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Desecrated in the Dark

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Barbara felt like she was going through the evening in slow motion, like some sad instant replay.

She shouldn't have felt that awful. 

She should've been feeling thrilled and as high as the sky.

She was at her senior prom.

She'd actually made it through four years of classes, declining to skip to a year more fitting to her intelligence because she wanted to develop her emotional maturity as well as her intellect.

She'd lived through the laughter and the tears, the many dates, the oodles of friends gained and lost, the great parties, the crappy problems, and all the bumps built into the Gotham City educational system.

And she'd done it spending almost every night as a masked vigilante.

By any computation, there should've been a sense of accomplishment to this.

An award of some type.

But no special acknowledgment was coming.

She should've at least really adored her dress.

It was her gown, one she saved for and bought all for herself.

The one she would've dreamed of all through her teens if she'd known it'd even existed in the stores earlier than two months ago.

It showed enough of her bare skin to be exciting, simple and elegant enough to be finished, the blue cloth lightly caressing her skin but failing to reveal all of her secrets. 

The split ran daringly up her right thigh (open enough to let her get in a good kick) and though the top half more than covered her breasts, it was just tight enough to let everyone recognize she actually had some.

No, it wasn't just the dress.

It was her.

Quiet little Barbara Gordon, only as confident as she had to be, bookish as she could be, intellect came first, beauty as an afterthought.

And that wasn't enough for her any longer.

She was more than the teenage girl who got a makeover in a Disney high school musical.

She was Batgirl.

The tight, sexy uniform.

The bold, flirty conversation.

The boots in bright yellow when she did all her missions at night.

That girl—she could have any boy or man she wanted, and then seduce the entire football team too.

And Barbara adored Dick Grayson; at least, she was trying hard to give it a chance of turning into real love; to scribble Mrs. Barbara Grayson in her notebook when she wasn't working all through the night as Batgirl.

But he wasn't even in the city —  he had taken off for a family emergency.


She understood that.

It wasn't like her dual career left her an opportunity to criticize.

But he wasn't there for her tonight, and Batgirl wasn't the sort of lady who got stood up.

Not at her high school senior prom.

Not for a family crisis when the guy appeared to have one every couple of weeks.

Family crisis — what did that mean, anyway?

He didn't have that much of a family, did he?

It wasn't as though he was one of the Teen Titans, headed off to fight a rampaging beast somewhere off in Japan. 

If he was, well then Barbara would certainly have a few angry words to say about permitting barely-dressed orange female aliens on the crew!



God, she wanted to tear her gown off.

It felt suffocating, but it wasn't supportive enough at the same time.

Her uniform on the other hand fit her perfectly like another layer of skin.

It let her climb, race across rooftops, skip across alleys, even fly from one building to another again and again if she so chose.

The evening gown she wore tonight just allowed her to be traded by the boys who'd come stag that night, giving pity dances to a few poor souls who couldn't find any dates.

And she couldn't stop seeing the small revolts. The other kids for whom this wasn't enough excitement. 

The couples quietly sneaking off the floor, the smoke rolling out of the bathroom, the drinks being spiked with alcohol.

She jogged outside to get some fresh air.

The night was crisp, the evening was viciously dark even at seven, and the only movement outside was from the patrol cars rounding the block.

Below here, with the high-rises and skyscrapers the only backdrop ... it had all stopped seeming natural a lifetime ago.

The Bat-Signal was the only part of the night's scenery that seemed like any part of her nor6 life.

She didn't wait very long at all to tear her gown off in the back of her car, dropping it fluttering  onto the floor mat like so much discarded gift wrap, finally feeling alive.



Chapter Text


Batman arrived there first.

He was always there first.

Now he didn't feel like any part of her universe.

He didn't feel like part of anyone's universe.

The technology used to serve some fantasy, the utilitarian armor with the execution of a bat, the skills that could've made him a gold medallist  in any athletic competition and he used it for the mission.

Everybody said he was insane.

They didn't understand him.

Not that Barbara did, but she at least knew what he wasn't.

He wasn't insane, wasn't an authoritarian, didn't get off on bashing up the unfortunate.

He had a Calling.

It was no wonder people mistook him for a meta-human.

The Batman seemed above all of our mortal affairs.

Barely human, except for a core that was so much so... that could only be recognized in his eyes, in rare flashes of who he was away from the Calling.

With the sacrifices.

The deaths.

The children.

The forlorn and innocent souls.

He could've been a doctor, a social worker, or a minister.

But he was this.

A vigilante.

An avenging angel, Gotham's own Dark Knight.

The Calling hurt him as much as it did the corrupt.

He gave her a glance as she arrived—singled her out with one; since she knew that he sensed she was there.

As always, he was only marginally accepting of her uniform: the yellow symbol that accentuated the contours of her curvaceous bosom as much as it advertised the cause.

The slanted yellow belt that drew comparable attention to her swinging hips—and they did swing.

The boots that emphasized her strut.

He wore armored plate.

She wore a thin silken uniform.

It was suitable, it was exotic, and it let her move fast.

She was five foot two and a hundred and ten pounds.

All the armor in the world wouldn't help if a punk with a bit of muscle got a good punch in.

So she dressed light and she moved rapidly.

As for the yellow—she liked the way it looked on her.

Wasn't like Batman had none of those fans.

Batgirl wondered if Batman felt like he was posturing, arching on a parapet like a gargoyle.

She put a leg up to look down at the alley below, wondering if she was posing for him. Maybe. 

"Looks like a street fight that got out of hand," he said, his voice sounding like it was all stone, heavy machinery, and darkness.

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 She caught his hint. "Looks like?"

"When has anything in Gotham been precisely what it resembled?" And he gave her a glance.

That maddening, judging, considering glance that she never knew what to make of.

She played it off, "Are you saying my boobs are fake?"

He ignored her snarky response and offered her a handful of Batarangs.

"These are ultrasonics. Use them only as needed, punch and move. Don't get stuck in one spot. Be prepared to pull away and reevaluate as the conditions develop."

She took them from him, placing a few in her utility belt, and holding a few in her hands. "Check. Gotta be ready to save you if you get bonked in the head."

"Don't be reckless. That happened to you once before." He frowned.

Beneath them both, dozens of people packed 28th Street from edge to edge, all types of people just beating and pummeling one another.

Batman just leaped in.

His cape brought him down to the sidewalk like an Angel of Death having arrived to claim a few souls.

Dark-gloved hands shot out, hurling Batarangs that fired between the combatants, conveying them into deafening insensibility.

When he alighted it was like a grizzly bear going on a raging frenzy.

Six and a half feet tall from his bat-ears down to his boots, slapping away his attackers like he was swatting at mosquitoes rather than crushing bones.

Batgirl trailed after him to the street.

She disliked following him second, but she certainly enjoyed watching him work.

