Taken in the Night Ch. 01

Batman gritted his teeth and winced. Her tightness was enough to cause him pain, not that he'd show more than an inkling of it. As for Barbara herself, she'd not yet felt any of the pain she was supposed to feel—just an aching pleasure that stung as much as it thrilled. She wanted the pain. She wanted this to be The Moment, the day her life changed, her first hour as a woman instead of a girl. Bracing hands and knees under herself, she pushed back against Batman, grinding her crotch up against his.

"Yes..." she gritted out, the pain becoming strong—pure. "This is what it's supposed to be like, this is how it's supposed to be! Put it in me! Tear into me!"

He put his hand on the back of her neck, in the nest of her hair, and held her down as she tried to rise. His other gloved hand went between her legs to her impalement, and she shuddered in pleasure as they touched where his cock had opened her up. Then they came up to his face, bright red.

"Virgin," he muttered.

"Not anymore," she replied. "Bet Catwoman didn't lose her virginity to you."

His hips twitched, moving slowly but evenly, pushing inexorably forward to pry his steel-hard cock into her clenched sex. He made inevitable headway, stretching her, taking her, inch by inch until Barbara couldn't see how there could be more of him. But there was.

"You're not losing your virginity," he told her, his voice making her shiver right down to her clit. "I'm taking it."

He took hold of her hips; she felt her own warm blood smear on her skin where he touched her. And he roughly hauled her up to her hands and knees, doggy style, something she'd always thought of as degrading and perverse. She didn't feel degraded now.

Batman dragged her onto his cock, piercing her tightly wound pussy, pulling her further and further until she'd made room for him where she'd never been touched before. And still he came, because she was pushing her hips back, taking him harder and faster than either of them could go on their own.

Then she realized he was testing her. Weighting her responses as surely as he did when they trained together. He held her still as much as he worked her onto his cock, evening out her herky-jerky movements, using her like a toy. His unbreakable grip locked her in place as his prick retreated, kept her there as he slid almost all the way back inside her. Gauging how much she could take, how fast, how hard.

"Fuck me!" she pleaded, but he was deaf to her. The only accounting he made of her wishes was to loosen his grip, just enough to let her slowly thrust her hips back, meeting him as he leaned in. She felt him at another new, amazing depth—once more she was incredibly full.

It was absolutely infuriating: he had all the control and all the power. And she could feel her steadily building orgasm finally creep into the red. Once more she was strung along his cock, racked down it painful inch by inch by inch by delicious inch. And like they were flint and tender instead of man and woman, she burst into flame before he was even finished. To her shame, she even admitted it. She practically thanked him.

"You're making me come—oh—aah—yes! Oh fuck! Oh Jesus!" He was in her now, truly inside her, embedded like he meant to stay. She wiggled her ass against his belly, feeling the brisk hair there. Imagine it. Batman's body hair. She'd never even seen him with stubble.

He let go of her hips with one hand, assuming probably correctly that he could control her with just the left, and grabbed hold of her hair. Shoved her face down into the gravel so her ass was in the air and he was fucking it, not her. And Barbara moaned in pleasure like a bitch in heat.

When she licked her lips, she tasted the tears that had been running down her face all along. "Fuck me harder, you bastard, you goddamn maniac! Tear me apart!"

His hand pulled taut in her hair—his fingers dug cruelly into her midsection. He had her. She'd given so much of herself to him and he'd kept it all. "You can come twice more. Then I'll finish."

He loosened the rein, letting her speed up her hips and shortening his own strokes. Barbara still cried out as she was stretched with every thrust, but a few inches of his cock were kept outside so she couldn't hurt herself. He quickened, grunting now with each thrust. With incredible restrain he pulled half of his cock out of her before punching the whole thing back in. His hand came off her hair, both gauntlets now tightening on her waist hard enough to hurt. She'd have bruises in the morning for sure. The starbursts of his grip engrained on her hips. She wouldn't be able to wear a crop top for days.

Barbara stopped moving, barely breathed, just kept her head down like she was worshipping the night and let him use her. He was near the end, she could tell, and she wanted his climax inside her. She wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything in her entire life.

He was just waiting for permission, she realized.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, coming—" she repeated mindlessly as his cock beat at her core, bringing her to pleasure that seemed orgasmic except for the way it kept hitting her, one shock after another, each one stronger than the last, each one seeming like it had to be an orgasm, not just a hilting drive of his prick inside her.

