Batgirl Sadist Or Masochist Ch 02

This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest

offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 2: Another Victim Surfaces

November 5th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment

Barbara sat back on the settee in her apartment and stretched out her firm, lithe body, languorously. She stifled a huge yawn, then rubbed her aching eyes with the back of her fists. Her only items of attire, were a pair of lacy pink panties, with a cute little bow positioned just beneath her navel, and a comfortable pair of furry pink slippers that had been a Christmas present from her father, the previous festive season. On the coffee table in front of her, was her open laptop computer, connected, wirelessly, to the internet, an empty coffee mug containing a few congealing dregs and a couple of thick books that she'd taken out on loan from the library.

She hadn't realized the sheer volume and variety of internet sites dedicated to BDSM, but she had learned a lot about the subject. It seemed that BDSM was just another form of sexual expression that was regarded as being perfectly normal and healthy between consenting adults. It was sexual repression that was unhealthy. While it might seem weird to become excited by the elements of BSDM, there were factors that helped explain this. Athletes frequently spoke of attaining a 'high' when pushing themselves to new limits, for example. The chemicals in the brain, that caused this feeling of euphoria or general well being, were known as endorphins. As well as exercise, sexual orgasm and even certain foods could promote similar intense sensations. Certain people found that they received that same sort of endorphin 'rush' from playing BDSM games.

"It must be similar to the rush I get when I'm swinging through the void on a thin nylon line, hundreds of feet above the streets of Gotham," Barbara mused.

Bondage usually involved some form of physical restraint, combined with some form of tactile play, which may or may not be sexual in nature. Common restraints included rope, chains and various forms of cuffs and manacles. The tactile sensations can be provided by anything from the touch of a feather to that of a whip. Discipline often takes the form of chastisement, in whatever form best suits the type of bondage.

The Sadism and Masochism aspects of BDSM, took the whole scenario to a new level.

Barbara shuddered, causing her naked boobs to gently oscillate, as she recollected some of the pictures she'd been viewing on certain websites, although she realized that most of them must have been posed, using specialist models.

Sadists enjoyed inflicting torment, whilst masochists enjoyed being on the receiving end of such punishment. When we talk about people involved in the BDSM scene, we are usually talking about normal, sensible folk, who use and honor 'safe words' and respect and know the limits of punishment, which must not be exceeded. Frequently used expressions included Master, Mistress, Slave, Dom (Dominant) and Sub (Submissive).

Whilst recollecting this information and some of the accompanying images, Barbara's hand had crept between the tops of her creamy thighs, only to find that the crotch of her lacy panties was already sopping wet from her sexual secretions.

"Damn!" she swore, standing and quickly stripping off the soiled garment and tossing it into the laundry basket. She dried herself with a couple of tissues, then went into the bedroom to get a clean pair of panties, before returning to surf the 'net some more. Barbara was eager to learn more about this dark but fascinating subject.

November 6th, Wayne Manor

The two entwined lovers lay on the bed, their naked bodies covered in a thin film of perspiration. Jennifer, who was in her favorite 'girl power' position, on top, paused her frantic up and down motion, and sank down onto Dick Grayson's hips, fully embedding his thick, hard shaft in her eager, widespread pussy. The young couple were making love, in Dick's bedroom, in Wayne Manor.

"I'm worried about Barbara, Dick," Jenny mused out loud, a worried frown marring her pretty features.

Dick groaned in disappointment. He had been just about to climax and ejaculate his hot sperm into the teat of the rubber that was stretched tightly over his hard, throbbing shaft. He nonchalantly linked the fingers of his hands behind his neck and looked up at his sexy girlfriend, sitting astride him, with her hands pressed against his chest.

"Why, what's happened now?" he enquired, with a resigned expression on his clean-cut features.

"Well, you know that young girl they found asphyxiated in the city, three days ago." Jenny squirmed her ass as she spoke, sending delightful signals to her boyfriend's groin.

"Yeah? Oooh, Jeez, honey!"

"Well, Barbara figures her death was something to do with the so-called BDSM scene and, right or wrong, I think she's taking an unhealthy interest in the subject."

Dick chuckled. "Well, you're not exactly averse to tying me up, or using a pair of handcuffs," he pointed out.

