She smiled and exhaled a luxuriant cloud of smoke in the air, in the processing giving her Master yet another erection. He loved watching a woman smoke, and the Duchess had taught the girls to do so with elegance, sophistication, and style. When they rejoined the others, all the women were drinking champagne and smoking. Campbell an all-white 120 like her sister, the Duchess a brown More Menthol, and Lady Winter her trademark gold-filtered Black Russian. Not coincidentally, the group had almost every male eye in the room on them. Sandman’s dick got even harder. He was considering taking Campbell for a little walk, when he heard his name.
“Dr. Morpheus, what a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you were an opera fan.”
It was millionaire Bruce Wayne, head of the Wayne Foundation and President of Wayne Enterprises. But not for long if all went as planned. A lovely woman with hair that was so light it was almost silver accompanied him. Her gown was sparkling sequined silver as well. Sandman immediately recognized her as wealthy socialite Silver St. Cloud, who was rumored to be Bruce’s fiancée.
Following close behind were a short but athletic young man, whom Sandman correctly deduced was Bruce’s young ward Tim Drake, and another equally short and athletic blonde girl. The girl was pretty, in a simple way, and hid a nice young body beneath an unflattering outfit. She looked uncomfortable in the presence of so many glamorous women, but Sandman suspected that if he turned her over to the Duchess she could make the girl look quite fabulous.
“Hello Mr. Wayne, a pleasant surprise indeed. I myself don’t have the finely tuned ear necessary to truly enjoy the experience, but my lovely companions are the true Opera lovers. May I present Lady Fiona Fogg, Duchess of Bedfordshire, and her two young nieces, Campbell and Camilla? You have already met my head of security, Natasha Nemerov, I believe.”
“Miss Nemerov, it’s nice to see you again,” Bruce nodded. “My lady, it is truly a pleasure to meet you,” he said kissing the Duchess’ proffered hand, “And your nieces as well.”
“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Wayne,” returned the Duchess in her best bedroom voice. She glanced coolly at his date, Silver, who was steaming at the attention Bruce was lavishing on the beautiful Brit.
“Oh yes, how rude of me. This is my friend, Miss Silver St. Cloud, my ward Tim Drake, and his friend, Stephanie Brown.”
The Duchess smiled inwardly as the silver-haired beauty’s back stiffened when Bruce referred to her as his ‘friend’. No doubt the sexy socialite was used to being the best looking woman in the room, and didn’t know how to react to Bruce’s obvious attraction to her. Of course, Miss St. Cloud would have no idea that the Duchess’ perfume was liberally laced with pheromones that any man would find irresistible. Plus the fact that she was one of the worlds most glamorous and alluring women didn’t hurt. She was turning that allure on Mr. Wayne full bore, treating him to her sexiest smile. Her eyes were sending a clear signal, ‘I want to fuck you’, and everyone there could see it.
Sandman certainly could, and he couldn’t have been more thrilled. Mr. Wayne was on his list for ‘Operation Sandbag’, where the wealthiest citizens of Gotham would be brought under his control. He had planned to use the Dream Lady and her stable of gorgeous call-girls against Gotham’s richest men, but it appeared that the Duchess had her own ideas. That was fine with Sandman; he liked to foster competition among his subjects. One couldn’t have his employees being too comfortable.
“Cigarette Miss… Silver was it?” asked Fiona as she pulled a fresh More from her jeweled cigarette case. Bruce quickly produced a lighter for her and she lit it efficiently with a quick snap inhale. She exhaled towards a seething Silver.
“No thank you milady,” she replied with mock politeness as she waved the smoke out of her face. “I find smoking to be a filthy habit. Don’t you agree Bruce? Bruce!?”
“What? Oh, I don’t know Silver, I don’t want to seem judgmental.”
“That’s quite alright Mr. Wayne,” sighed the Duchess, “Some bad habits are worth the price.” She blew more smoke at the silvery blonde. She would have to be taught a lesson. Soon.
“Why Doctor Morpheus I do declare, what a surprise!” exclaimed a gorgeous blonde in a sultry Southern accent as she joined the group.
The beautiful belle wore a blue satin ball gown and carried a fan of matching blue lace. At her side was a young blonde man in a tuxedo. He was so handsome that he could almost be called pretty. For some reason Camilla felt like she should know the man, although she couldn’t put her finger on it. She found herself becoming very aroused.
“Ms. Davenport, how nice to see you,” Sandman replied. “This is turning into a night of surprises indeed.”
He made introductions all around and once again both Bruce and his young friend were suitably impressed. Silver St. Cloud meanwhile was getting redder by the moment. Sandman could see that he could use this situation to his advantage. Furious as she was, Wayne’s woman would be ripe for the picking.
His hand moved to Lady Winter’s bare back, and his fingers began to trace lightly across it. Nobody would ever have noticed that he was in fact communicating with her in a code that they had worked out long ago. ‘I want her’, was the simple message, and he knew that his bodyguard would not disappoint him.
The White Wolf scanned the crowd for a waitress, one of her girls, and managed to catch her eye. A glance and several subtle hand signals were all that was needed to communicate her wishes.
“Would any of you care for some champagne?” offered the blonde as she waved the waitress over with her tray of glasses. As she approached, she tripped ‘accidentally’ spilling a glass of champagne on Miss St. Cloud.
“Oh!” she gasped as the cold liquid splashed onto her dress.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” squealed the waitress. She set her tray down and immediately began trying to dry off her dress with a towel.
“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” Silver told the distraught serving girl. “Accidents happen.”
An announcement came over the loudspeaker that Intermission would be over in 5 minutes.
“Here let’s go to the ladies room and get you cleaned up”, offered the Dream Lady.
Silver tried to refuse any assistance, but the Madam wouldn’t take no for answer. The leggy blonde gave in to her insistence and was led away to the lavatory.
“Well we should be getting back to our seats,” said Bruce.
“It was a pleasure meeting you darling,” cooed the Duchess, lightly fingering Bruce’s lapel. “Perhaps we could have dinner sometime.”
“That would be lovely milady,” replied the debonair millionaire.
“Yes, lovely,” she agreed. “And you can bring your little friend here as well. I’m sure my nieces can keep him entertained.”
Camilla had been giggling girlishly at Tim the whole time, while Campbell gave him fuck me eyes. For his part, the young man was stunned into silence, and alternately stared at the beautiful girls, their aunt, and the floor. His girlfriend Stephanie was completely embarrassed and managed a weak curtsy, as the royal entourage made their way back to the balcony.
“Millionaire Bruce Wayne! Wasn’t he handsome?” enthused Camilla once they were ensconced in their private box. “And Silver St. Cloud is sooo glamorous. Is the Dream Lady going to put her to bed?”
“But of course, my dear,” replied her aunt. “Even as we speak she will be on her way to the Land of Nod. Nobody in Gotham is immune to the Sandman’s sleepy spell.”
“Quite right Duchess,” agreed the Sandman. “I will put together an army of sleep slaves and no one shall stop me.”
“How dreamy! Can Campbell and I have the boy? He was cute.”
“Yes, I could use a handmaid,” agreed Campbell. “Can we feminize him?”
“Ooh goody! A maid! May I dress him?” squealed Camilla.
Sandman chuckled at the thought of Bruce Wayne’s young ward serving as a sissy maid for the twins. It was delicious. The only thing better would be to have Robin, the Boy Wonder, in a maid’s uniform. He would have to work on that. If only he had known what the Princess had been up to with Nightwing.
“You may have your maid my dears,” promised Morpheus as the lights dimmed. “Now be attentive. I think you will thoroughly enjoy the next act.”
Meanwhile, Delilah Davenport escorted a somewhat petulant Silver St. Cloud to the ladies room. “I’m sorry about what happened back there Sugar,” she offered sympathetically.
“It wasn’t your fault that the waitress was clumsy,” snapped Silver as she examined the stain on her dress. It wasn’t even very noticeable under all the sequins.
“I was referring to the Duchess. She can be a royal bitch.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid I’ve been being bitchy as well,” replied Silver in a softer tone.
“Not at all,” countered the blonde soothingly as she took her cigarette case out of her purse. She removed one of her long, thin cigarillos and lit it, exhaling with a flourish into the mirror.
“I hope I didn’t offend you about the smoking. To be truthful, I used to smoke a little myself,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Really? Would you care for one?” asked the Southern Belle as she pulled out her makeup compact and began examining her flawless complexion.
