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There were a great many things the young female detective, Barbara Gordon, could deduce. The culprit of a crime, the next stroke of a villain's plan, what to watch on TV on her rare nights off, they had all become so easy to figure out. One mystery she had yet to solve was why she wanted so badly to get fucked by her father, Commissioner Jim Gordon.
She wasn't sure if it was actually because he was her father, and she had a fetish for that taboo act of incest. It wasn't like she could create a sample size of other fathers she had to see if it was a trend or a rare case when it came to the salt and pepper police veteran. The only other father figure in her life was Batman, and while she was attracted to him, that hardly seemed fair. Nearly everyone was attracted to Batman. Even the serial lesbians Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn had been caught with their panties around their ankles, bent over a table with their hands cuffed and their pussies stuffed by the dark knight's dick.
At the very least, she knew part of her attraction to her father was his imposing cock. She had seen it accidentally once, and since then has tried to find ways of sneaking a peak. Though it was a gross misuse of her gadget's purpose, Babs had hidden a camera in her father's bedroom so she could watch clips of his meaty rod knock against his bare thighs as he undressed. The rest of his body didn't leave her wanting, either. Though much of his job had him saddled behind a desk or leading a SWAT team via a megaphone rather than storming in with them, the bespeckled father still kept in shape. Barbara often fantasized about dragging her tongue across every single one of the ridges and valleys of his muscular physique until she had memorized it all.
Whatever the main source for her attraction, Barbara knew she had to have him. Her biggest obstacle was the object of her desire himself, however. Jim Gordon was a strictly moral man, rarely wavering in his principles, and even then only for a greater good. Few fathers would agree to have sex with their daughters, but Jim was in a class of stubbornness all his own. Of course she had never asked him out right to "fill her tight cunt with his throbbing member," as she had so eloquently recited in her fantasies. Her plan required strategy, cunning, but also some daring if she wanted to succeed. Any failure meant total failure. If she made her desires known and he rebuffed her, that was it, there was no way he would let his guard down enough to offer her a second chance.
With the risks in mind, her only option was to get him to come onto her. The only way to accomplish her plan was to make him think that the risk of losing his daughter and probably going to prison for incest was worth the possible reward of getting to ravage her tight, nubile, body. She was determined to convince him of her sexual value. She would have to advertise just what he'd be getting if he were so bold as to crush her plump, pink, lips against his rough mustache.
She started her marketing campaign appealing to his sense of sight. Babs always made sure to wear low cut, stomach-revealing, super tight tops to show off her teenage tits' full size, perkiness, and constant bouncing when free of a bra, which was often. After all, when they're flawless, you can go braless. Being the astute detective he was, her father easily noticed her breasts swaying and jumping with every skip in her step and swing of her hips. Not that it took a keen eye to notice the redhead's heavy chest jiggling and bouncing with every movement she made.
Jim would naturally blush if his gaze lingered too long, rare though it was, on her tasty tits. The only time she got a real reaction out of him, concerning her breasts, was when she was wearing a sun dress and bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek. The material was loose enough that the neckline opened up considerably when she bent at the waist. Jim was able to peer directly down her dress, and was faced with her unembraced tits, swinging slightly and knocking into each other. Even her rosy, stiff, nipples were spotted. It was the first time Babs really caught him averting his gaze. Seeing him flustered like that, the slight hope that he might want to paw at her young breasts, brought her many orgasms, and wore out her favorite vibrator.
Babs was the full package, so it wasn't only her perky tits she tried to tantalize her father with. She also wore form fitting yoga shorts that looked painted on over her plump backside; firmly toned from years of running around on Gotham's rooftops. While Jim enjoyed his morning coffee, his daughter would compete with the newspaper for his attention, doing yoga in the living room where he sat. Her ass was always pointed toward him, hoping he would notice her throbbing pussy lips, hugged by her pants and framed by her cheeks, as well. When she wasn't doing yoga, she wore either short skirts that threatened to ride up her ass if she bent down just an inch further, or shorts that were barely larger than the panties she never wore. If he were still in the habit of giving her spankings when she was bad, Barbara would have considered a life of crime. The thought of his rough hand striking her firm ass and squeezing so hard it left a bruise made her ache with desire.
Of course he didn't approve of her revealing clothes, but he knew his girl was a modern woman, and should be allowed to dress however she pleased. However, sight wasn't the only trick she used. She also made sure to give him lots of hugs, flattening her huge tits against his broad chest, and would always sit on his lap, while he sat in his armchair, on movie night. Jim was in far too much denial about his daughter's attempts at seduction, and even the fact she had any interest in sex, to see the grinding of her ass into his lap as nothing more than her getting comfortable. With sight and touch having failed, she considered bringing sound into the mix, finding ways to make him overhear her having dirty conversations on the phone, or moaning loudly at night. When she determined that might be too bold, too obvious, she scrapped the idea
Barbara was convinced she had failed, until she came up with a plan so perfect, so obvious, she was disappointed she hadn't thought of it sooner. Her only roadblock was that her father would never agree to throw his daughter up against the wall and fuck her so hard against it that the neighbors complained. However, she wasn't just Barbara Gordon, daughter to Jim Gordon. By night, she was Batgirl, ally of Commissioner Jim Gordon.
Over the next few weeks, Barbara, while disguised as Batgirl, made sure to be more and more flirtatious with the good Commissioner. Sideways glances with blue, bedroom, eyes, framed first by her sharp eyeliner and lashes, and then her domino mask. Red lips coated with saliva by an idly passing tongue whenever Gordon was speaking to Batman, stealing his attention away. And plenty of bending over in front of him. Her suit was fitted to her form better than any faded heavy metal t-shirt or pair of purple jeggings could ever hope to. Every curve, every dip and rise of her muscles, every subtle twitch could be seen, if someone was studying her body - the way Jim Gordon often did when she was in the room.
Still, Jim saw her as a colleague, a young one at that. So much as an errant thought was far too inappropriate for Jim, and yet he couldn't help himself. He felt pent up, stopped up, and he didn't know why. Looking at Batgirl, though, well it didn't help matters, but she certainly presented herself as a viable solution to his problem. Even a man as righteous as Gordon had a breaking point, and one night he gave in.
He wasn't sure how it even happened. One minute they were talking, and the next thing he knew, she had her tongue down her throat and he was making no efforts to stop her. His hands disappeared behind her cape, roaming over her body as it writhed against him. She was so feverish, so aggressive, he had no choice but to sit down or risk falling over and hitting his head on something.
