I know how hard this will be for you to read but that is part of the joy I take in delivering to you this message. I want to explain to you, in detail, how I accomplished this deed and why it will be impossible for you to "rescue" her. By now, she is my slave - willing servant to my desires - and completely loyal to my cause and me.
It wasn't always this way, of course. You may have already uncovered records of phone and Internet conversations. You may have even traced these to incidents around the city. I suspect you're a keen enough detective to put the threads together, but I want the satisfaction of knowing you are absolutely clear that Batgirl is mine.
I've known her for years. Batgirl put me in prison for six months after one of those dramatic warehouse fights you lawdogs love so much. It was you, Batgirl, and some punk kid against I think 30 thugs and technicians. I'm sure you know more about it than I do. We captured someone and you showed up to rescue them and put and end to our "villainous scheme" or some nonsense. The entrance was typical drama - smashing through the skylights and raining glass on everybody in total disregard of their civil rights - and pummeling most of the thugs who mindlessly threw themselves at you. I know you and the punk kid were due because someone always fucks with the boss right before I'm supposed to get my paycheck. I didn't, however, expect Batgirl to show up with you.
I never understood why women choose to be superheroes. I mean, no offense to the lesser gender, but why in the world would you choose a lifestyle that puts you at risk like that? I understand women cops, sorta, but when you dress a cop like a hooker or stripper, why is everyone so dismayed that they usually end up dead or some supercriminal's meat puppet? Batgirl was an interesting character from the beginning. She had your taste in costumery - tights and dark colors along with the usual "fear in the hearts of men" bullshit, but with a feminine tough. Nice, full round tits and a form that dared you to follow around the curves without getting dizzy. The complete face mask was a nice touch - no eye holes, no mouth - very sexy and dark. I should have known you had partners waiting in the wings when you started letting some of us slip away into the warehouse shadows. I didn't see Batgirl until she jumped some poor thug just ahead of me.
I was impressed. I jumped back into the shadows and watched her gracefully kick the shit out of the guy. Ballet with high heels and whoop-ass. I knew I had to have this girl. Don't want to sound corny, but moonlight on spandex is quite amazing. Its very flattering on the curves and tight enough you have very little to imagine underneath. As for fitness, this girl could get twenties in her g-string at my regular club for just doing her high roundhouse. I'm sure you had a hand in training her. Some of the moves look like the ones that put me in the hospital for several months back in 87. She's fast and hard, but then she was very new. She hadn't the experience to know to watch her back in a warehouse fight.
She landed three solid blows to her prey and rendered him unable to chew solid food. He did manage to land a clean belt to the head just before the KO, but there was no point to even continuing. A single kick to the face laid the poor slob out. I was able to inch my way around the far side of a small hill of crates. I couldn't take my eyes of this dame. I knew if I stuck around, you'd be cleaning up the rest of us. So I indulged a few minutes while she dusted herself off and adjusted herself...another chick thing, I guess... before soundlessly stepping toward where I had been at the beginning of the fight.
I'm not sure what happened next. She stumbled. Almost as if she were struck, but tried to stand. A few more steps and she fell to her knees, hands holding her head. Concussion, most likely, I decided. So I was able to sneak out, carefully and come to her side.
She instinctively swung out at me, but the momentum took her off her knees and to the concrete. Her tight little body writhed on the floor. I knew I had her. I got close enough to smell sweat and perfume, see her tiny nipples press up against the thin fabric of her top as she gasped for breath. I could see sweat stains formed on the armpits and down her back as I rolled her onto her side facing away from me. I slid in behind her and got close to her ear.
"I can help you," I whispered, feeling a stirring in my pants. "If you stay here, they'll fuck you. They'll take you away from here, rape you and kill you."
Her breathing intensified. I could tell, even without seeing her features, that this terrified her. She moaned in pain. Her long legs pumped against the concrete like she was trying to escape. I slid my hand down her thigh and felt my cock grow tighter. I lifted away the black cape and admired her tight, solid ass. The smell of her nearly made me crazy. I whispered more promised of safety to her as I slide her limp body into the shadows.
One of the things you learn early on about being a thug to a supervillain is to make sure Paramedic kits are around and know something about how to use them. Nothing sucks worse than barely escaping one battle only to get caught by normals in blue because you lost too much blood. I keep some drugs on me at all time for this purpose. I keep a kit nearby, but for my purposes, I just needed the basics. I discovered that Batgirl's mask had a zipper over the mouth and I was able to unzip it. I knew that, in the shadows, she couldn't see my face, but I could see how she could see through the fabric with a thin, but looser mesh over the arch of her nose. I opened the mouth zipper, revealing pale skin and deep red lips. Sweat coated the entire bottom half of her face. A trickle of blood had caked under her nose, probably from the first hit of the fight with her thug. Immediately, she could breath easier. I guessed then she was a little claustrophobic. The unfiltered air made things easier to take, I think. Her chest softened and slowly returned to normal breathing, although it was clear the pain did not go away.
I removed my plastic syringe from my waist kit and produced a vial of morphine. I only needed a little, but I held it up so Batgirl could see what I was doing. She took a feeble swat at my hand and I smacked her mouth.
"I'm going to help you. Knock it off."
She whimpered in obedience. She was under my complete control. Rarely have I seen a heroine so willing to comply so easily. Usually, females in tights fight like cornered rodents in these situations, but Batgirl looked totally helpless. I filled part of the syringe with enough to kill the pain. I needed to look at the scalp to determine the severity of the concussion, but that I seriously doubted she would be as willing to allow me access to her facemask. I rolled her onto her side and pressed the needle into the soft of her ass. She whimpered slightly, but relaxed. I slid in behind her, my semi-hard cock still uncomfortably tight. I put my lips to her ear and said, "This will kill the pain. I need to keep you here. You are new to this whole thing, aren't you?"
She nodded wordlessly. I placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed. "Relax!" I snapped. She immediately relaxed, reluctant, but obediently. I slid my hand down her arm. Her breathing increased. My cock swelled to a point that I had to do something. I wasn't thinking at all when I unzipped my pants. The sound of it frightened Batgirl. My cock pressed between the cheeks of her ass and slid down along the soft fabric. It swelled further when she rocked back against me.
I know this is painful for you to even think about, but I slid my hand over her thigh and between her legs. She was wet and warm and I could have cum right there when I discovered the crotch zipper. I nearly came again when she shuddered as I opened the zipper to discover she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
I tilted her head carefully around and I kissed her hard. I slid my hand into her wet crevice. She shuddered again. It was so easy to insert one finger, then two, into her pussy. I felt her walls clench them like a gymnast. She nearly locked my fingers inside her. She began to whimper softly again. I muffled her sounds with my lips and tongue and I explored her body with my free hand, cupping her huge, firm breasts, enjoying her as I finger fucked her. Soon, I had worked up enough to lose all sense of myself.
I removed my fingers and rolled Batgirl onto her back. Her long, gorgeous legs fell open and I quickly positioned my cock at her opening. I wanted to feel how those tight muscles would cradle my cock. I was swollen completely and I knew I wouldn't last long, but I slid my eight inches into her in a quick, almost violent jerk than sent a spasm through her. I lost track of events. I just remember her body grabbing my cock, resisting my attempt to withdraw. I remember the smell of her pussy on my fingers and the taste of her sweat. I remember plunging my cock deep into her pussy and feeling a warm rush against it as her lower body shook uncontrollably, causing me to explode into her for what felt like minutes...
The next few minutes were difficult to remember. I thought about taking her with me. I thought she might have been "converted" or maybe I was...I don't know. I remember that a minute after, I felt the sting of what could only have been a boot heel to the side of my head.
I woke up tied to a support beam in the middle of the warehouse, Batgirl standing over me, in all her gymnastic perfection, as if nothing had happened. I saw you and the brat talking over what you needed to do next and then...the cops.
II. As far as who I am and what I'm capable of, you probably have a 3 page file on me, or you know enough to realize that I'm more cunning than brutal. I prefer not to attack when it can be avoided. My racket is blackmail and extortion through persuasion. So, I wasn't about to go charging ninja lady. I decided, however, to make it my job in life to have her. Not just once, but make her mine permanently.
You may know I worked for LexCorp over the past few years. I was sublet to various supervillains and did the odd job for major underworld figures requiring assistance. I gained a reputation as a "negotiator" who was able to avoid costly payouts for bullets, repairs and quiet burials at sea. In fact, I have often been hired to "dissuade" superhero types from returning to work following a crippling accident or loss. You know a few of these folks personally. I got into this line of work so I could study how you weirdoes think, how you operate in secret and, eventually, use it to find Batgirl.
I was pissed off when I heard Dr. B smashed Batgirl's spine. I heard through the grapevine she was dead. It was hard to imagine this woman, who drove me to become the criminal genius I am, was out of circulation. For about six months, I took no pleasure in my job and then I heard rumors about another vigilante making way through town with the same MO. I was surprised when Dr. B hired me to locate her and, if necessary, "Dissuade" her from returning to work. Joy of joys...how lucky can I be.
In late September, I was able to spot her in a section of town I knew had activities she investigated routinely. I felt like I was owed something at the time - an explanation or excuse at least - but something to close up an open wound from my past. I almost sent up a flare on a rooftop that night I was so obvious. At the time I wasn't wanted for anything, but Trespassing on someone's roof was good enough to investigate. I noticed she was not as swift as before. She was obviously in some degree of pain. As she approached, I thought of the injury she received. I wondered how easy it would be to persuade her to hang up the tights.
As part of my line of work, I don't take anything for granted. My last run in with Batgirl landed me 180 days of hell and I wasn't about to repeat the experience. I had learned by dealing thugs who don't have honor or a sense of fairness. This, however, was a woman of honor and respect. She was also, responsible for a lot of pain in my life. So I left justified in what happened next.
She landed on the roof dramatically and gracefully as possible. She didn't speak, nor did I expect her to. I looked her over and noticed she had lost a little of the definition in her musculature, probably from the therapy and recovery, but was still in excellent shape. I had built up a little bit since them basically for self-preservation in prison. It was clear, however, as she crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head that she was waiting for my explanation.
I sighed quickly and said very firmly. "I am an agent for one of the many people you've helped into prison life. He and or she has asked me to convince you that returning to this life is not in your best interest.
Batgirl stepped forward aggressively, puffing up her chest and swinging her hips almost mockingly at me.
"Of course, you do know that any delay in my reporting back will result in the immediate execution of four innocent civilians." She stopped, startled. "I know its been a while and you've picked up a lot of experience at this whole game, but be clear that this is a condition of my employer. I don't usually work this way."
I produced a small satellite monitor and slid it across the asphalt in the fifteen feet between us. It scraped across with an ugly sound that I imagine she would make in reaction to this threat. I looked up at the sky. It was the "magic hour" when daylight is fading into a purple/blue hue. The clouds captured the last of the sun's rays from over the horizon. It was appropriate to see her again this way. She crouched down and lifted the monitor gingerly. On the display she saw what I knew was a surveillance camera. I don't get involved in these matters, so I don't know if the boss had them suspended over a lava pit or had them in a cage with spotted tigers...whatever, it caused her to smash it down on the ground with enough force to shatter it.
"Right," I replied. "So, Dr. B broke your back the last time you met. He doesn't want to repeat the operation and, given our...um, history...I don't either."
She was obviously taken aback by this. She took another step forward intending to charge me. I guess I had misunderstood her. I certainly didn't take her unwillingly in the warehouse. She gave herself to me freely. I think the small shred of romantic in me was hoping it meant something else. "Fine. Kick my ass and kill the fucking Partridge Family," I snapped. She took another step and stopped her momentum. She was just out of arm's length from me then. "I am here to inform you that, for every attack you make against the boss' organization, the organization will spend 100 hours looking into your private life, exploiting your weaknesses, threatening those around you and making life impossible to live." I paused. No reaction from her. "I can ensure that this doesn't happen." And almost as an afterthought I said, "Like I saved you before."
I expected a roundhouse kick, but she remained perfectly still. I decided to wait her out. I said nothing, but I enjoyed the moment's opportunity to remind myself how beautiful this dark damsel was. It had an unusual effect on her. She seemed to be shivering. Her long legs grew unsteady and her heels wobbled a bit, almost imperceptibly. I knew I had her attention at least when I took a breath.
I stepped forward. I've been told my gaze is piercing. One of the things that kept me alive in prison and on the outside is my ability to stare down trouble before it gets out of hand. However, I couldn't say that this would be sufficient to scare someone who has faced down The J, or Dr. B, or even you and still wanted to wear the uniform. However, as I leveled my eyes at the visor of her mask and moved, she stepped back. I smiled and this infuriated her. She was refusing to speak, but frustrated I didn't understand.
I was in arm's reach. I knew if I reached out, I risked losing the use of my arm. I wasn't totally confident, yet. So I took in one last view of her and said, "You've saved their lives tonight by being a good girl. Continue to obey me and I will be sure that you survive as well. Go now."
She stood still, almost expecting something else to happen, another shoe to drop, or maybe a gang of thugs to appear when she turned her back. She stepped away, gracefully backward without so much as a turn of the head, stepped up on the precipice and, like a gymnast on the horse, flip dismounted into the night, dropping below my line of sight. I heard the sudden POPKLINK of her grappling line and I knew she was safely swinging away from me.
It was then I realized my cock had slid down the right leg of my jeans, its shape clearly outlined. I wonder if that was what she had waited for. It was then I vowed to find her and use her to my pleasure and make her my slave.
I spent a lot of time researching Batgirl's activities. To her credit, she is brilliant at covering her tracks. I think I grew to understand her mind as I tracked her down. She is intelligent, but perhaps a little naïve. Clearly a little nuts to be part of this world of steel muscles, flying metahumans and crimefighting mutants. I took great pleasure in finding out all I could and I considered it a tribute to my own deductive genius that I was able to find her at all.
I couldn't follow her through the city without using surveillance equipment. The idea of a "tracer" was not acceptable because anyone I borrowed the tracer from would be able to track her, too, and the last thing I wanted was to see someone else take advantage of my work and find her. Dr. B would want her terminated immediately on my report that she was non willing to "retire" and, more than likely, I was the poor shmoe to take her out. Not that I was the best assassin, but I was already on the payroll for it.
I could track Batgirl using previous cases, gossip, news clippings and other media. I managed to put together a pattern from about a month of watching her. It was only due to luck that I was able to find the center of her patrol web.
One night, I decided to take a kids puppy and put it in a tree. Don't ask me why. I knew, within a block or two, where Batgirl disappeared every night, so I figured she knew the people in her neighborhood. As a coincidence, I later discovered that these two blocks were TOTALLY crime free over a 48 month period. Next time, check police records first, I noted.
I put a puppy in a tree at about 11pm, around when Batgirl first appeared on any survey. The little girl to whom the puppy belonged gave a great fit of discomfort about this. She did better for my cause than I could have imagined. I waited on a nearby rooftop and, within a minute, I saw a familiar black shape drop from the skies, scoop up the pup and deliver it to the ground. Without a word, she leaped up. I was ready. On the roof, I crossed to a small collection station where I was able to track an infrared pattern back from where Batgirl dropped down to save the puppy to a closed window a block away on a second floor apartment.
I can't tell you how I felt when I realized I had her. I could see into her apartment. I was sure that she had security devices on her windows and doors, but a quick electronic survey determined that she had a deadbolt on the front door - that was it. Quite brave considering the neighborhood. I snuck into the apartment and got to know Batgirl...Barbara...for who she is.
I set up a web camera near her computer. I watched her sleep. She has gorgeous eyes and I understand why she wore a covered facemask. Anyone who saw those eyes would recognize them on the street. I was able to put microphones into her apartment. I was able to learn that she has kids...oh man are you hurting now, huh? I had her. I spent a week watching her. I got my first "live" look at her coming into the apartment through her bedroom window, peeling off the black lycra costume and throwing it into a hamper. While a costume like that doesn't hide much from the imagination, it does a body good to see her light, clear flesh in the open air. For lack of restraint, her tits didn't sag an inch. They were hard, firm and wondrous to behold. Her pussy was shaved, just as I remembered it. There were small, blue/black bruises about her body, presumably from her night's patrol. Her legs were long and wonderfully shaped. Her face, most of all, struck me. She had the most beautiful eyes. I understood immediately why she wore the visor. Anyone who saw those eyes on the street would remember them forever. She had a look of innocence that I wouldn't expect from someone so powerful. Her hair, short and ash blond, was wet from the night's exertion. She looked around the apartment before going to the shower.
I found myself mesmerized by her. I watched her shower, running her hands over her tight little body like a kid peering into the girls' locker room. She slid into a red nightgown and into silk sheets before 3 in the morning. I watched her sleep using Infrared for another hour before I slept.
The next night she received an anonymous message over the Internet as she checked her email.
"Good evening Barbara...or should I say Batgirl?"
"Who is this?"
"Your benefactor. The man who is keeping you from another serious injury on the job."
As I watched the hidden camera, she stared at the monitor of her computer. I couldn't tell the expression, but she waited a full minute before responding.
"Who are you?"
"Your master."
"WHAT?!"
I waited a moment before responding. Batgirl fidgeted in her chair as I typed out the response. "I am Vlad Anaxandros. Know that I control you. I know you and I will have you to myself. Before you trace this message..." I said as she produced a laptop terminal and locked it into her desktop computer. "...I want you to know that is a lovely red teddy you're wearing. I look forward to feeling your tight little body in it."
She stopped again, putting aside the laptop. She typed slowly, "Better men than you have tried."
"Ahh," I replied, "But I know you. I know your weakness. I told you that there would be a price for remaining on the job."
Cockily, she replied, "What...you're going to bomb a subway train?"
"No. I'm going to give the names of your family and friends to my employer."
Another pause. I thought the connection was dead since she didn't move an inch on the monitor. But slowly, she replied, "What do you want?"
I felt my cock stirring again. "You."
Quicker than I expected, she shot back, "Give me your best shot."
"I want you to show me your body. Use your internal camera and I want to see you in your uniform in 60 seconds or I send your parents' names to my employer. Starting now."
Ten seconds went by motionless before she stood up and disappeared into the bedroom. She pulled the crumpled uniform out of the hamper and slipped it on, minus the cowl, and returned to the computer. She typed, "Is this what you want, you sicko?"
I waited. I watched her in front of the computer as she tried to locate the hidden camera. I felt my cock swelling again. I wanted to order her to me, to put those red lips around it and service me, but I replied, "Now you will strip it off for me, slowly."
"I will not," she said to the computer without typing. But, in a minute, she began to strip. Awkwardly, she removed her gloves, her boots and her bodystocking. She stood naked in her cape as I laughed hysterically. Every second, saved to Digital videotape.
"Now here's the thing. I'm coming to you in the night. When I do, I expect you to do as I tell you. If you resist in any way, there will be another group of four who die. Do you understand?"
YES came the response. I smiled.
Of course, as I expected, plans were laid out to defend against my arrival. I did point out, subtly, that contacting anyone else was forfeiture of innocent lives. Inside, I knew she wanted me to come. I knew she either wanted me to come and treat her the same way I had before, or to come so she could clean my clock. Either way, I would have killed to possess her one last time even if it meant I was locked away for another 20 years.
