Birds of Prey - Twisted Desire Ch. 03

Chapter Four

Field Work

Barbara awoke early the next morning from a dreamless sleep. To her displeasure, her first thoughts were centered on the footage from the night before. The raw, pornographic footage that was a candid window into her close friend's sex life. Helena Bertinelli was having sex with one of her male students. But she hadn't entered into that twisted relationship of her own volition. No, Helena was being manipulated somehow. Whether it was hypnosis or some other form of mind control, Barbara knew in her gut that it had everything to do with the peculiar ring she now wore.

The ring itself was almost bland, a trait that only added to how strange it was. A simple band of what appeared to be dark, glossy stone. Barbara had no idea what it was made from, only that it was a black mineral that glimmered in the light, catching one's eye even from across a classroom.

That was exactly how Barbara noticed another ring as she passed a fellow teacher in the hall. She quickly turned on her heel, calling out to stop her colleague. Barbara needed to confirm that it wasn't simply her eyes playing tricks.

Barbara's suspicions were proven correct as the black, glossy ring taunted her from its spot on the fellow teacher's left hand. She recognized the woman as the history teacher whose classroom was directly across the hall from her own. Miss Annabelle Jameson, "Belle" for short.

Belle was a short woman, though only an inch or two shorter than Barbara herself, with smooth, lovely dark skin. She had narrow eyes of rich amber and a small button nose. High cheekbones and full lips - painted black - evoked the look of foreign royalty. Her face was framed by a neat bob cut of silky smooth black hair. She could have easily been a model. But Belle was no skinny waif. Her body could only be described as womanly. Her hips fanned outwards from a narrow waist and poured down into legs that even Zatanna would envy. And judging from the way her blouse valiantly contained the proud swell of her chest, Belle easily gave Power Girl some competition as well.

On top of that, she was dressed to kill. A high-waisted black pencil skirt hugged her legs like a second skin with pearl buttons going up the left side. Her top was a chic blouse, white silk and sleeveless. Her boots were black knee-highs with block heels and gleamed in the light, recently shined.

Barbara only needed to look at Miss Jameson for half a second in order to conclude the worst. She was a perfect target for the Brotherhood stooges: Young, beautiful, and female. And in close proximity to their little hunting ground. Though Barbara had only spoken with Belle a few times since assuming the alias Barbara Morgan, she knew for a fact that Belle hadn't been wearing the black ring last week. Which meant she had been targeted by the Brotherhood recently.

"Look who decided to get all dressed up!" Barbara lauded the other woman's outfit with a fake smile. "What's the occasion?"

Belle smiled radiated supreme confidence, as if the compliment was predestined. "No occasion. If you've got it, flaunt it."

"Well, you've certainly got it. Hit any club in downtown Gotham and you'll be beating men off with a stick."

"That's the idea, sister." Belle's lips pursed into a kittenish smirk, her eyes taking on a mischievous glint. "Minus the stick of course."

"Your ring is gorgeous. Where'd you get it?" Barbara inwardly winced at her lack of subtlety.

"Oh, this?" Belle held out her left hand, fingers splayed wide to show off her ring. The devious spark in her eyes was gone, replaced with a glassy, dreamy look. Belle now looked more like a lovestruck girl than a knockout of a woman. "It's a gift. My boyfriend just gave it to me last Sunday. He's got one also, so we match."

Barbara simply nodded. "Sounds serious."

Belle shot her a brief look, her eyes now unreadable as she turned her gaze down at the black, glossy stone.

"It's not that kind of ring." She said after a moment. "But yeah, it's pretty serious. It's supposed to represent our connection. Isn't that romantic?"

"I'm practically swooning." Barbara forced another smile. "Can I see it?"

"No."

"No?"

Belle blinked, pulling her hand back towards her body. She closed her slender fingers into a small fist, the glimmering band positioned right under her chin.

"I mean... You can see it just fine from right there, can't you?"

Barbara had to stop herself from frowning. Pressing the issue now would only cause problems later, she reminded herself. The redhead nodded, bowing her head apologetically.

"You're right. Sorry. Forget I asked." Barbara exhaled softly through her nose, but the frustration still held tight on her mind.

Belle waved her off, snorting. "It's not an issue. Water under the bridge, yeah? I'll see you at lunch."

