The Dar Damsel

Continuing the search...

I ended the night five thousand dollars richer, with a few more miles of street cred, and the respect of two of Gotham's top bad asses. I got out alive, on top of it all. However, I didn't have Batgirl and that was all that I could think of as I took a cab to the nearest House of Pancakes.

The driver of my cab was one of Ivy's goons. He looked too fresh to be a real driver on graveyard shift. When I asked what Ivy planned to do with Batgirl, he looked at me in the rear view mirror like I was nuts, but he relaxed a bit when I slipped him a Benjamin through the fare slot. He smiled and told me that the word was that she would end up as fertilizer in a bomb to blow up City Hall if my boss went through and took over Parkview Square.

"Gang war? Really?" I looked amused.

"The guy you work for won't stop until he's narrowed the number of players down a bit," came the response. He took a turn on Burton and sped up to make the light at 55th. We got caught behind a delivery truck, however and he had to slam on his breaks to avoid kissing its rear bumper.

I asked, "What's so important about Parkview?" I knew, of course, but I wanted to hear it fresh from someone who might have a new perspective.

He laughed. "New marketing strategy." I raised an eyebrow. Looking out through the wind shield, I noticed something moving in the rear window of the delivery truck. It vanished. The driver continued, "Your boss wants it for the old stand bys...drugs, heists, whores...Ivy wants to take it into the 21st century. She's got Penguin, Scarecrow and even some old Legion of Doomsters backing her up. Dude, its gonna be big..."

The rear door of the delivery truck suddenly sprang open. As I asked, "What is going to be big?" The muzzle of a .50 calibre machine gun peeked out and started spitting at us. The front windshield disintegrated. The driver blossomed into a mist of red and yellow. I heard snaps and pings as I threw myself onto the seat. The plexi divider was bulletproof, but the impact created a spider pattern that spread with every burst. I reached up and threw the latch on the door. It sprung open and was immediately hit from the side by dozens of rounds, piercing the thin metal of the door and shattering the window. The roar was deafening, but I wasn't paying attention. It was all going to come back to me in the form of a long, loud ringing somewhere, sometime I could afford to stop panicing. But for the moment, I had to figure a way to get out of the firing range.

I was on the floor of the cab, with the blood of the driver oozing under the front seat over my pant legs and shoes, the smell of burning plastic and blood and bile...whatever else was in the abbatoir of the front seat. There wasn't a pause to reload - a constant stream of one machine gun began pulverising the cab from front back. The bulletproof glass finally buckled and slivers of it rained down on me as the rest of it folded and cracked, the rear windhield exploded, dagger-sized pieces striking me in the neck and small of the back. It sent up a cloud of glass particles. I held my breath until I could filter my nose and mouth. I tried to gan traction to move, but slipped in the blood and fell on my face.

I found myself pinned between the seats, facing the floor of the cab. I thought of dying there, blood pooling underneath me, the filth of the cab and the rain of glass....it was nasty....nasty nasty nasty....but there I lay. In the distance, I heard the sound of sirens, then the gunfire stopped. Over the rising ring in my ears I heard the screeching of tires as the delivery van tore away from the scene. The smell of gasoline saved me from passing out and, on pure adrenalyne, I scrambled out of the car, glass and metal tearing at my clothes and flesh. I carried myself to a nearby alley and collapsed as the cab burst into flame. As I caught my breath, police arrived. Then there was smoke...lots of it and I took off down the alley.

I kept my bearings enough to follow the alley parallel to Burton up to 47th. Around about the time the sun was rising over Gotham Harbor, I was picking the lock of a Block House and slipping inside. I can talk to you about the Block House on 47th because you've already torn it apart. The doctor who ran this pit is now dead and gone and the red graphitti marking it as a Block House for wounded thugs has been scrawled over with black tar. But that night, the fetid stink hole was heaven to me. I limped down the steps and into the exam room. Dr. Panzer didn't keep any nurses or housekeepers...or alcohol that wasn't used to keep him stoned 24/7, so the floor was always an interesting shade of brown with a thick ring built up about the drain at the center of what must have been a tiled floor. It was built back in the Golden Age by our grandparents who needed a place to stow bootleg booze or patch up the guys who trucked it. I looked about to see if the doc was in and he sure as hell was. He was inside Catwoman, fucking the shit out of her unconscious body across a surgical table.