The lights were out when I arrived, which wasn't a concern since I used night vision goggles. I knew the layout of the house very well and felt I lived there already. I knew the shape in the bed was hers from the heat signature. No fake pillows under the sheets while she waited in the closet bullshit.
She sat up in front of me, totally encased in her lycra costume. I pulled two sets of handcuffs from my sidebag and quickly locked her to her own bedposts. I figured she could escape them if she wanted, but it would give me an extra second to retreat if necessary. She submitted to the shackling, saying nothing as I brushed my hand over her body. She lay back, knowing she wasn't going to be harmed. I took off my pants and underwear, sliding into bed with her. I was going to fuck Batgirl and use her body to my own satisfaction. I rested my cock on her abdomen as I opened her mouth zipper to kiss her. She met my kiss lightly, as if obliged to do so and nothing more. I smiled. Her resistance was turning me on. I slid my hand around her tits, remembering from the long year of separation how wonderful they felt in my fingers, how firm and how exotic they were. The nipples quickly hardened and I felt her chest rise and fall more quickly to my touch. At least, I thought, some of her isn't resisting.
"I have to check you out completely," I said, unbuckling her utility belt and casting it to the side of the bed. I ran my hands along the side of her body and around the waistband of her tights, looking for anything stowed in her costume, any contraband that might interfere with my mission. I fond nothing, but managed to illicit moans of pleasure from my mute slave. I slid a finger over her crotch zipper and she arched her back, moaning softly. I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to punish her for putting me away. I turned her over on her stomach, crossing her arms above her head. Her cape lay crumpled on the floor, so I had no trouble getting access to her tight ass. I raised a hand and brought it down smartly on one cheek. She gasped and muffled a cry. I brought it down equally hard on the other cheek. She squealed.
I repeated the punishment, bringing my hand down several times as her body contorted in pain and pleasure. My cock ached to be inside her again, and as I looked at her red lips pursed against the pain, I knew I wanted her to take my cock in that small, wet hole. I turned her head to me and leveled my waist to her face. I presented her my erect member and ordered her to kiss the tip. She did so, reluctantly, with a discreet little lick that told me she would take it if I wished. I pressed the tip between her lips and she slowly opened her mouth. I admonished her against taking any action or people would die, but before I finished the sentence, she was sucking my cock as if I was a lover instead of an attacker. She swallowed my cock, licking and sucking it in her binds as I caressed her body, imagining the things I wanted to do to her.
In a few minutes, I felt the first wave that told me I was going to come. I withdrew my cock and mounted her from behind, pulling her tiny waist against me as I unzipped her crotch. She resisted at first, but she was wet enough that one thrust brought me inside completely. I held myself inside her for a full minute, afraid that the next movement might cause me to explode inside her. I held her tits in my hands and bent over to kiss the back of her neck. I heaved on her and she shook under my attack, but finally, the urge to cum subsided and I was able to begin pumping her, pulling her hips against my waist to penetrate her as deeply as possible. As I did, I noticed the crotch zipper slipping up over her ass. I listened to her whine and moan to my strokes and thrusts. I unzipped the crotch further and realized it availed me of her tight pink ass.
I felt the stirring once again and, with two quick movements, I removed my swollen prick from her pussy and positioned it at her asshole. I continued to massage her clit and pressed myself into her. She resisted more then than I remember any other time. She clenched herself and I felt so much pressure against me as I penetrated her. I held her tight, kissing her neck and fondling her as I took her from behind. She continued to resist vocally, but her body tried to accommodate my intrusion. Finally, I was inside her completely and she was able to relax.
When I began to pull back, she struggled again. I began making shallow thrusts, kneading her clit with my hand and telling her she was being a good girl for obeying me. She began pressing her hips back against me, fucking back and, very, very soon, I felt the stirring. This time, Batgirl was fucking back so hard and vigorously, I couldn't stop before I came.
She collapsed underneath me. I kissed her and slowly removed myself, rolling onto her side. She whispered to me, "I am yours, master. You've beaten me. DO with me what you wish..."
With that we both drifted to sleep.
It was clear there were two sides to this woman, maybe three. I left her before she woke up, which I think suited her just fine. I think she got what she wanted and, if not, oh well. I was loving my job more than ever. I made collected the videotapes and made dupes just in case. At this point, chief, I have more videotape evidence than you could possibly want to know about.
It was actually your slip up that night that leads me to send you this. I know you don't like the idea of having sloppy seconds, but this may explain to you why she fought so hard that night and why I've got the balls to send you this letter.
Let's say I doubt any so-called vigilante would last very long in Akrham or Blackrock with a conviction for rape on his record. Nor would his alter ego survive the revelation in the public forum. Yeah, I saw it all. Not only did I see it, I have it on tape. Not only do I have it on tape, but it is in the hands of 12 of your worst enemies. Only they don't know it yet. Should anything happen to me, that information comes out.
I know there was something between the two of you. You don't share monogrammed insignia without some kind of bond. You certainly looked like you knew your way around her apartment. It wasn't enough she was sleeping. I mean, you're well over six five and you didn't need to chloroform her and you CERTAINLY didn't need to cuff her to the bedposts. I bet she surprised you when she woke up in the middle of your little workout. I mean you were going at her like a jackhammer, which is impressive since your unit HAS to be thicker than my wrist. (Gotta give you your props, man). I guess the pain was enough to pull her out of her stupor. What I didn't get was the whole screaming and yelling about "not again" she kept repeating over and over.
When you uncuffed her, I was hoping she'd tear into you, but I was surprised when she turned her attention to that tree branch you call a prick and tried to swallow it. Talk about your kink. I don't know how she could breathe when you suddenly grabbed her head and came into her mouth like that. It looked like something out of that "Alien" movie. Like a Bat-ovipositor or something.
Anyway, three more times that night in the next 2 hours, you used that girl as a puppet and fucked her like a piece of meat. I can't say as I wouldn't have in your place but HELL, I'm supposed to be a bad guy. I felt guilty for not kissing her goodbye! You just ended the night cuffing back onto the bed and forcing her to come with some sort of weird black vibrator. The way she shook and convulsed, I thought you were electrocuting her. Again, I gotta hand it to you...I've never been able to make a woman squirt. Definitely good range on her, dude.
Not sure what your plan was, if any. I don't know if that's just your usual post-patrol fuck, or if you were just marking your territory, but its nice to see your perverted side. I kind of understand you now. Its also nice to know that the body armor isn't all that thick and that rack you show off isn't teflon. Good news. That birthmark on your ass can't be all that common, either.
IV.
So, another night and another adventure. I'm beginning to wonder what kind of training you gave Batgirl. She changed her hair color today. She's a redhead now and, without a word or expression of anger or resentment, she went back out on patrol. Of course, you know that was the night most of the Justice Battalion was active and you were somewhere away from town...maybe off-planet. I tracked Batgirl over three blocks and she looked more worn out than usual. Her spirit was there, but her body was beginning to deteriorate. She was still shapely and tone and fine on the eyes, but her grace and commanding presence were not there. She looked like a gymnast just off the mat. I almost felt sorry for her. Guys like me love to exploit those kind of weaknesses, especially the new thugs out there with something to prove. If she ran into them, it would have made your run in with her look like heavy petting.
I kept up with her for a little while. She was trying to pretend she wasn't hurting, but it was still hard to keep up with her. I never claimed to be in the league of you metahuman freakazoids, so I guess the fact that I did keep up with her on the rooftops for twenty minutes or more was due entirely to testosterone. I lost her near midtown, around where one of your favorite rivals owns a nightclub. I remember working there for a few weeks until a concussion put me on underworld disability for a few weeks. I knew there was something going on there from the grapevine and figured I would run into Batgirl again somewhere there.
As I feared, Batgirl was trying to mess up somebody's cabbage patch. I had to stop her before the word got out she was still working because my rep - and her life - were at serious risk. I easily got past the doormen at the front and took the elevator past the 13th floor to the executive offices where something was always happening. I followed a trail of broken glass and cracked plaster to an office at the end of the main hall on 17. You've been in this room before, I know. It's where the Two-Face entertains his guests. I said hello to the guys cleaning up the mess and traded shop talk with some of the underbosses before finding out that Batgirl was, indeed there, and that she interrupted Two-Face and Poison Ivy on a "business dinner".
I handed them an "A" card which, in my business means that the bearer has a pass from one of the bigger underworld types to meet another underworld type. I had to be careful here. "A" cards are tricky. Used wisely, they can be helpful to obtain goods and services, even alliances between villains. Used poorly, it means you're dead on a stick. They called down to the basement where they had taken Batgirl and announced I was coming down. I seemed to be interrupting them, but they honored the card. I had an escort down to the basement complete with complimentary champagne and $10000 credit at the casino. Sometimes I love my job.
V. There is a term in my business for an escort or a servant, or even a thug, who is controlled by either a machine or someone's "mind control"- its called being a meat puppet. I stay away from this kind of business. Never been one, never will. Meat Puppets don't mind bleeding or sacrificing themselves for the "cause." However, there is something to be said about women as meat puppets. They don't bitch. They don't remind you how much you really suck. They don't ask for money. They don't want to cuddle. Down in the basement, there was (until last week) a club called Duality where the high rollers and weirdest of the deviants gather to indulge in a little puppetry and debauchery.
When I made it to the back office and finally got to meet Two-Face, he was counting gold dollar coins in a huge pile on his desk, etching "X" into the face before tossing it into a bucket beside the desk. A geekish thug by the bucket was calling out "HEADS" or "TAILS" while making a check on a clipboard. Behind him, a door led into another back office. I was sure Batgirl was inside and, from the sound, she was taking a beating. When I entered, Two Face stopped. He was on edge. I didn't know why, so it made me extremely nervous. He placed a snumbnosed .44 on the desk in front of him, barrel pointed at crotch level directly at me. Instinctively, my escort moved aside.
"What's the news?" he grumbled.
I took a breath and said, "I work for _. He has a special request regarding Batgirl."
He sat up erect in the chair. One side of his face - the normal side - looked like a man who just won the lottery. The other - the molten, swollen and distorted half - looked as though I had stolen the first scrap of meat he'd seen in a year. He fingered a gold dollar over his knuckles. "How do you know Batgirl is here?"
I smiled, "I know those squeals." I don't know what I expected, but that seemed to appeal to both halves of Two-Face. A twisted wreck of a smile curled up on his face.
"What's he want?"
"He hired me to make her quit. She's having difficulty getting the message."
"Well, if she ain't quit after tonight, she's got herself a death wish. Ivy's inside right now working her over."
I didn't want to think about it. It was both too horrible and too arousing. I took a breath and said, "How about you?"
He looked at the coin. "I gave her the fifty fifty. Heads came up so I gave her mine..right up the ole snatcheroo...." He started laughing hysterically. I laughed, too. I didn't want to die.
At an appropriate reflection for his great "humor" I said, "So, any chance I can get the remains gift wrapped and thrown in a wagon? I know the boss would be much obliged."
Two-Face looked at me. The silence in the room was broken only by the rhythmic slaps and snaps of leather on flesh behind the door to his right. With each contact, his geek accountant hireling would wince. I kept my eyes level with Two Face's and a casual pose. The coin floated across his hand and fell between the index finger and thumb. This was TF's schtick, and I've seen it a dozen times, except it was usually with someone else fixed in his mix-matched gaze.
I almost twitched when I heard a long, absent moan from inside the room. No more slapping or whacking, just a long low bellow I remembered from my night with Batgirl. I couldn't tell if it were pain or pleasure she was experiencing. I couldn't care at the moment. A coin was shooting up into the air, one half polished to perfection and the other marred and disfigured like the grotesque side of TFs face. I could see a twitching hand pressed palm down on the desk next to the .44. The other hand was raised to catch the coin.
It fell into his hand with a light slap. For the first time in what felt like hours, his gaze left me and casually examined the coin. One side of his face grinned. The hand next to the gun tensed and for a second, I saw the muscles in his hand contract, relax and tense again as if fighting each other. Finally, the hand snatched up the gun, a thumb pulling back the trigger rotating a round into the barrel from the magazine.
In that second, I was sure I knew what the other 13 people who stood before him thought. Actually, it was a total absence of thought. There was nothing coherent. There was simply being. When the hammer fell against the chamber, there was a soft click but no reaction. No bang. No smoke. No bullet.
But of course you knew that. I'm still here. I'm just really getting into this narrative stuff and I know you're just hanging on every word until I get to the point. I'm smiling right now the way he smiled at me, crooked and cocky. He waved the gun in the direction of the door, granting me passage and as I shakily passed him, I said. "You know that gag never gets old, Mr. Two Face. Its a classic." He grunted and muttered something like, "You better knock before you go in, lucky boy."
VI.
My last thought before opening the door was a curious thought about if Two Face's prick were split in two like his face. I was about to digress on the ramifications of an asymmetrical phallus, when the doors opened automatically and I was greeted by the smell of a hothouse in summer. I had an immediate reaction and my eyes began to water. It was as if the room were clogged with pollen. The accountant geek felt it, too, as he held a handkerchief to his face as he quickly pulled the doors closed. A second later the auto close kicked in and the doors shut behind me.
For once, the room was silent. I was reluctant to discover what waited behind the doors, but at the moment, my eyes were adjusting to a dark, botanical cavern. I knew the Gotham's Botanical Bitch was around somewhere, as was Batgirl, but there was no sound. Like you, Bats, I don't like firearms. I feel I should point this out because anyone else would think I'd have come prepared. I did, but you don't get "A" cards when you carry hotrods at your side. I prefer more subtle methods of defense. However, at the moment, with the moonlight filtering through the skylight down over a silent jungle, I truly wish I had something with large calibre rounds inside it to keep me company.
My footsteps were soft but audible, echoing off the elevated ceiling, ricocheting off the walls and through the columns of what could have been granite or cement or even beanstalks for all I knew. There was protocol here and it was this that kept me from freaking out.
In situation like this, you have to anticipate some weird-ass behavior. Especially from tights-wearing criminals with body counts higher than my IQ. You don't gain respect in this business by shooting before asking questions, or even asking stupid questions before choosing to open fire. You gotta know the psyche of your prey or, in this case, prospective employer. So what did I have to know about Poison Ivy? I had to know the lingo. I had to know the mentality. You spent years developing dossiers on these people. You probably know far more than I do. But in the middle of the night, in a dark room with a psychopath, I had to learn pretty darn quick.
I stepped forward five or six steps and took a breath. It was getting thick with humidity. Around me, there were erected scaffolds to which were clinging vines and large webs of ivy. The center of the room was a shadowy mound of bushes and small trees. I grew aware of a faint chittering and squeeking, like the sound of fat rats in a slum. I could see some movement on the floor, slithering shapes...snakes?...in the half-light. So I took this as a sign to stop and announce myself.
"Ms. Ivy? Mr. _ sends me. I hope I'm not interrupting."
A sound like wind blowing through the treeline gave me an unnerving answer. . There was no wind, not even a ceiling fan. The chittering grew higher in pitch and more frequent. Politely and humbly, I remained in my place.
I continued, "Mr. _ requests that Batgirl be turned over to me. He is requesting prima mortem."
Of course, he wasn't. It wasn't as though the boss wanted a dead heroine on his hands. As I said before. Superheroines become martyrs. However, invoking the underworld right of First Vengeance or First Death is pretty powerful stuff. You ignore that at your peril. So it didn't surprise me when the rustling increased and I began to see dozens or squirming, slithering shadows begin to surround me. The commotion in the hothouse grew more chaotic. I remained absolutely still. Behind me, laughter filtered through the closed doors. I don't know if it was aimed at me or some other business TF was transacting, but it distracted my attention long enough to drop my guard.
The next minute, a series of lights, soft white disks on the floor, brightened along a narrow path ahead of me. It startled me. Off the path they outlined I could see the vines - living, writhing rows and layers of them - extending into the darkness. As they did, the friction created a long, almost animal squeak as the tension increased. It explained the sound I heard earlier, but the explanation didn't make me feel any safer. I took from the sudden appearance of a path that I should follow it. I did, through an archway of tall swaying ferns and into a tunnel walled by living plants. By this time I was feeling a little disoriented by the stench of the place. I thought it was nerves and the lateness of the hour, but I pressed on.
I heard a giggle, like a little girl enjoying a game, from somewhere nearby. My heart skipped and I stopped. I considered heading back, but I knew cowardice would undermine my purpose here and if Ivy didn't snuff me right away, Mr. __ would for hurting his reputation. I stared ahead along the rows of soft lights and could see the trail ended around a clearing of sorts. Stepping through, I noticed a steel trellis erected in the center.
In a small clearing with a fifty foot ceiling, there were columns rising to the roof and a network of steel rods forming a rectangular dividing wall. Hanging on it, secured by thick vines, was Batgirl.
VII.
From where I stood I could only see her shape hanging a foot off the ground with vines curling and twisting around her body. As I stepped forward, I saw another shape appear from behind the trellis. What had looked like a small bush now turned into a shapely female form. She was quite muscular and had a head full of hair. She strutted forward confidently, swinging her hips and swaying like a sapling in a breeze. The air changed. It became almost sickly sweet. I cautiously approached the trellis, hoping to learn that Batgirl was alive. At the moment, I had to deal with Ivy. I had to follow protocol.
I waited to be spoken to. She stopped a few feet from me. I could see a faint outline of a dark green leotard and a full head of auburn hair that flowed over her shoulders the way you see water plunge from the top of the falls. Her legs were long and her hips slender. Her movements were enticing, graceful...even arousing.
"So you work for that bastard, __?"
My heart sank. "Freelance. I was hired to take Batgirl out of action. He doesn't want her dead except..."
"Did you know..." she purred contemptuously, "that the last time he and I met, I swore I would rip out his spleen and fertilize my gardens with his entrails?"
I blinked. "Ouch." I honestly felt that, but continued, "You wouldn't be the first. I work for him because his money's green."
She laughed. "I admire your motives. However, I am not finished with my pretty young thing, yet. Come back tomorrow. If she desires to leave, she may. However, I have a feeling she may wish to remain with me for a while."
It was almost daring me, begging the question "why" but I had to keep to the mission. "What message should I give Mr. __?"
She was strutting toward Batgirl, the moonlight outlining her voluptuous frame, but she stopped. "I would tell him that the next time he tries to bed me, he should wait until his stalk has a little more...turger." She reached Batgirl's body and ran a hand over her face.
"I will do just that, Ms Ivy. I apologize, but I do need assurance that she is still alive."
Ivy laughed, again like a little girl. She turned and snapped her fingers. Immediately, the ivy on the trellis began to tighten, pulling Batgirl's arms and legs apart like a rack. Batgirl lifted her head with a sudden, painful shriek. The tension continued as Ivy placed a hand on Batgirl's abdomen and slid a finger down until it disappeared between her slender legs. I heard a gasp. A slow zip and, in the shadows, I saw Ivy lower her face to Batgirl's crotch.