She launched several of her Batarangs in the air, tand caught a flagpole and let it slow her descent before she leaped off of it, diving into the stream of battling fighters from the rock she'd just launched in their pond.

She didn't have a dozen black belts in dozens of different martial arts, but the ones she did have in karate and judo worked perfectly well for her.

She hunched down, diving in and out of the human ocean, throwing a blow here, a thrust there, using herself as a blade on the fray while Batman's missiles drew their notice.

In spare seconds she cast out more ultrasonic Batarangs.

In the first minute, the riot had been already cut in half.

This was where all the crowd-control drills told her that the others would be seriously doubting their life choices.

They weren't.

Not one of them was retreating.

They were all flowing toward Batman like antibodies toward a bacteria.

They ignored Batgirl even as she punched them in the face, and kicked them in the groin.

She could deal with it.

She cut into the side of the crowd going after her mentor, clearing legs, punching arms, hitting heads.

And then she realized it was arousing her like nothing ever had before. Her pussy was so wet and swollen .

She didn't want the delicious feeling to stop.

"Antidote!" Batman shouted, his head above the mob as a swing of his arm sent half a dozen men traveling. "Immediately!"

Barbara remembered that he'd given her antidotes.

It was a part of the ammunition he'd given her in her utility belt before she'd colored it yellow.

Probably his high tech fancy-dancy costume could inoculate his blood for him.

But then Barbara would need to stop attacking.

She didn't want to.

She wanted to pulverize all of them into surrender.

She yearned to go up to Batman and take a crack at the champion.

Bruise that strong perfect rectangular face with her fists, gouge those penetrating eyes with her thumbs, shatter her knuckles against muscles so tough and hard that they could be easily seen under his armor.

She kept striking, punching and kicking, and with every hit, another tingle went through her.

It was more than just her muscles reacting.

It was a feeling in her cunt she hadn't even encountered with Dick, and tonight they were supposed to have gone after the prom to a hotel room.

He would have been her first.

Watching her approach, Batman hastened.

Quit breaking noses and began breaking arms and legs. 

People fell to the earth dead-quiet instead of screaming or moaning.

When she reached where he was standing, Barbara had him completely to herself.

They fought, and she knew her rain of hits caught him by surprise because he hadn't expected it.

She came at him like a red-haired tornado.

He didn't make a sound, but he stepped back.

Her thoughts were a furor as potent as her body.

She despised him—how large and powerful he was, how magnificent, how perfect, so much more than her, so grim.

She wanted to cut into his armor until she hit meat, confirming he was only skin and muscles, that he was only human like her.

She wanted to taste the blood she knocked from his lips.

Then he began defending himself.

He drove her back, but he communicated his punches and she crouched beneath them.

She felt the blazing fire and heat from his body with every punch she connected.

She could smell his perspiration.

But all of her was screeching that he was the teacher of this, not the scholar, and she was right.

It didn't take very long for a blow to slip, for him to grasp her arm and pull her towards him, for those arms like mighty pythons to wrap around her and hold her motionless.

Pulled against himself.

He set her aflame, seizing her like that.

He was so fiery and she was so heated against him that they could've been exposed and naked, their skin glowing like hot coals from the heat.

The evening suddenly went black and foggy as she felt a sharp sting under her jaw. and if she was still aflame, it was now slowed to a gentler simmer.



Chapter Text


 She came around feeling her head spinning, and found herself on a gravel roof somewhere, and saw a frosted bottle of Poland Spring water sitting nearby.

Batman was near enough to watch, yet far enough from her not to feel stifling.

"You need to replace your fluids. You had an acute reaction to the antidote."

Shit, she must have thrown up right in front of him. Oh, God!

His glare reminded her to drink slowly enough not to have a repeat performance.

She sipped at the cold water, gradually feeling more like herself.

"You should've injected your own dose when I ordered you."

She thought of saying,

'I made a mistake, i didn't have time...

but actually no, I relished the feeling. It felt great, it was arousing, and I didn't want the feeling to stop'

...but she didn't really want to piss him off any more than she'd done already.

"Have a secret mission to the drug store for a bottle of water just for me?"

"Yes. And I left appropriate funds."

"Oh my God, did you sneak in there just to evade being seen in a Duane Reade?"

"A degree of mysteriousness to my behavior makes my techniques more efficient."

"I wouldn't know. I get called a Dominoed Daredoll.  Not a Dark Damsel or something else, and none of those are even proper words."

Batman's scowl went up on the scale of... scowls.

Buddy time over, Barbara groaned.

She knew she was going to hear a lecture now.

She straightened her shoulders, ready for his attack.

"Poison Ivy had hormone-spewing lichens growing beneath the road. I dealt with it. She was burglarizing a depository across the city. Catwoman caught her."

"Uh-huh, Catwoman." Barbara rolled her eyes. "Isn't it possible she was trying to rob the bank herself. She..."

"She's an art burglar, Batgirl."

He always acted very professionally when she was needling him.

"Why didn't you apply the antidote yourself? It would've been more effective if it had neutralized you sooner."

"I'm not sure, maybe I just didn't have the time. There were too many people fighting."

"I applied it."

"Well, I'm not you, am I. I'm not perfect. "

Barbara stood, stretching out her spine, and angrily smashed up the empty water container beneath her boot.


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 "Ivy works by abusing people's tacit emotions. Those people's propensities are for brutality. Exactly what is it that you're repressing?"

"If I understood, I wouldn't be very useful at repressing it, now would I?"

"Are you having physical relations with your boyfriend?"

She glared at him. What the hell, did he just ask her if she was having sex?

He stated it as casually if he was inquiring if she had eaten, he observed her as stoically as ever, but how the fuck was that not a charged question?

"What makes you assume that I even have a boyfriend? What do you actually know about me?"

"I don't respond to your questions, Batgirl. I ask them, and I don't ask twice."

Barbara started walking, boots scattering the gravel at her feet as she stomped over to the roof railing.

She angrily flung the crumpled bottle aside.

"That's absolutely none of your goddamned fucking business."

"It is my business if your personal life hinders your mission here. The enemy is shrewd and underhanded. They'll use any fault they can find. I'm prepared for it. Are you?"

Her cheeks were blazing. They burned against her cowl.

She whirled around so quickly that her cape thundered and cracked in the air. "Okay, that is a fucking truckload of crap. Everyone knows why you don't take Catwoman in."

He ground his teeth; a chink in the marble. "She's more valuable to me on the outside than she would be in prison."

"I'll bet she is!"

"I have other sources. Criminals who aren't dangerous. People I can depend on."

"Do you screw them too?"

His disapproving stare was like a polar front slashing against her.

Barbara's brain spun. She felt as 6 she needed to sit down to settle herself. 

