Oracle and Nightwing

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This story contains erotic and graphic sexual activities. If you find that offensive or are under 18 years of age, read something else. "Dick and Babs Go To Walmart", this ain’t. All characters mentioned in this story are the property of DC Comics and no trademark or copyright infringement is intended. No profit will be made from the distribution of this story, except, I hope, the satisfaction of a job well done.

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"Oracle out."

Barbara Gordon clicked the speakerphone off-line and leaned back in her wheelchair.

Well, that was an interesting call, she thought; the first time the new Green Lantern had contacted her since he’d gotten the ring. He only needed some slightly classified information, but she’d enjoyed the connection. Opening up his file, she found that he’d been raised on the West Coast and moved to New York only a few years ago to work as a graphic artist. Maybe he could design her a new screen saver, in addition to the Batsignal logo she’d installed years ago. It might be fun to start an Internet relationship with him. In addition to being witty, well-mannered, almost gallant in his inquiry, he had that dark brooding intensity she’d always found attractive in a man. Then she remembered that he was living with Donna Troy, former Titan and Darkstar, and that pulled the plug on that electronic love connection.

Barbara checked the clock on her computer. Eleven PM. It seemed the slowest Friday night ever. Other than Green Lantern’s query, the only other connection had been an early request from the latest Robin, Tim Drake. Not for a case involving the Riddler or Cluemaster, but for help with his Social Sciences homework.

What could she do to pass the time? Take a swim in the pool again? It was the closest she came now to recapturing the sensation of flying from rooftop to rooftop, soaring among the spires. But her fingers were still wrinkled from the hundred laps she’d done only a short while ago.

Didn’t feel hungry, didn’t feel thirsty. Didn’t feel tired, didn’t feel buzzed. Barbara cocked her head and flicked a finger into the belly of the Batgirl doll that sat next to the monitor. "An understatement to say I just don’t feel, right?" she murmured.

She thought about re-contacting the Batcave, hoping that Tim might have checked in early and be up for a game of chess, then remembered he’d said that Batman had given him the night off for a date with his girlfriend. Even Bruce had made it a social night. She switched over to the computer’s satellite dish and caught the lead story on GNN about the Wayne Foundation’s annual Crystal Ball for children’s inner city school programs. The tuxedo-clad millionaire was featured heavily in the report, not only for his charitable activity, but also for being seen snuggling up to a local radio nighttime jock he’d met recently. Gotham was aglow with the buzz. When was the last time one of the world’s most eligible bachelors had been less eligible? This relationship could trump Trump, send John-John off Page Six. Had the playboy finally become a serious man?

Babs knew better.

When Barbara was younger, she entertained thoughts of pairing up with the Batman in more than just a crime-fighting way; her fantasies about the broad-shouldered vigilante had carried her across many a flushed threshold when the first stirrings of sexuality had blossomed in her youth. But as she grew older and worked with him on several cases, she accepted the sad truth that Bruce’s grisly past prevented him from trusting anyone enough to let them into his tortured soul.

Not allowing herself to be imprisoned by her own similarly tortured psyche, she had mourned, then grown past the sudden death of her mother from a car accident and the drawn-out wasting death of her real father from alcoholism. Her uncle had taken her into his home, into his family, and most importantly, into his heart. With Jim Gordon’s calm influence, she found that if she could rely on anything, it was the possibility of a new beginning. Even the end of his first marriage had proved a lesson in the potential of second chances. Through trouble and complications and lots of effort, with his second wife he’d found a Happily Ever After.

If only it could happen to her.

As if to reinforce this musing, a familiar tone pulsed in her earpiece. Barbara shook her head, a slow smile crossing her face as she clicked on the receiver. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hey, Babs. Listen, Sarah and I were going to catch the late show of the latest Travolta movie and thought you might want to tag along."

Barbara pursed her lips. Talk about being a fifth wheel. "Thanks, Dad, but I’ve got a ton of research to database."

"It’s not a school night, you know. You are allowed a little pleasure from time to time"

"Not if a girl’s gotta pay her rent. Besides, if I finish early, I’ve got a Mel Gibson video, a bag of white cheddar popcorn and I promise I’ll stick a wad of gum under my chair. I’ll be fine."

"I love you, Barbara. Can we get together for coffee tomorrow?"

"As long as it’s not at one of those yuppie caffeine chains. That much Hunter Green makes me dizzy. Bye, Daddy. You and Sarah have a good time." She released the line and stretched her arms skyward. That was all she needed. If her mood wasn’t turning self-pitying enough, it’d be murder to watch a "couples" movie with her favorite couple.

It’s not like I had such an amazing social life to begin with, she thought.

Avoidance by boys intimidated by her intelligence during her school years had left her to her own entertainment on many a high school "date" night. Her obsession with training for her superhero dreams had filled in most of the empty time, but she still felt heartsick when she passed classmates kissing in the halls or petting at the drive-in. When she finally decided to dive into the dating pool at college, she’d been disappointed by the heavy-handed gropings in parked cars or by the leering sincerity of the "perfect guy" she’d been set up with by a well-meaning friend. Losing her virginity at the age of nineteen had felt more like an item checked off on a "To Do" list than a consummation of romance.

Her job as Director of Reference Services at the Gotham Library had effected the perfect cliché--flame-red hair, high full breasts and long, supple legs exuded an inviting sexuality. But while all the guys who passed through the stacks inventoried her stunning looks, Barbara refused to be put into circulation. "Ice Queen" they whispered behind her back. "Too good for us." It wasn’t that she didn’t long for intimacy, she reminded herself constantly, it was that her isolation was necessary to protect a higher purpose.

Finally, while serving as a congresswoman in Washington, she attempted the luxury of pursuing a social life. Dating a soldier and a senator among others, she began to think that she could lead a more normal existence. She looked forward to their smiles, enjoyed their caresses, even took hope in their white-picket fence dreams. But though she shared the physical closeness she had yearned for, inside she still felt detached from them. In the end, she allowed the demands of her crime-fighting activities to thwart their efforts to be together and all the relationships had inevitably fallen apart.

Only once had she felt what she thought emotional fulfillment should be, and to her surprise, it had been with a boy who’s own sexual awakening she had brought about. With the boy, who followed the same path she was on to fight against crime and injustice, she found a trust and freedom she’d never felt before. Their lovemaking had run the gamut from sensual gentleness to total abandon. As with no one before, she had revealed her secrets and fears to him and felt he had granted her confidences he gave no one else.

But once again, she allowed the dream of her higher goal to stall the relationship into nothingness. It didn’t bode well to mix business and pleasure, she convinced herself. How could she care and be cared about in their dangerous, deadly business? It was unfair, she lied to herself.

Though I don’t even have being such a great superhero as a good excuse, either. She’d bungled too many jobs and been rescued from the fire too many times to think she had a future in crime-fighting, so after a near-miss assassination attempt, she had retired.

Now she could look forward to a home and hearth. To giving her father the grandchildren he muttered about. Her hopes of finding an intimate and loving relationship were raised, only to be cruelly shot down only a few months later by a twisted villain with a rictous smile.

Weeks of lying in a hospital bed and months of therapy attested to the corporeal limitations of her paralysis but Barbara discovered a harsher truth as well. What was shattered went beyond the physical. She came to see that the outside world assumed that the broken connection in her spine also cut off any connection to her heart.

When she was young, the bespectacled teen got hung up on the motto "Guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses." Now she wanted to revise that to "Guys just stare at a girl in a chair."

"You still have your brains, your passions, your soul," her father had said. "You’re a prize any man would want to win."

Barbara laid her head on her hands. Yeah, great prize I am, torn and tattered, she brooded. A reference book with a hole in the spine. Worth a nickel at book sales; maybe bought just to bring the coffee table leg up to level.

Her darkest thought was that her maiming had led to her original dream’s salvation. Putting her photographic memory and remarkable reference and computer skills to work, she became a valuable link in the chain of vigilante justice. In fact, she’d never had more interaction or respect from her crime-fighting peers when she’d worn her own cape and cowl. She could decipher what 2,000-year-old encryption code was being used by R’as Al Ghul and translate it in a millisecond, or find what weakness in the weaponry embanked on the north side of Santa Prisca Island would allow the Black Canary to thwart a white slaver’s plans without a scratch. She’d achieved her dream of indispensability to innocent victims and crime-fighters everywhere. But at a price.

All her rehabilitation couldn’t take the place of the softness of a hand stroking her hair or the warmth of an arm around her waist. All her knowledge couldn’t substitute for the brush of moist lips along the nape of her neck. All her research couldn’t tell her how someone could survive without the caress of another human being.

A hot tear coursed down her cheek.

"I certainly named myself appropriately," she whispered. The Oracle.

Inspired by Ancient Greece’s Delphic Oracle, the isolated Vestal Virgin, suspended above the steaming fissures of the earth, spewing mad wisdom in her loneliness. But instead of sitting on a golden tripod, this Oracle perched on an aluminum wheelchair.

And like the original Oracle, who had been consulted by Perseus and Orestes, given the labors to Hercules, warned Oedipus of the path he’d descend, she, too, was "visited" by the young heroes of the day. She was the omphalus, the centerpoint of the world, revered as the mouthpiece of the gods. But now the mouthpiece was a microphone, and predictions were received on a computer printout.

No one touches me anymore, she wept. No one holds me. I’m not human anymore, I’m machine. My true voice is filtered, my true face unseen. Day and night, I embrace plastic and metal; a program, not a person.

And it’s worse than just not being with people. I’m no longer a woman.