Soon, Batgirl began to stir, groaning softly and kicking against the trellis. The tension on her appendages was tremendous. It kept her from moving much. Her legs were spread wide and I watched Ivy's crouched form hover around her pussy, soft lapping and kissing noises sometimes overwhelming the gasps of pleasure coming from Batgirl. The sound grew steadily louder as Batgirl moaned and gasped, resisting the pleasure, but consumed by it. I could only imagine Ivy's tongue invading her tight wet pussy, finding the one place Batgirl could not resist and probing it, sucking it and grinding it until she spasmed in relief. My cock swelled in my pants.
It was a fantasy, like Acteon in the forest watching the goddess Artemis frolicking and playing. I imagined the two of them together, Batgirl a willing slave to her desires...then Batgirl screamed and I placed a hand over my crotch. I felt a sudden warm release of pleasure and managed only barely to keep on my feet as I came along with her. I stood there shaking for a moment. Batgirl went limp, whimpering like a child. Ivy rose to her feet and drew a sleeve across her lips. I could see her face in the moonlight and longed to kiss her poison lips. Her eyes found mine and she smiled. I knew to turn and go before she consumed me, too.
I spent the rest of the night in Duality, using some of the credit line and having a few drinks. An otherwise uneventful night was broken up by an interesting floor show. About four in the morning, as the gamblers and thieves were wrapping up their night's bounty, the middle-aged Emcee took the microphone and slurred a half-sober introduction that caught my attention. I looked up on the burlesque stage with its scuffed floor and Christmas lights and watched as the sequined curtains parted and Batgirl stepped onto the stage. At the edge of the stage, drunken sots let out an almost automatic round of whooping and catcalls. Broke and dirty scum closed in on the stage as a fully coweled Batgirl stepped out toward stage front. Her movements were stilted. I couldn't tell if she were programmed or simply coerced. She was wrapped in her long scalloped cape and began to dance shakily. The entire room quickly turned to watch this with no little amusement. I didn't even notice the psychedelic music selection until she started to strip.
I stepped forward and noticed Ivy standing just inside the rear curtain. She stepped back into the dark as Batgirl threw open her cape to a roar from the crowd. She was wearing a painted on version of her costume in black latex. She wore real boots and her own cowl, but the rest of it was thick constricting paint that left little to the imagination. The paint was dry and I could see it buckle a bit as she moved. She bent and twisted and turned and gracelessly wobbled along the catwalk toward the firepole as dozens of men lifted twenties, fifties, even hundreds to gain her attention. She saw none of them. She ran her hands lightly over her huge tits, tickling her own nipples and traced her own shape with her fingers before throwing off the cape. As she stepped to the lip of the catwalk, I noticed a thin cloud of reddish fog around her head. It wasn't a trick of a smoke machine or cigarette smoke in the spotlight, it was some of Ivy's dust - and Batgirl was doing as she was commanded under its influence.
At the edge, Batgirl rubbed her body against the cold steel pole, running the phallic object between her breasts and pussy lips. She squat down and tossed her red hair back, humping the pole, banging it against her crotch wantonly, painfully as the crowd grew louder. Hands reached out to clutch her and thick ugly fingers managed to touch her latex-cased thighs and legs. I felt the stirring again and wondered what I could do to get her away from there, if only to have her for myself. As I thought about this, she stood up and, during a long techno chorus, she extended a long fingernail and gingerly slid it down from her thigh to her ankle, raising her tight ass toward me in the process. The nail cut through the latex and split as she bent further down. She did the same to her other thigh and brought her finger up to her neck.
The finger slid down between her breasts and over her belly like a coroner's first incision. The latex spread slightly, revealing her white flesh underneath. Her hand slid down further as her middle finger disappeared between her legs. She stepped back against the pole and used it for support as I watched her rub her clit with her finger through the latex. She slowly applied pressure and speed to it as she dropped to the floor along the pole, spreading wide her legs. The latex split more and the men tore at the pieces. Strips of latex pulled away from her like taffy while she continued to masturbate for them, moaning and biting her lip in spite of her humiliation. She didn't seem to notice anyone else there. Two fingers sliced open the crotch and, with one hand massaging her left breast, the other entered her moist, shaved pussy. She began fucking herself slowly with two fingers, then three...
I hadn't noticed but there were now several bouncers circulating the croud, tapping some of the patrons and showing them the exit sign. Over the course of the show, they left and, when I finally realized my situation, I was one of only four or five in the entire establishment. I thought the odds had improved for getting her out of there, but I realized that the remaining patrons were some of the worst and vilest criminals in the city. This was a by-invitation-only event.
Batgirl closed her eyes and continued pleasuring herself. She clawed into the latex covering her breast and left long tears in it that revealed her erect nipple. She ran a finger around the outside and pinched herself. At that point, Ivy decided to walk onstage.
Ivy walked out in a simple green bodystocking and, while a little older than Batgirl, was just as firm and athletic. She carried in her waistband what looked like a long plant - cylindrical and green. She stepped like a runway model, not even acknowledging the cheers that arose from the remaining onlookers. No bills were raised to her, but there was a definite anticipation in the room now that wasn't there before.
Ivy was cast in her own red cloud as she reached the pole at the end of the catwalk and wasted no time swooping down and lifting Batgirl up by her neck, pinning her back against the pole. Ivy got in close to her holding her from behind at the neck and sliding a hand across Batgirl's belly. Batgirl whimpered helplessly as Ivy gently removed her fingers, lifted them to her lips and took them into her own mouth. She licked and sucked Batgirl's juices off her fingers and then let the hand fall limply at her side. Ivy slid her hand between Batgirl's legs and clamped it tight on her crotch. Batgirl gasped. Ivy nuzzled her, kissing the exposed skin of her neck as her fingers began to explore her captive. Soon, she withdrew her hand and removed the long, thick rod from her side. The gathered crowd roared in appreciation and anticipation. Batgirl was shaking visibly and I expected she was being held up by her neck at that point. I heard a low throbbing hum from the device as Ivy laid it across Batgirl's chest. Ivy forcefully turned Batgirl's face to her and I saw Ivy thrust her tongue between Batgirl's lips. The device made contact with Batgirl's exposed breast, causing her spasms of pleasure. She convulsed and danced on the stage, breasts bouncing about freely. The thickness of the vibrating device was considerable, but we've already established you, chief, as the benchmark, so when Ivy thrust it savagely into her, I think I was the only one in the room who wasn't surprised it slid in almost effortlessly. Still, Batgirl hollered in pain, biting her lip again. Her legs gave in, but Ivy held her gainst the pole and to her body. Tearing open the latex Ivy took Batgirl into her mouth, sucking and fondling as the current kept Batgirl on the brink of a seizure. Ivy never removed a stich of her clothing, but enjoyed pleasuring herself on Batgirl's body, gradually growing more ferocious, scraping her nails across her exposed flesh, painfully pinching her nipples and biting into her neck and shoulders. Finally, after what felt like minutes, Ivy slid her hand down Batgirl's body and grabbed firm hold of the vibrator. Sliding in behind her, Ivy used the pole for her own support as she rythmically thrust and released, thrust and released thrust and released the vibrator from inside her pussy, fucking it repeatedly in front of the audience. Batgirl heaved and sighed, cried out and fought against the pressure, the ridged sides tearing across her clit and stretching her apart.
"DO you want to cum?" I heard Ivy say.
"y...yyyy...." came the whimper....
"DO you WANT TO CUM?!" Ivy yelled.
"Yes....PLEASE......"
"Beg me, you worthless whore....tell me...."
"I...I'm a worthlesss.....whore....please Mistress....let my cum....pleeassse...."
"SHOULD I LET HER?!"
THe crowd was mixed, indecisive.
"Beg them, slut....beg them to let you cum...don't you DARE cum before I tell you."
"Yes....yes...please. I'll do anything. Let me cum...."
"Who will let this bitch cum on my stage?!"
Batgirl was in ecstatic agony, contorting her face on the brink but never crossing over....in pain from the stress, but enjoying every second. I felt my own cock tight against my leg, rock solid and wanting her so badly.
A voice behind me said, "I will if she serves me!"
I turned. It was one of the largest men I had ever seen. I should have known who at the time, but at the moment, it was bad enough he was HUGE, over seven feet. I made a mental note to keep better watch of my surroundings.
"What do you say, Batgirl? Will you service him?"
A pause. I saw Batgirl strain to see into the shadows, but I knew she couldn't. All she wanted was to have sweet release.
"I guess the answer is..."
"YES!" She screamed. "Yes...Please just let me cum!!!"
A low, grumbling chuckle from behind me. Ivy spun Batgirl around and dropped her to the stage ledge, her torso hangin down over the edge. Ivy clamped the vibrator to her belt and , as Batgirl hung upside down from the stage, began fucking her violently and quickly. Batgirl shrieked and cried as she came and came, delirious from the pain and pleasure for moments until she lay limp, shuddering and catatonic on the stage. Ivy snapped her fingers and stood up, a foot long, wet dildo strapped to her waist. Thugs took Batgirl's body off the stage and backstage. Ivy removed the dildo and cast it away like a dead rat. She took a towel from a nearby table and wrung her hands in it as she approached me. Her eyes met mine and she grabbed my cock through my pants. Stopping just for a moment, a finger finding and pressing its head, I felt a shudder as I came in them. I wanted to take her in my arms, but I stood rigid, gratefully as she milked my cock. I wasn't even aware of the smiles and muffled laughter from around me. She moved to kiss me, but I turned my head and took a short hug. I knew what kissing her meant and I wasn't going to fall for it. It would have been a hell of a way to go, but I wasn't ready.
She leaned in to my ear. "If she can survive this guy, she's all yours...if you still want her that is." She laughed that childish laugh and pressed the towel against my crotch. She turned and walked past as I took it. In the moments of afterglow I saw Ivy step up to the bar at the rear of the club where 7' 7", 375 pounds of back-breaking horror waited.
I could only imagine what would happen if Batgirl had to endure the attack of the brute they call Bane.
I took it as a good sign that one of Gotham's Top Ten villainesses would give me the time of day, much less jerk me off in public. I guess the only person I should have been concerned about was Two Face. I expect he was hoping for a totally different evening. I cashed in my chips and tried to keep watch on the situation. However, there was very little I could do with 20 of Bane's henchmen around to watch his formidable backside. I could only imagine what he would do with Batgirl. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be pleasant.
I shouldn't have concerned my self with it so much because, as I stepped onto the elevator and punched "G", I didn't notice the elevator heading straight up. I did give a casual glance up but didn't see that 17 had turned to 35 and I was still climbing for the penthouse. I blame the lateness of the hour and my own personal exhaustion.
I was daydreaming about other close encounters I've had there and the tales other thugs tell in our various rounds of poker between heists back in the days when The Joker ran Gotham. If Duality could be described as the Underworld's Studio 54, The Lab could be the basement where the elite meet for metahuman treats.
The only catch-of-the-day I know for certain was The Huntress. Pretty much your garden variety mobster with gymnast training, she ventured into The Lab looking for the guy who parked the car for the assistant to the secretary of the fuckwit that shot her daddy. She had a big chip on her shoulder before she was tamed by Joker.
Vinnie Clives was working the books for Joker when Huntress showed up, busting heads and desks, looking for him. I was working what amounted to a typist pool three floors up writing ransom notes and death threats when I heard the ruckus and hustled down with the others to see this gorgeous raven-haired Amazon with a pistol crossbow and the tightest pair of ass cheeks ever to be packed into spandex. Her purple/black costume might as well have been painted on for all the good it did covering her muscular body. She was one of the more graceful fighters I've seen and spent the last few minutes of her career as a superheroine cracking skulls before Joker decided he'd had enough.
Huntress found Vinnie Clives working at his desk and was doing the whole "vengeance is mine" routine when Joker left his officer and introduced himself to her.
"Good eeeeevening, my dear." He said, happily dancing about in Bermuda shorts and a LOUD Hawaiian shirt. "Is there a problem? There's no need to get so upset in our place of business. Surely there's something I can do."
The Huntress jibber-jabbered about revenge and death for about two minutes, holding her crossbow square at Vinnie's forehead from about a foot away. Vinnie was sweating like a pig. He'd never done so much as lift a candy bar from a grocery let alone murder someone. But there he was, looking to Joker to save his sorry ass. Joker looked concerned for a moment, then started to yawn.
"Yes yes yes, my dear," Joker said, displaying his ruby gums through his mal-formed white lips. I quite understand how you feel. Let me make amends."
With a single jerking motion, he extended his right arm and fired a single round from a concealed pistol in his wrist. The bullet tore a hole clean through Vinnie's head and spattered the Huntress as the remains crashed forward on his desk.
The echo had barely faded when Joker said, "Now. Can we be friends?"
His grin remained fixed, but his eyes betrayed fear as he suddenly ducked, avoiding the bolt intended to shatter his skull.
In that moment, they were on her - 30 thugs and henchmen with big meaty fists, chairs, table legs, blackjacks and even bullwhips...took her down quickly. I watched from a distance as she was pummeled to unconsciousness while Joker danced maniacally. As the sound of leather against flesh subsided I heard him growl, "Take her to The Lab."
I know I'm getting off subject, here, Bats, but as I understand it, this Huntress - the one bloodied and beaten in this narrative - is the daughter of the first Huntress you used to be seen with way back when. I don't know if you knew what finally happened to her, but I'm fondly recalling my "cherry" adventure so I might as well share the revelation with you. When I thnk about her and all her assets - the stature, the grace, the dark attitude - it all spells "Batsy's Love Child" to me.
So when I tell you I was tapped to carry the injured Huntress to The Lab, I was quite surprised. Close up, she was quite magnificent. Her body was sculpted and well-defined yet feminine and even moreso that Batgirl. Though her face was battered blue and purple, She had naturally beautiful features. 38 D breasts defied gravity and pressed tightly against the lycra bodice she wore. I kept staring at her face and her long, black hair full of glass and streaked with her own blood as well as the 30 or 40 she had mercilessly pounded on her way through the office. On the way down, she would show signs of waking and her swollen eyes would open slightly, sparkling blue eyes caught mine once and closed again.
The Lab was the sub-sub basement to the office building and was a playroom for The Joker and his accomplices. He had us take Huntress to what amounted to a ceremonial chamber - a mockery of a pagan relgious altar. There, we depostied Huntress on a wooden table and got the hell back before anything important happened. Other goons tied her wrists over her head and pulled the rope tight through a floor mounted loop, pulling her wrists back over her head at an uncomfortable angle. She was pulled to the edge of the altar and her legs spread wide on nylon ropes mounted to the floor. Her ass sat on the ledge, displaying her lycra-clad body to the growing audience of villains.
From the shadows, I watched The Joker appear in a really awful pink tuxedo, with frills and gaudy gold cufflinks. Immediately, Barry White filtered through the soundsystem. He did a little Danny Tario across the floor as he approached the writhing, struggling heroine. Joker stripped his pink top coat and did "the swim" up to the altar, where he looked over The Huntress like a long overdue meal. Joker spoke to her and laughed a lot, but he spent the time exploring the Huntress with his hands, like a sculptor gets to know his clay. He molded her breasts in his white, gaunt hands as he whispered into her ears. He roamed over her muscular abs and caressed her thighs as he hooted and hollered. In the growing crowd, there was a call for some kind of action, some sort of show. Huntress struggled harder as Joker made his way around the altar between her legs and leveled his eyes on her. He snapped his fingers and the music from 2001...Also Sprach Zarathustra..began to play. The lights changed and a spotlight rose on Joker's Pink polyester pants. He slowly unzipped them to the rising music and, as it reached its height, revealed - ironically - a thin, short and creepily pale cock with a decidedly twisted purple head.
Huntress could see, from her position on the altar, what was to happen. Her body was prone to everyone in audience. She must have felt us all staring at her and fantasizing about her as Joker unzipped her crotch, displaying her pussy for us. His cock, while stubby and twig-like, was at an impressive 2 o'clock as he approached her to the cries of those around him.
He snapped his fingers again and two men approached Huntress with a muzzle. She didn't cry out, but they fastened a reubber and leather gag, choking her to open her mouth. From there, they inserted a padded "O" ring that kept her mouth open. Eye level with the Joker's weird cock, she had no defense when he slid it, effortlessly between her lips.
He danced about, petting her raven-haired head like a dog, stroking it back and holding her face toward him as he rocked slowly in and out. He recited rude poems to the crowd and let his fingers walk over Huntress' body.
"Someone get this cut-rate Catwoman a glass of water! She's about to swallow a bitter pill! HOOOO HOOOO HOO!!!!!!"
I could see her writhing on the altar, heroically resisting, tearing at her binds, raising her torso up and down trying to get leverage to pull away, but it only caused the crowd to cheer louder, watching her pussy rise and fall and the spandex pull further way from her crotch as the zipper slid further open, We watched her tight ass tense and relax and her long, muscular legs in heeled boots kicking about helplessly in their restraints as Joker calmly increased his attack on her mouth, cupping the back of her head and pulling. He laughed and laughed and laughed until suddenly he shook - spasmed against her face. He hooted and whooped as we all breathlessly waited for the climax...
And then he stopped! He leaned down to her face and said, "Psyke!"
Sounds of disappointment grew in the room as he danced away from her, his weird manhood slick with saliva, whipping about with him. He suddenly stopped and turned back to her, slowly.
"You know...I feel somehow unfulfilled."
He wasted no time stepping between her legs and, without much ceremony, taking her with quick, short thrusts. While she didn't beg or plead or even cry out in resistance, Huntress struggled hard against the restraints as he fucked her and she managed to pull free one of the floor mounts holding back her wrists, but it was too late. Henchmen we on her quickly, pinning her wrists painfully as Joker laughed and laughed as his wicked, twisted member penetrated her and spilled into her and finally shrank away despite his continued thrusts and unbridled laughter.
The crowd had grown silent and I decided to leave the scene for the cafeteria where I thought I could swipe a few quick snacks.
After that, there was little heard from Huntress. Word is she took the hint and went back to her day job coaching kids gymnastics at some Junior High in Smallville, Kansas.
But I digress...
When the elevator stopped, I half expected to walk out into the lobby and hail a cab. I didn't expect to step into Two Face's office suite and three meaty thugs with blackjacks. They didn't swing at me. I knew most of them. They gave me a look that said the boss wasn't happy with me. I had a feeling the "A" card saved my ass. Without it, I would have already been a puddle.
I nodded to Bennie Markowsky, a savage-looking thug hired by Two Face after the Penguin laid off all his hired guns last year. Of the three, I knew him the best and trusted him the least. He was capable of great cruelty to people, animals and even plants if the whim struck him. The other two were relative newbies, though the bruising told me they were being broken in quickly enough. I knew the drill and walked along the hallway to another dramatic-looking office with expensive breakables and a view of the city out a bulletproof plexiglass bay window. Behind a really heavy oak desk sat Two Face flipping his coin nervously. At this point I knew the coin had been tossed and he was going to either kill me or let me walk with a severe beating. So I felt comfortable speaking my mind.
"Are we going to do this again?" I asked, impatiently. "I really don't want to fuck around with the details of your would-be girlfriend's hand job. You can't tell me you weren't thinking the same dirty thoughts I was."
