Many apologies for the time it took to continue this story. Such is life. Many thanks for the feedback along the way. TT
Batgirl, Batman, Gotham City and all other characters were created by and are copyrighted by and are property of DC Comics, Parmount and MGM among others. This story has been written solely to occupy my free time. No compensation has been or will be received for this story. This story is purely for entertainment purposes and cannot be redistributed for the purposes of making money or profit.
Batgirl’s Uptown Affairs, Part II
By T. Thatcher
Commissioner Gordon slouched deep into the leather of the chair at his desk. Staring vacuously and feeling chronically fatigued he suddenly realized how spacious and lonely his office was. He harbored a numbing detachment as he questioned his suitability to remain leader of the nation’s largest police force. After countless years of upstanding civil service and a pledge of faithfulness to his deceased wife in the past year he tossed both aside for moments of pleasure with two of the most devious criminals in Gotham City’s history. Sure, his seduction by Catwoman was a costumed ruse but he could not deny that it was precipitated by a forceful lust after a woman young enough to be his daughter. It simply was not the behavior that the City had come to expect from him and his force or from the standards he held himself to.
For a man with the fitness of someone ten years his junior he felt old and tired. Maybe, he thought, it was time to retire. His daughter, Barbara, had been suggesting it with subtle hints and outright pleas ever since she won the lottery. He had resisted her proposals not because it wasn’t right to have a man be supported by his daughter - no, he was secure enough in himself to have no qualms about that - rather, police work was his life and his refuge from the sorrows over his slain wife. Without it, he would be aimless and self-pitying. Now, sitting here he was not sure it was the compass and haven he needed.
On a different floor in a much smaller office, Chief O’Hara stewed. He was losing control of his men. Morale was waning and his men were not performing the quality work needed to do their jobs effectively. Part of the reason was questionable recruiting and undeserved promotions but another explanation was prominent stature of Batman and Batgirl. It seemed they received all the credit for high profile cases and his force was left with table scraps of attention. In fact, the most consistent publicity his people received was when something went wrong.
The amount of criminals Batman and Batgirl sent to prison was statistically insignificant to that of his force. However, it did not matter. The public liked the Caped Crusaders and looked upon his men as bumbling boobs. He wanted to give his men (and yes, women) something more to jump-start their drive. He wasn’t sure yet what it should be but he was confident that if he were to retrace the cycles of crime fighting in his 35-year career, it would come to him.
Batgirl was feeling better than she had for quite some time. As she vaulted across the rooftops of Harlan in Gotham City she delighted in her skills and in her confidence that she could be an independent crime fighter. It had been weeks since she had spoken to either of the personas harbored in Wayne manner. Even though she knew she could not avoid Bruce or Batman forever she was aware of a feeling of liberation, not mourning. The only blight on her mood was in her personal life. As it turned out, the day she left Bruce was also the day that Lawrence Pierce left her. Since his departure he had not returned any of her calls and seemed to be in a permanent state of in-communicado. He had been known to be a recluse before his emergence into her life that night at the beach and apparently he returned to that life. Despite the strong feelings she quickly developed for him, his disappearance affected her more with a mood of unresolved emotions than in loss.
Batgirl’s time for reflection was interrupted as she heard the sound of a posse of skateboarders skim over the sidewalks and echo between the buildings. She followed them (all boys) with a concerned eye, wondering how parents, in good conscience, could let their kids out of the house that late. Trouble was the only thing that they would find at that hour.
They all wore the uniform of the latest fashions that promised individuality but delivered conformity. Growing up is so difficult, she thought. Suddenly, from behind a stoop, an adult figure appeared in front of their path prompting a variety of expert and balletic stops of their wheels. From her vantage point Batgirl could see that the man and the leader of the troupe were exchanging words - thankfully with peaceful intent. Then she saw each reach into their pockets and each pull something out to exchange. Batgirl’s temperature began to rise as the thought of selling drugs to kids ranked in her mind as one of the crimes deserving of the most serious punishments. Instinctively, her hand reached for her utility belt and launched a cable to the street. Before they could place their transacted goods back in their pockets Batgirl had descended to the scene.
“Everybody freeze,” Batgirl commanded almost like an introduction. Before the boy or the man could react to her presence she had a firm grasp on each of their wrists. Then with the deep blue gaze that could act like a surgical laser when she was filled with fury, she barked at the man as she tightened her grip on the thicker wrist, “As if peddling dope was not wicked enough,” and glancing at the boy, “but to be pushing it on these impressionable kids,” shifting back, “I am going to personally recommend you go away for a long…” Batgirl’s diatribe abruptly faded. Something was wrong with this scene. She looked down at the man’s hand she was restraining. It was holding a bag. She swung her head to inspect the other hand of the boy. It was holding cash. She looked back at the man and his face was emaciated and vacant. The boy’s was crammed with attitude. It dawned on her - the adult wasn’t the pusher, he was the customer. Which meant that the boys were the ones she should - Crack! Batgirl heard the sound of the skateboard as it hit her in the back of the head before she felt it. She did not hear the second whack, but saw a flash of bright light as she collapsed to the ground. Flat on the pavement she tried to curl into a protective position, as she knew her profound daze would not allow her any more of a defense. The boys wasted no time in kicking her as they screamed “skank bitch” and other expletives and stomping on her with moves learned from years of watching professional wrestling. As the nausea of unconsciousness crept into Batgirl’s cognizance, she felt her body being rolled onto her stomach and small hands groping for the waistband of her tights. The last thought she could process before she slipped into darkness was the cool night air on her bare behind.
Batman decided to take a holiday from Gotham City. His taste for the familiar streets was stale and he needed time away but not time off. It would also serve as a distraction for his bruised psyche. From the beginning he knew his relationship with Barbara would probably not last. Nothing in his life had a happy ending. However, for once in his life he chose to try the optimistic approach and work to believe their relationship could survive. Unfortunately, for Bruce he focused on the destination and not the path to reach it.
He had served as a deputized crime fighter in many other cities before. It provided Gotham City with ample goodwill to be called upon at appropriate times and it helped him to sample other criminal behaviors and prevent some hardcore thugs from thinking of moving to his turf. He chose the other coast for his tour of duty. It placed him several time zones away from the routine. It separated him from the closeness to Batgirl. And it positioned him in the neighborhood of Barbara’s new boyfriend, Lawrence Pierce.
