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Part One
By: Lex King
“Be careful, Barbara,” Batman said. He sat at his command center in the bat cave.
“I can handle it, Bruce,” Batgirl said. “It’s just one man.”
“Twenty-One is a violent psychopathic megalomaniac, like all of the Joker’s men. He won’t hesitate to kill you Barbara, and I’m sure he has a whole crew of individuals like him. Robin is in the hospital. I have a charity ball to attend tonight. You’ll be on your own.”
“I’m not worried about it, Bruce. Are you?”
“It’s just that, you’re not a small fry anymore, Barbara. Batgirl has become big news in this town. That means you have to be more careful. Your captors will have less sympathy for you, if you know what I mean.”
“I understand Batman. I will take every precaution. But I will deliver Twenty-One to justice tonight.”
“Twenty-One and his men like to hang-out at the abandoned fairground on Petrel Island. You’ll find them there, but there are lot of places they can hide. You should have the element of surprise.”
“That’s all I need,” Batgirl said. She got on her motorcycle and took off through the underground passage leading out of the Wayne estate. She headed across town to the Petrel Island Bridge. Her cape rustled over her back as the daring, costumed figure weaved in out of traffic, bulleting through Gotham’s partially lit streets. Batgirl didn’t stop at a single light. She drove around the coastal highway, looking across the bay, which sparkled in the moonlight.
She arrived at the bridge. She could see the summit of a roller coaster in the distance. No car was coming to or from the island, and the space beyond the bridge looked very dark. Batgirl sat on her bike, staring off at the bridge. Then she kicked the gas, and the bike sped over the crumbling pavement.
...
Cyanide heard the sound of a motorcycle in the distance. The loud pipes echoed over the sleepy island.
"I wonder who that is," Twenty-One said. "Maybe it's Bat Pussy."
"God I hope," Cyanide said.
"You just want to fuck her brains out, don't you? Strip her out of that tight little costume, stick your cock inside her, listen to her moan. You just want to make Batgirl cum."
"I will, some day," Cyanide said.
"Well, I know you are a romantic, Cyanide, but me, I just want to kill her. Pussy isn’t everything. Sure, anyone would want to fuck a superheroine with a perfect body like that, but snuffing out her good-doing life is much more thrilling to me than just using her body. After all, behind that mask and skin-tight costume, Batgirl is just an ordinary twenty-one year-old girl. There are plenty of those I can fuck, with pussies just as nice as Batgirl’s. A pussy is a pussy, Cyanide. Someday, when you’re a little older, you’ll learn that. But I guess I can’t stop you from falling in love with her, can I?”
“Fuck you, Boss. I ain’t in love with Batgirl. I just think she’s pretty.”
“I don’t care that she’s pretty, Cyanide. That’s what I mean. Speaking of Batgirl, here we are." The other men stopped in front of the edifice. They had been walking through the dilapidated structures, rusted roller coasters with the rails falling off, tilt-a-whirls with carts knocked over and lying on the ground. The edifice they stood in front of had been an old haunted rollercoaster, enclosed in a shed. Cyanide looked up at the new sign. It was a giant cut-out of Batgirl in her purple costume, down to the very last detail, even the circles her breasts made under the fabric. She was lying on her side, and she was holding her arms over her head. Black ropes were coiled around her wrists. Her legs were pulled straight, and there were black coils around her ankles. It looked as though there was something pulling on her from either end. She looked panicked, helpless, and hopeless all at the same time. Above the cut-out was a sign in black letters that said: “Batgirl’s Surrender.”
"Come inside, gentlemen," Twenty-One said. The men walked into the shed. The stood in an anteroom. There were five other men besides Cyanide and Twenty-One in the gang, all wearing their suits and bowlers. Twenty-One was the only one wearing makeup, although Cyanide could still see the gouges in his face where he had been burned. Sledgehammer towered over Cyanide, and had to duck under the door of the shed, squeezing through the opening. Malice gave Cyanide a hostile look. Cyanide ignored him. Tourniquet and Stab and started fighting with each other. Bystander took his Desert Eagle out of his side holster and shot a hole in the roof. He pointed the gun at Cyanide and cocked the pistol. Then he smiled. Cyanide felt for the handle of his switchblade clipped to his waist. There was a door with padlock leading to the next room. Twenty-One fished out a key. He opened the door.
"I had a little inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe, although I'm sure none of you imbeciles read. You see, in the story, every time the blade swings by the victim’s neck, it drops. The blade keeps dropping, and the victim is forced to watch his slow, inevitable death. The only thing I did differently was that I timed the rate of descent to the victim's body heat radiation. In other words, the more heat Batgirl’s body radiates, the faster the blade will descend on her, which is why I have an included a stimulus device, which uses an electric pulse that Batgirl will find irresistible. Once she orgasms, her body heat will trigger the blade to fall and end her sweet, innocent life."
Cyanide looked at the device constructed in the shadowy pit below him, the tall guillotine with a long, curved blade, and the metal platform below it, black cuffs installed on it. There was an electronic device on a table next to the platform with electrodes dangling from it.
“You’re going to put Batgirl...in that?” Cyanide said.
“Yes, Cyanide, but we have to catch her first.” All the men heard the rumbling sound of the motor nearby. The engine cut off.
“I want to watch her cum,” Cyanide said.
“Then capture her tonight,” Twenty-One said. The men left the building. Cyanide stayed behind, looking at the torture device, then he left. He closed the padlock behind him.
...
