Batman and the Bounty

Here are a couple of little humor/satire pieces from about a year ago. They're both too short to post on their own, but I hope they provide a little chuckle, as well as a bit of arousal...

Slowly, Batman became aware that he was ... alive. Awake. He shook his head and opened his eyes, then squinted while he waited for things to come into focus.

Catwoman! She must be behind this. That was the last thing he remembered ... taking delivery of the vase of roses, and reading her name on the card just as the flowers emitted the puff of gas that had knocked him out.

And now, here he was ... wherever "here" is, he thought ... standing almost upright, his wrists and ankles secured to a St. Andrew's cross. He could tell by the 18-degree pitch of the floor that he was in a villain's lair, and it had to be Catwoman. Well, he wouldn't be here long, he thought. His fingers were free enough to activate the bat-magnets in his bat-glove, and remotely open a compartment on his utility belt ...

Except, he realized, he wasn't wearing his utility belt. He looked down and saw with horror that his belt was missing. And so were his pants.

"Hello, Batman," Catwoman purred, making her grand entrance from the other side of the room.

"Catwoman!" Batman ... hissed.

"Shhhh!" Catwoman replied, putting a finger to her ruby-red lips. "Hissing is my thing. And it's not very becoming for a ... big, strong man."

Then she began to walk slowly across the room toward him, her hips swaying in their shiny black leather, her crimson nails rasping on the tabletop that she passed as she drew near. Batman watched her movements and couldn't help imagining

those nails scraping down the flesh of his back, or his thighs, or ...

He couldn't help picturing those shapely thighs undulating as she straddled his lap.

No! He told himself. He couldn't allow himself to think of her that way. It was too dangerous.

"What's your game, Catwoman?"

"Ooh, Batman, you're right, it is a game," Catwoman nodded, now that she was face to face with him. "You know how we cats like to play with our prey."

She reached out and placed one fingertip on his chest, then slowly dragged it down over his stomach, toward ... damn it! He realized with chagrin that his penis was becoming erect.

"And this game is called 'Edging the Bat.'" She swiveled at the waist and bent at the knees, lowering herself until her face was inches from the erection that was now jutting out at a ninety-degree angle. Batman prided himself in his willpower, but he wasn't able to prevent his body from reacting. And Catwoman could tell. She looked up and made eye contact with her helpless captive, letting him see the amusement, and the mock surprise ("did I do this??"), and even the excitement in her expression, then she returned her gaze to his stiff cock, which was now bobbing against his belly. She opened her lips and ... let him feel her warm, moist breath on him. But nothing more.

Well, yes, there was something more. She did reach out with one hand just long enough to squeeze him for a second between her thumb and forefinger. But just a second. When she withdrew her hand, he saw that she had affixed some kind of tiny adhesive sensor to his shaft.

Catwoman stood back up and turned away, looking now at a phone that she must been carrying in the gold belt that encircled her delicious hips.

"So, Batman, that is a sensor that will keep me informed of the state of your ... arousal. Right now you are ... ninety-seven percent rigid. I'll take that as a compliment."

Batman scowled and struggled, but his erection just got even harder.

"I want you to be aroused by me, Batman," the villainess continued. "And, you want to stay aroused, too. You see, if the sensor shows that you've fallen below 90% rigid, it will trigger the bomb that I've placed beneath Stately Wayne Manor, and Albert and Robin will be blown to Kingdom Come."

"You diabolical fiend!" Batman snarled.

"Thank you!" Catwoman laughed, shaking her head so that her wavy locks danced.

"So, I'll be back in about two hours, after I've finished robbing Gotham National Bank, and I will turn off the detonator then. So I certainly hope that you'll stay nice and hard for me in the meantime. And, in fact, to help with that ..."

She held up her phone and punched another button. Suddenly giant video monitors in each corner of the room jumped to life. And the moving image on each of them was a close-up from seconds before ... she must have had cameras recording the action! ... of Catwoman's wicked but beautiful face, inches from Batman's straining erection, breathing provocatively on him as he twitched and pulsed ...

