BATGIRL'S XXX-MAS NIGHTMARE
By Hugo Strange
(Disclaimer - everything herein is a fantasy about fictitious people, and does not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author. A great deal of the situations involved are neither safe, sane, consensual or risk-aware and should not be attempted at home, and the story is packed with bondage, mind control, forced orgasm, occasional rape and deadly peril. If any of this will offend you, please stop reading now.)
CHAPTER ONE: MERRY CHRISTMAS, BATGIRL
"Relax. Batman. I have a feeling that this Christmas is going to be Batgirl's best ever."
Batman didn't sound convinced.
"Just remember that with Robin and myself stuck in Lapland investigating the Joker's Santa Claus Crimes, you're on your own until Boxing Day," he growled over the earpiece. "Once the batplane flies beyond contact range, we're cut off - and we won't be able to help you out of any trouble you get into."
Barbara Gordon's eyes narrowed behind the visor of her motorcycle helmet as she raced down the Gotham freeway towards the docks. "What's that supposed to mean? That I can't do the job without Batman looking over my shoulder?"
"Hardly. I wouldn't be leaving you on your own if I didn't think you could handle it. Your work's improved drastically over the past year."
Barbara sighed as she gunned the engine and swerved to overtake an SUV. Even when paying her a compliment, Batman sounded like a middle-manager giving a performance review. At one point, like every other woman in Gotham, she'd fantasised about being taken to bed by the caped crusader - but that was before she'd actually gotten to know him. She couldn't imagine Batman ever cracking his shell enough to even masturbate, never mind actually have sex with anyone - unless it was somehow in the line of duty, of course.
Her lips twitched into a slight smile at the thought of Batman convincing himself it was his responsibility, as Protector Of Gotham, to screw some whore he'd picked up. He'd have a secret room in the Batcave for the job, naturally. Maybe he'd tell himself that it was vital to relieve tension in order to more efficiently fight his war on crime...
"Batgirl? Are you there?"
"Sorry. A little static over the radio." Barbara lied.
"Hmm. Well, Merry Christmas, Batgirl. And I meant what I said before - I know Gotham's in safe hands. Batman out."
"Thanks, Batman. Merry -" But the radio earpiece in her helmet had already gone dead. Barbara smiled and turned the bike towards the off-ramp, taking it into the warehouse district.
There was a good reason why her performance as Batgirl had improved so drastically. The previous January, she'd received a rather large inheritance - as Batgirl - from a billionaire whose grandson she'd rescued from some inept kidnappers. She'd invested the money in upgrading her operation, starting with the bike she was riding - a custom-made model that she'd had specially souped-up and painted with a special photo-reactive compound that turned from a sleek cherry red to her trademark yellow and purple colours, complete with a stylised bat-symbol, at the touch of a button.
She hadn't stopped there. Since Batman had the Batcave, Barbara had decided that Batgirl needed her own secret headquarters. She'd purchased an old abandoned warehouse next to the Gotham River, and kitted it out with state of the art computer and surveillance systems - not to mention a luxurious mini-apartment where she could relax, away from both the stresses and strains of her perilous life as Batgirl and the more mundane problems of Barbara Gordon: the 'Bat-Boudoir'. As a result of these purchases - and a few other hi-tech surprises to store in her utility belt - her anti-crime career had taken off in a big way, and now she found herself regularly going up against some surprisingly famous names. She'd already tangled with the Riddler once already this week - and she was determined that he'd be spending his Christmas Eve in a jail cell.
Checking to make sure the area was deserted, she activated the hidden switch on her handlebars that would unlock and open her HQ. The wooden boards apparently nailed over one of the side doors flipped open, and the door unlocked to let her drive in, before the apparatus closed up. To the naked eye, those old boards had been there for years.
Inside her hideout, Barbara took off her helmet and allowed her flame-red hair to tumble down to her shoulders, before stepping off the bike and walking straight to the terminal of her own Bat-computer to review the data on the Riddler case. He'd sent his first riddle a fortnight before:
From the President Of Puzzles - this one will keep you going in circles until you're 76. Riddle me this - when is a door not a door?
Barbara smiled ruefully. Her father had thought he'd cracked it, and ordered the Ajar Diamond, the most valuable exhibit in the Gotham City Museum, put under triple guard. Unfortunately, that left the second most valuable exhibit - a modern art masterpiece called 'The Blue Door' - unguarded and ripe for the taking. In its place, Riddler had left a note reading 'Ceci n'est pas un door'.
The night before - the 23rd - he'd sent a clue to his second crime.
Here's a real fun one for you, as Edgar Allen Poe might say - or was it Kruschev? Anyway, riddle me this - what's yellow and dangerous?
Another riddle with two answers. While the cops had argued about whether to guard the shark exhibit or the custard factory, the Commissioner had brought in Batgirl. She'd caught up with the Riddler - as well as his female sidekicks, Echo and Query - as they'd attempted to steal a shipment of yellowcake uranium. She'd managed to stop the robbery, but the Riddler had left her with a choice between stopping his escape and allowing a truck full of radioactive material to crash into a school bus. He'd promised a third riddle for New Year, but Batgirl intended to catch him tonight. If she knew the Riddler, he'd included a secret riddle within his riddles - laughing at the law by dangling the location of his hideout under their nose. She'd think it over in the Bat-Boudoir as she changed.
She noticed a strange scent in the air as she opened the door. A moment later, she saw the card on the dressing table.
"A Christmas card? Who could have -?" She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. A snowy landscape - some kind of farm scene, with a robin redbreast perched on an old fence in the foreground. She opened it up.
"'Thinking of you this Christmas - from the bird on the card.' Oh, that's sweet!" Barbara smiled, breathing in the scented card - like jasmine, but spicier, somehow. Batman and Robin both had keycards to let them in in case of emergencies - Robin must have snuck in and left it for her.
She took a final sniff of the exotic scent, then peeled off her bike leathers and stepped out of the bedroom to the shower. The card had been a lovely surprise. She was developing a king-size crush on Robin - the Boy Wonder had grown into a gorgeous nineteen-year-old college student by the time she'd joined up with the bat-team - and she was fairly sure it was reciprocated, but she hadn't been certain until now. Maybe she should give him a Christmas present of her own.
She grinned, soaping herself down, imagining the scene: Robin, coming back to the Batcave to find her bent over the hood of the Batmobile in her cowl, gloves and boots - and nothing else. The thought was out of character for her - not so much the idea of having her way with the Man Wonder, but the thought of going about it in such a shameless way. God, imagine if Batman came in! She'd get the lecture of a lifetime - hell, she'd probably lose her bat-symbol priveleges.
The thought of Batman catching her being so slutty just seemed to make her hotter. Good grief, was she developing a thing for him, too? Or was it just the idea of being caught?
Barbara reminded herself that she didn't have time for fun and games right now - not with the Riddler planning more mayhem. And not when she was close to solving his little puzzle. She'd already worked out that bit with Edgar Allen Poe and Kruschev. "Move over, Mr. So-called World's Greatest Detective," she smirked, picking her costume out of the wardrobe.
The sheer purple fabric fit her like a second skin, despite being warm enough to protect against the chill of winter. As she fastened her utility belt, she couldn't help but admire the way it accentuated her perfect figure. "You look sensational, Batgirl," she purred, running her hands over her sleek, shimmering curves. She'd never felt quite so sexy before - she'd thought being the sole guardian of Gotham would have brought on a case of nerves, but if anything the idea was exciting her.
"What the hell," she murmured, and picked out her best boots - the ones with the five-inch stiletto heels, that she kept for charity functions. She knew it was a little reckless, but they did incredible things to her legs, and tonight she wanted to look dazzling. After she'd applied a little makeup - again, not something she did for ordinary patrols - she pulled on her gloves and admired herself one last time.
"The Riddler won't know what hit him - literally." She purred, then strutted to the computer. The final piece of the puzzle had come to her while she was touching up her lipgloss - 'going in circles' could also be described as 'making revolutions'. Add that to '76' and the reference to being the President...
Then there was the second riddle. What did Poe and Kruschev have in common? Burial - in famous horror stories or a famous quotation from the floor of the UN. And if 'real fun' happened to be an anagram...
"George Washington Funeral Services - proprietor, Edgar Madwin... or should that be Edward Nigma?" Batgirl struck a triumphant pose, hands on hips, then boarded her Batgirl-cycle. It was time for that showdown with the Riddler - and she was feeling sexier and more confident than ever before.
Nothing could go wrong.
CHAPTER TWO: BATGIRL HAS A COFFIN FIT
Everything had gone wrong.
Batgirl's overconfidence had gotten the better of her, and she'd gone through the skylight of the funeral home without checking first - landing right in the middle of the Riddler's planning session with his henchwomen.
Still, even surrounded, she could have beaten all three of them if she hadn't been so off her game. Instead of being focussed, she'd been distracted, flashing back to her fantasies of seducing Robin when she should have been concentrating on the fight - and she'd paid the price. Echo - or Query - had cracked her around the back of the head with the Riddler's question-mark cane, and Riddler had pinned her arms while she was dazed. After that, binding her had been easy.
All in all, it had been her worst performance as a crime-fighter ever.
She didn't think she was going to be allowed a do-over.
