Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

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 3: Third Time Unlucky

November 9th, Main Commercial & Business District, Gotham City

A light was still burning in the fourth floor office of the Gotham City Council House, an indication that some dedicated individual was working late into the night. The time was almost 9:00 pm, several hours after the rest of the employees had finished up for the day and gone home.

The man in the smart business suit and loosely knotted tie, sat hunched over his desk, diligently worked on the final draft of a report for the Civic Projects Committee. He had only a cold empty house to return to. The only illumination in the room, was cast by the reading lamp on his desktop. He found its light far more conducive to concentration, than the harsh glare of the overhead neon strip lights fitted throughout the building.

The man, in his mid-fifties, had developed a small soft paunch in recent years, the result too much time spent behind a desk and too little time spent working or exercising in the open air. His neatly cropped, dark brown hair, was showing just a hint of grey at the temples.

He paused and raised his head, a bemused expression on his clean shaven face, his pen still poised in his right hand. He thought he had heard a slight but unfamiliar sound. It had seemed to come from the direction of the French windows, with their heavy, partially closed drapes. The windows opened onto a small balcony, overlooking the city plaza, some eighty feet below. It was impossible. He shrugged his shoulders and assumed that it must have been his imagination playing tricks on him, before returning to his labors.

Suddenly, he registered movement out of the corner of his eye. "What the..." he gasped, as he looked up and saw a strange menacing apparition glide out of the shadows and step into the light cast by the desk lamp.

The purple clad figure, placed her gloved hands on her hips and assumed the classic heroine pose. Batgirl was wearing a tight-fitting catsuit that was so sheer, the open-mouthed Counselor could clearly see her large braless breasts beneath it, with their large dark areolas and prominent nipples, together with the briefest of clinging black thongs, that was all she was wearing to preserve her modesty. A close fitting black mask and cowl combination, that incorporated two pointed ears, helped conceal her true identity and a short Batcape hung from her broad shoulders.

"Good evening, Councilor Bannerman!" the shapely crimefighter said, in a soft, sultry voice.

"B-Batgirl!" he gasped, his eyes wide with amazement. "How on earth did you...?"

"That doesn't matter," she interrupted, "I am here to talk to you about your daughter."

His expression turned to stone. "Clare is dead!" he retorted, bitterly. "There is nothing you, or anyone else, can do to bring her back."

"True," she agreed, "but surely you would want her murderer brought to justice?"

His face was a picture of misery. Tears glistened in his eyes. "What makes you think you can be any more successful than the police department?" he demanded, a little belligerently, half rising from his chair.

"I don't, but at least I'm going to try. Are you willing to help me?"

He sighed and slumped back into his seat, suddenly looking much older than his years. "Very well, what do you want to know?"

"I understand that you hadn't seen your daughter since breakfast, the day before her death?

He nodded, miserably. "That is correct."

"What time was that, exactly?"

"About 8:00 am."

"I understand that Clare had finished with college. Did she have a job?"

"Not a regular one. She had this dream about becoming a top model; she was a pretty girl, you know?" A look of anguish crossed his face.

Batgirl nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"She somehow managed to get herself some part-time modeling work, but with whom, or how, I have no idea. She refused to show me any photographs of herself, taken on these modeling assignments; probably thought I would disapprove, which I most certainly would have! I had initially assumed she was on one of these, when she went missing."

"Hmm? I believe you hadn't been getting on too well with your daughter, during recent months?"

The broken man nodded, miserably. "It was all to do with this modeling work. I suspected she was getting in with bad company and was worried that she might get hooked on drugs. We were constantly arguing about it, but she refused to tell me who she was working for, or introduce any of the new friends she was hanging around with."

"Did you have any proof that she may have been taking illegal substances, Councilor?"

"N-No, but you read so much about the celebrity drug scene in the papers, these days. I wanted Clare to forget all about this modeling nonsense and go out and get herself a proper job. She was a bright, intelligent girl."

"Did she ever mention anything about the BDSM scene to you, Sir?"

He looked confused. "I don't even know what that means, Batgirl."

"Was Clare into bondage, masochism or fetish apparel?"

He looked genuinely shocked at the suggestion. He shook his head, vigorously, in denial. "Nooo, not as far as I am aware! My daughter just had the normal teenage hang-ups."

"Is there anything else you think you should tell me, Sir?"