"True!" Jennifer giggled and lent forward to kiss her boyfriend on the lips. He used this opportunity to fondle her small but perfectly shaped breasts. "But that's not the same thing," she protested, once their passionate kiss had come to an end and she had drawn her face away.

"Can we fuck first and talk about this later?" Dick pleaded, feeling his penis starting to soften.

Jenny sighed, theatrically, then gave a throaty chuckle. "Alright, you've convinced me, you smooth talkin' bastard!" Her hips began to rise up and down, sliding his erection in and out of her well-lubricated confines, and producing a satisfied gasp of pleasure from her boyfriend's lips.

Mid-Morning, 7th November

"I think you're taking an unhealthy interest in all this Bondage and Masochist shit!" Jennifer declared, the following morning, immediately getting right down to the point, after she had stormed into Barbara's office and plonked her shapely bottom on the corner of the librarian's desk. The truth was, she been feeling a little guilty about introducing her friend to the subject, via the World Wide Web.

Barbara looked up at her friend and sometimes lover and treated her to a small, condescending smile. "Just because I've been researching the subject in more detail, doesn't mean I've been bitten by the BDSM bug," she protested. "Anyway, you of all people, should know that a little bit of bondage helps spice up your love life," she added, with a raised eyebrow.

Jenny blushed, furiously. "Yeah, but that's just a bit of fun," the blonde protested. "It's not this serious stuff!"

Barbara sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look, Jen, BDSM is NOT about pain or abuse. An abuser is a dom who doesn't bother to play safe or respect the wishes or limitations of his or her sub. Being a Master or Mistress, doesn't give them the right to act like an asshole, just as being their slave or submissive doesn't mean you have to just lie back and accept their punishment."

Jenny noted how easily Barbara had slipped into the vernacular and frowned.

"True BDSM must, above all else, be SAFE," Barbara continued, secretly pleased to be able to demonstrate her newly acquired knowledge. "This means using only the correct degree of force, always using a condom if intercourse is involved, etc, etc. It must also be SANE. Never get sexual fantasy mixed up with reality and always ensure that you have thoroughly researched and practiced something, before actually attempting it, to minimize any chance of an accident. Above all, the act must be a CONSENSUAL one, between adults, always having obtained his or her full permission, before you go ahead."

"But in the murdered girl's case..." Jennifer started to protest, her cheeks going pink.

"Exactly, Jen!" Barbara interrupted, with a scowl on her face. "In the murdered girl's case, her rights were abused, in the worst possible way! We are looking for a murderous bastard, who cares only for his own sadistic pleasures, and the sooner he his caught and locked away, the better!"

"Oh?" Jenny looked suitably chastised. "Sorry, I flew off the handle, Barbara. If you need any more help with this case, just let me know?"

The redhead smiled, tiredly. "Thanks, Jen, I will," she replied, gratefully.

November 7th, Gotham Docks

The sun was high overhead in the cloudless sky, as the dockside crane winched up the net and its soaking wet contents, from the water, alongside Pier 13. Standing watching the seawater drain from it, were several uniformed GCPD officers, the Commissioner of Police, and Gotham City's Dynamic Duo, Batman and Robin.

Directed by a police officer, the crane operator carefully lowered his dripping load to the ground, in a clear area between stacks of empty wooden pallets.

"A merchant seamen, coming ashore on shore leave from a Panamanian registered cargo ship, this morning, spotted the body floating in the water, underneath the pier. He immediately contacted the port authorities, who, in turn, contacted the police," the Commissioner explained to Batman, as they walked toward the bundle of sopping rags, tangled up in the heavy duty netting.

The Dark Knight squatted down and carefully pulled the thick rope mesh aside, revealing the pale white body of a young, brown-haired female, wearing a skimpy, torn dress, with a flowery pattern on it. Enough of her body was showing, to reveal that she wore no undergarments beneath it and had a shapely figure, with large breasts and a slim waist. Her shoes and stockings were both missing and her wrists and ankles were bound together with lengths of coarse hemp rope. A large, clear plastic bag, had been tied over her head, partially obscuring her terrified features.

"It looks like she's been in the water for some time," observed the Boy Wonder, walking over and standing at his elbow.

Batman nodded his agreement. "Did you notice her arms?" he asked, quietly. "They're both dislocated, pulled right out of the shoulder sockets, as if she had been stretched on some sort of torture rack."