"Time for another riddle with two answers, Batgirl." Nigma chuckled, resting his hand on a lever set into the wall. "Riddle me this - who's the hottest heroine on the Gotham crimefighting scene?" He waited a moment, drumming his fingers. "No answer?"
"Mmmmppphh!" Batgirl mewled indignantly, glossy lips stretched around a red ballgag. Her wrists and elbows were lashed together with tight white rope, with more rope wound around her thighs, above and below her knees, and at her ankles, binding her legs tightly together - with a crotchrope between them as an extra touch of humiliation. Lying on her back in his position, with her arms underneath her, was incredibly uncomfortable - although that was nothing compared to the agony the Riddler had in store for her.
Echo and Query had placed her on a specially built coffin-lid, with straps at the top and bottom for her throat and ankles. Once they'd been secured, there was no way she was getting off it. After that, the coffin-lid and its helpless cargo were carried downstairs, to the Chapel of Rest, and placed on a long conveyor belt which led to a pair of curtains, while the Riddler - in a customised priest outfit - stood behind the pulpit. Batgirl had a nasty feeling she knew what the answer to this riddle was going to be.
"Give up? Too bad. The answer is... you... in more ways than one!" He laughed, throwing the lever - and the curtains drew back to reveal a cremating oven, with flickering flames leaping up inside. "Or at least, it will be - in roughly two minutes, as the conveyor carries you feet-first into the flames... slowly!"
"MMMMPPPHH!!" Batgirl screamed into the gag, instinctively struggling against the bonds, but the heavy coffin-lid didn't even rock on the belt. The Riddler shook his head in mock sadness.
"Funerals depress me. Maybe we should leave Batgirl to grieve alone..."
Echo and Query, dressed in widows weeds complete with veils, laughed and passed a bucket of popcorn between them. "Are you crazy, Eddie? This is the most fun we've had in weeks!"
Batgirl squirmed, feeling the ropes bite into her flesh as she desperately tried to get at the knots on her wrists. Her utility belt was upstairs, too far away to save her, and her heels were perhaps five feet from the roaring flames. She could already feel the heat. If she couldn't get her arms free, she was doomed to an incredibly slow, painful death.
Worse, every time she moved, the crotchrope pulled tight between her thighs rubbed maddeningly against her pussy and clit, through the material of her costume. She couldn't understand why, in this moment of terrible peril, she found herself focussing on that - on the ropes caressing her body, binding her arms and legs so tightly, the gag in her mouth, the tight straps holding her throat, making her so incredibly helpless...
"Mmmmngg..." Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned softly into her gag, feeling the rope digging tighter into her, arching her back, knowing that insidious belt was carrying her closer and closer to the flames and she couldn't do anything more than wiggle and squirm and...
Her eyes suddenly snapped open, wide. Was she... was she enjoying this?
She had to focus. She had maybe thirty seconds left to slip her bonds. If she didn't manage to slip out of those ropes - those tight ropes - she'd be cooked, literally. The coffin lid would probably block most of the heat at first, so she'd actually be awake inside the chamber, slowly roasting alive, still bound so very, very tightly... unable to escape her awful fate... completely... and utterly... helpless...
"Mmmhhh... oohhhhmmmm..." Her head fell back and her hips began to buck against the crotchrope, feeling the waves of arousal wash over her. In a few more seconds, it would be too late - her fate would be sealed - but she couldn't seem to stop herself from squirming, writhing, bringing herself closer and closer to -
"Hold it! Hold everything!" Riddler barked, grabbing the switch and yanking it up. The conveyor bely juddered to a halt, with Batgirl's feet inches from the flames as they flickered and died.
"Mmmm?" Batgirl's eyes fluttered open again, and she looked up at the shocked face of the Riddler, and then at Echo and Query.
Echo looked disgusted. "That is just... wrong!" She turned to Query. "You saw it too, right?"
Query bit her lip. "She did kind of look like she was -"
"She was getting off on it!" Echo yelled, shaking her head. "That's just sick! Batgirl, you are sick!"
"Only one way to be sure." Riddler frowned, then hopped down from the pulpit and reached for Batgirl's squirming crotch. Her eyes went wide and she shook her head as best the strap at her throat would allow.
"Mmmpphh! MMMPPPHH!!" She couldn't believe this was happening. Riddler carefully rubbed his fingers against the folds of her pussy, feeling them through the purple fabric, then raised them to his nose, sniffing and rubbing them together before giving his verdict.
"Riddle me this - what's about to come when it's about to go? The answer is - Batgirl." He reached down to feel her pussy again. "Have a feel. She's soaking."
"Ewww! Gross!" Echo frowned. "I'm not queuing up to feel her skanky cunt, Eddie!"
Query just stared. "Wow. What a freak."
Batgirl flushed, feeling even more helpless than before. Shameful as it was, she couldn't deny that she had been incredibly aroused - in fact, she probably would have come as she'd gone into the flames. Even feeling Riddler's fingers pressing against her folds was making her hotter - the humiliation of it, the knowledge that he could do anything he wanted to her, that he knew how hot she was, what a slut she was...
"Mmmmhh.." Her hips rose unconsciously, pressing against his fingers.
Riddler blinked. "Great Sphinx, she's into it! Unbelievable!" He continued stroking at Batgirl's dripping sex, making her groan into the gag, as his other hand moved to his belt buckle. "Echo, Query, take the rest of the night off. Go see a movie or something."
Batgirl blushed red. Surely he wasn't going to... she shook her head, renewing her struggle with the ropes, mmmpphhing desperately into the gag, her eyes wide. The thought of the Riddler doing that to her - it was horrific, obscene. It would be so incredibly degrading... so humiliating... and there was nothing she could do... he was going to undo the ropes just enough for him to cut away the crotch of her costume... then he'd grab her ankles, lift them up onto his shoulders... she'd never struggle free... and then he'd... he'd... ohhh... god...
"Eddie!" Echo yelled, breaking the spell. "Don't you dare! If you put your dick anywhere near that skank's cunt then I'm calling your wife!"
Riddler jerked his hands away. "You wouldn't -"
"Try me."
He stood up, scowling. "Fine. In that case, go get the 'surprise package' from next door. And the box under my bed." He looked down at Batgirl, smirking. "I think a secret like this needs to be shared with the world..."
CHAPTER THREE: BATGIRL'S DOUBLE DILEMMA
With the help of Echo and Query, Riddler manhandled Batgirl out of her bound position on the coffin lid, re-binding her wrists and ankles into the leather cuffs at the ends of two spreader bars, then padlocking them securely. She tried to fight back, but the henchwomen held her legs firmly and, after the stringent discomfort of her earlier bondage, her arms just wouldn't respond quickly enough to escape Riddler's grip. Moving quickly, he secured two ropes at each end of the bar securing her wrists, then ran them through a pair of pulleys connected to the ceiling and hoisted her up, leaving her feet dangling about a foot off the floor, her body held taut by a weight attached to the bottom bar. Almost as an afterthought, he removed her gag.
Batgirl swallowed as the yellow ball slipped free of her mouth. "You won't get away with this, Riddler --"
"Neither will you, Batgirl. Very soon - after we've left this hideout for something more secure - I'm going to place a call to the local press, offering them a Christmas Eve scoop. If you're lucky, they'll find you in the throes of orgasm and your kinky secret will be out." Riddler chuckled. "You'll never be able to show your mask in Gotham City again."
Batgirl blushed red. "I don't have a 'kinky secret', Nigma. I don't know what happened back there, but -" She paused. "If I'm lucky? What happens if I'm unlucky?"
Echo and Query, having assisted Riddler in getting her in her present predicant, were now busy carrying a large, heavy-looking object, covered by a sheet, in from an adjoining room. Giggling, they set it up in front of the struggling crime-fighter, before whipping away the covering to reveal a large and very deadly-looking crossbow, screwed to a metal stand. The massive iron bolt was pointed directly at Batgirl's heart.
"I think you get the point... or you will." Attached to the back of the crossbow, through a series of pulleys, was a long, thin string, with a red rubber ball attached to it. As Batgirl opened her mouth to protest, Riddler grabbed it and roughly forced it between her teeth.
"MmmmMMPH!" Batgirl snarled, about to spit the ball out - when she realised how taut the string was. That couldn't be good.
"Keep it in your mouth, Batgirl. Bite down hard. The second that string goes slack, an ingenious mechanism will fire that crossbow bolt directly between those perfect, pert breasts of yours. Speaking of which, I think the newspeople will want a better look at them." Smirking, Echo handed Riddler a sharp pair of dressmaker's scissors.
"MMMNNNGGG!" Batgirl almost let go of the ball as he stepped closer and begin to cut away her costume, careful to stay out of the crossbow's deadly firing line.
"Careful, darknight damsel. One scream - a cross word, even - and you're skewered. I wouldn't ever striggle too much - I might cut off something of value."
Batgirl bit down hard, and tried to stay still as the scissors flashed and cut at the tough fabric of her costume, stripping it away piece by piece until all that was left were a few tatters clinging to her boots and cloves, and the cowl hiding her identity.
"I think I'll leave it to the gutter press to reveal who Batgirl really is - or was. Even if you survive, they won't rest until every sinful, shameful skeleton in your closet is dragged out into the cold light of public opinion." He put the scissors to one side, reaching to stroke his fingers over her sex. "Although from the feel of you, the shame of such total exposure might just be the ultimate kick..."