The other woman turned on her heel and continued down the hallway, hips rocking side to side as if she was on a model runway. Barbara watched her go for a short time before narrowing her eyes.

"Miss Jameson?" She called out to her fellow teacher once more. Belle half-turned to face Barbara, black lips pursed and one brow raised. Barbara jerked her thumb back over her shoulder. "Isn't your classroom this way?"

Belle blinked. "Oh. Yes, I forgot to print out study guides for my second period class. I'm heading down to the computer lab right now. I'm only going to be a few minutes late. Nothing to worry about."

"Gotcha. Take care." Barbara nodded and watched the other woman turn a corner and vanish from sight. She only waited a moment before moving to follow. The computer labs aren't that way either...

Barbara silently thanked Bruce and his strict stealth training regimen as she shadowed Miss Jameson, completely undetected by her fellow teacher. Barbara prided herself in being a self-taught masked vigilante, operating independently from the Batman in her early years. But she couldn't ignore the value of the Bat's experience, even if it was a pointed mark against Batgirl's independence from Batman.

Tailing the compromised Belle Jameson eventually brought Barbara outside. Crisp, early morning air carried the chill of the Gotham Autumn season. Barbara couldn't take advantage of the indoor school environment to stay out of sight anymore, so she had to maintain a distance between Jameson and herself. She followed the young, beautiful teacher to a secluded walled garden near the Kane Memorial Library - the smaller of the school's two.

Putting her training to good use, Barbara moved to a higher vantage point. Climbing was second nature to the redhead this many years into her crime-fighting career. She found a comfortable perch on a high oak branch within seconds, maintaining visual contact with her mark all the while. She couldn't help but smirk, finding some small satisfaction in performing Batgirl duties while dressed in civilian garb. Though she made a mental note to change before heading back to class - her blouse and pants now caked in dark smudges.

Barbara watched Miss Jameson take a seat on a lonely wooden bench under an old tree, brown and orange leaves covering the stone walkway. The entire garden was empty save for Belle, the occasional raven, and Barbara herself. A moment passed, then another, with Belle sitting patiently while casting glances from one direction of the stone path to the other. She was waiting for someone, Barbara guessed. I need to find out who.

Finally, both Belle and Barbara hood footsteps, Belle herself visibly perking up at the sound of heels clicking against stone. A figure moved briskly and with purpose from the opposite end of the path Belle had arrived from, obscured slightly by the garden's tall, decorative bushes. Barbara saw Belle's lips curl into a smirk, the dark-skinned beauty standing to greet-

"Miss Flores. Glad you decided to show up." Belle teased, giving her fellow teacher glance over. Her voice was teasing, flirty. Barbara recognized the recent arrival.

Rita Flores. Five feet, six inches tall. Thirty-two years old. Hired to Kingston Academy's faculty last year. Teaches twelfth-grade biology.

Barbara blinked. She squinted her eyes, taking a moment to make sure she was seeing things - and hearing things - correctly. But her mind was not playing tricks. She was witnessing exactly what she was seeing. Miss Jameson was having a secret rendezvous with... another female teacher?

"I got your text," Miss Flores said, holding up her phone in one hand. The other hand was resting on her hip, her posture evoking half-hearted irritation. Her voice was similar, her words colored by mock displeasure and real excitement. "You have got to be the most impatient chica I've ever met. You couldn't wait until tonight?"

Miss Jameson clicked her tongue. "Please. You couldn't have said 'yes' fast enough. You look great by the way. He's going to love it."

Barbara had to admit that Miss Flores did look great. Not quite the fashion-oriented beauty of her present colleague, but the latina had her own worldly sense of style. Cute, black wedge heels. Tight blue jeans that hugged her lovely legs and sumptuous rear-end. V-neck sweater that was neither too tight or too light, with just the right amount of melding to the contours of Miss Flores' body to both signify her femininity and hide it away.

Barbara briefly felt pity for the boys who attended Kingston for having their hormones being constantly on alert thanks to the likes of Miss Jameson, Miss Flores, and even Headmistress Kaplan. But then she remembered that the boys of Kingston were the culprits here.

Meanwhile, Miss Flores made a small pose for her friend, smiling at the compliment. "You should see what's under this. Been looking for an excuse to dig it out of the closet. And it's nothing compared to what I've got prepared for the ceremony."

