Batgirl: Sex Bomb

This story is the sixth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures, mainly based on characters in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series but with the timeline brought up to the present.

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

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sex Bomb

Chapter 4: The Bat & The Armadillo

Thursday, 6:00 pm

The key turned smoothly in the high security lock fitted to the front door of his condo and Captain Peter Schmitt pushed it open and walked in. He slammed the door shut behind him, glad to be home at last, before stripping off his tunic jacket and hanging it on the coat rack in the hallway. He unbuckling his gun belt and draping it over an available hook.

"Is that you, honey?" called out a melodic female voice from within the living room.

"Yeah, honey," he replied in a tired voice, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. "Who else does the dizzy bimbo think it is?" he muttered, under his breath, shaking his head. He forced a smile onto his lips and walked into the main room to greet her.

The slim, twenty-eight year old, blue-eyed blonde, was stretched out along the sofa, long legs draped over the nearest padded armrest. A high-heeled mule dangled from the toes of one petite nylon-clad foot. The lovely creature was wearing a short, white, tasseled mini dress, that reminded him of those 'flappers' depicted in movies about the 'roaring twenties' or was that 'thirties'? He shook his head, absently, and ogled her shapely frame. The skirt had ridden up to the tops of her thighs, thus revealing the lacy black tops of her hold-ups and the fact that she was wearing a tightly clinging pair of white panties.

"How was Mistah J?" the blonde vision of delight enquired, giving him a dazzling smile of welcome, while making no attempt to adjust her clothing.

"As good as could be expected, given the circumstances," he replied, as the girl sat up, swiveled her ass on the cushioned seat, and swung her shapely pins to the floor. She raised her arms and stretched them, languidly, before patting the comfy cushion next to her, an invitation for him to sit down.

"No one likes being locked up in a lunatic asylum," Schmitt added, darkly, before his expression brightened. "Still, it won't be for much longer."

"I know, sweetie, and I can't wait to see my handsome Puddin' again," the girl replied, hugging herself, with a dreamy expression on her face.

He sat down beside her, then leaned over and kissed her on the lips, his left hand coming to rest on her smooth silky thigh, just bellow the hem of her short skirt.

The slim attractive blonde made no attempt to remove his hand, enthusiastically returning his kiss, their tongues grappling as she wrapped both arms around his neck.

Doctor Harleen Quinzel, otherwise known as Harley Quinn, was not unfamiliar with the grim establishment known as New Arkham Asylum, having spent several years locked up in that particular institution, after being certified as criminally insane by a committee of her peers.

To look at this sexy, five-feet seven-inch vision of feminine delight, few would have credited that she had once been a young, dedicated, psychiatric intern, working with the certified inmates of New Arkham Asylum. Her sessions with the Joker, however, had proved to be her downfall. She had fallen completely under the spell of the garish maniac; despite the often-despicable way he tended to treat her. When she had been found guilty of aiding the Joker's escape from Arkham, on not one but two separate occasions, her recently acquired medical license had been revoked and she had found herself incarcerated in the self same establishment.

Thanks to a clever attorney and a sympathetic review board, Harley had eventually, convinced them of her return to sanity and had recently been released from custody, on parole. Captain Schmitt had vouched for her future good conduct and agreed to be responsible for her, thus further influencing the board's decision to allow her early release.

Forty-one year old bachelor, Peter Schmitt, was no fool. He was aware that this gorgeous creature was still certifiable and still completely infatuated with the Ace of Knaves. She had only moved in with him, to keep a close eye on him for his 'partner in crime'. Still, he truly believed that Harley had grown quite fond of him, over the past couple of months, and she WAS a fantastic lay. He slid his hand under the hem of her short skirt and cupped the warm swell of her mons.

"How... how did the rest of your day go?" Harley gasped, squirming her tight little ass at this intimate contact.

"The Joker's plans are progressing nicely," he murmured, nuzzling into her neck. He reached up and casually slipped the narrow straps of her dress from off her bare shoulders.

"Have you, ah, made that anonymous phone call to the Gazette yet?" she enquired, throwing her head back and arching her spine, as he dragged the top of her dress down off her otherwise naked breasts, before trapping a perky nipple between his tightly pursed lips. Harley liked to be kept fully informed of the progress of her Puddin's plans.

"Mmmmmm!"