Batgirl flushed, closing her eyes. Riddler seemed to have a point - all she could think about was the absolute horror of having herself splashed across the papers in such sordid circumstances, her identity blown by scandal-hungry papparazzi, her father hounded out of the police department, even Batman fatally compromised... that, or the cold steel point of the crossbow spearing her heart, an alternative that became more and more likely as the ball in her mouth grew wet from the drool oozing down her chin. And the more she thought about it, the more it turned her on. Even the absolute humiliation of the Riddler's fingers slipping deep into her pussy to check her wetness - and she was dripping - made her moan deep in her throat and arch her back, hips squirming and twitching as he delved deeper inside her.
"Mmmmnnngggddd..."
Riddler grinned, beginning to slowly thrust his fingers in and out of Batgirl's twitching, wet hole, until a warning look from Echo made him stop. "Fine, fine, we're in a hurry. But not too much of a hurry to give you a proper send-off. Girls, fetch the things from my toybox."
Echo scowled as Query moved obediently behind Batgirl to get the items. "You're as big a freak as she is, Eddie."
"What?" Riddler seemed almost offended. "Batgirl's the sick one here. Bondage, vibrators, that's perfectly vanilla in this day and age. Who doesn't own a vibrator?"
"I don't! And definitely not one of those. Never mind two!" Batgirl's eyes widened as the smiling Query stepped back into view, holding a Hitachi magic wand in each hand. Batgirl had one of the large, plug-in vibrators in a drawer back at her apartment - she was well aware of how effective they could be. Once, she'd had to practically stuff her fist in her mouth to stop her screams of ecstacy from waking the neighbours. Now, the slightest gasp would be her last. To her horror, after handing the toys over to the Riddler, Query trotted off again for more.
"Only the best for the Riddler." Walking around the back of the deadly bow, he plugged the twin vibes in at the wall, then turned to take possession of a pair of strange-looking latex panties, with snaps to secure them at the sides of her hips and what looked like various attachments dangling from the front. Why would Riddler want to cover her up now? Batgirl narrowed her eyes, looking closer - then saw what was sprouting from the gusset on the inside.
"That's right, Batgirl. A Christmas present for you - ten inches long and three inches thick. I was planning to give it to Query, but you seem like a more deserving cause."
"Eddie!" Query hissed, blushing.
Batgirl couldn't help but stare. The black dildo looked like three progressively larger oval shapes placed end to end, widening and tapering down the shaft until the seemingly massive base. In addition, the whole thing was studded with dozens of hemispherical nodules. She couldn't imagine such a thing fitting in her poor pussy - but a small voice inside her was eager for the experience. With a shudder, she realised that she was more than wet enough to accept it. The worse the situation got, the more aroused she seemingly became. She was close to a climax already - one she knew she might not survive.
"C'mon," Query smiled, throwing Batgirl a malicious wink. "Let's give the Boss some privacy." She led the grumbling Echo out of the room, as Riddler moved around behind the heroine, giving her bottom a quick, hard spank and a gentle squeeze. Batgirl twiched, and the taut string quivered ominously. She heard the villain laugh, and then the head of the dildo was pressing against the soaked folds of her pussy.
"Mmmnnngggh..." Bagirl groaned into the gag, a tendril of saliva dripping from her chin onto her breasts, already slick with a light sheen of sweat. Even the tapered end of the thing seemed to be filling her, although it wasn't yet very deep. She bit down hard on the rubber ball in her mouth, her eyes fluttering closed as she concentrated on keeping it where it was, ignoring the need that was raging within her. Even when Riddler reached around to tease a slippery finger against the buzzing bud of her clit, she managed to keep from crying out.
"That's it, Batgirl. Focus. We don't want this puzzle to end too quickly." His fingers worked maddeningly, circling slowly, rubbing her bud back and forth. Batgirl started to breath hard through flared nostrils, her loud ragged breaths makind the Riddler chuckle dryly. "Riddle me this - what's the difference between a well-dressed man and a helpless heroine? The man wears a suit... while Batgirl just pants!"
On the last word, he pushed the dildo upwards, hard.
"MMMMMMNNNNNNGGGGHHH!!" Batgirl squealed into the gag, eyes wide. She was so wet now that the thick second section of the dildo slid into her easily, but it was as wide as anything she'd ever taken - even a little wider. She was already feeling stretched. She didn't know if she could even take that massive third section - and all the while, the Riddler kept up the maddening work on her yearning clit, teasing, rubbing, stroking. This peril was no longer just humiliating and degrading - it was deadly dangerous. Batgirl desperately tried to focus past her intense, unnatural arousal and work out a means of escape, but she couldn't think of anything but the crossbow, the dildo, the ball in her teeth, Riddler's maddening hands... and how desperately close she was to an earth-shattering orgasm.
"Time to fill up your batcave," Riddler hissed, "in 5... 4... 3..."
"Nnnnnnmmmmmppph..." Batgirl shook her head, feeling the drops of sweat rolling over her taut, shaking body as she struggled not to climax then and there. She concentrated on biting down, biting down...
"2... 1... blast off." The Riddler laughed, and forced the rest of the dildo home.
"MNNNN - NNNNNMMMMMGGGGGGNNNHHHHH!!" Batgirl shrieked into the ball as she came harder than she ever had in her life, the merciless dildo stretching her wide as the Riddler's deft fingers sent her screaming over the edge. She barely managed to hold on with her teeth, and even then the effort of maintaining concentration and the sure knowledge of what would become of her if she failed only made the dark, illicit, inexplicable pleasure more intense, more forbidden. Her nostrils flared wide, sucking in air as the drool rolled down her chin, her whole body spasming and shaking for almost a minute until the rolling waves of orgasm finally began to subside, leaving her spent and wrecked, danging from her bonds like a limp rag and staring at the Riddler with glazed, defeated eyes as he moved around to close the snaps at the sides of the panties, fastening them onto her.
"So you can enjoy yourself without letting that gag slip. Good to know." The Riddler grinned, picking up the twin vibes he'd prepared earlier. "Because you're going to be enjoying yourself an awful lot. I designed those myself, for home use - they've got a rather interesting feature..."
He reached down, to a kind of rubber cup, almost like a cowbell, that hung on the outside of the panties where the base of the dildo was. "Let me just get this in here..." Deftly, he stretched the rubber, fitting it around the head of one of the vibes, until Batgirl could feel it pressing hard against the base of the massive intruder inside her. "And then when I do this..."
He flipped the switch. The magic wand whirred into life, the vibrations transferring to the dildo buried deep inside Batgirl, making it buzz and shiver madly inside her still-soaking cunt. "MMMMNNNN!" She cried into the ball, her eyes snapping wide and almost bulging as her hips began to jerk and spasm.
"And then... when I do this..." The villain laughed, picking up the other vibe and forcing the head through a small opening so that it was forced up against Batgirl's folds, right against her tingling clit. "This happens."
He flipped the second vibrator on.
"MMMMMMNNNNNNHHHHHHH!!!" Batgirl came again, a second wave of crashing orgasms that made her whole body quake. To her horror, the ball in her mouth slipped, just a fraction of a millimetre. Her jaw was starting to ache, and she honestly didn't know if she could take much more without passing out.
Riddler looked at his watch. "Doesn't time fly. We need to make our escape, Batgirl, but please, feel free to enjoy my parting gift until the press arrive. I'll be calling them in another... oh, half an hour. Have fun until then." He drank in the sight of the trembling, cumming damsel, her eyes pleading desperately even as her body shook with the force of another intense climax. "Hmmm... one more thing..."
Grinning, he reached for the switches on the two vibrators, turning them both up to maximum speed.
"Enjoy..."
"MMMMMMMNNNN - NNNGGG - GGGGHHHHH!!"Batgirl barely heard his departing laughter as she came for the fourth time - or was it the fifth? She was in a state of perpetual climax now - one orgasm after another ripped from her screaming, sweating body, the pleasure so incredibly intense as to be almost painful. She could barely form a coherent thought in between each soul-shaking assault, but she understood one thing - she couldn't possibly hold that slippery rubber ball in between her teeth for another thirty minutes. She was about to meet a truly horrible and degrading end, and the most awful thing was that that terrible realisation only made the pleasure seem sweeter, hotter. It wasn't the Riddler that was going to kill her - it was whatever strange madness was leading her to eroticise every dangerous situation she was put in.
Her lungs were burning now with the effort of breathing through her nostrils, and the urge to open her mouth and suck in a big breath of air as yet another orgasm exploded through her every nerve and cell was almost too much to resist. Groggily, she opened glazed eyes - and suddenly noticed the wires from the vibrators.
They ran from the plugs in the wall, to wind around the base of the stand the crossbow was perched on before running along the floor and to the dildo panties that were causing her so much trouble. The Riddler had been careful to keep her between him and the crossbow, so surely...
She looked down. The wires ran underneath the bar spreading her ankles. The Riddler had inadventantly given her a means of escaping death. If she could bend her knees and lift the bar up - despite the weight - she might be able to pull the wires taught and topple the crossbow over... or pull the plugs free of the sockets. Either she could come in peace, so to speak, or concentrate better on keeping the ball in place until help arrived.