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"An effective and regular sexual release is part of an efficient biology. It keeps me strong and decreases my stress. If your prudery makes that difficult for you, I understand, but you should find some other way of handling—"

"You screw a burglar who dresses up like a cat and I'm a prude? She's a kinky freak and you enjoy it! I've seen her, she's not shy at all! Why, she could make all tthe money she wants as a, as a centerfold or a porn star, she's absolutely not too modest for it! You let her work unchecked because you're stuck on screwing her, you have these twisted up desires you can't deal with any other way—"

"Better than not dealing with them at all," Batman growled.

"I am not being prissy!" Barbara declared. "I'm a normal woman, not some freakazoid who only fucks somebody so he can't be harmed by a freaking plant! So don't you dare fucking advise me on how to deal with my own damn needs!"

"As long as you use that symbol—" His finger poked into the insignia on her bosom, causing her breasts to jiggle. "I have the riright to direct how you handle yourself and how you should prepare yourself for this mission. If you can't accept it, I can tear your cowl off right now and drag you in to see Commissioner Gordon. I'd prefer to see a raw vigilante in prison than getting herself murdered trying  to do a job she can't do."

"You need me to get fucked so badly? Okay, fine, then do it!"

Her mouth flew to his, and she kissed him brutal and hard.

His lips tasted like stale blood and his mask was as unyielding as stone where she clutched at it, but she felt something powerful inside herself—something animal in him that stirred something just as primal in her.

When she pulled away from him—more like pushed him away—her hardened nipples were painfully poking at the front of her uniform.

Her cunt felt swollen and full, like an overripe peach, just needing the smallest pressure to be juiced.

He licked off the essence of her lips that was left behind on his own, getting every last bit of the flavor of her left on his mouth, methodically and fully enjoying it.

Memorizing it.

It awoke an unknown craving inside of him.

He relished the sensation as much as he savored the flavor.

He stared at her.

Of course, he did.

But there was a flame to it, an arousal to his gaze.

She reveled in it. 

She could've apologized for kissing him, for taunting him, but she didn't regret it, not a bit.

He gripped her by her arms and flung her bodily to the roof, so strongly that she slid over a foot in the gravel.

She pushed her hand beneath herself and began to rise, but he was against her, his control a bodily force at her spine, his cape falling around her stiflingly hot and sweaty.

His rough hands, shielded with cool metal, yanked away her belt and took hold of her pants and dragged them down as he drew the waistline down her legs.

With her panties, he didn't even bother to pull them down, he tore them off, the thin elastic waistband snapping apart like a rubber band.

Then he remained there, her lower body fully revealed beneath him, his gauntlets tightened into the gravel on either side of her.

Barbara imagined herself whirling around, elbowing him, kneeing him in the groin.

But then she saw herself touching him, stroking her hands over his body, allowing him to penetrate her.

She stopped exactly where she was as the blood pulsing in her ears eased into the nighttime's soft melody of her own panting breath, his erratic breathing atop her like a wheezing diesel engine that needed to be repaired.

She stared directly ahead, now really feeling her nakedness, the cool night air against her bare skin, and cried out, "Well, what are you waiting for? Go on and get it over with already!"

His fingers gripped her by the hair, dragging her face up and backward and to his hot mouth, her countenance turned over her shoulder.

Her hands sank to his chest, as though she was going to force him away, but they were immobilized against the broad muscles beneath the toughened Kevlar.

His powerful arms pressed her tightly to him, the indentations on his gloves pushing against her breasts.

She tried to imagine how she could possibly force him off of her if she wanted to, and she just pictured him screwing her—tearing away at her uniform to get to her delicate pale breasts, his palms clutching her vulnerable body, his manhood claiming her innocent virginal blood.

Gradually, she relaxed beneath him.

He spun her back around with barely a touch of his fingers, facing her straight ahead, and she heard the sound of his rasping breath as he inhaled the fragrance of her hair.

Batman threw her cape over her shoulder so it was opened under her and Barbara went slack as he guided her back down on the ground, now lying somewhat in comfort on the soft silken fabric.

The quivering ache in her cunt had become butterflies rushing around madly in her stomach.

It felt crazy to have such a naive feeling when this was all so grown-up, so novel and filthy and distinct from all of those teenage crushes and  dates.

She felt dread, but not of him.

It was the dread of being on a diving board or treading on a tight-rope.

She dreaded the discomfort of opening herself to him, but she dreaded not doing it even more.

She was confused and terrified enough to become a frayed mass of raw nerves.

That, at least, felt the way it should be.

Virgins were supposed to be anxious, right?

Long ago she'd expected herself to be sure and relaxed and unhesitant.

No, not really, that wasn't reality, those were girlish dreams.

It should feel exactly like this.




Barbara made no move to stop him, as he began whatever process got his manhood out of its armored can.

Then the flame of his panting singed her scalp and she felt him at her entrance, the blunt end of his cockhead indefinable—not at all like the dainty pink vibrator that she'd secretly purchased.

This was primitive, it was flesh, it was huge, it was alive—it was conception, and conception meant it to fit inside her, as unmistakably as beasts needed water and flowers needed sunshine.

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 He was on the end of her backbone, traveling down her body—the rounded end of his penis slithering down past her ass and stroking her pussy.

Then it found the moistness of her vagina; her cunt.

You inspected a vagina.

You fucked a cunt.

This whole thing was bananas.

She was bananas.

She feared the pain of having him enter her, but that just made her feel extra aroused, why was that?

Her breasts and nipples were bursting with feeling, taking in the force of her skintight uniform and the sharpness of the gravel under her cape, sending her shocks of maddening, delightful perception as he leaned down on her.

She adored him for making this exciting, unexpected, not forced, but as crazy and overwhelming as a first dive into the deep end of the pool.

It was all so incredible that she didn't need to think, to need a reason for this.

She could simply be his, his for now.

And soon, she was.

She felt him, huge, turgid, naked and yet somehow a part of all the Kevlar he used to shield himself.

He was in her in one powerful rush, not mortal at all, but as inflexible and hard as always.

She could sense the start of the first orgasm a man would ever give her.

He was different, he would always be different, but she was real.

Her joy was real.

"Deeper! Harder!" she moaned, her face buried in her cape, scraping on the gravel it protected her from. "I want all of you inside me!"

His voice was as deep and dark as ever, but she could hear its exertion. He was savoring this—savoring her.

"I'm trying not to injure you."

"Go on, do it, I want the pain!" she commanded.

She wanted it. Her pain. She wanted all of the pain, all of the excitement. It was supposed to painful, wasn't it?

Batman ground his teeth and grimaced, Her tight snatch was enough to pain him, though he wouldn't admit that.

As for Barbara herself, she didn't feel any of the pain she was supposed to feel—just a wonderful aching pleasure that thrilled her body.

She wanted the excitement.