"Well?"

Peter finished licking and sucking her other teat into full prominence before deigning to look up and answer her query. "Of course, Harley, girl! Everything's going to schedule. Gordon has been summoned to an urgent meeting with Mayor Lindsay and I have been asked to be ready to step into his shoes, at a moment's notice. Now shut up and come to bed, you sexy little tease!"

Thursday, 7:55 pm

Batman parked the Bat-mobile in a side street, some hundred yards away from the Pink Armadillo then nimbly leapt from the vehicle and fed the parking meter. Batgirl had been uncomfortably aware of the Boy Wonder's muscular thigh pressing hard up against her own from the moment she'd squeezed in-between the two Caped Crusaders (the powerful vehicle was essentially just a two-seater). Now she felt Robin's hands all over her shapely ass as he helped her out of the cramped confines, at their journey's end. She turned to see the grin all over his face, as he vaulted out to land beside her.

"Couldn't resist a crafty fondle, could you?" she snapped, haughtily.

"Just helping out a fellow crime fighter," he replied, feigning innocence.

The Dark Knight pressed the button on the electronic key-fob that locked the vehicle and caused the anti-theft shielding to slide smoothly into place over the underside and vulnerable glass parts, before turning back to his two waiting costumed companions.

"Robin and I will nonchalantly saunter into the bar and order a couple of non-alcoholic drinks, while we give the place the 'once over'," he explained to the Dark Angel. "Then we can start asking a few casual but pertinent questions. Batgirl, you will keep an eye on the entrance, from across the street. If we haven't come out after say... 20 minutes, then contact Commissioner Gordon and get him to authorize a police raid on the premises. Under no circumstances are you to attempt a rescue on your own. Is that absolutely clear?"

The Costumed Cutie nodded, reluctantly. "You can be such a pompous old goat at times," she muttered, under her breath.

"What was that?"

Nothing!" she retorted, blushing slightly, at his accusing stare.

The crime-busting trio turned and headed for the bar.

Thursday, 8:00 pm

Batgirl crossed her arms across her shapely bosom and leaned back against the wall of the building, as she watched her two caped companions enter the establishment, on the opposite side of the street. She was still quietly fuming, at having been excluded from the action, but she could see the logic in Batman's plan.

She had just settled back with one shapely leg crossed over the other when she heard a faint noise over to her left, magnified by the audio sensors in the pointed ears of her Bat-cowl. She straightened, before turning to face the source of the sound, standing on wide-placed spiky heels, hands on her shapely hips. Before her, having just wandered out from a nearby alley stood three scruffy looking teenage boys. They all had big grins on their spotty faces, as they stared at the Dynamic Dare Doll.

"Well, well, look who we have here, guys!" announced the nearest and tallest of the youths, obviously their leader, stepping in front of the Dark Angel, with a confident swagger. "The one and only, Batgirl!"

"Go away, please!" hissed the Costumed Cutie, peering around to see if they were attracting any unwanted attention.

"Hey, did ya know that we can see your tiny black panties beneath that sexy outfit, Batgirl?" he added, leering at her curvaceous body. His two pals both sniggered.

"Go away!" she hissed loudly, failing to keep the note of annoyance from her voice. "I'm on surveillance, you idiot!"

"You can see she ain't wearin' no bra, either, the dirty slut!" exclaimed the shortest punk, a plumpish youth with a red spiky hairstyle and a ring through his nose.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna get me some of that!" declared the leader, stepping forward and grabbing Batgirl's left tit through the sheer clinging material of her Bat-costume.

That was a real bad mistake. The Dark Damsel's right knee shot up and caught him in the testicles, with the full force of her fury.

"Unnngghh!" The youth sank to his knees, clutching his private parts in both hands, a look of agonized surprise on his face. Before he could even start to contemplate the possible consequences on his future fatherhood, a flying boot caught him on his upper chest, sending him flying backward, to lie in a crumpled, groaning heap.

"Nobody molests me!" snarled Batgirl, crouching, menacingly. "Either of you other two losers got any similar bright ideas?"

"N-No," stuttered the spiky-haired runt, shaking his head, vehemently and backing off a few paces, hands raised, with the palms turned toward her.

"No way," added his brown haired, crew cut companion, a frightened look on his pockmarked features.