This was said for two reasons. The first was to establish that I wasn't fucking around. The second was to clear a space around me to move. None of the henchmen like to be in the line of fire from an angry boss with poor depth perception due to oddly shaped eyeballs. Two Face looked like two people in the same space arguing with each other about how to handle my particular case. Clearly there was some jealousy, but I think there was more confusion. I looked at the hideous plant in a pot beside his desk. There was a card that I can only presume came from Ivy hanging from a dangling, twisted branch. I could see in the weird noir lighting that a faint red cloud was circling his head just like the one circling Batgirl's in the nightclub. He began muttering to himself and twitching. I decided that the pollen or the gas or whatever the fuck it was had caused an imbalance in Two Face. It was acting on one side differently than another. It became clear to me that Poison Ivy was fucking with Two Face big time in what could be a hostile takeover bid.
"I need Parkview Square." He said abruptly.
"Excuse me?" I asked, more for clarification than anything else.
"Your boss owns Parkview Square. I need it." He was visibly shaking. "You need to get your boss to sell the rights to that territory to me."
"Why Parkview Square?"
One side took control of him for a second, "None of your fucking BUSINESS, toad!!" He gathered his-selves "I...need to...have those extra city blocks for Ivy. Ivy is working on something of her own and she and I will split the proceeds of the venture. "
I took a breath. "You know that my boss will want a cut of that if he hears about it."
"He ain't gonna know, fuckwit!" the bad side snapped.
I smirked. "Oh no?"
I considered telling him about the plant. I thought about pointing out that Ivy was fucking with both my boss and him. In the bigger picture, my revelation could have gotten me killed OR it might have served to elevate me to a higher level of power in the network. But ultimately, I had to play the more important card I had and deal with a more urgent matter of business. "Tell you what. You get me Batgirl now, before that fat slobbering behemoth Bane gets to her and I'll sing your praises to the boss that you need to look out for someone personally in that district. He isn't married to that territory or anything."
Two Face looked almost like a child on Christmas morning. "You really think he'd do that?"
I shrugged. "Not for me to promise, sir. I know a list of places he'd like to have that you currently own, though. You might make an even trade. I'll keep quiet about the money...IF you get me Batgirl."
Two Face picked up a phone with one hand and opened a drawer with the other. With his chiseled side talking to someone about gathering men on 17, the twisted side was examining the well-balanced revolver. The hand twirled the weapon, spun the empty chambers and slapped them into the weapon with a hard metal slap. I relaxed a little. The phone slammed back on the hook and the gun twirled in his finger until it was upside down, handle out. I knew he was going to have me get Batgirl myself. "I can't get my boys dirty. I'll make sure Bane's goons are distracted, but it'll be up to you to get past the big man before he gets to her. If shit hits the fan, we're strangers got it?"
I nodded. It was my best chance to get Batgirl out of there in one piece. I didn't even think about the fact that my gun was empty until I stepped on the elevator and then, it was too late.
X.
I'm sure the strategic advantage of Parkview Square comes immediately to your keen analytical mind, but I had to think about it for a long while. On the surface, its basically part of Old Gotham featuring the old clock tower at its square surrounded by Federal architecture and converted office buildings. Those office buildings were occupied by some of the most warped and crooked lawyers available and several businesses are, as you know, simply fronts for other, less legal operations. On three sides of Parkview is Old Gotham Park and on the other is City Hall, Armory and Courthouse. The territory is no more than six city blocks and the only benefit to my boss owning it is the protection money it generates and even that is only 3% of his entire protection revenue from the city.
All this passed through my mind as the elevator fell from 35 to 20. Beside me was that slavic idiot Markowsky. We didn't bother with small talk. He hummed along with Juice Newton's "Queen of Hearts" bopping his head back and forth until we reached the destination. I was expecting him to step off with me, but he stood there, shit-eating grin on his face. He gave me a little half-wave like when Wil E. Coyote is about to drop off a cliff and the doors shut between us. Of course, I'd never been to the 20th floor. There was a smell of tea and honey, a feeling of relaxation and soft Eastern music...Jap music I guess, not that queer Indian ganja music. Like the other floors, a main corridor led from the elevators through the middle of the building, branching off twice perpendicular to the main hallway. Along its length, I was caught up in the Feng Shui of the moment, mood lighting, soft colors, heavy carpeting and no echo as I stepped down passed unmarked doors toward the far end.
At least, I thought, he could have given me a room number. At the far end of the hall was a room that should be directly underneath Two Face's penthouse office. I figured that the layout was basically the same, so I walked right to the end of the hall and examined a thick metal door sculpted to look like cherrywood. The teapot handle pulled easily open and I peered inside. One of Two Face's men looked up and leveled a Glok-9 at my chest. I looked over his shoulder to see most of Bane's hooded men like Mexican wrestlers with pale skin watching television. The barrel of the Glok dropped away from my innards and I stepped inside. The doorman waved me toward a far door behind the masked thugs watching a "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" rerun and I walked cautiously on. By the far door, two more of Two Face's thugs stood watch. I nodded to them as I opened the door and passed through.
Around a corner, I entered a medical exam room. Batgirl lay naked except for her cowl on an exam table, arms apart and strapped down. Her legs were also apart, raised in stirrups. Her uniform sat neatly folded in the corner next to her boots and cape. Her body was bruised, red and swollen. Bruises on her arms and legs were a sickly black/blue. Her abdomen was bright red and her dignity was maintained by a towel under which I could see a compress. She was barely conscious and didn't see me. I saw long scratches long her body, old scars and new lacerations. Some of her "show" costume still clung to her skin. Her left eye was dark and her lip cracked and bloody. That, I decided was from biting her own lip so often in the show.
I wanted to go in and touch her, to make sure she was all right. I knew she wasn't in serious danger. She looked more like a fighter in the locker room after a TKO than an ICU patient. No monitors or IVs were to be seen, so I squared my shoulders and moved on to the next office. There I heard the distinct low growl that was Bane and the soft, childlike patter of Poison Ivy.
"So I give you the hybrid of Venom in return for certain...'favors' with this Batgirl. It will take quite a while to generate the amount of Venom you require."
I stopped and listened outside the door as Ivy replied, "We could simply take a blood sample and replicate the formula."
"No. You cannot have my blood," he snarled in a thick Latin accent. "I will give you pure Venom."
"Pure Venom will not work," she almost whined. "We require the unique mixture of Venom and your lifeblood to have the proper components. It's how the Venom interacts with your blood that makes it necessary to our experiments."
I arched an eyebrow. Venom, as its called on the street, is a wild PCP-like narcotic with extreme physical enhancement capabilities, like steroids, but potent enough to grow mass by the second with every drop. It is highly addictive and potentially lethal. Bane is the ultimate Venom case; he was raised on the stuff. His physiology depends on its constant flow into his body from a series of tubes assisted by a computerized induction machine. Tubes shoot the drug directly into his adrenal cortex and into his bloodstream with such precision that he is able to "Hulk Out" with the press of a button. On its own, Venom is so addictive that a normal human has been known to tear himself apart from withdrawal symptoms. I was wondering why Ivy was looking for metabolized Venom when Bane snarled back, "Then it is necessary that I deposit it ... as I see fit. If this is not agreeable to you, I could suggest you milk it from me yourself. It should only take us 2 ... 3 days, tops, my dear." I didn't need to see Ivy's response. I stepped backward toward the med lab. I looked Batgirl over. She was in no condition to move, much less walk. I gathered her costume and belt into a nearby trashbag and started to untie her binds.
Then I heard Bane. A long, bellowing roar of laughter from outside the exam room. I looked for another exit. There was none. I couldn't possibly free her in time without running into Bane. I might as well have had a sharp stick instead of the empty revolver. I slid back into the only hiding spot I could find, behind a Pyxis med-dispenser. It was a tight fit and I didn't know how long I could stand there.
I heard his heavy footsteps. I saw a large shadow cover Batgirl. The blinds in the observation window snapped shut and the door closed. I've been told Venom allows Bane to smell people. With the amount of spunk in my shorts at the moment, it wouldn't be too hard for him to pick me out if that were true. The lights were dimmed to the point I could barely see Batgirl's form.
"Are you awake pretty one?" he said slowly with a sound like metal across granite. He stepped forward. His waist was even with the edge of the table where Batgirl lay helpless. He loomed over her and I felt my heart sink as he unzipped his fly, letting a limp, yet preposterously large member fall out onto her wounded belly. It was like a good sized trout. The sound of tearing cloth meant the ice and the towel were being cast aside and the sudden CLICK/HSSSSSSSSS meant that Bane was pumping himself full of Venom. His breathing increased as did his size. He grew six inches in height and his cock thickened, hardening to the width of a soda can. I began searching the back of the med dispenser for something...anything that might help but I kept being drawn back to the totally helpless form of Batgirl struggling against the drugs and the pain to try and stop this monster from taking her.
I managed to open the back panel of the machine that lead to the connection system between the dispenser and the computer console. Here, the commands to dispense the meds were translated to the hardware which would open drawers and dispense like any vending machine. I didn't even know what the machine contained, but I made an educated guess that whatever Batgirl was on was available.
Batgirl suddenly took in a long, heavy gasp of air and a shriek that was cut off a hand clamping down on her neck.
"You will be good for me. You will scream my name," it said firmly. "You will beg me to release you." I got down on all fours to track the leads to the actual dispensary. Once there I could see Bane's cock pointed directly against her opening. Batgirl's thin, long legs suspended up and around his waist. Huge hands held her waist and were slowly drawing her forward. I wasn't moving fast enough to do whatever I was forming in my head to do. He was already trying to penetrate her. She whined in agony. I tried to move faster, looking for a solution. Suddenly, with a final slam, Bane realized it wasn't going to work. He smacked Batgirl's face and groaned. He looked around him and, for a moment, I thought he had caught my scent. I am afraid of Bane, but an angry blue-balled Bane with an erect penis is something I NEVER want to see heading in my general direction. Thankfully for me at the moment, he began checking drawers and cabinets on the far wall. I knew what he was looking for, but I couldn't be bothered with that just yet.
A moment later, Bane was back in position with a lubricated and engorged cock pressed firmly between Batgirl's thighs. It would have to be like childbirth, I thought, to take that girth. I found what I had been looking for and managed to pry off the computer connectors with little effort. This allowed me to work the mechanism inside the machine without risking electric shock. I heard the grunting and the muted cries on the other side of the machine. I could only imagine he had managed to work the huge head of his cock into her already. Batgirl was being used and dominated and I couldn't stop Bane without evening the odds. I looked through the bottom shelves and found three vials of a luminous green liquid. I couldn't read the label, but I hoped it was what I needed.
Of course, the hypodermics were on the far wall in a cabinet right above the open jar of petroleum jelly.
I had the gun without bullets and now, a bullet without a gun. There was no way I could administer Venom (though reluctantly) without pumping it directly into the bloodstream. I decided that I would wait.. I had no choice. I had to wait until Bane finished or he'd kill us both. On the table, I could see Batgirl shaking her head in the only bit of resistance she could muster. He continued to talk to her, telling her he would make her scream his name and beg him for death. He told her, quite plainly, his plan to fill every orifice in her body with Venom. I went back to the Pyxis machine to see if there was another solution. Short of a .44 steel jacketed suppository, I had a bad feeling that Batgirl was going to feel a lot worse before she felt better.
I tried not to listen to Bane or Batgirl. It was horrible enough thinking about her pain, but having to look forward to what came next made me feel absolutely useless. For a full ten minutes, Batgirl endured his attacks and as it grew more powerful and frequent, I actually looked forward to his final climax. When it came, so to speak, I heard him howl. I heard a pop and some other awful sounds I won't repeat here.
When the seismic shock ended, Bane's breathing returned to normal and I heard the CLICK/HSSSSS of his gauges releasing the pressure of Venom. Still formidable, he was no longer the unstoppable monster he had been. I looked out and saw him holding a specimen jar. He covered it and turned to the door. He set it on a counter and replaced his atrocity of an appendage in his oversized Dockers. Was this luck? Was he finished? He turned back to her and I thought he was going to go for another round, but he went to the sink and dampened a towel with cold water. He removed an ice pack from the freezer nearby and tended to Batgirl, laying ice on her swollen cheek and a cold towel to her lap. He grunted and turned from her, heading out the door, ignoring her simpering cries.
I had to get her out of there. I collected the vials of Venom in the plastic bag and found a way to unlock the wheels on her table from the foundation in the floor. I was surprised Bane hadn't dislodged it himself. I was so engrossed in the process that I didn't see Poison Ivy enter the room until I turned and faced her less than a foot away.
She smiled. "I told you you could have her if she wanted to leave." She stepped over to Batgirl. A small cloud of red dust settled over them both and she leaned into her side. A soft hand tended to her wounded privates and she said, "Do you want to leave, Batgirl?" Ivy kissed her softly, gliding her tongue across her swollen lips. She kissed the blood away and Batgirl met her kiss with most of the strength she had left. Ivy pressed her bosom against Batgirl as she caressed her and held her. The look on Batgirl's face was one of total obedience. "Do you wish to leave with this ... man?" Batgirl looked at me like I had destroyed her. She looked back at Ivy with the love of a child and whispered, "No. I want to stay with you, mistress."
Ivy turned to me. "You tell your boss that Batgirl will no longer be of any concern to him. She belongs to me, now. I suggest you accept that and walk away before Bane decides to return."
I took a breath. The red dust was already making me susceptible to her will, so I bid a hasty but polite retreat. I was offered no resistance on my route out, but wasn't surprised when I saw Markowsky just inside the lobby doors with another of those fucking half waves and a stupid smile.
A temporary setback, I said to myself as I prepared to walk 30 blocks home in a light rain. I would have to work out a new plan and get her of there, but I'd need help.
But from who?
I ended the night five thousand dollars richer, with a few more miles of street cred, and the respect of two of Gotham's top bad asses. I got out alive, on top of it all. However, I didn't have Batgirl and that was all that I could think of as I took a cab to the nearest House of Pancakes.
The driver of my cab was one of Ivy's goons. He looked too fresh to be a real driver on graveyard shift. When I asked what Ivy planned to do with Batgirl, he looked at me in the rear view mirror like I was nuts, but he relaxed a bit when I slipped him a Benjamin through the fare slot. He smiled and told me that the word was that she would end up as fertilizer in a bomb to blow up City Hall if my boss went through and took over Parkview Square.
"Gang war? Really?" I looked amused.
"The guy you work for won't stop until he's narrowed the number of players down a bit," came the response. He took a turn on Burton and sped up to make the light at 55th. We got caught behind a delivery truck, however and he had to slam on his breaks to avoid kissing its rear bumper.
I asked, "What's so important about Parkview?" I knew, of course, but I wanted to hear it fresh from someone who might have a new perspective.
He laughed. "New marketing strategy." I raised an eyebrow. Looking out through the wind shield, I noticed something moving in the rear window of the delivery truck. It vanished. The driver continued, "Your boss wants it for the old stand bys...drugs, heists, whores...Ivy wants to take it into the 21st century. She's got Penguin, Scarecrow and even some old Legion of Doomsters backing her up. Dude, its gonna be big..."
The rear door of the delivery truck suddenly sprang open. As I asked, "What is going to be big?" The muzzle of a .50 calibre machine gun peeked out and started spitting at us. The front windshield disintegrated. The driver blossomed into a mist of red and yellow. I heard snaps and pings as I threw myself onto the seat. The plexi divider was bulletproof, but the impact created a spider pattern that spread with every burst. I reached up and threw the latch on the door. It sprung open and was immediately hit from the side by dozens of rounds, piercing the thin metal of the door and shattering the window. The roar was deafening, but I wasn't paying attention. It was all going to come back to me in the form of a long, loud ringing somewhere, sometime I could afford to stop panicing. But for the moment, I had to figure a way to get out of the firing range.
I was on the floor of the cab, with the blood of the driver oozing under the front seat over my pant legs and shoes, the smell of burning plastic and blood and bile...whatever else was in the abbatoir of the front seat. There wasn't a pause to reload - a constant stream of one machine gun began pulverising the cab from front back. The bulletproof glass finally buckled and slivers of it rained down on me as the rest of it folded and cracked, the rear windhield exploded, dagger-sized pieces striking me in the neck and small of the back. It sent up a cloud of glass particles. I held my breath until I could filter my nose and mouth. I tried to gan traction to move, but slipped in the blood and fell on my face.
I found myself pinned between the seats, facing the floor of the cab. I thought of dying there, blood pooling underneath me, the filth of the cab and the rain of glass....it was nasty....nasty nasty nasty....but there I lay. In the distance, I heard the sound of sirens, then the gunfire stopped. Over the rising ring in my ears I heard the screeching of tires as the delivery van tore away from the scene. The smell of gasoline saved me from passing out and, on pure adrenalyne, I scrambled out of the car, glass and metal tearing at my clothes and flesh. I carried myself to a nearby alley and collapsed as the cab burst into flame. As I caught my breath, police arrived. Then there was smoke...lots of it and I took off down the alley.
I kept my bearings enough to follow the alley parallel to Burton up to 47th. Around about the time the sun was rising over Gotham Harbor, I was picking the lock of a Block House and slipping inside. I can talk to you about the Block House on 47th because you've already torn it apart. The doctor who ran this pit is now dead and gone and the red graphitti marking it as a Block House for wounded thugs has been scrawled over with black tar. But that night, the fetid stink hole was heaven to me. I limped down the steps and into the exam room. Dr. Panzer didn't keep any nurses or housekeepers...or alcohol that wasn't used to keep him stoned 24/7, so the floor was always an interesting shade of brown with a thick ring built up about the drain at the center of what must have been a tiled floor. It was built back in the Golden Age by our grandparents who needed a place to stow bootleg booze or patch up the guys who trucked it. I looked about to see if the doc was in and he sure as hell was. He was inside Catwoman, fucking the shit out of her unconscious body across a surgical table.
He didn't notice me as I stepped into the room. He was quiet except for a noise that sounded like a hissing snake every time he shoved himself back into Catwoman's pussy. Most of the action was covered by a stained lab coat, but I could see this little, thin man of 70, perched on a soapbox grinding against this tall, shapely woman in a purple catsuit. Her feet were strapped into the raised stirrups and spread wide. She was pulled down to the edge of the table. Dr. Panzer had already patched her up and it looked like she had been in a pretty big scrape. Her left eye was blackened and her right and left ankle were in a fresh dressing. Panzer upzipped her jump suit enough to fre her large, perfectly shaped tits and was suckling them as he fucked her. He lapped at the nipples and nibbled them as she lay lifeless. Pretty soon, it was clear that the doctor was ready to go. The hissing he made quickened and then stopped as he pounded her relentlessly, bumping her up the plastic-lined table. He spasmed for a moment and them collpsed, kissing her body and removing himself from inside her.
I was wondering just how easy it had become to get a piece of metahuman ass in this town if Dr. Panzer could so easily overpower someone who's outwitted the "Dark Knight" on several ocassions. Panzer stepped away, zipping himself up and humming a German marching tune. He removed a rubber and deposited it in a waste can. He left the room by the door opposite my entrance and I stood there, examining the splayed, lifeless body of Catwoman, her wet pussy open to the air, raised to be fucked again and for a second I considered taking advantage of what could have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I knew those thoughts were a result of the blood loss I'd suffered and the after effect of the adrenalyne rush of nearly being killed. I looked up from her pussy over her washboard stomach and lingered on her huge, naked tits before lifting my gaze to her wide-open and condesending eyes.