She wanted this to be The One Special Moment, the day her life changed, her first minutes as a grown woman instead of a young girl. Propping her hands and knees under herself, she pushed back against Batman, rubbing her groin up against his.

"Yes..." she gritted out, the burning becoming strong and pure. "This is what it's supposed to feel like, this is how it should be! Put it deeper into me! Shred my cunt apart!"

He put his gloved hand on the back of her head, in the soft red strands of her long hair, and kept her down as she tried to rise.

His fingers went between her legs to his prick, and she shivered in pleasure as they touched where his cock had violently opened her.

Then they came up to his face, bright scarlet. "You were a virgin," he muttered.

"Not anymore, I'm not," she replied. "I'll bet that bitch Catwoman didn't lose it to you."

His hips moving slowly but evenly, pushing relentlessly forward to push his steel-hard velvety cock into her snug pussy.

He made gradual progress, opening her, taking her, until Barbara couldn't see how there could be any more of his cock.

But there was.

"You're not losing your virtue," he told her, his voice making her shiver right down to her clit. "I'm taking it from you. It's mine!"

He took hold of her hips; she felt her own warm blood rub on her skin where he touched.

He harshly dragged her up to her hands and knees, taking her from behind, something she'd always thought of as shameful and unclean.

She didn't feel ashamed now.

Batman drew her onto his shaft, piercing her narrow snatch, stabbing her deeper and deeper until she'd made space for him where she'd never been touched before. And yet, he went even deeper, because she was thrusting her butt back against him, taking him more powerfully and quickly than either of them could do alone.

Then she understood he was measuring her, testing her. Weighting her responses as much as he did when they practiced their moves together.

He kept her still as much as he threaded her onto his cock, evening out her rough movements, handling her like she was a mere plaything.

His solid grip locked her in place as his prick pulled out again, kept her there as he drove nearly all the way inside her. Assessing how much she could take, how fast, how hard.

"Screw me! Do me!" she begged, but he was oblivious to her.

The only admission he made of her desires was to loosen his hold, just enough to allow her to slowly thrust back, joining him as he sank in.

She felt him at another new, delightful depth—once more she was astonishingly filled.

It was completely infuriating her: he had all of the control, and she had none.

And she could feel her steadily building orgasm finally coming close.

Once more she was strung along his cock, pulled down it, burning, inch by inch by inch by sweet burning inch.

And like they were merely a candle and a match instead of a man and woman, she burst into fire before he was even finished. To her disgrace, she even admitted it.

She nearly worshiped him.

"I'm coming—Batman, I'm coming--oh—aah—yes! Oh, my God! Yes! Oh Yes! Oohhh, mmm!"

He was deep in her now, really deep inside her, so deep inside of her like he meant to reside there forever.

She wriggled her butt against his stomach, his pubes, feeling the stiff curly hair there.

Imagine it.

Batman's body hair.

She'd never even seen him with a five o'clock shadow.

He let go of her hips with one hand, assuming that he could control her with just the left, and grabbed hold of her tresses.

Pushed her face into the gravel so her backside was up and he was screwing it, not her.

And Barbara howled in pleasure like a dog in heat.

When she tasted her mouth, she tasted the salty tears that had been streaming down her cheeks all along. "Screw me faster, you fucking bastard, you madman! Rip me apart!"

His hand pulled stiffly in her hair—his fingers dug brutally into her stomach.

He had taken her.

She'd given so much to him and he'd taken it all.

"You can climax twice more. Then I'll finish."

He loosened the restraint, permitting her to move her hips and reducing the length of his own advances.

Barbara still shouted out as she was expanded with every push, but a few centimeters of his dick were kept outside so she couldn't injure herself.

He accelerated, breathing hard now with each thrust.

With impossible control, he pulled half of his penis out of her before boring the whole thing back in.

His gloved hand came off her locks, both hands now crushing her waist hard enough to sting.

She'd have bruises and abrasions in the morning, definitely.

The starbursts of his hold tattooed on her hips.

She wouldn't be able to wear a sports bra for a full week.

Barbara stopped pushing now, she was barely breathing, just kept her head down like she was celebrating the night and let him work on her.

He was getting near his climax, she could tell that much, and she wanted his orgasm inside of her.

She needed it more than she'd ever wanted anything in her whole life.

He was just pausing for her consent, she realized.

"I'm coming again, oh my God, ohmyGod, holy shit I'm coming again—"

She repeated mindlessly as his cock surged at her center, taking her to pleasure that seemed climactic, except for the way it kept crashing into her, one punch after another, each one more powerful than the latest, each one feeling like it had to be an orgasm, not just a force of his cock deep inside of her.

He let go of her sides only to take hold of her breasts, using them to draw her up to him, her back to his front.

And he rammed into her, squeezing her breasts unyieldingly enough to implant his gauntleted fingers in her skin, her outfit actually splitting a little from the tension of his groping.

And he kept driving into her snug cunt as he caressed her, making it hiss, sputter, flash—

"Come for me, my little virgin."

His voice shook in her ear like an engine dying, broken but still bearing the burden of the one last request.

"Come for me, now, Batgirl!"

Abruptly, Barbara wasn't aware of his palms clawing her tender tits or even of his cock penetrating her so completely that she didn't know if she'd ever be reached where he had reached her ever again.

She'd invariably had meager predictions for sex—she had never invested in romantic dreams—always remembered that it was just a physiological role, an impetus for reproduction, and just like the sip of her first drink or the first joint she'd puffed, if she predicted more than the same excitement she got from a massaging shower spray, she was certain, thoroughly certain, she'd be completely disillusioned.

Now, all she felt was pleasure.

She didn't feel her hot, damp outfit or her cape spread out beneath her or the gravel slicing into her knees—she was the violent journey of her panting and writhing and desperate attempts to drive herself back into his thrusts, because the only thing she could feel beyond her ecstasy was the pain of the merciless, unending thing raging inside her most secret, her most private areas.

And then she was conscious of one more thing.

A novice to this climactic world she'd been taken into.

Her own words of absolute, shrieking pleasure,

"I'm coming, oh fuck, oh my god, I'm coming, oh yes, I'm coming!!!"

More seeped into her frozen world; she grew aware of her body jerking and resisting against the prick that grew incredibly immense inside her, and then gushed in her.

Her calculating mind even now brought up her understanding of oil rigs, derricks—the process of drilling into the Earth's thick shell until oil was recovered—the very process powerful, devastating, a fountain of crude oil that was powerful enough to crush the green wood that contained the drill.

That was the only figure she could balance her body's new, unexpected progress to.

Batman had fathomed her depths, discovered reserves of her pleasure she'd never recognized were there, and now penetrated them, controlled them.

She heard him wailing like a lost soul over her as her well-used pussy engulfed greedily the award he was presenting her.