A bell-like tone sounded in the shadowy apartment.

Barbara drew in a ragged breath and wiped the teardrops away with the back of her hand.

The tone rang again, a little longer this time. Wearily, she sat up and cued the outside camera. A figure in black and robin’s egg blue braced himself on the wall with one hand while the other cradled his side.

"Babs. Are you there? Please be there."

She saw him weakly press the buzzer one more time, then slide to the floor. Knocking over a stack of books wheeling backwards to turn around, she raced to the door, pulling it open with all her strength, nearly falling over sideways in her chair. He was slumped against the threshold, wiping his face, checking for traces of blood on his gloves. At the sound of Barbara’s gasp behind him, he painfully turned towards her and focused bleary eyes beneath his mask.

"Somebody order a pizza?" His rueful smile said it all for her.

"Nightwing! Can you walk?" She raised an eyebrow. "I’m all out of anti-grav BatStretchers."

"Yeah. Just give me a minute." Pushing with his feet, Nightwing slid back up the wall. He stood straight for a second, flushed with the effort, then swayed forward. Barbara quickly hooked his thigh for balance with her arm and pulled him against the transom. He was gasping and swallowing deeply, trying to take in enough air to clear his head.

"You going to throw up?"

Nightwing shook his head slowly. "No." He managed to draw in several long ragged breaths. "But I wish you had a side-car to that chair about now."

Barbara wheeled backwards warily, watching as he painfully reached behind him to close the door as they headed inside her apartment. She pivoted a 180° and guided him to the bathroom.

Gleaming aluminum grab-rails formed a perverted Jungle Gym around the tub and toilet area. Barb cringed at the cage-like metal but the roguish superhero maneuvered around the chrome monkey bars with indifference. "What happened?"

"Hmmm. Let’s see. Fists. Claws. Whips." He braced his hands on the waist-high sink and squatted down slowly to mirror level, surveying the damage to his face. "Recognize that modus operandi?"

"Sounds like the feline bondage queen." Barbara busied herself taking out towels and bandages from cabinets set in the walls.

"In the fur herself." With a deft movement, he slid two fingers under his mask and popped it off, placing it atop the soap dish. Barbara held up a hand towel and he ran it under a slow- running faucet.

"The water’ll take a few minutes to warm up."

Twisting around to sit on the bathtub rim, Dick wiped off the last of the spirit glue that held his mask in place, then blotted the cold towel across his forehead. He handed it back to her to re-wet, spotted with his blood. "Sorry. I’ll replace it."

She wrung it out, pink water swirling in the sink. "Towel’s easier to replace than your head."

Dick pointed his long legs out the doorway as she maneuvered her chair into a better position to take care of him. He was shivering and she knew he wasn’t cold, but to start the calming process, she flicked on the bathroom’s heat lamp.

"That should help."

"Mmm. You don’t happen to have any alcohol, do you? Like a brandy or something? Or are we superheroes still not allowed to partake of the grape or the grain."

"No, I have…" Barbara thought a moment. She remembered a bottle of Napoleon Brandy her father had given her last birthday. She’d been saving it for a special occasion that had never come. "I have just the thing."

With a nod of her head, she indicated that Dick would have to move his legs to allow her access out. He curled them up against the tub and she glided out into the hallway, towards a cabinet in the kitchen she ironically referred to as the "wine cellar." It contained the brandy and a bottle of merlot she kept for dates. She’d replaced the bottle three times since she’d moved in, using it each time for cooking purposes, not social ones.

Checking the brandy glasses for dust, she wheeled back to find Dick leaning against the sink, his boots in a crumpled pile in the corner, carefully checking his right ankle for swelling and tenderness.

"How is it?"

"Well, I’ll never play the violin again, but…" His eyes locked to hers wickedly. "Then I never could before!" they shouted together.

She poured a generous amount of brandy into a snifter and handed it up to him, then poured another for herself as he inspected the amber liquor. Raising a toast of survival to each other, Dick took a deep pull on the glass, swallowing the liquid fire rapidly. Barbara took a tentative sip of hers; it had been a while since she’d had a drink and she had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach already.

"Your father has good taste," he choked out, handing her the glass for a refill. She poured him a smaller drink this time and set the bottle on the floor.

"Do you want me to contact…him?"

Dick looked down at her. "No," he said quickly.

"Not my father. I meant…"

"I know who you meant. My father." He tossed back more of his drink. "No, thank you. I’m sure he’ll find out about this in the course of things." Dick took a deep breath, then clutched his side over pulled muscles. "Besides, you always said, if I was in the neighborhood, I should drop by."

Barbara pursed her lips with a smirk. "You were so sure I’d be in?"

"Who else can I depend on to be home on date night?"

A cold draft blew from her gut through the gaping holes bridged over her shattered spine. If Dick noticed her discomfort at his remark he didn’t make amends for it. He had straightened up, leaning back against the low set sink.

Picking up a clean towel, she shrugged off her despair. "Let’s have a look at you."

His face was torn above his left eyebrow. There were scratches on his left cheek as well, and the fabric above his left shoulder was shredded, showing deep red welts that oozed thick pain. The scratches ripped diagonally across his chest, down the washboard stomach of his costume, ending their path in an arc across his right thigh. "What a mess."

Dick swallowed the last of the snifter’s contents. "You, on the other hand, look particularly beautiful tonight. You’re growing your hair out again, huh? I like it longer. It…uh…" Barbara’s glowering eyes discerned a florid tinge infusing his bruised face. Crossing her arms with an acrid deliberateness, she sighed.

"Go ahead. Finish it, Grayson."

"It…uh…enhances your femininity," he muttered weakly, setting his glass on the floor next to hers.

Barb shook her head with annoyance, trying to hide the flushed marks of mixed emotions that were branding her own cheeks. "You’re delirious as well as beaten up. Let me see your hands." Lacerations swelled through the frayed knuckles of his gloves. "Take those off."

The gloves were heavy, weighted down with equipment stored in metal cuff pockets that were hard to pull off bruised and swollen arms, but Dick peeled them off with the skill of a striptease artist.

"I think you’re going to need iodine, young man." She wheeled backwards and to the side with one hand, colliding with Dick as they both leaned forward to pull open the waist high cabinet door. "Let me. Please?"

"Sorry." Turning away from her, he ran his bloody knuckles under the lukewarm water.

Barb waited patiently, holding a box of bandages and antiseptic in her lap as he scrubbed the rough skin with a washcloth. His high round butt was at her face level and she tried to convince herself to look away, but to no avail. The curve of his ass paralleled the hollow of his groin, which flowed sinuously down long, muscular thighs. She remembered how soft and silky his legs had been, when they had been wrapped around her own, once. How she had made him lie on the bed on his flat stomach as she licked his legs and thighs like an ice cream cone, placing sprinkles of kisses across his ass. How his ass was so firm but pliant as she had drawn him deeper inside her, over and over.

Twisting around, Dick caught Barbara in her reverie. He held out his hands for a towel and distractedly she started rubbing them dry. The silkiness of her palm brushed against his and spread a warmth through him that had nothing to do with the heat lamp.

He watched her through lowered eyelids, transfixed by the rosy flush on cream-white cheeks framed by iridescent coppery hair that trailed down to generous breasts rising and falling under her V-necked shirt. Her tapered fingers caressed his with a gentle touch, a touch he remembered stroking his back and legs, causing a quivering in his muscles that felt like he was flying. He remembered how her strong long limbs had wrapped around his, sheltering him in a sanctuary of calmness during the craziness of his youth.

How supple and loose-limbed she had been; the positions they had been able to achieve in their lovemaking could have furnished a sequel to the Kama Sutra, he thought. Tall and willowy, Barbara matched him in dexterity and excelled him in artistry. Slowly, patiently, she guided him to manhood, pausing only like Meleager had, to throw golden fruit to Atalanta as they raced, allowing him to catch up.

How destroyed he had been when she had turned him away.

"You want to tell me how this happened?"

Dick lowered himself down on the bath’s rim again, allowing Barbara easy reach to clean and dress the half-moon cut still oozing viscous fluid onto his forehead. She gently stroked the crusted blood away with a soft cotton square. Staring into eyes that reminded him of finely faceted emeralds, Dick began his story.

"I was on my way back home from the Crystal Ball. Rubber hors d’oeuvres, not sparkling but rather dim champagne. You know how I love these things. A real bore.

"I was cycling down Peterson Boulevard back home to the Bird’s Nest--what Tim and I have taken to calling Wayne Manor--when I heard a crash and a muffled explosion.

"It was at the Revolutionaire Art Museum. They’re showing a very controversial exhibit--Erotic Toyland? You read about it in the papers?" he asked.

"The one that had all the knickers of the Daughters of Gotham Society in a twist?"

"Yeah, that’s the one. So I park the bike, peel off the monkey suit, stick on the mask and I’m over there in ten seconds. And who do I see but Catwoman and two of her litter purloining a rare and aesthetic collection of whips, leather masks, bustiers, dildos. You know, the kind of things the Marquis de Sade took on vacation."

"Purrrrrloining?" A smirk played across her lips. "Really, Robbie, I thought you had given up the puns with the bare legs and cape."

Long lashes lowered momentarily onto downcast eyes. She had his chin cupped in her free hand and he curled his cheek into her palm before his gaze fixed itself back to hers. "Some things you don’t give up so easily." Shifting his weight, trying to find a comfortable position on the slippery rim, his knees smacked into hers, knocking one of her feet off the wheelchair’s supports, without a reaction on her part.