Batgirl leaned her bike against the fence that encircled the fairgrounds. She climbed up the chain-link fence and dropped down. She stood in a field, and saw the strip in the distance where the rides were. She could see the bright lights of the city across the bay, and other than the moon, they were the only lights illuminating the island. She could see a few yards ahead of her, but she couldn't see much beyond that, other than the silhouetted rides in the distance. Batgirl ran her fingers over her utility belt. Eventually, she started walking towards the strip.
“Over here, Batgirl.” Batgirl was startled. She saw the shadow of giant man standing at the beginning of the path that ran through the strip. Batgirl charged at him. She jumped, delivering a spinning kick to his head. The behemoth grunted and fell over. A man grabbed Batgirl from behind, locking her arms. Another man hit Batgirl in her stomach. Batgirl doubled over. The man who held her arms propped her up. Her belly was assaulted with another blow. The man hitting her smiled. He reared his fist back for another jab, but the toe of Batgirl’s boot came up and struck his chin. He fell over. Batgirl head-butted the man restraining her, and he released his hold. Batgirl turned around and kicked him in the throat. Another attacker snuck behind Batgirl and side swept her. Batgirl fell on her back. The man grabbed her ankles. Another man crushed the sole of his loafer into Batgirl’s face, the hard, wood heel cracking against her eye socket. Batgirl caught his heel as he stomped on her again and twisted his foot. His ankle made an audible snap. The man screamed and limped away, but the other attacker still held Batgirl to the ground by her ankles. He lifted her legs in the air and spread them apart. Then he stomped on Batgirl’s crotch.
“Uggh,” Batgirl moaned. Her gloved hands grasped her wounded crotch. Her wild legs kicked in the air. The man held onto them. He kicked away Batgirl’s hands and pounced on her lycra crotch, grinding his heel into the thin fabric, Batgirl wincing, moaning, clawing at his foot. The attacker lifted his foot for another attack. Batgirl grabbed her swollen crotch, her back lifted off the ground. The man kicked away her hands again. Batgirl watched his heel come down, sinking into the purple lycra. She moaned. The man stomped on her several times. Finally, Batgirl rolled, thrusting her legs. Her attacker rolled with her and fell on his back. Batgirl wrapped her thighs around his neck and squeezed. The man pummeled his fists against Batgirl’s legs, causing her to wince, his head bobbing in between her thighs, smashing into her crotch. Eventually, he passed out.
Warily, Batgirl got off the ground. She held her glove to her swollen eye. She clutched her stomach. She put her hands in between her legs and stroked her crotch. Then, she straightened herself, putting her hands on her hips, staring at the strip ahead of her.
Batgirl saw the lights flashing on one of the buildings. None of the other structures seemed to have electricity. Batgirl made her way towards the building, walking down the path. She came closer to the building. Batgirl stopped in front of it, looking up. The colored lights flashed in a pattern around the cut-out. The sign looked like it had just been painted. Batgirl kept staring at the sign, unable to peel her eyes away from it.
“Gotcha,” someone said. The glamorous superheroine whirled around. She saw the sharp tip of a stiletto blade pointed at her, inches from the yellow bat symbol on her chest. Batgirl stepped back, pinning herself against the wall. The thug stared at her. Batgirl looked down at the knife. The thug traced the lycra with his blade, making a circle around Batgirl’s breast. Batgirl sucked in her stomach and held her breath, holding her hands by her sides, her fingers spread out. The thug looked down her body. Then, he looked into Batgirl’s eyes.
“You’re pretty,” he said.
“You don’t have a chance,” Batgirl said.
“I want you,” he said. The thug scooped up the soft material that enveloped Batgirl’s breast, sinking his fingers into her flesh. He kept his blade pointed at her with his other hand.
“You pig!” Batgirl said. The thug squeezed Batgirl’s breast and twisted it violently in his hand. She squealed.
“Shut up,” he said. Her firm breast melted in the thug’s hands as he fondled her. Batgirl looked away in disgust. The thug grabbed Batgirl’s slender neck. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Batgirl’s lips retreated into her mouth.
“Kiss me,” he said.
“How dare you!” Batgirl responded.
“Kiss me,” the thug repeated, poking Batgirl in the ribs with his knife. Batgirl parted her lips. She let him kiss her, moving her plush lips against his. She felt his wet tongue rolling inside her mouth, licking her. Batgirl closed her eyes. The thug kept kissing her. He gave her a moment to breathe, then penetrated her mouth again. Finally, he stopped.
“Get on the ground,” he said.
“No.”
“Get on the ground.” The thug pressed the blade under Batgirl’s chin. He maneuvered her away from the car, Batgirl tip-toeing back.
“Be a good little superheroine,” he said. Batgirl lowered herself to her knees. The thug kept the blade pointed at her eyes. Batgirl laid down on her back. She let the thug crawl on top her, straddling her chest.
“I want to know what you look like underneath there,” he said.
“Please,” Batgirl said. “Don’t do this to me.”
“You might like it,” he said. The thug slipped the blade under the neck of Batgirl’s costume.
“No,” Batgirl said. Her eyes were tearing up. “Not my costume.”
“That’s enough, Cyanide,” Twenty-One interrupted. The men emerged from the shadows. Stab was helping Tourniquet walk. Malice had a black bruise on his throat. “I want Batgirl to die in costume, Cyanide. I’ll let you fuck her when she’s dead.”
“We don’t have to kill her,” Cyanide said. “We could just have fun with her, let her go, and capture her again.”