The form fitting material of Batgirl’s tights made pulling her pants off more difficult than the boys imagined it would be. They stopped as soon as they cleared her buttocks. The sight of a woman’s naked rear froze them momentarily as they paused to admire the tautness of her muscular but shapely ass. Most of the boys traded glances of looking at it and each other wondering what to do next. The leader decided to take the initiative and did the first thing that he could think of. He bent down and separated the cheeks of her butt with his thumbs and spit down her anus. He stood up proudly and began to laugh. Soon other boys joined him and spit down her chute. When they all took their turns and the laughter wore thin they began to look around again for their next course of action. Damien, the leader, appeared even surer of himself this time when he rolled her over on her back and pulled her tights down to her calves. He lifted her knees so he could spread her legs in a lotus position. The vista of a neatly trimmed vagina made their pubescent dicks urgently rock hard. “Okay,” Damien began, “whose got anything we can stick up her cunt?”
One of the boys had a soda bottle that Damien emptied on the street and then regretted not keeping the soda in and shaking it up. Nevertheless, he dug his hand into her pubis and split her labia as he inserted the tip of the bottle. As he tried to force it up higher, suddenly an ominous presence invaded their nocturnal playground. The silhouette under the street light told them he was big. The determination of his stride in their direction told them that he was mean. Damien looked at his boys and tried to muster enough courage in himself to keep them from fleeing. “I got this one, guys. You just back me up.”
The fearsome and leather-clad apparition stood before them assessing the limp, defenseless body on the pavement with the soda bottle still penetrating her womanhood.
Damien postured, “Yo, back off brother. This bat-booty is our find.”
The darkness of his complexion gave them no further clue to his features than they had when he was under the light. He shook his head back and forth.
“Hey Mr. Black-As-My Ass, don’t you be dissing us. As you can see we out number you eight or nine to one.”
Finally, he spoke. His voice was a baritone of controlled anger and disgust. “Boys, go home.” Its effect was a direct command to each of them.
Damien chose this moment to make his stand. He reached under his shirt and pulled out a shiny .45. He held it sideways gangsta style and said, “Yo nig-gare, maybe you a crazy fool or something but I think you better be respecting this. He pointed the gun directly at his face and as close as he could considering the man towered over him.
“Why do you punks hold you guns that way? It doesn’t make you shoot straight. Anyone worth their shit with firearms laughs at punks like you every time he sees it.” Then with a quickness that none of the boys had ever seen before he struck Damien with the back of his hand literally lifting him off of the ground and sending him crashing into the wall of a building. The blood pouring from his skull indicated to all that his injuries were critical. Without waiting to see what would happen next the rest of the boys shot off and disappeared into the billiard table of alleyways. The mysterious black man bent down, gently removed the bottle and flung it into the building shattering it into molecules. He then lifted the masked heroine from the ground and carried her away.
Bruce Wayne took advantage of his time on the coast to tie up some of the nagging loose ends of various business affairs and to schedule in some charity appearances. One of the fund-raisers that intrigued him was a reception at a library honoring a young woman considered by many to be the most gifted linguist in the world. As a lover of literature and fluent in several languages himself Bruce decided this would be the exact kind of distraction he was seeking. He arrived at the event in his usual tuxedo only to discover that the laid back nature of the coastal lifestyle extended to high society as well. Some of the wealthiest men and women in the country were clad in sandals and linen tops. The men did not bother to tuck in their shirts and the women had their blouses opened immodestly showing off the best bodies money could buy. He considered turning around and leaving but swathed in self- confidence he chose to stay and meet the guest of honor, Miss Lydia Limpet.
The event was buzzing with excitement in part due to his presence. Despite the plethora of wealth endowed to this coast, having a touch of old, other coast money added a touch of elegance and sophistication. Many people begged for moments of his attention and soon he realized that if he did not act quickly, Miss Limpet might be gone before he could introduce himself. He canvassed the room searching for a women with school-marmish features. He noticed her right away. Surprisingly, she was alone.
“Good evening, Miss Limpet, I am Bruce Wayne.” She took his hand and gave him an assertive handshake. “I am a bit astonished to see you unattended.”
“Well, Mr. Wayne, it appears that most of the people attending are here for appearance sake and not for any stimulating discourse, at least with me. What brings you to this fair event?”
“I am afraid to say for sounding trite however, it was you that compelled my agenda.” Bruce flashed a grin that was both sheepish and wolfish. It enticed her immensely.
“Well, I am flattered indeed.” She, too, revealed a multi-layered glimpse expressing some of the beauty trapped behind her thick glasses. “Now that you have my attention what can I do for you?”
Trying to avoid obvious questions and remarks Bruce asked her opinion on various translations of works covering works from classical literature to the Dead Sea Scrolls. He introduced a few original opinions of his own and soon they were entwined in robust conversation and flirtatious laughter. Their oblivion to the others at the party added to the intimacy of their exchange.
The event started winding down at - what Bruce thought - was an early hour but then he remembered that most things began early and ended early here. He was thinking of a polite way to invite Miss Limpet out for a drink when she proposed they head back to her hotel room. “Now, before a handsome and wealthy bachelor like yourself fills his head with any improper ideas, I want you to come back and help me with a crossword puzzle that has positively invigorated me and captivated all my free time.”
Although an avid enthusiast of most games it was not the invitation he had expected. Unflustered, he accepted with grace.
Her suite was sumptuous and as ornately adorned as any hotel room he had ever visited. He was a bit shocked to see that a charity would go to such an expense to accommodate a guest of honor. Bruce’s face must have betrayed him because without missing a beat Miss Limpet interjected, “I know you must be thinking how could a library afford such a room. Do not worry. My sponsor has quite substantial resources and sees to it that I am accommodated royally.”
“Indeed” was the only reply Bruce could offer.
Surveying the room Bruce noticed that, oddly, it had no newspapers in it. He found this a bit strange since he was invited to assist in a crossword puzzle. Again to his surprise, Miss Limpet mastered his thoughts. “Trust me, Mr. Wayne, I have asked you to join me here for the reasons I stated. However, the crossword puzzle I have in mind is not one of a garden variety. Rather, it is a bit more complex and challenging.”