"Anyway, I tell her to put down the stuff but she cracks out a whip and suddenly I find myself tangled up and falling down. Leo and Clarence do a number on my face and ribs, but Catty tells them to get out of her way, she’ll take care of this. She orders them to pick me up and I’m carried over to a chain link fence in the alley, where she proceeds to tie my ankles and wrists to the metal using several of the whips she’s stolen.

"Her leonine friends disappear into the shadows; I don’t think they shopped at the same mall as I do, women-wise, and I guess as kinky as Selina is, she wanted her privacy. Ow!"

Dick winced as the antiseptic Barbara applied stung him and she blew a cool breath across the wound to evaporate it quicker. "Go on. I want all the sordid details. It’s been hell since they scrambled Gotham’s only blue channel."

Her eyes avoided his as she placed a flesh-colored strip over the wound, sensing he’d been taken aback with the deadpannedness of her remark. Now it was Dick’s turn to regain composure.

"Well, first Selina fondles me all over, stroking my arms, my sides, trailing her claws up and down my legs and back. Picking up another whip, she runs the tip through the link below my rear-end and reaching through another link to grab hold, rubs it back and forth over my crotch, sometimes pressing it into the crack in my ass, then pulling it forward slowly.

"Squeezing the whip in her crotch, she puts her booted legs through the chain link, hoists herself up and we come face to face. She straddles me, rubbing her body up and down mine. Every time she comes up forward on me, she licks my face, circling around my mask."

Barbara pulled back and squinted her eyes. What she thought were bruises on Dick’s face she now realized were traces of Selina’s lipstick.

"Through the spandex, I can feel her nipples growing harder as she slides up and down my chest. She arches back, then whips her hair across my face several times.

"She climbs higher on the fence, and forces one of her breasts into my mouth. I circle the tip with my tongue, soaking the fabric of her costume with my sucking. She’s pawing me all over, raking her nails across my ribs, pressing a knee into my crotch. Are you hot?"

Barbara’s hands flew to her cheeks. "What?"

Brushing a damp curl of hair off her forehead, Dick smiled. "The heat lamp. Can you turn it off?"

Clumsily, she backed the wheelchair up and flicked off the switch. Bab’s eyes strayed down Dick’s front, where his nipples poked hard points through the fabric. Her own were rock hard as well, she thought.

"Then what happened?"

"I bit down on her tit. It stunned her but not for long. The whip cracks across my forehead. Then she bares her claws and lets them rip diagonally from my shoulder to my thigh. By then I had freed my left leg from the fence and shot her one in the solar plexus. She responds by kicking me in the chest. Suddenly Leo and Clarence return and rip me down, wale on me, leaving me kissing concrete, wind knocked out. Selina sticks me in the ass one last time with her stiletto heel and then they’re gone in the night.

"When I realized where I was, I managed to stagger over here. The rest is, as they say…"

Barbara finished cleaning his face and tossed the dirty cotton into the garbage pail. "And you didn’t even get to take anything home as a souvenir?" Her green eyes flickered a teasing glance. "I know how Bruce and you like to showcase mementos."

"I’d love to see Alfred trying to figure out where to exhibit the spoils of this case."

"And some are still on display", she murmured, unperceivingly nodding downwards.

Dick slapped his uninjured thigh in glee, laughing at her remark, opening his legs wider to accommodate the growing bulge in his leggings. Without missing a beat, he caught her eyes on the upswing of her chin. "This has nothing to do with what happened earlier," he grinned.

Crimson clouds diffused across her face like a rose-streaked dawn. Self-consciously she looked down at herself and with a groan, noticed her errant foot. Her face raised to his in dismay but Dick had already started to place the foot back to rest on the metal grate. Casually placing one hand on her knee, he reached over with the other and lazily traced a line down her cheekbone. "We only communicate by head-set these days, Babs. I know we can’t physically work together, but…I miss doing stuff with you like we used to. You know, being with you."

"I didn’t mean anything by that."

"No?" She felt the callused pads of his fingers glide over her lips lightly with an arousing roughness. "Maybe I wish you’d realize…" Dick stammered to a stop as she swerved her head away defensively.

"What?" Barb knew she spoke too fast, but her head was flooded with the feelings washing over her and she was afraid she’d drown in her own thoughts if she didn’t dam the overflow quickly.

Dick shook his head softly. "Nothing," he muttered. "I just wish you’d realize."

Picking up the bottle of first aid lotion, she pointed it at his torn-up chest. "What I realize," she started, the words sticking in her dry throat, "is that you’re going to have to lose the top if I’m going to clean up the rest of your mess."

Rising slowly, maintaining an unwavering scrutiny into her eyes, Dick’s fingers reached into his waistband and pulled on the shirtwaist, peeling the body-clinging material up and off his wounds. Barbara’s breath caught in her breast as she watched his impish strip-show, revealing the fine dark hairs that tapered up from his groin to swirl around his navel, then traveled over the undulating planes that splayed over his torso like the ripples of desert sand dunes. Carefully he eased the shirt off, his deep breastbone shadowed between well-developed pectoral muscles, pulling the fabric over rounded biceps and squared shoulders. Finally, shaking his long black hair clear of the binding collar, he dropped the costume to the floor. The focused exertion had winded him and his chest rose and fell, reminding Barbara to breathe as well.

Dick raised his powerful arms to let her survey the damage, then, with a sly grin, brought his hands together at his tapered waist to affect a bodybuilder’s pose.

"God save us from Arnold," she murmured, forcefully shaking off the distraction of the lean, lithesome body before her. Moistening another cotton square with alcohol, she began to blot away the blood and dirt.

"Aah!" Drawing in, he winced at the disinfectant on his stomach. "That’s cold!"

"Wuss."

"Torturer."

"Aw, is the boy blunder going to cry?"

"No, but I feel a pun coming on."

"Okay! I’ll be careful!"

Except for the two deep gouges above the upper left breast, Nightwing’s Kevlar body suit had protected him well. Unrelentingly she made her way up the trail of light scratches to the deeper wounds at top, assessing for any other injuries on his chest or limbs, then noticed the deep smile of a scar that ringed his right shoulder.

"Barb…Ow!" Dick curled away from her. "That really hurt."

Imperceptibly she had dug into his wound too deeply, distracted by thoughts of how gunshot wounds received from the Joker had signaled a transition for both of them. Dismissed by a remorseful Batman after being wounded in a rooftop apprehension, Dick was forced to take responsibility for his own path. For him, the bullet’s nick had effected his passage from boy to man.

But for her, she tallied, the bullet’s consequence had left her less than a woman.

"Sorry," she said woodenly. Feeling a swelling of self-pity in her stomach, she stared past him, irritatingly catching her reflection in the sink’s mirror. Quickly she glanced away from her own dour gaze and bent back to her task of treating his lacerations.

Dick caught her hand on his chest. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Forcing a smile to her lips, she glanced up at him. "Surely you can afford more than that."

"Hey, I’m on a budget," he baited. "I pay for my own masks now."

His hand refused to release hers as she tried to continue her ministrations. Holding her palm against his breast, his thumb rubbed over her knuckles, his fingers enfolded hers. He grazed the heel of her hand lightly over his hard, rough nipple.

"Dick…" she managed to stammer.

"Did I forget to say thank you?" Swiftly, he leaned in and caught her mouth with his own. Supple fingers lightly raked through her copper hair, tilting her face into his. Feathery tender caresses skimmed over her lips before he drank deep of her essence, then pulled away.

Barbara jerked her hand from his chest and brushed trembling fingers over her mouth. His taste was of brandy and boldness. She thought to wipe the moistness off with her palm, but her lips had already gone dry.

Dick grimaced at the look of surprise on her face, but what should he have expected? "Babs, I’m sorry," he blurted. He stroked his shoulder absentmindedly. "I guess I’m still that sixteen-year-old kid with a mad crush on you."

"And I’m still much older than you," she choked out.

"Please! Seven years. That might have raised some eyebrows then, but now, it’s a sad excuse for…whatever it’s an excuse for."

"Excuse!" she exploded. Incredulous at his remark, Barbara pulled his hand away from his shoulder to stop the rings he traced around his scar and slammed it down on the hard rubber handles encircling her. "Dick! I’m in a wheelchair!"

Dick raised petulant eyes to meet hers. "I know." Impulsively, he bent over again and scooping her hair back with both hands, laved his tongue around the lobe of her ear, his breath warm and sweet against her skin. Nuzzling further in, he dallied lingering kisses down the nape of her neck, then abruptly pulled back and pressed his mouth close to her cheek. "I know," he whispered.

"Stop it. Please!" Barb wheeled backwards and reached awkwardly for the antiseptic. "I have to…I don’t think…" She hated being this flustered. The wall of control she had successfully built up against the heartache of her paralysis was imploding, exploding piercing shards of anguished yearnings through her body.

"Don’t think! Feel."

"I can’t!" She raised a hand in defense, then dropped it despairingly. "I want to, but…I’m afraid."

Dick shook his head vehemently. "You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life."

"I’m unsure, then. I’m…unknowledgeable."

Laughter bubbled from his lips. "I love these clichéd excuses!" He gestured at the quiet room around them. "Barb, when have you not come up against an obstacle and found it an opportunity to learn, to gain that knowledge?"

"Opportunity? This is an opportunity to you?" A sharp gaze reflected the piercing tone in her voice. Dick tore his eyes from hers.

Stalemate.

"Let me finish dressing your wounds."

The corners of Dick’s mouth curled up. He glanced down at the remaining injury, which throbbed slightly on his right thigh. "More like un-dressing my wounds."