“Batgirl dies tonight.” He gave Cyanide a severe look. “Sledgehammer, tie her up.” Sledgehammer had a rope slung over his shoulders. He knelt by Batgirl’s ankles.
“Cyanide,” Batgirl said. Cyanide turned to her. He was grinning. “I can feel your erection pressing against my chest. It’s turning me on. Make me cum, before these men kill me.”
“Are you–” Batgirl reached out and twisted his arm. He dropped the knife. She pushed him off of her and got up, stomping on his groin. The giant dropped the rope and slammed his fist into her belly. Batgirl sank to her knees. Another man pushed her, and she fell on her stomach. He pulled her legs apart and kicked her. Batgirl rolled on her back, but she couldn’t she shake her attacker, and he spread her legs open and kicked her again. Batgirl groaned. She tried rolling again, but couldn’t get rid of him. Finally, he left her alone. Batgirl raised herself on all fours, and stood up, but she was hit with a hard blow to the back. A fist came flying at her face and struck her nose. Batgirl fell backwards, and was caught in the arms of another man, while another attacker landed punches on her belly. Batgirl head-butted the man behind her, but he did not release his hold, and her attacker kept hitting her. Finally, they let her go, and Batgirl dropped to her knees, groaning, wrapping her arms around her torso.
The men circled around her. Batgirl raised herself up, and the giant grabbed her from the front of her body, pulling her face against his chest, lifting her feet off the ground. Batgirl’s arms failed uselessly in the air as the men attacked her back and kidneys, taking turns punching her. Then, the giant set Batgirl on the ground. He turned her around and held her under her shoulders. Malice took out his pistol and whipped the handle across her belly. A scream burst from Batgirl’s throat. Malice hit her with pistol again, and then the giant dropped her. Batgirl fell to the ground, curling herself, clutching her tortured belly.
“She’s finished,” Twenty-One said. “Tie her up.”
“NOOO!” Batgirl shouted. She reached into her belt and threw an object at the men. It sliced through the air in a wide circle, connecting with the men’s shins. Simultaneously, her attackers fell to the ground. Batgirl stood up. All the men were down, except for Twenty-One.
"Over here, Batgirl," Twenty-One said. He was leaning against a gate across the path that encircled a broken down roller coaster. It was a low gate made of rusted, iron bars, with a forked railing. Batgirl walked across the path. She faced him, her finger tapping against her hip.
“Why don’t you run away. I’m giving you a chance. Go on, Batgirl. Run. Or you will die tonight.”
“I don’t think there is a chance that you will be able to beat me, Twenty-One. I am more powerful than you, I have defeated all your men, and now I will defeat you and take all of you to prison where you belong.”
“You’re just a stupid, little girl in a slutty costume,” Twenty-One said. He pushed himself off the railing and stared down the masked heroine. “Why do you do it, Batgirl? Dress up in that tight outfit, masquerade as a superheroine, go around trying to solve other people’s problems? I think you’re trying to mask your own inferiority. I think you know that you’re a dumb, easily outwitted, shallow, pea-brained idiot, one of those pretty girls in school who never had to learn how to think, and you’re ashamed of yourself. You wish you could be smart, like Batman, who is always saving you when you have allowed yourself to be captured. Face it, Batgirl, you’re stupid. That’s why you put on the outfit. That’s why you imagine that you’re superior to everyone. You’re just trying to overcompensate for your barren intellect, your shallow personality, your altogether worthlessness. You couldn’t do anything in the real world other than use your body, or have other men use it. You couldn’t be anything other than a high-class whore, so you became a superheroine. You won’t even make it as a superheroine, not after tonight. I’m ending your charade, Batgirl. I’m going to make you regret that you ever put on that kinky outfit. The world doesn’t need you, Batgirl. You’re just a side show. The people of Gotham won’t give a shit if you are gone.”
“I wear this costume because I am proud of my body,” Batgirl said. “I am proud of who I am. I may not be as smart as you, but I am a hundred times more powerful. Take a good look at this body. This is my weapon. And all your intellect, your hurtful words won’t stop me. I am a superheroine, Twenty-One. And I am superior to you, and I will defeat you. Men in this society call me Batgirl, but I’m no girl. I may appear to be soft and feminine, but my body is hard, tough, and more masculine than any of your men, including you. Don’t you see, Twenty-One, you’re the girl, not me.”
“Come one, slut,” Twenty-One said. “I saw you fighting. You’re half as skilled as men I’ve fought in martial arts tournaments. You won’t last five minutes with me.”
“I won’t waste anymore words with you,” Batgirl said. She squared her hips and took up a fighting stance. Twenty-One motioned for her to attack. Batgirl closed the distance. She swung her arm at his head. Twenty-One caught her wrist and flung her into the gate. Her back banged against the rail, her momentum throwing her over it, causing her back to arch. Batgirl straightened herself. She assumed her fighting stance. She threw another punch at Twenty-One. He caught her fist. Batgirl punched with her other fist, and Twenty-One snatched it out of the air. He held both her fists, and pushed her against the gate. He let go of her fists. Batgirl’s hands dropped to her sides.
Twenty-One punched her in the stomach, the blow knocking her against the rail. Batgirl doubled over, clutching her stomach, groaning. Twenty-One seized Batgirl by her shoulders and pulled her away from the gate, and then threw her against it. He punched Batgirl in the stomach again, her back clanging against the gate. Batgirl bent over, one hand holding her back, one hand clutching her stomach, her eyelids squeezed shut.
“I told you,” Twenty-One said. “You’re a weak, little girl. Prove me wrong.”
