Counselling

"What's going on, Riley?" Professor Prince asked lightly as Riley took a seat in front of her.

Riley gulped, fighting to stop his eyes from ogling his Professor's immense funbags. Riley always had trouble telling Prof. Prince's age. She could've been anywhere from her late twenties to early fifties. Her dark chestnut hair flowed down her back like a lion's mane, and her eyes were a sharp green, that had the welcoming glint of someone who'd just told you an inside joke.

Her face was chiselled, the only signs of age being a weariness that would sometimes show hidden behind her lively eyes, or small wrinkles that turned up whenever she frowned after someone gave a wrong answer.

But further proof of her youth lay below- namely, her two gigantic breasts that fought to escape the confines of any and every dress she wore. Riley had spent many shameful nights picturing those two milk globes wrapped around his cock, enveloping them until he could see his dick no more.

"Riley?"

Riley snapped back to reality, meeting his Professor's concerned eyes.

"I-I'm sorry! There's just... a lot going on at home." He answered, averting his gaze. He could feel the Professor's eyes gaze burning into him, trying to discern whether Riley was lying or not.

Riley suddenly gasped as he felt her hand rest gently on his thigh, squeezing it in an almost motherly fashion.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me, Riley... but you need to fix it up soon, okay? And if you can't, please let me know. You have a powerful head on your shoulder, Riley, and an even finer mind inside. Looking at your grades and tests.. you could make it very far in the industry, okay? It would hurt my soul to see a talent like you go to waste."

Riley looked up and gaped openmouthed. Professor Prince was notorious for not handing out comments like that lightly- in fact, that was a key reason as to why student's worked so hard in her class- not just the prospect of a solid livelihood, but her elusive approval, a nod of respect or a smile of encouragement.

"Y-you really mean it, Professor?" Riley asked. He didn't care how pathetic he may have sounded- he needed the confirmation.

"Of course I do, Riley. You of all people should know that I don't hand out compliments like this easily." She assured him, her eyes earnestly looking back into his.

Riley stared back at her, wide-eyed. The moment stretched as the two looked deep into each other's eyes. Just went it was about to become awkward, Professor Prince pulled her gaze back, looking excitedly behind Riley.

"There she is! Sorry, Riley, I'm going to have to leave now. Meeting up with an old friend." She suddenly said, eagerly. "Matter of fact, you might know her."

Riley whirled his chair around, opening his mouth to greet the newcomer when his mouth dried up and his eyes went wide.

Because right there, standing in the doorway to the lecture classroom was... Vivienne Strauss. The Vivienne Strauss. The same straight back posture, the easy grace of a hunting predator. The same coiffed black hair that tumbled around her like a halo, smoky eyes and plump red lips.

"Uh- you- wha?" Riley spluttered, pinwheeling his head between Professor Prince and Vivienne fucking Strauss.

"And who is this, Meagan?" Vivienne asked. Her voice rolled over Riley like honey. It was warm and layered, both exotic and familiar. It could've come from anywhere, but still sounded otherworldly, ever word spoken in a calculated tone, designed to ensnare Riley, like she was a siren.

"This, Vivienne, is Riley Robinson. One of the brightest minds in my class. I wouldn't be surprised if you find him working directly under you in a few years time." Professor Prince declared, picking up her bag. Vivienne suddenly turned her gaze to Riley.

Riley whimpered slightly under the weight of the green eyes looking at him. He was suddenly acutely aware of his every discrepancy- his rumpled shirt, his uncombed hair, the crook in his posture. He couldn't tell whether he was being judged for execution or sized up for some clothing- or if she was even looking at him at all, if he even mattered to her.

He stood up and shaky legs as Ms. Strauss walked towards him with an almost ethereal grace, as if she was gliding, not walking.

"Is that so? Meagan, I've learned the hard way to trust your judgement, so I trust we'll see each other soon... Riley Robinson." She murmured as she reached a hand out. Riley gasped as his hand met hers in a handshake, feeling the need to collapse to his knees at her touch.

Her hand was so soft, like a pillow, and cool, like a glass of water after a long run. Her touch sent relaxing tingles all across his spine and he heard her voice roll around him, whispering secrets in and out of his ears, reverberating in his brain. His name sounded... exotic on her tongue, and she rolled it around as if she was tasting his very soul, judging its worthiness.

"I- erm- yes!" Riley squeaked out. She smiled, an expression that seemed so natural, so correct, that Riley felt obligated to smile back.