Her eyes trapped me like a rabbit snare and I felt my cock shrink like it were doused in cold water. She was about to say something when the far door opened again and Dr. Panzer returned.
"Ssank you my dear...zat vas quite refreshing. You are a lovely patient. I enjoy ven you come to me zo I can cum in you." He laughed giddily.
As if nothing happened, Catwoman sprang to life, sitting up on the bed. He handed her a stack of bills. She purred at him, keeping an eye on me as she kissed his cheek. "You are purrrrrfectly welcome, Herr Doktor. I appreciate your kind attention as I need to lick my wounds and depart." She slid a finger between her legs delicately, a razor-sharp claw gliding over the tender surface of her pussy. In a sudden, disconcerting jerk, she snagged the nearly invisible zipper and closed the curtain on her sweet nether regions. She hissed at me, causing the doctor to spin around, excitedly. "VAT is zis?"
I was leaning against the door frame, my head in a fog. I couldn't walk straight or think straight. Irrationally, all I wanted was to fuck this gorgeous, graceful specimin on the table. I tried to speak, but the room suddenly spun around freely and I fell into darkness.
When I woke, I didn't have to check to know my cash was gone, my watch and my "A" card. I was on a table and, to my relief, my nightmare of finding Dr. Panzer fucking me was not a reality. I WAS, however, surprised to see Catwoman still standing - as if guarding me - by the entrance. Dr. Panzer had removed the shrapnel from my back and wrapped my chest and back in bandages. I felt better, but I knew that was the drugs. Catwoman stepped over to me when she saw I was awake. I instinctively flinched, but found the doctor had bound my wrists and ankles to the table. I strarted to panic. Catwoman was in arm's reach. Even her amazing body and eyes couldn't distract me from the thought that those claws were about to do something torturous and disfiguring to me. I began to hyperventilate as she leaned over me and kissed me on the mouth. I felt her togue licking my lips and probing between them. I started to relax a bit as I met her tongue and she nearly sucked the life right out of me. She pulled away after a moment and locked her silver eyes with mine.
"I understand you were at Duality tonight." she purred.
I nodded. Catwoman folded her arms over her chest. "You met with Ivy...2 Face."
I nodded again. "How did you know?"
She smiled. "Because The Batman's been looking for you...and that little redheaded slut he hangs out with from time to time." I'd like to tell you that thought didn't terrify the shit out of me, but you'd know I was lying. She continued, "He pumped me for information earlier. He implied you were trying to rescue her from Ivy."
"...and Bane." I finished. "She had more to fear from Bane than anyone else. She's still there. Mr. __ wants me to..."
Catwoman suddenly straddled the bed, moving from a dead stand to a gymnast mount in a split second, her crotch landing between my legs. She leaned forward over me, smiling. "Aren't you TIRED of working for Mr. __? " I didn't know what to say in response. I blinked. She rubbed her crotch across mine and I felt myself stirring again. "I mean, all you get is some teasing from a hot body like mine and a lot of shrapnel removed with tweezers and bourbon. If you're lucky, by noon you'll just have an infection, an addiction to heroin and a big set of blue balls."
"If...if I'm unlucky...?" I asked, my cock throbbing in my pants against her muscular thigh. She kissed me again, licking my lips and chin, her sweet breath hot on my face. She held herself up on one hand as she unzipped her top, a single claw drawing down - almost peeling open - her skintight top. As I stared at the straining breasts inside the lycra and the gorgeous cleavage it produced... she squeezed her thighs together.
"I like you, Anaxandros," she whispered in my ear, lapping at my lobe. "You don't know it yet, but there are a lot of us who do and want you on our side." She began to grind her hips against me, forcing my still-expanding cock tightly through the tight vice she created between my leg and her thigh. She smiled and all I could see was lust in her features. She kissed my chin and my face. She leaned back and ran her hands down my bandaged chest. I waited for her to free my cock and open the gate to that amazing pussy, but she lingered. She sat up on me, the heat of her sex sending waves of pleasure through me. I was getting impatient with my need to fuck her, but powerless to raise my hand to take her. She locked eyes with me again. "You seem distracted. Can't we talk business?"
"I..." The response came awkwardly. I didn't know what to say other than, 'Fuck me you crazy, gorgeous bitch!' so I bit my lip. I rubbed back, in a shallow fucking motion that she ignored.
She cocked her head, "Are you in need of something? What can I do, sweetheart?" My face felt hot. I wanted to tear at the restraints and at her...but I barely had the strength. Suddenly, she seemed to notice the iron rod between her legs and shifted her weight on it, sending waves of painful bliss through me for a second. She lifted herself up on her knees and ran a hand down my leg and over my straining cock. "Oh! Anaxandros! How...how silly of me. Look at this! She grabbed the shaft hard and I cried out...I wanted to cum so hard, but I only wanted to do so inside this beautiful, gymnastic goddess. She ran a hand over the leg of my pants as if measuring me. I moaned, wanting to beg her to release it. She was torturing me. Pinhead nipples appeared through the lycra suit and she began to rub them and lick them like a cat bathing itself. Her weight shifted again. She was trying to get me to cum. Sweat poured off me, but I said nothing. I was nearly in convulsions as she slid a hand between her legs and opened her crotch zipper. In final, desperate hope of having her, I waited for her to open my pants. She leaned into me again and smiled. "You don't have enough money on you for me to let you put that huge, thick cock inside me, boy...." I felt the hope dying and the rage of disappointment swelling to match my cock. She grinned maniacally.
A second later she leaped off and back where she had been standing. But she put a hand on my bulge as she continued, "But its been a long time since this kitten has had any milk...." I felt the cool air of the room on my cock as it shot up. I felt her warm breath on the head of my cock and then the hot, wet feel of her mouth as she swallowed me, tonguing my slit and all of its precum , tracing it along the sensitive head and underneath. She swallowed the length and I felt the tip strain against the tightness of her throat. She deep throated me, circling my shaft with her skillful tongue, then concentrated on my head. After a moment, she lifted her head and growled, "Well come already you little slut boy....come in my mouth!" I didn't need to hear any more...the wave came and she held her head over my cock as I erupted into her mouth. She squeezed the shaft enough to give me an incredible orgasm and her tongue kept me coming as it slid over my cum-slick head. I spasmed and jerked, bathing her masked face in my seed. She kept attending my cock until my final shudder and then proceeded to clean my member. I took a breath as I last felt her lick my tip. I expected her to come up to kiss me, or at least look at me...but there was an awkward moment. I looked down to where she had so masterfully attended me...and she was gone.
The next thing I know, Dr. Panzer opens the door and walks in, seeing my pants shredded with my slick dork hanging out, looking like a worm that's passed out trying to escape its hole in the dirt. As quick as my drugged body would let me, I stood up. He had with him a pair of ratty Salvation Army pants. He threw them at me and told me to get out before he was hit with four of Riddler's goons who had severe burns from a Riddle gone horribly wrong.
I staggered out into the mid-morning stink of a Gotham alley. I still had about fifty bucks in my shoe and a bus pass if I needed it, but I ended up wandering home and passing out around noon, waking up just before sunset, feeling the sting of my bandages. I had to change dressings myself, but I ended up dousing my back in cheap vodka when I ran out of alcohol. I'd check into the ER at Mercy General later and tell them some creep blasted out a bar window as I was walking by. As I left my place, it was fine compared with the fire that lit up on my back when I cleaned the wounds with Stoli.
I checked my mail. Mr. ___ had left a message to come to his office that afternoon. Not his public office, mind you, but his private one downtown where his Board of Directors would never THINK to try and find him. I went there as soon as I could. When I arrived, he was in the middle of an interrogation, so his inordinately stacked and leggy assistant allowed me to watch her clean the office in a French Maid outfit for the 20 minutes Mr. _ was making some poor asshole scream down the hall.
To put it mildly, Mr. __ was not happy with my proposal. He wanted to know why I would pony up the Parkview District in exchange for one little girl in tights. I explained to him that this was their way of trying to get him into the action. I tried to get him to understand that most of the underworld was going to get together on something that 2=Face and Ivy knew they couldn't invite him into without pissing off the other factions. So they had to make it LOOK like it was necessary for him to force his way in on it. IN reality, the venture...whatever it was...would require Mr. __'s capital to pull of or it just wouldn't fly.
For several minutes, Mr. _ fixzed me with his "Are you for real or full of shit" stare and tapped his fingers on the desk. I sat in the chair, knowing full well that underneath it was a thirty foot drop on hinges tied to a red switch under the boss' desk...comfortably resting my weary ass and forcing myself not to scratch at the scabbing scars all down my back.
The boss asked me what they were doing and I said they wouldn't tell me. They needed to the Parkview District for whatever reason. They didn't give me Batgirl, so I assumed it was worth more to keep her than to get the district, so whatever Batgirl's part ws, it must have been big. Mr. _ nodded. He asked if I had run into you over night because six of his men were being mopped off the street after their run ins with him as he tried to find Batgirl. I said I was getting patched up by Dr. Panzer the whole time. Then, as if there were no further discussion needed, he had his boys escort me to the infirmary where a nurse could take care of my wounds properly. I left grateful for my life and ready for some serious medical help.
Three days later, I'm at home, watching the news. You had shown up at several of Mr. _'s concerns in Parkview, busted up some of the boss' operations and sent about a third of his operatives into early retirement. Shortly thereafter, the boss decided to give up claim on the territory. I was about to question this odd considence when the phone rang. I picked it up and, after a few seconds, heard, "....please....help...me...." It was Barbara. She was in pain, could barely talk, but it was her. I asked her where she was and she told me about the Book Depository on Schueller in the Parkview District. Without thinking, I headed out. I must have lost my mind because I never thought about how she got my number.
I made it to the depository in about ten minutes, letting out a few blocks shy and cutting through a Starbucks to throw off the driver of the cab. I made my way through a police barricade and took a tour of your recent work on a heroin distribution lab before finding myself grabbed, thrown across a dark room and pinned to the ground. I knew the smell of Batgirl's hair and sweat. I felt the sting of her cleated boot as it cracked my jaw. I turned awy and flet another land over my left kidney. Knowing I was going to pee blood for a week, I got angry and lashed back, landing a lucky blow to the shoulder. It didn't do much damage, but I could hear where she landed on the floor and was able to pounce. I landed on her with my full weight, knocking the wind out of her. We rolled across the floor and I ended under a window, moonlight letting me see her for the first time.
She wore what looked like a dark green jumpsuit and black lipstick. Her red hair seemed to have more body, was longer and curled. Her eyes were sunken, ringed in black and her face was pale. She wasn't Batgirl any more. She wore a new uniform. It was a set-up. I didn't know why, but I was set up. I had to escape. My back and jaw ached horribly. I tried to get up and out, but she grabbed my head and, before I could roll away, kissed me.
She held my head for what felt like minutes, but the kiss didn't end for me...she had drugged me somehow and I fell unconscious.
The Parkview District was the center of Gotham's industry during the industrial revolution, back when we clogged the skies with textile manufacturing and metalwork. Hundreds of warehouses and studios clogged the district employing thousands of workers. Its easy access to the docks allowed for shipping of these goods to other towns and countries. Though the harbor patrol tries its best, the docks are still used to import and export everything from drugs to human beings nightly.
My dad used to punch in and out from one of these places working 50+ hours a week back in the day these places were legit. He had about twenty kids to feed, from mom and other distractions he indulged during his former life as the classic door-to-door salesman. So because my dad couldn't keep his pants zipped more than an hour at a time, I have a lot of brothers and half-brothers, a few half sisters all over creation. A generation of Anaxandros' carrying dad's faded genes...what a thought.
That's what I was thinking, believe it or not, as I woke up hanging by my bound wrists from a hook about fifty feet in the air. I recognized the smell of fertilizer and rotting wood, the stale smell of the Gotham River. I couldn't feel my hands except for a dull throbbing in my wrists and a burning, tearing sensation as the robe dug into my flesh. I thought back to dad and wondered what it was that I could go back in time and pop the old man before I got cursed with his bad luck.
Its places like this empty warehouse that are hidden from the usual routine inspection of the Gotham Police Department. It looks great in a Mike Hammer sort of way if you want to have a gunfight with the cops over a drug lab or a fugitive super-criminal. The point of it all is that no one will hear you scream here. If you are left here to die, no one will find the body until the rats are done with it. Part of the Parkview District is suspended over the Gotham River and countless bodies rest under the floorboards of this place with a lot of bones lining the bed of the river. The last time there was a manhunt in this part of town, they found fifty bodies...none of them being the one they were looking for.
Pleasant thoughts, huh? But, to be a good henchman, and get paid what I'm paid, you gotta know more about the game than the old "what will they do with me?" prisoner mentality. I could have just hung there until my hands popped off, but I knew it wouldn't be long before someone either started sniping me from below or I suddenly dropped into whatever mess was waiting in the dark below. No thank you, I like living my pathetic, degenerate life.
I managed to swing my way, building up momentum slowly, over to a catwalk lining what must have been the "large cargo" area of the warehouse. At first I was afraid of the sound of tightening and expanding hemp creaking like an old rocking chair, but even as it got louder and echoed in the empty warehouse, nothing came of it. No gunshots or yelling thugs with knives coming up the gangway....I was able to get to relative safety in about an hour.
I kept wondering what that poor schmuck was talking about when he said that the business model for the District was going to change. I mean, whores, guns and drugs are the staples in any criminal diet. What could possibly be worth more than that kind of high-mark-up, high demand commerce? As I made my way down the gangway from the catwalk I could smell a sweet odor overwhelming the lingering stench of fertilizer. As I stepped into the darkness, holding on to the railing for balance, I strained to see anything below the windowline now far above me. It was very quiet except for the sound of rustling leaves and the wind through tall grass. All that would be fine if we were out doors, but with no breeze on my face, I began to worry. I softly stepped down toward what had to be a door on the outside wall, watching the darkness toward the center of the warehouse and feeling the wall for a knob or frame....something to get me out of there.
As I felt my way down, my hand brushed against a warm, soft obstacle. I slid a hand around a soft, satin waist and found myself, once again, in the arms of Catwoman. She rolled me into her arms as if leading me in a tango and I found myself staring into glowing, yellow cat's eyes. She was close enough to kiss. She smelled fantastic. For a moment I forgot my fear and thought only of the early morning hummer...but then I felt the light pinch of her claws pulling me back to reality...
"Hello, 'andros. Keep quiet."
She was wearing night vision goggles and led me down the stairs by the hand like a blind man until I heard a soft click, then a clack and a sharp shaft of light revealing a doorway to the outside. In that instant, I caught a glimpse of her frame and was pulled through violently. I landed facing the door, which she closed quickly behind her. Despite the full view of this Olympic feline, I was distracted by the quick, but clear view of a shambling mound of greenery behind her...one of Ivy's pets.
"We've got a problem," Catwoman said flatly. I stood up, brushing myself off with my mind still on that creature behind the door...a creature I cannot describe because it keeps me awake at night. If you've seen it, you know what I'm feeling. It isn't something natural, nor is it manufactured....I'm convinced it, like parts of Poison Ivy, are something entirely inhuman.
I nodded absently to Catwoman and she grinned. "You're being a stupid, shallow man right now, Anaxandros and I don't need that. I need an effective ally. If you can't help me, I'll put you down like an old dog and let Ivy find you."
I blinked at her. She was trembling, but needed to remain in control. She was after something and angry. I smiled back at her despite this, rising to my feet and trying to project confidence. "I'm fine. Its not every day I nearly get eaten by a man-eating plant. Maybe you can fill me in on what's going on here?"
She looked around and I realized we were in an access tunnel lit by 80 watt bulbs, most of which were burned out. The tunnel extended into darkness beyond 100 feet and we were under the brightest of those few remaining lamps.
She took off down the corridor. I was beginning to realize that she made no sound when she moved, no rustle of fabric on fabric, or any sound as her boots struck the concrete floor. It was creepy the way she didn't seem to be there unless you touched her. Her movements were deliberate and quick, graceful. I was happy following her so I had a clear view of her tight, muscular ass as she ran along the corridor. She ducked right suddenly and I almost passed her before I turned and spun right to stop in a small room in a place I can only describe as "somewhere else" in the warehouse basement. Catwoman walked around, looking for something...monitors, cameras, drones, monsters....whatever. She finally relaxed and crouched down on the floor. I leaned against the wall, thankful that the circulation had finally returned to my hand. My jaw still ached, but it was tolerable. In all, I was in a dark place with a gorgeous, raven-haired woman whose taste in clothing left nothing to my imagination. Knowing that this woman had willingly sucked my cock and that I had come in her face left me feeling confident and relaxed. I forgot she was one of Gotham's Elite.
"So, I want to thank you for...." I started pleasantly.
"You stupid little shit," she snapped. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
I shook my head. "Nope. I'm just here to find Batgirl."
"Idiot," she replied, "she's part of this whole plan now, because of you."
"What plan is this?"
"When you barged into Duality today, you convinced Ivy, 2 Face and Bane that Mr. _ was on to them. They moved forward with their plans, using Batgirl as their enforcer and hostage. As long as Batgirl is hear, Batman won't try anything."
I looked at her for a moment. She was clearly enraged. I shrugged. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"The business! You put them open for business a month too soon. Right now, Batgirl is helping Gotham become the world's whorehouse. You've destroyed Batgirl, you've corrupted me and condemned us all to slavery....you bastard!"
She began to sob. I could only try and make sense of everything happening around me. I had a strong feeling I wouldn't any time soon. So I had no need to be pragmatic. "Listen you crazy fucked up cow, " I said helpfully, "you mind explaining what those words mean in a context I can understand? What are they doing? "
Catwoman stopped sobbing, but she was drained. She looked at me hard, trying to decide if I knew anything about what was going on. My expression was apparently dumb enough to convince her I couldn't POSSIBLY know, so she replied, "They have our code, our genes, our bodies...'andros, they're whoring us to whoever can pay."
"Who is?"
"Ivy and 2 Face are working with Darkseid...they're making a profit on clients fucking the best Earth has to offer." She stepped forward and handed me a stack of photographs. What I saw made me instantly horrified...
....and aroused.
In the few seconds I had to inspect the pictures, I found my adolescent fantasies brought to life. I had seen this kind of thing before, Huntress being the most vivid example, but to see some of the world's most powerful heroines bound, helpless and used as meat puppets...well, the reality was horrifying. You of all people should be interested in what I saw, since you did the same kind of thing to Batgirl in her own apartment. But here was a veritable patheon of superheroine poon tang used and abused.