"It better be slutty. Lace?"

"Silk. Cost a fortune but it'll be worth it when I see the look on his face."

Ceremony. What ceremony? And what kind of guy does a woman like Rita Flores buy silk for?

"And speaking of him..." Miss Flores continued, glancing at her phone. "Where exactly is the man of the hour? Guapo better not keep us waiting. Not like last time."

"Speak of the devil..." Spoke a youthful yet unmistakably masculine voice. Another figure had entered the walled garden, approaching the two women. Same as Rita, his visage was obstructed by shrubbery as he approached so Barbara couldn't make out who he was. But even from her perch in the tree and her obscured sightline, Barbara could tell he was tall and well-built. "...And he appears."

Then Barbara got a clear look at him. And her stomach sank. From her vantage point, she could only glare at the grinning, handsome face of Andrew Westfield. Another supervillain progeny. Blond hair, blue eyes, looks like a model but built like a linebacker. The kind of privileged twat Barbara loathed when she was in high school. Barbara briefly imagined Batgirl smashing his teeth in, ruining his handsome face with the heel of her boot...

"White devil." Miss Jameson clarified, slowly moving to his right flank. Barbara could see her devour the male student with her eyes. The sheer shamelessness of the older woman's sexual interest in the male before her made the redhead superhero want to throw up. "Silver-tongued punk..."

"At least blondie's on time." Miss Flores noted with a kittenish smile.

Miss Jameson hummed in agreement, a small slender hand sliding sensually up Westfied's well-chiseled arm. She pursed her dark lips, letting out a wordless but pleased sound as she felt how firm the young man was.

"Maybe with all the schooling we've been putting this white boy through, he actually managed to learn something." Miss Jameson mused, keeping her eyes locked with Westfield's. A smirk curled at the corner of her mouth.

"You two ladies know good and well that I'm no boy." Westfield retorted, infuriatingly calm and confident. Miss Jameson was practically pressed into his side now, the hand that had been groping his bicep was now shamelessly gliding across his broad chest. Her other hand was out of view. Barbara didn't even want to think about the implications.

Miss Flores was closing in on the student's exposed flank. A pincer movement. Westfield was surrounded. He had his teachers right where he wanted them.

Rita Flores closed the gap, giggling. She planted a soft kiss on her pupil's exposed neck, taking a moment to enjoy his musk. She brought her lips to his ear.

"Not since we made you into a man, idiota. Never forget."

Westfield gave a low chuckle, both of his sculpted arms snaking around his teachers' waists.

"I don't plan on forgetting nothing, believe me." Westfield assured his two lady friends. He grunted softly when Miss Jameson reached down to cup him through his pants. He locked eyes with the dark-skinned woman, smug confidence giving way to heated lust. Jameson groped her quarry shamelessly, standing on her tip-toes to plant a soft but solid kiss on Westfield's lips. Westfield enjoyed the attention for a moment before pulling back, letting the woman shower attention on his neck much like what Miss Flores was doing.

Barbara watched in silent horror as the teen boy's filthy paws came to rest on the swells of their hips, dangerously close to the supple mounds of their rear ends. If the young sex fiend had reached down to grab himself some nice handfuls of womanly ass, then Barbara wouldn't have been able to stop Batgirl from jumping down there to their little garden party and... Doing something.

"Belle. Rita. You both look nice this morning." Westfield rumbled, the words coming from deep in his chest. He had both women pulled close to him, as if their body heat, their scent was as precious as air.

Rita lashed her tongue against his neck, muttering a Spanish curse under her breath. "Pssh. Nice."

"You gotta do better than that, Mr. Shoulders." Belle snorted in agreement.

Westfield groaned, more in sexual need than in annoyance. He tore himself away from the two women, visibly struggling to remove his hands from the warmth of their bodies. He moved towards the lone wooden bench of the walled garden and took a seat, legs spread. His arousal was clear, the bulge in his jeans visible even to Barbara from her hidden spot. Batgirl could see that this new perpetrator was as blessed in the manhood department as his criminal cohort, Matt Reston. Barbara violently quelled any thoughts of womanly admiration, evicting such evil from her mind and instead forced herself to focus on her anger, her fury.