He didn't notice me as I stepped into the room. He was quiet except for a noise that sounded like a hissing snake every time he shoved himself back into Catwoman's pussy. Most of the action was covered by a stained lab coat, but I could see this little, thin man of 70, perched on a soapbox grinding against this tall, shapely woman in a purple catsuit. Her feet were strapped into the raised stirrups and spread wide. She was pulled down to the edge of the table. Dr. Panzer had already patched her up and it looked like she had been in a pretty big scrape. Her left eye was blackened and her right and left ankle were in a fresh dressing. Panzer upzipped her jump suit enough to fre her large, perfectly shaped tits and was suckling them as he fucked her. He lapped at the nipples and nibbled them as she lay lifeless. Pretty soon, it was clear that the doctor was ready to go. The hissing he made quickened and then stopped as he pounded her relentlessly, bumping her up the plastic-lined table. He spasmed for a moment and them collpsed, kissing her body and removing himself from inside her.

I was wondering just how easy it had become to get a piece of metahuman ass in this town if Dr. Panzer could so easily overpower someone who's outwitted the "Dark Knight" on several ocassions. Panzer stepped away, zipping himself up and humming a German marching tune. He removed a rubber and deposited it in a waste can. He left the room by the door opposite my entrance and I stood there, examining the splayed, lifeless body of Catwoman, her wet pussy open to the air, raised to be fucked again and for a second I considered taking advantage of what could have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I knew those thoughts were a result of the blood loss I'd suffered and the after effect of the adrenalyne rush of nearly being killed. I looked up from her pussy over her washboard stomach and lingered on her huge, naked tits before lifting my gaze to her wide-open and condesending eyes.

Her eyes trapped me like a rabbit snare and I felt my cock shrink like it were doused in cold water. She was about to say something when the far door opened again and Dr. Panzer returned.

"Ssank you my dear...zat vas quite refreshing. You are a lovely patient. I enjoy ven you come to me zo I can cum in you." He laughed giddily.

As if nothing happened, Catwoman sprang to life, sitting up on the bed. He handed her a stack of bills. She purred at him, keeping an eye on me as she kissed his cheek. "You are purrrrrfectly welcome, Herr Doktor. I appreciate your kind attention as I need to lick my wounds and depart." She slid a finger between her legs delicately, a razor-sharp claw gliding over the tender surface of her pussy. In a sudden, disconcerting jerk, she snagged the nearly invisible zipper and closed the curtain on her sweet nether regions. She hissed at me, causing the doctor to spin around, excitedly. "VAT is zis?"

I was leaning against the door frame, my head in a fog. I couldn't walk straight or think straight. Irrationally, all I wanted was to fuck this gorgeous, graceful specimin on the table. I tried to speak, but the room suddenly spun around freely and I fell into darkness.

When I woke, I didn't have to check to know my cash was gone, my watch and my "A" card. I was on a table and, to my relief, my nightmare of finding Dr. Panzer fucking me was not a reality. I WAS, however, surprised to see Catwoman still standing - as if guarding me - by the entrance. Dr. Panzer had removed the shrapnel from my back and wrapped my chest and back in bandages. I felt better, but I knew that was the drugs. Catwoman stepped over to me when she saw I was awake. I instinctively flinched, but found the doctor had bound my wrists and ankles to the table. I strarted to panic. Catwoman was in arm's reach. Even her amazing body and eyes couldn't distract me from the thought that those claws were about to do something torturous and disfiguring to me. I began to hyperventilate as she leaned over me and kissed me on the mouth. I felt her togue licking my lips and probing between them. I started to relax a bit as I met her tongue and she nearly sucked the life right out of me. She pulled away after a moment and locked her silver eyes with mine.

"I understand you were at Duality tonight." she purred.

I nodded. Catwoman folded her arms over her chest. "You met with Ivy...2 Face."

I nodded again. "How did you know?"

She smiled. "Because The Batman's been looking for you...and that little redheaded slut he hangs out with from time to time." I'd like to tell you that thought didn't terrify the shit out of me, but you'd know I was lying. She continued, "He pumped me for information earlier. He implied you were trying to rescue her from Ivy."