“No, I couldn’t. I quit for Bruce.”
“He is a handsome man, but I think you’ll like your new master better. I am willing to bet you’ll enjoy being a somnambulistic sex slave.” She sent a lazy exhale in Silver’s direction.
“What are you talking about?!” demanded the blonde waving the smoke away.
“I know a little girl who needs a nap,” opined Sandman’s moll. She took a drag on her elegant miniature cigar and blew into her compact sending a face-full of smoky sleep sand into the socialite’s face.
“Oh!” exclaimed Silver but could say nothing else. She was already in Dreamland, asleep on her feet.
“Can you hear me Sugar?”
“Yes,” replied the blonde woodenly.
“Wonderful. Listen closely.” The Dream Lady then began to tell Silver all that she would need to know as one of Sandman’s slaves. The blonde provided a delightfully captive audience. While she spoke, the glamorous gal gently cleaned the sleep sand off of the woman’s face. It wouldn’t do to leave such obvious evidence. She held Silver’s smooth cheeks firmly in her velvet-gloved hand as she wiped the powdery residue away with her silk handkerchief. Her cigarillo was just inches from the blonde’s lips and she had a sudden urge to see her smoke.
“Smoke Sugar,” she suggested holding it up to her lips.
The sleepy socialite obeyed wordlessly, took a deep drag and let the smoke drift slowly out of her pretty mouth. The femme fatale couldn’t help appreciating the intimacy and eroticism of the moment. She felt an intense sexual power, like a succubus draining her prey; a vampyress ready to sire new spawn. The symbolism struck her, sent a tingle of arousal down her spine. She walked slowly behind the wealthy blonde, was whispering commands into her ear now, her hot breathe on the woman’s neck. Her hands moved to Silver’s ample bosom, her tongue flicked an earlobe sensually. She inhaled on her cigar, slid her tongue into her slave’s mouth, enveloping her in a smoky kiss. Silver responded in kind, returned the kiss with sleepy passion, and slid her silver satin gloves along Dream Lady’s long silky legs.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” blurted out Stephanie as she came into the ladies room to find the two blondes kissing.
Tim’s young girlfriend, whose alter-ego was the Spoiler, had had a sudden urge to pee and had hurried in so that she wouldn’t miss any of the show. Now she wished that she could just disappear.
“Welcome to the party sweetie-pie,” Delilah smiled seductively. “Come on in.”
“I should go,” insisted the embarrassed teenager as she backed towards the door. However something about Silver’s expression looked strange, almost glassy-eyed. She stopped and took a step forward. “Silver are you okay?”
The silver-blonde socialite didn’t answer, just stared blankly into space. The Dream Lady however had pulled her fan out and walked slowly towards Stephanie. The athletic teen, now sufficiently suspicious, dropped into a fighting stance. She may have proven a dangerous opponent if she had noticed Dreamy sneaking up on her from behind.
Unfortunately the blonde dreamboat grabbed her and pulled her off balance, his hand covering her mouth. The ball-gowned belle was there in an instant flourishing her fan. It snapped open and a bluish gas hissed from the tips. Delilah wafted it expertly into the girl’s face with a few fluid motions of her wrists and the teen collapsed limply into Dreamy’s strong arms.
“Sweet dreams Sugar-pie,” the Dream Lady cooed to the fallen girl.
“Lock the door lover,” she then told Dreamy. “I don’t want any more interruptions while I hypnotize these two.”
She had tucked her fan away and was already getting her compact out as her tuxedo-clad hunk moved to obey.
“Now where were we?” she asked Silver, as she brought her cigar back up to her lips.
Bruce watched as Silver took her seat next to him in the private box. He knew not to trust this so called Dr. Morpheus, and had been worried that the mysterious and glamorous Southerner may try something untoward. He had no doubts that the woman he knew as the Silver Shadow could take care of herself, but something about tonight just didn’t seem right.
He had been watching the supposed Dr. and his female companions using Silver’s opera glasses. As luck would have it, they were in the box directly across the theatre from his own. This offered a completely unobstructed view of Morpheus and the Duchess. Truth be told it had mainly been the Duchess he had been looking at. She was a gorgeous woman and he found himself wanting to protect her. He wondered if the diabolical doctor had her in his spell.
“Is everything alright Silver?” he asked his lovely companion as she sat.
“Everything is fine,” she replied coolly.
“Where is Stephanie?”
“She had to pee; she should be along shortly.”
“Miss Davenport didn’t try anything funny did she?”
“Funny? No, Mistress Delilah was a perfect lady.”
Bruce was alarmed; Silver was acting quite strange. “Did you say Mistress?”
“Sshh! I’m trying to listen!” scolded Bruce’s date crossly.
He was about to respond when a young lady poked her head between the curtains of their box. “Excuse me,” she whispered.
The three occupants all turned, just in time to be blasted in the face by a gas gun. The young brunette ‘Pillow Pet’ watched as the wealthy victims collapsed unconscious in their velvet chairs. Each got one more face-full of sleeping gas just to be sure. She then set about relieving them of their valuables. The rest of the theatre guests had already begun to succumb to the affects of Sandman’s dastardly Dream Machine, and more of his pets and goons were moving through the crowd collecting his ill-gotten treasure.
The second act had already begun when Natasha Nemerov returned to her seat. Sandman’s White Wolf had stayed behind to make sure that the Dream Lady had no problems. He smiled when she leaned close to his ear and said simply “She’s yours.” Silver St. Cloud would be an unexpected benefit of this evening’s activities.
“We have an audience Sandman,” the Duchess informed him, “Mr. Wayne has been spying on us with opera glasses since we sat down. Do you think he’s suspicious?”
“Mr. Wayne’s suspicion is irrelevant, as he will soon be fast asleep, along with everyone else,” declared the Sandman. “Ladies if you would be so kind as to cover your faces, the real show is about to begin.”
Lady Winter and the twins all produced their silk hankies and held them over their faces. The Duchess, however, turned to Sandman. “I’m afraid my handkerchief got a little soiled in the limo darling, could I use yours?”
Sandman gallantly pulled the white silk cloth from the front pocket of his tuxedo jacket and handed it to her. No sooner had she pressed it daintily to her nose, then the box next to them exploded in a cloud of gas. Simultaneously, the two boxes on the opposite side of the theatre, including Bruce Wayne’s, were similarly assaulted.
Sandman had taken the precaution of having the boxes gassed separately, as it would take several minutes for his Dream gas to rise as high as the balconies. The debonair doctor watched approvingly as his perfidious plan was executed to perfection. Both the entire audience and the performers were unconscious, overcome by the colorless, odorless fumes. His molls and lackeys were moving among the lifeless patrons, emptying their cash and jewelry into large pillowcases. Already the coatroom would have been emptied of all the luxurious furs. He glanced at his watch; everything was moving exactly on schedule. And any second now would come the piece de resistance…
“Hold it right there!” rang a commanding voice from the back of the stage right on cue. “You’re all under arrest!”
“Batwoman!” gasped one of Sandman’s thugs as the heroine strode to the center of the stage.
“And don’t forget Flamebird,” added Batwoman’s shapely young sidekick as she joined her partner. “It looks like the Huntress’ tip was right Batwoman.”
“Indeed, it seems we arrived just in time Flamebird. Let’s clean up this trash.”
“Right Batwoman!” agreed the teen avenger. She vaulted off the stage and landed a clean kick on the nearest goon. Several others rushed the stage and attacked Batwoman. Soon all of the bad guys and gals had joined the fray. Even outnumbered as they were, it was quite apparent that the two heroines were more than a match for their foes. Or so it seemed.
“I think it is time to make our presence known Lady Winter,” declared Sandman from their balcony perch. He rose and moved through the curtain, with his Siberian assistant. The Duchess and her nieces remained in their seats. Sandman was met at the bottom of the steps by one of his sexy ‘Pillow Pets’ who helped him into his trademark sable coat, which contained so many sleepy surprises. The blonde was also given her coat, a thick, luxurious white hooded mink. She pulled a black eye mask out of her pocket and put it on, completing her transformation from security officer Natasha Nemerov to evil villainess the White Wolf. Sandman likewise put his own mask on, so that no one would recognize him as Dr. Morpheus. Just then another of his hench-gals burst through the theatre doors, closely pursued by a young blonde in red spandex – Flamebird, the teen heroine.
