Eggplant update

Buttermilk Skye made a living as a stripper, which was a good profession for her, as she had a body anyone would pay to see. She was petite at five foot four, her legs slender, her waist pinched, her ass girlishly small and tight. But her breasts were fulsome—two firm, well-sized melons that jiggled provocatively with her every step.

Men had to look down to see her. First, they saw her blonde hair and the angelic face that lightened her golden hair further with a constant smile. Then they looked down further and saw her breasts, seemingly out of place on her tiny body—capped by big, wine-colored nipples that pushed stiffly through whatever clothes she wore, through the D-cup bra her breasts barely fit into.

And those men, who towered over her, grew nervous as their cocks swelled painfully in their pants. They couldn’t control themselves and that gave Buttermilk control. That gave her power. Or at least, it gave her money.

The sound system played hard rock music and Buttermilk danced. Or at least, she shook her body, showing off her huge breasts and shapely little ass. She didn’t know if she’d call herself a dancer. It seemed like all she had to do was move to a kind of beat, take her clothes off, and the audience loved it.

She wondered which one would be the first to take her to the champagne room for a private dance. As she strutted her stuff, she looked through the din of wild applause and flushed, leering faces. There were two women there, an Asian and a blonde, which was unusual for the joint. She knew this wasn’t the kind of high-class place where a typical woman would slum it and play at being one of the guys, so she figured they had come here to see her. She was flattered. In her experience, boys just liked her tits and ass, but women went in for a pretty face.

Toward the back of the room, sitting alone in a booth, she saw a man who wasn’t leering. He was appreciative but cool, calm. He looked to be about forty, muscular and tanned, and nicely dressed. Even from the stage she could see the cufflinks gleaming on his wrists. He sipped a martini and followed her thrashing body with unreadable eyes. Something about the inscrutability of that look turned her on wildly. She noticed that in his other hand, he held a hundred dollar bill, shooting up between his first two fingers.

“Shake it, bitch!”

“Take it off!”

“Show us your tits!”

Buttermilk resented the loud intrusions into her rhythm, but that was what she was paid for—to take this abuse in person instead of on the other side of a computer monitor. She grinned to the roaring drunks in the audience and leaned far forward, briefly showing her nipples down the top of her bra. She straightened up again as they bellowed like a fucked up chorus, continuing on with her dance. It did excite her to know that every man in the room wanted her. She could fuck any one of them whenever she wanted.

But she didn’t want just any man. She wanted the cool customer with the saltpeter hair in back. He was patently better than all those drooling creeps making up the crowd.

When the song was over, she went behind the bar and took a stiff drink from Terry the bartender. Usually she didn’t drink on the job, but tonight she wanted more of a haze than usual.

Terry winked at her. “That was some performance, babe. I think you still got everyone in here looking at you.”

“Thanks,” Buttermilk said. “Listen, who’s the guy in the back, the one flashing the cash?”

“Dunno, but he was asking about you too. Course, that’s your business.”

“Yeah,” she said, “it is.”

Buttermilk went back on stage and danced a little more, till she was sure the crowd was as satisfied as it would ever get. She knew some wouldn’t be satisfied until she was making love to a donkey, but she felt like she was dancing only for the stranger. He never took his eyes off her, but he never became a baying hound like the others either. So she approached him. The hundred dollar bill was still waiting for her. She snatched it up and put it in her G-string herself.

“Come upstairs,” she said. “See if you can find me.”

She went up, slowly enough that a paraplegic could follow her, and went into a room with nothing in it but a king-sized bed. Buttermilk had barely reclined on it when the stranger came in. She felt a sudden heat, a sudden wetness, in the crotch of her panties. She didn’t know why, but this guy turned her on a lot more than he should. Maybe she was just finally getting used to doing what she had to do to survive on the mean streets of Gotham.

The stranger closed the door and secured the lock. “I’m not interested in anything… very conventional. I’d like to try something a little new with you.”