The realisation that there was in fact a possible escape from her predicament seemed to help her focus. There was a way, she realised, that she could escape completely - save herself from death and also from humiliation at the hands of Gotham's gutter press. But it was a terrible risk. If she calculated wrong, she'd get the crossbow bolt right through the head...
"MMMMMHHH..." The thought brought on another wave of orgasm that left her weaker still. She had to try now - if she left things any longer, she wouldn't have the strength to attempt anything.
Straining - biting down hard on the ball in her mouth - she tensed her calf and thigh muscles, counting slowly to three. Then she flexed her legs, bringing her ankles suddenly upwards.
She could only bend her legs so far without popping both her knee joints, and even then she had to twist agonisingly - but it was enough to yank the wires taut and pull the plugs free from their sockets. The maddening vibrators slowed to a halt, as the stand the crossbow was fixed to teetered... and then fell backwards.
"Now!" Batgirl thought, and opened her mouth.
As the ball slid free of her aching jaw, the string slackened and a deadly mechanism in the crossbow clicked into place. The bolt flew - sailing up over batgirl's head, over the spreader bar securing her wrists - to sever the rope connecting the whole apparatus to the ceiling pulley overhead.
Batgirl crashed to the ground, falling hard on her sumptuous ass before flopping backwards. She panted, dizzy, fighting the urge to simply pass out, or fall into a post-coital stupor until the press arrived with their cameras. The first order of business was to find a workable lockpick - maybe something from the crossbow - and undo the locks on her ankles. She could manage that one-handed, with either her left or right hand - the hard part was picking the locks on her wrists.
She'd have to do that with her toes.
CHAPTER FOUR: A NEW COSTUME FOR BATGIRL
It was nearly midnight when Batgirl finally arrived back at her base. The Riddler and his cohorts were long gone, but fortunately one of the henchwomen had left a spare outfit behind. It didn't fit too well, and the green-and-purple question marks looks wildly incongruous against what was left of her cowl and boots, but it was better than riding her batgirl-cycle stark naked.
She stripped off the costume as soon as she was through the hidden door, tossing it aside along with her gloves, cowl and boots and heading straight for the shower. She was still tingling and trembling, twitching with the adrenaline of her narrow escape and exhausted from the countless climaxes - the ride home had been an adventure in itself - but as the water cascaded over her and she began to soap away the dried sweat and juices, Barbara found herself relaxing, feeling that maddening arousal fading at last, and her energy coming back. After drying her hair and body, she padded to the small kitchen she'd installed and took a protein smoothie from the fridge - she'd need to get her strength back up if she wanted to track the Riddler again. She'd also need a fresh Batgirl outfit...
The scent hit her again as she stepped into the boudoir, a seemingly thick cloud of it that enveloped her and almost overwhelmed her as she breathed it in. "What the..." Her eyes moved to the bed - there was a large box sitting there, with a ribbon and a card attached.
Someone had broken into her headquarters again to leave another token of affection. It couldn't be Robin - he was with Batman in Europe. Unless the business with the Joker had been a hoax, a ruse to give her a surprise Christmas gift... she quashed the thought immediately. Batman would never play along with that. She walked over to the small card and picked it up.
"A gift to the fearless Batgirl, from your secret admirer. To be worn immediately."
So she had an admirer - someone who knew how to get in and out of her 'Batgirl-cave' without leaving any traces. She sniffed the card experimentally - it had been soaked in the same scent, that strange not-quite-jasmine. So whoever had left this had left the card as well.
She knew she should be worried - she was being stalked by someone with access to her HQ, someone who perhaps knew all her secrets. While she was standing here stark naked, whoever it was might be in the building.
And yet... Barbara Gordon had never had a secret admirer, and the challenge of finding out who the mystery man might be appealed to her. She couldn't deny that she was almost... excited at the notion. Idly, she took hold of one nipple and began tweaking and tugging it, wondering what the mysterious stranger looked like...
"Get a grip, Batgirl." She frowned at herself. What on earth was wrong with her? That sort of thinking wasn't just stupid, it was outright suicidal. This was what had nearly gotten her killed before. She read the card again. "To be worn immediately..." Tossing it to one side, she lifted the lid off the box.
Inside was black latex - lots of it, along with what looked like a dark blue hose. She lifted out each piece carefully, spreading them out on the bed. There was no doubt about it - she was looking at a Batgirl costume, albeit not one she'd ever worn before. Or would ever think of wearing. She'd have to be crazy to, considering where it had come from. There'd have to be something seriously wrong with her.
She stared at the outfit for a long moment, then reached for the blue hose.
--
"Wow."
Batgirl had to admit, she looked incredible. But it was hardly crime-fighting material.
The cowl and gloves were workable - very much her old style, but in black latex rather than what she was used to - but the trouble started with the ankle boots. The heels were easily seven inches high, forcing her right up onto her tiptoes - practically ballet heels. She knew how to walk in a high heel, but these were tricky - running in them would be a challenge, and fighting in them almost impossible. From there, her eyes drifted up the shimmering deep blue hose coating her long legs, to end in a very high-hip latex thong that barely covered her tingling pussy and showed off her hose-clad bottom in a way that certainly wouldn't be Batman-approved.
The thong was joined to a black latex corset that she'd cinched herself tightly into, which ended just below her firm breasts - they and her arms were covered by the fine blue hose, and her modesty was barely preserved by a large black latex bat-symbol that managed to just about cover her nipples. Her utility belt, which she'd retrieved from the Riddler, fitted neatly around her cinched waist - although the splash of yellow seemed out of place and made her almost want to take it off. There was no cape. "It'd hide what this does for my ass anyway," Batgirl thought with a smirk.
"Something to save for parties..." She murmured, moving to the dresser to touch up her makeup and make sure she was just as dazzling as this new outfit demanded. "But what kind of parties?"
As she finished re-applying her lipgloss, the notion came to Batgirl that she didn't want to wait for a special occasion to show this off. She wanted to take to the streets now - go on patrol, show Gotham what it had been missing. It'd certainly give the criminals something to talk about on their way to jail. She stood up, purring, then undid her belt. It really did ruin the look of the whole thing.
She breathed in, enjoying the jasmine scent that seemed to be clinging to the whole outfit - then blinked.
"What the hell am I doing?"
She shook her head, trying to focus. Was she really about to walk out the door and fight crime in an impractical costume that had been sent her by a stalker? Was she going to attempt martial arts in fuck-me heels - hell, a whole fuck-me costume? Her head was screaming against the idea... but at the same time, the thought of going out there, of taking that risk, of showing off in that costume... was so, so hot.
She took another deep breath, trying to calm herself - and froze.
The scent.
That was what was doing this to her - affecting her judgement, making her think with her pussy, making her eroticise things that would get her killed. She hadn't noticed it before because... well, because her judgement was affected and she'd been thinking with her pussy. Just a sniff of the card had nearly caused her death in her struggle with the Riddler - and now she was wearing a costume that had obviously been steeped in the drug. She was likely getting a massive dose through the pores of her skin.
The realisation that her costume was incredibly dangerous as well as impractical only made her want to wear it more. She wanted to tie herself up in it - some way she couldn't possibly get out of - and lie on the bed, in the room full of scent, with her face buried in the wrapping paper, breathing it in until she was a mindlessly aroused ball of mush. Then her mystery stalker would come back, do whatever he wanted with her, and tie her into the deadliest, slowest, most inescapable deathtrap ever, and she'd struggle and come and come and struggle until finally... inevitably...
She realised she was rubbing herself through the thong. "No!" She snatched her hand away, forcing herself to focus. She was Batgirl. She wasn't going to finish her career as some demented druggist's bondage plaything. She was going to tear this costume off her, wash off that damned scent, get far away from here and go cold turkey until it was all out of her system... and then she'd come back and make whoever it was pay for doing this to -
The phone rang.
She had a red hotline phone in her utility belt - and the Commissoner knew that while Batman was out of town, all emergencies should go to her. This was obviously something serious. "Commissioner?"
"Batgirl!" Her father's voice on the other end of the line sounded stressed. "We need you. Have you seen the TV?"
"No. Tell me." She swallowed and tried not to betray any sign of the inner battle she'd been conducting with herself.
"One of Hugo Strange's monster men grabbed Miss December just as she was about to turn on the Gotham Christmas Display. The creature dragged her into some sort of souped-up van - after he wrecked half our patrol cars and put a dozen men in hospital. They're headed south on the freeway now, unless someone can head them off -"
"I get it, Commissioner. I'm on my way."
Batgirl hung up. That phone call had changed everything.
She knew what would happen if she couldn't rescue that girl - Hugo Strange, the insane scientist, would end up testing out one of his evil serums on her, turning her into a mutated monster... or worse. Every second was precious. If she was going to stop them, she didn't even have time to change...
...or so she told herself.
CHAPTER FIVE: BATGIRL MIXES HER MEDS
Batgirl spotted the van as soon as she was on the freeway.
She was still having trouble focussing, but this was a situation she was confident in, and when she was confident of success the intensity of the arousal she'd been cursed with seemed to subside a little - besides, with her sidecar attached, the Batcycle had some additional stability. Thus, she was able to perform fairly complex manouvres on the road without too much difficulty - like matching speed with the van, pulling her bike up to the side door, and applying a shaped charge to blow the lock off.
