This story is a parody based on the old Batman series, with some extra characters that once appeared in the “Perils of Batgirl” story posted online many years ago. The storyline hovers below NC-17, focused as it is on elaborate traps and tight bondage with the old Batman comics and TV show for inspiration.
This story steers clear of scenes in which villains sneak up behind a heroine and begin tying them up. Instead, I opted for more elaborate (if somewhat fantastic) traps. With one exception, I also avoided the use of chloroform and other knock-out gasses, preferring traps which leave their victim’s awake but helpless to prevent themselves from becoming tightly bound.
PART 1 - SHOWER BOUND
Stacy McKintock bid farewell to the friends who had walked her home from the exotic dance club where she worked. Dancing was hard work, but certainly better than the hard time she had once served.
Serving as one of Catwoman’s “Sex Kitten” henchwomen earlier in her life had been a great thrill, but not worth the lumps tangling with Batgirl and the other heroic denizens of Gotham City. While she enjoyed getting Batgirl in a bind and joining her fellow Kittens in torturing the captive crime fighter, it always seemed to end the same way: she, her boss and her partners behind bars. No, given the options, exotic dancing was more than enough action to take up her time.
Not that she had completely lost touch with her old gang. Every time Catwoman broke out of prison to plan a new crime spree, Stacy would get a call with a job offer. Each time, however, the answer had to be “No.” She appreciated Catwoman for respecting her wishes to stay off the streets (while she was a supervillain with sadistic tendencies, Catwoman did have an understanding of sisterly loyalty).
Stacy entered her small apartment and turned on the light. “Funny,” she thought. A window was ajar, yet she was sure she had shut all the windows when she left for work earlier that evening.
“I must be losing my mind,” she thought as she made her way to the bathroom, shedding her sweaty clothes as she went.
Stacy stood naked in front of the shower curtain that enclosed her bathtub/shower combination and got ready to draw back the cloth that separated her from the wonderful warm shower she had been thinking about all of the way home from the club.
As she gazed at the curtain, she felt that sudden, seemingly-irrational feeling that she was not alone. Gazing up, she then noticed that her shower curtain was not connected to the rod that ran along the ceiling. In fact, it looked like all of the curtain’s rings were missing.
Before she had the chance to contemplate the meaning of this inconsistency, the shower curtain leapt from the tub and wrapped around her. Someone had been hidden in the bathtub stall lying in wait for the now enwrapped Stacy. Having removed the shower curtain from its rings and holder, the captor had hidden quietly in the stall, holding up the curtain, waiting for the unsuspecting victim to stand in just the right place.
Stacy felt the curtain being wrapped around her several times, squeezing her arms to her sides and pinning her legs together as the cloth was pulled tight. While the curtain had not been thrown over her head, it was wrapped high enough around her face that her eyes were covered, preventing her from seeing who had captured her. All she knew was that the thick cloth of the curtain was tightening up and down her entire body.
Now that Stacy was completely wrapped in many layers of cloth, her captor began to tie the material in place with rope. With one hand, Stacy’s tormentor pulled the curtain tightly around one part of Stacy’s body as the other hand wrapped cord around the trapped dancer, binding the curtain (and the curtain’s prisoner) in place. Starting with her arms and upper body, Stacy was imprisoned in an inescapable web of curtain cloth and rope. Once Stacy’s upper body was secure, the captor moved onto her legs and feet, tightening the curtain and wrapping the taught cloth in more and more cord.
After what seemed like hours to Stacy (but, in fact, had only been a few minutes) the petite dancer was helpless. Her head and feet protruded from a thick roll of curtain cloth which was held tight to her body with yards and yards of rope. She tried to struggle in her binding, but could not manage more than a few inches of squirming. She was trapped and she knew it (although, as of yet, she did not know by whom).
The enwrapped Stacy was carried into her bedroom where she was carefully laid down on the bed. Checking to make sure her ropes were secure, Stacy’s captor proceeded to peel the curtain cloth away from Stacy’s face, allowing her to see who was responsible for her predicament.
“Hello Ducks!” said Batgirl.
“Batgirl!,” Stacy screamed in shock at realizing she had been captured by the caped crimefightress. “What the hell is this all about? I’m clean.”
“I’m sure you are “Pixie,” said Batgirl (referring to Stacy by her former “Sex Kitten” moniker). “It’s just that Catwoman seems to have flown the coop again, and I have a sneaking suspicion you know what she is up to.”
“Screw you!” screamed Stacy, struggling in the cloth and rope cocoon which held her tight. “I’m not telling you squat!”
“Now we can’t have you maintain such a grumpy attitude,” said a smirking Batgirl. “Maybe a little laughter will lighten up the situation.”
“Oh no,” thought Stacy as she realized what was coming next. “No don’t HAHAHAHAHAHA!” she screamed as Batgirl began to mercilessly tickle Stacy’s bare feet which protruded out of the bottom of her binding. “HAHAHAHAHAHAH! No! No! Stop!” she howled. “HE HE HE HE!,” she continued. “Enough! Enough!”
Batgirl continued her assault on Stacy’s feet, partly to let her captive know she meant business, partly for her own pleasure. After a few more minutes of tickling, Batgirl gave Stacy’s soles a rest.
“Ready to talk now?” Batgirl asked. “Yes, yes,” replied Stacy (remembering Batgirl’s temper the last time she got the best of Stacy and her fellow Sex Kittens).
“What’s Catwoman’s next scheme?” asked Batgirl.
“I don’t know for sure,” answered Stacy.
“Wrong answer!” cried Batgirl as she gave the cocooned Stacy another round of tickle torture.
“No, no stop,” whimpered Stacy. “I’ll tell you what I know.”
Batgirl, who was very much in charge, gave Stacy another rest and recommenced her questioning.
“Where will Catwoman strike next?” she demanded.
“I don’t know for sure,” replied Stacy and Batgirl made a motion to the captive’s feet. “No, no… I don’t know for sure, but she did ask me if I liked the name of her latest plan.”
“And what was that?” asked Batgirl.
“Operation Big Topless,” replied the helpless Stacy.
“Big Topless. Big Top? Topless,” thought Batgirl. What the hell could that mean?
Leaving her enwrapped captive struggling on the bed for a moment, Batgirl checked her hand-held Batcomputer (actually a modified Palm III). Uplinking data having to do with circuses, she discovered that a pair of circus-type shows were currently in the Gotham area. One was the European Cirque de Soliel, the other the traditional Bumbling Brother’s circus that rolled through town every year.
“And what could ‘topless’ have to say about one of these programs?” Batgirl thought to herself as she scanned the latest schedule of events for both shows.
“Hmm. This looks interesting,” she thought. The Bumbling Brothers had a special charity event scheduled for the next evening, with Gotham’s richest citizens all scheduled to attend. In addition, the special guests of honor for the program would be the Athletics Illustrated Magazine’s swimsuit cover girl models for the year.
“Big Topless… Very funny,” Batgirl thought as she placed her palmtop back in her utility belt and turned towards the helpless Stacy who was still struggling in her binding.
“OK,” she told Stacy, “I think I got what I needed. Are you sure you don’t know anything else.”
“Nothing,” shouted Stacy. “Now let me loose and get the hell out of here.”
“Your wish is my command,” said Batgirl as she rolled her helpless bundle onto her stomach. Stacy relaxed, expecting to be unraveled from her predicament any moment.
“But then again,” said Batgirl. Before Stacy had the chance to contemplate what that meant, Batgirl popped a ballgag into Stacy’s mouth and strapped it tightly behind her head.
“MMMMMMhhhh! Whhaddukkk!” Stacy shouted in rage and confusion.
“Tell you what Pixie,” said Batgirl as she loosened one of the knotted ropes at Stacy’s knees. “I’m loosening the ropes just enough that you can probably wiggle free with a few hours of effort. Consider any struggling you have to do as your penance for not calling the authorities immediately when you heard from your old boss.”