Completing her comment she walked to the coffee table and flipped on the rectangular box solely occupying the surface. Bruce thought it was merely a laptop computer however, he was amazed to see it project vertically and display a perfect cube perhaps three feet at each of the dimensions. The cube rotated slowly, Bruce estimating a full revolution every four or five minutes. What was truly fascinating however was the transparency of the cube and that one third of it was filled with words of varying lengths and languages.
“Yes, Mr. Wayne, what you are looking at is a three dimensional crossword puzzle incorporating the usual across and down but adding an in and out and, cleverly, diagonal entries as well. I am not entirely sure how it was created but I know I have never had this type of intellectual stimulation before.”
After marveling for a few minutes Bruce finally asked where the clues were located.
“That is part of the genius and part of the challenge of this conundrum. Pick a space.”
Bruce hesitated and randomly asked for 43 across and noticing each side of the cube was shaded a different color, added green. The box responded in a computer-generated voice with the clue.
“Well, what is your answer, Bruce?” Miss Limpet inquired.
“Oh, I wasn’t really paying attention, please repeat, er - 43 across, green.”
The voice responded with a mechanical, “Clue 43 across, green provided at 10:47 PM Pacific Time.”
“I guess I forgot to tell you, Bruce, that part of the challenge is remembering all the clues. They are not repeated.” And to the machine she said, “The answer is p-l-u-p-e-r-f-e-c-t.” Almost magically the cube filled the 10 boxes with her response. Bruce let out an uncharacteristic gleeful laugh. Now with his competitive spirit piqued he removed his tuxedo tie and unbuttoned his top button.
“So we must remember the clues, eh? There must be over 500 clues to remember. How do you do it?” he asked admirably.
“Actually, if you count the inner words there are another 316 to remember. I don’t know how I do it, I just do because it is required. The tricky part for me is remembering the clues after I have inserted a word. My tendency is to forget it. It becomes a problem when I discover that one of my responses no longer fits and is therefore incorrect.”
“Fascinating, Miss Limpet. Let’s begin.”
Bruce and his linguist companion spent the next two hours probing for clues and discussing the responses. They complemented each other nicely even when they disagreed on which answer was correct. As the game wore Bruce relaxed even more unbuttoning his shirt halfway down his chest and rolling up his sleeves. Even Miss Limpet unwound a bit from her prim librarian exterior. Finally, at some moment - the right moment - the game became less interesting and exploring each other became the game d’jour.
Miss Limpet lay back on the sofa and Bruce hovered over her kissing her face and neck as he worked the buttons of her blouse. With his shirt mostly undone she just had to concentrate on peeling it off his chiseled body. Bruce was pleasantly surprised to find a nice endowment hidden beneath her frilly top. He pushed the material back over her arms and continued his caressing kisses down her neck and settled between the cleavage supported by a white lace bra. As his shirt passed his wrists she paused to take a deep look at the hunk sharing intimate space with her. The suspenders of his tuxedo pants framed his bare torso leaving her sections to admire. His chest was broad and hairless. His arms were offered a muscled strength that suggested protection not narcissism. Overall, his body was uncommonly muscular for a billionaire but not without old scar tissue. She knew there must be interesting stories for each nick in his armor.
When seen as part of his whole body his face looked more handsome than pretty and she liked the perspective. As she peaked down to his pants she could see the excited bulge of his manhood informing her that she was his desire. She looked to her own crotch and noticed that while she was observing him he wasted no time in removing her skirt. Her bra and panties were the only clothes left on her. Miss Limpet reached out to grab his protuberance and unzipped the fly of his trousers. She could feel the silk of his boxer shorts but noticed his penis had already broken through the slit in the material. She pulled him out and slid closer to him so she could introduce his organ into her mouth.
Bruce was slightly surprised to see that she did not react to his large offering. Many of the women he had been with felt it necessary to comment on his size, some with delight some with horror. Yet Miss Limpet took him out and didn’t even bother to inspect him. She just put her lips around his head and methodically began to juicily suck his member.
Wanting to participate more in their lovemaking Bruce tried to put his hands to use by letting down her hair with his left hand and removing her glasses with his right. She reacted quickly - over reacted really - and said, “Please don’t remove my glasses. I am blind without them and I want to see you make love to me.” He thought it a bit odd but when she removed her panties he didn’t think anymore about it.
He picked Miss Limpet up and carried her to the bedroom in the suite and smoothly set her down on the mattress as he removed his pants and shorts. He was now completely naked and fully erect. Looking up at him she put her pinky in her mouth and slowly spread her legs showing off her succulent muff hidden behind pubes a shade lighter than black. Panther-like he lowered himself to taste her charms. Starting at her calves he kissed and licked her thin legs steadily moving up to her pussy. Upon reaching it he slid his tongue over her labia. Her hair was smooth and it felt like it melted away allowing him to glide over her most sensitive skin. She giggled and he teased her with a slight penetration with his tongue.
“Please enter me now,” she begged. Bruce normally liked to stay down on a woman longer but, with his dick already secreting pre-cum, he happily obliged. The first half of his penis slid in easily and then he hit the usual barrier that sometimes prevented him from full penetration. However, when Miss Limpet adjusted her position it was like a canal lock opening and he slithered the rest of the way in.
For as excited as she looked Miss Limpet was not very energetic during lovemaking. Bruce felt like he was doing all the work. His mind wandered a bit and he began to think that maybe he should have ended the evening with the game then he would have remembered the night more fondly. ‘This lass is a dead fish. Oh well, some people were not made to fuck.’
“Wait,” she interrupted, “I have an idea,” as she pushed him off her. Sitting on the bed with his rocket straight up and dancing off his stomach, Bruce was a bit perplexed. She sprang out of the bed and grabbed him by his pole with an enticing, “Follow me.” Miss Limpet tugged at his dick leading him to the balcony of her suite. It spectacularly offered a view of the whole city. Her room was on the top floor, at thirty-five stories high.
Bruce had a little apprehension making love so publicly but he scanned the surroundings and determined that they would enjoy the necessary privacy. Aiding his decision was Miss Limpet, who, on the balcony, was a different woman. She vigorously worked his meat, taking him deep in her mouth and jacking his shaft with her free hand. In command of their lovemaking she brought herself down on him forcibly and he could feel his cock touching the walls of her throat. After five minutes she came up and, still holding his trophy pulled him toward her as she backed up to the rail of the balcony. She let go of him to push herself up on the rail. She spread her legs widely exposing gaping pussy. “Fuck me, Bruce.”