Unfortunately for her, she ran head long into the nefarious Sandman. He grabbed the startled youngster around the waist, and lifted the much shorter girl into the air with one strong arm. Flamebird began to squirm and quick her legs, vainly trying to escape his grasp. “Who are you? Let me go right now!” she ordered in her best crime-fighting voice, as she pushed ineffectually against his chest.
“Stop this childish flailing,” he replied like a father reprimanding an unruly child. “I think somebody needs a nap.”
Before she could even react he had his infamous stethoscope in hand; ppffffttt - a quick puff of sleep sand right in her face. The normally boisterous young lass was quickly rendered inactive, asleep, and ready to do the Sandman’s evil bidding. He placed her back on the ground and stepped back to examine his handiwork.
“Are you asleep little birdie?” he asked.
“You may address me as Master,” he told her.
“Much better; now let’s have a look at you. Turn around.”
The thoroughly subjugated super-heroine did as she was told, turning slowly so the Sandman could examine her athletic young body. He lifted her red satin cape to get a look at her tasty teen ass.
“You’re a healthy girl aren’t you,” he admired, giving her bum a light smack. His hands moved up and around her cupping nice, large, firm breasts. “Very healthy indeed.”
He gave a squeeze, which elicited a sigh from the pubescent crime-fighter. “You like that do you?” he queried. “You’ll like this even more.” He pulled her against him so that she could feel his hardness against her firm bottom. “You’ll get that later my little pet, but first we have some business to finish. Come my somnambulant little slave, let’s go see to Batwoman.”
He led her back into the theatre, Lady Winter and his ‘Pillow Pets’ following close behind. As he walked down the center aisle, one hand resting lightly on Flamebird’s shoulder, Batwoman was finishing off the last of his Nod Squad with an acrobatic scissor-kick to the chin. His entire gang was defeated, lying in heaps on or around the stage, where the brunette heroine stood surveying the damage. She was startled by the Sandman clapping and spun towards the sound ready to face a new foe.
“Bravo Batwoman, bravo.”
A tall man with silver hair and wearing a brown sable coat was standing in front of the stage holding onto Flamebird. Three women stood behind them, one in a long hooded fur. All wore masks and were no doubt part of the plot to rob the theatre.
“Let the girl go immediately!” she demanded. “Your little game is over, whoever you are.”
“I am the European super-criminal known as the Sandman, and on the contrary the game is just beginning. Your little friend will be coming with me.”
Batwoman noticed now that her partner was standing meekly by his side and putting up no sign of a struggle. “What have you done to her?”
Batwoman started to walk towards them and Sandman held up a hand. The Wolf immediately produced a pistol and held it to the back of Flamebird’s head.
“Don’t take another step if you value your friend’s life,” Sandman told her. “Your little bird is asleep and will remain so, as long as I wish. You have put on an encore worthy performance Batwoman, but I’m afraid it’s time to close the curtain on this act.”
Snooze was waiting in the rafters above the stage and saw his boss give the signal. He dropped a heavy sandbag over the rail, and watched as it landed with a thud right on Batwoman’s head. A direct hit! The heroic heroine crumpled lifelessly to the stage.
“Very good Snooze,” applauded the Sandman. “Now get down here and help finish robbing these kind folks.”
His criminal cohorts were beginning to stir and he urged them to hurry. “The police will be here soon. I want the vans loaded and all of you gone in five minutes. You two,” he told the girls standing next to him “bring our young friend back to the hideout and put her to bed.”
“Yes Sandman,” they said and led the sleeping girl away.
“What about Batwoman?” asked the Russian.
“We will leave her for now. If all goes according to plan, she will trace her little bird to my hideout and lead all of her heroine friends into my clutches. Now we should be getting back to our seats. We need to be fast asleep like everyone else when the authorities arrive.”
They handed their coats and masks to an assistant and moved back to their balcony box seats, accompanied by another lovely Pillow Pet with a gas gun. Campbell and Camilla had watched the battle in breathless excitement. The Duchess herself had been captivated as well. Crime made her horny, and this was by far the biggest transgression that she had ever been a part of. She was positively wet. However, there was no time for that.
As soon as everyone was comfortably seated Sandman motioned to the pretty, big-titted blonde he called Emerald. Her green eyes, which earned her nickname, blazed with excitement as she leveled the tube of her gun at the women and gave them a good coating of gas. They were knocked out instantly. Sandman was gassed as well, though it would have no effect. It wouldn’t do for his clothes to be to clean when the other box patrons would be smeared with red powder. No sense arousing anyone’s suspicions.
“Well done Emerald,” he told the blonde when she was done. “Now go quickly, I’ll see you back at the hideout.”
She curtsied and hurried away while Sandman surveyed the theatre. His Nod Squad had all vacated the premises and the building was completely silent, including Batwoman still unconscious on the stage. Satisfied, the villain sat back, closed his eyes and waited for the police to arrive.
It was well past midnight when Sandman escorted the Duchess into his Gotham Hills retreat, the mansion that he had begun to think of as the Dream House. Two henchmen followed them in each carrying a cute little fur-clad bundle. It had been an exhausting night and the twins had fallen asleep in the limo. Miss Matilda, the girl’s Governess immediately took charge and had them taken off to bed.
“Would you care to join me in my room for a nightcap?” asked the Duchess, her bedroom eyes perusing his body suggestively.
“I would be delighted Lady Fogg,” agreed the Sandman as he followed her upstairs.
He closed the heavy double-doors to her boudoir behind them and she was quickly in his arms, kissing him passionately. Their tongues explored each other’s mouths for what seemed forever until a light knock on the door interrupted them. The Duchess moved away as the door opened and her maid entered with an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne, and two glasses. She quickly put them on a table and scurried from the room. Sandman took the bottle and admired the vintage. He turned towards the table and popped the cork, before pouring a glass of champagne for each of them.
“This has been a delightful night Duchess,” he enthused. He turned to hand her a glass and then almost dropped them both. The aristocratic sexpot was naked except for her gloves, stockings, and heels. Her expensive dress lay on the floor at her feet.
“The night isn’t over yet,” she purred as she went to him…
While Sandman was busy robbing the fine, opera-going citizens of Gotham City, his future Queen was tending to business of her own. She knew that if their operation was to be a success, some of Gotham’s ample criminal competition would need to be weeded out. She decided to start with the mob since they would prove the most vicious and vindictive.
However it was a large organization and simply removing the head would not kill it. There would always be another underling waiting for his chance to assume control. No, in order to defeat the mob she would have to control the mob. And the easiest way to do that was to control the person who ran it. The current Don, Vincent Santangelo, was a psychopath; he would need to be replaced. And Beauty had just the woman to do it.
She was currently awaiting that woman in a private room in the rear of De Rossi’s, an upscale cigar bar catering to a small but influential segment of Gotham Society – wealthy lesbians. The establishment had long been a respected gentleman’s club until the death of the owner, Milton De Rossi. His daughter Portia had taken over and turned it into a chic meeting place for females with money and an inclination towards other women.
The consequent rise in popularity of both cigars and the Sapphic lifestyle had propelled the elegant club into a preferred rendezvous place for the fashionable lipstick lesbian set. The lovely Portia, renowned for her luxuriously long blonde locks, had enjoyed her prosperity until Beauty had discovered the stately salon with its masculine, men’s club ambience and gorgeously girlish clientele.
The Princess had wasted no time in seducing and subjugating the tawny-haired towhead, claiming the club as a sort of unofficial office. The fair-haired business-gal now stood at the door to announce the arrival of her Mistress’ eagerly awaited guests.
“Ms. Diamond and her associates are here,” she breathlessly reported to Beauty who was ensconced in a mammoth, over-stuffed leather chair swathed in black mink.
The ravishing Royal was lingering languorously on one of Portia’s imported cigars, fresh from the huge De Rossi walk-in humidor. Standing next to her chair was an attractive brunette in a sheer pink baby-doll nightie with a feather bodice. A clear plastic mask was fitted over the young woman’s face, a long tube connecting it to a metallic canister. The girl was giggling sleepily and playing with herself, teasing her erect nipples through the sheer fabric of her lingerie. The Princess was playing with her as well, her leather-gloved fingers occasionally toying with her pretty pussy.
“Show them in,” she told the blonde from behind a haze of aromatic cigar smoke.