It worked like a charm - the door swung open to reveal the huge, mutated man, easily ten feet of solid muscle, hunched over the helpless, crying model. For a moment, Batgirl found herself thinking that she'd like to swap places - then she shook it off, set the Batgirl-cycle to automatic, and jumped through the open door.
The monster man turned, snarling. Once, he too had been an innocent victim - then Hugo Strange had injected him with a compound that had turned him into this grotesque, a mindless mass of pure muscle, with only the most basic instincts, that existed to do his new master's bidding. For a second, the constant throbbing in Batgirl's pussy made her consider going head to head with the creature - then she reached into her utility belt and pulled out a can of Bat-Mace.
The beast reared back, banging its head on the roof of the van as she sprayed the burning mixture into its eyes. "Quick! Crawl over here! Hurry!"
Miss December obeyed, staring at Batgirl with wide eyes. "Batgirl? Is that you? What are you..."
"Costume party." Batgirl scowled, grabbing the model and dragging her to the open door before pushing her into the sidecar. "Hold still while I climb on -"
Miss December's eyes widened. "Behind you!"
The warning came too late. Batgirl gasped as a pair of superhumanly strong hands grabbed hold of her arms and pinned them to her waist. She kicked backwards with the heeled boots, desperately lashing out, but her heels only thudded ineffectually against the man-monster's muscle.
At that moment, the driver of the van made a sharp right turn, veering down an on-ramp, and Batgirl could only watch helplessly as her cycle, and Miss December, continued along the freeway.
She wasn't worried about the girl - the Batgirl-cycle was programmed to drive itself to GCPD HQ if it was ever left on automatic for longer than fifteen minutes - but her own prospects were much more serious. As the van drove along the dark roads out of Gotham, the giant began to grip her tighter and tighter, threatening to crush her ribcage as she desperately struggled against it.
"Igor!" A soft, supercilious voice echoed through the back of the van. Batgirl turned to look as Professor Hugo Strange's bald head and shaggy beard appeared through the small hatchway leading to the driver's compartment. "We'll be needing her alive. She'll do just as well for the experiment as our previous hostage..." His eyes, almost invisible through the opaque lenses of his glasses, roamed over the struggling crime-fighter. "Perhaps even better."
"Let go of me, you --" Batgirl hissed - then Strange lifted a spraycan to her face and sprayed a fine mist at her mouth and nose, and consciousness fell away.
--
"Breast size... thirty-four, D cup. More than acceptable."
Batgirl woke groggily, her eyes fluttering open to see Hugo Strange standing over her ample chest with a pair of calipers. She immediately tried to lash out with a fist or a foot, but her wrists and ankles were secured tightly by a pair of thick steel shackles.
She was bound to an examining table in some sort of laboratory - presumably wherever Strange was conducting his illicit experiments these days. Fortunately, she was still wearing her costume, such as it was - but she was in serious trouble, and whatever drug her costume was laced with was still very much in her bloodstream. Her pussy had begun to juice up the moment she'd woken, and she was having trouble denying the eroticism of the situation. A helpless captive in the mad scientist's lair... she tried to wet her lips, but a strip of medical tape over her mouth prevented it.
"Mmmmph..."
"Ah, the subject is awake." Strange made a note on a clipboard he had with him, then ran his eyes over Batgirl's squirming form. "Hmmm... very interesting." He touched a finger to the hose at each side of Batgirl's thong, confirming what she already knew - that she was leaking like a faucet.
"Very interesting. Subject's level of arousal is outside of anything this situation would warrant." He leaned in, looking into her eyes as she stared daggers back at him. "Some pupil dilation... and then there's the, ah, uncharacteristic dress - although more than suitable for my purposes, it it again outside of previous experience with the subject. Conclusion: the subject's behaviour has been modified through some means, probably chemical..." He fell silent, scribbling at his clipboard for long minutes, while Batgirl stewed in her own juice, her hips shifting back and forth as Strange examined her like a laboratory rat in a cage.
Finally, he set the clipboard down and moved across the room, out of her line of vision. She heard the clatter of instruments being sorted on a metal tray, then her eyes widened as the madman returned bearing a razor-sharp scalpel. Surely he wasn't about to -
Batgirl's heart skipped a beat as strange took a hold of the deep blue hose, then began to slice it away, pulling it out from underneath the latex where necessary. He worked methodically, betraying no hint of interest in the beautiful, bound and helpless woman stretched out on his examination table. She couldn't help but shiver at the thought that she was nothing more than an experimental subject to him, even as he lifted away the latex bat-symbol and bared her stiff nipples to the cool air of the room.
He did the same at her legs and arms, removing any trace of the hose and leaving Batgirl wearing a decidedly abbreviated version of her already salacious new costume. He gave the blue hose a quick sniff, then jotted something else down. "I'll study that later. Depending on your performance in the clinical tests, the presence of this additional factor in your bloodstream might be just what I'm looking for. A new stage in my continuing experimentation..."
"Mmmnnmmpphh?" Batgirl mewled into the gag, looking at him curiously. Tests? Experimentation? What in God's name did this maniac have in store for her?
As if in answer, Strange crossed the room again, returning with a syringe filled with an opaque green fluid. Her eyes widened. He was going to inject her with monster serum! Within hours, she would have mutated into one of his mindless, hulking slaves!
Batgirl immediate began struggling furiously to escape the straps as the insane professor brought the syringe closer and closer to her writhing form. Even then, she was appalled to note that the impending peril was making her pussy even wetter. Although, she thought, in another second that would no longer be an issue - a hulking beast wouldn't care what turned it on. She'd probably rut like a cow in a field.
"Nnnnmmmmpph... mmmpp..." She begged, her eyes pleading, right up until Strange slid the needle into her exposed arm and pressed down the plunger, firing the noxious fluid into her. Part of her mind wailed in despair at the horror of what was about to happen - while the new, dark part of her was more excited than ever, yearning to experience the awful moment when her mind began to disintegrate. She could already feel a light fog descending over her thinking... or what that just her imagination? Her hips bucked hard, and she felt herself on the edge of yet another tumultuous climax.
Strange chuckled at her wide-eyed, helpless look. "Relax, Batgirl. This isn't my monster serum. It's a new formula. Call it... bride of the monster serum." He chuckled, moving away with the empty syringe. "Even monsters need their recreation, you know."
Recreation - did that mean what she thought it did? Batgirl was distracted by an awful tingling that was spreading slowly through her breasts and sex, a maddening itch that soon became a terrible burning sensation. Wincing in discomfort, she thrashed in the bonds now as the pain increased, burning like fire, like a million ants gnawing and biting at her most intimate regions. The agonising pain and the intense arousal seemed to be feeding each other, the two drugs going to war in her system, a deadly spiral that seemed to push her to the edge of heaven and hell - before she finally lost consciousness, and everything grew dark.
CHAPTER SIX: BATGIRL GETS HER MARCHING ORDERS
"Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right."
The voice droning softly and constantly in Batgirl's left ear belonged to Huge Strange. It never stopped.
"Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right."
While she'd been passed out, Strange had removed her cowl and fitted her with a black latex hood that completely covered her face, except for her nostrils. Inside the hood, there was a built-in penis gag that filled her mouth, and a pair of earphones that blocked out all sound except for the constantly looping recording of his soft, droning, academic tones. The hood also came with a pair of decorative bat-ears, like her own cowl - presumably the Professor's idea of a joke.
Batgirl knew about the ears because the hood also contained a pair of miniature TV screens, designed to play directly into her eyes, picking up broadcasts from a camera mounted a little in front and to the left of her. The screens had flickered into life when the treadmill started, but how long ago that was, she couldn't quite be sure.
"Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right."
On the screens, Batgirl could see herself. She was marching constantly, in those wickedly high heels, on a treadmill that constantly rolled below her feet. Strange had altered her costume slightly. In addition to the featureless black hood, he'd cinched the corset mercilessly tight - tight enough that Batgirl had had trouble breathing at first, though now she'd acclimatised a little - and also managed to tighten the thong, so that it now bisected the folds of her sex like a crotchrope, rubbing maddeningly against her clit with every step. Another addition was the black latex armbinder that drew her arms tightly together behind her back, cinching them so that the elbows touched. The discomfort was acute, but again, Batgirl had begun to get used to it. She seemed to be getting used to a lot of things. The final touch was a coating of oil that made her bare skin shimmer and glisten in the light - in particular, her exposed breasts.
They were bigger now.
The serum seemed to have grown them by at least a cup size, and the nipples had become longer, slenderer, and fiendishly sensitive - she could feel the cool air of the room constantly blowing over them. Her pussy was even more sensitive, seeming to constantly tingle and throb from the stimulation of this endless forced march, leaving her dangling on the edge of a massive climax that never quite materialised.
Was she being forced? She couldn't quite remember. It seemed like a blanket of fog had descended on her mind. It was difficult to think straight. All she could see was herself, that faceless marching mannequin version of herself, strutting on the treadmill. A bondage fantasy straight from a John Willie drawing - ultra-cinched waist, impossible heels, arms tucked away, big, firm tits bouncing with every step... and no face. No eyes. No soul.