Before he could say another word, she spun around and walked out of the lecture hall, Professor Prince trailing behind her.

Riley breathed heavily before sinking back onto the chair, trying to regain feeling in his numb body. He felt cold and hot at the same time, almost feverish.

Vivienne Strauss was a legend. The world would not be the same without her, let alone Futatropolis. As much as people liked to talk about how Futatropolis became the modern utopia it was because of the 'collective' and whatnot, the truth was, Futatropolis was intrinsically indebted to Vivienne Strauss.

Not much was known about her- which was strange considering her worldwide prestige- other than she was Swiss-German, raised in Switzerland and was educated at Cox. From there, she went on to establish ViviTech, a company that soon become a societal zeitgeist, having there fingers in pretty much every pie. People said Vivienne had the Midas Touch- any business venture she expanded ViviTech into was successful, instantly a world leader.

ViviTech began, and was still most known for their work in the biotechnology field. Through the creation of revolutionary nanotechnology, ViviTech had created solution to thousands of ailments, from the neuro-interfacing prosthetics to nanobots that could eradicate stage 1 cancer.

And Riley had just made an absolute fool of himself in front of her.

"FUCK!"

-x-

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Riley roared as he punctuated each swear with a punch into the punching bag that swung wildly in front of him.

"Bad day?" A voice behind him suddenly asked. Riley whirled around, holding his hands up, his face contorted into an angry sneer before softening, seeing Kimberly lean against the wall, her arms crossed beneath her large breasts that were contained by a sports bra.

"Oh, Kim... you have no idea." Riley groaned, resting his head against the punching bag.

"Wanna talk?"

"Maybe at home..." Riley grumbled. He heard Kim walk up next to him before he felt her fingers run through his hair.

"Whatever you want, hon. I'm gonna go fix the Cable Flip, but you text me if you need anything." She murmured before walking out. Riley waited until the sound of her steps had faded before standing up straight.

Before he could wallow more in his despair, something buzzed insistently in his pocket.

Riley fumbled anxiously before pulling out a small black pager-. He flicked it on to check the notification.

Robbery down at FTB. Car is going down Cox Main. Could use your help.

Riley took a moment to soak the message in before grinning, all thoughts of his executive blunder banished. Maybe something good would come out of this day after all...

-x-

Less than ten minutes later, Riley stood on top of the gym building, looking down over the city as cars whizzed by.

Except... to the untrained eye, no one would know it was Riley. Instead of the usual hoodie and jeans Riley wore, he was clad in something very, very different

His shaggy brown hair was still there, but his face was covered in a hair-free cowl mask that covered his eyes and wrapped under his chin, exposing his mouth and roguish grin on it. His suit was a dark blue, with black strips running down his sleeves and a crude claw on his chest. Behind him, a dark tail swished around.

For a few hours a week, he could stop being Riley, the adorkable, nerdy college biotech student and become Catboy, the up-and-coming vigilante protector of Futatropolis. It was one of the few responsibilities Riley relished with all his heart, something he believed he'd been born to do.

Riley grinned as his enhanced ears perked up at the sound of the city washing around him, the call of a hot dog vendor, the shrill cry of a flying goose, the rumbling whirr of a garbage truck, the moaning of two lovers in a bed and the frantic siren of a police fleet.

Riley crouched on the edge of the building, watching intently, sniffing the air and trying to discern where and when the getaway van would come. Futatropolis was a city filled with scents and sounds, making it harder to distinguish smaller, individual ones... until they came.

Riley tensed as he heard the crash-bang of a frantically driven getaway truck, the stink of burning rubber and gravel and the pursuing siren of a police fleet. Just as he sensed it, he saw an enormous truck skid onto the road in front of him, driving jerkily as cars fought to turn onto the pavement, out of the way.

A few meters behind a convoy of police cars rushed through, a loudspeaker on top blaring so loudly Riley didn't even require enhanced hearing to listen its useless call to surrender and no harm will come and whatnot. He focused his eyes and saw the world around him blur as he stared intently the getaway car, able to make out the gritted teeth of the driver and the anxious face of his front-seat passenger. Had he been a yard or so closer, he would've been able to hear their conversation.

But it didn't matter what the criminals were saying. All that mattered were that these people were a danger to the safety of Futatropolis, and it was on him, Catboy, to stop them.

And so, after a deep breath, Riley crouched down low, building up power in his leg before preparing to fling himself into action.