Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 09

This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 9: The Return Of Batgirl

November 19th, Somewhere In Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 6:15 pm

Barbara rolled over onto her back and groaned aloud. Someone was shaking her shoulder and speaking to her.

"Time to get up, sleepy head!" commanded a woman's voice, with a no-nonsense tone.

Barbara cracked open an eyelid, to see a powerfully built woman in a white nurse's outfit, standing alongside the bed. She felt awful. Her head was still spinning around and her mouth tasted like it was an ashtray full of stale cigarette butts.

"Go away and let me die in peace," she mumbled, closing the eyes again and trying to turn over, away from the source of annoyance.

The stern faced woman reached out and shook her shoulder again, more forcibly this time. "I said time to move your ass, lady!" she snapped, losing what little patience she'd possessed in the first place. The nurse dragged the sleepy redhead into a sitting position, with her legs dangling over the side of the bed. Barbara was still wearing just her shredded panties and laddered hose, along with her red high-heeled shoes.

It suddenly dawned on the sexy redhead, that she was no longer tied up, as the mental cobwebs started to dissipate from her brain. Any thoughts she might have been harboring about trying to escape, were quickly dashed, as she notice an burly armed guard, standing over by the exit to the room.

"Time for your shower, sweetie," the nurse informed her, jerking a raised thumb toward a second door, one which Barbara had previously failed to notice.

"That must lead to an adjoining bathroom," Barbara decided, along with the sudden realization that she was bursting for a leak. She nodded, then cautiously rose to her feet, swaying, alarmingly and almost tumbling over. Her head still felt fuzzy, no doubt due to the injections they'd been giving her.

The well built female, firmly gripped her upper arm, to help support her. "Take your clothes with you and get dressed, once you've showered," she further instructed the still befuddled redhead. Barbara noticed that her red party dress and spare pair of lacy red panties, had been neatly draped over the bottom end of the bed.

She nodded, drunkenly, and managed to pick up the items of clothing, before allowing herself to be guided over to the bathroom door. The nurse opened the door and roughly shoved her inside, causing her to stumble, slightly.

"Now get showered and dressed," the nurse snapped. "You've got ten minutes!" she added, before slamming the bathroom door closed.

-oOo-

Barbara draped the dress and panties over the back of the chair provided, then she sat down on it, to tug off her high heels. The torn and shredded panties and hold-ups, quickly followed, only to be discarded in the small waste bin, which she found in the corner of the bathroom. After sitting on the toilet and relieving her aching bladder, she turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature, before stepping under the powerful needle spray jets. She turned her face up to the refreshing flow of water, with a groan of relief.

Barbara stepped out from under the shower, feeling alert and alive again, but wishing she could've spent more time under the refreshing warm spray. She had just started to dry herself, on the large, fluffy towel provided, when the bathroom door flew inward, and crashed against the wall, with a loud bang.

"C'mon, bitch, you've had yer ten minutes," snarled the beefy nurse, stepping inside the room. "Get yer clothes on, or I'll take ya as you are."

Barbara could see that there was no use arguing with the woman, so she hurriedly slipped into her panties and dress then pulled on her heels, while the nurse stood watching her, an amused smile on her particularly plain features.

"Where are we going?" Barbara asked, as the woman herded her toward the door leading from the bedroom.

"The boss wants to see you," the female snapped, "and he doesn't like to be kept waiting." The armed guard fell into step behind them, as they exited.

-oOo-

They traveled down in a small elevator and, when they emerged from it, Barbara was marched along a narrow corridor, before entering what appeared to be a large dressing room, similar to those that Jenny used, in the various strip clubs that she worked in.

As they entered the room, Lew Hafnor swung around from a spiky-haired young woman, to whom he had been earnestly engaged in conversation.

"Ah, Ms. Gordon," he declared, "I'm glad you could finally make it!"

"What the hell's going on here?" the sexy redhead demanded. "Why am I being kept in this place against my will? I demand to be released, immediately!"

The smile disappeared from Hafnor's face, replaced by an ugly scowl. "You're in no position to DEMAND anything, Ms. Gordon," he snapped. "YOU were the one who broke into MY private premises, remember."

"But... but I explained all that," she spluttered, caught off-guard.

