The Ox Who Got the Cream

This was going to become a HEA with follow-up kinky episodes battling naughtier villains and whatnot. But after being rejected some months back for involving a copyrighted character in noncon events, I made some critical adjustments to alter the essence of the story and abide Lit guidelines, so hopefully won't spoil it too much. But the changes do rule out continuations.

Bottomline - Bat and Cat, corrected to Ox and Fox. Best I could do, and I was laughing by the end and I laugh whenever I think of it. Hope you guys (and I refer to that one person who seems to like my work no matter what) find a way to enjoy it since it reads a little unusual and potentially unsexy.

Thanks, Semiosis50 for prompting me to bother with changes. Exes and Ohs, Bello. Haha.

To those waiting for continuations on my other works, they are still priority. I wrote this particular tale quite quickly and more than a year ago.

Hope you are all keeping safe and entertained in these uncertain times x

***

Well into the night, a small shadow flittered across the surface of large, electronic roller door. Seconds later, the fluorescent lighting vanished, plunging the area into black. A quick step, a brief ziiiiing and the mechanical barrier whirred in reverse.

In the darkness, mischievous jade eyes glowed at the newly accessible entrance.

Layla haughtily strode forward. She was lithe, slender and wearing a suit of skin-tight leather that stretched around her entire body but for the eyes and lower face of her mask. The leggings extended into durable boots with a tasteful raised heel. Not so high to be impractical; designed for wear and tear, quick sprints and kicking ass, the heels were good purchase and fucking sexy on her long legs.

Humming, she pranced into the dark, located the next security panel and deactivated it in under two minutes. With a smug press of the button she gained access to the next section, wandering through as the garage obediently closed behind her. The outside lights switched on again and the street resumed its quiet, undisturbed state.

Inside, Layla elegantly twirled down aisles of costly items that glittered back from protective cabinets. A vast array of expensive jewellery passed her vision. But she didn't care for big diamonds or old heirlooms. She knew exactly what she wanted.

An item had gone to auction - a solid emerald cat, the size of an apple. The piece dated back hundreds of years and was allegedly crafted for the mistress of a Chinese emperor. Layla bid fair and square for it, only to have that smarmy Truce Cayne swoop on her victory and outbid it on a whim. He trumped her generous offer with one wholly ridiculous; doubled it, just to spite her.

Layla's breath caught when her sight fell on it, a beautiful jewel reflecting the clear green of her own eyes.

"You belong with me, kitty cat," she whispered, carefully extracting the precious piece from the cabinet. Setting it onto the counter, she drew a soft cloth from a secret pocket to wrap it.

"I've been telling you that for years," drawled a familiar, hateful voice.

Layla froze. She never panicked in an emergency; if she kept her head, there was always a way out. But in this case, the challenge was significantly more perilous than a few security guards.

Turning on her heel, she perceived the man intently watching her from the other side of the room. When her eyes locked on him, he sauntered closer and casually leaned across a counter filled with precious sapphires. He moved fluidly for a 6 ft tall mountain of muscle in protective leather. Layla's lip curled at his preposterous ox headpiece; his stupid handsome smirk.

Wherever the fuck he came from, he was blocking her anticipated exit. Layla's eyes darted to the second exit on her right. Oxman followed her gaze and chuckled.

"You'll never reach it. Better to spar facing me, than have me on your tail, kitty."

Layla bared her teeth when his attention moved to her ass on the word 'tail'. The suit tightly showcased each delectable buttock. Sure, the saucy apparel was fun when she taunted overweight security guards or startled young shop attendants. But with him, she felt dirty. She hated the way he looked at her; chocolate brown eyes glowing with predatory lust.

"It doesn't have to be like this. We belong together," he said simply, aware his patronising tone would aggravate her. "'Ox' and 'Fox' rhymes, and we dress in matching leathers like a regular couple."

Layla angrily shook her head as cold fear prickled up her spine. It was all a setup. How could she have been so naive?

Because that's what you are - reckless and cocky. That's what he loves about you.

Now it made sense with abysmal clarity. He knew she couldn't resist the challenge of stealing something she felt he didn't deserve. And here she was, right where he wanted her.

Layla still didn't speak. She never talked to him if she could help it.