You know of the infamous "Wonder Woman" tape that circulated for a while in the underground. At one point there was a big crusade to round up every last tape and people wound up orbiting the planet or buried up to their necks in ground for being caught with a copy. Even admitting I've seen it is dangerous. Here were pictures of the gamut of superheroines - acrobats in tights like Black Canary and Zatanna to solar-powered goddesses like Barda and Wonder Woman - in poses and acts that were reserved for the sick fantasies of perverted sadists like me. I couldn't see just who it was clutching Wonder Woman's naked breasts from behind and burying himself into her to her abject horror and agony, but it wasn't human. It couldn't be human. The tapes proved no mere mortal could penetrate her any easier than a granite statue. Whatever dick was doing that could be considered one of the world's most powerful tools of destruction.
Catwoman tore the pictures from my hands and scowled at me for seeming to linger too long on them.
"Your Mr. ____ is responsible for this." She hissed. "This is his idea of taking commerce to the next level. "
"Waitaminute," I replied. "2 Face and Ivy put this all together. Mr. __ just donated the land."
"Moron, who do you think is providing the hostages!?" She thrust the pictures out at me to bring the point home. For the first time, Bats, I didn't know who to believe. Catwoman needed me for some reason. It wasn't by chance I found her in the dark or that she led me out of the chamber of horrors. I was working out the problem in my head as she ranted. She was venting her rage but all I heard were numbers and acts like a hooker's price list - A million dollars for straight sex with Wonder Woman....500 large for anal with Arrowette...any combination of three Legionnaires for an hour just six-hundred thousand dollars... the list kept going, punctuated by hisses and flecks of spit hitting the back of my neck as I tried to work out what I knew and how I fit into this mess.
Finally, she stopped talking and I could put a few important facts together in my head. It didn't change my main mission there. "I really don't care, Catwoman. I'm just here to get Batgirl. I leave this weird shit up to you folks."
Contrary to what I expected, Catwoman strolled up to me casually, swinging her hips in a hypnotic ballet of her sexuality. She flashed a disarming smile and produced her bullwhip from its side holster. "You have no idea what's happened to her. She was the first test subject. She's no longer human...she's a plant, infected by Ivy to do her bidding. Face it, lover boy, she's gone."
I thought back to the new, dirty green costume she wore, the creepy look she had that didn't seem to come from prosthetics or make-up. If Catwoman was right, I was too late. Of course, being the macho male that I am, I refused to accept that. She said it to hurt me, or bring me back to the crisis at hand. I sniffed. "How much for a blow job from Catwoman?"
She smiled, almost warmly, sliding the whip around my shoulders and pulling herself to me. "That one was free. A cat has needs now and again. You were just in the right place at the right time."
"Then how about giving back my 'A' Cards, my Rolex and the billfold?"
"A cat has other needs, too," she purred. "You understand. It was worth every penny to you...from the look on your face when you came all over mine, you couldn't be disappointed."
Her sudden shift in attention took me off guard. It was like I had pressed a button switching her from super-femme-liberator to horny-kitten-cocksucker. I looked her over, following the tight purple Lycra curves. She stepped back to give me a better view, posing with one leg bent to push out her tight ass and give me a long, lingering view of her incredible legs. She slowly pulled the length of the bullwhip back, the leather kneading the skin on the back of my neck as it fell. I met her eyes and saw a glint of contempt in them just before she snapped the whip, tearing at the skin of my neck and stinging my right cheek. The shock and pain spun me around and I fell forward, scraping my face against the concrete wall.
"You have some serious issues, lady...what the fuck?!" I turned around to see her in the classic Dominatrix pose. Six feet of stiletto-heeled, righteously angry Domme fury with a whip. This chick was looped.
The whip brought me to my knees with a sudden strike to my right thigh, about a half-inch shy of clipping my right nut. The strike buckled my knees and a found myself staring at the Catwoman's stomach. I felt a sharp jolt as she grabbed a handful of my hair and bent my head back. She was full of rage. She extended a razor-sharp claw from her index finger and held it in front of my eyes, waving it
"You are going to help me, Anaxandros. You are going to free these women or I'll fucking kill you right here." With this, she slid her finger under my chin. My neck still raised, she pointed her index finger at my jugular. Remembering my training and re-examining the experiences of my life as they flew through my mind, I realized I had to be calm and passive, do what needed to be done and find the right words to get out. The only words I could think of that were appropriate were... "Yes....yes Mistress."
These words seemed to have an electrical charge. They seemed to shoot through Catwoman, like a starving man who opens his cupboard, not expecting to find food, but finding it stocked full. She shuddered, pulling her claw back from my throat. The bull whip flew around my shoulders, stinging the bloody strip on my back. Catwoman pulled on my hair, lifting me to my feet. She drew close to me and snarled, "What...did you call me?"
Averting my eyes I replied, humbly, "...m-mistress."
She grinned like a predator. Apparently, the fate of the world's greatest superheroines in their rape camp was not a priority any longer as she slapped me across the face, scratching my left cheek with the tips of her claws. I winced and replied, "Thank you Mistress." She slapped me again. "Thank you mistress." Her breathing increased. Her smile broadened. She clenched her perfect, white teeth and her breasts heaved as she grew excited. I averted my eyes. She took up her bullwhip and wrapped it around my neck, pressing me back to the wall with her body. She writhed over it as she had in the doctor's office.
She pinned me and sniffed my neck, my face and slid down over my chest. Tearing open my shirt, she gingerly crossed my injured ribs to my stomach and continued to inspect me. She sniffed and licked until she reached the growing bulge in my pants. All the while, she pulled the bullwhip from around my neck, tearing further at the gash she inflicted. I looked down at her crouched form, her ass a gorgeous form that I thought of fucking hard all day. It just helped my cock along. I wasn't into playing this game, but I was all about fucking this poor freaky girl. As my old partner used to say, "Psycho sex is great sex." and I found the mother lode with Catwoman. I just hoped she didn't change personalities again in mid-fuck.
Rising up to meet my gaze again, I must have forgotten my role, because she was enraged. She smacked me again with the whip handle. "BITCH!" she shrieked. "Know your place!"
"I'm sorry, Mistress." She tore open my pants and grabbed my cock, pulling it out violently. I winced again, which only gave her pleasure.
"You call this a cock? You want to put this limp, filthy thing inside me, don't you?"
"Yes Mistress." I replied honestly.
"You better fucking beg me to even put it NEAR me, you worthless piece of shit."
"Please, Mistress...I want to..."
"...want to WHAT, you bitch!?"
"...fuck you, Mistress."
"Of COURSE you want to fuck me. Who doesn't?! I'm CATWOMAN. I could grip your tiny little prick and give you SCREAMING orgasms for as long as I want. I could milk you so well you'd be out of cum for a month. I'd fuck you so good you'd never want to take your cock out of my tight, wet pussy...and YOU think you can fuck me?!"
My cock was dripping precum onto her glove. I could have gone off in her hand. She let go of the bullwhip and clamped her hand around my neck. "I am your dream, you little bitch." She held her face inches from mine and snarled. "You will do what I wish and serve me...then I may let you live."
Her hand left my cock, which remained suspended in place. I heard a soft, light "ZIP" and felt her move against me, my erect cock sliding between her legs. I felt the warmth and wetness of her cunt as it slid over - but not onto - the shaft of my cock. I felt the cool air as it passed out between her ass cheeks. She brought her weight down slowly, agonizingly, straddling my cock, but not even hinting that I would get into that glorious hole so near. She smiled and licked the tip of my nose to gain my attention again.
"Most men would have cum in my hand, bitch. I'm usually making them lick it off by now. You really do want me, don't you?"
"Can't you tell?...er, Mis...."
SMACK! The free hand hit so hard I felt my neck crack. I fell to my knees, bringing her wet pussy up to eye level. Wasting no time, I grabbed her hips and pulled her crotch forward, burying my tongue in her cunt. She squealed and punched me in the head but stopped when I found a soft fleshy bulb between her lips and jabbed it with my tongue. She grabbed my head the way I wanted to grab hers when she sucked me off, and pushed me deeper between her legs. She spread her thighs apart and arched her hips a bit giving me better penetration. I cupped her tight ass and pulled, burying myself into her pussy, lapping at her clit and stabbing into her wet hole. She yelled and howled as I tongue fucked her. She bucked and pumped back, nearly cracking me in the teeth, but I am good at what I do and what I did was bring her to a moment of screaming orgasm.
She fell backwards onto the floor, breaking contact for just a moment, but then I was back on her, prying apart her strong legs and reclaiming her sex. She fondled her huge tits in her hands and moaned, eyes closed and completely out of her mind as I inserted my finger inside her and tickled her clit. "You're my little bitch!" She moaned. "Fuck my pussy, bitch! Fuck it!" And I did, harder and harder. I felt it building. I knew she was using her abdominals to control the coming orgasm, and I felt the walls of her pussy closing in around my fingers. On the ebb of the contraction I slid two other fingers into her, which set her off...the muscles clamped down and sent a wave through her. The clenching pinched my fingers so hard I had to withdraw, but the next wave shot her cum all over my face. She ejaculated so hard I felt the impact. It kept going. I had to fuck this woman.
I was still hard and needed so badly to come. I took the moment to pounce and, as her contractions dwindled, positioned myself and thrust. I fell forward on her and pinned her arms back to the floor. I slid into her tight hole with no resistance. I rested my chest on hers and felt her heart pounding. She seemed dazed, almost catatonic as I took her, enjoying each stroke into and out of her hole. Soon, I was ready and kissed her hard on the mouth, releasing her wrists so I could come gripping her soft, rounds tits. I felt the wave and like a shotgun last I unloaded into her. I wasn't tender on her tits as I gripped them.
Her body was limp as the last few waves of pleasure drew the cum from my cock and I thought about what she had said about not wanting to leave her warm, wet pussy. I didn't...I wanted to stay, get hard and fuck her again. I looked at her...still dazed, she tried to lift her hand. I couldn't make out the words, but they seemed to be in German....then I understood the last two... "Herr Doktor."
So what do you do when the girl you've just fucked is babbling in German, oblivious to your presence and the moment is growing long and awkward? Don't answer that, Bats, because your answer would probably haunt my nightmares. My response was a quick peck on the cheek, the promise to call her and a prompt exit stage right. She was a sweet girl, but I was afraid the next personality would be a needy, clingy and whiney thug groupie. I'd had about enough for the day.
All that being said, I think you can understand this is turning into a pretty weird adventure. I feel like the Justice League's resident OB/GYN after looking into the legendary caverns of superheroine genitalia. I don't know about you, but this shit doesn't happen to me every day. I fully expected to walk into the next room to find Marvin and Wendy in a threesome with Wonder Dog, but thank God it was only a large ape-like monster with an impressive hammer.
Another thing you would think is convenient is the sudden onset of unconsciousness that moves this story along between fuckfests. I would love to tell you that this particular bout of sudden sleepiness was just a quick cut to the next scene, but since it involved my head and this thing's absurdly huge hammer, I want to emphasize that I would rather take you through several minutes of navel-lint removal anecdotes than admit that I had my next adventure was only notable for the trobbing in my head, not my cock.
Kalabak, I think he was called. At least that's what the old lady in the robes kept yelling at him. She was a shrill little bitch, let me tell you. She had a way of hitting the precise note that made the pain in my head come to a single point of agony behind my left eye. It was a nice distraction from the fact that I was crumpled up on the floor like Batgirl's panties, bleeding and sore, with the growing realization that I needed something to drink. The temperature was a little below boiling and the energy was sapped out of my body with the efficiency of Catwoman's mouth on my cock. Kalabak didn't bother to tie me up. He and I both knew at a fundmamental level that my movement equated to his hammer becoming a croquet mallet and I was sure my head would end up free of any link to the rest of my body.
I wasn't surprised when some faceless goon carried Catwoman in over his shoulder like a sack of topsoil. She looked pretty beat up. She ended up on a table that looked more like a mobile radar dish. Her wrists and ankles were clamped in and spread wide apart. The old lady in the robes was pretty excited by this ans squealed with a delight that resonated behind my eyeball with enough force to temporarily blind me. Kalabak was distracted by this for a moment. Catwoman's crotch zipper was still open and cum was still oozing from her pussy, staining the lycra costume along her left leg. I know that's a bit of detail you probably didn't need, but I make the point to distinguish it from mine. Last time I checked, my cum wasn't a pale, luminous green.
Then something dawned on me that you probably realized six hundred pages ago - She wasn't wearing her arm in a sling. She wasn't injured at all, despite the "surgery" she underwent earlier in the day. She hadn't been wearing it in the hallway when I fucked her, either. This, it seems, wasn't Catwoman at all...or at least it wasn't the Catwoman I met earlier that day.
Kalibak interrupted this pleasant train of thought by lifting me up by the scruff of the neck. Feeling like a magician's rabbit, I hung in his huge paw as he carried me over to the old lady. She looked back to me and smiled with a mouth full of ugly black teeth. "Heloooo," she crooned. "My name is Granny Goodness. Thank you for providing me with my sample today. I hope you enjoyed the experience."
I found I had barely the energy for a smart ass reply. I was drenched in sweat. "Yeah...always happy to help science...want to...thank...."
Granny interupted, "Such the sharp wit, you are. As you might be aware already, your seed has triggered a reaction in our little feline. I can't wait to see how this works out for us." She called over my shoulder. "Doktor?! Do you have the results yet?"
I didn't need to turn or even think to know It was Doktor Panzer behind me. The thick, ridiculous German accent gave it away. "Nein, Frau Goodyness....I haff to vait anuzzer fife minutes. Kalibak, put Herr Anaxandros down, pleez." The floor smacked me in the face and a foot the size of a truck tire rolled me over on my back. Over my head, Doktor Panzer smiled. "Danke, Herr Anaxandros, for your generous contribution. In a moment ve vill know iff ze Catwoman can survive ze treatments."
I waited for the usual expository speech about the plot, the plan, the foil and the madness...but they were too busy watching Catwoman writhe in agony on her monitor table. I felt bad for the girl, but there was little I could do for her. I tried to put it together. The Doc "fixed" up Catwoman who really didn't need fixing up. I was atacked conveniently close to the Doktor's Surgery, requiring his "service" and Catwoman conveniently stuck around for the soul purpose - or so it seemed - to suck me off.
The Doktor fucked Catwoman...but he used protection. Catwoman didn't even seem to be awake and, in fact, I assumed he had drugged her for the surgery and just took advantage of her. She seemed to be aware of the event when she came to, but there was a moment....yep, a moment where she saw me. It was right after she zipped up her crotch. Like a trigger, she was awake and the Doktor was "old news" even though she had seen me, she reacted as if I had suddenly appeared! Weirder and weirder.
So the Doktor was in on it, gave Catwoman the hints she needed to find this place...but what the hell? Was Catwoman in on it with the Doktor? Didn't make sense...I needed to find out why because part of what was going on involved Batgirl, too.
I figured I was stil of some use, or my head would have been removed already. I looked up at Granny and she seemed to be consumed with Catwoman's experience. Kalibak was resisting the urge to fondle himself and the Doktor could have been a man waiting for a bus. Tired of being a bit of furniture, I began to slide backward toward the door. It was going to be a long crawl and I doubted I had the energy to do it, but I had to try.
On the table, Catwoman was glowing. She groaned and moaned as her body absorbed whatever it was in her system. I could see her musculature improving, toughening, expanding. Veins appeared in her neck, along the rippling muscles of her arms. She was growing, like Bane when he injected Venom, but with a different twist. There was a problem...something was wrong.
Catwoman began to thrash about in convulsions. The three of them leaped forward to man control stations. Kalibak rushed to the table to contain the growing Amazon who was straining her binds. The Doktor muttered to himself as he tried to calculate something on his laptop. I used the opportunity to redouble my efforts toward the door, crawling backwards on my hands and elbows. I was making progress too when I hit a barrier behind me...namely Batgirl.
I looked up at Batgirl, her sunken face and blackened eyes staring at me emotionlessly. Her lips pulled into a thin grimmace....I felt horrible, but the adrenalyne and the absurdity mixed in a weird way. I sighed. "I'm having the weirdest day, babe. Any chance we can get out of here and go get some coffee?"
In front of us, Catwoman was meeting a bad end. I began to push back, around Batgirl...or whatever she was...and toward the door. Batgirl didn't stop me. She kept pace with me and began pulling me along, trying to get me to my feet. A few moments later, we were in a steel hallway and I was laying on a particularly sharp traction platform. I wish I'd lost consciousness here, but I had to inch my way to a cooler, safer place that seemed like it was several hundred miles away on the other side of a great big desert. The last I heard of Catwoman were screams of agony echoing down the hall and then I rolled into a dark room where the temperature change make me shiver. Batgirl slid up against me between my legs and I held her for warmth. She said nothing. I had a concussion and knew that the worst thing for me was to pass out. I had to keep awake and moving. I tried to stand but had no energy. I needed water, a bandage, a shower, a few ounces of morphine and a hospital of nurses who DIDN'T resemble a Super Friends reunion.
That's when Batigirl BIT ME. She just sank her teeth into my arm and I felt the blood flow. I felt something gush into my body, venom or poison, and it quickly overwhelmed my body. Yes, as is typical in this story I once again found myself losing consciousness...
I dreamed of a quiet creekside spot in the woods, a bed of soft grass and towering trees that opened into a sky full of stars even though I saw by the light of day. I heard nothing but wind rustling leaves and water trickling downstream. Inside me, worms dug through my flesh and into my body, feeding on me as I lay content, painlessly on the bank. I could take a deep breath and smell the flora and could feel my heart beating strongly in my chest....the worms started removing the tension from my body, removing the contussions and hematoma from under my skin.
I felt them course through me, multiplying until their number spread to every point of my body, into my heart, my stomach and my mind. I felt my heart stop as they consumed it and felt hunger die as I had no means to satisfy it. My mind grew cloudy as tunnels were gouged through it, claiming memories and feeling or any control. I felt hollow inside as they made their sudden exit out of my body through holes in my flesh - out of my bowels and out of my mouth as they inched into the stream, a fat legion of parasites, leaving me a shell that slowly sank into the grass along the creek...quietly, peacefully...there was no more body, only spirit and perception.
Blackness in the middle of a dream or early waking...no sight or sensation beyond the reality that I was trapped in darkness. The sudden loss of perception did not shock me. I felt sad, but felt warm and safe as well. There was a single, soft touch that crossed my body and I realized I was still alive. I felt the hand glide down my chest and stomach, then carress my face. There was a moment of growing fear, but then I felt the kiss: A single, soft and genuine kiss that seemed to dispell the blindness and I saw her - Batgirl - leaning over me.
She wore her costume, the full black suit and as she pulled away, I could see she was still pale, with her fire engine red hair in tangles like a thornbush in the wild. Her eyes were sharp blue and bloodshot red circled in black. Her black lips cast me a thin smile as she stood, pulling her cowl over her features. I couldn't speak or move as she unfurled her long black cape around her and slipped away into darkness.
She smelled of roses and of orchids. The scent lingered and, by its power, allowed me to slowly sit up on my bed which seemed to be some sort of exam table. I was naked under a single thin sheet. My left arm stung a bit and I realized that I was hooked into an IV feed of some clear liquid and a drip of something pale green. There were no labels to tell and I didn't have the clarity of thought to try and figure it out. Following the IV to the injection point I realized my skin, too, had a pale tone with greenish lines throughout - similar to Batgirl's. Straining myself, I found the strength to stand. I looked about the darkened room for a light and a mirror. I needed water desperately. I found a dial that illuminated the room. I found that too bright a light hurt my eyes, so I left it low and noticed a mirror nearby.