Barbara's kneeling limbs sprang out from beneath her, bending sensuously to each side of Batman's body.

Only his gauntleted hands propped her up as he pumped his load into her.

He seized her face hard enough to move her mask and brought her up to his own somber countenance.

She could scarcely take in the primitive expression in his eyes, the troubled set of his jaw, before the warmth of his mouth was on hers and she was sticking her tongue into his wet hungry mouth.

His kiss was like explosives in her mouth, and he kept heating her until his copulation had finished boiling in her.

"I want you... I need you... I have to own you. You're mine, all mine," he snarled, his lips, his fingers, his prick all battering her.

Now he released her, and she fell supine before him—his manhood still implanted deep in her overflowing snatch.

He pulled out of her, withdrawing himself from her.


All she could see of him was his dark gloom shading her.

Her body was shattering, brilliant and burning in the cool night, in her damaged and satisfied body.

She'd experienced everything that would make her fell love with any other guy.

She felt no shame or guilt for what she had done, just happiness and pleasure until she recalled where she was, and who she was with, and what they had just performed so primitively.

Her mouth gasped.

Her eyes goggled.

She twisted around to gaze at Batman, retreated a few yards back, completely shielded, the only indication of their struggle a bit of perspiration on his profile.

He joined with her.

Fucked her.

Screwed her.

And he'd done it well, she was feeling no guilt, no shame, only pleasure and happiness.

It made no sense, she should feel overwhelming guilt or shame, shouldn't she?

She felt amazing.

She took off her mask and rose in front of him, her face bared to him, her uniform torn, her pants still down around her knees and their combined come dripping from her formerly chaste pussy, her hair messed up, "The name is Barbara Gordon."

He gave a curt nod. "I suspected it might be."

"But you didn't know for sure?"

She'd been almost positive he did know, from the first time she'd seen him. She almost wished he had known.

"You hid it well."

He didn't glance elsewhere, but his concentration shifted.

She wondered what he was thinking.

"And I didn't need to understand who you were."

"Well, you know who I am now. Um, surprise?"

At long last, she tugged her pants back up, added her utility belt. She still somehow felt naked before him with all the tears and rips in her uniform

"You don't have to unmask for me."

"I probably should,"

 Catwoman. Catwoman likely knew.

"But you don't need to," she asserted.

He seemed to be debating in his head whether he should or not.

And at the end, he didn't.

Chapter Text



"I'm Barbara Gordon. You don't have to share your name if you don't want to."

He just stood there, and she knew he wasn't sure if he could reveal his face to her or not.

"We're on the clock," he said finally, the grimness of his voice peaking. 

"I'll sweep north past the warehouses, you can patrol the neighborhoods to the south. Contact me if you get into trouble."

"I never get in trouble," she replied, smiling confidently.

He withdrew and swooped down from the rooftop.

It was weird: when Barbara gave herself to him, she'd wept.

Now that it was done, she couldn't stop grinning.



The following two months went on in an orderly and calm fashion.

Barbara completed her daily schedule and nightly rounds with the lack of emotion she would've predicted of losing her virtue.

Before it'd really happened it seemed to be such a big deal, but now that it was done, it didn't seem to be such a big thing anymore.

Only she had trouble sleeping nights. She was wondering if it was just a quick turn-on for him because it was huge to her.

Batman was straightforward with her when they spoke, which was as infrequent as her sleep.

They only conversed of the mission at hand, never about their individual lives, or anything else.

It was almost comforting that he'd been so moved by what they had done together.

Her worst nightmare would have him treating her exactly the same as he ever had, as though nothing had ever happened between them.

Barbara and Dick's relationship, or what continued of it, soon disappeared once they stopped seeing each other.

Just like the other boyfriends and date nights she'd had in school.

It left only a sweet memory, and nothing more.

She noticed Nightwing in the news, he was standing very close to Starfire in a photo of the Teen Titans, or Titans as they were called, now that most of them were no longer teenagers.

That somehow felt odd, but she wasn't fully certain why.

And very satisfyingly, Batman had finally brought Catwoman in for her crimes.

Of course, the feline felon would break out again eventually, but that wasn't her problem.

Let the warden at Blackgate worry about her and her claws!

It had been about eight weeks of Batman and her effectively disregarding one other, and that was just fine with her.

Well, almost fine.

She felt rather a wistful yearning that he had held some of the same sensations for her as she still held for him.

Maybe she should just release it to fade away, why should she beat herself over something she couldn't repair?



Out of the blue one day she received an engraved invitation to Mr. Bruce Wayne's home. 

Very ornate, with gold lettering and all.

She didn't really know him except through her ex, Dick.

As James Gordon's daughter, she'd seen him at many receptions but didn't really associate with him at all.

So the request was somewhat surprising.

She was very curious what the invitation was about.

The note stated that it was in regard to a matter that was personal, and she couldn't dream what that might be since she'd parted with Dick.

But he was a handsome man, even though he was older than she was.

She was interested to discover what he wanted to discuss with her.

Was it about a job offer, or possibly an internship?

It wouldn't surprise her if her father had wangled a favor from the billionaire.

She sent the RSVP saying that she would come, and she began shopping for the fitting sort of dress to wear.

Her high school wardrobe didn't have anything proper, and she didn't believe that wearing her prom dress would serve either, too formal.

 She decided on a lovely off-the-shoulder black dress, with a hemline that was higher in the front, and lower in the back.

It was both youthful and sophisticated, but it still had enough sex appeal, she wasn't in school any longer.

With a solid push-up bra and a pair of high-heeled red pumps, she felt very mature and felt a sensual femininity that was new to her, but not unwelcome.

She definitely couldn't throw down with those shoes on, but it felt amazing wearing this, just like the uniform she left hidden in her trunk.

It was strange how she never used to wear any black outfits.

It wasn't as though people would realize that she was Batgirl, but maybe in the back of her mind, she assumed that they might.

It was like she was trying to keep her dual identity separated, but that wasn't as important to her as it used to be.

 The building was exactly as she recalled from about a year previous, she'd been there with Dick to meet his legal guardian, that is if that was the right term to use.

At the time the man had appeared to be rather preoccupied and a bit of a rake, he was much too friendly when he greeted her.

It wasn't long until he was distracted by an important call and she didn't see him for the rest of the evening.

He had winked a few times at Dick, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what that was about! Eww!

He had acted like a total fool, he was obviously not the mastermind behind the large corporation named after him. Fortunately, he probably hired bright enough personnel to run the organization before it was driven into the earth.

He presumably spent his time screwing women, gambling away his fortune, and drinking bottles of champagne.

She proceeded through the security wanding and took the elevator up to the penthouse.

She was met by the butler in the foyer, Alfred politely took her jacket.

He was one of those people of that certain age that never seemed to get older, but he endured looking distinguished but never aged.