Dick’s defiant grin flattened into a thin line of uncertainty and he shook his head, sighing.

"Barbara." He bit his lip forcefully. "Nothing has changed how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you." Hesitant fingers trailed across her brow, palming over her cheek to caress her chin. "How I always will feel about you."

Tingles of nervousness skittered up her shoulders and colored her face a duskier rose. Chills and flutters battled in her stomach. Her hands felt numb, her chest burned. The lights were too bright in the room, the buzz of electricity was too loud. Or was it that her senses were finally coming to life again?

Only once had she felt what she thought emotional fulfillment should be, and to her surprise, it had been with a boy who’s own sexual awakening she had brought about. With the boy, who followed the same path she was on to fight against crime and injustice, she’d found a trust and freedom she’d never felt before. Their lovemaking had run the gamut from a sensual gentleness to total abandon. As with no one before, she had revealed her secrets and fears to him and felt he had granted her confidences he gave no one else.

How destroyed she had been when she had turned him away.

Just as she felt as if her whole body would shatter, a great calm overcame her.

Opportunity? How could she attack him as seeing this as an opportunity? This wasn’t like the opportunities he had taken as a youth, bussing her cheek with a shy peck after a job well done, or catching her around the waist as they plunged off the rooftops, swinging together like mating birds through the rushing air.

Later, when affection had turned to lust, when the opportunity availed itself to satisfy their adolescent urges, steal secret stares, revel in the power to arouse and electrify each other, an undercurrent of fondness and devotion had always galvanized their relationship.

She thought back to the dark days after her spine had been blown away, remembering the trucks from Grayson Industries that had arrived continuously at her door; bearing the logo of an acrobat reaching up, inches from catching a trapeze bar, signaling the arrival of new and appreciated items to make the difficult adjustment to life in a chair easier. Prototype sinks and storage for her kitchen, the latest in exercise equipment for the handicapped, bed and bath supplies. And crates of computer equipment to enable her to walk a new type of path.

Years of affection. Trust. Gratitude? Sure. Attraction. Admiration.

And love.

Dick searched her eyes for an answer, but all he got for his query was a Cheshire cat grin.

Her heart beating thunderously, Barbara hooked her fingers into the waistband of his costume and timorously lowered the tight material over his slender hips. With a gentle touch, she brought the matted fabric away from the gash below his groin and, with his hand braced on her shoulder, allowed Dick to pull his right leg free and out of the legging.

Suddenly overcome with modesty, Dick blushed at his growing erection, pressing the cup built into his body suit tight against his skin with his hands. Barbara compliantly cleaned the lacerations that whorled across his thigh, blew over them to dry the antiseptic, then covered them with a large square bandage. The cool rush of her breath caused his penis to thrum against the cup. Barbara looked up at him and smiled. Could she still do that to a man?

Delicately she brushed the tips of her fingers over the arc of his groin, across his hip and over the hill of his buttock. She traced circles on the baby soft skin of his rear, squeezing the downy mounds with another look up into his cobalt eyes. Dick reached down to run a hand through her hair but she pushed it away.

"Turn around."

Twisting the cove of his hips in her hands, she brushed her lips over the places her hand had just caressed. Forcefully she pressed his back downward and Dick bent over the low sink, crossing his arms over his chest. He shivered, momentarily missing the warmth of the heat lamp to quell the chilling rush of her touch on his skin. Barbara kissed and nipped him, lowering her head to tongue the hollow where buttock met thigh, then licked up the arch of his hip, running her hands along his legs as she grazed over his body. Without warning, she pulled down the remaining leg of his body suit, ripping it away quickly. Catching his calf and pulling the last vestige of clothing off him, she trailed her fingers up and inside his legs.

Drawing his ass-cheeks apart, she blew a stream of cool air up his crack, then, continuing the circular motion with her hands, pushed forward and upwards on his pelvic bones, indicating he should stand back up. She heard a sharp intake of breath as she raked her fingers through the nest of dark curly hair at the base of his cock, barely skimming the top of his growing shaft. Placing kisses in the V at the base of his spine, she realized she could see his groin in the low hung mirror, his cock hardening at her sensuous touch. His head lowered, she could tell he was watching, too. Her mouth played over the contours of his thighs, her fingers feathered up the sinewy hollows of his groin.

Sighing, she caught his engorged cock in her hand, watching herself run one finger up the slickening shaft, then down again to catch the bead of moisture that hung on the tip. Swirling it around the helmet with the palm of her hand elicited a guttural moan from Dick and he opened his legs wider. Still massaging the head with her left hand, she ran two fingers down the groove on the underside of his long, straight cock, then captured his ballsack, squeezing it gently. Wrapping her left hand tighter around him, she felt the silky tightness jump at her touch and she moved her hand up and down lightly in response, resting her cheek against his hip, watching his growing pleasure.

She sought and found the spot just behind the base of his scrotum and pressed it carefully. Making tight circles with her thumb, she felt a shudder in his legs and gently stopped.

"Barb…" he entreated, his nerve endings stinging.

"Oh, no. You’re not that sixteen-year-old kid anymore. You just wait."

Grasping his hips once more, she rotated him around to face her.

Sweat bead the sides of his face, and his nostrils were flared, his chest and cock rising and falling together in a syncopated rhythm.

Barbara ran her hands up the hard muscles of his stomach, netting her fingers in his chest hair and pulled him to her. Falling forward with the momentum, Dick caught his hands on the arms of her chair, the force slamming her back against the wall as he seized her mouth with his. His tongue sliced between her lips, probing the fiery moistness, penetrating deeper and deeper. Plunging, parrying, thrusting her tongue with his, he was unquenchable, trembling with the yearnings that flowed through his body.

Barbara clutched his face in her hands, then trickled her fingers down the cords of his neck, to the taut muscles of his collarbone. He tasted of honey and vanilla, his sweetness tempered by the pungency of the sweat glowing on his skin. Strong arms embraced her and she gripped his shoulder blades, feeling his strength and power imbue through her. It drained away as he slowly drew back. "Why?"

Dick ran his thumb over her enflamed lips. "Gotta breathe sometime, darlin’." He skimmed his tongue over his own lips as a rakish smile grew from one side of his face to the other.

Catching his thumb with her teeth, she sucked it deeper into her mouth, biting gently, then swirled her tongue around the knuckle. She caressed his long, pliant fingers in her hand while she flicked moist darts in the valleys between before licking each in turn, like a cat catching the last drops of cream off the soft pads of its paws.

Barbara nuzzled her cheek in his hand a moment before dragging her lips across his palm, working lingering kisses over his wrist and up the tender inside of his arm. Then, grabbing him by his hips again, she pulled him forward to rain drops of kisses over his stomach, spiraling around his navel, dipping her tongue in and out. He perched over her, holding himself upright at a bowed angle by pushing his weight through his hands into the wall above Barbara’s head, throwing his own head back in delight at her attentions. His cock brushed against the swell of her breasts and she pushed him back slightly, realizing Dick’s difficult position. Lightly, she propelled him away from her, until his butt rested once again against the sink.

Understanding what she had in mind, Dick reached back and grasped the sides of the cool porcelain, bracing himself.

Glancing at her tousled hair and shining eyes in the mirror, Barbara shook her head and smiled. The evening had turned out quite differently than she expected. Dick raised her chin in his hand questioningly, but she just crinkled her nose and grinned.

Languidly she opened her mouth and engulfed the broad, blunt tip of his cock. She heard a gasp above her and set to swirling her tongue around the plumy helmet, tracing over the fold of skin that covered his glans, encircling him with spirals of fiery kisses. His thick shaft already tasted of salty sweetness as she gently wrapped one hand around the base and started stroking rhythmically, invoking an ancient cadence. Her lips glided over his soft slick skin as his hips bucked gently, providing a counterbeat to the measure of her erotic orchestrations.

The red velvet curtain of her hair prevented him from seeing what his senses informed him was happening as she took more and more of him into the warmth of her mouth. Recklessly, he pulled her hair away from her face, momentarily withdrawing her from his cock, a glistening trail of saliva from her lips keeping a tenuous connection between them. Reaching to each other, their lips met, drinking in the taste, the touch, the soul of each other’s being.

Dick’s familiar scent whirled into a heady intoxication that spun Barbara about in an effervescent storm of emotion. Remembered sensations heightened in the bold certainty of the trust she had in him. She tasted a saltiness in their embrace and realized she was crying. Dick kissed away her tears, they melted on his lips like an ambrosial dew.

Stringing kisses down his neck, his chest, his stomach, she resumed her task with a vigorousness that caught him off-guard, his whole body tightening with the aggressiveness of her stroking. Her pent-up desires spilled waves over his swollen cock. Spreading his legs to keep his balance, his hips writhed while his head dropped back, concentration cording in his straining muscles. Her skillful actions spread pleasure into every nerve, every pulse, taking him closer and closer to release. He felt her lips relentlessly slide up the length of him to caress his throbbing ballsack, then slide back down to pull and release the skin at the tip.

As her mouth rhythmically sucked him deeper and deeper inside its warmth, her tongue played a side to side counterpoint. Then, sheathing her teeth with her lips, she played a glissando, gliding down with a gentle pressure.

He felt a warning sting in the base of his spine and thrust harder into her mouth, his breath ragged as he tried to control his racing heartbeat. She took the full measure of him, his strong fingers snarling in her hair as he pumped with her, as she sucked and retracted, sucked and retracted.