The man looked a picture of misery, as he nodded, reluctantly. "We had a blazing row, the night before she disappeared. I happened to walk past her open bedroom door, just as she was about to climb into bed, and I saw this butterfly tattoo on her bottom. Clare always slept in the nude you see. I knew she must have had it done within the last week or two, and... and, well I'm afraid I lost my temper with her. I hated to see my beautiful baby disfigure her lovely body like that. Anyway, I slapped her across the face and called her a common whore! My poor baby, I never did get the chance to apologize." Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Batgirl placed a consoling hand on his arm. "I shall do my utmost to bring the killer of your daughter to justice, Sir!" she promised, in a voice husky with emotion.

With that, she turned and ran over to the window and disappeared behind the drapes.

Councilor Bannerman rose to his feet and slowly walked over to the French windows. As he pulled back the drapes, he saw that the sliding window had been left open about a foot or so. He eased himself through the gap and stepped out onto the balcony, in the cool night air. He peered around. The Dynamic Daredoll had disappeared, like a ghost, into the darkness.

November 10th, Gotham City Central Library

During their coffee break the following morning, Barbara brought her blonde, blue-eyed research assistant up to speed on the latest developments in what she had dubbed the 'BDSM Murders'. Jennifer was already aware of the second victim, or should that have been the first victim, since it had been confirmed that the Jane Doe had died some days prior to young Clare.

"One thing that Councilor Bannerman told me, that I found most intriguing, Jen, was that his daughter already had the butterfly tattoo on her left buttock, BEFORE she went missing, so it looks like she must have had it done, voluntarily. Also, there were no signs of oozing or scabbing, so the tattooing must have been done at least two weeks beforehand, most probably by a professional tattoo artist."

"Are we sure these tattoos aren't just red herrings?" Jenny enquired, crossing her shapely legs and linking her hands about her upraised knee. As usual, she was perched on the corner of Barbara's desk, wearing a disgustingly short miniskirt, contrary to library policy.

Barbara, both hands wrapped around her hot coffee mug, looked up at her and smiled. "No, they were definitely butterflies," she replied, before taking a sip of coffee.

Jenny's frowned for a moment, then got the humorous quip. "I meant that butterfly tattoos are pretty common, nowadays," she protested. "Lots of the girls in the clubs have them. They are especially popular at the base of the spine, or on the breast."

Barbara placed her coffee mug down and shook her head. "The tattoos were near enough identical on both corpses, both high on the left buttock. That is more than just a coincidence, Jen."

"Hmm? Have they identified the other girl's body yet?"

Barbara shook her head. "Not yet! Perhaps they never will."

November 10th, 11:37 am

Zhang groaned into her ballgag and realized she was lying face down on the bed, her face pushed into the pillow. It had become soaked with her saliva, as she had drooled around the gag, during her fitful bouts of sleep. She had no idea how much time had elapsed since she had been brought here, but ironically she'd developed a raging thirst, so it must have been some considerable period of time.

"I must have managed to turn over, somehow," she concluded, logically. "It was very uncomfortable when I was lying on my bound arms. Heck! It still IS bloody uncomfortable!" she added, under her breath. Her generous sized boobs were squashed, painfully, beneath her.

She closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing and bring her pounding heart under control. "It's no use getting hysterical," she told herself, sternly. "I have to try to remain strong."

-oOo-

A few minutes later, she heard the bedroom door open, and realized just how vulnerable she was in her current position. "I hope he's not hung like a stallion," she groaned, bracing herself for the expected penetration.

She suddenly realized that at least two or three people had entered the room and, moments later, a black hood was pulled over her head, cutting off all light. She felt an initial surge of panic, then heard the murmur of low voices. Hands gripped her shoulders and thighs, firmly pinning her down to the mattress, as he ankles were untied and lowered to the bed. This was followed by the buzz of some sort of small electric device. It sounded a little like her electric toothbrush. Next second, she felt fingers grip her left buttock, followed by a searing pain, as the oscillating needle of a tattoo gun entered her tender flesh. Zhang screamed into her ballgag then passed out.

The tattoo artist chuckled. "It would be a lot easier if you let me use a local anesthetic on these bitches, before I tattoo 'em," he suggested, helpfully, to the man alongside him.

"It helps get them used to pain," came the gruff response. "Now, get on with it!"

Just Before Midnight, November 10th

Batman stood next to a huge, ugly gargoyle, streaked with a century of off-white bird droppings, and stared down at the illuminated city streets, from the balcony that surrounded the base of the Cathedral's large dome. "A quiet night, Robin," he commented. His black cape, with its familiar yellow and black Bat-symbol, fluttered slightly, in the cool evening breeze.