"Better not touch anything before the forensic boys get here," Jim Gordon advised, placing a restraining hand on the Dark Knight's shoulder.

Batman nodded and rose to his full height. He made an impressive figure in his Kevlar reinforced dark grey Bat-costume, black Batcape and cowl. "Let me know the results of the autopsy, as soon as you have them, Jim," he growled, "but I think it will come to the conclusion that this young lady didn't die from drowning!"

The Commissioner nodded. "Of course, Caped Crusader!"

He turned to watch, as the Dynamic Duo loped off toward the waiting Batmobile.

November 7th, 9:45 pm, Wayne Manor

Multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne was sitting in a comfortable leather armchair in the library, in front of a roaring open fireplace, engrossed in a weighty textbook, entitled 'New Scientific Techniques in Criminology', when there was a polite knock at the door.

As he glanced up, his faithful old retainer, Alfred Pennyworth, stuck his head around the partially open oak-paneled door. "Commissioner Gordon is on the Batphone, Sir!" he informed his employer.

Bruce nodded. "Thank you, Alfred. Could you patch the call through to here?"

"Certainly, Sir." The head disappeared.

While he was waiting, Bruce bookmarked the page and returned the well-thumbed tome to its correct place on the bookshelf. The extension phone rang and he hurried over and picked up the receiver,

"Batman here, Commissioner. I believe you were trying to contact me?"

"Yes, Caped Crusader. The preliminary autopsy report on the dead girl, has just arrived on my desk. As we both suspected, she died from asphyxiation and not drowning. She was dead long before she was dumped in the ocean, where she'd been for something like ten days. The most unusual thing was that both arms had been almost torn from her torso! She was maybe 20 to 25 years of age, pretty once, with brown hair, blue eyes and a spectacular 37c-24-35 inch figure. The body had started to decompose and had been attacked by marine life, but there was still some evidence of whip marks across her back and buttocks and she had been bound hand and foot. We suspect that the body may have originally been weighted down, but had broken free somehow, floated to the surface, and drifted in on the prevailing tides."

"Hmm? No way of identifying the body then?"

"No, not unless we can match her dental records, Caped Crusader! Oh, there was one other thing, Batman!"

"Yes, Jim?"

"She had a small butterfly tattoo on her left buttock."

"Not unusual with modern young women, Commissioner. Body adornments are all the rage, nowadays."

"Yes, yes, but we also had another young girl arrive in the morgue, just three days ago, who had an identical tattoo, in near-enough the same place. She had also been asphyxiated with a plastic bag, but in this case, we know the name of the victim. It was..."

"Clare Bannerman, daughter of Councilor Bannerman," Bruce finished for him. "Yes, there was something in the local press about it, but there was no great depth to the news item. Perhaps you would be so kind as to fill me in on the missing details?"

The Commissioner proceeded to acquaint Bruce with the details of the other murder, and when he had finished, Bruce said, "It certainly looks like the two crimes are related, Jim. You say that Batgirl is fully conversant with this other case?"

"That is correct, Batman!"

"I shall have to have a word we her. Many thanks, Commissioner!" Bruce broke the contact and sat back in his chair, stroking his chin, thoughtfully.

Making up his mind, he reached over and pressed a button on the extension phone. Seconds later, he heard the voice of his butler. "Alfred, could you put me through to Ms. Gordon's apartment, please?"

"Certainly, Mr. Wayne!"

Bruce returned the phone to its cradle and waited, patiently.

November 7th, 9:56 pm, Barbara Gordon's Apartment

Barbara was once more sitting on the settee, hunched over her laptop computer, which was again connected to the internet via her wireless broadband connection. She was wearing just a brief pair of lacy blue panties and her favorite pair of furry pink slippers. She liked to dress casually, when she was alone at home. Suddenly, the telephone started ringing and she was forced to pull her left hand away from her sopping pussy.

"Damn!" she muttered, in annoyance. She had been browsing some really erotic and disturbing BDSM images, which had really been turning her on.

She reached over and picked up the phone, with her right hand, wondering who it could be, at this late hour. "Barbara Gordon speaking!" she said into the mouthpiece, a little hesitantly.

"Barbara, it's Bruce, Bruce Wayne!"

Her face brightened. "Oh, hi Bruce! What brings you calling me at this time of night?"

"I believe you're fully acquainted with the Clare Bannerman murder case?"