"Aah…Barb!" Dick groaned loudly, punctuating his exhalations with feral savage grunts that reverberated off the room’s white tile. "I’m going to…I’m…Aah!"

Dick shuddered as his cock erupted, shooting hot white splashes of cum against the back of Barbara’s throat as she took him as deep as she could. Releasing his seed over and over, she matched his pace with rhythmic swallows, savoring the creamy confectionery of mango and bittersweet chocolate that was the taste of him.

Slowly she pulled away, tonguing the last drops of cum off his waning erection. Raising her eyes, she watched with a deserved smugness as he sagged against the washbasin, head lolling to the side, taking deep, even breaths until his strength returned. Eyes closed, he smiled as her hands traveled up and down his chest and legs, pinching, nipping, finding purchase over his soft skin. While tickling behind one kneecap, his eyes opened with a mischievous glint she remembered all too well.

"No, no, don’t!" She wheeled back, covering her face in her hands, shaking her head. "No, no, no, no! Don’t say it, Dick!"

"I’ve got to, I’ve just got to!" Bending over, Dick pulled her hands away and pressed his nose to hers, grinning from ear to ear. "Holy Blowjob, Batgirl."

Barbara caught his lip in her teeth. She felt a satisfaction resurface that had been buried in her despair and it bubbled up from her heart through her blood to the ends of her nerves. Seeing the rapture in his passion-hooded eyes had made her feel almost whole, almost complete as a woman again. She had been able to pleasure someone else, if not herself, and it gave her sense of fulfillment long absent from her life. And yet… She wanted more. She wanted it ALL back. Dejected, she let go his lip and lowered her head.

"You used to react a lot more violently to my puns," Dick whispered, burying his lips in her sweet-scented hair. "I seem to remember teeth-marks on one hip that didn’t go away for a week." He lowered himself to sit on the bathtub rim, wincing at the coldness of the porcelain against his bare ass, then sidled her chair closer to him. Barbara smiled and sighed.

Cradling the nape of her neck in one hand, he pulled her closer, drawing her into a kiss. His tongue circled her lips, then parted them gently, dipping in to taste her nectar. The kiss was tender, full of love and caring, soft and reassuring. Barbara floated blissfully on the ebb and flow as his tongue drifted back and forth, tangling with hers, cresting between their lips, then sucking her deeper into his mouth. She ran her hands outward over his lean collarbone and sheltered under the cape of his well-developed trapezious muscles, melting into him.

Dick traced lazy patterns through her hair with his fingers, then ran them down her arched spine, pressing her closer to him. The kiss became more desperate as he trailed his free hand down her neck and breastbone, lowering his palm to rub over her stomach, then back up to grasp the fullness of her breasts. Barbara’s breath caught on a sob of pleasure and she raised her hands to run her own fingers through his long blue-black hair.

Gently, Dick grazed his thumb across her nipples, then alternated feathery strokes of his palm to tease the tips into hardness. His lips wandered away from hers to nuzzle into her neck, planting kisses along her pulse-points. His breath was hot and spicy as he hovered over her shell-like ear, then he suddenly inhaled, the cool draft sending a shiver down her back.

Barbara pulled his head away by the hair, then crushed her mouth on his. She moaned as he scooped his hands under her shirt, reached around to release her bra, then caressed the curve of her lush breasts.

Without warning, Dick pulled her shirt over her head in one sweeping motion, dropping it to the floor, her bra following close by. He bent to ensnare one taut, rose-hued nipple with his lips, flicking his tongue over its pebbly hardness. She tasted like the spring mist rising off a field of wildflowers as his hands skimmed over her ribs to wrap around her waist.

She kissed his forehead, his brow, his eyes as he cupped her breast in one hand and suckled, her swelling chest rising to fill his mouth further with her satiny bosom. Tracing spirals, he abraded her other engorged bud with his callused fingers, then trailed down to the hollow below her breast towards the flat of her stomach, sending tingles through Barbara’s middle at his touch. Instinctively his hand lowered to rub across her belly, circle her navel, then slid inside the waistband of her black sweat pants. Cupping his hand over her mound, he slipped several fingers into her warm opening.

Wrenching his lips away from her breast, he looked up at her, his eyes wide open in surprise. "Barb--you’re wet."

Flustered, Barbara became aware of the location of his hand. "What?" A hot shame suffused her face; she dreaded the thought of her broken body destroying the moment with an unexpected though natural bodily function.

A slow smile lit up his face as he shook his head. "Your feminine juices are flowing."

"What? Really? Oh, Dick! I…" she stammered. "I mean, I’ve read medical reports but…" Barb paused, trying not to sound like the reference source she had trained herself to be. "You see, sexual…reactions…vary for every casualty of paralysis. I didn’t know what I would…What could happen." She gulped as her eyes reflected an expression of delight and wonder.

Planting a kiss on her burning cheek, he laughed softly. "Well, you’re wetter than a hot day in June, darlin’" He held up his hand to show her, his fingers glistening with her moistness, the musky scent of her female wetness filling her nostrils. Dick brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean, then caught her mouth with his, placing the taste of her onto her tongue, her lips, her teeth.

A shock wave of unmitigated joy exploded from her core, diffusing the darkness that had hollowed every fiber of her being for so long. If Barbara had harbored doubts earlier about her womanliness, they evaporated in the essence of herself in his kiss. Her femininity was assured to her, the evidence of its existence was there on his lips, something she had thought was gone forever.

Lovingly, Dick scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards the bedroom. "I think we should see what else you’re capable of, Babs."

Anything, she thought, pillowing her head on his broad shoulder. Everything, now.

Low lights illuminated the queen-sized bed as Dick lowered her gently onto the black satin comforter, and promptly hit his head on the suspended bar Barbara used to raise and lower herself onto the mattress.

"Ow!" Dick blinked several times to recover from the surprise. He tentatively pat at the area around the bandage on his forehead, having scored a direct hit on the wound. "You doing a circus act in here?"

"Sorry." Barbara sighed heavily, fearful how to recapture a shattered mood. Dragging herself further onto the bed, she distractedly pulled the comforter over her breasts.

Dick pushed the bar slightly, watching it sway over them. "Tell me, sweetheart, why is it I have such trouble with trapeze bars?"

Barb cleared her throat. "Surprising, since you actually do so well with long hard rods."

A dark laugh rumbled from this throat as he locked a wicked stare onto her gleaming eyes. Dropping onto the bed like a predatory cat, he glided up to her and peeled away the quilt, planting a kiss on her chin. "You’re the one who does so well." Lingering kisses trailed their way down her swan-like neck, over the slopes of her breasts, pushing her back onto the pillows as he kissed her stomach.

Raising his eyes for approval, Dick hooked his fingers into the waistband of her sweat-pants, and slid them off casually as Barbara watched. His nose and mouth hovered over the tight red curls that covered her mound, inhaling the spicy aroma. "Mmmmm," he murmured. "This is one pussy that doesn’t mind being wet."

Barb buried her face in the pillow, stifling a groan of laughter. Reaching out, she raked her hands through his hair, pulling his head away from her crotch. "Hey, Short-Pants. This isn’t helping."

Dick regarded her with innocent, saucer-wide eyes. "You used to love my puns." He pulled his head away from her grasp and nuzzled his face in her curls while caressing her thighs, spreading them further apart.

Barbara regarded his actions in confusion. "Things change," she replied sharply.

Without missing a beat, Dick ran his hands up her hips, pulling himself onto her, nipping and licking his way over the flat roundness of her belly, around the curves of her waist. His tongue settled over her navel, flicking in and out. Barbara giggled at his touch. "Not everything, I see."

His fingers reached up to tickle the sensitive flesh in the hollow below her breasts as his tongue continued its assault. Barb’s stomach undulated in wiggles and ripples as she laughed deeply. "Dick, stop! Stop it!"

"Stop it! Dick, stop it!" he mimicked, shifting his hands to extend his torments to the crook below her armpits and the swell of her abdomen. "You forget, I know all your secret places."

Pulling herself up by one hand on the trapeze bar, Barb reciprocated, tickling Dick over and around his ribcage. He rolled over in surprise, surrendering his hands as she caught them in hers, laying his head back across her breasts as they laughed together.

Dick brought her hands to his mouth and kissed them, then rolled over again onto his stomach. Their mouths now level, he brushed his lips over hers.

Barbara arched back as his tongue ground into her mouth, pulling him close against her. The passion in his kiss overwhelmed her, and she returned his ardor in kind. Parting reluctantly, he snuggled into her neck, then caught her earlobe in his teeth. His tongue explored its contours, swirling and spiraling around its crescent.

"You’re my secret place, Dick," she whispered. "You’re my…sanctuary."

She felt him nod against her cheek, then pull back and take a deep breath as he looked at her, his gaze piercing her eyes. "You’ve always been mine, Barb." He shrugged, a matter-of-fact smile playing over his lips. "I love you."

The statement was true and simple. Barbara wanted to disregard it, discard it, but knowing him, knowing the sincerity that was his soul, she had to accept it. And though she knew he wasn’t expecting a corresponding reply, she felt compelled to respond. "I love you, too."

And she knew it was as true.

Dick’s mouth swarmed over her body, grasping, clutching, catching, seizing. He caught her hands in his and raised them above her head, stretching her open to him. His mouth enveloped her breast, then suddenly pulled away. Barb shivered as the fervor of his mouth’s warm moisture chilled at the draft of his moving body.

"Turn over," he rasped.