For good measure Bruce looked down to see exactly how far up they were. “Why don’t we just lie down here Lydia and do it,” he suggested.
“No, fuck me up here. I trust you’ll hold me,” was her reply. He looked down over the balcony again and then looked at her dripping invitation again and moved toward her. This time he went all the way in immediately and she responded by gyrating in a vertical swirl. He fumbled for the best position to keep her safe and she helped by holding the back of his neck but each time she thrust she wound up by pushing backwards off of the railing and precariously over the edge. She seemed to become more excited with each drive.
Her excitement and activity made her begin to sweat and Bruce was having a more difficult time holding on to her. He tried to concentrate on coming so it would end but his mind could only focus on finding a safe guard in case she slipped. Finally, without his help, he felt a climax swelling up from his balls to his shaft. Miss Limpet felt the surge, too, and moaned in delight. Bruce blasted his semen inside her as she screamed and pushed back. Their conflicting momentum caused his grip to slip and her saw her fall back as her eyes widened with a combination of terror and ecstasy. He managed to secure her legs just as her body was about to go airborne. The lasting image in his mind was of Miss Limpet suspended upside down with her hair finally falling from its bun and her glasses falling to the earth with him holding her by her knees and the tip if his dick still in her pussy.
After he was assured of his hold on her, Bruce lifted her up and over the railing of the balcony. He gazed into her eyes now unhidden by her thick glasses and saw how beautiful and sexy she was. She briskly walked past him to the bedroom and when he returned her hair was up again and a new pair of glasses - identical to the black plastic frames of before - was on her face. “Well wasn’t that fun,” she said as if this was part of her evening routine.
Batgirl blasted into consciousness and thrashed with pain. The intensity engulfed her as a tempest of throbbing volleyed back and forth in her head. The torment prevented her from clear thinking and she did not even care to analyze where she was or how she arrived. She tried to quell the storm by pressing her hands firmly against her temples. It provided no relief but the activity did make her realize that she was not wearing her gloves but still donned her cowl. It was the only thought she had before slipping back into a fitful stupor.
The next awakening was painless and serene. Slowly, she opened one eye to see if anyone was in the room with her. She was alone. She assessed her situation. She still had on her mask. That was good. God, how long had she been out? Her gloves had been removed as well as her boots and tights. Dear Jesus, was I raped? I still have my panties on, that is a good sign that I wasn’t. She noticed each of the missing costume items and her utility belt were hanging on the wall by a hanger positioned on a nail in the wall. The apartment was clean but the styling looked as if it had been decorated several decades ago. Yet it was not worn or tired, just out of date. She heard a noise in the next room and put her head down and pretended to sleep. The door opened.
She heard a few steps and then felt a body sit on the side of the bed. She could tell by the way the mattress sunk, he was over 200 pounds.
“I am glad to see you finally awoke. I was beginning to worry about you.” The voice was very self-assured and comforting. It was what “cool” sounded like.
Batgirl opened her eyes and sat up. “Where am I? Why have you taken me here? What sick things have you done to me?”
Unflustered he replied in the same tone as before, “You are in my home. I took you here because you needed medical attention. Hopefully, what I have “done to you” is helped you recover.”
“Oh yeah, then why did you take off my pants? What are you some kind of sick pervert?”
“When I found you your pants and panties were down at your ankles and if anything I made you more decent. The reason I did not put your pants back on is because, sister, you have been out of commission for three days. Superhero or not, you still piss and shit like the rest of us. This was just easier for me to clean you up.”
Batgirl burned deep red in embarrassment. This was not something she had thought about before entering crime fighting. Finally, she decided to see if her humiliation was complete. “Did you take off my mask and compromise my secret identity?”
“No.” For once there was a trace of annoyance in his voice.
“How do I know if you are telling the truth?”
“You don’t. Listen, I took you to my home and not a hospital because with your get- up and all I did not know if the hospital would protect your identity or, if you cared. Until I knew your situation, I respected it. End of discussion.”
He seemed to have an answer for all her questions. “If you were respecting me like you said, why don’t you let me go?”
“You can go,” he responded, “I am not restraining you. Listen, I know you do some good work on the streets. I thought I was helping out someone who thought like me. Maybe I was wrong.”
Batgirl now felt stupid. “Wait - I am sorry. I’m just a bit confused. Let’s start over. My name is Batgirl.”
“I know. I am John Shaft.”
Now that she was more settled in her surroundings Batgirl engaged Shaft in earnest conversation ranging from his background as a special services soldier for the military to what exactly happened to her that led to her convalescence.
“The problem, Batgirl,” Shaft opined, “is that you differentiate between adult criminals and kid criminals. Maybe during sentencing there should be different considerations for rehabilitation but during the act they are all vicious scum and should be dealt with in the most extreme way possible. You were so anxious to cut those kids slack that you almost got yourself killed.”
“That’s a slippery slope, Shaft. Many of the kids committing crime have a range of issues to deal with. Being ‘extreme’ as you say in stopping the crime could also lead to ‘extreme’ behavior in rehabilitation and a lifetime of animosity and mistrust toward authority.”
“You don’t think adults doing crimes have issues, too? Listen, you are going to save some of the kids and not save the others. It’s a fact - accept it. The ones saved will learn through tough love and clear lines of acceptable behavior and unacceptable behavior. I was one of those punks. The military straightened my ass out. I found out quickly how tough I wasn’t. After a few whuppin’s I learned to walk straight. I stayed in because I knew there was someone out there that could always skin my ass. It wasn’t until I grew into top form of my fighting skills that I realized I had the responsibility to return to the street and instill some discipline to those inclined to be lazy.”
Batgirl felt he was a bit heavy handed but was too exhausted to take the argument further. Instead, she chose to take a tangent, “You think you are the best? Do you think you could whup my ass, Shaft?”
“Please, girl, in a minute.”
“And Batman, too?”
Shaft considered it for a moment. “I never seen him in action but I heard he’s good. It would depend on who is on top of their game that day.”
Commissioner Gordon was worried about his daughter. It had been a week since he had heard from her and she wasn’t at her apartment any of the times he stopped by. Since she became rich it wasn’t too unusual for her to take off on a moment’s notice but she always let him know. The father in him was worried but his police instincts told him that she was okay. He decided to trust the latter since he always considered himself a better cop than father.
