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My heart skipped a beat, recognizing the bed that one of the women reclined on as the one that I’d been tied spread eagled to on my last visit.“This is where I do my writing, Miss Spencer.” Her tone was casual.I nodded. Mrs. Vandermeer wrote erotic fiction. I only knew that because she’d told me, working under a ‘nom de ’plume’ as she liked to say, never even hinting at what it might be. All in good time she’d tell me. It was a phrase she was fond of teasing me with.“It’s very…” nice, I almost said. I paused, searching for a word that might impress her. “Opulent.”She run her fingers though my hair, the tips of her nails raking gently against my scalp, her chuckle sounding pleased.“Yes, it is very opulent, pet. It’s time to learn a rule, one that only pertains to this particular room. It’s very important you remember it. No matter what the circumstance, you must adhere to it. Do you understand me?”“Yes, Mrs. Vandermeer,” I said, shuffling my feet against the thick carpet and shoving. It didn’t change my main mission there. ‘I really don’t care, Catwoman. I’m just here to get Batgirl. I leave this weird shit up to you folks.’ Contrary to what I expected, Catwoman strolled up to me casually, swinging her hips in a hypnotic ballet of her sexuality. She flashed a disarming smile and produced her bullwhip from its side holster. ‘You have no idea what’s happened to her. She was the first test subject. She’s no longer human…she’s a plant, infected by Ivy to do her bidding. Face it, lover boy, she’s gone.’ I thought back to the new, dirty green costume she wore, the creepy look she had that didn’t seem to come from prosthetics or make-up. If Catwoman was right, I was too late. Of course, being the macho male that I am, I refused to accept that. She said it to hurt me, or bring me back to the crisis at hand. I sniffed. ‘How much for a blow job from Catwoman?’ She smiled, almost warmly, sliding the whip around my shoulders and pulling herself to me. ‘That one was free. A.
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