Robin lowered his infra-red, night-time Bat-binoculars and turned to the senior half of the crime-fighting partnership. "Yeah, most of your old nemeses are banged up in Arkham Asylum, or the State Penitentiary," he replied, in a slightly wistful tone.

"There are always fresh crimes to be solved, criminals that need to be brought to justice, Boy Wonder."

"Yeah, but it ain't the same, without The Joker, The Riddler, Two-Face, The Penguin, or that sexy temptress, The Catwoman!"

The Caped Crusader turned to stare at his garishly garbed compadre. "He's been taking far too much interest in girls of late," he mused, silently. "'Isn't the same'," he muttered aloud, absently correcting his young partner's slovenly use of the English language.

"What?"

"Never mind!"

"There are still the murders of those two young girls that need solving," Robin added, brightening up considerably at the thought. "They were both real good lookers, before... well before they were tortured and murdered."

"I think Barbara could've been on the right track, when she insisted that the murders may have something to do with the BDSM community, but how do we find out for sure?" the Dark Knight mused, stroking his chin.

-oOo-

Over the next few days, Zhang was forced to lie on her stomach in an embarrassing spreadeagle position, her wrists and ankles bound with rope, to the four corners of the metal bedspread, while her tattoo was frequently cleansed and coated with various medicated creams and lotions, to ensure that it healed properly. They also removed her ballgag at regular intervals, so that they could feed and water her, and allow her to exercise her sore and aching jaw, but only after warning her to remain quiet, under pain of death. The quality and variety of the meals they fed her, was amazingly good, if not quite up to the high standards of her father's restaurant.

Whenever she needed to use the en-suite bathroom, Zhang's wrists were handcuffed behind her back, and one of her male captors accompanied her there. Privacy, it seemed, was one luxury that they were unwilling to allow her.

A couple of days after the tattooing had taken place, Zhang had healed sufficiently for her jailors to allow her to take regular showers, much to her delight, but it was always her silent, expressionless captors, who insisted on soaping her body, as she stood beneath the warm refreshing spray, her wrists still handcuffed behind her back. They were obviously unwilling to take any chance that she might try to escape her captivity. She wasn't even allowed to clean herself up, after she had finished urinating or defecating on the toilet. Even this most personal of activities, was performed by her jailers, much to her obvious embarrassment.

"At least they can't be going to kill me," she surmised, "or they wouldn't be taking such good care of me." This thought cheered her up a little, although the logic was somewhat flawed; pigs and turkeys, for example, were usually fattened up, prior to their slaughter for food.

Zhang had also speculated about the reason for her tattoo. "Perhaps it is some sort of ownership symbol," she mused, "like the brand they use on cattle." She shuddered, imagining what it would've felt like, if they had used a red hot branding iron on her. "Thank the Lord for small mercies!" she thought, gratefully.

November 11th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment

As a skimpily clad Barbara Gordon, was surfing the net for fresh BDSM sites, on her laptop, she had an idea. She castigated herself, under her breath, for not having thought of it before, then did another search for similar websites, only more specific this time, limiting the search parameters to the Gotham City locale. She gave a cry of delight, as the search result threw up the name of a local nightspot called 'The Hellfire Club'. She clicked the mouse pointer on the link and a colorful web page, advertising the club's facilities, filled the screen.

Apparently, the nightclub had only recently opened and claimed to be one of the largest and most luxurious clubs on the Eastern seaboard of the United States, with regular live entertainment and special events. But what was of particular interest to the feisty redhead, was the monthly BDSM nights that they held there, and the fact that they were offering complimentary tickets to anyone interested in acquainting themselves with the 'liveliest BDSM scene around' (their quote). The next gathering of these like-minded individuals, was on the evening of the 17th November.

This was just what Barbara had been looking for. Hoping she was not too late for the upcoming event, she quickly clicked on the link that brought up an application form for a pair of free tickets and started to type in her details, including her e-mail address.

A few minutes later, she received an e-mail, confirming that her application had been successful and that a pair of complimentary admission tickets would be immediately dispatched to her home address, for the next BDSM evening on the 17th of the month. Instructions on how to become a full member, were also included, including the membership fee.

Barbara sat back and hugged herself with delight. All she needed now, was to find someone to go with her, someone who would be willing to help her in her investigation. She smiled to herself, then reached for the phone and tapped in a number. While she waited for the person to pick up, she sat drumming the fingers of her free hand, on her bare knee.

There was a click. "Hello?" enquired a rich, deep masculine voice.

"Phil, darling, I'm glad I caught you in," Barbara gushed. "I want you to do me a little favor..."