He was hoping to float his ideas about retirement to her and see how she would react. Even though she had proposed the idea herself, she did it knowing he would never agree. Now he wanted to hear her advice when she knew he was seriously considering it. He considered taking to O’Hara about it as well but lately the Chief had been acting distant and their connection on a few issues was off. No, he would talk to him after Barbara.
O’Hara decided to make an unannounced visit to one of his troubled precincts. He chose to do it without his usual entourage, even contemplating doing it in plain clothes. However, the love of his uniform won out so he stopped by the 77th to talk to some of the men. He chose the 77th because it was a busy station located in a district with juries that let the criminals right back on the street. He entered the front door and was greeted with a logjam of citizens and criminals all clamoring for the desk sergeant. He saw this as an opportunity to sneak behind the scenes before he was noticed and the buzz of his presence set in. He headed for the locker room where the men spoke freely. Something about showering together made men bond.
What he discovered was two of the City’s finest duking it out while being cheered on by their blue brothers and sisters of the law. He moved in to break it up and immediately the crowd disappeared leaving the two combatants standing there alone and postured for receiving a lecture. O’Hara took a different tactic and sat the boys down for a discussion about what was good and what was bad about their jobs. Thinking they were sacked anyway they were candid. Their frustrations over not being able to do their job were palpable. Instead of busting the heads of criminals they were busting their own heads. “Yes, it making sense,” thought O’Hara, “these are young men and women with youth and energy on their side. They need outlets. We are suppressing their aggression which is making them do shoddy police work.” O’Hara thanked them for their honesty and headed out with a plan to resurrect his force.
Batgirl tried to get up but was still too disoriented to make it to the hook that held the rest of her costume. “Listen, why don’t you take it easy. If you need anything, I’ll bring it to you.” She did not like the feeling of dependency but she was hurting and in no condition to be a superhero.
“I do have a favor, Shaft,” Batgirl started, “I need to make a phone call and check in with the Commissioner.”
“Great, my phone used to hook up with ‘the Man’. Don’t you be telling any of my neighbors about this.”
“I won’t, I promise,” Batgirl smiled back. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I have a little privacy?”
“Sure, no problemo. The last thing I want is to be called into a conversation with that racist.” Shaft handed her the phone and left the room closing the door behind him.
Immediately, Batgirl wanted to shoot back in her father’s defense. She knew he was a fair and just man, certainly not racist. However, if she was drawn into that conversation she couldn’t trust herself to be anyone but his daughter. She dialed his number.
“Hi Daddy, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to call you before I left town but I am okay and expect to be home in a few days. I miss you. I love you, too.”
With Shaft’s permission Batgirl hung out a few more days in his apartment. He was actually a great healer plus she liked his company despite his sometimes, outrageous views. Deep down she knew he was one of the good guys who cared about making the world, or his slice of it, a better place. It also didn’t hurt her eyes to see him come out of the shower each morning wrapped in a towel. His physique was impeccable. Muscles cut proportionately in all the right places and a healthy lump that the towel could not hide.
One day when Shaft was out Batgirl decided that four or five days of her own funk was enough and she headed for the bathroom to steam off. It felt odd taking off her costume in another person’s apartment but, strangely, it charged her with a little sexual excitement as well. Stripping herself of her panties she wanted to throw them out but decided to soak them instead. Taking off her cowl and wig she inspected herself in front of the mirror and was shocked at what she saw. Her physique had not faded but she carried a serious large bruise that covered her left rib cage and the excessive bed rest gave her puffy eyes and robbed her of some cutting edge form. In the grooming department her pubes, armpits and legs were all nubby. She searched his bathroom for a razor but could only find and electric. She decided to let it go until she returned home. Thankfully, his shower was hot and it was miraculous in its ability to clear her head and revitalize her spirit. She stayed in for a good twenty minutes until the hot water finally exhausted itself.
Stepping out, she noticed a bathrobe that he never seemed to wear so she put it on and wrapped the towel around her head. She decided to make herself a cup of tea and was sitting sideways in a recliner chair in his living room when she heard the keys turning in the door locks. Barbara sat there and thought for a second about what she should do even though she had really made that decision before she took off a stitch of clothing. If he saw her without her costume she didn’t care. There was something about him she could trust.
Shaft walked through the door and saw a white woman sitting in his living room and quickly figured out what was up. He closed the door swiftly after entering and turned his face into it to avoid seeing Batgirl.
“It’s okay, Shaft. I don’t mind if you see me without my costume. Heck you had plenty of chances when I was unconscious.”
“Well, you may not mind but I do. Could you please put it back on?”
Batgirl was shocked. Anyone else would pay top dollar to see the famous crime fighter unmasked. She found his behavior a bit childish. “Really, Shaft, I don’t mind.”
“Please.” His emphasis made her respect his seriousness.
Batgirl shouted form the bathroom, “My costume is soaking in your sink. Is it okay if I just wear my mask?”
Thankful that she was complying he said, “That will do.”
Bruce Wayne woke up to an empty suite and when he called the front desk he was informed that Miss Limpet had already checked out. How peculiar, he thought. She barely said two words to me after the balcony yet when we slept, all night I felt her clinging to my body. What a Jekyll and Hyde that woman is. The crazy thing I thing she is the perfect woman: intellectually brilliant as Jekyll and a sexual dynamo as Hyde. Where do these girls come from? He decided he must find out more about her.
At his Los Cielos office he spent the morning gathering information about the mysterious Miss Limpet. To his dismay her sponsor was Lawrence Pierce, the cad who stole Barbara. He probably designed the computer crossword program they were playing last night, too. Why does that geek need to crisscross into my life, Bruce pondered?
By the next day Batgirl felt fully powered. All her conditioning was geared toward rapid recovery and it paid off. She was actually full of nervous energy from all the non-activity and she suggested to Shaft that they spar to see if he was as good as he proclaimed. He hesitated and she egged him on bantering with his manhood. Finally, he had enough and agreed to teach her a few of his tricks learned in the jungles and on the streets. Batgirl sarcastically thanked him for the generous offer.
