What's this now? (Patreon)

Instantly, he scanned the room. Three occupants, as promised, apprehensive, but not hostile. He could see they were intimidated by him, but not frightened. Nothing in their body language to suggest they read him as Bruce Wayne playing dress-up, but the uncertainty and suspicion that the hulking figure he cut could be the real thing. The actual Batman.

There was Emma Frost, who he had just seen naked, and now she appeared even more provocative than that, wearing a version of her Hellfire Club togs that was too scandalous even for that crowd. The top was merely a bandeau, not even finished, but open in the front, with corset laces to tie it together between her breasts. It was only the punishing tightness of the laces—they actually cut a ways into the flesh of her cleavage—that kept the white of the bandeau before her nipples. A scanty thong held her pubis, cradled the space between her buttocks, far more exposing than the boy-cut panties she had worn among her Black Kings and White Bishops. Then, almost as an afterthought, thin layers of white leather covered her arms and legs—opera gloves and thigh-high boots, going with her fur-epauleted cape. Despite himself, Bruce found the outfit appealing; how it showed off with aplomb the body that fit all definitions of attractiveness with literally surgical precision.

Then there was the Black Cat. Strange how, for a woman with the most covered flesh, she almost seemed the most exposed. The black lycra covered her, but it didn’t blunt anything, didn’t censor anything, it revealed it. Clinging to, poured over, melded with the curves of her body: a brazen nipple, a looming breast, a muscular ass… even a cameltoe, underneath the tail-end of the fur that ran with her neckline from the sides of her breasts to a valley below her navel. Fascinating, how the paths of the two fur linings came together.

She was slightly lacking the famous charms of the real thing, though. He attributed that to the Asian read he got on her inactive combat stance, the feel of her eyes on him, a half-dozen other quantifiers that all spelled ninja. Elizabeth Braddock, he speculated, through it was hard to say with white hair replacing purple. He wondered if the disguise extended to her pubic hair. If she had pubic hair. Asian, after all…

The Scarlet Witch was last, and here the deception was almost impossible to spot. The voluptuous body was quite close to the real thing, save perhaps for some ethnic coloring. There was a superficial resemblance to Emma in choice of clothes—the cape, the gloves, the half-corset, and the loincloth that was perhaps even scantier than Emma’s bottoms. While the thin strap of cloth hanging from her belt did cover more of her pubis, it was also clear that she had nothing on underneath. All in red, headdress and choker too, making for an irony even Bruce found amusing—Emma flaunting herself in such pure, innocent colors, while this woman showed the curious hesitation of a true virgin while wearing the color of a harlot.