Batgirl opened her eyes. She launched her body at Twenty-One. Twenty-One caught her, and shoved her against the gate, bending her back over it. He released her. Batgirl was stooped over. Twenty dropped an elbow in the middle of her spine. She dropped to the ground. Twenty-One stood over her as Batgirl pulled herself on all fours and slowly stood up. He swept his arm behind her knees and lifted her off the ground, cradling her in his arms. Twenty-One lifted Batgirl’s body in the air. He held the superheroine high above his shoulders, her limbs dangling. Then, his arms swung down and he dropped Batgirl’s body over his knee. Her back arched and her arms flung behind her. Twenty-One pushed her, and she rolled off his knee and laid on her stomach, her face buried in the grass, her cape falling off her body. Twenty-One knelt by Batgirl’s head. He pulled her head up by her cowl. Batgirl was barely conscious. Twenty-One straddled her back, and put his hands under her chin, pulling her neck back. Batgirl’s fists beat against the ground. Twenty-One held her until her fists stopped beating. Her palms opened up. Twenty-One released her, and her head sank into the ground. Her body was still.
Twenty-One stood up. He looked at the defeated superheroine. The costume stretched tightly around her back, so that he could see the outline of her spine. Her gorgeous ass popped out of the costume in a bundle of smooth curves. Twenty-One picked Batgirl up and slung her over his shoulders, groping her meaty ass as he walked. He headed towards the building with the flashing lights.
END PART ONE
[/Check in a few days for the Finale!i]
Tight, Purple, Bound, Helpless: Batgirl
Very interesting I hope it doesn't end with BG dead.
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DrDominator9
- Emissary
- Posts: 2461
- Joined: 13 years ago
- Location: On the Border of the Neutral Zone
The writing of this is quite good but it seems that Batgirl's fighting skills here don't begin to match her blustery bravado. She also seems pretty dumb about how handles her approach to their hideout and how she is so easily attacked from behind. While I'm enjoying this story I don't feel that this Batgirl is long for this world the way she is going. I'd say Twenty-One's assessment of her is quite accurate.
PART TWO
Twenty-One walked down the steps to the bottom of the pit. He laid Batgirl’s body on the metal platform. He removed her belt and tossed it on the floor. Then, he stretched her arms out and placed them in leather cuffs. He secured them tightly. Twenty-One pulled Batgirl’s legs into the ankle restraints, stretching her so that her limbs had no room to breathe. Batgirl was bound spread-eagle to the platform. Twenty-One looked at the bound heroine, her tight body stretched out in her curve-hugging suit, her heroic symbol imprinted on her chest, her eyes cloaked in the black fabric of her cowl; the purple ears that adorned it.
Twenty-One attached an electrode to Batgirl’s neck. It stuck to her skin with an adhesive. He took the other electrode and pressed it into Batgirl’s crotch. The wires hung over the heroine’s body, leading back to the black box on the table. Twenty-One flipped a switch, and the device turned on, the tubes above it lighting up. Batgirl stirred. Twenty-One pulled a lever under the platform and the guillotine started to swing across Batgirl’s head.
Twenty-One left Batgirl in the pit. The men were waiting for him outside.
“Cyanide,” Twenty-One said. “How did you let Batgirl get away?”
“She distracted me, boss.”
“I think you were distracted by her tits. Just for that, you don’t get to watch. No one goes into the pit. Batgirl is to die in the worst way possible: alone.” The men got off the ground, dusting off their suits, picking up their hats.
“What do we do now?” Cyanide said.
“We wait. She can’t escape. Any moment, Batgirl will orgasm, and her body heat radiation will cause the blade to fall on her head, and she will be no more.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Cyanide said. He held his knife to Bystander’s throat and took his gun out of his holster. Cyanide cocked the long-barrelled pistol. He pointed it at Twenty-One’s head and pulled the trigger. Twenty-One’s body slumped to the ground.
“I’m the leader now,” Cyanide said to the stunned men. “Aren’t I?” They mumbled in agreement. “We’re not killing Batgirl. We’re going to let her go. Then we’ll capture her again, and we’ll let her go. We’ll torment her all her life, until she is so ashamed of herself that she will give up. We’re going to humiliate Batgirl, not kill her.” Cyanide headed to the building where Batgirl was being tortured. The rest of the gang shrugged.
“Use a condom,” Malice said. “You never know.”
Cyanide walked under the portrayal of helpless heroine. He opened the door and walked into the dark chamber. Cyanide leaned over the railing and looked at the bound heroine in her tight, puprle costume under the spotlight. He looked at the lustre of the costume, which shimmered under the spotlight. Her cape was spread out underneath her, and her auburn hair was spread out behind her head on the platform. Her body was stretched out in her tight bonds, her arms pulled straight behind her head, her legs extended and pulled flat against the table. It looked like there was some mysterious force still stetching her body.
Batgirl was staring up at the blade that came swooshing by her head, the guillotine swinging in regular intervals. Her eyes were fixated above her, unblinking. Her body trembled every time the blade swung past her head. Cyanide watched her tremble like clockwork to the uninterrupted rythym of the pendulum, a visible shudder echoing through her tightly bound body every time it passed.
Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. Her stomach pumped under her suit, forcing her labored breaths. Under the lights, Cyanide could see the imprint of Batgirl’s navel in the form-fitting fabric. Her globe shaped breasts popped out her costume, moving to the rythym of her breath. Her nipples had hardened, and stuck out like sharp points. Sweat was dripping down her neck.