He let go of her hips only to grab hold of her tits, using them to pull her up to him, her back to his front. And he thrust into her, kneading her breasts hard enough to embed his gloved fingers in her flesh, her costume actually ripping a little from the strain of his groping. And he kept fucking into her pussy as he fondled her, making it sizzle, boil, burn—

"Come, little virgin." His voice rattled in her ear like a machine on its last legs, broken but still carrying the weight of an order. "Come, now."

Suddenly Barbara wasn't aware of his hands clawing her soft breasts or even of his cock invading her so thoroughly that she didn't know if she'd ever be touched where he had touched her again. She'd always had low expectations for sex—never given into romanticism—always remembered that it was just a biological function, a catalyst for procreation, and just like the taste of her first beer or the first joint she'd smoked, if she expected more than the same stimulation she got from a massaging showerhead, she was sure, absolutely sure, she'd be disappointed.

Now, all she felt was pleasure. She didn't felt her sweaty costume or her cape spread under her or the gravel cutting into her—she was the violent motion of her panting and writhing and desperate attempts to drive herself back into his thrusts, because the only thing she could feel beyond her ecstasy was the pain of the unrelenting, unending thing raging inside her most secret, her most intimate areas. And then she was aware of one more thing. A newcomer to this orgasmic world she'd been forced into. Her own words of utter, screaming satisfaction: "I'M COMING OH GOD OH MY FUCKING GOD I'M FUCKING COMING!!!"

More filtered into her blinded world; she became aware of her body jerking and bucking against the cock that grew impossibly vast within her, and then gushed within her. Her computational mind even now called up her knowledge of oil rigs, derricks—the process of drilling into the Earth's dense crust until oil was found—the very discovery violent, destructive, a geyser of crude oil that once was powerful enough to destroy the weak wood that held the drill.

That was the only thing she could compare her body's new, startling action to. Batman had plumbed her depths, found reservoirs of her pleasure she'd never known were there, and now tapped them, harnessed them. She heard him moaning like a lost soul over her as her well-used cunt sucked greedily at the gift he was giving her.

Barbara's kneeling legs jumped out from under her, splaying pornographically to either side of Batman's body. Only his hands held her up as he pumped his orgasm into her. He grabbed her face hard enough to jog her mask and brought her up to his own grim visage. She could barely take in the wild look in his eyes, the pained set of his jaw, before the heat of his mouth was on hers and she was thrusting her tongue into his wet hungry maw. His kiss was like napalm in her mouth, and he kept burning her until his ejaculation had finished churning inside her.

"Want you... need you... have you," he growled, his mouth, his hands, his cock all mauling her.

Now he let go of her, and she fell prostrate before him—his cock still buried deep inside her flooded cunt. He withdrew it, disappearing from her. All she could see of Batman was his shadow falling over her.

Her body was bursting, bright and hot in the cold night, in her bruised and satiated flesh. She'd felt things—glorious things—things that would make her fall in love with any other man. They kept away her shame and recrimination for long minutes of helpless, hapless enjoyment before she remembered who she was, where she was, the savagery of what she'd done and who she'd done it with.

Her mouth gaped. Her eyes were wide. She turned around to see Batman, withdrawn now a fair distance away, fully armored, the only sign of their exertion a thin sheen of sweat on his exposed face.

He'd fucked her. She'd been fucked and fucked well and she didn't know whether to feel ashamed of herself or—joy. Overwhelming, unabashed joy.

Only she did know. It was just so goddamn crazy that she knew.

She took off her cowl and stood before him, barefaced, costume ripped, her pants around her thighs and his cum trickling from her deflowered cunt. Even her hair was a mess. "My name's Barbara Gordon."

He nodded tightly. "I suspected."

"You didn't know?" She'd been half-convinced he had, from the first moment he'd seen her. Almost hoped for it.

"You were good about hiding it." He didn't look away, but his attention wandered. She wondered how hard it was for him to face her, now. "And I didn't want to know."

"You do now." Belatedly—very belatedly—she pulled her pants up, did up her belt. It didn't feel like it did much to preserve her modesty. "You don't have to take yours off."

"I should," he said, and the two words spoke volumes. Catwoman. Catwoman knew. Or maybe he wished she knew.

"But you don't have to," she insisted.

He just stood there, and she knew he wasn't sure if he could or not.

"We're on the clock," he said finally, the grimness of his voice peaking. "I'll sweep north on Route 23A, you check out Route 14B to the south. Contact me if you get into trouble."

"Never do," she replied.

He left first.

Funny old world: when Barbara had lost her virginity, she'd been crying. Now that it was gone, she couldn't stop smiling.