“Assume this is a mild version of what you’ll have to deal with if we run into the same situation again,” lectured Batgirl as she made her way out of Stacy’s bedroom and out the window from which she had entered earlier that evening.
“NNNaaaaooo,” shouted Stacy, struggling furiously in her cocoon-like binding. “Mmmmph, Mmmph,” she sighed into her gag. Testing her binding, there did seem to be a little give. Remembering her days escaping from such predicaments as a Catwoman protégé, she knew the drill. She would spend the next hour wiggling, struggling, bouncing and squirming to loosen the rope and cloth that held her tight. And after that, she would be a sweaty, rope-burned mess.
And the first thing she would do after freeing herself would be to call Catwoman on the cell phone number she kept carefully hidden in her apartment and let her know that company was coming.
PART 2 - CATWOMAN’S BIKINI-BABE RODEO
As Batgirl was applying her last knots to Stacy’s bondage on the other side of town, Amy Applegate drove up to the Big Top of the Bumbling Brother’s Circus. Looking back and the skyline of Gotham City, she realized how far she was from the ranch in New Mexico where she had grown up.
She had certainly come a long way from her days riding the range of her father’s horse farm, and sunning herself by the quiet creek on her parent’s property. Of course, both activities had led to her current successful career as one of the world’s best-known swimsuit models.
Years working the ranch had left her trim, muscular and healthy, and her perfect tan added to the perfect body that graced the cover of this year’s Athletics Illustrated swimsuit edition. Fortunately for Amy, Athletics Illustrated never went for the lathe, gaunt models that passed for “beauty” in so many other publications. They were interested in the sporty, healthy, outdoorsy look that described Amy and the other models who would be joining her at the circus this morning.
And two more healthy, perfect bodies were just pulling in as Amy got out of her car. Sarah Johansen and Kristi Ravenstout had been her companions in Acapulco, the South of France and the other exotic locations where AI photo shoots had taken place over the last year. During that time, the three had become fast friends, even if they occasionally competed for modeling jobs at different magazines.
“Hi Amy,” said Sarah as she got out of her car. “So what’s with this crack-of-dawn bullshit.”
Amy had grown used to Sarah’s liberal use of expletives, even if growing up in a traditional household made her a little uncomfortable trying out all of the terms the English language had to offer. That said, she understood where Sarah was coming from. Even though they were not scheduled to begin the charity event at the circus until that evening, a call from a Signorita Gato the day before indicated that they needed to show up at dawn for a sunrise photoshoot before the event.
“You got me,” said Amy (remembering her friend’s fondness for both staying out and sleeping late). “I only do what I am told.”
Sarah and Kristi smiled, choosing not to tease Amy as being “The Good Girl” of their little group. Lord knows she took enough ribbing for her cornpone ways in the press.
The three woman walked into the seemingly empty Big Top tent, trying to spot the inconsiderate Madame Gato who had caused them all to rise before the sun.
Other than the security guard who had waved her in, the circus was deserted. The rest of the circus personnel (including the animals) were busy in the city, forming in Gotham Park for the parade that would take place later that afternoon.
The swimsuit models solitude was broken by the broad beaming smile of Signorita Gato, a tall, dark-haired beauty who met them in the big top, brandishing a clipboard.
“Thank you girls for showing up on time,” said Ms. Gato, seemingly checking off items on the document held to her clipboard. “Now we don’t have much time, so get in your suits and let’s get ready for the shoot. Once you’re changed, step through that curtain into the main tent so we can get you ready for your big performance.” Without a hello or thank you, the Signorita disappeared behind the curtain and into the main tent herself.
The girls found their host a bit abrupt, but not any more so than the hundreds of photographers and managers who had been ordering them around all over the world. Complying with dictates (as always), they removed the sun dresses they were wearing to reveal the trademark two piece bathing suits they wore underneath.
Without question, these three girls deserved their place on the cover of magazines and in the fantasy lives of pre-pubescent boys (of all ages) across the face of the globe. Amy wore a hot pink bathing suit that perfectly contrasted with her tanned body and green eyes. Sarah and Kristi wore designer thong two-piecers in blue and green that similarly showed off their stellar bodies.
As the three bikinied beauties walked into the tent, they were taken a bit by surprise. Instead of the usual camera equipment they had expected, they were greeted by three attractive woman, each on horseback. The women were unusually attired, dressed in slinky cowgirl outfits reminiscent of those worn by the old Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. And each girl’s mount featured a coiled rope lariat fastened to the saddle.
As the girls tried to determine how these three horsewomen figured in this morning’s photoshoot, the horses and their riders proceeded to corral the swimsuit models into a corner of the tent, blocking the doorway from which they had entered.
“And who are you?” inquired Kristi, becoming annoyed (and a little worried) at being treated like cattle at a livestock show.
“They’re my Sex Kittens,” responded the former Signorita Gato, now appearing between her horse-henchwomen garbed in the costume in which she was more well known, that of Catwoman, the Feline Queen of Crime.
“Catwoman!” cried Sarah. “What the hell is this all about!”
“Well, my long-term plans for you are still being formed. But for right now, I need to get you three out of the way before the big show this evening.”
“That’s OK, we were just leaving,” said Amy as she tried to make her way to the door, only to be blocked by a Sex-Kitten mounted horse.
“Oh, you can leave,” said Catwoman. “But not by that exit. If you look at the other side of the Big Top, you will see another exit curtain. Being a sporting woman, I am going to give you a fifteen second head start to make it there. After your time is up, Vixen, Talon and Passion will ride out to bring you back. If you make it to the door, you’re free to go. Otherwise, you are mine to play with,” Catwoman said fiendishly as she ran the back of her hand against her own breast. “You start running in ten seconds.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Kristi. “I want to call my agent.”
“TEN, NINE…” Catwoman counted down ominously.
“You’ll never get away with this,” rejoined Amy.
“EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX…” Catwoman continued.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” cried Sarah.
“FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO…” Catwoman counted down, oblivious to the complaints around her.
All three women knew there was no negotiating, cajoling or threatening their way out of this jam. As soon as Catwoman shouted “ONE,” the three bikinied girls took off, running to the other side of the tent as fast as their lean legs would carry them.
After fifteen seconds, Vixen, Talon and Passion took off in pursuit, riding up to their quarry who had not made it more than halfway across the tent.
Vixen cornered Kristi first, riding ahead of her, and tossing her lasso over the bikini model’s head until the loop rested around Kristi’s ankles. Giving the rope a quick yank, the lasso tightened around Kristi’s feet, knocking her to the ground.
Vixen leapt from her mount and was on the downed beauty with the gusto of a rodeo rider who had roped a prize steer.
Seizing Kristi’s legs, she wrapped the rope around her ankles a half a dozen times, immobilizing her bottom half.
Quickly switching orientation, Vixen grabbed her captive’s hands and proceeded to tie her wrists together in a front tie consisting of another half dozen tight loops of rope. Kristi, still dazed by her fall to the ground, did not regain enough composure to struggle until it was far too late to prevent becoming the Sex Kitten’s prisoner.
Having successfully bound the near-naked model’s hands a feet, Vixen threaded more line from her lariat between the girl’s bound extremities, drawing Kristi’s hands a feet together. Another half dozen tight loops were wound around all four wrists and ankles, locking them together.
Around and around the rope went. Round the wrists again and tighten. Around the ankles again and tighten. Between the limbs and tighten. Around all four hands and feet and tighten again.
By the time Vixen had gotten to the finish of her rope and began tying off the loose ends, Kristi’s hands and feet were nothing more than a snarl of fingers, toes, rope and knots. She flopped on the ground, trying to free herself, but she knew it was useless. She had been roped and reverse hog-tied like a head of cattle and was now helpless to control her fate.
After tying the last knot, Vixen sprung up and threw her hands in the air, signaling success in snaring her prey. Catwoman, on the other side of the tent, had managed to find a large piece of cardboard and a magic market on which she wrote the number “8” signaling that her Sex Kitten had scored well, but not a perfect 10.
Talon kept an eye on the score her fellow Sex Kitten had earned as she closed in on Sarah. “Eight,” she thought. “I can do better than that.”
