It was a slow night and Zinda found herself standing around with nothing to do. The Birds of Prey were on a mission in Old Gotham, but they didn't need a pilot, so she was stuck at home, babysitting Blackfire in her isolation cell. Even Barbara was going off to hack into a physically isolated computer system from her battle van.
Zinda couldn't help thinking about Dick and how wonderful it would be to be in bed with him. The other girls were fun, but that was just it: fun. She couldn't help it, a generational thing, but she thought of Dick as the real deal. Maybe not her husband in the conventional sense, but certainly the closest thing to one she could possibly stand. Whatever she and Dinah and Helena did—and they did—Dick just felt so much more real. She imagined his wonderful thick cock sliding into her... and felt an agitated buzz in the crotch of her panties.
Now you've done it, she thought. All primed for take-off and no runway available.
To take her mind off everything, she went to the kitchen and started washing some dishes for the others. The fact that she was acting as the stereotypical forties housewife while wearing her skirted black costume, right down to the cap tilted rakishly on her blonde head, was not lost on her. Maybe that was why, irresistibly, her thoughts drifted back to Dick and his fantastic lovemaking. She could hardly wait until he got home and climbed into bed with her.
She was so lost in her horny fantasy that she forgot the world around her.
From behind, somebody slipped their hand up her skirt.
Zinda gasped and straightened up from the sink. Deft fingertips tickled deliciously over her wet pussy, inching up to her clit for a delicious moment of pressure. She lost control in that moment, thrusting her hips up to meet that probing finger, feeling it slip the barest degree into her famished sex. She moaned softly.
Then she came to her senses. Her mind was fast enough to go two place simultaneously. The first was thinking that if this weren't her husband Dick Grayson, then someone was in for one royal ass-whooping. The second was that this touch could only be him.
Still, she jerked her hips so that his finger slipped out of her cunt. She was a good girl, and a little ashamed of how aroused she'd gotten just from feeling his finger some. She blushed furiously and started to turn around, but he pushed forward with his body, shouldering her so she stayed in place. In fact, he bent her forward, over the sink, and pulled up her skirt.
Everybody wants to do that. "You at least bring me flowers, flyboy?"
"Better." She felt his cockhead nudge against the ripe curve of her left buttock, then his harsh breath on the back of her neck as he bent forward to sling her panties down her legs. "You're wet enough for it."
Zinda bit her lip. Oh hell—if you couldn't be a slut with your husband, when could you? "I'll say this for you, ya don't keep a gal waitin'!"
He lined himself up with her passage, preparing to thrust, but she suddenly clenched her buttocks and straightened, denying him. Zinda heard him growl in distress, barely able to handle the delay.
"Waitin' too much, that is."
"Flowers," Dick promised her. "And a steak dinner, first chance I get."
Zinda moaned submissively and waved her ass at him. Even if it was her right, she couldn't punish him too long. If the other girls got home, there'd be a feeding frenzy. Right now, she had him all to herself...
"Do it to me, Dick. Do it!"
The sight of Zinda's round ass waving him on, curtained and partially obscured by the skirt that was pulled up over it, had the same effect on Dick that a red flag has on a bull. He guided the engorged head of his cock between her shapely buttocks and found himself in the heat of her wet slit, momentarily overwhelmed by it, forced to savor those first few hints of her tightness, her warmth, the embrace she offered his manhood. Then he was equally unable to resist the urge to slide deep into her hot cunt.
"Uh, baby!"
It was what Dick had been dying for ever since he finished fucking Misfit. For a moment, he thought he was going to come right then. But he got a hold of himself. Even in his delirium, he wanted Zinda to enjoy this. It was what got him off most, hearing a beautiful woman like this, who could have any man she wanted, thanking God that she had him.
He drove his cock into her in long, even strokes.
Zinda felt like she was being born again. It'd been so long and this was so good. Her whole body vibrated with pleasure as Dick worked his steady pace in and out of her trembling pussy. She felt so depraved, bent over the goddamn sink like a slutty maid carrying on an affair, wagging her ass at him, begging him to impale her on his cock. She was shaking so hard with excitement that she was sure she would have fallen to her knees if she hadn't had the sink to hold her up.
"It's good, Dick! Ohhh... it's sooooo good!"
Dick thought Lady Blackhawk had never looked or sounded more beautiful. It was like Zinda was right in the same space he was, needing it as bad as he did. For all her barhopping, skirt-wearing reputation, she'd never done anything as provocative as begging him to fuck her—a freak in the streets but a lady in the sheets. Now her taut asscheeks were moving with feverish enthusiasm—the movements of a woman who needed his cum sizzling inside her.
He clutched her rich, sleek flesh and kneaded it with his fingers while his cock glided in and out of her sex, gleaming with evidence of her arousal. She clenched herself around his cock and his shaft ached with pleasure as it fought through her tightness. Each time he shoved himself into her cunt, Dick asked himself how he could ever have thought fucking Zinda was some kind of chore. She was a beautiful woman. A great fuck.
"You're so goddamned beautiful," he husked out, seeing the rough words billow into Zinda's hair, part it into golden threads. "I love you. I love fucking you. Zinda baby..."
His voice did something to the woman. She began to writhe and moan even more frantically than before. She was submerged in the heated atmosphere of Dick's lust. Her husband loved her, he wanted her, thought her beautiful and desirable. That was exactly what Zinda wanted to hear, exactly what was needed to take all her impulses toward control and modesty and turn them into raw need.
"I love fucking you too!" Zinda moaned, her cap slipping down over her eyes as she responded eagerly to his thrusts. "You have such a wonderful cock! It fills me up so nice!"
Even wrapped up in the sensory overload of fucking Zinda from behind, Dick understood the extent of her arousal. She had gone a long time without the intense, satisfying sex she craved. Her body was trembling before him, filling with need. Her cunt was clasping his cock with sheer hunger. He aimed to satisfy it, fucking her faster and deeper.
He was beginning to appreciate the depth of the goldmine he had just discovered. As good as Barbara and Kory and Helena were, there was something special about Zinda's sexual curiosity, her old-fashioned mores coupled with new-fangled liberation, a mixture of well-honed knowledge and almost virginal willingness. He had thought he'd learned everything there was to know about Zinda, sexually, on their first fuck, that she was just another warm body Barbara had piled on him. Only now was he coming to realize how much more there was to know, the depth of experience he had almost allowed to escape them.
"God, Zinda, never let me forget how much I love you! Promise me that! I'm your husband! Never stop being my wife!"
"Oh yes, Dick! Yes! Yes!"
Tears started to flow down Zinda's cheeks. She felt a little embarrassed; this wasn't the time for tears. She was bent over the kitchen sink with her husband's cock deep inside her. So maybe it was. Maybe this was what she'd always wanted. To fly, to fight, but also to have someone waiting for her when she came home—someone as unashamed, as shameless, as she had ever been.
Her pussy spasmed around his member. It was ready to be his.