Vicki Vale rode Dick, but it felt like it was the other way around, the shift and tensing of his muscles driving her, bounding over his cock while she didn't have the presence of mind to do so herself. Having her name beside Bruce's in the society columns had seemed like a good way to get enough leverage to score interviews with his set, a place on his arm making her part of the gang—and he didn't care if she went behind his back with men who were large enough to at least make her regret it when they came prematurely.
But during their relationship, she never would've been so bold as to get into bed with his young ward. Her mistake. He was worth Wayne's resentment, worth getting blackballed, worth her career. With a twitch of his hip, he sent her bucking up into the air, coming back down on his cock and feeling it rush inside her, her pussy's attempts to resume anything approaching tightness when he briefly vacated her feeling like her body was in desperate denial. She was taking his cock, learning a definition of pleasure she'd never had before, being satisfied in such a way that nothing else would ever please her, and there was no going back.
"You're so big!"
***
Jezebel Jet felt the desk press hard into her gut, her flesh jammed against it, bent over it, the cold crisp wood and scattered papers left behind after Dick had swept the space clear. Her hands rattled at the desktop, crumpling papers, sending print-outs flying through the air as she struggled for a handhold that would make the vastness of her penetration easier to take.
She heard another grunt, the thunder before the lightning, as her overstimulated body let out a flare of sensation telling her that another inch of mammoth cock had been forced into her. Fucking Bruce Wayne had been nothing, a moment of Zen as she planned her next day, so how could his ward—though much younger—possibly be so different? She couldn't remember her schedule. She couldn't remember her own name, only the size and shape of the intrusion that seemed to be permanently expanding her sex.
Another grunt, then she felt him even deeper, in parts of her pussy she didn't even know she had. She could only think one thing. At the moment, it seemed all she would remember until she finally expired of pleasure.
"You're so much bigger than Bruce!"
***
Zatanna's stockings were ripped apart, clinging to her legs like broken spider-webs, while her tuxedo vest had been forced open, hanging to either side of her voluptuous breasts with the buttons scattered to the four corners. Her bra had been ripped off her, dropped in tatters into her upside-down top hat where it laid on the floor. Even her hot pants had been torn rather than removed, leaving a hole that had actually widened as she spread her legs to accommodate the cock Dick had shoved through it.
Now, her designer wardrobe all but ruined save for the bow-tie still affixed to her neck, hiding her gulping swallows, she was pinned to the wall upon a cherished vintage poster for one of her father's performances. Every battering ram thrust inside her smashed her against the poster, cracking the glass and endangering the paper inside, with only her reinforced dinner jacket protecting her flawless skin from harm.
She couldn't care. Every thrust from the sidekick satisfied her far more than the mentor ever had, in all the times she had allowed him to touch her out of friendship, the ever-lasting hope that maybe this time he'd learned how to please a woman with his body as much as with his looks.
Again she was battered against the wall, like her body feared, was fleeing the intimidating cock at work inside it. And she was afraid of how good it felt. How could she possibly go back to men like Bruce after a fucking like this? How could she possibly go back to not being fucked after this?
The poster's glass case cracked again, this time from her hand thumping against it, gloves protecting her palm as she slapped it behind herself like that could do anything to dilute the pleasure she felt. Fuck the poster. She could buy a new one on eBay.
That thought quickly receded, Zatanna losing herself in the pleasure, zoning out in pure ecstasy, but Dick brought her out of that, forced her back to consciousness with a harsh kiss. She would feel every moment of his rapturous performance. Zatanna moaned as he thrust into her again. It felt as torturous, as thrilling, as the first time.
"He never made me cum like this!" she moaned as satisfaction found her, whether she lost herself in it or not.
***
The feel of Dick's hard body on top of her was familiar to Talia al Ghul; he was similar in sculpting to Bruce, who Talia had lain with repeatedly in the hopes he would give her a child before finally having to rely on artificial insemination to get the job done.
But the similarities in physique ended between the legs. Where Bruce's cock was so small that she'd often wondered if he'd simply never penetrated her deeply enough to impregnate her, Dick felt like he was large enough to reach into her very womb. It almost seemed like he had, he was so deep, but Talia was aware of how painful such a thing would be and if there was one thing she wasn't feeling, it was pain.
Dick pounded her into the bed with concern only for her pleasure, every stroke and thrust of his body arousing her as much as it satisfied her. She had no idea how he could meet the lust he provoked in her, yet with every minute, he did.
He hadn't drawn the sheets back from the carefully made up bedspread before throwing her down on it, but his rigorous usage of her had already tangled the sheets around them, popped the mattress pad from its seal, rocked the pillows down to the floor. Judging from the distressed sound of the bedsprings, she would need to replace her mattress.
Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she heard wood crack. Perhaps she'd need a new bedframe as well.
Perhaps even a new floor.
Her eyes wandering, attempting to distract herself from another orgasm so overwhelming that she couldn't bear to think about it, Talia saw the wall clock.
Only two minutes had passed.
"Bruce never lasted this long!"
***
Poison Ivy hung from an assortment of vines, their slender coils biting into her back, her thighs, her ass as she was suspended at the perfect height for Dick's mouth to find her. He devoured her, demanded her, his tongue impossibly alive inside her, pleasing her as if it had been meant only for that. And by someone whose skill far exceeded her own; she'd made plants designed only to stimulate her, and they didn't make her come anywhere near as often, as strongly, and for as long as every soulful kiss Dick laid upon her sex.
It reminded her of how once, having designed an aphrodisiac that's actually worked on Batman, she'd made him go down on her. He was so inept at it, though, that she'd finally told him not to bother. Under the duress of the pollen, he'd admitted he'd never gone down on a woman before. When she asked him what a clitoris was, he'd stated confidently that a woman peed out of it.
She hadn't even bothered with his cock upon seeing the size of it. Even the bragging rights of having preyed upon Batman weren't worth despoiling herself for such a tiny gain. She'd get more penetration out of tribbing with Harley.
Her gynoecium tingled, blooming, Dick's tongue sunlight and summer rain and warm soil, all at once. Beyond it, her jungle sweltered, hungry to be explored. Ivy let her vines lengthen, much as Dick was doing, lowering her down. Dick had unzipped himself, but hadn't otherwise touched himself once. His cock was that hard merely from the taste of her, and the sweet sound of her cries. Coiling the vines in his hands, Dick swung her onto his cock. Ivy screamed.
"Perhaps mammals have their uses after all," she said after a long minute of yelling—the price of taking his manhood to its base. He let her huff and sigh as she became used to a length she never would've dared breed her vines to. "Just not bats."
Tightening his grip on the vines, Dick swung her again...
***
Silver St. Cloud shook with need even stronger than her fear. She didn't know how, but she was taking Dick's cock in her ass. Where she'd been intimidated by the thought of even vaginal intercourse, he'd made it clear he would only be satisfied with her asshole, and as his kisses, his caresses, his wonderfully filthy words piled on, she too could be satisfied with nothing less.