They agreed to work out in an abandoned factory where they both felt confident they would not be bothered. Seeing all the hanging chains and suspended walkways, Batgirl sprinted off and flew from landing to landing like a kid in a jungle gym. Her body control while airborne was impressive, Shaft thought and told her so.
“You should see Robin,” replied Batgirl a bit breathlessly, “his acrobatics are really special.” By the disinterested look on his face, Batgirl could see that Shaft really did not care too much for the dynamic duo, which humored her since everyone else seemed so fascinated by the mere mention of their names.
“Come on let’s get started. I have work to do,” Shaft entreated.
“What do you do anyway other than fight Gotham City’s criminals?” Batgirl asked.
“I am a private detective and a point of clarification: I do not fight Gotham’s criminals - I keep order on the streets in my neighborhood.”
“All right, all right, you are so peculiar. Okay, where do we start?”
Batgirl stood there as Shaft began his lesson with a military influenced setup on respecting your combatant enough to kill them. He then segued from the battlefield to the streets and demonstrated how styles had to adjust to attack those not trained. It was a lesson she already knew but the way that he implemented his adjustments was masterful. She was soon aware of how dangerous this man really was and realized that if she skirmished with him she would have no chance. He knew so much and knew how to execute so well and so thoroughly.
Shaft was impressed by Batgirl’s toughness and realized that the kids’ successful attack on her was a fluke. She could hold her own in most situations and the harder he pressed the better she got. While she was much stronger than most of the women he had ever encountered what really astounded him was her speed. She was probably quicker than he on some moves and if they ever fought for real her speed would enable her to score some points on him before he killed her. He could not say that about most of the adversaries he faced.
After several hours of impressing each other Batgirl and Shaft caught each other’s eyes and knew it was time to call it a day. Both their bodies glimmered with the fluids of a good work out. The exercise ended on one of the suspended walkways and as they walked they boastfully joked about who would experience the relief of the shower first.
“There ain’t no question about it, it’s my shower, I go first,” Shaft said with macho bravado.
“But I’m your guest. I know your mamma didn’t raise you to be rude to your company.”
“Don’t you be talking about my mamma. Besides, I’m kicking you out. You are no longer my guest. Therefore, it is my shower.” He gave he a big exaggerated smile that Batgirl found so charming to his handsomely rich features.
“I’ll tell you what, Shaft, I’ll fight you for it.”
“You’d have better luck flipping a coin or bowling for it, woman.”
“Come on, we’ll do thumb wrestling,” and adding flirtatiously, “right here, right now.”
Shaft laughed. “You know I was neighborhood champion in that growing up.”
“I hear a lot of talk but I don’t see any thumb,” Batgirl challenged.
Soon they had their hands locked and were feinting and parrying with their thumbs as they laughed like children. No more than two minutes into the ‘epic’ battle their hands were still moving instinctively but their eyes were locked onto each other again. This time Batgirl made the first move collapsing her elbows so she could press her chest into his stomach and tilt her head upward to meet his lips.
They wasted little time kissing. Batgirl used her teeth to tug at her gloves and once they were removed she reached behind her back to undo the zipper of her tunic. Like a second skin, the top peeled off with Shaft’s assistance. As the materials pulled away from her body her breasts remained exactly positioned when covered. Admiring the glorious shape of her orbs, Shaft leaned over, simultaneously touching her left bosom with his hand and mouth. His kissed around her sweet pink aureole but his mustache tickled it as his face brushed by. Her giggle prompted him to grab the nipple with his lips and tenderly drag the flesh away and stretching it until it popped out of his mouth. Her whole breast tingled as the tip hardened. Batgirl’s giggle melted into a moan.
Shaft continued to lick her nipple and the whole area of her left breast and smoothly slid over to the right one. Both of Batgirl’s breasts now heaved with excitement and she placed her hands on his bare shoulders and subtly pushed him lower. Shaft fell to his knees. He was still tall enough from that position to kiss and lick her honed abs and have enough leverage to grab the waistband of her tights and slid them down to her knees, taking her panties with them. Staring directly at her pussy, he reached with his right hand and stroked the lips of her vagina from back to front. Each caress made her more charged with excitement and when he finally placed his mouth on her sex it was all she could do to not gush all over his face. Batgirl was touched be his sensitivity during foreplay. She would have expected a man so potentially brutal to enjoy roughing it up. Instead he was lapping it up. And she couldn’t be more enraptured.
His tongue work was now centered on her clitoris, which felt engorged with passion. He had only discovered it for barely a minute when she felt a swelling that could not be suppressed. Batgirl screamed out as her orgasm rushed through her loins and she grabbed the back of his head to hold him firmly against her pussy as she caught her breath. The thought of him continuing his tongue strokes was too much.
Composing herself, Batgirl reached for his hands to lead him to an upright position. This time she fell to her knees and placed her face near his crotch. She could see his bulge but as she traced it with her finger she realized it went all the way down to his thigh. “This is going to be memorable,” she thought. His warm-up pants easily parted from his waist and Batgirl pulled them down slowly to tease herself with the anticipation of his huge shlong. As the pants slowly descended Batgirl kissed the tops of his thighs and swung around to kiss his bare and muscled glutes. His pants had completely passed the point where his ass met his legs and his python had still not emerged. Finally, she could not wait any longer and she swung around again and reached in for her prize.
His cock was everything she hoped it would be. It was as big as the one she enjoyed with Batman but while his had a veiny muscularity, Shaft’s was a sleek missle. Batgirl couldn’t wait to put it in her mouth. She found his easier to take deeply and she used her free hands to guide it in without choking. Batman and Bruce were the only ones she had sucked off while wearing her mask and it brought back a renewed feeling of power and excitement. As her head rocked back and forth it dawned on her that he was the first Black man she had ever been with or seen naked. She found the different texture of his pubic hair interesting and wanted to take her mouth off him for a second to inspect his balls to see if they, too, differed from what she knew. Just as her lips separated from his howitzer, things changed.
