Day 7 - Stuck in Wall - Catwoman

Croc’s “nest” was a pile of sewer detritus peaked by a dirty but seemingly indestructible mattress in one of the dank corners of the storm drain line. Catwoman was perhaps fortunate that they hadn’t sent her after somebody who bathed in literal sewage, but it was best not to think about what the majority of the sour apple and caramel colored pile was. The more valuable stuff, stolen trophies, a shockingly large and well-maintained collection of Emile Zola novels, and several items he was holding for one of his friends or another. Being as isolated from the rest of society as he was (even by villainous standards) he made for a great in-between.

Catwoman pushed aside a vial of Joker toxin and a spare scarecrow mask. She got something foul on her hand and wiped it off on the mattress as best she could, but that seemed to be uniquely rancid itself. At the very least, the process disgorged what she had been looking for from inside one of the springs.

“Jeez,” She picked up the green glass canister, what looked like a pale white egg floating inside, “Why is it that I’m always stealing the stuff that looks like it’s going to cut a decade off the end of my life? Why can’t I be after the French literature for once?”

She slipped it into her suit, placing it in what she would have teasingly called the “lady’s favorite pocket” and would have more accurately called “the pouch next to the cleavage.” Actually hiding things amongst one’s bosom, while a time-honored tradition, was neither so secure nor so hygienic as to make for a viable strategy in actual thievery. At least not thievery which had any form of long-term prospects.

The item secured, she set off the beeper for her pickup and started back the way she’d come. Considering it was the kind of job that she was getting a helicopter sent out to pick her up from, there was already a level of mental preparation going on for the inevitable double-cross. Perhaps they’d take her to a sealed facility and then pump gas into the room, never accounting for the fact that those same gas vents could be used as escape routes. Perhaps they’d knock her out and tie her up in a room rapidly filling with water (acid? that would be more dramatic, but raise logistics questions) without considering that an eligible bachelorette needed to know her way in and out of knots single-handedly (hah) if she wanted to remain sane. Or perhaps they’d just get her back to their headquarters and try to shoot her. That was always the most dull, but also the hardest to work her way around. The suit couldn’t really take a bullet, and neither could she. But if you twisted your body in just the right way, so that the bullet only hit your-

Croc’s shadow appeared around the corner, though his slow and heavy footsteps probably should have tipped her off first. He moved with all the grace and subtlety of a tectonic plate, and usually with the same kind of consideration for what was in front of him. The relevance being that what was between him and his lair was her, which put him between her and the way out.

She gave a quick, only slightly panicked look around her. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those underground catacombs with a billion little dips, doodles, turnarounds, and false exits. This was one of those mostly straight main chambers with a lot of small pipes leading in, all headed to the same rough area. Her options were either to try to sneak by (a non-starter), turn around and see if she could get through a wrought-iron grate before Croc made it however many dozens of feet he had left to go (slightly more realistic if only because he could always step on something sharp, unmentionable, or both), or look for an alternate exit. The problem came in that none of the alternate exits were all that promising. They were all storm runoff pipes, usually not more than a fist’s width, but some of the larger ones were big enough to fit into. Just a question of what you were going to be working upstream against. One of them looked like it probably ran from the industrial districts, considering the rainbow sheen on the water. Another, this one thinner but still manageable, looked like it ran from near some kind of garbage dump. The third, and it would be a tight squeeze, ran more or less entirely clear. Given the choice, she would take the pinch to keep from Dufresne-ing it.

She grabbed the lip and tried to surge up as far into the pipe as she could make it just on initial movement. It was wide enough to move by dragging, but not enough to fully flare the elbows or hips, so everything after that first push was going to be slow and exhausting. Unfortunately, she made it about a third as far as she’d hoped. Just as her head was making it past about the second seam of piping, she felt all her momentum squeeze to a halt as the lip came jamming up against her hips and butt. She wasn’t sure if she’d misjudged the size, put on a pound or two, or just gone for the wrong form. She tried to pull her hips as closed as she could and writhe. An inch, maybe two came to her, but just as quickly she realized this had been an even worse miscalculation. Now she could feel the lip of the pipe really biting into her skin, and even worse, the sense that no air was escaping out around her. She tried to push back out again, but there was no place on the inside of the pipe to get that kind of leverage. The footsteps closed behind her, then stopped.

“Aww, what’s the matter, kitty?” He spoke with a voice like somebody’s corpse being dragged over a gravel road and drew each word out, clearly aware she wasn’t going anywhere. “Somebody flush a goldfish?”