"You explained nothing!" he snapped, then his face broke into a friendly smile, once more. "But, since you ARE here, I want you to do something for me."

"What?" she asked, suspiciously.

"I want you to play the starring roll in a little movie that I'm making."

"A-A movie?" she parroted, with a look of incredulity on her lovely face.

"Yeah," he confirmed, nodding. "Are you aware that you bear a striking resemblance to the Dynamic Damsel, Batgirl, Ms. Gordon?"

A thrill of apprehension ran up the redhead's spine, as she vigorously shook her head in denial. "No, no, I wasn't aware of that," she lied. "I'm sure you must be mistaken. I'm probably nothing like her."

"No need to be quite so modest, Ms. Gordon. While you were unconscious, we measured your vital statistics and, at 36c-23-36 inches, they are identical to those reputed to belong to Gotham City's most famous female crime fighter."

"Goodness gracious," Barbara gasped, clutching at her chest, dramatically, "that's absolutely amazing. I had no idea."

"You also have similar gorgeous red hair and your facial features bear a striking resemblance to those of The Batgirl. You also have a superbly lithe, lightly muscled physique, Ms. Gordon, which suits the Dynamic Daredoll roll we envisage for you, to perfection."

"My, oh, my! No more complements please, or you will have me blushing to the roots of my hair," Barbara replied, with just a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"So, I would like you to agree to play the part of Batgirl, in a short movie that I'm making."

"WHAT? You... you must be joking. I have no acting experience or qualifications."

"It is a none speaking roll."

"What if I refuse?"

His face turned ugly. "I wouldn't recommend that course of action," he snarled, leaving the dire consequences, an unspoken threat.

"And if I agree to your demands?"

"Then I will let you go... unharmed, naturally, and donate a generous sum to a charity of your choice."

"How do I know I can trust you to keep your word?"

He spread both hands out, palms upward. "You have my word as a gentleman, Ms. Gordon."

"Very well, I agree, but only under duress! What do you want me to do?" Barbara wasn't sure she was doing the right thing, but hopefully this would give her the answers to some of the questions now swirling around in her mind.

"This young woman..." he indicated the spiky-haired young female standing beside him, "will provide your costume and help you get ready for the scene that we wish to film a little later on, today. She will then take you through to the makeup department, before you are escorted onto the actual film set."

"What sort of film set?" the ravishing redhead asked, suspiciously.

"It is a BDSM dungeon scene, where you, The Batgirl, are the victim, and are about to be tortured by your evil nemesis, known as the 'Bitch Killer'." He saw the look of sudden panic cross her features. "Not for REAL, of course!" he added, with a wolfish grin. "You will only be acting the part."

Barbara gave a relieved sigh. "Very well, let's get on with it!" she snapped, her head held proudly.

"Then I'll leave you in Janet's more than capable hands," he replied, turning and heading for the door. He paused and turned back to face her, just as he reached it. "Oh, and if you were thinking of reneging on our agreement, there will be an armed guard following in your footsteps, wherever you go."

-oOo-

Once he had departed, Janet walked over to a long rack of clothes and removed a filmy, gossamer thin garment that hung from a wooden clothes hanger, along with a tiny black thong, that would've been hard pressed to cover a U.S. Mail postal stamp.

"This is your Batgirl costume," she explained, smiling as she saw the look of incredulity on Barbara's face. "It is based, as closely as possible, on Batgirl's own revealing crime-fighting outfit, but is made of the sheerest of stretch materials, so it is extremely fragile. You couldn't leap around or fight baddies in this outfit, it would probably disintegrate!"

"Thanks for the warning," Barbara retorted, sarcastically. "I'll try to avoid such energetic activities."

"It zips up the back, but you will have to let me help you on with it, because it is so easily damaged."

Barbara nodded.

"Right. Strip off, please!"

Barbara slipped off her heels, then swiftly removed her red dress and panties. She then wriggled, unaided, into the tiny pair of black thong panties, which were even briefer than those that she normally wore as Batgirl. Luckily, she kept her mons clean shaven, or it could have been embarrassing.

As she pulled the narrow side straps high onto her hips, the spiky-haired costumier nodded her approval.

"Good! Now, sit down on this stool, and I will roll the Batcostume up over your legs," she ordered. When she reached Barbara's crotch, she asked her to stand, before pulling the sheer clinging material up over her ass and about her slim waist.