"...and Bane." I finished. "She had more to fear from Bane than anyone else. She's still there. Mr. ______ wants me to..."

Catwoman suddenly straddled the bed, moving from a dead stand to a gymnast mount in a split second, her crotch landing between my legs. She leaned forward over me, smiling. "Aren't you TIRED of working for Mr. ______? " I didn't know what to say in response. I blinked. She rubbed her crotch across mine and I felt myself stirring again. "I mean, all you get is some teasing from a hot body like mine and a lot of shrapnel removed with tweezers and bourbon. If you're lucky, by noon you'll just have an infection, an addiction to heroin and a big set of blue balls."

"If...if I'm unlucky...?" I asked, my cock throbbing in my pants against her muscular thigh. She kissed me again, licking my lips and chin, her sweet breath hot on my face. She held herself up on one hand as she unzipped her top, a single claw drawing down - almost peeling open - her skintight top. As I stared at the straining breasts inside the lycra and the gorgeous cleavage it produced... she squeezed her thighs together.

"I like you, Anaxandros," she whispered in my ear, lapping at my lobe. "You don't know it yet, but there are a lot of us who do and want you on our side." She began to grind her hips against me, forcing my still-expanding cock tightly through the tight vice she created between my leg and her thigh. She smiled and all I could see was lust in her features. She kissed my chin and my face. She leaned back and ran her hands down my bandaged chest. I waited for her to free my cock and open the gate to that amazing pussy, but she lingered. She sat up on me, the heat of her sex sending waves of pleasure through me. I was getting impatient with my need to fuck her, but powerless to raise my hand to take her. She locked eyes with me again. "You seem distracted. Can't we talk business?"

"I..." The response came awkwardly. I didn't know what to say other than, 'Fuck me you crazy, gorgeous bitch!' so I bit my lip. I rubbed back, in a shallow fucking motion that she ignored.

She cocked her head, "Are you in need of something? What can I do, sweetheart?" My face felt hot. I wanted to tear at the restraints and at her...but I barely had the strength. Suddenly, she seemed to notice the iron rod between her legs and shifted her weight on it, sending waves of painful bliss through me for a second. She lifted herself up on her knees and ran a hand down my leg and over my straining cock. "Oh! Anaxandros! How...how silly of me. Look at this! She grabbed the shaft hard and I cried out...I wanted to cum so hard, but I only wanted to do so inside this beautiful, gymnastic goddess. She ran a hand over the leg of my pants as if measuring me. I moaned, wanting to beg her to release it. She was torturing me. Pinhead nipples appeared through the lycra suit and she began to rub them and lick them like a cat bathing itself. Her weight shifted again. She was trying to get me to cum. Sweat poured off me, but I said nothing. I was nearly in convulsions as she slid a hand between her legs and opened her crotch zipper. In final, desperate hope of having her, I waited for her to open my pants. She leaned into me again and smiled. "You don't have enough money on you for me to let you put that huge, thick cock inside me, boy...." I felt the hope dying and the rage of disappointment swelling to match my cock. She grinned maniacally.

A second later she leaped off and back where she had been standing. But she put a hand on my bulge as she continued, "But its been a long time since this kitten has had any milk...." I felt the cool air of the room on my cock as it shot up. I felt her warm breath on the head of my cock and then the hot, wet feel of her mouth as she swallowed me, tonguing my slit and all of its precum , tracing it along the sensitive head and underneath. She swallowed the length and I felt the tip strain against the tightness of her throat. She deep throated me, circling my shaft with her skillful tongue, then concentrated on my head. After a moment, she lifted her head and growled, "Well come already you little slut boy....come in my mouth!" I didn't need to hear any more...the wave came and she held her head over my cock as I erupted into her mouth. She squeezed the shaft enough to give me an incredible orgasm and her tongue kept me coming as it slid over my cum-slick head. I spasmed and jerked, bathing her masked face in my seed. She kept attending my cock until my final shudder and then proceeded to clean my member. I took a breath as I last felt her lick my tip. I expected her to come up to kiss me, or at least look at me...but there was an awkward moment. I looked down to where she had so masterfully attended me...and she was gone.