Hoping to take a different tack than her fellow henchwoman, Talon decided to try to get her victim nearly roped before the Sex Kitten descended her mount. Closing in on Sarah, she threw her lasso which landed over the bikinied model’s shoulders and settled down to her hips before Talon gave the line a yank.
This tug had the desired effect of pinning Sarah’s arms to her side and immobilizing her in place.
With her prize in just the position she wanted, Talon proceeded to ride around the roped beauty adding more loops of rope around her body. Talon was skillfully twirling her wrist to add one tight loop of rope around Sarah after another, and the action of riding around her in a circle made the roping even more efficient. To make matters even easier, Sarah reacted to her predicament by turning her body in exactly the wrong direction, facing away from Talon’s horse, a rotation that meant even more rope was circling her body than if she had stood still.
After a few runs round the swim-suited damsel, Sarah now had nearly two dozen tight coils of rope encircling her from her shoulders to her knees. Now was the time, Talon thought, to dismount and finish the job.
Leaping from her horse, Talon yanked on the rope that was now tightly wound round her captive’s knees. Like her fellow swim suit model, Sarah’s rope and bikini clad body hit the ground leaving her stunned. Talon gave the rope another pull, tightening the two dozen loops that were coiled around Sarah’s body. Once sure Sarah was immobile, Talon gathered up the helpless beauties feet and finished off her line by binding the girl’s ankles together in five, perfect loops, finishing up the bondage by cinching the line between her feet.
One knot later, and Sarah, like her companion Kristi was flopping on the ground uselessly as Talon threw her hands up for a victory score. Catwoman obliged, rewarding her kitten’s successful performance with a “9.”
This left only Amy fit to be tied.
Unlike her two companions (who were both city girls) Amy understood one thing well: that the chances of outrunning someone chasing you on horseback on a straight path was significantly less than zero. While Kristi and Sarah were learning this the hard way, Amy decided to try a different approach to dealing with the danger she faced.
At first, she ran straight for the exit door, as her friends had done. But just as she sensed that Passion and the blonde horse the Sex Kitten was riding were bearing down on her, she did the unexpected and broke left, running not to either exit in the tent, but towards the left-most tent wall where a make-shift fence had been set up consisting of disposable plastic fence webbing strung between a series of three-foot-high wooden stakes. The fence seemed to enclose a pen for animals, with straw and some manure spread on top of the sandy ground on which the big top tent had been pitched.
Passion, not expecting her quarry to run anywhere except for the exit, overshot her mark as her horse proceeded forward, even as Amy was running left. It took a short while for Passion to regain control of her mount, but once she did she turned it around and was once again closing in on the bikinied country gal, lasso in hand.
As Passion got closer to Amy, however, the swimsuit model did another unexpected thing. Rather than run away from the horse and its rider, Amy ran towards it, waving her arms and screaming at the top of her lungs.
Her action had the desired effect: Passion’s horse was spooked. It threw up its forelegs, wailed in fright, and went out of control.
Unfortunately for Passion, both her hands were manipulating her lasso, rather than holding the horse’s reigns. As a results, she was in no position to regain control of her mount. The horse bucked and turned violently in reaction to the noise and commotion that had sent it into a panic. As a result, Passion was thrown from her saddle, flew through the air and came crashing down on the plastic fence by the animal pen.
As Passion crashed into the soft plastic fence, the fence’s-Web like material broke loose from the wooden stakes which held it up and wrapped around the stunned Sex Kitten. This left Amy in the position to turn the tables on her would-be captor.
Grabbing the now loose plastic webbing, Amy pulled the fencing material tight, trapping Passion like a fish in the coils of a net. With a few turns, Amy managed to wrap the webbing around Passion’s arms, legs and chest, sealing the still-stunned henchwoman in several layers of plastic mesh.
With her former tormentor thoroughly wrapped up, the bikini-clad supermodel took the wooden stakes that had previously held up the fence and pounded them through the fencing material and into the ground on either side of the downed, enwrapped Sex Kitten, pinning her netted body helplessly to the ground.
Unlike the other two people in the tent who had succeeded in placing someone in bondage in the last few minutes, Amy had no interest in sticking around for a score from Catwoman. Having subdued her immediate pursuer, she turned in hope that the path to at least one of the exit doors might be clear.
As Amy turned, her heart sunk. Immediately in front of her was Catwoman, whose athletic frame had bound its way towards Amy and Passion at the first sign of trouble. In one hand, Catwoman held her cardboard sign, on which was scribbled the number “10.” In the other hand, she held a colorful ball colorful yarn.
“Well done,” an amused Catwoman said to Amy. “Perfect score. Any interest in becoming one of my Sex Kittens?” she asked.
“When Hades freezes over,” Amy said defiantly, using a term that would normally make her foul-mouthed friend Sarah laugh with derision.
“You’d like the audition,” replied Catwoman. “You get to play with string and everything!” and with that, Catwoman threw the ball of yarn she was holding directly into the chest of the swim-suited model.
Amy had no time to react. The ball of yarn struck her chest and exploded with a loud popping sound. While she expected some kind of concussion or maybe even knockout gas, instead the ball of yard seemed to break apart, sending hundreds of strands streaming around the model’s bikini-clad body.
The yarn, seemingly with a mind of its own, began wrapping itself tightly around Amy’s arms and torso, pinning her arms to her sides with a seemingly endless number of strings.
Amy tried breaking the strands, but they were incredibly tough, definitely not the yarn she was used to from her mother’s sweater-knitting days.
The strands wrapped themselves more and more tightly around Amy’s body, taking up the slack immediately whenever Amy managed to contort her body enough to loosen some of the string which had now completely enwrapped her from her neck to her waist.
“What is this stuff?” cried Amy, struggling in the strands.
“That’s Siamese Kitty Bondage Yarn,” replied Catwoman gleefully. “I invented it to hold Batman at bay, so I don’t expect you to be able to break out of it anytime soon.”
Catwoman was right. The strands were unbreakable and now enwrapped every inch of Amy’s near naked torso and were working their way down her thighs, legs and feet, binding the bottom of her body as tightly as they did the top.
Within another minute, Amy’s battle against the bondage string was over. Every inch of her body, from her shoulders to her ankles, was tightly wrapped in hundreds of strands of colorful yarn. The yarn continued to tighten until, inevitably, Amy lost her balance and fell over, crashing to the ground tightly bound and helpless.
As the bondage string was finishing its fiendish work on Amy, Vixen and Talon walked up pulling behind them their horses. Kristi was suspended on the side of Vixen’s former mount, her bound hands and feet tied to the horses saddle. Sarah, whose bondage left her wrapped like a sausage, was simply slung over the saddle of Talon’s former mount. In the time it took Catwoman to capture Amy, Vixen and Talon had managed to retrieve and calm down Passion’s spooked horse which they now brought alongside the tightly bound figures of Passion and Amy.
Catwoman barked orders: “Free that nincompoop,” she commanded, pointing to the ensnared Passion. “And sling that parcel over the saddle,” pointing towards the helpless Amy and Passion’s former mount.
The Sex Kittens sprung into action, pulling the wooden stakes that held Passion netted to the ground. Passion was not sure what would be worse, the ribbing she would get from her hench-mates for having the tables turned on her, or the punishment she was sure to receive from Catwoman. Actually, she suspected she knew the answer to that question.
As Passion was freed, Catwoman heard the familiar ring of her kitty cell phone. She answered it as the three Sex Kittens lifted the string-enwrapped bundle, formerly known as Amy Applegate, onto the empty saddle of Passion’s now-calm horse.
“Yes,” said Catwoman. “Yes, OK, thanks Stacy.” Catwoman hung up her phone.
“Kittens, company’s coming,” said Catwoman matter of factly. Let’s get these three packages out of the way and prepare.
The four villainesses walked from the scene of their successful kidnapping with the three trussed, bikinied supermodels mounted on horseback. Other than a rather amusing glitch, thought Catwoman (who was already planing a suitable punishment for Passion) everything was going according to plan.