Like an object. A toy. A doll.
"Left. Right. Left. Right. Left."
She strutted obediently in time with the professor's voice. If her pace slackened off, the treadmill carried her backwards into a pair of waiting electrodes - if they touched her bottom, she got a punitive electric shock that continued until she increased her pace again. She also had to keep her back straight, her head high and her breasts jutting out - if her posture failed, if she slumped or shook her head or cursed into her gag, the electrodes would move forward and shock her until she was in the proper position.
At first, she tried to resist, but the shocks had been too painful to endure. Then, she'd tried to think of a way out, but her mind was too foggy. So she'd continued marching, strutting, keeping her head up, keeping her breasts out, watching the doll-like faceless mannequin on the screens strut too.
She realised the professor had been talking in her right ear as well.
"You are an object. You are a toy. You are a doll. You are property. You are a possession..."
That never stopped either. She realised it had been on a loop the whole time, but she was concentrating on the marching beat in her left ear, and so she seemed to forget the other ear, the other voice. For the most part, it just washed over her. She couldn't manage to listen to two voices at once, with her head so full of fog.
"...are owned.. You must obey your owner. You must do as you are told. You are an object. You are a toy. You are a doll..."
"Left. Right. Left. RIght. Left. Right."
"...a possession. You are owned. You must obey your owner. You must do as you are told..."
"Right. Left. Right. Left."
Batgirl watched the doll on the screen marching, and she marched too. She lifted her chin a little, and stuck her chest out more, feeling the slight extra weight of it, and the doll on the screen did the same. The doll looked perfect.
"Left. Right. Left. Right. Good girl. Left. Right. Left."
Batgirl felt a flush of pleasure run through her. She had done as she was told. She was a good girl. It was making her so hot to watch the doll on the screen, and to do as she was told, and to march in step, and to look so pretty and shiny and faceless.
In the back of her mind, despite the fog, she understood that she was being conditioned, and none too subtly. The idea of mind control, of losing control of her mind, had always horrified her, but now that it was happening, now that she felt so bound and owned and helpless, so objectified - so pretty and shiny and faceless - now that she was doing as she was told... it was the most intense turn-on she'd ever imagined. And she'd had her horizons opened up a lot in that direction in the past twelve hours.
It was so easy, so blissful, so intensely erotic, to slip into that fog in her mind, to lose herself in it, to just watch the doll, become the doll, march in step, pose for the camera, for her owner. And the situation had the intense, heart-stopping sexual thrill of the deathtraps the Riddler had put her in. After all, this was no different - a mental deathtrap, a peril of the mind, quicksand that she could sink into and never escape.
And she couldn't escape. The delicious thrill of doing as she was told, of becoming that faceless, strutting doll she was watching - it was so, so hard to resist, especially with the fog drifting in her head. She'd lose herself in that fog for minutes at a time, watching the doll, strutting, obeying, arching her back, raising her head, purring as her owner called her good girl.
"Left. Rigjt. Left. Right. Left. Good girl. Right. Left."
There was no escape. She was becoming an object. A toy. A doll. Property. A possession. Becoming owned. She had to obey her owner. She had to do as she was told because she was an object...
Except all of a sudden, through the depth of the fog, there came the thought that she could do more than she was told.
She couldn't get off the treadmill at the sides - there were railings in place. She couldn't stop marching. She had to stay perfectly poised as her owner required.
But she could march faster.
Experimentally, she increased her pace, watching the doll slowly move forward, towards the camera. The electrodes didn't move. Nothing was stopping her.
She wasn't disobeying exactly, she told herself. She was just obeying... especially well.
The doll on the screens marched past the camera and out of shot, and Batgirl kept up the strict walking pace, the pleasure building at the additional stimulation on her clit - until suddenly, she stepped off the treadmill.
The screens winked out, plunging her into darkness.
It was as if a spell had been broken. She felt elated, gingerly taking steps left, right, then left again. She furrowed her brows in concentration. The first thing to do was get out of the bondage somehow, and after that she could -
Batgirl suddenly realised the voices in her ears had stopped. Then Hugo Strange spoke from in front of her.
"Eighty-nine minutes and seven seconds. None of my other subjects have taken more than thirty." Batgirl heard him chuckle. "I honestly thought you'd collapse from exhaustion - but then, you've got those heroic reserves of stamina..."
Batgirl swallowed, trying to judge the distance. Could she aim a kick at his voice? Her legs felt like lead all of a sudden.
"Except it's not a test of stamina. It's a test of how susceptible you are to control. And you, Batgirl, have passed with flying colours. Igor?"
Batgirl felt the massive hands of the giant gripping her, and she almost screamed into the gag filling her mouth. It wasn't fair! She'd won! She'd escaped the treadmill, the fog - she'd resisted! She'd fought the conditioning, fought herself! She couldn't go through it all again! It just... wasn't... fair!
"I think one more dose... and we'll see a very different Batgirl."
Batgirl felt the weight of despair settle onto her as the syringe penetrated her arm a second time. As the tingling intensified and the cycle of burning pain and pleasure began again, she felt a tear trickle down her cheek.
She knew she was finished.
CHAPTER SEVEN: BARBIE DOLL BATGIRL
The fog in her mind was much thicker now. She stared, with wide, glazed, almost unblinking eyes, at the screen in front of her. On the screen, colours flashed and whirled, dazzled and span. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of a bald, bearded man with thick glasses, whose name she couldn't quire remember, or of a large, beast-like man whose name was Igor.
Occasionally, she would see herself. She'd been positioned with her arms tightly bound behind her back, this time in a reverse prayer position, and her thighs straddling some kind of leather-covered bench, with her ankles bound to her thighs by the same straps so that her high heels were pressing against her bottom. To compound her bondage, she was encased head to foot in very tight, very strict black rubber, the thickness of which meant she was unable to turn her head or even move - not that she could have moved very much. The tight, shiny rubber casement, which cinched her waist more punishingly than the corset and showed off the ever-larger curve of her breasts - now easily F-cups - made her look like some sexualised cartoon. The only part of her even visible was her face, an oval of flesh in the tight black rubber hood. Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of her face in the maelstrom of images, colours and spiralling lights - the eyes wide open, glazed, staring, her glossy pink lips wide open in a blank 'o'.
She could hear a voice in her ears, or her mind. Soft and academic.
"When the bell rings," the voice said, "you feel need."
She knew this for a fact. Occasionally, a bell would ring, and the thick rubber suit would begin pinching and tugging at her long nipples, and the thick rubber bulge inside the suit, pressing on her clit, would begin to vibrate furiously - but never quite enough to make her come. Her nipples and pussy were incredibly, almost painfully sensitive now, and the intense stimulation, taking her to the edge of climax without release, was pure torture.
She had lost count of how many times the bell had rung now.
The voice spoke in her ear constantly, but in her fogged mind she could only concentrate on the all-consuming need, and so the voice washed over her, words like "obedience" and "pleasure" and "fuck" and "toy" and "object" flickering in her attention for a moment before slipping away. Some of it sounded familiar.
Suddenly, the voice asked her a question.
"What is your name?"
She tried to think. She did have a name, but she couldn't remember what it was. It began with a B... Bat-something... or Bar-something...
"Answer me. What is your name?"
She blinked, her lips opening and closing, unsure what to say. Then the bell rang.
"Aaaahhhhhh! Mmmmn..." She bit her lip, eyes fluttering closed as she tried to hold on to the stimulation, unable to even squirm, feeling herself so close - and then the machines died and she was left high and dry again.
"When you obey, you feel pleasure. Answer me. What is your name?"
She knew if she couldn't answer, she'd get the bell again. "I... I don't..."
"Your name is Barbie."
She blinked, frowning for a second. That didn't sound quite right. It was close, but...
"What is your name?"
She hesitated, and the bell rang. She was so close now, so desperate to come. Every time, she thought that this time she would manage it, this time the stimulation would last enough to carry her over that blissful, blessed edge, but each time the vibrations cut off just a split-second too soon. "Please," she croaked. "Please, please let me..."
"When you obey, you feel pleasure. What is your name?"
"Barbie." It didn't sound right, but -
"You are lying." The bell rang, giving her another jolt of pleasure-torture - and then it rang again, and a third time. In the agony of her need she had thought she could not possibly come any closer to release, but each time, somehow, the bell did it. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably now - although the thick case of rubber held her so tightly that it was barely detectable. "When you lie, the bell rings three times. What is your name?"
"Barbie!" She cried out, almost choking on the word.
"You are lying." The bell rang again, three times, and by the end of it she was crying, unable to speak, barely able to breathe, almost completely unable to think of anything but her awful, unspeakable need. "What is your name?"
If she didn't release, she would go mad, or die, or both, and her name was Barbie, she knew that now because the voice had said it and whatever the voice had said was true because the voice had said it and the voice controlled the bell and her orgasm and her need was so, so, so great --
"BARBIE!! BARBIE, BARBIE, MY NAME IS BARBIE, I AM BARBIE, BARBIEEEE --"
"You are telling the truth. You have obeyed." The voice intoned, and the vibrators started again - and this time they didn't stop.
"EEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" Instantly Barbie was swept over the edge into a rolling, crashing explosion of pure pleasure that left her dizzy. All the time, she could hear the voice, telling her that when she obeyed she felt pleasure, that her name was Barbie, that she was telling the truth and she had obeyed. A few seconds later - seconds that seemed like hours - the vibrations stopped again.
"What are you, Barbie? Answer me."
Barbie hesitated a moment, panting. She felt as though the voice had told her this, too, but she wasn't quite sure if it was true -
"When the bell rings, you feel need."
- and then the bell rang, and the vibrators whirred for a few seconds and took her right back to that edge and she needed to come again so badly and she couldn't and she realised that the voice always spoke the truth, always, always -
"I am an object. I am a toy. I am a doll. I am property. I am a possession."
"True. You have obeyed."
"Oh, oh, oh, AAAAHHHH..." The vibrators whirred into life, allowing her another brief, blessed orgasm.
"Who am I, Barbie?"
This time, Barbie answered without hesitation.
"You are my owner. I must always obey my owner. I must do as I am to-oh! OH! OOOHHHHHH!" Another orgasm. Barbie was so happy that she was getting these questions right.
"What is your purpose?"
She panted her answer. "I am to be fucked." Another climax, even better than the last.
"How are you to be fucked?"
"Roughly, savagely, brutally, several times every day until - aaahh! - I am used up and discarded - Oh God, yes, yesss!" Barbie squealed, smiling deliriously. The words made her so happy as they tumbled out from between glossy lips. It felt so good to obey and tell her owner the truth.
"Who are you to be fucked by?"
Igor's face flashed on the screen, glowering and brutal, and Batgirl squealed with delight and desire. "Igor! Igor is to fuck me, please let him fuck me, please let me obey -" Her words caught in her throat as she went over the edge again, into a wave of seemingly endless pleasure, orgasm after orgasm exploding through her as the machines whirred on and the monster man's face flashed deep into her subconscious.
When she finally passed out, she dreamed of him.
---
Barbie waited patiently in her cell.
There was nothing in it but herself, her restraints, a high, barred window and a steel door, but she didn't mind. She wasn't there to entertain herself. She was there as entertainment.
She was a toy.
She was dressed once again in her black latex Batgirl costume, though her owner had removed the thong entirely to leave her oozing wet cunt free and clear, and replaced the cowl with a black latex gwen hood that left her eyes and nose free while gagging her mouth tightly - "to muffle any screams". The hood came with a pair of bat-ears.
She was seated in something resembling a dentist's chair without arms or leg-rest, with her arms shackled above her head with thick chains, and similar shackles at her ankles, keeping her legs raised and spread, almost in a splits position. It was uncomfortable, but Barbie still waited patiently, feeling the cool air of the room waft over her moist pussy and her large, sensitive tits. She hoped Igor would find them to his liking.
The bell rang.
Instantly she was soaking wet, panting, yearning, straining at her bonds, hips squirming and bucking as she hotly anticipated what was about to happen to her.
The cage door swung open, and Igor slouched into the room, staring at the bound girl for a moment. He was naked, and Barbie's eyes were drawn to his face first - the face that sent a rush of pleasure through her - and then downwards, to his cock.
'Monstrous' was the word that best described it. Longer and larger than the Riddler's dildo, a throbbing, mutant mass that she was sure would tear her apart at the first thrust. And yet she'd never wanted anything more in her life. "Mmmmppphhh!" she begged into the gag, pleading with her eyes. This was her purpose - to be fucked, to be savaged, brutalised by this monster and his cock, discarded when she finally broke like any doll played with too long and hard. That was what she was for.
Still, the creature hesitated, until the voice of her owner echoed over the tannoy.
"Igor -she is yours. Take her."
Igor roared, rushing forward and grabbing Barbie's waist in his massive hands, then slammed into her in one brutal thrust. Barbie screamed into the gag, eyes bulging, the pain of the intrusion overwhelming, before it began to turn into hot pleasure as the beast began to take her, pounding her harder than she'd ever experienced, ever imagined. Somehow, her overstuffed cunt was standing up to the incredible violence of the monster's cock without tearing open - another effect of the serum, perhaps - but her increased sensitivity meant that she could barely stand the intensity of the pleasure and pain without passing out. Her nostrils flared, desperately sucking air into her tightly-cinched body, and she felt a wave of dizziness pass through her. She wondered if her owner was testing his toy to destruction.
Igor bellowed like a bull, his massive balls slapping against her ass as he plunged into her again and again, seemingly insatiable. Barbie's eyes rolled back in her head as the brutality of the assault sent her into her first crashing climax, the gag in her mouth muffling the helpless shriek of agony and ecstacy as it was torn from her.
Igor, tiring with the position, gripped each chain in turn, tearing them apart like tissue paper, then grabbed hold of Barbie and spun her around on his member, gripping her head in one massive paw and her breasts in another as he drove into her from behind. Barbie squealed as another climax was driven from her, then another, the monster stretching her wider than ever as she felt herself being tossed around like a limp rag. She was already exhausted - on the edge of consciousness, spots swimming before her eyes - but the monster simply refused to stop. Barbie realised that she was probably going to die, fucked to death in one sitting by the raging man-monster - and she didn't care.
She came again, screaming.
Suddenly, the monster pulled out of her, and with another roaring bellow, he found his own release - a torrent of thick, white come spewing from the tip of his cock like a geyser, hitting Barbie like a water cannon, drenching and almost drowning her in his seed - before dropping her to the ground like a used tissue.
Barbie lay there, in the sticky, drying puddle of Igor's semen, for long moments, before picking herself up slowly. Her arms and legs ached from the constant marching and the stringent bondage and her abused cunt seemed to be on fire. She could barely stand. But somehow, after what was left of her fogged mind had returned from the nirvana of that final climax, she'd remembered something.
Her name wasn't Barbie.
It was Batgirl.
Forcing her screaming muscles to move, she lashed out, spinning into a kick aimed directly at Igor's balls, hanging down below his now-drooping cock like a pair of speedbags. Igor howled, doubling up for a moment, and Batgirl quickly stepped over to the wall, just below that high window. She'd only get one shot at this.
"Igor! Take her alive! She needs a third dose! More conditioning! Igor! IGOR!"
Her owner's - no, Professor Strange's - voice echoed impotently over the tannoy. Igor wasn't listening - he certainly wasn't going to take any prisoners after that kick. Batgirl steeled herself as the monster charged, hurling himself at her - then, at the last second, she leaped sideways.
Her leg muscles screamed at her, but it was enough. Igor missed her by an inch, his momentum carrying him forward until he smashed into the wall, crashing through two feet of steel and concrete and knocking himself out cold in the process.
Batgirl breathed a sigh of relief, then nimbly stepped through the hole and out into the night.
CHAPTER EIGHT: BATGIRL'S SECRET ADMIRER
The sun was rising by the time Batgirl returned to her HQ, and her third shower of the day. Fortunately, Strange's lab hadn't been too far away - an old abandoned factory on the other side of the Gotham River - and she'd been able to make it home without being seen. She called the location in to the police, but if she knew Strange, he'd already packed his bags and left.
She'd somehow managed to get to the shower without collapsing, and now she was blissfully washing away the crusted remains of her tryst with Igor. It was still so hard to think - she kept zoning out, standing under the stream of water for minutes at a time, rubbing her newly-inflated breasts and stroking her raw, super-sensitive pussy, her head filled with flashing lights and Strange's voice telling her she was property. She was in no condition to do anything but sleep for about a week - hopefully long enough for the two drugs at war in her bloodstream to leave it.
She stumbled out of the shower, towelled off, blow-dried her hair for what she hoped was the last time, and climbed into a silk kimono hanging outside the bathroom door. As soon as Batman was back, him and her and Robin could puzzle out the whole mess of her 'secret admirer', as well as putting paid to Riddler and Strange once and for all. In the meantime, the only thing Barbara was going to do was get a good, long -
- she froze as she opened the door to the Bat-boudoir.
"You!"
Standing in the middle of the room, next to her bed, was the Scarecrow.
A tall man, in a costume of sackcloth and hessian, Johnathan Crane had declared war on the forces of law after his fellow academics had refused to take his research into fear seriously. They took him seriously now - Crane had become the Scarecrow, Master Of Fear, one of Batman's deadliest foes. And now he was standing in Barbara's bedroom.
"Welcome back," he smiled, from under his hessian mask. "I see you got my card."
Barbara took a step back, blinking. "What do you -" Her eyes narrowed. "Of course. 'The bird on the card'. Very clever... Mister Crane." There was no sense pussyfooting around him. He knew she was Batgirl. She'd worry about her secret identity if she managed to get out of this situation alive.
She wondered why she wasn't afraid.
"Bravo!" the Scarecrow clapped, mockingly. "There was a scarecrow on the card, of course - in the background, part of the jolly farm landscape. But by the time you saw it, you'd already inhaled a dose of my little concoction. You weren't quite... on the ball."
Barbara scowled, pulling the robe tighter around herself. She could still smell traces of that diabolical scent in the air. "What is it? Not fear gas. If anything, I haven't been fearful enough tonight."
"Bravo again." The tall man rubbed his hands together slowly. "It's a variation of a compound I once dosed a clutch of daredevils with - a drug that stripped away the emotion of fear, leaving them fatally vulnerable to their own hubris as they tried to perform the impossible, with no healthy fear of death to stop them. I had the antidote, of course - for a fee."