Shaft grabbed her by the shoulder socket with one hand and lifted her up and off the ground where she landed on her feet. He spun her around and pressed her into the rail spotting them on the overhead walkway. Without any words or warning, he took his dick, split her pussy with its head, and jerked a deep penetration up her vagina. Usually after an orgasm she was a little dry so she gasped in anticipation of the pain but it never occurred. His pre-cum, her saliva, and the perspiration from their lovemaking provided enough lubrication for him to drive his big rig all the way home. What was a gentle interlude before was now a furious exercise with his hips slapping into her butt and large beads of sweat bouncing off their bodies. The slapping of skin and his grunting sounded frightening but it was actually exhilarating. He held one of his hands on her hip and the other was grabbing the top of her mask by the ear and pulling back. Each stroke of Shaft’s pole rubbed against her clitoris making the already charged organ even more alive. The thrill of having him inside her, completely, was wonderfully overwhelming but what was driving this orgasm was not the union but with each thrust he was pulling her mask up, gradually over her eyes, and revealing her face. Oh to be controlled and loved so thoroughly…
Batgirl was going to jerk her head forward to force the cowl entirely over her head but before she could act Shaft pulled out of her vagina and now pushed her head forward over the railing. He grabbed his cock and aimed it right for her asshole, jamming it in again without warning. It took a second for Batgirl to figure out what was happening. Only a moment ago she was delighting in the pleasure of a fantasy now she felt something she had never experienced before. This was another first for Batgirl. She couldn’t figure out if she enjoyed it or not but it felt better than she would have guessed. With each thrust she felt a whole-body fulfillment and stuck out her butt in exaggerated sways to meet the flow. Shaft’s grunts were now close to yelps and he delivered a payload of semen as bountiful as his massive cock. He was still coming as he withdrew from Batgirl’s butt and the remainder of his wad mixed with the sweat that had formed a coating on her skin. Both fell to the metal floor with nothing left to give.
Back at Barbara Gordon’s apartment the phone was ringing with no one to notice except a neglected parrot named Charlie. Lawrence Pierce had flown back in town and there was only one person he wanted to see. He had been trying to call her all day. “That woman can be as elusive as I,” he mused.
Chief O’Hara returned from a meeting with the captains of all the precincts. He boldly announced the new “get tough” policy that was to be enacted immediately. He challenged them to be as aggressive as possible and he pledged to support any officer who may be singled out by the liberal and pansy media. The reaction to his decree was enthusiastic and he received a five-minute ovation at the end of his speech. So excited were they to communicate the message to their force the next morning that a few of the captains chose to bust a few heads of “known” street scum on the way to their favorite tavern.
Commissioner Gordon was glad that his daughter had finally returned. She didn’t say where she had been when she called to inform him that she was back but her voice sounded peaceful and quite content. He wondered if she finally met the man who would settle her down. He sat in their usual booth at the diner downstairs form her apartment waiting for her to meet him. When she walked in her eyes went directly to him and she flashed a broad smile that reminded him of her mother. It did not take much effort for her to make him feel better and as she approached he felt slightly embarrassed at how much he really loved her.
He had planned on skipping the pleasantries and wasting no time in telling her of his plans for retirement but once she sat down he realized that he was more interested in her. “So, young lady, you look wonderful. Where did you spirit off to this time?”
Barbara did not like to lie to her father if she could avoid it so usually she chose to be evasive or diversionary, “Oh, Daddy, no where more special than sitting here with you.”
“Is that so? Well, little girl, you look positively fulfilled. Are you back with Bruce or is there a new man I should know about?”
“Bruce? Lord, no. I just went to a seminar of sorts where I learned a lot and met some interesting people.”
“A seminar can make you look that satisfied? What on earth could it have been about?”
“I guess you could say it focused on real urban life in the inner city,” she began and returning to her tactics of distraction she asked,” but enough about me, you are the one who wanted to tell me something. Is everything alright?”
He proceeded to outline his thinking over the past few weeks carefully omitting his liaisons with Catwoman and the Siren and his lust for Batgirl. As her father went on Barbara realized he had not thought his retirement through. She wanted to tell him it was the wrong time and the wrong reasons for change. However, he seemed determined. She decided to at least distract him form acting to precipitously. “I think there is merit to what you want to do and, as I have said before, nothing would make me happier to share my blessings with you. However, you haven’t completed your homework. Retiring is only half of the act. You must have a plan for what you would do in your spare time. You are only 55 years old, Daddy. There is a lot that you can do: travel, take up new hobbies, golf, whatever. Why don’t you think about it and we can talk about your options over the next couple of weeks.”
“I am so glad I spoke to you first, honey. You always see things so clearly. I will do that. To think having homework at my age.”
Barbara knew that a few weeks would turn into a few months and then a few years. She just had to accept the fact that her father would go to his grave wearing his shield.
Leaving the diner, Barbara wondered how she should deal with the other men in her life. Lawrence called, wanting desperately to see her and explain his disappearance. She wanted to see him also but was wary of investing too much emotionally. And what about her relationship with Shaft? Were they dating? Having sex was not dating but they seemed to have connected on other levels as well. Yet, he did not even know who she was. He screwed Batgirl. Could she manage two relationships with each of her personas? Her life, she concluded, was too weird to think about, she should just see how it evolves.
She agreed to meet Lawrence at his townhouse where he promised her a nice, romantic dinner. After being cooped up for so many days Barbara would have preferred a restaurant but she was cogniscent of his desire for privacy and being seen out with her would have prompted an unwanted paparazzi frenzy. She was getting the homebody life she always wanted. She did decide, however, that whatever his excuse Lawrence was not getting any action tonight. First of all, because he didn’t deserve it after virtually abandoning her and second, because she had agreed with the Commissioner to be on stand-by duty since Batman was out of town. Dinner would have to be a quick affair.
He greeted her at the door himself and immediately began to talk about the books he read since they last saw each other. Given the number of titles he was spewing off you would thing that it had been years not months since they talked. That was Lawrence, though and he wasn’t even showing off. He probably omitted a few books. As he talked about different plot summaries and styles she took a good look at him and realized that whatever physical attraction she felt had faded or needed a serious jumpstarting. He just looked so frail and sickly. Barbara regrouped her thoughts toward his direction and rejoined him in conversation.
As he went on Barbara realized that he still had not told her where he had been or why he did not call. She kept waiting for him to get to that point but he always found a way to transition to a different topic. She decided she would ask him during dinner.