Slowly she rolled over at his command. Her breasts ached as they smashed against the silken comforter and raising on her elbows, she reached a hand underneath her to continue stimulating her tender nipples. Twisting her neck around, she saw Dick watching her, then he replaced her hand with his, abrading her wildly aroused hard peaks, sending spasms of ecstasy through her chest. His hand lowered, lazily traveling down her ribcage, to her stomach, then around her waist to her back. Gently he pressed down and Barb rested her head on folded arms. His hand hovered above the small of her back, where a brand of lines and angles mapped the province of her wound.

"Tell me what you can feel."

Looking around at him, her breath caught in her throat as she saw the pleading in his eyes. Barb bit her lip to keep from crying and nodded.

Dick scooped her copper tresses to one side and starting at the nape of her neck, planted kisses along her backbone, searing his lips on her spine. Barbara flushed at the contact, fearful of the moment when his kiss wouldn’t be perceived by her flesh.

Each kiss was a scorching sensation, wrapping sheaths of fire around her spine, igniting her blood, sending her nerve-endings ablaze. Time stood still as she savored each kindling of passion. She arched up as he descended down her body, then curled in reverse, as if trying to redirect the line of fire down the slope and back towards her neck. There are twenty-six vertebrae in the human backbone, she knew, and each one is glowing like a flaming torch.

The sensation continued on and on until Barbara was sure Dick must have reached the point where numbness would dampen the fire of his touch. Twisting around, Barb observed that Dick was sitting above her, shaking his head, his hand flat on the scarred map on her tailbone. "Why did you stop?"

"I stopped a long time ago."

"But I can still feel you…"

Dick nodded, rotating her towards him, encircling her with his arms. He lifted her up and embraced her tightly, then bent her over and placed another row of kisses down her breastbone, lying her down on the soft pillows as he continued the line down her torso. Raising up, he kissed her breasts, then suckled between them, laving her cleavage as he brushed the pads of his fingers over and around her nipples. As he lifted up for better balance, Barbara could feel the hardness of his once-again-erect cock press against her stomach. Reaching down, she tenderly stroked his shaft, feeling the hot expulsion of his breath between her breasts as he groaned.

Grabbing him by his ass-cheeks, she pulled him higher, rubbing his cock against her ribcage. Dick spread his legs around her torso, straddling her as he sucked her breast. Sliding her hand up and down the length of him, she watched in delight as the muscles in his thighs pulsed and tightened, rippling moreso when she leaned forward to fondle his throbbing balls.

Dick slid forward, moving towards her mouth, but Barbara pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him down again.

"Wait. I have something in mind."

Positioning him over her, she lay the swollen, slick tip of his shaft at the base of her cleavage, then, placing her hands on the side of her breasts, squeezed them together, forming a hollow. Dick plunged through the tunnel created, his breath catching as she pressed tighter around his tumescence.

His thrusts became harder and faster as his balls dragged back and forth on her breastbone. Replacing her hands with her well-developed biceps to hold him tight in the swell of her breasts, she raked her fingers up his chest, tweaking his nipples, then ran her hands down the cords of his arms, reveling at the springy tension in his muscles.

She could feel every ridge and indentation of his cock as it pounded against her. Their hearts beat as one, syncopated with the beat of his rhythmic pulsations. Barb twisted and turned under his embrace as he pushed her arms aside, pressing her breasts together with his own hands, abrading her nipples with his thumbs as he continued driving his shaft through the chasm of her mounds.

Catching his eyes, her own brimmed over when she saw the strain of holding his release rising on his face. Calmly, Barbara placed her hands over his.

He slowed down. "Are you okay?"

"I want to see your cock in me."

Barb ran her fingers up his shaft again, took hold and pointed his cock astern. Dick placed his hand over hers and squeezed them together. "Are you sure?"

Barbara nodded, her chest heaving in anticipation. Grabbing the hanging bar, she pulled herself upright as Dick gently spread her legs apart, pushing her knees outwards. Wrapping his legs around her back, he placed the head of his throbbing rod on her moist folds, then, meeting her eyes, entered her.

Curling his head into her neck, he gasped loudly. "You’re still so tight, Barb. You feel so good." Pushing forward, Dick began to rock slowly, continuing to knead and nuzzle her breasts.

Tentatively, Barb reached forward and placed one hand over his engorged cock as it pumped into her. The heat of his shaft burned her skin as his thrusts became more rapid. Their eyes met again as Dick brushed his lips against hers, their warm breath swirling in a tempest of desire.

Barb returned her eyes to the junction of their bodies, watching his cock disappear in and out of her view. Her heart hammered thunderously with their coupling, her body vibrating with rapture when he rammed into her. Her senses took wing, climbing to a heightened plateau as she concentrated on this moment of bliss. She could hear the springs of the bed squeak in cadence with the wet slapping of their skin as they glided together, smell the scents of their sweat and sex rising through the air, feel the cool metal of the hanging bar chill the palm of one hand while his hot cock caused a scorching friction as it flew back and forth under her other hand. Her fingers wove through the red and black curls of their tangled pubic hair and she moaned as she felt the constriction of his body against hers as Dick suddenly slowed down.

"No," she cried, "I want you to cum. Now. Please!"

Barbara wrapped her hand tightly around his base as Dick thrust into her twice more before shuddering with the discharge of his release. His cock bucked wildly, shooting its fiery seed across her belly.

Barbara felt the tremors of his orgasm vibrate through her fingers as she held him tightly. A surge of warmth diffused across the nape of her neck and radiated down her shoulders to her breasts as his cum gushed on her, spurting across her abdomen. She felt a pulsing in her throat, a buzzing in her ears as she watched his climax.

Fisting the sheets in his hands, he leaned forward, smearing the hot cum onto both their stomachs as he caught her mouth in his, plunging his tongue between her lips.

Suddenly, a flash of heat shot over her chest, sending currents of pleasure coursing through her blood, causing every nerve-ending to clutch and burst at the same time. She felt as if she were in free-fall, dropping down through a black chasm only to rise up again and again, gasping for oxygen, dizzy with the sensation. Her lips twitched under his kiss and she pushed him away, then grabbed him back in confusion, tears streaming down her face as she held him close. A torrent of abandon billowed in the pit of her stomach, rose across her breasts, over her shoulders, up her neck and ears, flushing over her face. Her eyelids fluttered as her head lifted, buoyed by the overwhelming emotions that soared across her heart. Her ecstasy washed every thought of self-doubt and solitude away with it.

As Dick steadied his breathing, he placed his head against her cheek and could feel her body quiver and pulse. He cradled her in his arms as she gasped, writhing against him, pulling, pushing, like a fluttering bird captured in the lattice of his hands. He felt her tears on his shoulder and turned his face to hers, compassionate and concerned. But she wasn’t crying. Her body shook with laughter, her tears a shower of glee.

When Barbara saw the saucer-eyed gawk on his face, she laughed deeper, remembering the sixteen year old boy asking the same question as the man before her was about to.

Dick’s eyes reduced to a bemused gape. "Did you just cum?"

Barbara nodded. "In my own way, yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes!" Again, she shouted in delight. "Yes!" She fell back against the pillows, stretching her arms above her like a contented cat. "It was incredible! Across my shoulders, my fingers tingling, my breasts, on fire! I mean," she glanced up at him mischievously, "these below the waist things may be okay for some, but…" Her look became more sober as she tenderly drew circles around his chest. "They’re right, you know. It’s all in the mind. And thanks to you, I…"

Bending over, he licked her nipple with such a quick, raw touch, she gasped. His tongue spiraled around, then he ensnared it with his teeth and nursed it to hardness, forcing her bud to bloom once more before his nurturing artistry. "Dick!" she squealed, tangling her hands in his hair.

He loitered for a moment more, then removed his mouth, laying his head across her breast. "Didn’t want you to think you were losing your mind," he intoned mordantly. Raising his head, she could see the teasing glint in his eyes and she tugged at an errant cowlick.

"Oh, I think I would be declared disgustingly sane right now." And as much a woman as any double X-chromosomed being could be, she marveled to herself.

Dick scooted up onto the pillows and pulled her back against him into a spoon position. Wrapping his arms around her breasts, he buried his face into her neck, his warm breath blowing sweetly over her ear. His exhalations slowed perceptively as they cuddled together.

Barbara’s chest still heaved from their exertions. She remembered multiple orgasms taking forever to subside and this was a similar feeling--the sustaining of the beat, the waning bites of the spasms.

With a rumbling sigh, Dick’s hand slipped lower onto her stomach as he fell asleep against her.

Well, turnabout’s fair play, she mused. I turned a sixteen year old boy into a man, and that man made me a woman again. She pressed tightly into him, assuaged in the sanctuary of his arms. Only once before had she felt what she thought emotional fulfillment should be.

Finally, her eyes grew heavy and closed. In her dreams, she flew over the roofs of Gotham City, a red and green bird soaring evenly above her right shoulder.

Barbara awoke, the sheets cool against her skin as she reached out a hand only to find an empty space next to her in the rumpled bed. Raising on her elbows, she hungrily inhaled the tantalizing aroma of bacon frying and hot coffee wafting from her percolator. She could forgive his desertion if the promise of a large, appetizing breakfast was delivered. But, oh, shit!, she realized.

Fantasies of being served a tasty repast in bed were dashed as she confronted the reality of her situation. Nature was calling to her and that meant she had to call to him.

"Dick!"

"What is it, honey?" Dangling a spatula, he rushed in, wearing an extra-large pair of her sweat pants and a Gotham Knights T-shirt. He strode closer to kiss her but she pushed him back.

"I have to…arrgh!" She flailed her hands.

Dick’s eyebrows knit in confusion. "Sounds like?"