“Whatever you like, sugar,” Buttermilk replied. “It’s your dollar.”

“Alright then.” He approached her slowly, carefully, like she was a skittish deer. “You’re really pretty.”

“Thanks,” Buttermilk said. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“So pretty.” He ran his hands through her hair, down the planes of her face. “Your hair’s real.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“So pretty,” he said again, and his hands locked around her throat.

“Hey, easy there, sugar. Not so tight.”

As if simply to contradict her, his grip tightened. “Such a shame,” he said, squeezing the breath she’d taken back out of her body.

Buttermilk had never felt this before—like she should be gasping for air, but she couldn’t, not with his hands stopping her. She reached for his hands, to pry them from her throat, but he squeezed even harder, as if warning her not to try and stop him. She didn’t know what to do; she couldn’t stop herself. She put her hands on his wrists, but didn’t know what to do with them there. Her vision blurred at the edges. She saw his face in the center of her eyes. Now he was leering at her.

The door crashed open. Buttermilk was aware of movement, but nothing beyond that—it was so fast, so… alien. Like a human body, but one that had never been trained to move the way that everyone else did.

She didn’t see exactly what it did to the stranger, but all of a sudden she could breathe again. By the time she’d gulped in enough air to notice anything else, she saw that the stranger was down on the ground, as unconscious as she’d ever seen anyone. He didn’t look like he was sleeping. He looked like his skin was stretched over a man-shaped lump of lead.

“I told you we weren’t ‘intruding on their privacy’,” someone crowed and when Buttermilk swung her eyes around, she saw it was one of those superheroes Gotham had, the purple one. “We were interrupting kinky murder time. C’mon, Batgirl, learn your strip clubs.”

The other one—all in black—was on top of the stranger’s fallen body. With the way she appeared, it looked like she was deciding how to skin him, but Buttermilk knew these Batman types didn’t kill. The purple one tossed her a pair of handcuffs and the one in black put them on the stranger.

“Buttermilk Skye?” the one in purple, Spoiler, continued. “You’ve gotta come with us. Your life’s in danger. Obviously.”

***

They took her to a safe house in one of Wayne Enterprises’ urban renewal housing projects. Steph thought it was kind of brilliant, in a sick sort of way. Bruce set up these nice, lower-middle-class apartment complexes where everything was clean and the police actually showed up, so when he needed to keep people safe, it was like airlifting them out of Gotham and dropping them onto an island. She didn’t think that was the point of them, but Bruce totally thought of both helping people out and of creating a badass safe house at the same time.

Cass could sense that Steph was simmering, a little irritated. It wasn’t anything major, just that guarding Buttermilk in the boring, functional safe house that was specifically designed to be overlooked and unmemorable—well, it wasn’t what had drawn Steph to a life of adventure. Besides which, being with a civilian all night meant she’d be stuck in her costume all that time, unless she wanted to start letting random people know her secret identity.

“Why don’t you… get some rest?” she asked Steph.

“I’m good,” Steph said, though at Cass’s prompting, she let out a yawn.

“I’m… serious. Lock the door… take off your mask… I’ll watch her…”

“I don’t wanna make you do all the work.”

“I don’t need… your help… with a stripper.”

Steph yawned again, like somehow it was contagious to herself. “Okay, but I’m only tired because you’ve been railing me, like, all day.”

“I’d be… railing you now… if there wasn’t work to do.”

Steph giggled and went off. Cass went into the other room, where Buttermilk was slowly collecting herself. Cass could see the tension dissipating from her body, but it was taking a while. She knew it didn’t help that she had such a fearsome appearance, so she took her mask off. It wasn’t like she had any friends to put into danger besides those with their own secret identities.

“Oh,” Buttermilk said mildly when she saw her. “You were in the crowd. Sorry, I… you weren’t very memorable… that’s what you were going for, right? I guess you were watching out for me. I’m babbling. We just don’t get that many women, that’s all.”

