Earth-349:
Batgirl
by Anton Psychopoulos,
Ph.D.
Disclaimer #1
This story is set in a hypothetical parallel world within the pre-Crisis
DC Universe, based on a story in Superman #349, but not limited by
that story or any other.
Disclaimer #2
Some characters appearing in this story are based on copyrighted
characters owned by DC Comics, Inc., Marvel Comics and
others. Their use here is not
intended to infringe or disparage those copyrights.
Disclaimer #3
This story is not recommended for persons under 18 or the easily offended,
especially those who are uncomfortable with themes such as transgender,
transformation, she-males, blackmail, rough sex, dominance/submission,
non-conventional pregnancy and sex acts which, though perhaps not technically
illegal, raise difficult issues of family relationships.
Disclaimer #4
SERIOUS WARNING: This is a much kinkier story than previous Earth-349
stories. I’m not kidding
about persons under 18 and the easily offended maybe wanting to skip this
one.
The island of Potomac had been a council site for tribes living along
the Verazzano Sea long before the first whites appeared
there. That history, along with
the opportunity to settle a territorial dispute between Gloriana and Marysland,
had made it a reasonable site for the capital city of the new-formed United
States. As large as the Federal
government had grown in recent years, Washington was still an island town
that a person could bicycle across in an hour, a place where you could pretty
much count on meeting someone you knew on every trip to the grocery
store. Even so, it had been a couple of weeks since Barbara Gordon
had seen her brother, and she was looking forward to it.
A first-term Member of Congress just didn’t move in the same
circles as a college student, and Batgirl’s sporadic vigilante assaults
against street crime and racketeering seldom overlapped with Captain
America’s semi-official missions for the FBI and the
military. Dick had enrolled
at Naomi Franklin University in order to be closer to Barbara, but they had
soon learned that if they wanted to spend time together, they needed to schedule
dates and make an effort to keep them.
So it was that after a long day
of meetings and briefings, with
plenty of reading of white papers and teletype printouts in between, Barbara
found herself gingerly removing a pan from the oven, trying not to let her
pristine white sweater come in contact with the tomato sauce and meat juices
that nearly overflowed the pan.
She had just laid it across a pair of potholders when the bell
rang.
A quick check at the peephole in the door and the hidden peephole
at knee level, and she admitted her
brother. She noted with approval
that he had dressed well for the occasion, too.
“Does this mean you’re finally giving up those cowboy shirts
you brought back from Earth-348?”
“Funny you
should mention that, because actually this jacket is from there,
too. The Allied commander decided
to design his own uniform, and it caught on in a big
way.”
“A really sharp
jacket. Hard to picture it as
part of a military uniform, though.”
“It looks more
martial in green wool than in red
velour. So, what did you
make? Smells like something
Italian – manicotti?”
“Forget that,
Mister Boy Detective. It’s
stuff, of course.”
Dick’s smile
did Barbara a world of good.
“Stuff! Neat-o!”
They went immediately
into the kitchen-dining room and began dishing up bubbling-hot
“stuff”.
Good old stuff:
elbow macaroni, crumbled ground beef, tomato sauce and shredded cheese, all
stirred together and topped with more
cheese. Sarah Gordon’s
second-best dish, after her clam
chowder. Almost no work, and
as good as lasagne. Better,
maybe, since there were no hard crisped noodles in the top
layer.
Stuff, a salad with
a lemon-based dressing and cold club soda was just what a couple of homesick
Gordons needed on that Thursday night.
“So Babs, you
said on the phone that you thought you were wasting a lot of energy today,”
Dick said between forkfuls.
“’Fraid
so. It’s the
EEC. Nobody knows what’s going to come out of it, but
supposedly the Foreign Affairs Committee has to have a position on it
anyway. Bricks without straw,
I’m telling you.”
The Entente
Extraordinaire et Conditionale had convened a month before in
Berlin. Depending on whom you
asked, it was anything from just another international talkfest to a
constitutional convention for the United States of
Europe. With U.S. and Soviet
forces removed from the Continent, nobody knew what political or economic
shakeups might be in store, from Ireland to Crimea.
“Yeah,
they’re going nuts over it at the Triskelion.”
The War Department
was in the process of moving into an immense three-sided
building. For the first time,
all the armed services, and the newly centralized intelligence agency SHIELD,
would be headquartered in one place, already known by such nicknames as
George’s Hat and Target One.
Captain America, though officially unofficial, was a frequent
visitor.
“And that’s
enough Washington talk.
How’s school?”
“No, let’s
talk about Batwoman!”
A new voice,
high-pitched and nasal, had intruded.
Both Gordons turned to see a big-headed, potbellied creature floating
cross-legged in the air. It
wore a long-eared, long-slippered parody of Batwoman’s costume, with
a luminous zigzag on its narrow chest in place of a bat.
“Hello,
Bat-Mite,” Barbara said evenly.
“What can we do for you?”
“You can go
and have an adventure, of course!
Gee whiz, Batgirl and Robin together again, and all you guys wanna
do is have dinner?”