"Now slip your arms into the sleeves," Janet ordered, before pulling the costume up over Barbara's firm breasts and shoulders and fastening the clip at the nape of her neck. Finally, she gradually zipped Barbara up, starting at her coccyx or tailbone and carefully working her way up to the nape of her neck.

"There, finished!" she exclaimed, triumphantly, stepping back. "Now for the accessories."

First she slipped some platform-soled ankle boots, with six-inch stiletto heels, onto Barbara's feet and zipped them up.

"I'm sure the real Batgirl doesn't wear heels this high!" Barbara complained, wobbling on the unaccustomed footwear.

"She would if she was in this film," the girl replied, with a cheeky grin, handing her a black combination cowl and eye mask. "Slip this on and tuck your hair in the back."

The headgear was amazingly close to the real thing, right down to the two pointed bat ears, but without the enhanced hearing and tracer device of the genuine article. Barbara then slipped the bright yellow utility belt she was handed, around her slim waist, and snapped it into place, using the magnetic buckle with its black Bat-symbol. The belt hung low on her flared hips. Barbara could tell, from the lack of weight, that the utility belt compartments were empty, or possibly stuffed with tissue paper to bulk them up.

When she was finished, Janet stood back and gave her charge the once over. "Perfect!" she declared. "You have the most amazing figure, Ms. Gordon." The clinging costume fitted Barbara like a second skin and if she hadn't been wearing the thong, she would've been revealing everything she'd got to her latest admirer.

"Thanks for the compliment," Barbara replied, pleasantly surprised by the girl's cheery, friendly disposition.

"Right, let's take you through to makeup, not that you need much. Be careful not to snag that costume on anything though. It is so flimsy, you wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, I think I would," Barbara replied, running her hands down over her shapely curves, a little self-consciously.

-oOo-

Barbara followed the girl along the hallway, until they arrived at makeup. Another young woman, whose name was June, was eagerly awaiting their arrival. After the introductions were completed, Janet left them to it, and June sat Barbara down on a stool in front of the large dressing table mirror, with illuminated light bulbs around the edges.

"There's not a lot to do, unless you would like me to touch up your breasts," the makeup artist suggested, giving the redhead a saucy wink.

"Er, no thanks, just the face will be fine," Barbara replied, trying not to blush.

The girl powdered her cheeks and nose. "Nothing worse than a shiny nose, when you're filming," she revealed, with a dry chuckle. She then applied a thick layer of lilac colored lipstick to Barbara's full, eminently kissable lips. "You have a perfect complexion, Ms. Gordon," she commented, a little enviously.

"Thank you."

"There, that should do it!" June proclaimed, before turning to the bulky guard, lurking in the background. "She's ready for you now."

"This way, Ms. Gordon," the large man growled, indicating with his head, that she should take the lead. He didn't want to touch her fragile outfit, not unless it became absolutely necessary.

"Break a leg!" the girl called after them, with a titter, as Barbara was herded down the hallway, heading for the film set. The air was cool against her lightly clad skin and her nipples peaked, making her breasts look even more spectacular than usual. By now, Barbara had decided that she was underground, somewhere beneath the Hafnor mansion.

November 19th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 7:05 pm

Jennifer experienced a feeling of deja-vu, as she drove her small car through the tall, imitation wrought iron gates and along the driveway toward the house and the visitor's parking lot. She was still feeling a little guilty about leaving the search for the missing librarian, to the Dynamic Duo, but she was hoping this opportunity might lead to some possible clues to the BDSM killings. There was also that butterfly emblem on the gates to be investigated.

When Lew Hafnor had taken Jenny's phone number, she hadn't really expected to hear from the multi-millionaire again, let alone be offered an acting job, at such short notice. She hadn't known what to wear, so she'd slipped into some stretch blue jeans and a chunky, white wool sweater, together with her favorite tan leather cowgirl boots.

She parked her red Toyota Corolla compact sedan, in the almost empty parking lot, locked it up then hurried over to the main entrance, where she rang the ornate door chime. The place didn't look to be a hive of activity. After a brief wait, a butler type opened the door. The guy was about six-feet three-inches tall and covered in bulging muscle, and his manservant's uniform seemed a little on the tight side.