His greeting was warm, as though she were an old familiar friend of the family instead of one of Dick's old girlfriends, and escorted her to the library.

It was a perfect room, with rows of shelves that ran from floor to ceiling, past the tall windows that would admit light on the rare sunny days.

It featured some comfortable chairs and sofas, as well as a few desks and reading tables, and the windows offered an amazing view of Gotham at night, with the red and white lights of cars blurring into stripes and bars.

Gotham wasn't like other cities, with their garish neon signs and hundred-story skyscrapers.

it was more elegant with its gothic architecture than the new wealth you saw in cities like New York or Chicago.

Bruce sat with his legs crossed in an oversized leather chair, wearing a modest outfit of a simple black shirt and neutral trousers.

Upon seeing that she had, in fact, arrived, he turned from the window and stood, as his leather shoes sank deeply into the thick carpeting.

"Miss Gordon," he said with a curt nod, greeting her.

He seemed like a different person from last year, no longer the dim Lothario she'd encountered. 

Perhaps he'd been drinking at the time; because this was a separate man altogether.

"That will be all, Alfred. You may leave us."

"Very good, sir," Alfred said. "Ring if you need anything." He left and closed the door as he went.

Barbara was now alone with Bruce Wayne.

She felt somewhat anxious, and she nervously crossed her arms in front of her.

"Does this have anything to do with Dick and me?"

"No, it doesn't, Miss Gordon."

"Hm, I see."

Relieved, Barbara looked around.

Bruce had a wonderful collection of books on many topics, it was the sort of room she could get lost in for days.

"In that case, why did you ask me to come and see you? It's not like we're well acquainted, I don't really know much about you."

"Barbara..." he began.

The way he said her name felt peculiar but exciting, and more strangely familiar then she'd expected, bringing deep memories which swam to the very surface of her thoughts.

"--It's me."

He had transformed in her mind, in her memory, become a clone of himself.

He held himself differently, gazed at her with different eyes.

There was an energy to him that she'd never have attributed to him.

It stirred her body as it recalled an evening a few months ago.

This was The Batman!

She was standing in front of Batman, and in comparison to their uniforms she felt bared and exposed to him.


Chapter Text


"Did you really think this would work? Telling me like this? Why did you wait so FREAKING LONG? It's been two whole fucking MONTHS!"

She was angry, wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but kept it down to a shout.

"What are you, nuts? YOU BIG FUCKING JERKOFF! fucking shit!  Everyone was right about you, you're just a real playboy, aren't you? Fuck 'em and leave 'em!"

He was shocked at her words, he had no reply.

"You're Dick's dad! You let us date, and you fucking screwed me, Jesus H. Christ!"

"Calm yourself," he told her, as though she would take orders from him. He wasn't her boss in this scenario, he was simply a man, and no more.

"Why? Give me one good reason why I should be calm! You're--you're insane! Did you know who I was? Did Dick know? Who the fuck knew anything? Shit!"

He raised his voice just a bit, but it had enough Batman in it to make her shiver, though it wasn't a bad sort of shiver at all. "Take a seat."

She plodded to one of his ornate chairs and smashed her butt into it, and glared at him. How dare he! 

He brought over another chair and sat himself down facing her.

"Dick was Robin," he said curtly.

"That's no big surprise, now!"

He glared at her, he hadn't finished, not yet. "Dick had no idea that you were Batgirl, you didn't know that he was Robin. I didn't plan it, you two met entirely by chance. Two nice-looking young people of similar age, and with similar interests in the same place, it was pure chance."

She still wanted to know, "So you had nothing at all to do with our meeting?"

"I didn't, but honestly I thought I knew who you might be. I wanted you both to have a relationship. I thought it would be good for both of you. I expected him to tell you himself about his secret. I thought you'd both be happy together."

"Happy together? Do you think screwing me like an animal on a rooftop helped any of our happiness at all?"

"When Dick didn't share his secret with you, I saw that he wasn't going to tell you at all. That's how I rationalized my own behavior at the time, the rest was my loss of constraint, I'm sorry about that."

"You're sorry?"

He took a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass, passing one to Barbara.

"I eventually told Dick, he didn't take it well. He doesn't blame you, but he doesn't forgive you either."

"He never mentioned it at all. We really haven't been talking much lately."

"He felt that arguing about it with you would hurt him as much as what transpired."

"You're talking like you're reading from a dictionary. God, you screwed me, you screwed your own son's steady girlfriend!"

"You allowed me to."

"Yeah, and?"

"You asked me to."

"What's that got to do with..."

"I still have an urgent desire for you. I want to do it again, with you."

Barbara gulped down her wine.

She felt a sudden heat between her legs, where she crossed them, her nipples felt tingly.

Her entire body was trembling. He was asking her to...? He still wanted her!

"I think you need to explain this to me again." She put her wine glass down heavily, nearly cracking the stem.

"We're complicated people, Barbara." He took his own wineglass but didn't drink.

"I don't think other people are... likely to comprehend us. But we also have needs. Not sex, not entirely. But understanding. Companionship. I think it's been as hard for you to find as for me."

He drank. He paused a moment. "Where are we going to get that except with each other?"

"With—with people!" Barbara ran her hand through her hair, popping it out of its neatly styled locks.

"Dick understood me just fine. And everyone who's been in a supermarket check-out line knows about you and your companionship."

"They're not like you," he said calmly.

"Don't do that."

"If you didn't feel it, then we have nothing to talk about and you should leave."

Barbara grabbed two thick handfuls of her hair and slowly pulled.

"Jesus. Jesus, you really are—you can't just be the most guarded motherfucker in North America then unload this on me all at once. Fuck you, you cannot tell me love me like that!"

"I don't know if love is the word I'd use."

"No, of course not, obviously." She stood. She'd been so poised on her heels before—now she felt like she was a million miles high.

"You know, I still feel like a virgin? Just because you get off on me dressing like your Mini-Me..."

"It's you, Barbara. Not the costume. Not your body. The way you see the world."

"If you start in with some goth crap about the darkness within—"

He stood slowly, slowly—like a cat sneaking up on a bird.

"Not like me. You see the world as it should be, and as it is. You try to reconcile them. And that's why you're going to go to the bedroom with me.

You're going to change into the clothes I've prepared for you. And we're going to finish what we started on the rooftop."

His eyes told the rest of the story. They were surprisingly sympathetic. They told her it was because he felt what she felt. The part he couldn't talk about. The part of him that lost control, that slipped loose, ran rampant.

How good must it have been for him to now know his discipline wouldn't be enough and still ask for it?

It was crazy.

He was crazy.

Right now, he was walking over to her, taking her by the arm, ushering her gently toward the door—all with the slow cadence of a panther on the prowl.

And the only reason she was going along with it was because she needed it.