"So enjoy the movie, Batman," Catwoman chuckled. "But, not too much. Because I know how you boys and bats sometimes ... fade a little after an orgasm. Ninety-percent rigid, Batman! If you blow your load, your friends will be blown, too ... blown to bits!"

And with that, she turned and walked out of the room. Another camera must have been set up to follow her exit, because as soon as she had left, one of the video monitors switched over to a repeating loop showing her walking away ... her long, shapely legs stepping heel-toe, heel-toe; each cheek of her perfect leather-clad derriere rising and falling with each step as she cruelly abandoned him to his desperate predicament.

Batman's eyes fixed on those few steps, seeing them over and over again, and his brain fixed on that thought ... and he suddenly felt the pressure building in his groin and his testicles drawing up against his body. No! Shit! He couldn't cum! Quickly he tried to fill his mind with other thoughts ... puppies. Kittens. No, damn it, kittens turned into cats ... sleek, black, sensuous cats ... baseball! He thought of baseball statistics! Who would be playing third base for the Gotham City Marauders this year?

The crisis passed. Batman looked back up at one of the dangerous monitors, and noticed for the first time that there was a clock in the lower right corner of each screen, and another counter in the lower left. That number was showing ... 94 ... 93 ... 92...

"Holy Premature Ejaculation!" as Robin might have said, Batman thought. The number was the sensor monitoring his rigidity, and it was falling. Quickly he returned his attention to the larger image of Catwoman's pursed lips blowing warm breath over his throbbing cock. What a picture, he had to admit. He desperately wished that, even if only on the screen, she would open those lips and take him into her mouth. But no, it was just the same not-quite-there clip, running over and over.

Batman sighed. At least the rigidity number was back up to 96. He glanced over to the clock. It had been four minutes. One hundred and sixteen minutes to go ...

=======

Meanwhile, in the South Pacific...

"MistAH CHRIST-ian!" bellowed Captain Bligh.

Slowly, in measured, restrained steps, First Mate Fletcher Christian came forward from amidst the grumbling mass of sailors on the main deck.

"Mister Christian," Bligh growled when they had come face to face. "This crew is not at its posts. And these weapons with which they have armed themselves are not only highly irregular, they border upon mutinous.

"Tell your men to return to their posts, or they will be flogged."

"Captain, the crew believes that conditions are intolerable. We are all pulling double shifts on half-rations. I have never seen morale so low."

"Tell your men," Bligh hissed, "The floggings will continue until morale improves."

"The men," Christian replied, "No longer recognize your authority."

"I see," Bligh said, then turned to his chief warrant officer. "Mr. Fryer, bring out My Authority."

John Fryer stepped to the doorway leading to the cabin under the forecastle, and opened it.

The figure that began to step forward out of the shadows was full of menace. Nails in the heels of black leather boots clicked ominously on the hardwood floor of the deck. Even when the figure emerged into the blinding sunlight, the overwhelming impression was blackness; the color of midnight, of hopelessness.

The gloves. The bullwhip. The leggings. The wasp-waisted silk corset. The shoulder-length waves of raven hair. Even the Venetian masquerade mask, and the pupils and lashes peeking out from its eye holes, were as black as night.

She stepped up to Fletcher Christian.

"Hello, Mr. Christian," she whispered into his face, close enough that he could smell the absinthe on her breath and the coconut and frangapani in the perfume between her breasts. "My name is DuPre. Authority DuPre. You may call me Ms. Authority.

"Now, with whom shall we begin?"

Fletcher heard muttering behind him, as well as a couple of daggers clattering to the deck. His number two cleared his throat, and Fletcher broke eye contact with Ms. Authority long enough to meet Captain Bligh's gaze. "A moment, please."

Fletcher turned and spoke quietly with his men while Ms. Authority DuPre stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, and crossed her arms. Then he turned back to face the Captain and Authority.

"The men want to know," he said slowly, "If they can surrender their weapons *and* still get the floggings?"

And that is why the Bounty completed its mission on schedule, and Captain Bligh and Fletcher Christian retired as old men who no one ever heard of.