“I don’t see… why not… you’re… very good…”

Buttermilk shrugged. “Thanks, I guess. You ever think about keeping a few magazines around here?”

“They would get… out of date.”

“I’d settle for a National Geographic. It’s not like the planet changes all that much… thanks for saving me,” she suddenly remembered to say.

Cass popped her shoulders up and down. “It was… nothing.”

“Wish I could thank you. But that costume of yours is probably worth more than anything I own anyway.”

“I wouldn’t know… your finances.” Cass cocked her head at Buttermilk. “The way you danced… when you were on stage… it was… different.”

“Yeah. I’m betting you don’t show up at a joint like that unless there’s about to be a murder. And even we don’t get one too often.”

“I would like… to learn how to do it… for my girlfriend…”

“Oh, that blonde you were with? No, you probably just work with her. I mean, you were sitting pretty close together for two people at a strip club. No, don’t tell me, I don’t mean to pry.”

“You talk… a lot…”

“Sorry.”

Cass smiled. “I like it… it reminds me… of her…”

“Okay, it feels really rude of me to be talking personal lives with someone who’s all… Lone Ranger. Let’s just get to the dancing. You have a radio around here?”

“Why would… we need that?” Cass asked innocently.

***

“How long was I asleep?” Steph groaned the moment she woke up. She felt way too well-rested to have just taken the short catnap she’d been intending to take.

Cass, as usual, kept her silence, but when Steph looked at her, she saw that she had changed into a white blouse and navy-blue skirt, the pleats caressing her toned thighs, flattering her long legs, while the blouse showed off the swell of her breasts through the tightly buttoned fabric.

“Batman came. Took Buttermilk. She’s safe now. All taken care of,” Cass said, her words carefully rehearsed.

Steph nodded. “Okay…” She pulled back the sheets. “You wanna get some sleep too?”

“But you’ve… already slept.”

“Cass, I’m always down to go back to bed.”

Cass considered it—especially when Steph rubbed together her bare thighs underneath her boxers—but finally, she shook her head. “I don’t want to sleep… I want to… dance.”

Steph sat up. “You wanna dance, huh?”

Cass played with the top button on her blouse until it opened up, showing the lithe bronze curve of her breasts inside a red bra. Then she nervously—or pretend nervously—played with the next button.

“I want to dance… for you…”

She got the button unfastened. Steph could now see all of her bra and the pert little breasts it held inside her open shirt.

“Alright,” Steph moaned. “You can dance if you want to. You can leave your friends behind,” she added by reflex.

Cass looked at her oddly, but said nothing about the non sequitur.

“I don’t need clothes… to dance,” she said.

“No, you don’t!” Steph agreed, nodding hurriedly. “You so don’t, babe.”

Cass turned away from her, undoing the rest of the buttons on her blouse. Her ass wiggled, weaving from side to side. The effect wasn’t lost on Steph. She kept her eyes on how Cass’s skirt flew about, giving Steph a wink at her pert ass with every little twitch and bounce that Cass made.

Cass kept her back to Steph. “Take off your boxers.”

Steph had been sleeping in the upper part of her costume, but no mask or gloves. She tugged her boxers down her bare legs and kicked them off, ending up sitting on the side of the bed, watching Cass with her breathing heated.

Slowly, methodically, Cass stripped. She kept her back to Steph, holding either side of her open blouse in her hands. She moved them to her left and to her right, flashing the empty air in front of her, allowing Steph to see the silhouette of her figure through the thin fabric. She looked over her shoulder at Steph, her legs open, her snatch twitching. Cass wiggled one shoulder, then the other to slide them out of her blouse.

With agonizing slowness, she let her blouse fall down her body. Pulled her hands up the bare skin of her back, her sides, her chest, until they were between her tits, at the catch of her bra. She turned her head to the other side, looked at Steph over her other shoulder, and licked her lips suggestively.

The muscles in Steph’s thighs corded as she squeezed them together, putting pressure on her burning cunt.