As much as him.

Maybe worse.

The tepid, lukewarm days before and after him, with their intermittent sparks and their frequent chills, were now blown away by white-hot summer sun.

She burned in it.

She melted.

He took her through the penthouse—no sign of Alfred—all the refinements of his station, all the art, and feng shui, and furnishings, it all blurred together.

Nothing next to walking beside him with the sun in-between them. At one particular dark oaken door he stopped them; let go of her arm and it instantly felt vacant.

He turned the knob—no, it was one of those Victorian handlesets, God, so pretentious, fuck him—and opened the door for her.

Inside, his room was simple, spartan, totally free of personality beyond the fact that he was rich and refined enough to buy good taste if he couldn't have it outright.

Mahogany paneling, rich carpeting, some scattered landscapes hung on the walls, and thickly curtained windows.

The four-poster bed continued the theme. Aside from the dark sheeting, her father could've slept in it. It was all so... bourgeois.

Except the lingerie neatly laid out atop the bedspread.

Chapter Text

 He set out an entire outfit of lingerie on his bed.


For her?

It was luxurious and sensuous.

"Would you like me to give you a few moments of privacy?" Bruce asked her, as though he already knew she would agree.

"Yes, I won't take too long," she glanced at him for a moment. He knew her that well, at least. 

She shut the door and began to take off her dress and bra, followed by her panties and shoes. She folded the clothes neatly placing them on the lone chair and began to put on the elegant lingerie.

For him.

All of it, the bustier with it's yellow snap closures going down the front, the long lace gloves, the garter belt, and sheer stockings.

She didn't need shoes at this point, she left them by the chair with her clothes.

In the mirror she looked like someone else, covered in the sensuous black lace of the outfit. It caressed her waist and nudged her breasts up and outwards.

There were no panties, and her auburn curls down beneath were on exhibit for him to glimpse. They looked fiery-red in this light.

It made her chuckle, she never in her life had dressed like this before.

Lingerie had never before been on her mind, but tonight it just felt right.

She was a different person wearing this, neither nerdy Barbara nor powerful Batgirl.

Not entirely.

She was a new woman tonight, sensual, sexy, and voluptuous.

Last time they had sex, she was Batgirl.

This time he was going to make love to Barbara, but a reborn Barbara.

Not the nerdy and timid girl she formerly was, but now a confident and desirable woman.

No more masks, no more concealment.

This time it was Barbara who was losing her virtue, not Batgirl!

She could still tell him no.

Deny him that pleasure.

Take off the lingerie and leave, if that was what she wanted.

Even stop existing as Batgirl if that was what she wanted to do.

She wasn't insane like him, with a one-person undertaking to save all of Gotham no matter what the cost to her own sanity. This was only her part-time gig, after all. She had another life she could inhabit.

But recognizing that she had a choice, and it was hers alone to make, made up her mind.

She would stay.

She would be seduced and have intercourse as Barbara Gordon.

She went to the door and unfastened it, and the way he  stared at her, took her all in from head to toe, made it all worth it.

He practically launched at her when he came into the room. She now realized how slow he had been that first time, how gentle, and how much he had taken his time with her in comparison to now!

He didn't bother closing the door, he was that turned on. By her!

The kiss he gave her was harsh and ferocious, he wanted her to yield control to him, but she refused to do so this time. 

They were equals on this new playing field.

No more mentor and student.

She touched him everywhere over his shirt trying to map his body in her memory.

His back with its volume of scar tissue and mended broken bones, his arms that felt like steel. His washboard midsection. More steel. Didn't have many soft parts on him at all.

Dick had been different, all sleek and smooth.

 She reached beneath his shirt and found that his skin was so different from Dick's, with all of its distinct textures from his many cuts, bullet holes, and burn scars.

In comparison, others were dull and boring.

He walked her backward to the bed, the mattress hit her knees and she fell back onto it, sinking into the soft bed and gazing up at him.

He yanked off his shirt, beneath it was an old faded white t-shirt that still had a bit of a bloodstain on the bottom hem.

It looked like it had been washed many times defying removal.

When that too came off, she could see the scars she had felt, like some strange textured painting. He opened his pants, flung off his shoes. His shorts went next in one quick move, and he gathered her on the bed like lightning had crashed, forgetting to remove his socks in his scramble.

His arms tented him over her closing her inside.

His cock was hard, but not as hard as she knew it would be quickly enough.

His chest was covered in dark black hair which hid many of the most grotesque of scars.

His wide shoulders tapered to a more slim waist, with that flat muscled stomach and firm tight ass, it was no wonder the women in Gotham lusted after him!

But Barbara's biggest concern at the moment was the size of his manhood, it looked even larger than when he had fucked her previously.

Had he held some of himself back then? It looked to her that the mushroom shaped head was easily 9 or 10 inches from his body, and he was visibly throbbing and every vein on him protruded.

How could she have realized how much he had really yearned for her, and it made her wonder and remember those days when he could barely mumble to her. His uniform must have hidden many a hard-on.

It was as though someone else's lace-covered hand, but not hers, reached out for his turgid member, she felt him  quiver in her palm, and how stiff he was.

For her!

It was as though he could no longer restrain himself, he pulled her tightly against him, and she felt the fever of his body right through her nightwear as though he were trying to burn them both to ash.

His lips were on her neck like a vampire, as she touched those scars on his face, his arms, his back. She felt where bones had knitted back together, where perfect concealer covered scars that would leave him open to too many questions in public.

His hard dick was between them, it was trembling, burning.

He grabbed her soft asscheeks, the lingerie didn't cover that either, and she felt him grind his cock against her as they both gasped.

"Tell me that you need me," she instructed him.

"I need you," he answered, his voice trembling them both in its power.

"Say that you'll screw me."

He growled and tossed her onto her front as he'd done that night upon the roof.

'Did he do that with Catwoman as well?' she wondered.

It didn't matter anymore  currently, he was here with her.

She braced her hands against the headboard, prepared for the onslaught.

She wiggled her ass at him, making his eyes follow her wet pink pussy lips as she did so.

"I'll screw you," he told her as he ravished her soft ass -- kissing, sucking, nipping at her skin with his lips as his hand glided up her leg, between her thighs and into her aching cunt.

"Tell me you want me," he said as he kissed her skin.

From her face in the pillows, she said breathlessly, "I want you!"

"Tell me you'll love it," he grunted, which was not entirely disagreeable as her body quivered from the deep pitch of his words.

"I'll love it," she murmured.


Chapter Text



 Bruce lifted himself up and kissed her neck as if he were vampiric.

"Tell me you'll savor it," he demanded as he guided his cock between her thighs, the round tip touching her pussy lips.

She moaned in bliss, squirming her butt against the light touch of his cock, allowing it to tease her, adore her, enter her, her hungry opening trying to devour him.