Portia stepped aside arm extended and a trio of women stepped cautiously into the room. In the front was a tall, slim brunette in a dark blue suit, her hair slicked back and covered by a jauntily worn fedora hat. Dark, sparkling eyes set in a deceivingly young-looking face scanned the room and Beauty could tell that, despite her nonchalant demeanor, she was poised to strike in an instant. This was obviously the bodyguard, Victoria “Doll-face” Donovan. The lovely lass had a well-deserved reputation as one of the deadliest dames on the planet.
Over her left shoulder Beauty could see a knock-out platinum blonde bombshell in a champagne-colored satin gown. The bored-looking beauty was decked out in a fortune in jewels, a white mink stole thrown carelessly over one shoulder. The movie-star wannabe, born Mary Vale, went by the alias Marilyn Valentine. She certainly didn’t seem to be a threat, but the Princess knew better. The glamour-gal was as dangerous as Doll-face in her own way, and was just as devoted to her Mistress. Many men had been seduced by the treacherous curves of that body, only to be betrayed to her true love.
The third woman walked a step behind the someday screen goddess, but it was evident by the way she carried herself that she was most definitely in charge. She wore a dark, pinstriped suit under a black leather trench-coat, her honey-blonde hair cut into a short, stylish do. The Princess recognized her immediately as the woman that she had chosen to run the Gotham mob – Legs Diamond.
Legs, formerly known as Katherine Diamante, was the former moll of a notorious Chicago gangster. After having grown tired of his mental and physical abuse she had personally whacked her violent beau and become a lesbian. Sensing an opportunity, she had set out to seduce the girlfriends of other prominent mobsters and use the girls to ‘rub them out’ as it were. Her spectacular success was as much a testament to how badly the mobsters in Chi-town treated their women as anything.
But success comes at a price. She was now public enemy number one in Chicago, wanted by the law for her girls’ murderous rampage and dead by the surviving members of the mob. The invitation to come to Gotham City had come at an opportune time. But still the deadly femme was wary; her enemies could be planning to use this young girl who called herself a princess to kill her. It would certainly be very ironic and the mob, stupid as they often were, had a knack for irony.
“Please make yourself comfortable Ms. Diamond,” the teen-queen said, indicating the chair across from her.
The young Royal could sense the mob-gal’s discomfort. She had a reputation for being tough and merciless, but there was a soft side to the woman as well Beauty knew. Even her style of dress was outwardly masculine, but in fact the former moll had a love for sexy lingerie and glamorous furs. No doubt she was wearing some particularly enticing undergarments beneath her well-tailored but hardly revealing suit. The Princess could hardly wait to see those under-things; if things went as planned she soon would.
In addition to beautiful women and beautiful undies the femme had a third vice; a fondness for expensive cigars. Beauty had hand-picked several from the De Rossi humidor. The devious dame had also ‘enhanced’ the flavor of the premium stogies by adding a little extra something to each of them. She was sure that after enjoying one of the cigars that Legs Diamond would be very amenable to her overtures. By the end of the night the Princess would be making her an offer that she would be quite literally unable to refuse.
“Please sit,” the Princess insisted to the hesitant crime-boss. “I assure you that you are in no danger.”
Legs nodded and took the offered chair, her two comely cohorts taking up positions on either side. Her gaze lingered over the enticing vision of Madison Sinclair squirming next to the Princess’ chair, obviously high on the laughing gas that she was inhaling.
“Cigar?” the young femme suggested as Portia came over with a small wooden humidor. “They are from my private stock.”
The blonde mobster eyed the box cautiously before selecting a long brown cigar. She held it in her hand, clad in black leather driving gloves, and examined it closely, rolling it slowly in her fingers. She then ran it lengthwise under nose, savoring the exquisite aroma of fine tobacco. Finally she brought it to her lips and allowed the lovely owner of the establishment to provide a lit match.
“Now then let’s begin,” the minked minx announced. “I suppose that introductions are in order. I am Princess Beauty, and I have brought you here to offer you a job not to kill you.”
“Forgive my caution Princess,” the pinstripe suited femme said after taking a few exploratory puffs on the cigar. “But I have many enemies; one can’t be too careful.”
“I agree Ms. Diamond,” Beauty told her. “This is why I have chosen you to run the Gotham mob.”
She was watching closely as the woman smoked her cigar. Luckily her two assistants were close enough to inhale plenty of the smoke. None of them appeared to suspect that it had been laced with a powerful yet odorless anesthetic that would slowly but surely put them into a very sleepy and submissive state of mind.
“That is an interesting proposal,” the blonde noted. She didn’t sound at all surprised by the outlandish offer. A teenage girl offering to make her the head of the most powerful mob in the country? “Assuming I were to accept, how exactly would you be able to accomplish that? Vincent Santangelo is a ruthless and dangerous individual.”
The two gals behind her exchanged smirks; they clearly thought that the self-important young woman who thought herself a ‘Princess’ was having delusions of grandeur. Their boss thought so as well, but was careful to hide it.
“I am aware that you garnered your power by using your enemies’ lovers against them,” the criminal courtesan began. “And I can do one better. Portia, would you get Angel please?”
The blonde nodded and hurried from the room. She returned in short order accompanied by an even younger blonde. The glamorous youngster was decked out in sparkling silver sequined dress, an intricately beaded shawl of gossamer silk covered her bare shoulders and looped under her arms.
“You wished to see me your Highness?” she asked politely while dipping down in an elaborate curtsy.
“Yes, there is someone that I want you to meet. Legs Diamond may I present Gina ‘Angel’ Santangelo, revered only daughter of Gotham City’s most notorious crime-boss.”
“This is Vincent Santangelo’s daughter?” the Chicago mob-gal asked incredulously.
“I am,” replied the little vixen.
“And am I to believe that your presence here indicates that you are willing to betray your father.”
“You may call it betrayal if you wish, but I owe my loyalty to the Princess and none other.”
“That is impressive,” she remarked and took a thoughtful drag on her cigar. “But why should I offer my allegiance as well? What is in this for me Princess?”
Beauty took a pull on her own cigar and exhaled grandly towards the ceiling. She was getting tired of this little game; it was time to show the blonde bitch who was truly the boss.
“You will give me your allegiance because I wish it,” she stated. “You will give me your absolute obedience as well. Serving me well will be your reward.”
“Well then, this meeting is over,” the mobster declared starting to rise. She barely made it to her feet before she collapsed back into the chair, her head beginning to spin.
Doll-face saw her boss falter and moved forward to help her, but the soporific cigar smoke had lulled her as well. She hadn’t noticed Angel move silently behind her and the silver-sheathed blonde threw her diaphanous shawl over the bodyguard’s head. The sheer fabric had been coated in a fine shimmering powder and the athletic brunette quickly found herself becoming unbearably sleepy. Her lithesome attacker wrapped her arms around her and wrestled her to the floor. It wasn’t long before her sluggish attempts to struggle ceased altogether.
Marilyn Valentine, the aspiring actress, was a little late at recognizing the danger she was in. It wasn’t until Angel had tackled her comrade to the floor that she reacted. Instead of moving to help her fallen friend, the glamour-puss’ first thoughts were of her own survival. Moving drunkenly, her limbs feeling like spaghetti, she tried to get to the door. Portia however blocked her way.
She grabbed the woman by the arms just as Madison reached her from behind. The simpering smile was gone from the make-up heiress’ face, replaced by a look of quiet determination. She had removed her mask and now placed it over the struggling blonde’s face. The overwhelmingly sweet fragrance of summer strawberries assaulted her senses as Lady Blush opened the valve on the canister.
“That’s right baby breathe deep,” the sly socialite encouraged. She had put on quite an act, the visitors completely disregarding her as a threat. Now Beauty’s new favorite would make Miss Valentine pay for the oversight.
“There you go, nice and deep,” she continued as she and Portia dragged the slutty blonde to the floor. “It’s time for a nice, long nap.”
“It’s time for a nap for you as well,” the Princess told Legs Diamond as she rose from her chair. The commanding blonde had dropped her cigar and was trying to pull something from the inside pocket of her leather trench.
“Naughty, naughty,” the teen temptress chided as she casually took the woman’s small handgun from her.
“You’ve been a bad wittle girl,” she baby-talked to one of the most powerful criminals in the country. “Now you’re going to get a time-out.”
Beauty brought her cigar up to her burgundy lips and inhaled languorously, taking the time to enjoy the familiarly exotic flavor of sleepy-smoke.
“Night-night Legs,” she teased and blew a thick cloud of the silky-soft smoke into the mobster’s face. She couldn’t believe that the famously paranoid crime-queen had walked so easily into her trap. Now she was paying for underestimating Princess Beauty.