"Tell you what..." he cooed, and Layla knew she'd despise the upcoming offer. "Come home with me, get into my bed, and you can keep the idol. No strings. Well..." he raised a gloved hand and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not where money is concerned."

"I'd rather pay for it," Layla replied acidly.

Oxman lightly shivered with pleasure at the sound of her voice; he found the soft sultry tones so fucking sexy. Even when she yelled at him during that fateful incident a year ago.

"So why didn't you outbid me?" He innocently questioned, his voice quivered with humour.

Not dignifying the obvious with an answer, Layla looked extremely pissed off.

"Fuck that look gets me so hot," Truce breathed, wistfully trailing a gloved finger down the glossy counter surface.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" she hissed, preparing to run.

"You don't understand, kitty," he smiled, shifting from the counter to stand tall. "I'm going to have you, either way. No more avoiding me."

Layla forgot the emerald prize and fled. Of course, where it came to Truce her best chance was always to flee. She was stealth; sneaky. Combat wasn't her forte where he was concerned.

A shish of movement, a flapping of leather and two thick arms hauled her against a solid chest. Even through his costume, she felt the outline of his cock and immediately knew he wasn't wearing the cup-guard to fight evil tonight. He'd dressed up just to ambush her, the shithead.

Layla was always so satisfied with her suit design; a scattering of tiny pockets here and there to keep small items without being visible - keys, blades, tampons, lock picks.

Truce clearly managed better, because his suit contained an impressive arsenal of weird weaponry from what she'd seen on TV. In this instance, he breezily whipped handcuffs from nowhere.

Layla heard their distinct rattle and knew if those restraints landed on her wrists, it would all be over. She broke free in a brisk counter-move and lunged forward to swing a forceful back-kick.

Mildly surprised, Truce swiftly dodged, but the following hand-jab caught him right in the throat.

"Urk... ouch," he said gruffly, sounding more inconvenienced than hurt.

After catching Layla's swinging fist in one hand, he twisted it behind her back and yanked her close.

"Mm." Truce smiled down at full breasts cushioned against his chest, and seized her other wrist before she could get a grip around his throat.

Fighting bad guys around the clock afforded Truce substantial physical resilience, not to mention the suit was annoyingly protective. Layla fought a losing battle, and they both knew it. But at the end of the day, Truce certainly enjoyed this type of battle more than the bloody norm.

Click.

Layla's eyes widened. Her arms were pinned behind her, just like that.

"Your expression was epic, when I doubled your bid," Truce smirked, rudely pressing his thigh between her legs. "Gave me an aching erection. I almost started jerking off before the mallet fell."

"Fuck you!" She snapped, twisting for freedom.

"You haven't fucked me for a whole year," Oxman answered with false sorrow.

"You raped me!"

"And you liked it." Truce shook his head. "I've been trying to catch you out in petty robberies. But I could never predict where or when you'd strike, and you know I'm a busy man. So, I decided enough was enough. I imported something that I knew you'd want. I made sure that auction flyer made it to your residence."

Layla closed her eyes as she remembered the exact moment she was told about the auction, and how excited she was.

"That's right, you bid on my property," Truce laughed as his quarry stiffened with anger. "I made sure to mention the auction to your father in passing, when he'd be too tipsy to remember who referred him. He dotes on his little girl, doesn't he? Your cat obsession. I was scared he'd bid on your behalf. The auctioneer was rather stunned by my bid, but the proceeds went to charity. Wasn't that nice of me?"

"Fuck you! Let me go!"

"No fucking way. I have a special little room at my residence that will do your body justice. Lots of toys and leather." His eyes insolently raked her costume. "You do like leather, right?"

Layla was panicking now. Even Truce felt her heart pounding through his body armour. "All this time I tried to catch you, racked my brains trying to coordinate it, and I never thought to lure to you to me. So fucking simple."

Layla was abruptly released and lightly pushed so that she immediately toppled over with surprise, landing face down on the plush red carpeting.

"Mmm," Truce said, and Layla felt his burning gaze rest on her behind.

As suspected, Truce shamelessly ogled her. Layla's ass looked like a perfect shining black peach or apple or whatever delicious round fruit he'd kill to devour. It was an ass he could never discern over her demure skirts and loose business pants. It'd been a whole year since he'd ambushed her, spread those delicious cheeks and hungrily ran his tongue up her soaked slit. Hooked on the taste, and hooked on her. Though she'd treated him like the plague ever since, Layla was his woman, she just didn't know it, yet.