Cyanide saw the black disc implanted between her legs, connected to the black box on the table next to the platform. Cyanide noticed that every time the tubes on top of the box lit up, a smile crept across Batgirl’s face. He saw the dark spot that had formed on her costume underneath the disc. Batgirl arched her back, pressing her shoulder blades into the platform, rolling her neck back, thrusting her well-equipped chest towards the ceiling, her flexible limbs stretching. Cyanide heard her moaning. The arch in her back caused the lycra to wrap even tighter around her body. Her breasts, with her hardened nipples, looked naked except for a thin, purple film. The lycra hugged her curvy waist and wrapped around her slender thighs. Batgirl’s washboard stomach pushed under the stretching fabric as she breathed. Her thighs quivered as the tubes lit up. Cyanide listened to Batgirl’s incessant moaning and cooing, and started to get a hard on. He gripped the rail, gazing at the defenseless superheroine. Batgirl stared ahead at the swinging blade, not acknowledging his presence. The blade swung past her head. Fear rippled through her body. Then pleasure subdued it as the electrodes delivered another pulse of stimulation, the tubes lighting up.
Cyanide looked at the electrode on her neck, measuring the radation of her body heat. He saw the indicator lights blinking on the machine. One by one, they started turning red. In mid swing, the blade dropped. Cyanide could see Batgirl’s hard muscles flexing under her uniform. She made tight fists with her hands and pointed the toes of her boots down. She grunted. Then, Batgirl was hit with another wave of pleasure. Her muscles relaxed, her head rolled back, and she moaned.
Cyanide noticed that the intensity of Batgirl’s moans were increasing. The timing of the pulses were erratic, assaulting Batgirl with a stacatto of pleasure waves, and then relenting, only to revive the attack at sudden intervals, so Batgirl didn’t know when she was going to be stimulated. Cyanide could see a little spark as the electricity entered her body. Batgirl arched her back and wiggled her torso, but could do nothing else as the pleasure waves rippled thorugh her body. Batgirl’s face looked very tense, as though she were in a fight. But every so often her lips curved into a smile, and her eyes softened. Cyanide stared, squeeezing the rail.
“Ugh, ugh, UGH!” Batgirl moaned. She was sweating underneath her costume, causing the material to dampen. As the pulses penetrated her, Batgirl’s wild moaning grew louder and louder. Her limbs were vibrating against the platform. Her chest was bouncing up and down as she hyperventilated. The toes of her boots rotated in circles, and her nails curled into her gloves. The black disc on her crotch sparked.
“Oh… my… God! I’m going to cum!” Batgirl said. She bit down on her lip. Cyanide saw the indicator lights turning red. He rushed into the pit and pulled the lever. The blade stopping swinging. He turned off the device. Batgirl’s body was still convulsing.
“OOOHHHHHH!” Batgirl’s pelvis jerked as she moaned. The whole platform jittered as a powerful orgasm tore through Batgirl’s body. Her back was arched at an implausible angle, nearly pulling her limbs out of her sockets. Sweat poured off her face. An “O” was impressed on Batgirl’s lips as she moaned. Finally, the moaning stopped, and her convulsing body relaxed. She rested her back flat against the platform, and sighed. Her eyelids were still shut. She was smiling in delight.
Batgirl opened her eyes. Cyanide looked at her. Her smile vanished, and her cheeks reddenned. Cyanide pulled the disc off her neck. Then he reached between her thighs and pulled off the disc sticking to her crotch. He felt the fabric with his fingers. It was wet. Cyanide pulled his switchblade out of his waist and flipped open the sharp tip. He pulled back the collar of Batgirl’s costume and made a slit in it, and started to tear open the lycra down the middle of her body. He sliced the blade over her crotch, and dragged it down her inner thigh, all the way to her boot. He cut a slit down her other leg. Her white skin was showing through the cuts he made. He could see the lavender lace of her panties, the clasp of her matching bra. Batgirl’s neck was curled, and she was staring down at her body. Cyanide put his hands in the cleft he had made over Batgirl’s chest, and pulled away the lycra. The material settled on the platform. Cyanide pulled the lycra away from her stomach and her legs. Then he cut the fabric away from her boots. He looked at Batgirl, reduced to her lacy bra and boy-short panties.
“You can’t do this to me,” Batgirl said. “You can’t.”
Cyanide ignored her. He climbed on top of the platform and slid her panties down over her lotus white legs. He stroked her thighs. The skin on Batgirl’s thighs was still warm, and moist with sweat. Her young body glowed, and her hard thighs stiffened inside their soft, smooth shells as he touched them. Cyanide ran his hands over her body. He touched her hard stomach, her muscles tightening as his fingers pressed against her skin, her stomach slick with sweat. Cyanide unclasped her bra and touched Batgirl’s soft, supple breasts, squeezing them, feeling her hard nipples.
“You can’t…” Batgirl said. “You can’t…” Cyanide’s hands came up to her mask. He pulled at the edges of it. Then he stopped.
“I like you better like this,” he said. His eyes traveled over the naked superheroine. Cyanide grasped her breasts again. He rubbed her engorged nipples. “You like being bound,” he said. Batgirl gritted her teeth. Cyanide rubbed his face in her breasts. He kissed them, then he kissed her chest. He moved down her body, kissing her stomach. He licked her navel, eliciting a soft moan from the superheroine. Cyanide saw the blood on her labia. He looked at the bruises all over her stomach.
“Don’t stop,” Batgirl said.
“You like this?”
“Yes.”