The black-clad brunette surveyed the room. Legs Diamond was nearly asleep in her chair, a dreamy smile on her face. Her bodyguard and friend, Victoria Donovan, lay face-down on the floor; her motionless body was covered by Angel’s sleep-shawl. Marilyn Valentine, moll and lover, was similarly incapacitated. She was sprawled on her back as Maddie straddled her, the mask clamped tightly over her mouth and nose.
“She’s in Dreamland,” the girl informed her Mistress with a smile. “It was so easy!”
“Yes,” Beauty agreed indulgently. “But our work tonight isn’t done yet. We’re taking these sleeping beauties to Studio 69 for a little ‘reeducating’.”
Cassandra Circe, the fabulous Diva, was lounging on the sofa in her office upstairs at Studio 69.
“Please see what you can do to convince your aunt,” she was saying to the short but sexy redhead in the leopard-print dress. “It would be best for everyone.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the twenty year-old Katarina Kyle replied. “But she’s a little hesitant about making deals with other criminals. She’s been burned in the past after all.”
“Which is why you must make her realize how important this is. Sandman betrayed her once before and now that he is back in town who knows what he is capable of. An alliance between Catwoman and the Siren represents the best hope of survival for both of them. Which means that it’s our best chance as well Pussycat.”
“Believe me Diva, you’re preaching to the choir,” the cute little kitty agreed. “But as I said, Catwoman hasn’t been in a trusting mood. I will see if she will accept a meeting with your boss.”
“That’s all I can ask Pussycat. Now enough business, shall we hit the club?”
“Excuse me Mistress, I hate to interrupt,” Opera said as she came into the room.
“Then don’t,” the Diva suggested as she moved towards the door with her hot sex kitten visitor.
“I’m sorry, but it’s the Princess,” the doormen just informed us that she’s on her way up. “Angel is with her.”
“Is everything ok Cassandra?” Katarina inquired.
“Everything is fine Pussycat, I just wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight.”
“Not even your Mistress?” Beauty asked as she swept into the room. She was still draped in her black mink coat and was holding a lit cigar, her favored prop for the evening.
“Princess, what a wonderful surprise! I was just explaining to my friend that I wouldn’t be able to go dancing with her after all.”
“And who is your friend?” the Princess asked as she examined Catwoman’s niece and number one moll.
“I’m Pussycat,” the girl purred. “What a wonderful smelling cigar you have.”
“You like cigars?” Beauty asked. She liked the looks of the bob-haired sexpot with the cute, little kitten’s nose.
“I absolutely adore them,” Pussycat replied flirtatiously.
“Pussycat… that’s an interesting name,” the teen temptress said, changing the subject.
“Just a club name,” the redhead told her nonchalantly. “Is Princess a club name as well?”
“Not quite sweetie,” Beauty laughed. “But why don’t you stick around and you can get to know all about me.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible milady,” the Diva cut in. If Beauty found out that she was working for the Siren and plotting with Catwoman, she would be in big, BIG trouble. “Pussycat was just leaving.”
“Yes, I really must go,” the redhead agreed taking the hint. “It was an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
“Before you go, how about another whiff of my cigar?” Beauty suggested.
She held it up in the kitten’s face and it began to billow out a blue-grey gas. Pussycat slumped to the floor with a sigh.
“Were you planning on keeping that hot little pussy all for yourself Cassandra?” she asked as she examined her fallen prey. “I know how hot these young club girls get you.”
“I was hoping to spend some time alone with her Princess but she is yours if you want her.”
“Perhaps later,” the young Royal decided. “Right now I have other matters to attend to.”
“Is there anything I can help you with milady?”
“As a matter of fact you can,” she told her. “I have a few women with me who could use a gaze at your dazzling Disco ball…”
Meanwhile, as her niece was being gassed by the Princess at Studio 69, an unsuspecting Catwoman was attending a meeting of her own. The rendezvous was taking place at the Imperial Palace Massage Parlor deep in the heart of Chinatown and with none other than Madame Chang herself. The middle-aged woman looked more like a kindly grandmother than the head of the Asian crime syndicate in Gotham, but that’s just what she was.
“Are you comfortable Catwoman?” the older woman asked solicitously from her comfortable chair. “Would you like some tea?”
“I am purrrfectly comfortable Madame Chang,” the feline felon replied graciously. “And I would prefurrr to get right to business. Ming told me that you had a proposition to make.”
“Ah yes Ming; a lovely girl. She would have been an asset to my organization but alas, she had always dreamed of being one of your… What is it that you call your girls?”
“Sex Kittens,” the cat-suited criminal supplied as she eyed the young Chinese girl in the leopard print cheongsam that had led her here. She too was impressed by the almond-eyed Asian, but she didn’t fully trust her yet.
“Sex Kittens,” Madame Chang smiled. “A delightfully descriptive appellation. But I can see that you are impatient to discuss the matter as hand. Very well; I have a problem that I believe you would be uniquely qualified to deal with. Or two problems to be more precise. ”
“And what would those problems be?”
“Rebecca Chan and Rose Lee.”
“The city councilwoman from the Chinatown district?” the curvaceous cat-burglar asked sitting forward in her chair. “And the investigative reporter for the Gotham chronicle?”
“Exactly. They have been very vocal lately about the crime problems in our section of the city; gambling, drugs, prostitution. The Gotham police have been notoriously lax in their duties concerning my neighborhoods, a situation I have taken great pains to devise. Now they have teamed up to brings these issues to the forefront of both City Hall and public opinion. My superiors in Hong Kong are, needless to say, unhappy about the current situation. They would like these voices of protest to be… quieted.”
That was interesting; Catwoman was under the impression that Madame Chang was the head of the organization. To hear that she had higher-ups back home was certainly food for thought.
“Why not do it yourself?” she questioned. “You certainly have the resources.”
“True, but these women present something of a public relations issue for me. They are becoming very popular with the common folk. If anything happened to them and it became known that I had anything to do with it… Let’s just say that my image as a benevolent figure would be tarnished.
Catwoman nearly laughed out loud, but managed to keep a straight face. She had heard the crime-boss referred to in many ways, but ‘benevolent’ had never been one of them.
“So, you want them killed?”
Murder was not something she liked to be involved in, but denying a woman as powerful as Madame Chang would have to be handled delicately. She was relieved to see the woman shake her head.
“I don’t think that we will have to resort to that,” she said. “Perhaps if they were to be… humiliated. Yes I think that would suffice.”
“Humiliation?” the feline femme purred. That was a much more appealing assignment. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“I will leave the details to you Catwoman. I have no doubts that you will come up with something suitably… embarrassing.”
The curvaceous criminal leaned back in her chair, looking like the cat that had just gotten the cream. She purred contentedly and rubbed her paws together.
“What about the new masked meddler I’ve been hearing about?” she asked. “The papers are calling her a modern day Robin Hood, stealing from the criminally rich and giving to the poor. To be honest I thought that she might have something to do with why you summoned me.”
Madame Chang’s expression turned dark for the first time, a telling indication of what the normally inscrutable Asian thought of the subject.
“The locals call her ‘She who walks in the light of the moon unseen’. The less wordy ones refer to her as the Phantom. Either way she is a minor irritation and nothing more.”
The Chinese woman’s face told Catwoman a different story but she decided to let the matter drop.
“Then the only thing left to discuss is my fee. I will need two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to do as you ask.”
“Money will not be an object,” the Asian told her rising. “Now if you excuse me, I have other business that requires my attention. You will be free to come and go anywhere in Chinatown while you are working on this operation. I’m sure Ming will be quite helpful in showing you around.”
“I’m sure she will,” Catwoman agreed as she also came to her feet. “It is a pleasure to be working for you Madame Chang.”
“I expect that the pleasure will be all mine Catwoman,” the crime-boss replied with a cryptic smile. “Good hunting.”
The feline felon’s car was right where she had left it outside the pleasure palace. Despite the shadiness of the neighborhood the custom-designed Jaguar XJ-12 with luxurious leopard-skin interior had not been molested in any way.
Several of Chang’s goons watched as the sexy cat-burglar strolled over to the car, shapely hips swaying and streetlights reflecting of the shiny black latex of her cat-suit. Ming got in the passenger seat and crossed her fishnet-stockinged legs an action that Catwoman was acutely aware of. She didn’t trust the girl yet, but she made her horny as hell.