The imp waved a
pudgy hand and they were dressed as Robin and
Batgirl. They objected
loudly, especially when Barbara noticed that her yellow chest emblem had
been replaced by a bat-shaped peekaboo cutout that showed a good deal more
cleavage than she would have displayed
voluntarily. Brother and sister
looked at one another, exchanging grim
nods. As absurd as the little
imp was, he was potentially very dangerous, and had to be handled
carefully.
Bat-Mite had appeared
one day in Gotham, insisting cheerily that he was Batwoman’s biggest
fan in a dozen dimensions. He
was cheery and enthusiastic, eager to help out in Batwoman’s crusade
against crime.
Unfortunately, his “help” tended to consist of useless
suggestions, annoying kibitzing, or extravagant applications of his seemingly
magical powers in very inappropriate
ways. At various times, he had
given Batwoman superhuman powers that interfered with her usual methods of
doing things, or loaded her utility belt with improbable devices without
bothering to explain how they worked.
Lately, though,
he had begun to seem more like a malicious practical joker, pulling stunts
like turning Batwoman into a girl and her young partner Huntress into an
adult. He’d even helped
criminals escape, so that Batwoman would have “an opportunity to display
her brilliance” by catching them
again. It seemed as though he
were getting bored with Batwoman, and was playing roughly with her the way
some children did with toys they have outgrown.
Dick tugged at the
collar of Robin’s cape, trying to loosen it, but it seemed to be made
in one piece, of something that wasn’t
cloth. Barbara stepped close
to the hovering creature, speaking in her most saccharine tones.
“Look, Bat-Mite,
Dick – Robin -- and I are tired, we’ve been really busy
lately. We need to rest up for
our next adventure, and –“
“You wouldn’t
be so tired if you weren’t wasting time on all this Washington stuff,”
the Mite said petulantly.
“You should be back in Gotham, helping
Batwoman.”
He turned suddenly
on Dick.
“And quit trying
to take your cape off! Robin
is who you should be, not that dumb old Captain
America!”
Dick glared at the
little imp.
“Captain America
is the name I use these days. I
doubt if I’ll ever be called
Robin again.”
Broad chubby cheeks
turned pink with indignation.
“Whether
you’re Captain America or Robin, you’re still just a . . .
dick!”
The imp gestured vehemently, and Dick
vanished. No, not quite
vanished. Barbara felt a strange
uncomfortable sensation between her legs, looked down, and saw at once what
the creature had done with her brother.
“No. No, don’t
do this.”
She raised her hands to Bat-Mite pleadingly.
“Please . . . put him back.”
The creature chuckled.
“You want him put back, you can put him back
yourself.”
It had been a trying week for
Batwoman. Still recovering from
a small flesh wound in her left shoulder, she’d found even routine
crime-foiling a challenge.
Otherwise, Barbara would not have found Roberta Wayne at home as early
as midnight.
It had been a difficult drive, all the way from Washington: the ferry
ride, the toll booths, the service
stations. Barbara had not tried
to change out of Bat-Mite’s costume, merely peeled back the cowl and
thrown on an overcoat. The costume
was surprisingly comfortable, but the crotch didn’t seem to have enough
room for her new package, especially when it became
erect. It seemed to do that
at the oddest times, she noticed, and wondered if having a penis was always
like that.
If Roberta was surprised
by a midnight visit to Wayne Manor by an unmasked Batgirl flashing a rounded
pink bat-emblem, she didn’t betray it, merely hustled her
inside.
Barbara shrugged out of the coat and simply stood, feet wide apart,
and let Roberta see for herself.
“Bat-Mite did this?”
“Yes. This is Dick,
transformed. He said I could
put him back myself.”
Roberta nodded curtly.
“Yes, put him back.
Where he came from. All
right then.”
Roberta turned for the stairs.
Barbara hurried after.
“What do you have in mind?”
“One of the guest rooms.”
“But – should we just go through with it, just like
that?”
“I don’t think we have much choice at this point, but to
play the game by Bat-Mite’s rules.”
Swallowing hard, Barbara
followed. She’d really
been hoping that Roberta would come up with some other solution, but if Batwoman
said there was no alternative, there probably
wasn’t. She was terrified
of the prospect, and she cringed in shame by how her transformed brother
swelled and throbbed between her legs as she thought of what lay
ahead.
The room Roberta chose had been her mother’s bedroom, and still
had the flounced and ruffled white decor that Martha Wayne had
chosen. As Roberta efficiently cut her out
of Bat-Mite’s costume with a utility knife, Barbara
looked around the room. It was
a good choice, in the opposite wing from Roberta’s two young children
(and their butler). But Barbara
was acutely aware of the likelihood
that Roberta herself had been conceived in that same
room.
“Listen, we don’t want to give Bat-Mite any excuses for
giving us the runaround. We
probably shouldn’t use a condom or other
barrier.”
“It’s
all right. I had a tubal ligation
years ago. And I know you and
Dick are both disease-free.”