“Say, big boy, I don’t suppose you want to give me a hand out of here?”

“That depends,” She could hear his giant feet moving around behind her, “If you’re down here, that means it’s not if you stole something, but what it is you stole. I’ll trade you, tell me what I’m going to have to replace, and I’ll give you a hand.”

“I don’t suppose if I tell you, you’ll let me keep it?”

“Depends what it is, pussycat.”

“Ah ah, no promises until I know what it is.”

“And no telling until you promise.”

Croc huffed. Guessing by the fact she could hear him clearly, there was probably somewhere else that this pipe fed to or let out down below, which meant she wasn’t at risk of drowning if it started raining in the next few minutes at the very least. Croc was, statistically, unlikely to kill her. He wasn’t wantonly cruel, only when it was financially beneficial to him or when he had some real stake in it. If she’d have actually been after his books, she might be more worried.

“I guess we’re at an impasse,” Croc huffed, “But I suspect I’ve got more… room… to be patient than you do. How about I start biting below the ankle and work my way up? Little nibbles, of course.”

“Come on Waylon, we both know you’re not going to hurt me.”

“Of course not, not permanently at least.” He grabbed one of her ankles in his sewer grate-size hands and turned it this way and that, not enough to hurt, but enough to be uncomfortable, “You know, I always wondered if there was one big zipper or a bunch of little ones.”

“Depends on the suit. When I get out of here and take this one to be deep-cleaned, I’ll have to wear the suit with one big zipper for a while.” She kept her visor on, burning through battery to look for any sort of weakness or flaw in the piping, “Seriously, how do you live with the smell down here?”

“It turns out, when you don’t have any other options, you can put up with just about anything.” She felt him playing with one of the ankle zippers. “Most of the better smelling places lack for size… or the landlords ignore how good my credit is in the face of my… less marketable qualities.”

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.” Catwoman tried to ignore the sneaking suspicion that he may not have been lying about the biting.

“Spoken like somebody with good looks and no felony charges.”

“That’s sweet, Waylon, be sweeter if you’d leave my feet alone.”

He had worked one whole leg unzipped and uncovered, and he’d started working on the other when he snorted and let go.

“As you wish.”

She could hear his feet moving away towards his den, leaving her alone with one leg of her suit dangling at her waist and the other half-off. She could feel the air starting to reach her ass, though it was less that it was uncovered and more that once the seal of the suit was broken, it didn’t cling nearly as skin tight any more. She wondered if she couldn’t get him to take more off and try to slide out of it that way.

“I didn’t mean leave me alone, Waylon.”

The distant sounds of Waylon rooting through his nest only took a moment before he came right back. She could hear him chuckling.

“Hmm, I’m not going anywhere. Looks like you took the venom-enriched embryo.”

“They didn’t tell me what it was, little vial, mostly green?”

“That’s the one. Didn’t take you as the kind to take work from Bane.”

“Not if I can avoid it, kitty’s just a little behind on some of her payments.”

“You sure it’s not wanting to splurge on the new Zastrum line at the jewelers?” She could feel him fiddling with the leg that was still half-on.

“Why, Waylon, I didn’t expect you to be so in touch with fashion. But no, really, I’m double-charged on one of my bills, and the rest of them don’t care if I’ll resolve the issue eventually, they’re going to want money from me now.”

“Hmmm, well, the good news is that I don’t particularly like the guy I’m holding it for, so you’re welcome to it. Consider this a… middleman fee.” She could feel him finish unhooking the other leg, which loosened up the rest of the suit.

“I just told you sugar, I’m a little light on cash.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I don’t-” Selina felt the whole of the suit below the waist go, partly from him finding the most important zipper and partly from him ignoring the other three it would have taken. “Waylon, sweety, thought you were more of a romantic than that.”

“Oh… I’m feeling plenty romantic right about now.” She heard him unseal a plastic cap and then the wet sound of a bottle being squeezed. The sound of wet, slippery grinding came next, then another squeeze a moment later and something cool and slimy landing on her ass. “But I’m sure this isn’t your first rodeo in this specific… predicament.”

“Well, you’re certainly the first to have any liquid assistance. Whatever happened to natural foreplay?”

“And give you a chance to slip out of there?” He chuckled, a sound like an oubliette sliding shut, “Trust me, you’ll thank me in a moment.”