“What do you think of my assignment kitten?” she asked the girl. “Will it be difficult?”
“I would not think so,” the young Asian responded seriously. “They are both public figures and should be easy to find. Also they both crave publicity; it should be easy to lure them into some type of trap.”
“Yes my thoughts exactly,” Catwoman agreed impressed with the girls reasoning. “We will discuss this further back at the lair.”
The black Jag roared away into the night, a black-cloaked from watching from the alley as it sped passed. She waited until it disappeared from view and then slipped away into the darkness like a ghost; a lonely Phantom vanishing into the night.
Pussycat yawned as she entered the elevator that would bring her down to Catwoman’s secret, subterranean lair. It was near dawn and the young sex kitten was just returning from a night of dancing and debauchery. She didn’t even remember being gassed by the Princess, just coming to and finding herself in a large birdcage suspended over the dance floor.
A pair of the Diva’s studs was in the gilded cage as well, dressed in nothing but tight silver hot-pants and matching boots. The redhead could see their Mistress lounging below along with the mysterious cigar smoking girl in the black mink. The Diva was smoking one as well, as were the other three women in their group. One was a platinum blonde in a champagne-colored evening gown, one a brunette in a men’s style suit and fedora hat, and the last a short-haired blonde in a leather trench-coat and driving gloves.
For some reason the sight of them all smoking cigars had really turned her on and she proceeded to peel off the shiny short-shorts of her companions. Hercules and Adonis were both hung like Greek Gods and Pussycat wasted no time putting their assets to good use. The trio had put on quite a show, the studs causing the kitten to purr and growl with pleasure, but for some reason the feline femme fatale was still unsatisfied. It was like she had an itch that she just couldn’t scratch. She just hoped that some of the kittens were still awake.
Unfortunately that was not the case she saw as she entered the main room of the lair. The huge round bed was piled with sleeping sex kittens, their limbs entwined in erotic embraces. Walking closer Pussycat saw that there were four of her aunts hench-gals tangled in the tiger-print satin sheets. Passion was there, as was Vixen - Catwoman’s favorite. The two new girls were there as well – Cocoa the creamy-skinned black girl and Ming Meow the alluring Asian that she had a growing crush on.
Katarina Kyle sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand through the Chinese girl black, silky hair. She was considering rousing her and learning some of the ancient Oriental sex secrets that she had bragged about when her thoughts were rudely interrupted.
“Hello Pussycat, where have you been?”
The redhead looked up to see her infamous aunt enter the room. She was dressed for bed in a leopard-print satin robe.
“I was at Studio 69 for that meeting with the Diva remember?”
“Still you should have been back hours ago. I’ve been waiting up to hear what she had to say.”
“I’m sorry Selina, I stayed behind to do some… dancing.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that here,” the feline felon hissed. “And I didn’t bring you to Gotham to go dancing. You are supposed to be my second in command Katarina so you better start acting like it.”
“I’m sorry Catwoman,” the girl said attempting to appear contrite.
“Well, just remember that. Now what did that silver-skirted, pop-star wannabe want?”
“Not much really,” Pussycat shrugged. “She just wants to arrange a meeting between you and the Siren. They’re worried about Morpheus and want to make sure that you are on their side.”
“Catwoman is on nobody’s side but her own!” the statuesque, auburn-haired beauty declared vehemently. “And be assured, that will be the winning side.”
“But aren’t you afraid that he’ll come after you for betraying him when you were partners?” the young redhead asked foolishly.
“Ssssss! I betrayed no one! That foolish quack turned me into the police, leaving me no choice but to respond in kind. Catwoman is a cat and not a rat!”
“Of course Catwoman,” her niece responded quickly. “I was just worried about you.”
“Not to worry my dear,” the princess of plunder purred. “I have a little surrrprise planned for Sandman.”
“So should I tell the Diva that there will be no meeting?”
“On the contrary, I would love to meet with the Siren. I have plans to sink my claws into her as well. I have need of a new pet and she will make an excellent little caged bird, once I clip her wings so to speak. Now get some sleep, I have other plans that I will need your help with later.”
“Very well, goodnight auntie… err I mean Catwoman,” the girl sighed. She obviously wasn’t going to get her itch scratched tonight.
“Sleep tight Pussycat, you will soon be witnessing the ascension of yours truly to her rightful throne as the Queen of Crime.”
Catwoman smiled contentedly and left the room. Pussycat stretched out on the bed and snuggled up next to Ming who stirred sleepily. The redhead slid her hands between the girl’s legs and the Asian sex kitten’s eyes opened wide. Perhaps she would get to relieve that itch after all.
Silver St. Cloud awoke early the next morning in her plush penthouse apartment in downtown Gotham City. She was somewhat embarrassed to find that she had been humping her silver satin pillow as she slept. Then the dreams of the previous evening came flooding back to her and she grew even more embarrassed.
Her dreams had been very vivid and very erotic. Dr. Morpheus and the Southern belle Delilah Davenport had been featured quite prominently. The pale-blonde socialite rolled off of the pillow and saw that it had a dark wet stain. For some reason the evidence of her nighttime arousal made her think of the elegant blonde from last night and she got even hornier. She suddenly decided that she needed a trip to the salon. She’d get her hair and makeup done, have her legs and pussy waxed… Wait a minute she thought, get my pussy waxed? She had never done that before, had never even considered it. She liked her pale fluffy bush. But now the mere thought of another woman waxing her most intimate place made her wet again.
She picked up her phone and called the salon. It wasn’t her usual place but she had heard the name mentioned somewhere; and besides it was time for a change. After securing a late-morning appointment she climbed out of her large comfortable bed and made her way to the chic, modern bathroom. She opened the chrome and glass door of the shower and stepped into the large marble-tiled bathing area.
The steaming hot water quickly served to wake her up a little and her mind began to function more clearly. She blushed a little when she thought of her nighttime visions, but laughed it off. After all, she thought as she squeezed some lavender body crème into a bath puff, last night had been quite stressful. What with being gassed, the robbery, and then finishing the evening by having a big fight with Bruce, it wasn’t surprising that her dreams had been a little unusual. Besides, she decided as she began to lather herself up, Dr. Morpheus was quite handsome; so gallant and cultured. And Miss Davenport was wonderful. She was beautiful, elegant, and had been so helpful in cleaning up her dress.
For some reason Silver couldn’t quite remember her time with Delilah in the ladies room, but she attributed that to the knockout gas she had ingested. She certainly never would have imagined that the charming femme had hypnotized her and that everything she did today was a result of post-hypnotic suggestion. In fact as soon as she thought of the Sandman’s moll her pussy had begun to tingle.
She moved her soapy hands down between her legs and began to fondle herself. Again the thought came to her that she would look sexy with her pubic hair completely shaven. She was tempted to pull out her razor and do it herself right there but the little voice in her head stopped her. It would be sexier to have it done at the salon by one of the young ladies there. It would be so exciting to have the girl see her snatch and to know how naughty Silver was.
Her clit was hard now and she moved the silky bath puff over it arousing herself even more. Her bath brush, with its stylish long, chrome handle was hanging nearby. She grabbed it and eased the shiny metal into her cunt. She proceeded to fuck herself while running the lavender-scented puff over her enflamed bud with growing fervor. In seconds she had a knee-buckling orgasm, an intense wave of pleasure that washed over her entire body. At the same instant her mind told her that she would always feel this way when she served her Mistress, the Dream Lady.
After rinsing off and drying herself with a plush silver velour towel, the blonde socialite strolled still naked into her dressing room. She opened her lingerie chest and examined its contents. Her tastes ran towards flowing romantic garments for bed and tasteful matching bra and panty sets during the day. She had very little that would be considered overly racy. Today, however, that was exactly what she required - something outrageously revealing and alluring. Something a slut-slave would wear, whispered her subconscious. She quickly decided that a trip to Apparel Obsessia was in order. She had never been to the exclusive fetish-wear shop, but it was apparent to her that she would find what she was looking for there. It wasn’t apparent that Delilah Davenport had planted this idea in her mind as well.
“Oh well,” she told herself aloud, “If you don’t have something sexy, it’s better to wear nothing at all.”
That being decided, she went to her closet and selected her clothes for the day. Something appropriate for an interview with My Mistress she thought. Again, the thought simply flitted unnoticed through her brain. The Sandman’s sleep sand had opened her mind and his lovely lackey had masterfully exploited it. Silver never even thought to question her unprecedented slutiness as she selected a sexy gunmetal gray business suit with an inappropriately short skirt, which she had never before worn in public.