Cyanide stroked Batgirl’s neatly-shaved pussy. It was hot and dripping wet. Her inner thighs were flush with color. Cyanide felt her engorged clitoris and rolled it slowly over his fingers. Batgirl’s body shook in her bonds. Her thighs quivered. Cyanide teased her clitoris, gently massaging it in his fingers.
“Do you want me?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. Cyanide undressed and positioned himself over Batgirl’s body. He slid his erect cock into her well-oiled pussy and thrusted inside her.
“Ohh, ohh, OHH!” Batgirl moaned. Her elbows made a popping sound as she jerked her arms against her restraints. Cyanide pounded her with his cock. Batgirl’s body wiggled, shook, jiggled, her breasts bouncing up and down, sweat pouring off her body. Her neck was red, and her eyes rolled back her head, her lids half closed, her drooling mouth groaning in pleasure. Her tight pussy clenched Cyanide’s cock and caused him to gasp. Cyanide felt a discharge of warm fluid run down his cock as Batgirl came, her moans echoing through the silent chamber. Cyanide still hadn’t climaxed. He removed his cock, kneeled on the platform, and ejaculated in her face. Batgirl licked the cum off her mouth. She smiled at him.
Cyanide stared at the masked heroine, white gobs of cum all over her face, her hazel eyes awash in pleasure. He started to get a hard on again. Cyanide unclasped Batgirl’s ankle restraints.
“Don’t let me go,” Batgirl said.
“You want more?”
“Yes. Please.”
Cyanide unzipped Batgirl’s boots. He removed them, tossing them on the floor. Then, pulled Batgirl’s legs over her torso. Batgirl obliged, and curled her spine, lifting her butt cheeks off the platform. Cyanide circled his hand around Batgirl’s ankles and held them, pressing the flexible superheroine’s legs against her nose. Cyanide pressed his finger into the small opening of her ass. Batgirl moaned in approval. Cyanide removed his finger. He spat on his hard cock and shoved the head of his penis into her, slowly working his way inside her body.
“Harder,” Batgirl said. Cyanide thrusted. The tight passage squeezed around his dick, and was burning hot. Batgirl was gazing at him through her cowl, from behind her ankles, her young face contorted in pleasure. Her breasts shook as he thrusted into her. Drool was sliding off Batgirl’s lips. Cyanide penetrated her deeper, until his whole cock was inside of her. He thrusted, pounding her body against the table.
“OOHHHMGHAHHH,” Batgirl groaned. Her juices shot out of her pussy, covering Cyanide’s thigh. Cyanide ejaculated inside her ass. He pulled out his dripping wet cock and released Batgirl’s ankles. Batgirl still held them over her body.
“Again,” she said.
“Why, Batgirl? Have you no shame?”
“I’m a slut,” she said.
Cyanide stepped away from the table. He put his trousers back on. He walked out of the building and found the men waiting outside. They had formed a semi-circle around the doorway.
“Well, did you kill her?” Malice said.
“No!” Cyanide said.
“But you killed Twenty-One.” Bystander took out his Desert Eagle and pointed it at Cyanide. Malice took out his 9mm. Tourniquet took out his .357. They aimed their barrels at Cyanide’s chest. They fired, simulatenously. Cyanide dropped to the ground. Blood poured out of his mouth.
“What shall we do with the super bitch?” Malice said.
“I wonder how far she can swim,” Tourniquet said. The men chuckled.
“Only one way to find out,” Malice said. The men walked into the building. Batgirl screamed.
Twenty-One walked down the steps to the bottom of the pit. He laid Batgirl’s body on the metal platform. He removed her belt and tossed it on the floor. Then, he stretched her arms out and placed them in leather cuffs. He secured them tightly. Twenty-One pulled Batgirl’s legs into the ankle restraints, stretching her so that her limbs had no room to breathe. Batgirl was bound spread-eagle to the platform. Twenty-One looked at the bound heroine, her tight body stretched out in her curve-hugging suit, her heroic symbol imprinted on her chest, her eyes cloaked in the black fabric of her cowl; the purple ears that adorned it.
Twenty-One attached an electrode to Batgirl’s neck. It stuck to her skin with an adhesive. He took the other electrode and pressed it into Batgirl’s crotch. The wires hung over the heroine’s body, leading back to the black box on the table. Twenty-One flipped a switch, and the device turned on, the tubes above it lighting up. Batgirl stirred. Twenty-One pulled a lever under the platform and the guillotine started to swing across Batgirl’s head.
Twenty-One left Batgirl in the pit. The men were waiting for him outside.
“Cyanide,” Twenty-One said. “How did you let Batgirl get away?”
“She distracted me, boss.”
“I think you were distracted by her tits. Just for that, you don’t get to watch. No one goes into the pit. Batgirl is to die in the worst way possible: alone.” The men got off the ground, dusting off their suits, picking up their hats.
“What do we do now?” Cyanide said.
“We wait. She can’t escape. Any moment, Batgirl will orgasm, and her body heat radiation will cause the blade to fall on her head, and she will be no more.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Cyanide said. He held his knife to Bystander’s throat and took his gun out of his holster. Cyanide cocked the long-barrelled pistol. He pointed it at Twenty-One’s head and pulled the trigger. Twenty-One’s body slumped to the ground.
“I’m the leader now,” Cyanide said to the stunned men. “Aren’t I?” They mumbled in agreement. “We’re not killing Batgirl. We’re going to let her go. Then we’ll capture her again, and we’ll let her go. We’ll torment her all her life, until she is so ashamed of herself that she will give up. We’re going to humiliate Batgirl, not kill her.” Cyanide headed to the building where Batgirl was being tortured. The rest of the gang shrugged.