Truce drew a deep breath, preparing for something he'd eagerly anticipated for a long time. Layla nervously heard it and jumped as cool air encompassed her pussy and ass, realising the bastard just tore a hole in her suit. She blushed deeply as he slowly peeled it open. Of course, she had no panties on. The rush of theft got her wet. It was naughty.

Now it was horrible; she wanted to cry. The suit meant so much to her. Having that expensive material tailored without her parent's knowledge was no easy task. The outfit was her triumph and she felt it every time she put it on; empowered; liberated. Worthy of the night.

No one took her seriously. Even the tailor didn't take her seriously. Sure, he took her money and made the suit, and also thought he'd try and blackmail a blowjob out of her. But Layla had taken those karate lessons not to defend her virtue as she convinced her parents, but to kick ass. All she wanted to do was kick ass. Like Oxman.

But she never made the news with psychotic villains threatening to set the city ablaze every week. She was more a nuisance than a menace.

That was why she always hated Truce, long before they were introduced. Even if he was the nicest gentleman in Gothic City, she'd still hate him. Because she was jealous; plain and simple. The guy had no parents to coddle him and stomp on his dreams. He had enough money to buy all the bat-toys he wanted and the independence to prowl the night and beat up bad guys. He was the hero she could never be.

When they first met, Layla was appallingly rude. Aware Truce was the town protector, she deliberately insulted him, assuming Gothic City's unsung hero would stoically tolerate her behaviour and retreat, like all good guys do. And yes, perhaps she was correct to presume Truce was a responsible, preoccupied man.

But what followed was a tenacious, unsettling sexual pursuit. Her bad manners roused something in Truce that was so strong it blurred his strict line between right and wrong - desire. She never anticipated the consequences of awakening a sexual hunger in the Oxman.

Truce Cain's identity as Oxman was an open secret amongst select societal elite and a sparse number of law enforcement. Layla's family mingled in those circles; her father had direct business interests with Truce. Layla's parents threw her at him every opportunity, and even with the throng of women circling him, Truce only had eyes for her.

Layla quickly theorised his interest stemmed from the fact she couldn't stand him. He found the challenge attractive and it was a refreshing change from the hordes of women vying for his approval. From that first spiteful meeting, he determined she was his girl.

"Oh, you, naughty kitten," Oxman purred, stroking her soft, glistening pink flesh. The intimate warmth of his fingertips was shocking; he'd discarded his gloves already.

"Stop!" Layla squealed, as a large finger swirled around her entrance and pushed inside.

"Wet for me," Truce sighed. "All mine."

"NOT yours!" Layla snarled, furiously struggling to expel the offending digit working in and out of her. "When my father-!"

"When your father discovers his chaste little lady sneaks out at night dressed like a hussy, teasing strange men in a very unrespectable manner... Committing indictable offences at that..."

Layla growled and bit her lip. He had her there. Her parents would be mortified. They would side with Truce, saviour of all that's good. They'd be over the moon if she hooked up with the irksomely handsome heroic billionaire.

"I know why you do it, you know," Truce said huskily, working two fingers inside her. "It's because you hate your identity; your 'day job'. Being the pretty girl who hides at home, protected from the action so the big men can run the show. You want to run your own game."

His assessment was infuriatingly accurate. Layla ignored him, even though she was juicing atrociously all over his fingers.

"It would be different with me," he continued. Circling her sensitive clit with a wet thumb, he watched her perfect ass indignantly clench. "I would let you roam the night, provided you're safe. We could fuck in the strangest places. If I could trust you to retreat on my order without question, I might occasionally let you accompany me to fight bad guys. But long before that, you would have to unequivocally accept that you belong to me."

Layla scowled into the carpet and Truce chuckled. "I know it's a total double standard. Be mine, and you can live free. But it's better than the double standard you're living now. I've been in love with you, ever since you looked me in the eye and brashly insulted my home and my performance as Oxman. You've been as good as my property from that moment. I need to know you're mine, and only mine."

His smile twisted. "I watched you at the last fundraiser, batting your lashes at Tony. I almost personally evicted him from the premises. A fucking notary, are you kidding me? He's not in your league."

"Neither are you!" Layla jeered.