"Then you guys better pick up your pal and get the hell outta here!" she snapped.

They both nodded and hurried to comply.

-oOo-

The Dynamic Duo sauntered into the crowded gay bar and looked around casually, before walking over to the bar counter, ignoring the interested stares of the other male customers. The steady hum of conversation quickly died away, as all eyes swiveled to watch their progress across the smoke-filled room.

As they sat down on a couple of tall bar stools, with a swirl of their capes, and crossed their legs to a series of wolf whistles, the barkeeper strolled over to them. He was a big, powerfully built guy, wearing just a pair of tight denim shorts and jogging shoes. His nicely tanned muscular arms and upper torso, were covered with tattoos, several of them disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts.

He eyed the Dynamic Duo up and down and smiled, apparently impressed by what he saw. "The name's Hans. I own the joint. What can I get you boys?" he asked, staring, disconcertingly, into Batman's eyes.

"Er, two glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade on the rocks please," replied the Dark Knight, "shaken NOT stirred!" Batman had always wanted to say that line, ever since he'd seen his first James Bond movie. Okay, so they weren't dry martinis...

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" The barkeep turned to go prepare the drinks and Robin couldn't help but admire the ripple of the well developed, gluteus maximus muscles of his tightly clad buttocks.

"What brings Gotham's premier crime-fighters into a place like this?" Hans asked, returning and placing the tinkling glasses of lemonade in front of them. "I didn't realize you guys were of OUR sexual persuasion?"

Batman took a sip of his iced lemonade and nodded his satisfaction at the taste. "We're not! We're here investigating the disappearance of Officer Phil Thackeray of the GCPD," he explained.

The barman's smile vanished and his face turned ugly. "I've already told the cops that the guy was NEVER in here!" he snapped, irritably.

Batman gave him a mirthless smile. "But YOU and I both know that's NOT true, don't we, Hans?"

"Go screw yourself, freak! I don't HAVE to talk to you," snarled Hans, growing angry. He turned to walk away.

With lightning fast reflexes, Batman reached out and hooked his gloved fingers into the waistband of the bartender's hipster shorts, near the base of his spine, bringing him to an unexpectedly abrupt halt.

"I wasn't finished talking to you," the Caped Crusader murmured, softly, to an accompanying ping of a waist button flying off the shorts and the sound of a zipper flying open under the sudden strain.

"Hey, what the..." The barkeeper grabbed his shorts, before they could fall about his knees, and quickly yanked the zipper back up, thus just protecting his innate modesty.

There was an assortment of cheers and guffaws from the attentive audience, including a cry of "Don't be a spoilsport, Hans! Show us yer dragon!" from one amateur comedian. The big barman's cheeks colored at this remark.

Robin assumed that this must be a reference to one of the barman's numerous gaudy tattoos. "We can get a lot rougher than that, sweetheart," the Boy Wonder threatened, in his most menacing 'gangster' voice. He was a big fan of old Humphrey Bogart movies.

"Shouldn't you be in school, Junior?" retorted the barkeep, obviously unfazed by this macho display.

"Well, are you going to tell us the truth?" asked Batman, calmly.

The man stared at the cowled figure of the Dark Destroyer, obviously weighing up the alternatives, whilst holding up his shorts with his left hand. Finally, he gave a resigned shrug of his broad shoulders. "Okay, I admit the cop was in here, earlier," he muttered, reluctantly. "A couple of my customers had been looking for him."

"Names?"

"Hell, I don't know! They weren't none of my regulars. I ain't never seen either of these guys before, or since!"

Batman leant across the bar and grabbed the wrist of the hand holding up the shorts, threatening to yank it free and thus give his gay customers a night to remember.

"Try to remember!" he urged, in a threatening tone.

"Okay, okay! All I know is that the little guy's name is 'Shorty' and his big brute of a partner is called 'Bull'. I don't know their other names... honest, Batman!"

Batman released his iron grip on Hans' wrist and watched him gingerly rub the circulation back into it, with his free hand.

"Okay, I believe you," he said, quietly. He took another sip of his lemonade and smacked his lips. "You make a nice lemonade, Hans. What did these two characters look like?"