PART 3 - BAGGING BATGIRL
Having gotten the information she needed from Stacy, Batgirl immediately dropped by the hotel where the three swimsuit models were staying during their visit to Gotham.
Given the early hour, she did not bother to stop by the front desk to announce her arrival. Instead, she uplinked the girl’s hotel reservations from her portable Batcomputer and entered Amy Applegate’s hotel room via an open window.
Unfortunately, the magazine poster child was nowhere to be found. Batgirl feared the worst (although she had no idea that at that same moment, Amy was fleeing across an open circus tent from a lasso-brandishing Sex Kitten mounted on horseback).
Checking near the hotel room’s telephone, Batgirl quickly confirmed what she had already expected. On a piece of hotel note paper were scrawled the words “Circus,” “6 AM” and “Signorita Gato.” “Gato,” Batgirl thought. “Spanish for ‘Cat.’” Looking at the room’s digital clock, Batgirl realized that the hour was closing in on 6:30 AM. “I hope I’m not too late,” she thought as she exited out the window where she had entered.
Racing back to her Batcycle, Batgirl zoomed to the Bumbling Brother’s Circus encampment at the far side of Gotham. En route she passed the circus performers getting ready for the parade in Gotham Park. So it came as no surprise to her that the actual circus area was nearly empty when she arrived at a little after 7 AM.
Batgirl pulled up to the gate where a young, fresh-faced security guard sporting a trim mustache greeted her.
“Hello Batgirl,” the guard said in a youthful voice. “How can I help you?”
“Have you seen any Athletics Illustrated swimsuit models around here this morning?” Batgirl inquired.
“Sure did,” the young guard replied. “Those lovely tater tots showed up here nearly an hour ago. They were heading to the Fun House,” the guard said, gesturing towards a garish amusement park fun house in the middle of the circus area.
“Thanks,” replied Batgirl, ignoring the guard’s sexist commentary. “Mind if I check it out.”
“Be my guest,” the guard replied as he ushered her in. “And let them know I’m available if any of them are lonely.”
Batgirl continued to ignore the guard’s juvenile attitude. She had more important things to attend to as she cycled her way towards the Fun House.
Unfortunately, those important things kept Batgirl from noticing the feminine features the security guard sported behind the false mustache which she was now removing. It also kept her from listening for the grunts that were coming from the real security guard who laid bound at the impostor’s feet.
The first thing Catwoman and her gang took care of when they invaded the circus hours earlier was the one pesky guard who was minding the store while the rest of the circus personnel were in the city. A quick whiff of knockout gas was all it took to remove this guard from action. By the time she awoke, she had been stripped to her undergarments and bound from her neck to her ankles in Catwoman’s patented Siamese Shrink Wrap.
The plastic encased the guard’s body in a form fitting, supertight plastic bag inside of which she could barely wiggle her fingers, much less break free. And a mouth-filling cleave gag prevented her cries from coming out as anything more than barely-audible grunts.
The impostor removed the “borrowed” guard’s uniform, as well as taken off the false facial hair and wig that prevented Batgirl from recognizing her as one of Catwoman’s Sex Kittens.
“Catwoman, this is Talon,” the former “guard” called into a communication device. “The package is on the way.”
“Good,” replied Talon’s boss. “Pack your little parcel away and join us in the Fun House.”
“Roger,” replied Talon. “Over and out.”
With that, Passion picked up the plastic-wrapped, near-naked guard and secreted her in a nearby closet.
“This should keep you under wraps until our job is done,” said Talon. “Get it? Under wraps?” she mocked.
The guard moaned at having to suffer not only knock out gas and stringent plastic-wrap bondage, but lousy jokes as well. “Just lock me up so I don’t have to hear you anymore,” she thought to herself.
Passion shut the door on the guard, leaving her to struggle uselessly in the inescapable plastic. Once that was done, she stealthily returned to the Fun House to await Catwoman’s next victim.
Batgirl entered the Fun House and began calling out to the three swimsuit models.
“Amy! Sarah! Kristi!” she cried out. “This is Batgirl. You may be in danger. If you are here, let me know where you are.”
Her calls were greeted only with silence. She moved forward into the Fun House’s hall of mirrors.
Walking past a series of curved mirrors, she saw herself both tall and short, fat and thin and she remembered how much she enjoyed this circus when her father, Commissioner Gordon, used to take her here as a child.
No time for such sentimentality now, she thought. She had a mission to accomplish, if she was not too late already.
Batgirl made her way into a long, round tunnel that began at the end of the mirror room. Just as she got to the middle of the tunnel, the lights went out and she was thrown into inky blackness.
The spandex-clad heroine tensed and prepared for the unexpected. It turned out she did not have long to wait. The tunnel she was in began to rotate and she found herself stumbling in the dark in a smooth, round room that was in circular motion as she tried to navigate her way out. An aging recording of canned laughter rang out throughout the Fun House as she toppled her way to the other side of the tunnel.
After a few tense moments of disorientation, Batgirl made her way out of the moving room, and back onto the motionless flat surface at the far side of the tunnel. She had only a few seconds to regain her wits before the floor gave way beneath her.
The floor at the end of the tunnel featured a trap door designed to send the Fun House denizen on a ride down a slippery slide into a pillow festooned room below. Batgirl tried to control her downward motion, but the slide was slippery and smooth. After a few seconds, she realized she could not even control her speed, much less stop her descent.
After several moments of sliding, Batgirl was spit out through the ceiling into the pillow room. Unfortunately, her feet never made it to the ground. While most ticket-payers into the Fun House would have landed on the floor, someone had fastened a net bag fashioned of white cotton rope across the trap door exit in the ceiling. Batgirl fell through the trapdoor and directly into the net which tightened snugly around her, pulling tightly over her head. The mesh of the bag pinned her hands to her hips and she was left dangling several inches off the floor.
While Batgirl was caught by surprise, her mind worked quickly. She had been caught in a lot of nets in the past, and this one seemed rather tame, almost lame, by comparison. The mesh of the net was almost three inches wide. Even though her hands were currently immobilized, it would not take more than a few minutes to work her fingers free to the point where she could fish out a blade from her utility belt with which to cut herself loose.
Unfortunately, the people who had strung the net in the first place had no intention of giving her the time she needed to break free.
Catwoman walked into the pillow room followed by all three Sex Kittens. The kittens were dressed in their trademark lingerie “uniforms,” Passion wearing a lacy bra and panties with garters and matching hose, and Vixen and Talon clad in red and black teddies respectively. Two of the feline criminal’s henchwomen were carrying tubes that looked like short squat bazookas and wore faux army helmets on their heads. The third girl held something resembling a fire extinguisher and wore a fake fireman’s hat. Given their entire ensemble of clothing and weaponry, the Kittens looked at one time sexy, dangerous and ridiculous.
“Greetings Batgirl,” said Catwoman. “So glad you could…”
“Drop in,” replied Batgirl as she struggled in the mesh bag. “I’ve heard that joke before.”
“Oh,” said Catwoman. “Well see if you have heard this one. Girls! Let her have it!”
With that, Vixen and Talon aimed their bazooka-like devices at the helpless heroine and opened fire. While Batgirl did not expect a munitions shell to end her life, she was at a loss to figure out what came next.
Indeed, Vixen and Talon’s shoulder-held cannons did not explode with violence, but instead hummed to life with the sound of powerful fans. Out of the mouth of the guns came a shower of sticky bandages which adhered to the net that enwrapped Batgirl, enveloping her in adhesive material.
As the Sex Kittens sprayed the bandages up and down the netted heroine, Batgirl understood the nature of this particular trap. Each bandage was just wide enough to bridge the gap in the net’s wide mesh, making the net bag the perfect base on which to build a cocoon of the sticky, cloth-like material.
Within a few minutes, the two Kittens had coated Batgirl from her neck to her feet with hundreds, if not thousands of sticky bandages which clung the net to her body and began to constrict. Having finished their first layer, they proceeded to add a second and a third until the distaff daredoll was coated in an inch thick cocoon of cloth.