 "I'll savor it," she turned her head over her shoulder and grinned up at him, eyes aflame from her strong desire.

 She was no longer untouched, and he was too impatient to idle any longer. He skewered her fully, but wearing the silky lingerie had already made her moist enough for his slippery entrance. Her discomfort came not from being entered, but by his absolute length and girth.

She felt like there couldn't possibly be room for any more of him and that caused her to momentarily freeze, fearful that the discomfort she felt would turn to genuine pain, but she soon felt him moving inside of her, dragging his phallus to saw in and out of her a little bit at a time.

He was as rough as he had been the last time, and she loved it. She didn't want soft and gentle, she wanted to feel him deeply. She braced herself against the headboard of the bed as he worked himself inside of her as though he were a man possessed by the devil himself, raising the hot flames of passion inside of her as he pounded her sex.

As her discomfort lessened and turned to perfect pleasure he lengthened his strokes inside her, pounding her faster and harder. He surged within her, writhing like a snake, dragging his manhood out, and then ramming it back in.

 His hands found their way to her satin-covered breasts, digging in and mashing them in his hands. It was the best balance of both rapture and agony that was exactly perfect for her. He was no longer fearful of injuring her, pounding his way deeper as he moaned and grunted from the effort of insinuating her tight pussy.

His solid thrusts caused her body to bounce between his weight and the flexible mattress beneath her, as her sensitive clitoris rubbed sensuously against the creamy satin bedspread. She fought each thrust and quivered in delight because it brought her much more ecstasy than staying in one place. Within only minutes she was climaxing, moaning and whimpering as though she'd never had this much happiness in her life.

Waves upon waves of pleasure washed over her, each one pounding her harder until she closed her eyes and allowed them to slowly recede.

He paused his motions, still painfully stiff, waiting with his stomach against her ass and kissed her face which tasted of salty sweat and gradually pulled himself entirely from her pussy, it extended her climax deliciously. Barbara turned onto her back, she felt as if she had gone through many sessions of training in only a span of several minutes. "Oh God... " she murmured.

Bruce was still suspended above her and appeared to have not even begun to perspire. He gently brushed her hair behind her ear, and he softly touched her cheek with his hand.

She groaned in desperation, her face showing her sexual appetite that had not yet been fully satisfied. His mouth darted to hers tasting her thoroughly. He raised his body above her again, his arms like solid pillars on either side of her.

"Tell me you want me to take you again," his voice shook her like hundreds of shocks running down to her clit.

She was still too stunned to speak, she could only beg with her parted lips to be kissed again, to be taken again.

She wanted him to have her as many times as he needed. She slipped the straps of the soft fabric from her shoulders pulling them down to reveal the abundance of her creamy pale breasts.

He stared, watching her seductive slow tease as she revealed herself to his gaze, awed by her beauty.

The full breasts topped with pink nipples, the thin blue veins that interspersed them.

She waited for his touch on her, wanted him to feel her, tease her, touch her and heat her blood.

She opened her legs to him inviting him back, showing the swelled lips that were practically flushed red, but Bruce was too occupied with her delicious curves that topped the lingerie, the taste of her lips and tongue and mouth and the shivers that came each time he explored her.

Ultimately her offer and his persistent need could no longer be forestalled. His hands found her hips and grasped them firmly as Barbara recalled the finger-shaped bruises he'd given her the last time, and she wanted to have them once more.


Bruce bodily drew her down the bed to his waiting prick, keeping firm as his protuberance divided her tremulous labia.

Barbara tossed back her head in instantaneous sobbing happiness, and only Bruce instantly placing his palm in the way kept her from jarring her brain into the headboard.

He cupped the top of her crown, holding that in place too as he drew on the straps of her bustier, driving her onto him, forcing her sex to open wide for him as he drew her body to his cock.

Her eyes pressed closed, then opened again, overwhelmed doubly by the relentless journey of his swollen cock inside her. Barbara was widened ridiculously open, and then more, and the pain never came.

Only contracting, quivering delight that shook her body, leaving her unable to move, to think, from his brute strength and intensity.

"Am I hurting you?" he inquired, his speech twisted from satisfaction.

She bowed her head quickly, acknowledging the pain.

"Should I keep going?"

She nodded hard once again. It was great discomfort but passionate. Delicious as adrenaline, delicious as her own lifeblood on her lips. Who else would ever know what that was like except for Bruce?

Moved by his sawing rump, Barbara wept in pure pleasure. Even clad only in her lingerie, she felt completely naked to him in her brazen joy, her jutting nipples, her wet genitals.

She raised her sweet flushed lips to his, bestowing her pleasure and finding it equaled by his savage satisfaction.

The pulsations built and ignited, neither of them pausing for breath as her cunt spasmed and tugged at his painfully solid prick, as it plunged intensely within her jerking her entire body, as he continued screwing her until she climaxed in waves upon waves. 

Barbara cried from happiness, huge tears streaming down her face as he finally took his own pleasure with strong streams of jism shooting into her satisfied cunt and his irregular breath sounding in her ear, his passion satisfied for the moment as they both shivered as one at the moment as their climax together left them exhausted. He shuddered again from the end of his monumental finale and slowly pulled out of her dripping sex. He offered another hungry kiss and laid down next to her, both fully expended. She rested her head against him and sighed in complete satisfaction.

"Mmm, you were incredible, I'm so satisfied, Bruce. I can scarcely wait for the next time. There will be a next time, won't there?"

"If you want to," he answered, pulling her closer.

They both nodded off in contentment for a while.


Something tossed on her face woke Barbara, she surged out of the bed landing on the balls of her feet even before her eyes opened.

As her eyelids parted she noticed that it was her uniform that had been tossed upon her sleeping form.

Batman was already dressed in his uniform, encouraging of her quick reflexes but disapproving of her hiding place for her uniform. "A carjacker could have easily found it, you need a better hiding place for this."

He was right, but where? It wasn't as though she had many alternatives. She would need to brainstorm a better place. Maybe build a secret compartment.

In the night sky, the Bat-Signal was alight glowing like a great moon in the heavens, just another part of the world she was accustomed to living in.

She dressed rapidly, eyeing Bruce at frequent intervals and feeling his eyes upon her nearly as often as her own upon him.

She moved over to him and gave him a soft long kiss, he pulled her closer deepening it as she happily sighed.

 Then he was moving out, assuming she would be following him and rightfully so. "I'll show you how to navigate through the subway tunnels. They'll assist you to move around the city unseen."

"I also accept fragrant floral bouquets or dinner dates," she told him with a happy grin.

His glance back at her was much warmer than he'd ever done before, not that most would notice except for Barbara. She smiled back at him, following him out into the night, ready for more adventure.

She felt lucky.

She felt pleased.

She felt a sort of love and affection.