Batgirl And Batman Right Spots

Gotham City was pulsating with rhythm. Even at this time of night, the streets whispered tales of sexy stares and chance encounters. On the rooftop, Batgirl contemplated being stared at by any of them. All of them. Still in costume, Bruce had pulled down her leggings and sat her up on a ledge.

He seemed to have perfected a dance of the lips on her tender pussy. It wasn't an act for him. It was a journey. Beginning with a look that only Batman could give her. A shared gaze and a knight's promise of more to come.

He's slow with the approach. She wasn't always so willing to give him time. But as the sounds of Gotham faded away, she could suddenly only hear her own heartbeat racing to the inevitable as his tongue arched over her saturated clit.

His lips finally meet her bud. It's gentle. Far from amateurish. Like a brush of silk. Their trust builds. His tongue's dance deepens. When he kisses her underneath the moonlight their souls communicate. When he eats out his sidekick, it transcends worlds. Somewhat teasing. Somewhat yielding. He knows how to give and take.

She gives in to her vulnerability. Letting him in. It's intoxicating to her. Worth the years of excitement and anticipating.

Sex is their way of communicating. A pause from crimefighting. A reminder that they are alive. They are creatures that can bring life into the world. That they are loved.

The librarian in her knows his routine. He's not secretive about it.

Bruce, no ... Batman, always strives for three orgasms. Sometimes it's just one. Where she's already wet and they need a quickie in a stairwell of a skyscraper or while the Batmobile is on autopilot.

Clitoral

G-Spot

A-Spot

Somewhere between heaven and dreams, he watches her first orgasm unfold. She always needs more after the first. He unbuckles his utility belt and reveals his cock to her. Bruce and Batman are perfect, but the carnal side of her somehow values a man by the simple way he handles his hammer.

In a city with ambitious men, there was something mesmerizing about the way Batman slowly savors each inch filling her tight warm walls. Most guys feel like eating out a girl is a green light to lose control and be erratic. Sometimes that's not bad.

But with him, after he's in, it's artistry. Whatever this Batgirl costume does for him. He brings back so much in return. He eyes her eyes and smile. Knowing that he's found the g-spot. Once she's focused and comfortable, he begins to hammer. Perfect precision with every strike. The tip of his cock hitting both sides of the wall. Poetry. In. Motion.

Whether it was the Bat Cave, the expensive dinners, the adventures fighting crime. There was something inherently romantic about a man who could create "their rhythm".

He smells her hair. Says something sweet about how good she feels. He never calls her Barbara. Always Batgirl. Somehow that gets her off even more.

She slips back into his arms a bit, looking glamorous as ever. Simple. Steady strokes. Each one with perfection. He's doing it for her. But he's also focusing on his own release. The determined look on his face is enough to take her over the edge. She's had other men hit these spots before, but never like this.

It was always like scratching an itch. This was druglike. Her pussy had more control over her emotions than her typical racing brain.

And, in a city where everything is constantly being built, renovated, or torn down, Batman remained the Gargoyle that kept her centered.

She exploded into two or three mini orgasms that ended up being part of one long one. Cheeks beyond flushed. Face beyond red. Part of her needed to take her cowl off simply because she felt so hot and sweaty.

With any other lover, she would've talked him into finishing. So that she could relax, bask, and maybe even cuddle.

But with Batman. There was the finale. Patience was in short supply. Her thoughts drifted to the fact that there were only a small handful of men that could get to her A-spot in a way that was remotely pleasurable.

Sure. They loved doggy because of how tight it was. But doggystyle was often just a gift for men to get their egos raised and cock off.

Batman had the uncanny ability to flip her around and fix that problem. Finding a pleasure that lied deep within her delicate piping.

His cock was long. Impressively so. But it was more about how her used the snake. This was not a recreation of some high end porn. No. He placed her face down in his cape and raised her ass. Seductively pulling her cowl so she could be comfortable.

There was a patience to it that captivated her. A gentle manner where he didn't focus on hammering into her to shoot a monster load in her sloppy wet pussy. It was almost like slowly massaging his cock down until he felt everything "click." He moved his hips forward but also in a windshield wiper motion.

Never forcing. Cherishing the moment, ensuring that he got to the spot she needed without it being painful to her cervix but happily stretching against the wall before it.

If hitting the g-spot was scratching an itch in a world of instant gratification. The method he used to navigate his tool, tailored for her depths was more powerful than winning a girls heart.

It was like being sore and one smooth stretch caused her whole body to feel new again. She couldn't help but moan loudly. Always breaking their promise to remain quiet.

"Batman."

"Batgirl." he nips at her neck. "Barbara."

It doesn't take long for her to explode. Stronger than the g-spot and clitoris combined. It's the A-Spot that does it for her. He deeply pumps into her. His sidekick. His Batgirl. And she feels the twitch that shows that he's going to flood his bright white sperm straight into her well concealed womanhood. Dopamine floods their brains. And for a moment they remember that they both survived the night.

That they were both alive.