Supervillain Journal: The Bat

Supervillain Journal #2: The Bat

The Exact Moment a Superheroine Breaks

Nothing is more satisfying than the moment a superheroine breaks. You hear it in her voice. The haughty assurance cracks to feminine desperation. I first noticed it when I broke the Bat. She wore purple leather, tight enough to outline the nipples of her perky tits, but loose enough to fold around the stomach. We fought on a rooftop in downtown Gothlam. She started arrogant, taunting me about how she'd handled bigger, tougher men. "But that's okay. I could use a warm up." She didn't realize I was supernaturally enhanced by Ancient Mesopotamian rituals and weaponry.

It's so fun, letting a martial arts expert try her moves on you. The deft punches, the roundhouse kicks, the flips, her legs straddling your shoulders as she pounds your head. All useless, from the Bat. I waited until she was winded, her chest expanding with each breath, her hands on her knees, wondering how she was going to deal with me, before I punched her. The first hit smacked the cartilage of her nose and cracked her bat-shaped mask.

To that point, I'd let her hit me. Now, I made it clear that my enhanced combat responsiveness made her useless. She attempted to duck, weave, parry my blows. I predicted every move, slamming her stomach when she expected her face. Grabbing her arm when she attempted to block, holding it while I backhanded her over and over. She unwisely attempted another roundhouse kick. I held her ankle against my neck. She grunted as she attempted to pull her leg free. I traced my index finger along the crotch of her pants, then slammed her between her breasts.

The Bat fell, groaning and whimpering, but not yet broken. She crawled, her yellow cape dragging on the roof. Her ass wiggled, the outline of her underwear visible through the tightness of her pants.

"No more cocky quips?" I kicked her waist, flipping the Bat onto her back. I'll always remember those emerald eyes, shiny under the full moon, and the glimmer of her lipstick. I wanted so much to rip her mask off, to expose her pretty face. But it wasn't time. She wasn't yet broken.

The Bat reached into her utility belt, yellow like her cape and the logo on her chest, and flicked a bat-shaped boomerang at my face. I grabbed it between thumb and forefinger. "You're going to regret that."

The superheroine gasped when I grabbed the bat insignia on her chest. Her back arched as I pulled her, by her top, up to her booted feet. She jabbed me a few times, which was honestly cute. I released her top. She yelped but, before she hit the roof, I grabbed her again. One hand on her crotch, the other on her shoulder blades.

That's when the Bat broke. It was her spirit first, a moment before her body.

"No, no, no," she shrieked as I raised her higher and higher over my head. She sounded more like a helpless damsel than a powerful heroine. "Please, stop. You win."

I turned in a circle around the roof, the Bat raised high over my head. I puckered my lips to blow her dangling cape out of my eyes. "You want mercy? Tell me what I could do to you."

"You could snap me like a twig."

"Say you're a weak little girl."

"I'm a weak little girl," she readily admitted. "I'm no match for you. Just please, don't hurt me. Don't-"

It didn't matter what she said. I raised my leg and slammed her back onto my knee.

Her holler of pain was so sexy. A complete betrayal of her subjugation.

If I'd wanted to, I could have broken her spine. But then I wouldn't have gotten to watch her try to crawl away. I wouldn't have enjoyed grabbing her boot, dragging her across the roof as she moaned, "I give up! Stop. I give up! You win."

I grabbed the Bat by the cape, twisted it around my knuckles and lifted her. She grunted, grasping at her neck to relieve the pressure, kicking her toes against my shins.

"You look hot, you know," I taunted. "Helpless, like this."

The Bat struggled as I walked her across the roof, still holding her by the cape. We reached a brick wall at the other end, an adjacent building. In my free hand, I still held her batarang. I slammed the Bat against the wall. Her ass bounced off the brick. "Stay still, Bats." I pierced her cape with the batarang, pegging her to the wall.

When I stepped back, I admired the Bat, struggling, helpless, bound by her own batarang and cape, her booted toes flailing inches above the roof.

"I could leave you here all night," I said. "But I'll cut you a deal. I'll let you down." I unbuckled her utility belt, revealing the button of her leather pants. "If you're not wet right now. If you don't moan at my touch." I unzipped her pants, pulled them down her creamy thighs.

Unsurprisingly, her panties were moist between the legs. I ran a finger over her underwear, just pressing between the outline of her labia. The Bat moaned like a whore. No surprise there. She was just more evidence that superheroines love to be dominated.

"Please," she begged. "Don't remove my mask."

I laughed, my lips nearly against hers. "You really don't want the world to know who you are?"

For a moment, her eyes became resolute, glaring into mine. Then, I placed a palm over her belly button. I lowered my hand down her cool, shaved skin, under the waistband of her panties, into the warm moistness between her legs. The resolution in her eyes melted to lust, and her lips widened in a sultry moan. I rolled the tip of my finger up, down, up, down, deeper, deeper between her wet labia. I circled the hard nub of her clit until she moaned in my ear.

"Quiet, Batsy." I punched her square in the face, then ripped her top open, exposing her bare tits to the night air. Her breasts were perkier than Red Widow's, her areola much tinier, but her nipples stood out higher. Her moaning rose an octave when I spiraled those nipples with my tongue.

"I'll strike you a deal, Bats." I grabbed her panties, my knuckles on her hip bone, and ripped them off. "I'll set a timer on my phone for three minutes. If you can restrain yourself from cumming before then, you keep your identity. Deal?"

"I'll never cum," she said, but I'd never heard a woman sound more in heat than she did then. "Do your worst."

Her scent was intoxicating, as I kissed a trail from the flatness between her boobs, down her tight stomach, to her hot folds. I outlined her mound with my tongue, then traced the crest of each labia, before suctioning my mouth over her clit. My tongue dabbed and dragged and swirled over her hard little knob, while my fingers pressed deeper, deeper into her vagina and ass.

Her pussy clenched around my fingers after just forty seconds. She screamed so loudly that all of Gothlam knew she was orgasming.

That young superheroine was near unconscious from pleasure, but she still grinded on my fingers as I rose to her eye level.

"Expose me," she mumbled. "I'm yours."

I grabbed her mask, savored the moment of suspense, and pulled it over her head. Crimson hair flowed out, framing her face, accentuating her firm jawline and high cheekbones. She was so gorgeous, younger than I expected. No older than twenty. So pathetic: she'd thought she could face me.

The Bat was already bound to the wall by her cape, so this bit was unnecessary, but I pinned her arms over her head with one hand and I unzipped my pants with the other.

She came twice more, her hole convulsing over my cock, before I finished in her.

I left the Bat strapped to the wall, maskless, naked, and dripping with her arousal and my cum. Of course, I took her utility belt with me. I'd only lured her to the rooftop to steal the kryptonine hidden in its inner pouch.