"Bathroom. I have to go to the bathroom and my chair’s not here. It’s in there."

"Yes, and…?" He could make her feel like an idiot, same as she was doing to him.

"Could you please go get it?"

Barb shoved herself into the nearest thing she could grab--a faded blue police shirt she lounged in on lazy days--as he rolled the wheelchair beside the bed.

"Pancakes in ten minutes" he said airily, kissing her soundly on the forehead, and pivoted back towards the kitchen.

Barbara wheeled herself to the bathroom and connected the elimination tube to relieve her bladder. Too much to drink last night. Didn’t eat anything. She glanced at the Grayson Industries logo on the urine and bowel collection equipment as well as the bath-lift chair. Looking up, she caught Dick watching her from the kitchen. "I didn’t like that when I could walk, I like it even less now."

"You get used to leaving the door open when you live alone. I know I’ve gotten caught with my tights down a few times." He leaned against the doorjamb, taking in the scene. "Just consider it in-the-field research. I’ve never seen the equipment in use. And I didn’t notice your…catheter stuff…last night."

Barb disconnected the tube and flushed the toilet, rapidly covering over the hole in the side of her stomach. "I was lucky. It’s pretty unobtrusive."

"Yeah." His look of wonder suddenly changed to alarm. "I didn’t…hurt you last night? I told you I didn’t realize…"

"No, I was fine." She was flushed with her lack of embarrassment in front of him, almost wishing he didn’t make her feel as comfortable as he did, it made him too perfect.

His stare hadn’t wavered. "Kinda like the cap to childproof an electric socket, huh? Can you plug cable into that? Get ESPN2, maybe?"

"Get out." Okay, he wasn’t perfect.

As she washed her hands, she couldn’t help thinking about his rumpled look and tousled hair--it was driving her to distraction. What had last night meant to him? She knew what it meant to her. And what would the cold light of day mean to them both?

Dick stole the last piece of bacon off her plate. "D’ya mind?"

"No," she said, waving him off. Barbara surveyed the mess of syrup-sticky plates, grapefruit rinds, orange juice glasses, and coffee cups strewn about the dining room table. "You’re a growing boy."

Dick unsubtley glanced down at his crotch. "Growing is right. I thought only Superman had the x-ray vision to see through the table."

"Are you saying you ate too much?" Barb chided. "After all, I think there’s still a lettuce leaf left in the fridge."

"I’m saying I think we need to find a way to work off this divinely-prepared meal." He reached across and took her chin in his hand, coming closer to her, but Barbara pulled away from his touch.

"Dick…" she faltered. "Last night was great, but…you know, our lives are pretty complicated…"

"Uh huh?"

"I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to feel…obligated."

"Uh huh?"

"I mean, what happened last night, I’m grateful and, you were great, really!"

Dick canted back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "Babs! Are you giving me the brush-off?"

"I’m just saying…"

"That I have an out if I want to take it? You’re letting me off the hook because you think I’m not that interested in being with you? What, was the boy wonder just some boy-toy to you last night?"

"No! I’m trying to…I want you to understand…"

"‘Cause you could’ve just said you’d call me later and then I’d sit by the phone waiting for a couple of years probably and then, maybe, I’d get the hint, huh?" Eyes slit obliquely, lips pursed, his look was inscrutable to her.

An uncomfortable silence pervaded the apartment and Barb realized she’d made a bigger mess than the breakfast dishes.

Then Dick leaned forward and took her hands in his. "You know I don’t trust that many people." He laughed grimly at the understatement. "I know you don’t, either. I thought you trusted me."

"I do! I just thought…" A familiar feeling of despair chilled her soul. "I don’t know what I thought."

His mouth brushed against her cheek. "What did I say about thinking?" Sweeping over her face, his lips caressed her eyelids. "I’ll do the thinking, " he nodded at her. "And I think we belong together." His kiss flooded her with warmth and comfort, washing over her doubts, cleansing her misgivings.

Her eyes shone as he gently pulled away and smiled at her. "I just hope you realize what you’re getting yourself into."

"Oh, I know too well!" Barb started stacking the dishes as she counted the ways. "Having to laugh at your bad jokes which you truly believe are funny, trying to hold a conversation with a guy who’s as sexist as they come, and you snore, you know. Not to mention the way you leave all your clothing on the floor. You’re a first class slob and you always have been. And you’re always late because of some crime-fighting activity or another because you’re such a Boy Scout…"

Dick caught her mouth in his again, swallowing her words with his kiss. She giggled at his assault to silence her tirade as they reluctantly broke it off. "I love you too, Barb."

He bent to her again, with a deeper, more honest intent in his kiss when a resonate chiming startled them apart.

Barb fixed him with a glare. "If you say you hear bells ring when we kiss, I’ll find some way, however miraculous, to kick you."

Again, the doorbell rang, a bit more persistently. Dick straightened up. "I’ll get it."

"Check the outside camera first, please."

Dick strode over to the door just as a key was inserted and Jim Gordon, Gotham City’s Commissioner of Police and Barb’s adopted father, walked in.

Surprised at each other’s presence, they stood motionless until Dick recovered his senses first. "Hello, sir."

"Grayson?"

A Starbucks sack holding two coffees sagged in his hand as Gordon eyed him up and down, taking in the sweat pants, the T-shirt and the bandage on his forehead. Dick grabbed the bag as it drooped. "I’ll take that, sir."

Gordon called over his shoulder. "Barbara?"

Her voice echoed too loudly for her own comfort as she yelled out. "Come in, Dad. I’m in the dining room."

Motioning for the older man to precede him, they made their way silently to join Barbara at the table. Dick set the bag down and smiled, then thought better and set his mouth in an innocent line.

Gordon cleared his throat uneasily. "Thought I’d bring the coffee to you, since you hate those yuppie places, but I guess…"

"I’ve had enough, but please have some breakfast with us. Have you eaten?" She was sure her cheeks were the same color as her hair.

"No, I’ll just pick up something at the station."

"No trouble, sir." Dick fled back into the kitchen, stretching his mouth into a grimace as he passed her.

Gordon rocked back on his feet a moment before heading towards the bathroom. "I’ll, uh, just…" He mimed washing his hands as he limped away.

Barb laid her head down on her arms and groaned.

Passing down the hallway, Gordon observed the bed in the guestroom made so tight you could bounce a quarter off it, then the rumpled sheets in Barbara’s room. A puddle of black and blue material spilled out of the laundry basket in the bathroom as he soaped up.

Three heaping stacks of low-calorie maple syrup decorated pancakes later, Gordon pushed back his plate and smiled. After a delicious breakfast and two steaming cups of non-yuppie decaf coffee later, he was feeling more at ease, perhaps even generous, at stumbling into their lovenest, as he thought of it.

"You sure you don’t want any more, Daddy"

Gordon patted his satisfied stomach. "No, I have to be going. There was a break-in at the Revolutionary Art Museum and I want to check the scene one more time before they let people in for the day."

"Any clues to the purr-petrator?" Dick asked innocently. He cringed as Barbara pinched his arm.

"We’ll figure it out, don’t worry." Gordon stood up, kissing his daughter on the cheek, and with a nod of his head, indicated Dick should follow. "Walk me out, son."

At the doorway, Dick helped him into his coat as Gordon prepared to leave. "Do I hear you’re living in Blüdhaven?"

"Yes sir, but I’m up here in Gotham all the time. Grayson Industries has become a real growing concern."

Gordon glanced around, acknowledging he knew he was surrounded by equipment bearing the acrobat logo. "It certainly has an active R & D department." A smile crinkled his mouth.

"You’ve really helped out my daughter, Dick. In more ways than I’m sure I know." His eyes rolled nonchalantly to look at something that wasn’t there. "I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly." He placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezed a little too tightly. Then, releasing him, Gordon casually took out and checked the gun slung under the left side of his coat. "I’m sure you’ve heard how fathers feel about daughters, eh? They’re very important to us." His smile broadened as he nonchalantly re-holstered the gun.

"She’s important to me, too, sir. I always want to do right by her."

"Good, good. And Dick," Gordon opened the door partway. "I’ve known you since you were a snot-nosed kid in short pants. Why don’t you call me Jim?"

"Uh, sure," Dick smiled at the gesture. "Jim."

"See you around." Gordon closed the door behind him, chuckling softly as Dick turned back to join Barbara, wiping away a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Barb cleaned the last dish and stuck it in the dishwasher as Dick walked into the kitchen.

"You came back? I thought for sure I’d see your very cute ass hightailing it south after a grilling from the master interrogator."

"Nah," Dick intoned casually. "Your Dad and I are old buds. We understand each other." He bent over, rubbing her nose with his. "He understands I love you and I understand that I’ll never be able to show my very cute ass in Gotham again if I ever do you wrong."

"Yup, that’s my Dad."

Dick nibbled on her neck, biting her ear. "So what do you want to do now? I’m up for anything except the crime-fighting gig today."

Well…" An impish smile played across Barbara’s face. "There’s this exhibit I’m interested in seeing. Erotic Toyland at the Revolutionaire Art Museum? I hear it’s the cat’s meow…"

====

EPILOGUE: Having your snack-cake and…

{This bit of fluff was inspired by and is dedicated to a Bird with a similar confectionery attraction. Thank ‘E. Like the pastry it refers to, this story has absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever and one serving exceeds the daily recommended calorie allowance for fun.}

--

"Don’t move."

"That isn’t a particularly politically correct thing to say to a paraplegic."

"Just keep your eyes closed and DON’T move."