“My turn,” cried Passion as Vixen and Talon stepped aside, giving her room to spray down the mummified heroine with cold compressed gas in her fire-extinguisher-like device. Upon being sprayed by the cold gas, the bandages constricted far more tightly, squeezing Batgirl into an inescapable sack of tough, unbreakable ribbons. The cold gas also dried the adhesive in the bandages, fixing her tightly in the cocoon.
By the time the Sex Kittens were finished, Batgirl was dangling several inches in the air, trapped from neck to toe in an inch-thick, inescapable mummy wrap. Only her head was free of the bandages, and it was still wrapped in a layer of cotton mesh that was attached to the ceiling.
“I can’t move!” cried Batgirl as she struggled uselessly in the diabolical trap.
“That’s the idea Bats!” replied Catwoman as she made her way to the helpless heroine. Giving her a quick turn which sent her tightly wrapped body into rotation.
“You wont get away with this,” cried the supertightly bound and now rotating Batgirl.
“Maybe not, but I’m certainly having fun right now. Kittens, enjoy yourselves then lock her in the storage room with the other prisoners.
The Sex Kittens gleefully complied with their boss’ orders, pulling the dangling bound heroine as high as they could then letting her swing wildly from the rope that connected the net bag to the ceiling. Batgirl was both terrified at having fallen into this trap and fearful as to the fate of Catwoman’s “other prisoners” who could only be the missing swimsuit models.
After several minutes of taunting their captive, Vixen, Talon and Passion cut the mummified heroine down from the ceiling and carried her out the door to await a fate she was helpless to influence.
PART 4 - THE GREAT ESCAPE
The Sex Kittens carried the helpless, enwrapped Batgirl out the circus tent door like a bundle being hoisted by a coterie of native safari guides. They entered a nearby building and continued to haul their captive down a staircase into a locked storage room.
As she expected, Batgirl saw the three captured swimsuit models who were also being held prisoner in the basement storage area. Sarah and Kristi had been retied since they had been lassoed earlier that morning. Catwoman, suspecting that ropes applied from horseback could come loose, had her Sex Kittens bind the captive models sitting up and back to back.
Each girl’s hands were tied behind their own back and around the torso of the other girl so that Sarah’s bound wrists were laying in Kristi’s lap and vice versa. A dozen loops tied their bodies together. In addition, each girl’s legs (which had been straightened out in front of them) were bound tightly, with ropes tying their ankles and knees. Cloth gags were placed in their mouths, silencing any cries for help.
The only other change in their appearance was that each girl now only wore the bottom half of their two-piece bathing suit. In the course of retying them, Catwoman ordered her minions to remove the model’s colorful tops.
“Operation Big Topless,” Batgirl thought to herself.
Amy’s binding, consisting as it did of hundreds of strands of Bondage Yarn, had not needed readjustment. Instead, the Sex Kittens had threaded a rope around the bound damsel’s torso and used it to suspend the country gal from the ceiling where she swung, her body still encased in a web of inescapable string, with her feet dangling a few inches off the floor.
In the course of stringing her up, the Kittens had tried to remove Amy’s top, but were not able to fish it out through the network of yarn that bound the cover girl. Instead they amused themselves by pulling her top off her breasts and inching it towards her mouth where some of the material was stuffed between her teeth. The bondage yarn held the bikini top in place, forming an effective gag for the trapped model.
The Sex Kittens dumped the cocooned Batgirl on the ground and spent a few minutes rolling her back and forth between them for laughs. They then moved onto Amy and began to tickle her bound frame and bare breasts, tormenting her with pain and laughter.
Passion moved onto the bound Sarah and Kristi and began to give them the same treatment. Rather than joining her, Vixen and Talon instead snuck into a corner of the room and picked up a black bag that had been previously hidden there by Catwoman. Passion, her back to her companions, could not see or hear what they were doing.
Vixen pulled a large, metallic ring from the bag and handed it to Talon. She then extracted a silver box which looked like a remote control of some kind, with an antenna protruding from the top, and a red button and green light on the front.
The two villainesses smirked at one another, then called out to their companion.
“Hey Passion” they screamed in unison. “Catch!”
Passion turned around and Talon threw the ring towards her, hooping her as though they were playing a game of human ring toss.
Passion was bewildered. She held up her arms and stopped the ring as it descended down her torso. “What’s this?” she asked, as Vixen pushed the red button on the control box causing the green light to blink.
The metal band that encircled Passion instantaneously contracted to a fraction of its former size. What had once been a wide metal hoop circling her body was now a tight metal binding that pinned her arms to her sides.
“What gives?” inquired Passion as she struggled against the tight metallic ring. Vixen and Talon giggled as they pulled another ring from the bag.
“Given your poor performance during our little rodeo, Catwoman said we could play with you a little bit,” said Vixen. As they talked, Talon threw a second ring around the already-bound Kitten. Timing her shot perfectly, Vixen hit the “Contract” button just as the ring was at Passion’s hips. The second metal hoop tightened around Passion, pinning her hands to her hips.
“What are these things?,” cried Passion, struggling in the rings. As she tried to work her hands free, Talon let loose with two more rings in succession. Again, displaying perfect timing, Vixen caused the rings to constrict just as they were positioned above and below the imprisoned Sex Kitten’s breasts.
“They’re Siamese Shrinking Rings, part of Catwoman’s latest “Fiendish Invention” line,” Vixen informed her colleague. “Catwoman said we could use you as a guinea pig. How do you like them?”
“Not bad,” Passion purred. She knew the futility of trying to escape one of Catwoman’s inventive traps. And, truth be told, being bound and tormented by her gang members was one of the primary reasons she enjoyed being a Sex Kitten.
“Let me try,” said Vixen, handing Talon the remote control and taking the bag of rings from her. In quick succession, the pair managed to get four more rings around their comrade which tightened around her thighs, knees, calves and ankles. By the time they were done, Passion was bound in eight, skin-tight, metal bands the held her captive in seemingly regular intervals from her shoulders to her feet.
Passion squirmed helplessly in her binding as Vixen and Talon advanced on her, inspecting their handiwork. “Let me go,” Passion protested with great insincerity, knowing her protests would only encourage her mates to increasing feats of torment.
Vixen and Talon lowered their tightly bound victim to the floor and sprang into fiendish action. As Talon tickled Passion’s naked belly, Vixen removed the lacy bra that formed the top of her Sex Kitten “uniform” exposing the trapped girl’s ample breasts.
Talon turned around and began to tickle Passion’s bare feet unmercifully as Vixen massaged, squeezed and tickled the bound girl’s breasts. Passion squealed, laughed and pleaded with her fellow Sex Kittens to stop. This only escalated their tormenting activity and Passion’s pleasure.
The kidnapped swimsuit models looked on at all this activity dumbfounded. Why would anyone who had gone to such trouble capturing them now be wasting time tying each other up? Batgirl, who was far more familiar with the bizarre ways of this particularly kinky gang, was just happy they were spending their spare tormenting time on Passion, rather than she and her fellow prisoners.
After ten minutes of torture, Talon received a “beep” on her communicator. “Yes Catwoman,” she answered.
“How’d my little gimmick work out,” Catwoman asked at the other end of the line.
“Like everything you do, Catwoman, it was a smash.”
“Quit kissing ass and get back upstairs, all three of you,” replied Catwoman. “We need to get ready for the final stage of our plan.”
Talon holstered her communicator and turned to her fellow henchwomen. “You heard her majesty’s commandment, let’s get moving.”
Vixen and Talon hoisted the metal-bound Passion on their shoulders and dragged her out the door, providing perfect symmetry to a scene that began with their hauling of a bound Batgirl into the same room earlier. Catwoman, no doubt, would like to see the result of her inventiveness and would surely have a few torments to apply to the hapless Passion once presented to her in a neat bundle.
Batgirl saw them trot out the room and heard the door lock behind them.