Cass opened the clasp holding her bra together and turned around, stretching her hands out to Steph in a beckoning appeal. With her arms together, her open bra was held in place over her breasts. When she lowered them, her bra fell away to show her breasts, pert little mounds that bounced and jiggled with her every motion. Her aroused nipples slashed the air as she spun around, putting her smooth back in front of Steph again.

She unzipped her skirt, letting it fall away to expose her long, tapering legs, her panties a slender strip of fabric between her buttocks, barely even trying to hide her asshole. Steph couldn’t take anymore. She reached down to rub the heel of her hand at her slit, moaning as her feelings of lust ran rampant through her trembling body.

“Fuck, Cass,” she moaned, her voice acquiescing, telling Cass she would do anything Cass wanted if only she could touch her.

Wearing only the skimpiest of her panties, Cass wasn’t going to let Steph off so easily. She wanted Steph to know the feeling she got, her cock trapped in her costume, wanting to fuck that delicious body Steph paraded around so cavalierly, but having to wait, wait, wait.

With a slow, sensuous wiggle, Cass took her panties off. They slid down her supple buttocks, which she shook a little before she kept pulling them down her legs. Once they were off, she tossed them at Steph.

“Come be mine,” she said.

Steph got up, looking at Cass from her pert breasts to the huge cock popping up from her groin, and loved all of her. It struck her not just how much she wanted Cass, but how much she needed her.

“Do you think…” She came a little closer, trying in vain to hold back and voice this realization that had hit her. “You think we’ve found something together?”

“Like maybe… we’re in love?”

Steph shrugged.

“Maybe,” Cass said, and bent in to suck Steph’s left nipple.

“Well, what’s love to you?” Steph asked.

Cass bit Steph’s nipple, leaving it painfully engorged, throbbing, when she unfastened her lips from it. “I thought once it was… duty… now I think… it’s something that feels… too good to be anything else.”

“What about choice?” Steph asked her. “Commitment? I kinda think that love is choosing someone, over and over again.”

“Have I been… doing that?”

Steph squeezed her stiff prick. “Yeah. I think you have. And me too.”

Cass mouthed Steph’s other nipple.

“Oh! Nnnh—I take it you agree?”

Cass nodded as she sucked at Steph’s breast.

“Can you say it? I know that’s not really how you operate, but for me, I’d like to hear it.”

“I won’t… mispronounce,” Cass assured her, shoving Steph down to the bed, then mounting her.

Steph took Cass’s prick in hand and guided it to her wet cunt. “Say it.”

“Want to… feel it first… let me inside you… say it when… I’m feeling it…”

“Yes—yes,” Steph panted, liking the sound of that, the feel of Cass’s member moving inside of her.

Cass’s hips rose and fell in a slow rhythm, like a continuation of the dance she had seduced Steph with. Steph followed her movements obediently. Neither of them rushed. They savored the feeling of being joined.

Cass’s motions became more insistent. Steph writhed and clasped her tightly. She kissed Cass’s neck and shoulders. Cass’s own mouth worked at her shoulder, biting the pale flesh with gentle care. They were lost in each other.

“I love you,” Cass breathed in her ear.

“I love you too!” Steph mewled, and her orgasm took hold of her and shook her far deeper than even Cass’s phallus could reach.

Cass emptied herself into Steph’s sucking cunt. She’d never driven so much cum into a woman. Steph couldn’t hold it all and some oozed out around the sides of Cass’s erection.

Cass didn’t want to pull out. She wanted to stay in Steph’s wet pussy forever. The feeling of being a part of her overwhelmed Cass. Emotionally, she was shaken to the core. It was all too much for her to process, all but the sensation and satisfaction, which she was almost used to.

She stroked and caressed Steph through her contentment, the two of them huddled together, basking in the afterglow both physically and emotionally.

“Cass?” Steph sighed.

“Yes… Steph?”

“All this cum you’re pumping into me… can it get me pregnant?”