He adds a little something to her attire.

She felt her arms move before she understood what was happening. They were pulled behind her back, wrenched away from her chest with a force she couldn't resist. She heard a click, felt the cold bite of metal around her wrists, and then-

Her breasts sprang free.

They were full. Round and heavy. Her dark, taut nipples were fully exposed to the villain. Catalina's eyes darted toward him, then quickly away. She didn't want to see his face.

She stared at the floor instead. At the ornate carpet beneath her knees. At the scattered diamonds that had somehow survived the Curator's cleaning spree, glittering like tiny stars against the dark fabric. She focused on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. She tried to ignore the ache in her shoulders, the cold air on her skin, the way her nipples were hardening despite everything. There was one thing he had left her with, besides her concealed identity, that she needed to make him regret. But it was going to require her focus.

The Curator approached her. Slowly. Deliberately. He extended his hand, ready to swipe again if necessary. His eyes moved over her body with the same clinical detachment he had shown throughout the entire appraisal. He lingered for a moment on her breasts, then again on her exposed womanhood, before finally tilting her head up by the chin to meet her gaze.

"Tsk," he said, shaking his head. "In the end, the style truly was all there was. A flashy concept that was, unfortunately..."

He reached out. His fingers brushed against her nipple with a light, almost casual touch, like he was testing the quality of a fabric. Then, with a ferocity he had not yet displayed, he grabbed her right nipple and gave it a sharp twist. Catalina let out a loud, breathy moan that she didn't believe she was capable of making. Her entire body jerked, her back arching involuntarily, her cheeks burning with a fresh wave of shame.

"...Hollow."

She hated that she was burning as hot as she was right now. She hated that she was so soaking wet. She hated that she was one more touch away from erupting.

But what she didn't hate was that he was within striking range.

She clenched her ass cheeks, and with a powerful command the prehensile tail inserted in her, coiled around her body with lightning speed! In an instant, it struck the crook in the jaw with a powerful uppercut.

The Curator stumbled back. He looked at her through eyes that were tearing up, and he ran with a whimper.

Apparently all it had taken to make HIM the pussy in this scenario was a swit pop in the face.

A swipe of his hand, a shimmer of oily light, and he vanished. Just like that. He just left her there.

Alone. Well. This fucking sucks.

Catalina was as naked as the store around her, and left on display.

This had been a complete disaster. He had made a fool of her. He had stripped her bare and left her to be found by the police, by the press, by anyone who happened to walk by. He had successfully robbed the store and gotten away. And she had only gotten one blow in.

How could she even pretend to consider herself a hero now? How could she add her name to the long line of Vega-Cortez women who had worn the mantle of the Cat? Her mother. Her grandmother. Her aunts. All of them had faced villains and triumphed. All of them had worn this suit with pride and dignity. And Catalina had just let a perverted, superpowered thief strip her naked and walk away. This had all but broken her spirit...and that made her blood boil.