“So long nutcases,” Batgirl said. In their haste to bind their partner, the Sex Kittens had neglected to gag Batgirl who still looked like a caterpillar in her skin tight binding, but could at least communicate with her fellow hostages.
As the three Sex Kittens had been playing their bondage games, Batgirl surveyed the room trying to determine a means of escape. She had considered trying to roll and wiggle her way over to Sarah and Kristi. Bound as they were in rope, she might be able to chew through the knots that held them tight. But they were pretty far away from her, and her past experience told her that Catwoman’s minions would have been careful about tying the knots tightly and orienting them out of reach.
On the other side of the suspended Amy, Batgirl spotted a space heater. This gave her an idea which she put into action the moment the Sex Kittens left the room.
Rocking and squirming, she tried to maneuver her way to the heater. She made progress, but it was excruciatingly slow in her present condition. “Amy,” she cried to her fellow captive. “I need your help getting over to that heater.”
Amy, while unable to respond verbally, sprang into action. Rocking back and forth, she moved her bound feet closer to where Batgirl was struggling. Batgirl squirmed her way to her side and Amy latched her bound feet on the other side of Batgirl’s cocooned shoulders and helped her roll onto her stomach, a few inches closer to the heater.
The two girls repeated the process several more times. After several flips, Batgirl was able to wiggle the rest of the way in order to maneuver her body into an orientation where her bound arms were positioned at the face of the heater.
“OK, Amy,” said Batgirl, still panting from the exertion of moving in her present state. “Now, can you hit the ON switch on the back of the heater?”
Amy struggled to change the momentum of her motion, swinging in a circle in order maneuver her tightly tied feet to the back of the device where the ON switch was located. On her first pass, she managed to nudge the on switch, but not activate the machine. A second swing nearly caused her to knock the heater over. On her third try, however, the captive cowgirl managed to hit the button with just the right force and orientation. The space heater sprang to life and started blowing hot air onto the bandages enwrapping Batgirl.
The heroine had made a gamble that if cold was used to harden and contract the bandages originally that heat might melt the adhesive and make them loosen. A few minutes of hot air did not seem to make any difference. Then, Batgirl began to feel a few moist drops as the glue that had once held the bandages tight began to dissolve. Within a few minutes, she was able to wiggle her fingers. A few minutes more and she could just move her hand far enough to reach one of the compartments in her utility belt.
RIIIPPPPPP! The razor sharp blade Batgirl had pulled out of her belt tore through her binding. With a few more swings of the knife, her right arm was free. Batgirl proceeded to hack at the rest of her cocoon, slicing away at the thick bandages and rope netting that held her from shoulders to toes. After considerable effort, she was free.
Batgirl cut Amy down from the ceiling and cautiously snipped her arms loose from the Siamese Bondage Yarn. She had to be careful not to nick the near-naked girl as she tried to remove her from the trap which had held her tightly for the last several hours. Once Amy’s head and arms were free, she handed the swimsuit model her knife and let her cut away the rest of her binding herself.
Batgirl then made her way over to Sarah and Kristi and began to untie them. Within ten minutes, all four former prisoners were free.
Sarah and Kristi retrieved their bikini tops which had been flung to another side of the room and fixed them back onto their bodies as Amy similarly put herself back together. As they were doing this, Batgirl ran around the room, collecting loose rope and other roles of ribbon, string and cord she found strewn around the storage area.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” cried Sarah as she made her way to the door.
“Wait a minute,” replied Batgirl, as she dumped the rope and other materials in a pile by all four girl’s feet. “I need your help to bring those villainesses to justice. Any interest in a little revenge?”
The bikinied models looked at each other and nodded their heads.
“Just tell us what we need to do,” said Amy as the four women huddled together to plan their next line of action.
PART 5 - CATWOMAN TAKES THE FALL
As Batgirl and her three fellow escapees made their way to the circus Big Top, Catwoman was organizing her troops, getting them ready for the scheme they were planning to spring at the circus that evening.
Passion had been freed from her bondage and looked none the worse for wear for her punishment at the hands of her boss and fellow henchwomen (actually, such “punishment” was one of the job perks Passion most enjoyed).
As Catwoman harangued them, the Sex Kittens were busy changing from their trademark uniforms of lingerie and fur into sexy two-piece bathing suits, similar to the ones worn by the swimsuit models they had so thoroughly captured earlier that day.
“OK Kittens, time for a dress rehearsal,” lectured Catwoman. You know the plan. At 7 PM tonight, the stands of the circus will be filled with the richest men and woman of Gotham.”
“Yes, Catwoman,” the three Sex Kittens said in unison as they finished donning their bikinis.
“Now, as you also know, the Athletics Illustrated swimsuit models are scheduled to open the show, emerging from that clown car at the start of the circus,” Catwoman said, gesturing towards a small prop car near where the three were standing.
“Normally, this car can hold twenty members of the Bumbling Brothers Clown troop, but tonight, we have different plans. Instead of the clowns, the car will hold the three of you and seventeen canisters of paralyzing gas. Once the car drives to the middle of the tent, the three of you will emerge, dressed as you are as the swimsuit models to excite the crowd. As they ogle you, the gas will be silently doing its job.”
“Before they realize you are impostors, the entire audience will be frozen in place and ready to be ransacked by the four of us, who wont be affected by the gas since we have taken the 24-hour antidote.” Catwoman continued.
“It’s a sure thing!” howled Talon in laughter.
“We should net a fortune,” Vixen joined in.
“Ah Catwoman?” Passion said nervously.
“This is my best scheme yet,” Catwoman chortled. “And as a fringe benefit, we’ve got Batgirl and those three bondage queens downstairs to play with after we strip Gotham’s richest of their riches.”
As Catwoman, Vixen and Talon continued to chuckle and guffaw, Passion felt the need to interrupt. “Catwoman!” she shouted loudly.
“Never interrupt me in the middle of my maniacal laugh!” Catwoman screamed, ready to subject her most bumbling Sex Kitten to another round of punishment.
“It’s just that, well… It’s just that I don’t remember taking that antidote you just mentioned.”
The laughter died down and Catwoman, Vixen, Talon and Passion looked at each other dumbly.
“OK, so I missed a detail,” said Catwoman. “I’m a busy woman after all!”
The three Sex Kittens accepted their bosses explanation. (They knew better than to question her.)
“OK, slight change of plans,” Catwoman continued. “I had hoped we would have time for a full dress rehearsal before the circus geeks got back this afternoon, but we’ll have to scratch that. I’m going back to the lair for the antidote. In the meantime, I want the three of you to get the clown car ready for tonight’s show by loading it up with the gas canisters.”
“When I get back, I’ll bring the antidote and the van, we’ll pack those beauties we have tied up below and lay low in our vehicle until showtime. I think Batgirl and her three playmates will give us something to occupy our time until then.”
Catwoman made her way towards the exit. “Now get busy!” she cried, as she slid out the door.
The Sex Kittens burst into action, without taking the time to remove their bikini “disguises” they began loading up the clown car with the gas cylinders.
As Catwoman was lecturing her minions, Batgirl and the three swimsuit models made their way from the room in which they had been imprisoned into the circus tent where they hid behind some bails of hay and eavesdropped on the four villainesses.
Once they realized Catwoman was going to be separated from her flunkies, Batgirl scanned the area then huddled together with her allies to plan a strike. Quietly, they prepared the materials they had brought with them and readied to spring their trap.
The Sex Kittens, oblivious to what was being planned for them, quickly got bored with their work and began voguing for one another in the exotic swimwear they were now wearing. As they admired each other’s bodies, it was clear that there was a lot to admire. While they may not be as flawless as the swimsuit models they hoped to replace, it was clear that Catwoman had exquisite taste in female assistants. Each kitten looked fit and lean, filling out her their bikini quite nicely. The hours of physical training it took to become a Sex Kitten also added to their allure.