“Use a condom,” Malice said. “You never know.”
Cyanide walked under the portrayal of helpless heroine. He opened the door and walked into the dark chamber. Cyanide leaned over the railing and looked at the bound heroine in her tight, puprle costume under the spotlight. He looked at the lustre of the costume, which shimmered under the spotlight. Her cape was spread out underneath her, and her auburn hair was spread out behind her head on the platform. Her body was stretched out in her tight bonds, her arms pulled straight behind her head, her legs extended and pulled flat against the table. It looked like there was some mysterious force still stetching her body.
Batgirl was staring up at the blade that came swooshing by her head, the guillotine swinging in regular intervals. Her eyes were fixated above her, unblinking. Her body trembled every time the blade swung past her head. Cyanide watched her tremble like clockwork to the uninterrupted rythym of the pendulum, a visible shudder echoing through her tightly bound body every time it passed.
Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. Her stomach pumped under her suit, forcing her labored breaths. Under the lights, Cyanide could see the imprint of Batgirl’s navel in the form-fitting fabric. Her globe shaped breasts popped out her costume, moving to the rythym of her breath. Her nipples had hardened, and stuck out like sharp points. Sweat was dripping down her neck.
Cyanide saw the black disc implanted between her legs, connected to the black box on the table next to the platform. Cyanide noticed that every time the tubes on top of the box lit up, a smile crept across Batgirl’s face. He saw the dark spot that had formed on her costume underneath the disc. Batgirl arched her back, pressing her shoulder blades into the platform, rolling her neck back, thrusting her well-equipped chest towards the ceiling, her flexible limbs stretching. Cyanide heard her moaning. The arch in her back caused the lycra to wrap even tighter around her body. Her breasts, with her hardened nipples, looked naked except for a thin, purple film. The lycra hugged her curvy waist and wrapped around her slender thighs. Batgirl’s washboard stomach pushed under the stretching fabric as she breathed. Her thighs quivered as the tubes lit up. Cyanide listened to Batgirl’s incessant moaning and cooing, and started to get a hard on. He gripped the rail, gazing at the defenseless superheroine. Batgirl stared ahead at the swinging blade, not acknowledging his presence. The blade swung past her head. Fear rippled through her body. Then pleasure subdued it as the electrodes delivered another pulse of stimulation, the tubes lighting up.
Cyanide looked at the electrode on her neck, measuring the radation of her body heat. He saw the indicator lights blinking on the machine. One by one, they started turning red. In mid swing, the blade dropped. Cyanide could see Batgirl’s hard muscles flexing under her uniform. She made tight fists with her hands and pointed the toes of her boots down. She grunted. Then, Batgirl was hit with another wave of pleasure. Her muscles relaxed, her head rolled back, and she moaned.
Cyanide noticed that the intensity of Batgirl’s moans were increasing. The timing of the pulses were erratic, assaulting Batgirl with a stacatto of pleasure waves, and then relenting, only to revive the attack at sudden intervals, so Batgirl didn’t know when she was going to be stimulated. Cyanide could see a little spark as the electricity entered her body. Batgirl arched her back and wiggled her torso, but could do nothing else as the pleasure waves rippled thorugh her body. Batgirl’s face looked very tense, as though she were in a fight. But every so often her lips curved into a smile, and her eyes softened. Cyanide stared, squeeezing the rail.
“Ugh, ugh, UGH!” Batgirl moaned. She was sweating underneath her costume, causing the material to dampen. As the pulses penetrated her, Batgirl’s wild moaning grew louder and louder. Her limbs were vibrating against the platform. Her chest was bouncing up and down as she hyperventilated. The toes of her boots rotated in circles, and her nails curled into her gloves. The black disc on her crotch sparked.
“Oh… my… God! I’m going to cum!” Batgirl said. She bit down on her lip. Cyanide saw the indicator lights turning red. He rushed into the pit and pulled the lever. The blade stopping swinging. He turned off the device. Batgirl’s body was still convulsing.
“OOOHHHHHH!” Batgirl’s pelvis jerked as she moaned. The whole platform jittered as a powerful orgasm tore through Batgirl’s body. Her back was arched at an implausible angle, nearly pulling her limbs out of her sockets. Sweat poured off her face. An “O” was impressed on Batgirl’s lips as she moaned. Finally, the moaning stopped, and her convulsing body relaxed. She rested her back flat against the platform, and sighed. Her eyelids were still shut. She was smiling in delight.
Batgirl opened her eyes. Cyanide looked at her. Her smile vanished, and her cheeks reddenned. Cyanide pulled the disc off her neck. Then he reached between her thighs and pulled off the disc sticking to her crotch. He felt the fabric with his fingers. It was wet. Cyanide pulled his switchblade out of his waist and flipped open the sharp tip. He pulled back the collar of Batgirl’s costume and made a slit in it, and started to tear open the lycra down the middle of her body. He sliced the blade over her crotch, and dragged it down her inner thigh, all the way to her boot. He cut a slit down her other leg. Her white skin was showing through the cuts he made. He could see the lavender lace of her panties, the clasp of her matching bra. Batgirl’s neck was curled, and she was staring down at her body. Cyanide put his hands in the cleft he had made over Batgirl’s chest, and pulled away the lycra. The material settled on the platform. Cyanide pulled the lycra away from her stomach and her legs. Then he cut the fabric away from her boots. He looked at Batgirl, reduced to her lacy bra and boy-short panties.