I was cured of what ailed me. The concussion was history. The wounds and sprains, strains and lacerations were healing or healed completely. Even the lash mark across my shoulder from Catwoman's whip was a faint, greenish line. I took water from a nearby sink, wishing it were vodka. I downed several handfuls from the tap and took a deep breath. Feeling better, I sat back on the bed and looked for my clothes. In a bundle were the torn remains of my black shirt and pants. Beside them were neatly folded coveralls and my dirty but intact sneakers.
I left the room quickly, carefully monitoring the hallway beyond. As I left, I noticed the entry points for the IV had stopped pulsing and stinging. The skin had healed over leaving only two belmishes on the surface. This wasn't the most important thing on my mind as I doubled back the short distance to where Catwoman had been held. On the way out it felt like a vast desert to cross, but I crossed the distance in a few seconds, turning a corner, almost instinctively, that I didn't remember on my way out.
The door to the chamber was locked, but a steamed portal showed me no movement inside the room. I waited and listened for a moment and, confident - or at least a little more than I should have been - slid the door open. A wave of wet heat poured out over me and felt great. I seemed to absorb it. It gave me energy and brought a smile to my face. I stepped into the reddish room. The exam table was empty. The shackles that held her dangled from the sides. There was no sign of blood or green slime, so I assume whatever they did brought her under control...either that or they had a great cleaning crew.
I could smell Kalibak's musky stink in the air, but I knew he wasn't around. I followed it across the room to the far side and a door that slid open as I approached. It emptied into a white steel room with three imobilizing platforms, a high tech version of the bondage blocks the Puritans used to use - the name escapes me - those racks where you stick your head and hands through and the bar locks you in. - those things. Except these held you on your knees as well and a hump kept you doggy-style even if you passed out.
"I guess this is the test-fuck room" I said to myself. It was impeccably clean. The floors sparkled. I was so engrossed by the housekeeping standards, I didn't notice that, above me, the old lady Granny Goodness, Kalibak, the Nazi Doc and a few new players, were staring out from a plate glass window.
"You are correct, Mr. Anaxandros," blurbled Granny. "...and you are just in time for the exciting debut of our newest servant...."
A panel in the far wall slid down into the floor and three muscle-bound, but faceless goons entered with their prisoner, a tall, Aryan blonde in a blue and red leotard. Long legs in thigh high red boots with a red miniskirt as the foundation for a model's torso painted in blue spandex. Her arms were tied behind her and weighted by glowing green shackles that pulled back her shoulders forcing out her perfectly round "C" cups and proudly displaying the red and yellow "S" between them.
"Mr. Anaxandros...." Granny said as the faceless goons strapped the semi-conscious bombshell into the restraint chair, "You will do us the honor of breaking in our new guest. Before you die, you will have the criminal's dream of taking the last woman of Krypton...Supergirl."
Supergirl, clearly drained of strength, strained to look up at me. She had an expression of complete desperation on her face. The light in her eyes was dying. I could see her fading quickly...two of her guards stepped away from her, the third stepped up between her legs and made sure she was firmly in place in the rack before tearing open the crtoch of her leotard and tossing the red skirt over her ass.
I looked back up at the group of scum observing all this and noticed that both Bane and Posion Ivy had joined them...along with a large, statue of a humanoid...more a shape than anything else. I could only suppose the lumbering, looming shadow behind the other two masterminds was the otherworldly lord called Darkseid.
I looked back on all that has happened to me in this adventure and, given who I am and what I do, I should have been blessed by the chance to stick it to the Girl of Steel. I should be happily plowing her bound, helpess body...but I was suddenly indecisive. If I were evil, these fuckers watching from above made me look like a boy scout. Were these the scumbags I've sworn to protect and defend? Is THIS what gets them off? Fucking helpless women for no better cause than they wear tights and fight crime?
Despite these thoughts, the idea of having this hot little bitch in my power appealed to me...quite a bit....
What to do...what to do...
She looked like the head cheerleader at my old alma mater...tall, gorgeous and a little better developed than everyone else. But like the head cheerleader at my alma mater, she met a bad end. Supergirl looked like Betty Ambromowicz at the senior homecoming kegger after the captain of the football team had his way in the garage against her will. The image took me back and reminded me how injustice is more likely to prevail in this world over the weak and innocent. There was nothing "super" about this woman forced to straddle a twisted-looking exercise machine. Supergirl, with her little red skirt flopped over her upturned ass and a clear case of a kryptonite colonic was experiencing just how evil my side could be.
This is the payback for fucking with my kind. It was a true portrayal of how ugly and vile the bad guys could be when cornered and how beauty and virtue will always be a target for corruption and desecration. So faced with the prospect of having my way with Supergirl, indulging my self on her tender, mortal, yet perfect flesh...and fighting for the survival of this gorgeous blonde I barely knew... well, I had no choice...
"Mr. Anaxandros..." Granny the Grizzled Cunt warbled from her place on high above the Fuck-Zone. "We're waiting...."
"You and every other fucking degenereate." I replied. "I mean, what exactly am I to do here? I fucked Catwoman and look at what happened to her... you think I'm going to do that again?!"
The dark shape behind the line of villains did not move, but I could see his eyes glow with what could only be described as rage. I was too pissed off to care. "And you...the big fucking mystery standing back there like you're too good to be a fucking voyeur....I'm not fucking Supergirl if only because I see you standing there like you have nothing better to do than jerk off."
The eyes burned brighter. The company of freaks at the window moved to one side quickly, as if expecting something to happen...which, of course, it did.
"Mr. Anaxandros," a new, deep dark and sinister voice intoned, "You would be wise to heed my words. I am Darkseid, Lord of Apokalypse and I not only control your fate but the fate of those closest to you."
I watched this stone giant step forward toward the glass, like the head of the Sphinx, with a Rock Monster body in blue steel trunks. It was absurd to watch this creature act human, grinding its granite muscles together as it walked and posed before me...I could only think it needed to impress me with its "alien-ness" and, quite frankly, I was far too tired and pissed to care if it was about to vaporize me or shove its basalt cock in my asshole.
"Listen, chuckles," I said, stepping forward and around Supergirl's body. I ran a hand over the soft blue fabric of her leotard, partly like a buyer inspecting the goods, but partly to reassure her...of something, hope maybe...I don't know. "In any other day, I would love to take this gift and pound it like a Luthorian love doll, but you're putting me at risk here. What if this girl's cousin shows up and sees me banging her? He'd burn my dick off. Sure, you're so awe-inspiring and impressive and all that... and I'm sure you can do lots of mean and nasty things to me, but...hey...those bright eyes of your can't kill me slower than any suicide plan I have."
There was a moment. A moment where the gargoyle stood silently, motionless. I didn't bother waiting for death. I distracted myself with the defiled beauty on her knees beneath me. Supergirl remained splayed on the floor. I admit to watching her tight little ass wiggling. I made out the shaft of a glowing green dildo in her nether regions.
"Your sudden nobility is unfortunate, Anaxandros." The statue growled. "You will regret this as I tear apart your beloved Batgirl."
Ahh, yes...you knew I was getting back to Batgirl. Somehow it had to make sense. He could have vaporized me. I had something on the Lord of Apokalypse...on all these freaks. I wasn't just the random entertainment. They NEEDED me to fuck Supergirl. They presumed my inflated libido would naturally cause me to want to fuck anything in spandex with a warm, wet slit. And they'd be right about that. They certainly did their research.
"Wait....hold it...." I shook my head. I took a step toward Supergirl. Her eyes were nearly dead, though her body remained firm and receptive to use by someone like me. Sbe was in no position to resist. I had total control over her.
"Let's talk Batgirl a minute. If I do this thing...will you let Batgirl go...IVY, will you cure her so she can walk out of here?"
Ivy didn't want to say anything. Darkseid revealed a set of luminous teeth in a parody of a smile that drew back my attention as he said, "I will make it so....NOW, give her your seed, Anaxandros."
I stepped forward, unzipping my trousers. I didn't know what I was doing. I felt self-conscious and wrong displaying myself this way. I took up a position behind Supergirl and fell to my knees. I leanded in around her, placing a hand around her waist from the "doggy style" position and leaned in to nuzzle her neck. I did not penetrate her just yet. There was still hope.
"Can you hear me?" I whispered in her ear as I kissed her neck and nuzzled her. I pinched her thigh between my fingers, realizing how the Kryptonite had reduced her resistance to pain. She actually responded to a simple tweak, as if I had startled her awake.
"Supergirl...I want to help. If I remove this...thing....can you destroy it?"
She moaned..."oh......no.....god....no."
I put my arm around her and used the other to massage her tight little ass. My finger circled the lipstick-sized shaft of kryptonite embedded in her ass. I said again, "Supergirl...I'm pretty much fucked here without you...and so are you if I can't figure out a way to save us. I don't know you very well, but I think if you knew the situation, you'd help me get us both out of here....
"Please......no....don't....don't fuck me....."
The voice was like a fit in the middle of a dream, and it didn't help me at all. I began tugging on the dildo, to dislodge it from her bottom. I could feel it vibrating my my hands. The tug of war was difficult. She seemed to clamp down on it as I pulled. I tugged harder, but it seemed to be pulled back into her for every millimeter I could free it. I heard her panting and gasping. Realizing I was sodomizing her with a kryptonite dildo, I tried a more direct approach and yanked as hard as I could. I realized why it was such a struggle. She bellowed in pain as the shaft ballooned into a bulb three times the diameter of the end I held in my hand. Her ass expanded to afford it passage through, but it must have been horrible; a baseball-sized center stretched her wide. As we passed the widest point, Supergirl forcibly ejected it herself, bearing down as if giving birth, she cried out as it POPPED from her ass.
I leaned forward, around her looking into the face of humiliation and despair. She didn't look at me. She fixed her ice-blue eyes on the floor and tears leapt off her cheek. I knew what Betty felt that night she crawled across the house, drunk, exposed and ashamed as people she thought respected and adored her mocked and belittled her. Back then I would have said it was balance.
Today, I say it was just plain wrong.
I said, "The kryptonite is gone, Supergirl. You need to focus. I'm not strong enough to..."
She slowly turned her head, her eyes wide open as her lips parted. "You need to...save Barbara...Diana....Dinah...all the others....kill me....kill me before Darkseid takes me...."
Then I took a page from your playbook, Bats. I recognized the need for force over respectful pleading. I leaned into her and smacked her naked ass hard. She sqeaked! She actually, swear to God, squeaked! I said in my best melodramatic way, "Supergirl, there's no time. You must fight this. Supergirl, do you hear me?"
In a moment, I shook her violently by the shoulders. She clamped her eyes shut. I could only imagine what the powers-that-were above me thought of this. Here I was, unzipped, erect, my cock rubbing against her still-covered waist, but oblivious to it all as I tried to get her to focus. I said the only thing I could to motivate her. "If you don't, Supergirl...Darkseid will have you, dead or alive. If the rumors are true, death won't be the end for you. He'll reanimate you with Ivy's plants and use you like he used Catwoman...like he's using Batgirl and the others. He'll fuck your walking corpse and parade your naked body to the people you love, sell you...sell them..we've got to stop them. I can't do this alone."
I knew something was going on upstairs in the observation gallery. I had exceeded my grace period for foreplay, it appeared, and the goon squad was coming. I heard movement and shouting from somewhere outside the room. As I held Supergirl's arms and shoulders, I felt them stiffening, changing, hardening to my touch. flesh was turning back to steel, but would it be fast enough to save us?
Supergirl gasped, "You have to fuck me...to save Barbara...before its too late. You need to..."
She looked at me with something I'd never seen in the eyes of you tights-wearing freaks: Respect. She looked at me and smiled. "Barbara was right about you...there's good in you, yet. Now FUCK me so we can save her life."
The contact point of the Kryptonite was the last to recover. I wasted no time. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Darkseid, Ivy and the Doktor still in the window. As I kissed away the lingering tears on Supergirl's cheek, I laid odds Bane was on his way downstairs to do the job himself. I couldn't let that happen.
They say sex increases the circulation, metabolism, everything good....so these are things I thought of when I took a place behind Supergirl. Where the krytonite bulb had touched was the most irradiated, so her ass, her thighs and her pussy were still sensitive to the touch. I slid my hands up over her ass and felt my semi-erect cock pump up and harden, standing straight out for the first time, I think, since high school. I didn't need to position myself. I wrapped my hands around Supergirl's tiny waist and pulled myself forward.
As I did, I heard Supergirl say, "I've never...had a human lover...befooRRRRE!"
....one small step for man, Bats. One giant leap for Anaxandros. The head of my cock penetrated her tight entry. We were racing against time, now. I could see her upper body expanding slightly, the muscles of her back and shoulders were more defined. Her hair seemed glossier, fuller and her arms flexed as they fought against the stocks. As for me, I was having a hard time penetrating her rapidly hardening sex. I didn't want to hurt her, but I had to try to penetrate her fully. As I did, I felt her own juices start to flow. She was still tight, but my eight inch cock managed to bury itself halfway before the tightness was too great. It felt incredible. As she fought her binds, the strength and pressure transferred to her vaginal walls, which constricted evenly over the length of my cock, clmaping down on it and pulling it in slowly. It was painful, but incredibly erotic to feel her fucking my cock from inside. I clamped my hands on her teenage ass and howled, giving up the usual pound-and-repeat method for her far superior method of milking me to orgasm. She was straining and groaning, gasping...but I have my doubts it was from me. If I didn't know any better, she was using me. Multi-tasking the escape and our sex to be as efficient as possible. Before I knew it, she had drawn me inside her completely and the head of my cock rested against her cervix. It was so warm and slick. I began to fuck back, pullng on her tiny waist to try and match the timing of her contractions. The lubrication was building enough that I could penetrate back in during the clenching and...I fucked her tight virgin pussy and forced myself to accelerate the process. I couldn't enjoy it very long. I had to finish. Supergirl whispered, "God...you feel so...so incredible...when this is over, expect me to pay you a visit so we can...OH!...ohmigod...do this right...nmmmmhhh...." The thought of that took me over the edge. Something at the last minute told me to pull out and I did, stroking the last few seconds to come on her ass. I blew a larger amount than I thought I had in me over her. I heard her gasp and moan, then heard the cracking of steel and plastic. The stocks broke open and the Girl of Steel stood up from her position.
And there I stood, my pud in my hand, shrinking away from the sight of Supergirl at full power. She stood like a demigoddess, in my afterglow the perfect specimin of female fitness...even if my seed was clnging to her backside under her skirt. She smiled at me. I just blinked a lot and grinned back stupidly. She looked down and I realized I was stroking myself off. Clearly beat red, I packed myself away.
So, Bats...I guess goodness pays dividends, huh? She kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you...you stimulated my body enough to accelerate my recovery. And the effect was quite...interesting." Still unable to speak, it took Bane and a dozen of Darkseid's faceless goons to bresak me out of my post-coital stupor. Darkseid and the others were gone from the observation booth. Supergirl and I stood in the center of the room as both doors opened and I could see what waited for us.
I looked around to Supergirl. She was studying the walls. "Well, the bad news is that the weakest link is leading into the compound. There are about fifty heading out of here."
"Can you get out through the...ummm..." I pointed up.
She continued scanning the corridors with her X-Ray vision. "Yes, but the impact would kill you. If I leave you alone for a second, they'll kill you. Bane's busy pumping himself up to take me on, so I can't imagine you surviving his breath, much less his bare hands."
"You need to get help. You're the only one who can. If you can get me through the smaller group, I'll be fine."
She turned to me, concerned. "What are YOU going to do against them? Darkseid will find and kill you. if not him, Bane. If not Bane...Ivy...."
"I get the picture. I can get through it. I need to locate Batgirl and get her out of here. Maybe by the time I find her and figure out what's happened to us, the Justice League will return looking for the hostages. Either way...we're running out of options."
Supergirl turned her head quickly to see a facelss goon charge. Her eyes focused and burned red. The lead goon burst into flames, falling backward into another. They piled in front of the door leading to freedom. My only chance was the doorway lleading deeper into the complex.
"You've got to get help, Supergirl." She shook her head, but agreed. Taking my hand, she lead the way through the door, passed the opposition as if she were pushing aside stuffed animals in a closet instead of large humanoids. In a matter of seconds of blurry, furious pummeling, a path was cleared for me. I turned to her and said the only thing I could think of. "Sorry about the...um...stains...."
She laughed. "You're a sweet man. You have issues, but we'll work on those when this is all over." She winked, turned and shot up into the ceiling of the Fuck-Room. A loud bang hurt my ears and steel shrampnel fell out of the gaping hole she left through the many levels above us. I ducked into the dark corridor beyond and tried to find a place to hide.
As I ran, I remembered Supergirl reading off names...real names along with Barbara. Did Supergirl, inadvertantly give me the secret identities of the other hostages? I came to an intersection and looked down. To my left, I thought I saw a dark shape scurry into a vent...Batgirl. To my right, I saw a parade of Faceless goons escorting the hostages. For the first time, I saw Wonder Woman, Black Canary, Huntress, Cheetah, Jade, Hawkgirl...and several I didn't have time to ID before I ducked back into the adjoining hallway.
So, here was the problem...did I go chasing after Batgirl through the vents of this place, or do I make a stand and try to free the hostages? This job was getting better every minute.
About this time it dawned on me that I could use a really, really big gun.
Down the hall from my position at the crossroads, faceless thugs were lining up like Stormtroopers hunting down Solo and crew in the Death Star prison block. THEY weren't carrying guns. THEY were just shooting rounds of corrosive green phlegm out of their hands. In this town, it's never easy, is it? Its always some new and creative method of death...my boss has a saying about "keeping up with the Joker's" with new and creative means of pain and torture. Whoever came up with faceless mutants spitting loogies out their fingertips should get some sort of award, not only for coming up with the idea, but for convincing someone SANE to actually set up the bucks and the tech to pull it off. But I guess any world that has schmucks like Joel Schumacher putting movies about you on the screen has room for monsters with anal probing tongues or half-cow-half monkey assassins that know tae kwon do and fart living fire.
Give me a .44 Mag with one round in my pocket made of kryptonite and I'm a model of confidence and safety.
I used to carry a Desert Eagle, but I doubt you remember a night a few years back, Bats, when you stopped a drug ring run by Manny O'Dey and his New Russian Underground. I was working the night watch when you ever-so-casually slapped the piece out of my hand from the shadows, puffed yourself up and said OH SO righteously, "I don't LIKE...guns." just before cold cocking me for the umpteenth time. The gun ended up broken in two...I don't know about you but I'm not a rich man. Those things ain't cheap.
But standing at the end of a long corridor with a half-dozen purple/white anatomically-impressive zomboids closing in on me, I knew what was going through Richard III's mind when he offered up his entire empire for a quick ride out of town.