"The short scrawny guy is about fifty, clean shaven with graying hair, wearing one of those multi-colored Hawaiian shirts that used to be popular a few years back, baggy white pants with suspenders and a black derby hat. His partner, Bull I think he called him, is a much younger, guy, maybe thirty, short black-hair, six-feet two tall, weighing 'round about 250 pounds. He has a real ugly mug and was wearing blue denims and a grubby white tee."

"What happened when Officer Thackeray came in here?"

"The cop asked me if anyone had been lookin' for him. I told him that these two guys had been askin' for him and were hangin' around out back. So, he went out back, to talk to them." Hans nodded toward the rear door across the room. "Through that door over there!"

"Then what happened?"

"No idea! That was the last I saw of any of 'em, man. Must've left by the rear exit? There's a small yard back there, mainly used for beer and wine deliveries."

"Mind if we take a look around?"

"N-No, help yourself," the barman replied. "Just remember that I had nothin' to do with that cop's disappearance, Batman. I run a respectable establishment here! The last thing I want is the law swarming all over the joint!" He eyed the sway of their tight, muscular buttocks, as the two costumed crimefighters made their way to the rear door, along with most of the rest of the room.

Thursday, 8:10 pm

Batman knelt down on one knee and dipped a finger in the dark red stain on the carpet, just inside the doorway leading to the back corridor. "Looks like a fairly fresh bloodstain, Boy Wonder," he murmured, taking a glass slip from a compartment in his utility belt. He smeared some of the sticky liquid onto it, before dropping the glass slide into a clear plastic sample bag and returning it to the compartment. "We can check the blood group against that of Officer Thackeray, back at the Bat Cave," he informed Robin.

Robin nodded. "I'd bet a month's allowance that they will match," he muttered, grimly. "Looks to me like our policeman friend walked straight into some sort of trap."

"A reasonable assumption," Batman agreed, then fully realizing what the Boy Wonder had just said, shook his cowled head and added, "Any form of gambling is only to be frowned upon, old friend."

The Caped Duo, went through the back rooms and rear yard of The Pink Armadillo, with a fine toothcomb, but no further clues were found, that might help point them toward the missing officer.

Thursday, 8:19 pm

Batgirl gave a sigh of relief, as she saw the Caped Crusaders exit the bar. She had just been contemplating storming into the joint after them, despite Batman's instructions to the contrary. She hurried across the street to join them, ignoring the honking horn and squeal of brakes, as a motorist was forced to take evasive action, narrowly avoiding hitting her.

"Stupid damned jaywalker!" the driver yelled, through an open window.

Batgirl ignored him. "What have you found out?" she enquired, anxiously clutching at Batman's arm.

"Oh, he's been in there alright," Batman answered. "Seems he met up with two guys named Bull and Shorty, who claimed to know something about the weapons heist."

"Then what happened?"

"Looks like it was some sort of trap, Batgirl," replied the Boy Wonder. "We found some blood in one of the back rooms!"

"Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed Batgirl, wide-eyed, clutching at her breast.

"It was only a small amount," Batman added, reassuringly. "We suspect Phil may have been injured during his capture and abduction."

"Do we know where they have taken him?" she asked, more in hope than expectation.

"'Fraid not, Batgirl, but we DO have a description of the two hoodlums though. Hopefully, the Bat-computer can come up with some possible places these guys hang out, when we feed this new information into it?"

Thursday, 8:20 pm

Phil slowly swam back to consciousness, to find that he was lying on the hard, dusty floor of the warehouse. He was still alive, although a fresh, throbbing bruise on his temple, testified to the fact that he must've hit his head on the floor, when he landed, and knocked himself out. His hands and feet were still tied and he could still feel the tight noose around his neck. He could also feel the accompanying rope burns, which must have occurred when he lost his balance and fell off the chair.

"But why am I still alive?" he wondered in amazement. "Surely the fall should have broken my neck, or asphyxiated me, at the very least?"

He squirmed around on the floor to get a better view of his surroundings, ignoring the pounding pain in his head and aware that he must have banged his left knee on impact with the floor, since it hurt like hell. The wooden chair was lying on its side, next to him.

"Must have knocked it over during the fall," he deduced.

His gaze alighted on the double hook on the wall. The hemp rope appeared to have miraculously become unraveled from it, during his fall, thus saving him from his gruesome fate. Now, the coarse hemp rope just dangled loosely from the cast-iron crossbeam that it was looped over.