“You can’t do this to me,” Batgirl said. “You can’t.”
Cyanide ignored her. He climbed on top of the platform and slid her panties down over her lotus white legs. He stroked her thighs. The skin on Batgirl’s thighs was still warm, and moist with sweat. Her young body glowed, and her hard thighs stiffened inside their soft, smooth shells as he touched them. Cyanide ran his hands over her body. He touched her hard stomach, her muscles tightening as his fingers pressed against her skin, her stomach slick with sweat. Cyanide unclasped her bra and touched Batgirl’s soft, supple breasts, squeezing them, feeling her hard nipples.
“You can’t…” Batgirl said. “You can’t…” Cyanide’s hands came up to her mask. He pulled at the edges of it. Then he stopped.
“I like you better like this,” he said. His eyes traveled over the naked superheroine. Cyanide grasped her breasts again. He rubbed her engorged nipples. “You like being bound,” he said. Batgirl gritted her teeth. Cyanide rubbed his face in her breasts. He kissed them, then he kissed her chest. He moved down her body, kissing her stomach. He licked her navel, eliciting a soft moan from the superheroine. Cyanide saw the blood on her labia. He looked at the bruises all over her stomach.
“Don’t stop,” Batgirl said.
“You like this?”
“Yes.”
Cyanide stroked Batgirl’s neatly-shaved pussy. It was hot and dripping wet. Her inner thighs were flush with color. Cyanide felt her engorged clitoris and rolled it slowly over his fingers. Batgirl’s body shook in her bonds. Her thighs quivered. Cyanide teased her clitoris, gently massaging it in his fingers.
“Do you want me?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. Cyanide undressed and positioned himself over Batgirl’s body. He slid his erect cock into her well-oiled pussy and thrusted inside her.
“Ohh, ohh, OHH!” Batgirl moaned. Her elbows made a popping sound as she jerked her arms against her restraints. Cyanide pounded her with his cock. Batgirl’s body wiggled, shook, jiggled, her breasts bouncing up and down, sweat pouring off her body. Her neck was red, and her eyes rolled back her head, her lids half closed, her drooling mouth groaning in pleasure. Her tight pussy clenched Cyanide’s cock and caused him to gasp. Cyanide felt a discharge of warm fluid run down his cock as Batgirl came, her moans echoing through the silent chamber. Cyanide still hadn’t climaxed. He removed his cock, kneeled on the platform, and ejaculated in her face. Batgirl licked the cum off her mouth. She smiled at him.
Cyanide stared at the masked heroine, white gobs of cum all over her face, her hazel eyes awash in pleasure. He started to get a hard on again. Cyanide unclasped Batgirl’s ankle restraints.
“Don’t let me go,” Batgirl said.
“You want more?”
“Yes. Please.”
Cyanide unzipped Batgirl’s boots. He removed them, tossing them on the floor. Then, pulled Batgirl’s legs over her torso. Batgirl obliged, and curled her spine, lifting her butt cheeks off the platform. Cyanide circled his hand around Batgirl’s ankles and held them, pressing the flexible superheroine’s legs against her nose. Cyanide pressed his finger into the small opening of her ass. Batgirl moaned in approval. Cyanide removed his finger. He spat on his hard cock and shoved the head of his penis into her, slowly working his way inside her body.
“Harder,” Batgirl said. Cyanide thrusted. The tight passage squeezed around his dick, and was burning hot. Batgirl was gazing at him through her cowl, from behind her ankles, her young face contorted in pleasure. Her breasts shook as he thrusted into her. Drool was sliding off Batgirl’s lips. Cyanide penetrated her deeper, until his whole cock was inside of her. He thrusted, pounding her body against the table.
“OOHHHMGHAHHH,” Batgirl groaned. Her juices shot out of her pussy, covering Cyanide’s thigh. Cyanide ejaculated inside her ass. He pulled out his dripping wet cock and released Batgirl’s ankles. Batgirl still held them over her body.
“Again,” she said.
“Why, Batgirl? Have you no shame?”
“I’m a slut,” she said.
Cyanide stepped away from the table. He put his trousers back on. He walked out of the building and found the men waiting outside. They had formed a semi-circle around the doorway.
“Well, did you kill her?” Malice said.
“No!” Cyanide said.
“But you killed Twenty-One.” Bystander took out his Desert Eagle and pointed it at Cyanide. Malice took out his 9mm. Tourniquet took out his .357. They aimed their barrels at Cyanide’s chest. They fired, simulatenously. Cyanide dropped to the ground. Blood poured out of his mouth.
“What shall we do with the super bitch?” Malice said.
“I wonder how far she can swim,” Tourniquet said. The men chuckled.
“Only one way to find out,” Malice said. The men walked into the building. Batgirl screamed.
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batgirl1969
- Millenium Member
- Posts: 2460
- Joined: 14 years ago
Delicious!!! Love the part about her nipples...
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lordgriffin
- Sargeant
- Posts: 103
- Joined: 15 years ago
- Contact:
Oh I am sorry WTF????
USE a CONDOM? are you Serious?
PULL OUT and cum on her FACE??????
Cum in her ass...gee let me see.....is someone terrified of pregnancy? A bad guy who wants to murder her...but cares if she get's pregnant..i see the logic (not)
USE a CONDOM? are you Serious?
PULL OUT and cum on her FACE??????
Cum in her ass...gee let me see.....is someone terrified of pregnancy? A bad guy who wants to murder her...but cares if she get's pregnant..i see the logic (not)