"That's right, Bruce. Why do you ask?"

"There's been another copycat killing!"

Barbara felt her blood run cold. "Who...?" she began.

"The body hasn't been identified yet, but we believe the girl died a week or so before Ms. Bannerman. This victim had also been asphyxiated with a plastic bag, had also been tortured just prior to her death, and had also got an identical butterfly tattoo on her ass," Bruce explained, tersely.

Barbara shivered with horror, as he went on to reveal all the gory details of the second victim's death.

"It's got to be the same killer!" she said, with finality, after he had finished, wondering if she should reveal her BDSM suspicions to him. She decided to say nothing... for the time being.

"It certainly looks like it, Barbara," Bruce agreed. "Anything new you can tell me about the Bannerman case?"

"N-No, not at the moment," she replied, blushing at her blatant deception.

"Hmm, okay. Well, goodnight, Barbara, sorry to have disturbed you!"

"That's okay. Goodnight, Bruce! Oh, and thanks for letting me know!"

November 8th, Chinatown

'The Golden Dragon' was a popular upscale Chinese restaurant, deep in the heart of Chinatown, an area of Gotham City that had once been regarded as an ethnic ghetto, in years gone by, where the two trades of vice and drug trafficking had flourished. But now, thanks to significant public and commercial investment, the area had been cleaned up and transformed, and had become a popular and colorful tourist destination.

Vincent Woo, the sole proprietor of 'The Golden Dragon', called over to his lovely young daughter, who was helping to clear tables, in readiness for the evening's usual influx of customers. "Zhang, please to come over here!" He deliberately spoke in a high pitched, sing-song, Pidgin English. His customers expected it of him, even though Vincent was a sixth generation American Chinese. His ancestors had emigrated from the old country to San Francisco, way back in the late nineteenth century, and Vincent was as American as apple pie.

Zhang was as different from her father, as chalk is to cheese. Whilst he was short and rotund, with the yellow complexion, slanting eyes and hair worn in a pigtail, that was typical of his race, the nineteen year old was tall and willowy, with surprisingly large and shapely breasts. Her complexion was a pale gold and the almond shape of her large dark eyes, far less pronounced, thanks to the Caucasian blood from her mother's side of the family. Her mother was the daughter of a Polish immigrant.

"Yes, father?" the beautiful oriental girl enquired, politely, walking up to him, her hips swaying, hypnotically.

"Please to go to the bank and deposit yesterday's takings, light of my life," he instructed, smiling at her. No father could have been prouder of his child. Zhang was only helping out in the restaurant for a few days, prior to her returning to University, to continue her Law studies. His daughter would not spend her adult years, working in hot, greasy kitchens or waiting on tables. She was going to become a rich, famous lawyer, once she had graduated with honors.

"Certainly, father," she replied, smiling at him, fondly, as she removed the apron from about her slim waist. Zhang had a smile that could charm the birds out of the trees. She took the leather money satchel from his outstretched hand. "I shan't be long!"

As he watched her walk out of the door, Vincent once again thanked the Almighty Creator for blessing him with such a wonderful child, before turning back to oversee the preparations for the evening's expected rush.

-oOo-

Zhang was humming a tune to herself, as she strolled along in the unseasonably warm sunshine, her high-necked dress and tight knee length skirt, doing little to disguise her shapely figure and drawing many an admiring glance from passers-by, on the crowded city sidewalk. She clung tightly to the battered leather satchel, knowing it contained the considerable takings from the previous day's trade.

Suddenly, someone barged into her from behind, and thinking it was a thief, she clung to the bag and went to scream for help. But instead of grabbing the money, a hand went round her slim waist, while another clamped over her mouth, stifling her cry. As she was whisked off her feet, a large limousine screeched to a halt alongside her and before she had even realized what was happening, she had been bundled into the rear of the vehicle.

The waiting occupant, grabbed her around the neck and slapped a strange smelling wad of cloth over her face and mouth, even as her abductor slid into the rear seat beside her and pressed a knife blade up against her stomach. Her squirming body froze, as she felt the prick of the sharp blade point but, as the car accelerated away from the curb, she still shook her head from side to side, trying to free herself from the damp, foul-smelling cloth and trying not to breath in any more of the noxious fumes. But it was no use, she soon needed to breath, desperately.