“What do those nitwit models have that we don’t?” inquired Vixen, striking a back-to-back, typical modeling pose with Passion. “About a mile of rope around their bodies,” replied Talon with derisive laughter as she joined her two comrades in the trademark, three girl, back-to-back-to-back position that was currently featured on the cover of Athletics Illustrated.
“I can remedy that,” cried Batgirl as she burst from concealment.
By the time Batgirl had screamed her rejoinder, her Batarang was already en route to the three bikinied Sex Kittens, towing a trail of Batline. The Batarang circled the three girls several times, wrapping them in several loops of super-tough cord. Batgirl gave the rope a yank, pulling the three henchwomen tightly back-to-back-to-back, then handed the loose end of the line to a waiting Amy.
In her preparation, Batgirl had readied her spare Batarang for second strike. While she did not have another role of Batline to use against her now-ensnared captives, she had found a role of while cotton rope which she had attached to her second projectile. “Batarang Two” flared out, ensnaring the bound beauties in another series of loops. Another tug of the line tightened these loops around her captives, pinning their arms to their sides. Batgirl handed the other end of the second line to Sarah.
“Tables turned, bitches,” cried the foul-mouthed model as she gave her rope a tug. Amy had already moved to the far side of the Sex Kittens so that her and Sarah’s tugging maximized the tightening of the rope around their hostages and prevented them from moving in any direction.
Batgirl retrieved one of her Batarangs and let loose again, this time ensnaring the girls in thin, red cord, a roll of which she had found in a corner of the Big Top. True to form, she pulled this new line of rope tight around Vixen, Talon and Passion, then handed the loose end of the rope to Kristi who arranged herself with the other two models in a perfect triangle around the bound Sex Kittens, preventing them from making any motion that would lead to escape.
“Maneuver them over to that platform,” commanded Batgirl, pointing towards a circular pedestal located a few yards from where the seven woman stood. If someone had been filming kinky movies, they would certainly have had a field day under this circus Big Top as three bikinied beauties were putting a creative bind on three other bikinied damsels.
Batgirl was too engaged in the process of taking out Catwoman’s sidekicks to think about these commercial possibilities now. Once the swimsuit modeled forced their roped captives to the edge of the platform, Batgirl pushed them over onto the pedestal, then proceeded to prop them sitting up so that their bound bodies were still resting back-to-back-to-back, but each girl’s legs and feet were pointed out straight. She was careful to ensure that the ropes holding them bound together stayed in place, as Amy, Sarah and Kristi continue to pull the lines taught.
“Ready?” Batgirl asked her companions. “Ready!” said Amy. “Ready!” said Kristi. “Damned Straight!” cried Sarah.
“Ready for what?” Passion asked dumbly (her fellow captives simply assumed it was something bad and kept their mouths shut).
Batgirl reached under the platform where the three bound girls were sitting and threw a switch. The platform immediately began to rotate.
Normally, this particular platform was used during circus performances to allow the ringleader or some entertainer to stand in front of the large audience while turning 360 degrees to address people sitting on all sides of the circus tent. Today, however, Batgirl was putting this rotating platform to somewhat different purposes.
Positioned as they were, sitting back-to-back-to-back with ropes tying them together, the rotating Sex Kittens became like a fishing reel. With each rotation, the ropes that were tied around them became augmented with another set of loops. Round and round the villainesses turned, each turn adding more rope to their increasingly inescapable bondage.
The swimsuit models who held the other ends of those ropes were prepared to let this trap continue to be played out for several minutes. Each girl had a pile of rope and other materials by their sides. As their first set of line ran out, Batgirl turned off the platform for a moment, allowing one of the models to tie another piece of rope to their line. Once completed, Batgirl turned the rotating platform back on, allowing the prisoners to become encircled with more of a seemingly endless supply of cord.
Around and around the Sex Kittens turned, becoming entwined with Batline, cloth ribbon, string, and rope of numerous colors. Batgirl stayed close to the captives, carefully maneuvering the incoming strands to ensure maximum coverage up and down the Sex Kitten’s hopelessly ensnared bodies.
After ten minutes, Amy, Sarah and Kristi ran out of line and Batgirl turned the rotating pedestal off. By that point, the three villainesses were completely wrapped in a thick matte of rope that covered them from their shoulders to their waists. The rope, string, ribbon and other materials so encased their bodies that you could no longer make out the colorful bikini tops they wore beneath their thick coats of binding.
The models brought the remaining loose ends of their ropes up to their helpless captives and tied them off around their bodies. The Sex Kittens swore and kicked, but they were too helplessly entwined to prevent their thick bindings from becoming permanent.
Batgirl, who had secreted a dozen short coils of rope in a sidebag dumped this line out on the ground for she and her three companions to finish their work. Batgirl fished each Kitten’s left wrist from the matte of ropes encircling their bodies and tied it tightly to the right wrist of the Kitten sitting next to her.
As she immobilized their hands (preventing them from even thinking of untying the knots which held them tight), Amy, Sarah and Kristi made their way around the captives, working as a team to tie each villainesses legs at the ankles and above and below the knees.
The Sex Kittens continued to squirm and struggle, although they knew their efforts were useless.
“Hello girls,” gloated Batgirl. “I guess this is how the worm turns.”
The hyper-bound Kittens snarled and swore. “We’re not going to tell you shit, Batgirl,” hissed Vixen. “We don’t care what you do to us.”
“Actually, we were sitting right over there when your blabbermouth boss explained your whole plan. So you see, I don’t need to know anything from you.”
“In fact,” she said as she popped a trusty Batgag into Vixen’s mouth. “I’d rather not hear from you at all.”
“MMMMMMMPHHhhhh,” Vixen screamed in rage. Her muffled cries were quickly joined by those of Passion and Talon whose mouths were also filled with tight Batgags of different styles (ball, cleave, and bar respectively), silencing their mouths just as hundreds of feet of cord stilled their bodies.
“Well that was fun,” Amy said, allowing herself a small amount of pleasurable gloating. (Her mother would not be happy with her attitude, but then again, she would be proud of her standing up for herself against a bully.)
“Can we go after Catwoman now,” asked Kristi.
“No, she’s too dangerous,” replied Batgirl. “I’ll have to take her out myself. I need you three to get out of here and bring back the police. Have you recovered well enough to do that for me,”
“Are you kidding?” asked Sarah. “I’ve never felt better,” She then turned around and bent over to give Talon’s bound and naked feet a hearty tickle. The Sex Kitten convulsed.
“Hey, that looks like fun,” said Kristi as she and Amy joined in, unmercifully tickling the bare soles of the other two tied Kittens.
Batgirl considered calling a halt to the tickling revenge attack, but thought the better of it. After a few minutes of reducing their victims to painful laughter and tears, the swimsuit models followed orders and left the Big Top, returning to their cars and driving back to Gotham.
“Now what am I going to do with you three,” Batgirl thought as she surveyed her tightly tied and now teary-eyed and sweaty trio. She surveyed the tent floor, then the roof, then turned to the Kitten and rope package with an wicked gleam in her eye.
It took Catwoman another half hour to return to the main circus tent. She parked her non-descript van (having left her fur-encrusted Catmobile back at her lair) on the far side of the Big Top. Had she pulled into the other side of the tent, she might have noticed that the cars the swimsuit models had driven to the circus in were now suspiciously missing. Fortunately for justice, her choice of routes left her oblivious to the possibility that her plans were about to be foiled.
Catwoman entered the tent to discover the job she assigned to her Sex Kittens to have been only half completed. While some gas canisters had been loaded into the clown car, a dozen others remained strewn on the Big Top floor.
“If those dimwits are shirking work to play with our hostages, I’ll thrash them to within an inch of their lives,” thought Catwoman as she surveyed the area for her flunkies.
Catwoman saw movement behind the stands. But instead of any members of her gang emerging, there was Batgirl, striding towards her, then striking her familiar “the-jig-is-up” hands on hips pose.
“The jig is up!” cried Batgirl predictably.
“Batgirl!” hissed the feline villainess. “How did you escape my bandage trap!”
“I’ll fill you in on the details later,” she replied, striding towards the black-clad evil doer wielding a pair of Batcuffs.