The next thing I know, Dr. Panzer opens the door and walks in, seeing my pants shredded with my slick dork hanging out, looking like a worm that's passed out trying to escape its hole in the dirt. As quick as my drugged body would let me, I stood up. He had with him a pair of ratty Salvation Army pants. He threw them at me and told me to get out before he was hit with four of Riddler's goons who had severe burns from a Riddle gone horribly wrong.

I staggered out into the mid-morning stink of a Gotham alley. I still had about fifty bucks in my shoe and a bus pass if I needed it, but I ended up wandering home and passing out around noon, waking up just before sunset, feeling the sting of my bandages. I had to change dressings myself, but I ended up dousing my back in cheap vodka when I ran out of alcohol. I'd check into the ER at Mercy General later and tell them some creep blasted out a bar window as I was walking by. As I left my place, it was fine compared with the fire that lit up on my back when I cleaned the wounds with Stoli.

I checked my mail. Mr. _______ had left a message to come to his office that afternoon. Not his public office, mind you, but his private one downtown where his Board of Directors would never THINK to try and find him. I went there as soon as I could. When I arrived, he was in the middle of an interrogation, so his inordinately stacked and leggy assistant allowed me to watch her clean the office in a French Maid outfit for the 20 minutes Mr. _____ was making some poor asshole scream down the hall.

To put it mildly, Mr. ______ was not happy with my proposal. He wanted to know why I would pony up the Parkview District in exchange for one little girl in tights. I explained to him that this was their way of trying to get him into the action. I tried to get him to understand that most of the underworld was going to get together on something that 2=Face and Ivy knew they couldn't invite him into without pissing off the other factions. So they had to make it LOOK like it was necessary for him to force his way in on it. IN reality, the venture...whatever it was...would require Mr. ______'s capital to pull of or it just wouldn't fly.

For several minutes, Mr. _____ fixzed me with his "Are you for real or full of shit" stare and tapped his fingers on the desk. I sat in the chair, knowing full well that underneath it was a thirty foot drop on hinges tied to a red switch under the boss' desk...comfortably resting my weary ass and forcing myself not to scratch at the scabbing scars all down my back.

The boss asked me what they were doing and I said they wouldn't tell me. They needed to the Parkview District for whatever reason. They didn't give me Batgirl, so I assumed it was worth more to keep her than to get the district, so whatever Batgirl's part ws, it must have been big. Mr. _____ nodded. He asked if I had run into you over night because six of his men were being mopped off the street after their run ins with him as he tried to find Batgirl. I said I was getting patched up by Dr. Panzer the whole time. Then, as if there were no further discussion needed, he had his boys escort me to the infirmary where a nurse could take care of my wounds properly. I left grateful for my life and ready for some serious medical help.

Three days later, I'm at home, watching the news. You had shown up at several of Mr. _____'s concerns in Parkview, busted up some of the boss' operations and sent about a third of his operatives into early retirement. Shortly thereafter, the boss decided to give up claim on the territory. I was about to question this odd considence when the phone rang. I picked it up and, after a few seconds, heard, "....please....help...me...." It was Barbara. She was in pain, could barely talk, but it was her. I asked her where she was and she told me about the Book Depository on Schueller in the Parkview District. Without thinking, I headed out. I must have lost my mind because I never thought about how she got my number.

I made it to the depository in about ten minutes, letting out a few blocks shy and cutting through a Starbucks to throw off the driver of the cab. I made my way through a police barricade and took a tour of your recent work on a heroin distribution lab before finding myself grabbed, thrown across a dark room and pinned to the ground. I knew the smell of Batgirl's hair and sweat. I felt the sting of her cleated boot as it cracked my jaw. I turned awy and flet another land over my left kidney. Knowing I was going to pee blood for a week, I got angry and lashed back, landing a lucky blow to the shoulder. It didn't do much damage, but I could hear where she landed on the floor and was able to pounce. I landed on her with my full weight, knocking the wind out of her. We rolled across the floor and I ended under a window, moonlight letting me see her for the first time.

She wore what looked like a dark green jumpsuit and black lipstick. Her red hair seemed to have more body, was longer and curled. Her eyes were sunken, ringed in black and her face was pale. She wasn't Batgirl any more. She wore a new uniform. It was a set-up. I didn't know why, but I was set up. I had to escape. My back and jaw ached horribly. I tried to get up and out, but she grabbed my head and, before I could roll away, kissed me.