Finally naked, feeling
extremely self-conscious, Barbara climbed onto the bed and lay there stiffly
beside the older woman. Naturally,
Barbara’s erection chose that moment to
wilt. It showed no sign of returning
while she clumsily manipulated herself.
It felt very strange
to lie there next to that body, so familiar, yet which she’d never seen
completely naked before. Roberta
Wayne was not quite forty, her body a study in hard ropy muscle and scar
tissue. It was not a conventionally
attractive body, but Barbara saw the beauty of passion and obsession in it,
the beauty of a bodybuilder or a tattoo
fetishist. Barbara turned these
thoughts over in her mind, trying to find a way around two painful truths:
1) she was not attracted to women and 2) she loved and was intimidated by
Roberta Wayne, and dreaded to subject her to an unwelcome
intimacy.
Roberta took the
organ in her hand, stroking it gently at first, then more forcefully, then
lowered her head between Barbara’s
legs. Barbara closed her eyes,
bit her lip, tried to relax enough to let Roberta’s clever tongue do
its work.
Suddenly, both of
Barbara’s hands were on Roberta’s head, forcing it roughly up and
down. When Barbara shoved
Roberta’s head away, the penis was purple and throbbing, veins standing
out on its sides.
Barbara muscled
her mentor into position on all fours and entered her at once, with no pretense
of foreplay. It was a brutal
coupling of hard thrusts, loud wet slapping noises, savage grunts and
hair-pulling. At the end, Barbara
threw back her head and roared out in triumph as she felt the ejaculatory
pump firing for the first and only time in her life.
As soon as her orgasm
subsided, Barbara withdrew, trembling with fear and
shame. She crouched at the edge
of the bed, staring anxiously at Roberta.
“Please . .
. I’m so sorry. I don’t
. . . I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s
all right. I expected
it. When I took that psychological profile of you a couple
of years ago, I noticed that you had a strong need for a dominant/submissive
aspect to sex.”
“Yes, but .
. . I’ve had two lovers, and with them I, er . . .
”
“You were extremely
submissive, yes. You have a
deep-seated feeling that comes out during sex, that the female must submit
to the male. Only this time,
you were the male, and I was the female.
So, you had to dominate me.”
Roberta moved towards the cringing younger
woman. She reached out and tried
to lay a hand on Barbara’s cheek, but she flinched
away.
“It’s all right.
You did just fine.”
Roberta looked up at the empty air above the bed.
“She did, didn’t she?
She did what you wanted.
Happy now?”
Bat-Mite materialized just under the canopy.
“You bet, Batwoman.
Boy, that was great, seeing you use your brilliant detective skills
to figure out what you had to do, and your athletic prowess to
–“
“Enough. Just restore
Dick to normal.”
“Okey-dokey. And
while I’m at it, Batwoman, you deserve a reward for being such a good
sport.”
Roberta started
to object, but too late. With
a flash and sparkles, suddenly there were three bodies in the
bed. Finding himself naked between
the naked bodies of his sister and birth-mother, Dick was understandably
surprised, but he managed to remain
silent. He watched and listened,
running his tongue over his teeth as though there were an odd taste in his
mouth.
Roberta looked down
at her body, her face expressionless.
“Clever. He removed
my scars. That would include
undoing my tubal ligation, no doubt.”
The imp giggled.
“You guessed it!
Congratulations, Babs, you’re going to be a
father! Oh, and Batwoman,
don’t worry about inbreeding.
Dick was the frank, but the beans were
Barbara’s. She really is
the father.”
Roberta nodded.
“Fine, then.
We’ve played your game to the
end. Now get
out.”
Roberta stood up in bed, coming nose to nose with the creature, speaking
in a colder voice than either of her former students had ever
heard.
“Leave Earth, and don’t come
back. If you ever bother anyone
in this dimension, or cause someone else to come here and cause trouble,
I will kill you.”
Bat-Mite looked at Batwoman for a long
moment. He didn’t look
angry, or frightened, but he did look as though he might be about to
cry. Then he straightened up
and
sighed.
“You’re no fun anymore,” he said, and
vanished.
Dick slithered out of bed, trying not to look at Roberta or
Barbara. He shuffled for the
door, muttering, “Guess I’ll have a
shower.”
Roberta looked at Barbara.
Neither made an effort to cover herself.
“Roberta, I was the one who said
–“
“Only because you spoke up
first. And you were
right. You aren’t to blame
for this, that little monster is.”
Roberta reached out, and this time Barbara allowed Roberta to touch
her.
“It’ll be all right.
If I’d been asked, I’d have been proud to choose you for
a father. You have good
genes. Jim Gordon’s
genes.”
Barbara forced a
smile.
“This isn’t
quite how I’d imagined giving Dad his first
grandchild.”
Roberta pulled dressing
gowns from the closet for them.
Barbara went to stand outside the bathroom door, waiting for her turn
in the shower.
More Earth-349 stories can be found at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/earth349
Contact the author at
doctor_p99@hotmail.com