“Passion! Knock her unconscious! Vixen! throw a bondage grenade at her! Talon! Hit her with the Siamese Shrink Wrap.” Catwoman ordered into the void.
“I’m afraid your flunkies are in dispose right now,” Batgirl answers, gesturing upward.
Catwoman turned her head towards the roof of the circus tent. There, suspended fifty feet in the air were her three Sex Kittens. The girls were still bound together in the think carpet of rope and other material Batgirl and the swimsuit models had used to immobilize them. Another line had been wrapped around all three beauties, a line used to hoist the captives into the air where they now dangled helplessly. Another set of ropes had been added to bind all six knees and all six ankles tightly together, giving them the ability to do nothing more than swing and grunt in fear and rage.
Even if her henchwomen could free themselves (a nearly impossible “if”) that would just leave them ready to take a fifty foot fall to the ground. Clearly Batgirl had taken Catwoman’s hired help out of action.
“Do we do this the hard way or the hard way?” Batgirl asked of Catwoman as she advanced.
“You may have screws up my plans,” howled the villainess, “but you’re not taking me in.”
With that, Catwoman hurled a plastic sphere to the ground which exploded in a thick cloud of smoke.
Batgirl fought her way through Catwoman’s smoke screen, trying to discern through the fog where the feline bad girl was moving.
As the smoke dissipated, Batgirl found her target. Catwoman had used the diversion to scramble up a high pole to a waiting trapeze with which she planned to make her escape.
Batgirl determined that Catwoman had chosen her escape route well. Once atop the trapeze performer’s platform, a waiting trapeze was there which would allow her to swing to a second trapeze dangling (much like the bound Sex Kittens) in the middle of the circus tent. Once she had hold of that second trapeze, she could swing herself to a second performer’s platform in the middle of the tent with a pole leading out the tent’s pinnacle. Once she left the top of the tent, there was no way Batgirl would be able to track her escape.
Catwoman’s athletic abilities left her more than able to handle this simple trapeze trick, and the head start her smoke screen had given her left Batgirl powerless to cut off her escape route. Thinking rapidly, Batgirl pulled out a Batarang and threw it towards the now airborne Catwoman.
Catwoman had begun swinging on the first trapeze as she gave Batgirl a loud “So Long Sucker.” It was only when she released the first trapeze and began flying towards the second that she realized a Batarang was heading her way.
The Batarang flew past Catwoman’s head, missing her by several inches. She relaxed, determining that Batgirl’s poor throw eliminated the one chance of her escape plan being foiled.
A fraction of a second later, Catwoman heart sank. Apparently, the Batarang was not meant for her, but for the second trapeze she was heading towards. The projectile got to the trapeze bar first, knocking it slightly and pushing it forward. The bar did not move more than a few inches, but that was more than enough for Catwoman to miss her mark, leaving her grabbing at air, rather than the escape trapeze bar she had planned on reaching.
In trapeze acts, an inch is as good as a mile. Suddenly, Catwoman was transformed from a lithe, coordinated trapeze artist to a character from a Tom and Jerry cartoon. Grabbing furiously at the air, she seemed suspended in space, only to have the reality of gravity take over, sending her flying to the ground fifty feet below.
Fortunately for Catwoman, a safety net had been strung out below the entire trapeze set up, giving her something to break her fall. Unfortunately for her, the release lever to that safety net was currently being held by a certain purple-clad, caped crime fighter.
The second Catwoman hit the net, Batgirl threw the release. While the net still broke her fall, she continued to move towards the ground, becoming swallowed up in the now unsupported net. All of her momentum was transferred to the safety net, sending yards of material flying into the air which then came crashing down on Catwoman, burying her in yards and yards of mesh.
Under normal circumstances, the hyper-coordinated Catwoman could have freed herself from the pile of netting which covered her from head to toe. However, normal circumstances did not include having to recover from the shock of a fifty foot fall. They also did not include having an equally strong crimefightress using the opportunity to pull the net more tightly in all directions.
As Catwoman tried to squirm left and right to get out of the net, Batgirl reeled the net in tighter, trapping her like a fish. When Catwoman tried to sit up to loosen her arms, Batgirl used the occasion to wrap another several layers of net around her.
Within a few minutes, Catwoman was helplessly entrapped in numerous tight folds of netting. Her arms were pinned helplessly to her sides, her legs welded together in wrap after wrap of tight mesh. Once she realized her prey was stuck, Batgirl proceeded to roll her foe in the remaining folds of the net, tying the mesh in place with yards of the loose rope which had previously held the net to it support bars.
Catwoman fumed and struggled. She had certainly been captured by a wide variety of good guys and bad guys over the years, but never had she been bound this tightly. A few layers of net covered her head, but everything from her chin to her knees was helplessly cocooned in a six-inch thick wrapping of heavy safety net.
Entombed in netting as she was, Catwoman’s struggles inside her binding were barely discernible to anyone gazing at the bound villainess.
“Let me out of this!” screamed Catwoman.
“Say please,” replied Batgirl.
“Screw you!” was the retort.
“Wrong answer,” Batgirl retorted as she gave the mesh bundle in front of her a swift kick with her Batboot.
Normally, Batgirl would not kick someone when she was down, but in this instance she could not resist. Besides, the thick wrapping of material between Batgirl’s boot and Catwoman’s body meant she would barely feel the blow.
As Catwoman struggled in her inescapable binding, Batgirl made her way to the rope that suspended the Sex Kittens to the ceiling and lowered them onto a wheeled dolly she had retrieved from another corner of the circus tent. She rolled the trio of bound, bikinied damsels near their boss and dumped them onto the ground.
As all four baddies continued their pointless struggles, Batgirl tied a final set of lines to their feet then tethered both packages to a metal stake in the ground. While she had no illusions that her captives could escape, she did want to prevent them from rolling into some corner to elude the police when the finally arrived.
“So long girls,” said Batgirl towards her former tormentors. “The cops should be here any minute. I’ll let Chief O’Hara and his boys in blue take it from here.”
“Just wait Batbitch,” cried Catwoman (the only ungagged member of the gang). “Once the Penguin becomes mayor, me and all of my criminal buddies will be free!”
Batgirl gave Catwoman’s cheek a pinch through the netting enshrouding her head. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” she chuckled. “Ta ta.”
With that Batgirl fled the tent, so as not to be on the scene when Chief O’Hara and his men showed up.
It took the cops another half hour to arrive on the scene. During that time, the bound prisoners had managed to roll near each other, only to discover that this proximity brought them no means of escape. Catwoman would have to chew through two layers of heavy, rope-like netting in order to reach her henchwomen’s bindings with her teeth (even if she could do anything to free them from so much rope with just her mouth). The Sex Kittens, gagged as they were, could barely managed a “MMMMphhh,” much less any useful actions.
“Saints preserve us,” said Chief O’Hara as he and his men finally poured into the Big Top. “Don’t you just love it when they come gift wrapped?”
O’Hara and his men all laughed. Catwoman felt both furious and humiliated.
“Don’t bother with the cuffs boys, just drag them back to Gotham State Prison as is,” said O’Hara assuming (correctly) that avoiding a transfer to shackles would minimize chances of escape.
Nearly two more hours had passed before Catwoman and her gang were free of their bonds. Warden Crighton decided to take no chances and made sure they were behind bars before calling in maintenance men to chop them out of the netting, rope, ribbon, string and other materials that Batgirl had used to hold them captive.
The Sex Kittens massaged their aching limbs and tried to work out the numerous rope marks left on their still bikini-clad bodies (they decided to forego Gotham State Prison smocks for the time being, knowing full well that they would be wearing those garments for sometime to come).
Catwoman fumed in the cell next to the Kittens. “I hope you realize that you’re fired,” she told them. Vixen, Talon and Passion pouted, knowing full well that Catwoman would forgive them in time for their next break out.
“Batgirl,” Catwoman screamed. “Next time… You’re mine!”
Prophetic words those.
THE END