As a feminist, she knew she should be disgusted. She was disgusted. Westfield, Reston, the rest of their Brotherhood, they were rapists. They mind controlled women to fulfill their perverted sex fantasies. They were wild, rutting dogs who needed to be put down. But the Birds of Prey weren't executioners. They'd have to settle for muzzling these bad guys, instead.

Westfield leaned back into the bench, drinking in the sight of his two sexy teachers. He visibly relished the fact that these women wanted his cock and wanted it bad, willing to ditch class for a quick romp in a secluded garden. Even during school hours, someone could walk by and catch them in the act. And in reality, someone was. But none of them knew that.

"Gorgeous. Absolute knockouts, both of you." Westfield praised, undressing his two favorite teachers with his eyes. He bit his lower lip, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe in his good fortune. Most men would be over the moon with wooed one woman, let alone two. "Watching you in class these couple weeks... watching you strut around in tight skirts, low-cut dresses... You two drive me fucking wild."

Belle and Rita gave each other a look, wicked little smiles curling their full, soft lips. With a shared nod the two women advanced on their target. It was a two-pronged strike, same as before. Westfield didn't stand a chance.

"There's definitely room for improvement." Rita noted, her mock judgement barely masking her glee. She had taken the right flank and already had her hands slithering up under the young man's shirt. Miss Flores giggled as she again felt how solidly built her student was, leaning over to catch his lips in a fiery kiss.

"He's a work in progress." Belle added, her own hands working lower at the fly of Westfield's jeans. "It's our job to educate this young man on how to treat a lady. Or two, in this case."

"I know how to treat ladies, Miss J." Westfield came to his own defense, pulling away from Rita's lips short of breath. "You know first hand how well-read I am on that subject."

Belle simply smiled at her cocky pupil. She had one hand down his pants and already had her fingers wrapped around his considerable manhood.

"Damn right, I do." Miss Jameson agreed, pumping Andrew's cock with slow, sensual strokes. Her soft, feminine touch had managed to wipe the smug look off his face for a moment. Knowing Andrew Westfield, Belle couldn't help but beam at her accomplishment. "But you ought to have learned some new tricks since then, right?"

Belle released Westfield's cock and began tugging at the waist of his jeans.

Rita pressed her lips to the young man's ear. "Time to lose the pants, Guapo. Show the class how much you've learned."

Barbara's cheeks felt like they were burning. She could feel the inferno of anger intermingling with the cold terror as they wracked her body, the clash of emotions lighting up her nerves and sending pinpricks of sensation to glide over every inch of her skin. She dared not even to breathe as the trio across the walled garden took a nosedive into the raging sea of carnal lust.

Belle and Rita both helped Westfield free himself from the confines of his pants. More accurately, the two ladies tugged his jeans and boxers down to his ankles so that he was then sitting bare-assed on the park bench. His manhood attempted to stand proud, erect between his legs, but it's sheer abundance combined with the law of gravity meant that the swollen head dipped low, swaying and throbbing with every heartbeat.

Barbara could see then that Westfield was indeed as gifted as his fraternity brother, Reston. The thick prick would have been intimidating if the redhead hadn't already been familiar with men like Nightwing or Detective Jason Bard. Nevertheless, Westfield's manhood was... considerable.

Rita spat on her palm and took her turn stroking Westfield. She wasn't like Belle, abandoning the slow and sensual approach for quick, desperate pumps. She leaned over and spat again, this time directly onto the young man's cockhead, her working hand rising to ensure the red, throbbing bulb was thoroughly coated in her spit. Then she was back to her fast, wet strokes, her small hand pumping up and down Westfield's length accompanied by the sloppy sounds of her dutiful work. And Barbara could hear it all.

SHLCK SHLCK SHLCK SHLCK SHLCK SHLCK

Westfield's head rolled back, the young man releasing a guttural sound of immense approval. Rita gave a small but evil smirk, her other hand reaching over to cup the teenager's balls. Belle, seated on the opposite side of Westfield, had gotten the young man's dress shirt open, spread apart to reveal his chest and abs. Barbara herself would have found him an impressive specimen if she hadn't been spoiled by the likes of Nightwing, Batman, and all the other superheroic men in her life.

Belle took advantage of the young man's moment of vulnerability and launched her assault on every inch of exposed pale skin, planting heated, desperate kisses across his neck, chest, stomach, dragging her tongue across bare flesh and using it to trace the creases of his abs.