Let me say that, loogies-spitting aside, the faceless goons were pretty worthy adversaries. They are only trained for two specific tasks, one of these is to kill and the other is to fuck. Both of these programs are executed with extreme prejudice, without regard for age, gender or orientation. If you have a pulse, they will stop it. If you have an orifice, they will fill it. It's what they do. I'm sure some sick fuck like myself (but with more of a flair for dramatics and customary) is living large off the residuals from that underworld patent.
Since I couldn't negotiate with the clones closing in on me, I had to figure out a way to escape or get rid of them quickly. At the end of the walkway I found a cargo hook secured to the railing, the chain extending out and up into the dark warehouse. To the right of it was a metal door. I tried the door. Of course it was locked. The zomboids were about fifteen feet behind me, marching forward "thunp-thunp-thunp" with their ten inch violators waving toward me like doweling rods looking for well water. They didn't unleash green acid from their hands, so they apparently weren't in "Kill" mode.
I grabbed the heavy hook from its wall mount and climbed up the guide rail. In a surprising show of intelligence and strategy, one of the robots kicked at the railing, tearing it off its mounting. I fell forward desperately trying to hang onto the hook. My foot caught on the rail and twisted pretty bad. I was left hanging as the first of the zomboids came within arm's reach. Thoughts of karma and balance crossed my mind. I kicked backward, landing the heel of my shoe somewhere I'd never want to kick a real person. It felt like I'd kicked a steel pole - a sharp pain shot up my leg and I wondered if I'd crushed my heel. But the strike did knock it backward and into the far wall, pushing aside two others, one of which fell off the broken walkway into the dark. It fell for three seconds before I heard it smash into concrete and crumble like a Yugo hitting a barricade at high speed.
I freed my foot and leaped off into darkness, leaving the zombies behind me. I swooped down toward the floor, blind to what stood in my way. As the arch took me to the far side of the warehouse, what I'd hoped for I didn't see - there was no walkway or suspension on the far wall to hold onto and no way off the ride except down four stories to the concrete. I felt myself slowing and the wind shifted. I was heading back where I came from. I quickly spun myself around. Putting my weight into it like a kid on a swing, not knowing if it would help at all, I Tarzan-ed back across the warehouse, ignoring the pain in both feet as I neared the walkway with the broken railing. I could see the gray/purple outlines of the zombies in the dark hovering over the last known spot of their fallen comrade. I saw the metal door behind them. One zomboid stood between me and it, so I improvised a battering ram out of a very dumb, aroused robot.
I pulled myself up on the chain, lifting my aching feet in front of me as we connected. The shock screamed up my legs and into my hips. I was sure something snapped, maybe my ankle, but I hit the robot square in the chest, taking him off his feet and square into the door. His weight and velocity took him through the door like it was just a curtain of beads.
My momentum took me along for the ride and we both hit and slid across the concrete floor of the room beyond for a few feet, the robot waving its arms, head jerking around trying to figure out why it was suddenly being used as a sled. It scraped along the ground, slowing quickly. I felt it shift its weight, throwing me forward and off its stomach. I rolled and smacked the concrete pretty hard, skipping across the floor several feet before wrapping myself around a metal doorway in dim ruby light. I caught the wall in the stomach and it bent me around, my head smacking the opposite side of the wall where my knees hit...I felt the rapid onset of unconsciousness, but fought it - keeping in mind the concept of having my plumbing dug up by a 12" metal dong.
The pain in my right ankle was extreme, taking my mind off the burning sensation in both legs. I knew the right leg was swelling, so I struggled to my feet and headed for what appeared to be an exit.
Of course the "exit" was the entrance to the abattoir.
Stumbling into the room, it took me a moment to realize I was surrounded and another moment to realize that no one cared that I was there. Those present were engaged in either administering or receiving some form of sexual torture. There was more spandex than in a Bally's health club advertisement, more pounding than a blacksmith shop and more flowing semen than an amateur highlights reel from the local adult video store.
The first thing I am absolutely sure about is being lifted up into the air by my belt and then turned to an upright position while still in the air by a firm hand pushing on my ass. The next thing I remember is a poke between my lower cheeks and the Marlboro croak of Granny Goodness saying, "Honey welcome to the party. I'm going to have you so delicious in a moment."
The bad news was the poking between my aching ass cheeks was not a Desert Eagle. The worse news was that it wasn't designed to kill me when it did its job, just make my next several hours very, very painful. Around me, there were women enduring the same kind of torture. There was a tall, olive skinned woman in a spotted yellow catsuit, scratching her claws down the back of what could have been Wonder Girl. Wonder Girl, probably JUST over 18, was in her red jumpsuit, but it looked more like confetti than clothing, leaving only the ruby star earrings and bracelets to identify her. Under different circumstances, I could have stared at her perfect 32C breasts for hours and traced the line of her legs until I was dizzy. But Granny held my neck in her inhumanly strong grip as she said, "Cheetah, my dear...please show Mr. Anaxandros the proper use of our Discipline Rods." This "Cheetah" grinned at me and picked up a belt from the floor nearby, which had a long, black dildo attached at the crotch. Instantly, the dark-haired prisoner began to scream, struggling against the bonds. Cheetah strapped it over her shapely thighs and locked the waist. It began to vibrate, sending a sudden wave of pleasure through the feline attacker.
"It feeds off the fear and the pain of the violated...Miss Wonder Girl has had this coming for a while. You'll see the more she fears it, the harder and bigger, the rod becomes." As the old bitch croaked on, Cheetah approached the teenage heroine with a look just a little more sane than Nicholson in The Shining. She took the tool in hand and stepped between the girl's parted legs. Leaning onto the table to which Wonder Girl was strapped, Cheetah grasped the shaft of the device as she began to run her tongue slowly up the naked belly of her captive, running it around the firm curves of her abs, around her navel, sliding up her body and kissing her ribs, her sides and breasts, circling her perfect nipples as she writhed underneath, desperately trying to avoid the thick, black rod drawing in between her thighs. Cheetah locked eyes with the girl and softly kissed her bottom lip, then both lips and, as she firmly planted a long, wet kiss, penetrated her with the rod in a single, passionate thrust. The kiss muffled the cry of the heroine, who thrashed violently. Cheetah began to pound her hips against the younger heroine, groaning and purring with the pleasure this vibrating monstrosity provided her and feeding off the pain it inflicted on Wonder Girl.
Around them, the mysterious Zatanna, serviced a Faceless Thug through a glowing dental ring gag, taking a long, thin cock into her mouth in short, rapid lunges of her head, pulling against the chains that held her to the wall. The Thug had already torn open her frilled blouse and her breasts bobbed with the motion of her mouth. The Thug suddenly grasped the back of the magician's head and shot forward, cumming hard and long like a repeating rifle into her mouth...
I looked to the right. Over against the stone wall, a blonde in black fishnets struggled against heavy iron chains and a ball gag. Black Canary was safe, for the moment, but fought and raved against the torture of her colleagues....
Behind a curtain, many more slender, sleeping female bodies lay on tables awaiting the same treatment.... I felt the pressure of the black cock behind me again, and a hand pressing against my chest, pulling me back. Granny pulled me tight against her thick, leathery chest and I could smell sweat-stained wool and heavy burlap thick with musk. I felt another hand cupping my crotch, fingering my cock, semi hard from the show put on before me. Granny Goodness grunted something like a laugh over my shoulder and a squeeze that made me see stars.
In the next minute, I was over a table, gasping for air and hoping the searing pain in my balls wasn't the result of their sudden bursting in the hands of this evil, ugly witch. I could look up and see Wonder Girl's peril, the joy of Cheetah, still fucking and sucking her prey wildly. I could see the rod shuttling In and out of the teen's pussy, glistening with juice, unbearably thick and unthinkably long. Wonder Girl was yelling, lifting her legs up higher, tight against the restraints to help give passage to the proxy cock. Cheetah brought her weight down on the girl time and time again, her wet lips repeating the name..."Wondergirl...wondergirl...my wondergirl...my slave....my slavegirl....yesss...yesss....give me your pain, wondergirl....."
...and then it hit me between the cheeks so sudden and quick, I had no time to mourn my lost anal virginity.
There are those who say I had it coming for a long time, that karma is a bitch of a thing. There are those out there, Bats, who've read of my exploits and its been said quite plainly that I'm a monster, a bastard and a hater of women. To them, I can honestly tell you I know the pain of which I write.
I'm thankful I didn't have time to get scared, because the size and force with which this shaft entered me, I couldn't have handled more. Instead of the Discipline Rod, they should have called it the Irrigation Rod. felt the hot breath of Granny Goodness on my neck, her hands clawing at my shoulders, pressing me down to the bed and her heavy-ass hips, pinning apart my legs and my ass to the table. She rocked back and forth, driving the 12-inch rod deeper into me, the weight of warm, vibrating stone expanding my bowels. I screamed, taking a share of the ultra-violence I'd given out and hoping I wouldn't feel this thing in the back of my throat.
I watched Wonder Girl recieve the same, huge package over and over, almost with the same rhythm, as if I could, telepathically, feel what she felt and understand why she thrashed so madly against the penetration. I thought I saw her ride with the thrusts, making the most of the storm by turning into the wave. Taking her lead, I met the attacks instead of resisting, giving clear passage to the thrusts instead of blocking which I knew would tear me up from inside. I felt the thing inside expand and vibrate, sending an almost pelasurable feeling through me, but it was so damn creepy and disturbing I resisted and concentrated on accommodating this violation. I couldn't stop the storm, so I buckled down to ride it out.
With that attitude, the assault wasn't so bad. Perhaps my lack of fear or pain kept the cock from growing any bigger. Perhaps I just took a point of not resisting any more...perhaps I just blocked it all out, but my submission seemed to take the wind out of Granny's sails a bit. "If I can't tear you apart, little man, I will fuck you until you beg me to stop. I want to hear it from your lips... tell me you're a little whore."
I said nothing. The pounding intensified, deepening into me until the pressure was so painful I cried out. The pain caused the cock to expand more. She withdrew as it did and I knew I couldn't take it again without bursting. I opened my mouth to say what she wanted...to get her to stop before the end of my career was a perforated bowel.
There was a lift, a sudden expulsion that was both terrible and strangely pleasurable, like the relief you feel after a long time locked in the car on the road in desperate need of a bathroom. I cried out again. I felt the sudden rush of endorphins that signaled my ass returning to its proper shape and volume. The sudden cool breeze where there had been a warm wet stink meant that the hag had dismounted completely. The sudden violent shaking of Cheetah and the equal thrashing and gasping cries from Wonder Girl brought the entire room to climax, I guess. I tried to right myself, but my back was out and my ass was on fire. The best I could do was roll over and hope the floor under the table wasn't as hard as it looked.
Of course, it was and I howled as I landed, first, on my elbows and, next on my wounded ass. I pulled up my pants and looked around from the floor. I saw Granny's shadow, but couldn't see her feet. I could hear her grunting, but she didn't move. I tried to sit up , but the room still spun around me. I rolled some more and managed to peek out from behind the table. By that time, Cheetah and the Faceless Thugs were all around and I watched as they tried desperately to pull Granny down off the noose that had been wrapped around her waddling neck. She was hanging several feet off the ground, suspended by a girder in the ceiling. A missing panel near her bloated head showed where the attacker escaped to....Batgirl was here.
Granny shot me a look of contempt and rage. Her body rolled around to face the far wall as the brutes and villains tried unleash her. I struggled to my wrists and backed away and toward some form of exit.
I could see the army I was supposed to rally against the captors...Power Girl, Barda, Ice, Fire, Jade...younger members of the Titans, all unconscious on exam tables. They were no help to themselves, let alone my sore ass. Against the wall, Black Canary tried desperately to skittle the lock in her shackles while the guards were distracted. Zatanna and Wonder Girl tried to recover from their attacks and were barely conscious themselves. I couldn't help them or myself. The best I could do was try and escape. Beyond Cheetah's table was a large panel that lay open - the convenient ventilation shaft escape, right? Of course it meant crawling across the floor and squeezing into the dark murky stink beyond, but I did...and was gone. I knew it had been too easy, but at the time I didn't care.
I crawled along what was really a crawlspace between rooms, a gap between walls where techs laid out the electronics and power lines through the joint. It wasn't' a job done to usual human specs, there were weights and gauges I didn't know and conductors that looked like they were literally alive, snaking their way up and down the walls, carrying pulsing, glowing lines of power along their lengths. I kept moving slowly, barely on my feet and afraid to touch anything that wasn't plaster, brick or concrete. I found myself at an intersection in the wall that went straight...up.
The sides of the intersection did not have a ladder, but a series of interchanging mounts drilled into the wall like those on a telephone pole, I slowly climbed up a level, hoping the light I saw was one of the observation galleries looking out over Gotham Harbor. I thought about Supergirl, wondering how long it would take her to return. I wondered most about Batgirl and if I would finally reunite with her in these tunnels where she, undoubtedly had been hiding all this time. I was so focused that I didn't notice I was passing another vent on the floor directly below that light above me. I didn't notice until I heard a voice behind the nearby gate say, "Give me lights in the cage, please and bring me Prisoner Alpha."
It was so close I nearly fell the two stories to the ground. I stopped instantly and quietly, turning to peer into the gaps. Beyond was a small, dark control room with an electronic monitor board like a video or music editing suite and a single, high-back chair before it.
The man at the control board sat behind a 2-way mirror in shadow, looking out into the brightly-lit cell with white walls. There was a low hum coming from the central control and a range of red indicator lights that flickered off from time to time without alarm or cause.
The high back of the chair prevented me from seeing who he was, but I could tell from the infrequent grunt or chuckle that the occupant was male and wore shiny tipped shoes. From my perspective in the ventilation duct, I couldn't see much more of the control center. I had a perfect view, however, of the cell.
A moment passed and a panel in the far wall of the cell slid open. One of the faceless monstrosities that had chased me around the warehouse entered, carrying over his shoulder the limp body of a woman in star-spangled shorts and red boots. Behind the first was a second Faceless Thug who carried a long golden rope which seemed to be tied about the woman's neck.
"Set her up nicely, boys. She has to be perfect." The man in the chair said into a nearby microphone. Obediently, the two Thugs daintily dropped the woman to the floor, holding her aloft by cupping her under her large, perfectly formed breasts. Her long, glossy black hair fell around her face and the gold tiara she wore. The rope had dug into her flesh a bit around her neck. Her eyes remained shut, but she was able to stand upright. The second Thug raised the woman'' arms and the Man behind the console pressed a single button. Immediately, two robotic arms sprang from opposite corners of the ceiling down, clamping around the woman's bare wrists. The thug then kicked apart the woman's tough, muscular legs and another button revealed two more arms that clamped on her booted ankles. The arms pulls back and bent at joints along their length.
Wonder Woman was a puppet, strapped to a machine. Her gold-trimmed leotard was slightly torn and there were signs of slight bruising, but they were covered by make-up. I lay in the shaft behind the console, afraid to move, watching the man in the chair operating the control. He raised an arm. He moved a foot forward, then the other. Soon she was walking forward across the floor of the cell. He manipulated the arms so she turned around, as if on a catwalk. He made a comment on the roundness and firmness of her ass as she returned to her start position.
Spinning her back to face him, the man in the console pressed a different button. "Send in our client, Miss Quinn. I'm sure he's more than ready if he hasn't already blown his wad."
The door opened again and I watched this thin, little man enter. He wore tan Dockers and a checkered shirt with a stretched out breast pocket where I presume he usually kept his pens and other geek things. He had a bushy head of unkempt hair and beady eyes exaggerated by thick black-framed glasses. The glasses must have weighed a ton, but his long, hooked nose was more than enough to suspend the weight. He stopped in the doorway as if suddenly in witness to God himself. It took prodding from a thug to get him inside the door. He couldn't take his eyes off the tall, gorgeous woman in front of him.
He began mumbling to himself. The man in the chair flipped a switch. "Mr. Gates. I believe this is part of your requested compensation. I hope it is satisfactory?"
He continued muttering.... The console speaker was on, but I could only hear "...never dreamed....amazing...can't believe its her...."
"Yes yes, Mr. Gates...please enjoy. I will be closing the curtains to give you privacy."
Of course, the curtain wasn't closed. It wouldn't be. But a little light in the cell lit up to read "OCCUPIED" like the outside of an airliner bathroom. Slowly, the little man stepped froward toward the sleeping woman. He grinned, childlike in his excitement. He extended a hand, gingerly at first, just to touch her long dark locks to confirm her reality.
"Come on you little bastard," the man in the chair grumbled. "Get on with it."
There was another moment of uncertainty before the little man moved loser and took a long whiff of the woman's neck and face, touching her lightly on the shoulders. As if in response, the robotic arms moved her to him. Her ample breasts pressed against his sunken chest. She was a good foot taller than he, so the arms leaned her forward, bending her at the knees to bring her down to his level.
Suddenly, he took her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth, grabbing the back of her head and clamping down on a handful of hair. His free hand slid around the Amazon's tiny waist and also pulled. This went on for a full minute, his hands grasping and pawing, sliding and caressing as he tried to wedge his tongue into her mouth.
As I've said before, this is not a woman any mere mortal could "enjoy" since she is practically invulnerable. Her skin is bulletproof and able to withstand the vacuum of space. There are stories of men as far back as Hitler, who managed to capture the Amazon beauty, but were unable to penetrate her because of her "natural chastity" which prevented anything as limp and fragile as a male human penis to cross into her tight depths.
Then a sudden pain in the ass reminded me of the Discipline Rods.
I joined the faceless man in the control booth in watching the skinny, nerdy billionaire slobber and grope one of the most powerful heroines in the world, the icon of virtue, hope and truth. Lifeless, she remained oblivious to his touch as he continued. I looked through the gap in the panel and noticed a series of power or transmission cables running nearby. I had no idea what they did, but it was the only thing I could do...I reached through the grate, pushing it aside carefully and grasping a handful of CAT-5 and power cords. I yanked.
With some effort and some slack through the vent, I felt something POP and snap! as the console black and the machine that drove it purred to a halt. The lights in the cell flickered and I saw the man stop suddenly, startled. He pulled up his trousers quickly and backed to the door. The man at the console quickly pressed some buttons and flipped switches. His chair began to turn to check the opposite wall....MY WALL...when I decided to climb like a motherfucker toward daylight. I had no time to waste and used every last bit of my strength to pull my weight toward the light. There was a mad commotion in the control room below me as he discovered the cables pulled through the vent. The grate exploded into the shaft as a large, human hand pounded through the wall.
I was almost at the upper level, not knowing what I'd see, looking down to see a head, a dark-haired, perfectly groomed head push through the crumbling wall, turning up toward me. I kicked off my shoe and let it drop. It met him on the bridge of the nose just as he looked up, the heavy heel smashing it, blood spurting out against the wall. I didn't realize how much sweat I had built up on my hands and, as I grabbed the final rung that would let me see out to hopefully a quick escape, I slipped. dropping to my worst of two bad arms toward a loud voice below calling to arms those who wanted to fuck and/or kill me, my final thought was, "Please God, let my drop on his head and take this fucker's head with me."
A sharp pain seized my wrist and I looked up.
Holding it in her yellow-gloved hand and smiling down on my from under a black cowl, was Batgirl.
To be continued...