Dinner was an elegant affair, candlelit and intimate. His butler who seemed to be the only servant in the house served them. ‘What is it with these billionaire playboys and their trusted butlers?’ thought Barbara. The wine particularly complemented the venison they were eating and before she knew it Barbara was on her third glass. Normally, that might have made her slightly tipsy but she was beginning to feel completely out of control. She set her glass on the table and tried to focus on what Lawrence was saying now. He was talking about sports, which was an odd topic for him to cover. The next thing she knew Barbara was standing up and walking across the table toward Pierce. Almost like an outer body experience Barbara was helplessly as she witnessed herself unbuttoning her blouse and presenting her breasts in Lawrence’s face.
“Barbara, can’t this wait for later?” he asked dispassionately.
“No, no, no because you ain’t gittin’any tonight, loverboy.”
“Ain’t? Gittin’? Loverboy? Barbara, really, you should watch your grammar.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing from her own mouth. She should be the one resisting him. Barbara pulled him up from his care with a force that surprised and frightened Pierce. “I’ll show you proper diction, young man.” While she was speaking she felt as if she was slurring her words but they sounded normal. Her actions were slurred though and she fumbled for his belt and zipper. Releasing his pants from any restraints she pulled them down with his underwear to his ankles. She fell to her knees and looked directly at his stiffened equipment. It took her a moment to realize he was fully erect because just based on size he looked like one of the boys’ penises she saw at summer camp many years ago. Still feeling rowdy and incredibly aroused she stood back up and dropped her own slacks. She sat him down at his chair again and lowered herself onto his modest offering.
After sliding up and down his penetration a few times and barely feeling him inside of her Barbara performed an about face and opened herself up to him again from a rear angle. Still, his penetration offered no satisfaction for the loving she was craving. So with his dick (that looked fragile, too) still inside her vagina she licked two of her fingers and began to rub her clit. This finally was bringing some relief. Barbara increased the pressure with which she was rubbing herself as well as the velocity. With each stroke she began to feel more and more turned on and started caressing her breasts over her bra to increase the pleasure. Soon she was beginning to churn harder and faster hoping that Lawrence would keep up. What she failed to realize was that he had already come and was sitting idly as she masturbated. The welling inside her was coming to a boiling point and with two tugs at her clit with her thumb and middle finger she began to have an orgasm and screaming out Lawrence’s name. He was smart enough to realize she was just being kind and he sat there emotionless and expressionless as Barbara thrashed on his lap. The following morning Barbara would wake up in his bed with a splitting headache and barely able to recall anything beyond the dinner from the night before. She sensed they had sex but was too embarrassed to admit she couldn’t remember it.
When she returned home to her apartment the following morning, Barbara popped a few aspirins and thought about hitting the streets as Batgirl for a rare daytime appearance. When she entered the secret closet in her bedroom she immediately noticed the message light flashing on her computer monitor. A while back she had arranged with Batman to have emergency messages forwarded from the Batcave if he could not respond. It sent a message to her computer, which in turn notified her through a pager in her utility belt. “Oh my God, how could I have forgotten?” lamented the suffering crime fighter.
She dreaded going to the Commissioner’s office after such a gaffe but understood her responsibility and changed as fast as her throbbing head would allow. The trip to City Hall on her Batcycle was a double-edged sword. The noise amplified her the pain but the wind in her face brought fresh relief. Fifteen feet from the Commissioner’s door she started a slight jog. Batgirl wanted to convey a sense of urgency and she did not want the Commissioner or worse Chief O’ Hara to suspect she wasn’t one hundred percent. She burst in his office, “Commissioner, Chief what is the emergency?”
“It’s past an emergency and more like history now, Batgirl. Thanks for finally gracing us with your presence,” O’Hara delivered with hateful sarcasm.
“Batgirl, I’m glad you’re here,” offered the Commissioner who had come to ignore his chief’s disparages toward her, “we had a major break-in at the Gotham Library last night. I’m afraid some priceless books and artifacts were stolen.”
“The library?” Batgirl’s heart sunk. Not only was she (literally) sleeping on the job but her own backyard was terrorized. Nervously she continued, “what was taken?”
Chief O’ Hara went through a devastating list of items. Many of the books were ones that she was instrumental in acquiring. All the satisfaction she felt she had made toward a cultural contribution evaporated in one reckless night.
“Any…any clues?” she stammered.
“Well, sort of,” the Chief continued, “the thief left behind a library card, an authentic Gotham City library card, issued to a Mr. Bookworm. Of course, library files have no record of its issuance.”
“Gentlemen, I will get on this right away,” Batgirl promised, “Mr. Bookworm will be apprehended.
As a parting shot O’ Hara added, “Aah, maybe you should wait until Batman returns.” Batgirl just glared at him and left.
Batgirl’s research unearthed other crimes, many actually, that the Bookworm had committed all with the trademark library card personalized from each of the libraries he vandalized. This was just his first time victimizing Gotham City. Looking at the portfolio of his work she had to concede that his selections were brilliant. He stole books that were singularly rare. Valuing them in the market would be impossible. He must be taking them for himself she thought.
Always the librarian Batgirl cross-referenced the stories from many angles and noticed quite by accident that Lawrence had been at many of the locations at around the same time where libraries were hit. “If he wasn’t with me last night, I would have to suspect him,” she thought.
Hoping that the Bookworm might still be in town, Batgirl decided to plan a trap. Being a bibliophile of means she had acquired quite an enviable collection of rare books herself. She decided to announce in light of the recent burglaries that she was going to entrust to the books to Batgirl who would be taking them to the First Gotham City Bank for safekeeping. She made sure that several important details would be leaked.
To her surprise that night on television a spokeswoman for the Bookworm was speaking to reporters. She was beautiful young lady wearing tight clothes highlighting a wonderful figure. She concluded her remarks by announcing, “Batgirl is irrelevant, the Bookworm would be checking out Miss Gordon’s literary jewels shortly.”
“It’s bad enough that he is depriving the world of important pieces of literature but challenging me directly…I’ll show him,” she groused.
On the other coast Bruce Wayne watched the summary newscast on ZNN and thought, “Bookworm’s spokeswoman, I know that face, where have I seen it? “ He pondered the puzzle for some time as he searched his databases for dirt on Lawrence Pierce. He had been searching for days for some tidbit of information in order to discredit him in front of Barbara. It was petty he knew, but he could not think of anything else to win her back. Then while staring at the obvious on his computer screen, the whole big picture dawned on him, “that woman, it’s Miss Limpet!” Batgirl was being set up. Lawrence Pierce was the Bookworm. He had to get back and save her.