She paired this with a tight silver satin button-down blouse, which complimented her rather large breasts. In her current perpetually aroused state her nipples were constantly hard and they strained against the silky material of the blouse. To complete her outfit Silver selected a pair of strappy open-toed silver sandals with a 5-inch stiletto heel. She had worn these once before at a party and several men had commented on how sexy they were. At the time this had annoyed the rather serious blonde, but now she found herself hoping that Delilah would like them.
She strode out of the bedroom and into the living room somewhat unsteadily as she was unused to such a high heel. She called down to the front desk and requested that her silver Mercedes CL600 coupe be brought around. She went to the closet and was going to put on her simple gray tweed overcoat when she impulsively decided to wear fur instead. She pulled out the luxurious silver fox fur that she only wore on the most special occasions and slipped it on.
The feel of the sensuously soft fur against her bare legs excited the blonde even further. She ran back into the bedroom and went to the closet. She rummaged around on a shelf until she found what she was looking for – a round black hatbox with a neat silver ribbon. She pulled the cover off and removed her most private item in the world, a 6-inch gleaming silver vibrator. She was tempted to get herself off right then but her car would be waiting. So instead she slipped her pocket-rocket into the fur and swept out of the room.
The doorman’s eyes nearly came out of his sockets when she appeared in the lobby looking like a movie star in sunglasses and fur, her heels ringing against the polished marble floor. He barely recognized the usually friendly and conservative Ms. St. Cloud as she breezed by him without looking, leaving a cloud of sensuous perfume in her wake. The valet was likewise amazed when she climbed into the luxury auto and peeled away without so much as a thank you.
As soon as she was on her way Silver reached into the glove compartment and pulled out gray leather driving gloves. She slid them on as she drove cherishing the feel of the tight, buttery soft leather against her skin. It seemed that everything she did heightened her arousal. She allowed her right hand to slip inside her coat and run up her thigh. Soon she was stroking her pussy with leather-clad fingers as she imagined her pending meeting with the Mistress. The sound of a horn jolted her back to reality and she wisely decided that her pleasure would have to wait. Soon enough Minerva and her pretty little helpers would be primping and pampering her at the special Mineral Spa.
Silver realized that for some reason she had been craving a cigarette all morning. She hadn’t smoked for months, and even then had never been more than a social smoker. An idea came to her and she began to search through the pockets of her coat. Sure enough her sterling silver cigarette case was in the inside breast pocket. And there were several of the Misty Slim light 120s that she used to smoke inside.
She pulled one out and placed it between her lips, using the cars cigarette lighter to light it. She exhaled extravagantly and hummed softly to herself. Smoking the secret cigarette was beginning to make her feel naughty again. Luckily she was saved from a potential car accident by her arrival at the fantastic fetish shop, Apparel Obsessia.
Leaving her car parked illegally out front, the silver-blonde socialite strolled confidently into the store that just yesterday she would have been scandalized to enter.
The young woman behind the counter looked up when she heard her customer’s high-heeled sandals clicking on the polished marble floor.
“Welcome to Apparel Obsessia,” the sales-gal greeted Silver smartly. She was a cute brunette with a punky hair-style dressed in a slick black latex dress. “Is there something in particular that I can help you find?”
“I need new underwear,” Silver stated matter-of-factly. “Something apropos for a meeting with my new Mistress; perhaps something crotch-less.”
Yes crotch-less would be good; it would make it easier to finger herself.
“And maybe a vibrator as well,” she decided pulling out her slim 6-incher. “Mine seems a bit… small, don’t you think?”
“Umm, of course ma’am,” the girl agreed brightly. “I’m sure that we can fulfill your needs.”
About an hour later Silver was on her way to the spa. She was wearing the new bra, panties, and sparkling silver stockings that she had purchased and her trunk was full of a variety of other goodies. She moaned softly as the ten-inch, stainless-steel vibrator buried in her cunt thrummed along with seemingly as much power as the Mercedes’ engine.
She was late for her appointment but it had been worth it; the sales girl had proven adept at fulfilling ALL of the socialite’s needs. She idly wondered if the little dear had managed to wriggle her way out of the bondage tape that she had wrapped her up in. Oh well, as long as it got her out of paying.
Pulling up outside the spa, Silver sorrowfully removed the throbbing battery-powered dildo from her pussy. She started to put it in the glove compartment before deciding that it might come in handy and slipping it into the pocket of her silver fox.
They were waiting for her when she arrived and an attractive blonde named Aphrodite led her to a private room where she slipped into a silver satin robe. She was examining herself in the mirror when a glamorous, mature blonde in a sparkling silver house-coat came into the room. She was accompanied by a couple of young hunks in tight, white t-shirts and pants.
“Welcome darling,” she purred in a European accent. “I am Minerva and this is my fabulous spa. I see that you are down for a full treatment, how wonderful. We want to make a good impression on our new boss don’t we? Now just lie back and let my boys work their magic.”
Silver did as she was told and reclined in the leather barber-style chair. Atlas and Apollo immediately went to work preparing her for ‘treatment’. She didn’t understand what the woman meant by a ‘good impression’ but she was feeling to delicious to care; deliciously sleepy in fact. She tried to suppress a yawn but it did no good.
“Yes, why don’t you sleep a little and when you wake up you’ll be ready for your interview with Madam Delilah,” Minerva smiled.
“Mmm sleep,” Silver agreed, closing her eyes.
She didn’t notice as her hostess moved over and picked up the telephone.
“Tell the Dream Lady that Ms. St. Cloud will be a little late,” she told the person on the other end. “But don’t worry darling, it will be worth the wait.”
Silver pulled her car to the curb and got out. She stood in front of the large, three-story townhouse in a very ritzy neighborhood. Taking a deep breathe to steel her fluttering nerves, the freshly-pampered blonde strode purposefully up the stone steps. The door opened just as she was about to knock and a well-dressed, older man stepped out. He hurried past, his head down as if to avoid her gaze.
“Come back real soon Sugar,” a redhead in a sexy, black negligee called after him from the doorway. “And what I can I do for you Honey?” she continued when she saw the fur-coated femme standing there.
“I’m here for my appointment with the Mistress,” Silver told her eagerly. “I’m Silver St. Cloud; I think she’s expecting me.”
“Well then Sugar-pie c’mon in,” the lingeried lass invited in a saccharine-sweet Southern drawl. “I’m Peaches, by the way. I’ll let Miss Scarlet know that you’re here.”
She left Silver sitting in the foyer and slinked out of the room. Moments later a lovely young woman with curly black hair came into the room. She was dressed in a scandalously short red skirt and matching blazer.
“Well now, what have we here?” she purred in the same sultry accent as the first girl.
“I’m Silver St. Cloud,” the socialite/super-heroine announced again. “Mistress Delilah said that I was to come for an interview. She said that she may be able to put me to work.”
“Oh, we’ll put you to work alright,” agreed the brunette with a smile. “I’m Miss Scarlet, Madam Davenport’s personal assistant. I will be conducting your ‘interview’.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Scarlet,” the blonde said cheerfully. “Will we be going to your office?”
“Yes, let’s do that. But I think you would be more comfortable crawling on your hands and knees like a proper slave, don’t you agree?”
“What do you mean on my knees?” Silver demanded, slightly indignant for the first time that day.
A little voice in the back of her mind was trying to tell her that something was wrong. Miss Scarlet silenced that voice with a few simple words.
“ Shenandoah Valley,” she whispered, using the trigger-phrase that the Dream Lady had given her the previous night at the Opera.
It worked like a charm as the sexy socialite dropped instantly to her knees. Her look of budding outrage was replaced by an expression of adoring servitude.
“That’s better slut,” the Dream Lady’s second in command complimented. “Now follow me.”
Silver was led, on hands and knees, through a sitting room. An assortment of beautiful girls in skimpy lingerie sat around the room looking board, except for the lucky few who were being questioned by prospective clients. Several men were talking to those girls, choosing whom to spend their money on. Scarlet stopped and chatted with several of them briefly while her guest waited with head bowed.
Finally the humiliated blonde was led into a small but elegantly appointed office that had used to belong to Cadillac Lil. The Dream Lady had not only stolen the woman’s whores, clients, and even her car, but she had even appropriated her brothel!