Before he’d draped a scarf over her eyes, Barbara Gordon had glimpsed Dick Grayson coming into her bedroom from the kitchen with two bowls and a spatula. Now she snuggled back into the bed’s soft satin pillows, struggling to identify the aroma that wafted so enticingly near her nose. Lime? No, not as pungent. Papaya? Again, no, not as sweet. Definitely something tropical. Well aware of the obsessive and stubborn nature of the naked young man who straddled her waist, she opined it was better to let him proceed without interruption than risk any more frustration than her current state of being blinded by a silk scarf and bound to the bedposts with two similar ties.

She heard the scrape of the rubber spatula against one of the Tupperware bowls, then jerked suddenly when a cold, gelatinous substance was dropped onto both her tits. Biting her lip to swallow her discomfort, she shuddered with the chill of anticipation as well as with whatever Dick was now swirling in circles over her nipples, whipping them into rock-hard peaks.

"There is some precedent for this," he murmured. "It’s a well-known fact that the champagne glass was modeled on the size and shape of Marie Antoinette’s bosom."

Barbara squirmed under his touch. The soft, pliant edge of the spatula now massaged the curves of her high, full breasts and she felt them swell and sway, tingling from base to tip. "I love it when you talk history."

"And the first person who figured out a way to determine the ripeness of melons must have been a man." He slathered her breasts with the creamy emulsion and Barbara shivered again, but it was a shiver now blended with the hot flush of arousal. "So I can only imagine the inspiration for the creator of this."

For balance, his free hand was splayed over her stomach and his fingertips fluttered over the ticklish area around her ribcage. Barbara suppressed a laugh and, using the binding scarves, tried to pull herself higher.

"DON’T MOVE! I’m going for perfection here." He made a final revolution around both spheres with the spatula, then dropped it into the bowl. "Which is not hard when you’re dealing with perfection in the first place." She heard the popping sound of Dick sucking the last glob of batter off his finger, then felt his lips on hers and savored a sugary sweetness that was a subtle combination of his own honey-wine taste and whatever confectionery mawk he’d glazed over her body. His tongue imitated the action of the spatula, encircling her lips with a syrupy drizzle, then cutting deeper to slice into her mouth, folding around her own tongue with all the skill of a master pastry chef.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Barbara strained upwards to catch another taste as he drew away, but Dick pressed her shoulders back firmly.

"Not yet, Babs. I have to put on the final topping."

She heard the bowl being put down on the floor and the other, smaller, bowl being picked up in its place. Then a particle-encrusted finger was pressed to her lips. She opened her mouth willingly and curled her tongue around the tip, gliding it sensuously down the soft skin to catch the crumbs stuck to its moistness. <Coconut!> Finally she recognized the tropical aroma that pervaded the room! As she munched lightly on the granules and swallowed, Dick sprinkled the flakes of nutmeat over her breasts, coating them completely, patting the crunchy layer into place with all the finesse of Julia Child.

"Okay. You can open your eyes." Deftly, he slid away the silk covering.

"Omigod!" Barbara tilted her head back and laughed. "They’re Sno-Balls!"

Truly, her bosom’s pert globes now resembled a two-pack of the round, solid orbs of pink marshmallow and coconut-covered cake Hostess distributed with pride.

Smiling at her delight, Dick removed the scarves that kept her arms straight away from her body and surveyed his work. "You’d better appreciate this. You don’t know what a hell of a time I had finding all the ingredients in the Cave. Bruce eyed me for three days without comment as I struggled to mix the right amount of high fructose syrups and wheat glutens for the perfect combination of density plus elasticity." He cupped his hands around the 36C-sized mounds of marshmallow to check the outcome, causing her to chuckle at his scientific seriousness.

"And I had to ask Alfred for the pink food coloring." The former Boy Wonder imitated his faithful attendant, articulating the impeccable Pennyworth accent to perfection. "’But for what purpose, Master Dick?’" He skimmed a hand over her stomach as he continued his tale. "You know his impression of my culinary skills. 40 seconds at high."

Barbara wriggled at his touch. "What did you tell him?"

"That it was an idea for some interesting foreplay before I fucked the Commissioner’s daughter."

She gasped as his fingers traced paths up and down the sides of her curvaceous torso, teasing just far away from her breasts to cause a raw tightening in her chest. "Oh…"

Scooting lower down on her body, he bent over and circled his tongue inside her navel. Whorls of heat billowed over her skin. "You know, Babs, I must admit truthfully, the one thing I miss in our sex life is eating you." His tongue traveled higher, washing up her smooth skin with cat-like efficiency, stopping just short of her breastbone. "And you know what Marie Antoinette said…" He blew lightly up her cleavage, sending a chill up her milk-white neck. "Let them eat snack-cakes..."

His laughter was muffled as his mouth sprinkled cream-sweet kisses from her stomach to her ribs and back again. His lips swept back and forth, teasing her, taunting her, caressing the soft sensitive hollow just below her breasts.

Barbara kneaded her fingers over his back and shoulders, urging him closer.

"This may be one of the few times you WANT me to play with my food."

"Please…" she moaned. "Dick…"

"Hard to tell where the creamy confection ends and the Sno-Ball begins." He raised himself up to gaze into her glistening eyes. "Then there’s the matter of where to begin." He cupped his hands again over the firm-but-springy sweet shell covering her firm-but-springy breasts and curled back over her.

"Some think you should begin at the side." He bit lightly at the round swell of her bosom, encircling its perimeter with nips and nibbles, rhythmically munching at the circumference with his lips. Barbara groaned at the surges that throbbed in her nerve-endings, her pulse beating loudly in her ears.

Her back arched as he lightly flicked his tongue over one marshmallow covered nipple. "There’re others who would start by licking off the topping." Delicately, he lapped at the coconut crumbs, creating a well through which to suckle on her pebbly hardness, stroking and laving her own pink-tipped creaminess. Languidly, he switched to her other breast and repeated his action, sending a rush of syrupy heat through her veins.

Barbara ran her hands through his blue-black hair and pressed him tighter to her as he chomped on her fluff-coated tit. She heard the marshmallow compote squish onto his cheeks and he raised up with a muffled snort.

"Babs!"

Opening enraptured eyes, she giggled at the sight of his face splotched with pink globs of goo. "Sorry."

He held a stern finger up in warning. "How would you explain to the police that you asphyxiated your boyfriend with a snack cake?"

"Let’s prevent any occurrence of that right now." Rising up towards him, she eagerly gobbled up the spongy mixture, then kissed him fiercely, their tongues swirling in an ambrosial nectar.

Gasping, Dick pulled back and shook his head in amazement at her passion.

She smiled like a Cheshire cat. "Much better to die with my tongue in your mouth."

"I’m too young to die," he countered. "And besides," his eyes flickered devilishly. "I haven’t finished my last meal yet."

Coiling back to his original position, Dick gazed at her heaving chest with lingering delight. "For there are those..." he whispered, trailing his tongue from her waist up to her sweat-sprinkled cleavage. "And I might be one of them...." His tongue traveled higher, savoring her silken neck as Barbara writhed under his touch. "Who might swallow it whole!" He dove into her, encompassing one lush, succulent breast with his entire mouth. Sucking, devouring, gorging, Dick feasted from one frosted globe to the other as she twisted and contorted in bliss at his gluttonous actions.

Her nipples ached with a sugary buzz as his mouth tugged at the stiffened nubs, pinching them lightly with his teeth, kneading them between his lips. His tongue spiraled around her rose-tipped tits faster and faster, rougher and rougher as the Sno-Ball concoction melted away. They bubbled and burned at his touch. His hands caressed the sides of her breasts, lingering over the sensitive skin, causing the crimson-haired woman to involuntarily undulate her body back and forth in rapture.

As he rose up momentarily to catch his breath, Dick’s engorged cock thrummed against her stomach and Barbara smiled. Reaching to him, she stroked his thick, stiff member decisively, causing him to groan for relief. A mischievous look crossed her face and she grabbed him by the ass-cheeks, hoisting him higher onto her chest.

She placed the slick swollen tip of his cock in the hollow of her cleavage, then squeezed her breasts around it. Dick rammed forward through the confectionery tunnel, coating his shaft with the now gloppy amalgam. Grunting with the effort, his sticky-sweet palms rubbed over her nipples with a similar rhythmic frenzied motion as he heaved back and forth furiously, eager for a quick release.

The red-flushed helmet of his cock mixed with the pink of the marshmallow as Barbara watched his orgasm approaching rapidly. Her breasts held him tightly as he thrust harder and she lowered one hand to caress his ballsack as it dragged back and forth over her ribcage. Dick brought his own hands up to trap her breasts around his shaft, allowing her to move her other hand over to his ‘taint--that sensitive spot just behind the base of his scrotum--and press it gently. Then she slid her hand further back, and, with the lubrication of marshmallow fluff permitting ease of entry, inserted her middle finger into his asshole.

"Aah…Barb…" he groaned. "I’m going to cum."

A surge of warmth diffused across the nape of her neck and radiated down her shoulders to her breasts as his cock bucked wildly. She felt a pulsing in her throat, a buzzing in her ears as she watched his thick, gooey seed spurt over her breasts, joining the sweet confection already there and, in her own way, joined him in climax.

Raising a nipple to her mouth, Barbara lapped at the remains of the cum-infused Sno-Ball. Dipping a finger in his ejaculate, she slid it into her mouth, licking it like a cake-mixer’s beater. Her eyes glowed with an impish glint. "Holy Cream Filling, Boy Wonder."

THE END