His giant, rough hand rubbed the lubricant around on her ass as he groped it, then one of the soda can-width fingers pressed against and eventually into her asshole. Selina grimaced and tried to push herself up with the force of it, but now that it was inside Waylon brought his thumb against and then into her pussy, bringing the tips together like he was trying to grip her like a bowling ball.

“Jesus, Waylon…” She tried to keep her breath even, “You must be popular.”

“I have no trouble finding girls…” He chuckled, “It’s just finding ones who come back…”

“Maybe it’s because you’re going for both holes at once there,” Selina gripped at the thin seam where the pipes ahead of her met, if she was only on the outside looking in, she would know if one of the bolts was weaker than the others.

“Trust me, you’ll thank me for it.” A second later both of his fingers came back out.

Then she felt something that made her yelp. She had felt a cock press against her before, that red-hot sensation of another body against yours, and she’d felt it before in either hole. What she hadn’t felt before was both friends at once.

“Hey Waylon… uh… who’s your friend?”

“It’s just you and me, kitty-cat.” The pair of cocks pressed harder.

“I didn’t think crocodiles were part of that family!” She tried to force herself up the pipe, away from the pair of giant, burning-hot rods.

“They’re not…” He pushed harder, “They also usually don’t walk upright and vote.”

His pair of cocks slipped in with the sudden sensation of being overfull of something not just once but twice over. Even her large toys wouldn’t have compared to Waylon, and he was coming at her with two at once of a heat and shape that felt like being speared and spread on a third rail. She pounded the inside of the pipe with her fist in discomfort and tried to take it as best she could. She couldn’t lie, she was thankful that Waylon had been as generous with the lube as he had been.

“Ahh, best relax, pussy-cat,” He groaned. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

Catwoman could hear the pipe groaning and squealing each time he rocked his hips into her and tried to force her up and out of it. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d been as adventurous with her toy purchases as she had, otherwise she was certain something would have torn or blown out already. Even with her previous training, she got the impression that Waylon was probably packing something roughly around the upper limit for the human body. At the very least, it felt like it.

Something popped in the pipe as Waylon grunted and smacked her ass. She pounded against the inside where it sounded like it came from. She felt the pipe shift, one of the bolts pop. Waylon had started thrusting faster, slamming the heads of his cocks into her guts with more force. If he heard it, he didn’t slow down.

“Waylon! Hold on!” She yelped.

“Not now,” He snarled back, his own breath almost as ragged as hers. “I'm starting to get into it.”

“I think the pipe’s breaking!” She kicked her legs back at him impotently.

“Well I should be laying more than enough to replace it,” He sneered and slapped her ass again.

His thrusting lost its rhythm, growing desperate and erratic. She could hear his sharp, snuffling breaths from behind her as he gripped her thighs with his hands and pulled down toward him. Catwoman could also feel something churning inside of her, a great powerful fluttering in her stomach and between her legs, clit burning and throbbing. As Waylon gave a few sharp, violent deep thrusts and buried himself as deeply as he could, she felt her whole body shudder and tense, both holes trying to clench down but finding nowhere to go. She wasn’t sure if the wet sounds she heard from behind her came from her body, but it felt like she was trying to wring every drop from both Waylon and herself at the same time. When both of his cocks started to pump inside of her with water-bottle sized sloshes, she felt a wave of numbness pass through her.

The pipe released from the wall with a final indignant scream and the force pushed her and Waylon back onto the ground behind him. She felt herself sliding backwards and then up, buried to the hilt on his rods and sitting in his lap, pipe still trapping her up to the neck with her arms stuck raised upward limply. Waylon was sitting on the ground looking stunned, still pumping slosh after slosh of burning hot cum into her. When he had finished and caught his breath enough to stand, he wrapped his hands around the pipe and pulled Selina free of his cocks, sending a wet slurry down onto his lap. He lifted her and the pipe as easily as he might a roll of toilet paper and looked at it, from her angry but flushed face and largely useless arms sticking out the top to her still-gaping pussy and ass hanging from the bottom. He smiled with a mouthful of teeth that could have cut through a car’s frame.

“Finally, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

“Waylon, there’s a helicopter waiting for me.” Selina was trying to speak so fast she was almost tripping over her words, “Waylon if I’m not there for evac they’re going to come looking for me. Do you want to know what they’ll do to you if they find me and the specimen still down here? Waylon! Listen to me!”

Croc had picked up the pipe and carried it back over to his nest, laying down on the massive mattress. He hefted the pipe in one hand with the other behind his back and hummed lightly as he guided the bottom of it towards his crotch, lining Selina up with his cocks again and beginning to move the pipe up and down above him.

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