The red-suited brunette sat behind a table and snapped her fingers to indicate that Silver should approach.
“Madam Delilah is much to busy to be wasting her time on a slut like you, so I will be conducting this interview,” she informed her haughtily. “Stand up. Now take off that fur, it is much too nice a coat for a whore like you. Maybe when you start earning some money, we’ll let you have it back.”
Silver let the coat fall to the floor and stood silently as Miss Scarlet examined her. The brunette took a red cocktail cigarette from a small box on the table.
“Lose the blouse,” she ordered as she lit the gold-filtered cigarette. “And the skirt.”
Silver did as she was told and was soon standing there in nothing but a silver satin, cup-less push-up bra which revealed her erect pink nipples and matching crotch-less panties that similarly displayed a recently waxed pussy. The shimmering thigh-highs went very well with her silver high-heeled sandals.
The blonde did a slow twirl and Scarlet admired the way her thong wedged between the curves over her nice, tight ass.
“Very nice. Now let’s see if you have anything besides that body to offer us,” her interviewer continued as she looked through a file that was sitting on the desk. “Silver St. Cloud - socialite, benefactor to several charities… blah, blah, blah. Do you do anything with your pathetic life besides attend parties and give away daddy’s money?”
“I… fight crime Miss Scarlet,” Silver responded hesitantly.
“Oh? I suppose you do that by giving generously to the Policeman’s Ball Fund?” the brunette snorted.
“No Miss Scarlet.”
“What then? Do you spend your time watching America’s Most Wanted and phoning in tips?”
“Um, no Miss Scarlet; I do regular patrols and interface with local law-enforcement in an effort to keep the citizens of Gotham safe.”
“You assist the police?” the brunette asked again, looking at the woman as if she was crazy.
“Well not really me, my alter-ego does. You see, I’m the Silver Shadow.”
“I’m the Silver Shadow. I have a costume and a mask and a cape,” she explained. “I’m trained in the martial arts…”
Miss Scarlet’s yell cut her off. “Honey! Honey, get in here!”
An attractive young woman whose hair was the color of her name appeared in the doorway.
“Honey, I need the Madam right now.”
“But she’s exercising with Dreamy and she hates to be interrupted.”
“She won’t mind this time Honey, trust me.”
The honey-blonde shrugged and left the room. She returned a short time later accompanied by the Dream Lady. The glamorous Madam looked adorable in lavender velour, J-Lo style sweat-pants that hung low on her shapely hips and a matching midriff-baring tank-top. Behind her stood her lover and body-guard, the blonde dreamboat known as Dreamy. He was dressed for a work-out as well in a tight-fitting pair of white bike-shorts and a t-shirt that showed off his ripped torso.
“What is it Scarlet?” the Madam asked as entered the room. “I was in the middle of doing my Pilates with Dreamy.”
“I apologize ma’am, but I thought that you would want to hear this right away. Slut, tell the Dream Lady who you are.”
The Southern belle turned to the nearly naked socialite that she had hypnotized the night before. She was pleased that the mind-control drugs had worked as planned.
“What is it you want to tell me Sugar?” she asked.
“I am not just Silver St. Cloud; I am also the heroine known as Silver Shadow.”
It took only a moment for the significance of this announcement to dawn on the Dream Lady.
“My my,” she purred. “Now ain’t that somethin?”
She took one more step closer and brushed the blonde’s cheek with one of her slickly polished nails. The hypnotized heroine instantly collapsed. “Dreamy lets put this one to bed.”
Gotham City has no shortage of beautiful and wealthy women with lots of time and even more money on their hands. Sydney Simpson-Sinclair, widow of Jack Sinclair and step-mother of Madison Sinclair heiress to the Fabulous Face Makeup Empire, was one of these women. At just thirty years old the attractive blonde was already the veteran of three divorces and the recent death of her husband Jack had led to a sizable inheritance.
With money to burn and looks to kill, the darling of the Gotham tabloids had set out on a spending and sex spree that had ruined several more marriages as well as eating into her once vast fortune. Sydney didn’t worry about either. Women would always be jealous of her and men would always want her; it was just how it was. Besides when Jack’s old hag of a mother finally croaked, a clause in his will would kick in leaving his inheritance to his poor widow.
That meant that Sydney would be getting half of the company and Madison would be getting the other half. Of course the crone was having her lawyers dispute her daughter in-laws claim but it didn’t matter. Once Vanessa Sinclair was finally deceased, Sydney knew that she would prevail in court. It might take a while, but for that much money she could wait.
At the moment she had more pressing matters on her mind, such as where the hell was her limo? She was having lunch with Jennifer at Spago and she hated being late. Finally a dark stretch Lincoln pulled up in front of her building. The door opened and she could see that it was not the regular driver that her service usually sent.
“Where’s Philip?” she huffily asked the rather sinister looking hulk who opened the door for her.
“He’s out sick,” the huge, bald black man in the dark suit and sunglasses told her. “I’ll be driving you today.”
“In more ways than one,” the socialite whispered to herself as she climbed into the backseat of the car.
She had noticed the nice, thick thumbs that the driver possessed; evidence that he was nice and thick elsewhere as well. She would definitely consider taking him for a spin after lunch.
Smiling, Sydney settled back into the plush leather seat and helped herself to a glass of Cristal from the limo’s bar, which per usual held an opened and chilled bottle of her favorite beverage. She sipped at the expensive bubbly while imagining the driver’s face when she had him pull over and join her in the back. That would put a smile on his scowling face she thought.
Lost in her daydream, the wealthy blonde didn’t even realize that her eyes were beginning to feel very heavy. In fact until she dropped her champagne glass, spilling the icy liquid on her brown suede skirt, she had no clue that anything untoward may be happening. However, the shock of the cold champagne on her legs roused her out of her lethargy. At least long enough to realize that the torpor spreading through her body was more than just simple drowsiness. Something was quite wrong.
“Driver,” she called, struggling to sit up and lean forward. “Driver, pull over I feel ill.”
The glass partition slid down and the chauffeur regarded his occupant in the rear-view mirror.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, sounding slightly amused.
“I think that I’m having a… heart attack,” she gasped as her listless body sank back into the comfy cushioned seat.
“Don’t worry babe,” the black man told her. “You’re just going to go to sleep for awhile.”
“Sleep? What are you… talking about?”
She was losing the fight with her body and was powerless to stop herself from slumping over sideways. Finally she felt the car pull to the curb and a surge of hope that she might get some help filled her. The door opened and she heard someone climb into the back with her. Unable to lift her head, she saw only a slim, stockinged pair of women’s legs and the expensive Gucci high-heels that they ended in.
“Tsk, tsk” a familiar voice scolded. “Not even noon and you’re drunk already. What are we going to do with you mother?”
“Maddie?” she asked groggily.
“Yes Sydney, it’s your step-daughter,” the girl who was only a few years younger than the blonde confirmed. “And may I say that you aren’t setting a very good example for me.”
“Maddie help me, I think I’ve been… drugged.”
“Oh you have been mother,” the slim but shapely brunette agreed. “But it’s nothing serious, just a little something to help you go beddie-bye while we take you back to the Master’s lair.”
“Master? Madison I don’t understand…”
“Sssh, I can see that you didn’t drink enough champagne.” The heiress reached into her purse and pulled out a clear plastic mask, with a reservoir of liquid over the nose.
“Just breathe deeply Sydney and it will all be over in a moment,” she told her step-mom as she pressed the mask over her mouth and nose.
The first whiff of chloroform sent a wave of panic through the blonde and she reached up to knock the mask away from her face. Lady Blush however had a firm grip and she easily held the mask tightly in place. Her victim quickly became frantic gulping for oxygen, but her ragged gasps only brought more of the soporific fumes into her lungs. The inside of her head was swimming and she looked at her step-daughter through blurry eyes.
Madison looked into her mother’s pleading eyes and waited patiently as they glazed over. Her eyelids fluttered several times as the woman known as Gotham’s premier party-girl struggled for consciousness. Her attractive assailant waited with ruthless patience for the chloroform to deliver the inevitable result. She didn’t have to wait long, as Sydney took one more convulsive breath and went limp.
Lady Blush continued to hold the mask in place until her breathing was deep and even and it was certain that the socialite was in Dreamland. Only then did she place it back in her bag.
“Get some rest,” she encouraged her step-mother as she gently brushed her hair from her eyes. “It’s going to be a long day for you I’m afraid.”