"Is that so?" Truce silkily queried.

Layla yelped when he pinched her clit without warning.

"When I'd come home, black and blue, I'd picture you waiting in my bed. Naked and doe-eyed. It didn't matter what I'd broken, I'd still find a way to fuck you."

Layla rolled her eyes. There was a part of Oxman that she wanted to break which would make fucking literally impossible.

Truce sighed harshly. "But with business and bad guys, I couldn't corner you. If I didn't do something soon, I'd end up marrying Ralphred."

Despite her humiliating position, Layla snorted. "Ralphred's out of your league."

Truce grinned; his eyes glinted wickedly. "Fuck, I can't wait to get you in my dungeon. I'm going to strap you down, peg your nipples, spank that ass and do things that make you scream my name..."

Layla froze. Dungeon?!

She'd been forced to attend his dumb sophisticated parties and fund raisers. It was a big yawn, when she wasn't cunningly avoiding him or ignoring his inviting innuendos. But there was never a sign or mention of anything BDSM. Then again, the place was massive. Of course, a man parading in a leather suit and mask had to be kinky. What part of saving innocent people required an Ox uniform? The cape alone was a fucking hazard. Never mind the fact she was also in full party costume...

"I made a bet with Ralphred I'd get you in there, one day." Truce sharply slapped her ass and smiled as it tautly jiggled back at him. "Fuck, that's hot. Anyway, he was adamant I'd never succeed."

"And you fucking won't!" Layla seethed. "Keep your gem and leave me alone!"

"Oh, no. You tried to steal from me, kitty," Truce murmured. "I have to punish you."

"N-No!"

He shifted and something hard and enormous pressed against her soaked pussy. Truce slowly exhaled with elation as his entire shaft sank into her.

Layla groaned. He was fucking her in her suit. Fucking bastard. It was ruined. I'm gonna shred this outfit, then burn it.

"I think I'll keep this for you to wear from time to time, now it's been altered for my convenience," he said thickly as though reading her mind. "It'll be fucking hot."

"Please, Truce! stop!" she begged, breathless with desire.

"Why should I stop if you like it?"

Layla's jaw clenched as her body jerked back and forth in rhythm with each pointed thrust. Though her mind was filled with a violent rage, her body subconsciously arched, pushing back for more because it did feel good. It was exactly why she needed him to stop.

"I honestly don't know what I'd like better," he panted. "Fucking you like this, all suited up; or tangled naked in my bedsheets. Can't wait to do a comparison. I want to run my fingers through your hair, kiss that sassy mouth..."

"Ungh..." A soft moan escaped Layla. She closed her eyes as Oxman's cock rocked her toward a heavy climax.

It didn't matter she was pinned down on the floor of a fancy store. That a bizarrely-dressed man forcibly straddled her from behind. The fact she was also ridiculously dressed in a sexualised costume that was positively asking for it made the circumstances more humiliating. Even with her hands cuffed, the thrill of the thick cock plunging in and out of her wet folds was too much. She was fast approaching an explosive finish, and she knew he could feel it tremoring around his thick shaft.

"Tell me," he gruffly ordered. "Tell me you're about to cum."

Unable to help herself, Layla moaned louder; she was so fucking close. A large hand encouragingly squeezed her shoulder then moved down to pull on the cuffs, guiding her to arch back. The position adjustment allowed deeper penetration. Teetering on the brink of ecstasy, Layla bit her lip, starving off her orgasm. But it was a delaying tactic, and her body tellingly shuddered against her will.

"Good, kitty. Cum on my cock. Now."

It was terrible, and it was wrong. But her body responded to the obscene command, and she came. Hard.

Layla strained against the rug, squealing her pleasure and pushing her ass back as Oxman continued to plunder her. Truce pulled on one of her leather ears, turning her face to the side. He growled approvingly, watching her dazed eyes flutter closed and her pink mouth fall open, panting desperately. The black leather foxsuit looked magnificent; every gleaming contour of her body straining against the cuffs and his immovable weight while he fucked her mercilessly.

Truce groaned and pumped faster. Under the force of his thrusts, Layla whimpered helplessly; the delicious sound of her defeat in the face of his victory exquisitely caressed Truce's ears until he filled her perfect little cunt with spunk, loudly grunting a long-awaited release.