"Good evening, Ms. Goodbody," he greeted, standing aside to let Jennifer enter. "Mr. Hafnor is expecting you. You will find him in the Study."

"The Study?" Jenny queried, with a blank look.

"Second door on the left, Miss."

"Thanks!"

As she walked through the doorway into the office-like room, Lew Hafnor rose from behind a large imposing desk. "Ah, Ms. Goodbody, Jennifer... It is okay, if I call you Jennifer?" he added, holding out his hand to her.

The blue-eyed blonde, shook his hand and returned his pleasant smile. "Jenny, please." Despite his smile, their was something shifty about the way he looked at her.

"I was starting to get worried, Jenny," he continued, glancing at his Rolex watch. "We tend to work to a fairly tight schedule. Shall we go straight down to costume and makeup and get you ready for your part?"

"What exactly is this scene that you want me to do?" Jenny enquired, with a slight frown. "You didn't really explain over the phone."

"It's part of a movie I'm making, nominally entitled 'Batgirl: Heroine In Distress'," he explained.

Jenny blinked her surprise.

"In this particular scene, our heroine has been captured and taken to the villain's dungeon, where she is bound and whipped by a cruel dominatrix who works for him, that's you, by the way!"

"W-Whipped?" Jenny stuttered, rapidly starting to have second thoughts about her budding movie career.

"Don't worry, no-one gets hurt. Everything is faked and eventually the baddy gets his come-uppance," he reassured her, with a broad grin. "Your fee for this evening's work, will be a cool one thousand dollars."

"A-A thousand dollars?" she gasped. "That's fantastic."

"I'm sure you'll earn every dime, my dear."

"Who's playing the part of Batgirl, by the way?"

"A little known newcomer. No-one you're likely to be familiar with."

"Oh?"

"Not having second thoughts are you?"

"Certainly not. Let's go!" Jenny replied, giving him a tremulous smile.

November 19th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 7:12 pm

The set looked like something taken straight out of the 16th century Spanish Inquisition, when Protestants were tortured and punished for their so-called heretic beliefs. Two burly stagehands escorted Barbara to the centre of the dungeon set, then clamped her wrists into leather-covered metal shackles, which hung down on long lengths of chain from a fixed gantry above, spreading her arms high and wide. Her feet were spread apart and further manacles, attached to the ends of a spreader bar, were clamped around her booted ankles. As careful adjustments were made to her bondage, leaving the purple-clad Caped Cutie standing in a tightly stretched spreadeagle stance, other stagehands were busy setting up the high intensity lighting and sound equipment about her.

A guy in tight blue-jeans and a T-shirt, walked over to her, with a big smile on his face. She had seen him talking to Lew in his office. "Hi, Ms. Gordon, my name's Al Peterson. I'm the joint producer and director of this movie," he said, introducing himself, self-importantly.

"H-Hello, Mr. Peterson."

"Let me explain what's going to happen. In the scene that we're about to film, Batgirl... that's you, is tied up and punished by her evil nemesis, the 'Bitch Killer', employing a sexy blonde dominatrix to administer a severe whipping.

"W-What?" Barbara gasped, going pale. "No way! You must be out of your tiny mind! Get me out of this!"

He grinned at her highly agitated state. "Don't get agitated, Ms. Gordon, we use a specially constructed stage whip, that will not harm you in any way, or leave any marks on that beautiful unblemished hide," he reassured.

"B-But I've never done any acting before. What do I say, what do I do?" she protested.

"The part doesn't require you to say anything," he replied, nodding to a man standing immediately behind the cowled beauty. A moment later, a red rubber ballgag was shoved between Barbara's teeth, stretching her jaws wide apart, before she could protest any further, and the buckled straps were tightly cinched up, at the back of her head.

"Mmmmph! Nnnngghh!" she cried, shaking her head, furiously.

Peterson nodded his approval. "Excellent, Ms. Gordon. That's just the sort of reaction we were hoping for. Now, try to react how you would expect someone to react, who is being severely beaten with a whiplash. Jerk and squirm your pretty ass, and scream into your ballgag, as if the whipping were really hurting you."

Barbara calmed down a little, but her big green eyes still flashed, angrily. There was nothing she could do now, but go along with their mad plans, at least for the time being.