"And you want to blackmail me the same way?" Barbara sneered. "For what? A date to the prom? How did you find out who I am?"
"Sheer luck. I saw an abandoned warehouse that would make an excellent hideaway. When I went to take a closer look... you drove out of it. After that, it was just a matter of surveillance and planning. But to answer your other question... no, not blackmail." His eyes narrowed. "You see, this new version of my anti-fear gas doesn't just eliminate fear... it converts it into arousal. Your greatest fear becomes your most erotic desire. The question is, what fears does Batgirl have? Being tied up must be one - Merinthophobia. And who can blame you? It's a serious menace in your profession. And of course, being tied up leads to... deadly traps. I imagine your little face-off against the Riddler was quite stimulating."
Barbara flushed, her cheeks burning a deeper crimson as she realised she was getting wet again. "You bastard!" She concentrated on her anger. If she stayed angry, she could overcome her fear at the situation and perhaps keep the upper hand.
"Humiliation - social phobia. A common fear. Not to mention the fear of being unmasked. And dressed in those skintight outfits, you must be worried about being... taken advantage of..."
Barbara's fists clenched. "Shut up, Crane." Stay angry, she told herself.
"But when you went out in my little gift, which you so obligingly put on... then I got some real insight. You're a very strong-willed person, Batgirl. You must have a terrible fear of that will being taken away. Of being turned into a mindless, helpless plaything. Hypnophobia - an extremely potent fear for you... as I'm sure Hugo Strange found out."
"SHUT UP!" Barbara screamed. She had no problem keeping angry now. "Do you have any idea what he did to me? What you did to me?"
"Thanks to the bug I planted in that costume, I know just about every detail. He exhausted you, mentally and physically, to such an extent that finally - after your night of passion with his creature - you were incapable of feeling fear... and so my drug no longer worked. Ergo, you no longer had an erotic attraction to being controlled... ergo, the bulk of Strange's hold on you was suddenly gone. QED." The Scarecrow laughed. "Perhaps he and I should go into business together. We evidently make a good team."
Barbara had had enough. She wasn't scared anymore, or horny - she was mad as hell, and the time to strike was now. Lunging, she grabbed a bottle of perfume from the dresser, aiming to throw the contents into the master of fear's eyes, blinding him long enough for her to deal with him once and for all - and he'd be lucky if she didn't snap his filthy neck.
But her head was still just a fraction fuzzy, and her arms and legs a little sore, and the Scarecrow was that bit faster. He pointed a finger at Barbara - and a green mist hissed out of the end of his hessian sleeve, enveloping her head.
Fear gas.
Barbara felt a single, lurching moment of horror - and then the drug in her system went to work, and she found herself moaning softly, the bottle falling from her hand as her eyes glazed over.
"My standard fear gas, Batgirl. All your fears have been intensified to the nth degree... and that means you want them more than ever. What you once feared, you now can't resist... can you?"
"Nnnn... nnnooooo..." Barbara moaned, letting her kimono fall open as her hands roamed over her breasts and belly. Her nipples were so sensitive now that she could barely stand to touch them - but still her fingertips glided and stroked, roaming in slow circles around the stiff, taut buds. The Scarecrow watched her carefully, eyes narrowed behind the rough mask.
"Take off your robe." He hissed.
Barbara obeyed immediately, the silk kimono crumpling to the floor, exposing her freshly-washed body, occasional water-drops still clinging to her skin. She couldn't resist. After everything that had happened - the countless climaxes, the drugs, the near-breaking of her mind - she simply no longer had the strength. All she could do, lost as she was in the depths of her arousal and helplessness, was succumb to what her body needed. And what her body needed was to obey.
"Turn." The Scarecrow snarled, and Barbara pivoted on her heel. "Place your arms behind your back." Again, she obeyed. The Scarecrow grabbed hold of her arms, pulling hands to elbows and then winding rough twine around her forearms, binding them tight in such a way that she couldn't possibly reach the knots no matter how much she squirmed. But Barbara did not squirm, or fight - only let her head fall back, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping her lips.
"There," the tall man smiled, "that should make sure there aren't any last-minute reversals. Now... I have a last gift for you." He held up a syringe of clear yellow liquid. "Recognise this? I remember having you bound and helpless at one time - not unlike how you are now. I threatened you with this very syringe... pure, undiluted fear-pheromone, enough to make you afraid of everything in the world - terror so great it would turn you in seconds into a screaming madwoman, never to recover. Remember?"
Barbara felt a shiver of delicious need run through her, strong enough to make her weak at the knees. She remembered - the Scarecrow stepping closer, a single drop of the foul substance oozing from the tip of the needle, promising sure madness. It had been her ultimate nightmare, and one that still woke her with a start from a sound sleep on occasion. And now he was once again moving closer... and again the needle was poised and ready...
But this time... she wanted it.
The Scarecrow laughed. "I can see it in your eyes - my drug is doing a fine job on you. And you'll be happy to know it will continue to do so, even after this little jab. Fear becomes desire, my dear. Everything in the world will arouse you, pleasure you, excite you. One prick and you will become a bed-machine, a fuck-toy available to all, for whatever they wish. Batgirl will die - replaced by a mindless, endlessly humping Batslut, unable to think or speak or do anything at all... except come." He reached to grip her hair, looking into her wide, glazed eyes. "You want to be mindless, don't you?"
Barbara shuddered. It was the one thing she'd always dreaded, even more than death itself - losing her mind, her ability to reason. And now... "Yes," she whispered, almost too soft to be heard.
"I can't hear you, Batslut. Louder, please. You want to be mindless for me."
Barbara heard her own voice, answering quickly, ragged with need. "I want to be mindless for you." She looked deep into the Scarecrow's mad eyes, her own yearning, desperate. "Please. You can do what you want with me afterwards. Just... do it. Take it." She swallowed hard, lowering her head. "Take away my mind."
The Scarecrow chuckled, tugging her head back by the hair and guiding the needle close. Barbara gasped hotly, closing her eyes, anticipating that final moment -
- and then heard the hard smack of a fist against the Scarecrow's jaw, feeling his grip loosen on her hair and the syringe of deadly fluid clatter on the dresser. Her green eyes opened to take in the sight of Batman, mouth set in a grim snarl, aiming a brutal kick at the villain's ribcage, doubling him up, before laying him out on Barbara's bed with another powerhouse punch.
"Looks like I got back just in time. Are you okay?" he asked, turning to her, concern in his voice. "Did he..." His eyes fell to the syringe.
"No, but..." Barbara shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I was so close... I was just about to..."
"You were just about to become the plaything for a madman. But you're fine now." Drawing himself to his full height, Batman turned to the Scarecrow, lifting him up by the scruff of his neck and slamming him into the wall. "You're finished, Crane. You're headed straight to Arkham - and this time I'm going to personally ensure you never see the light of day again, you twisted excuse for a..." He paused, narrowing his white eye-slits.
The Scarecrow was laughing.
Batman turned to see Barbara standing in front of the dresser, tears running down her cheeks. Despite her bound arms, she'd managed to fumble for the syringe, and now it was in her right hand - with the needle stuck in her arm, and her thumb on the plunger. "Barbara! No!"
Barbara shook her head. "Batman... I was just about to come." She breathed in, looking Batman in the eyes. "Take care of me."
Then she pressed the plunger home.
EPILOGUE: MERRY CHRISTMAS, BATMAN
"I heard the... commotion, Sir. Is everything all right with our guest?"
Bruce Wayne nodded, towelling himself off after his vigorous workout in the secret room. "I think she'll sleep for a couple of hours now."
Alfred nodded cooly. "And then you'll be back in there for another... session?" The word dripped with sarcasm.
"She needs constant attention, Alfred, you know that. It's my responsibility - as Protector Of Gotham - to see that she'd properly stimulated as often as I can." He smiled. "You know, you could take a turn as well, old friend. She wouldn't mind."
"She has no mind, Sir." Alfred scowled. "I can't help wondering what your friend Commisioner Gordon would make of this... arrangement."
Bruce shook his head. "It would kill him, Alfred. He must never know. His only daughter, reduced to... well, better we continue our own brand of therapy until all hope is lost."
Alfred sighed. "Is it really necessary to keep her bound, Sir? Gagged? And in that... uniform you found at her headquarters?"
Bruce sighed, as though his manservant was really being very foolish indeed. "Alfred. You know that if we left her unchained, she'd do herself some real damage. Gagged, she'd howl the place down every time she came. And she really seems to enjoy that outfit - at least once we, ah, washed it." He paused, thinking. "Do you know, I think I might pay her one more visit before my nightly patrol. To help her sleep. Besides, it's vital to relieve tension in order to wage my war on crime."
Alfred sighed. "Enjoy screwing the pants off your Batslut, Sir. Cheaper than a whore."
"I'm sorry, Alfred, I didn't catch that -"
Alfred cleared his throat. "I said, I'll be sewing a patch on your bat-suit, Master Bruce. I'll leave it by the door."
Bruce nodded. "Quite, quite. Merry Christmas, Alfred."
"Merry Christmas, Master Bruce."