Claiming The Dark Damsel Ch 04 07

It was clear there were two sides to this woman, maybe three. I left her before she woke up, which I think suited her just fine. I think she got what she wanted and, if not, oh well. I was loving my job more than ever. I made collected the videotapes and made dupes just in case. At this point, chief, I have more videotape evidence than you could possibly want to know about.

It was actually your slip up that night that leads me to send you this. I know you don't like the idea of having sloppy seconds, but this may explain to you why she fought so hard that night and why I've got the balls to send you this letter.

Let's say I doubt any so-called vigilante would last very long in Akrham or Blackrock with a conviction for rape on his record. Nor would his alter ego survive the revelation in the public forum. Yeah, I saw it all. Not only did I see it, I have it on tape. Not only do I have it on tape, but it is in the hands of 12 of your worst enemies. Only they don't know it yet. Should anything happen to me, that information comes out.

I know there was something between the two of you. You don't share monogrammed insignia without some kind of bond. You certainly looked like you knew your way around her apartment. It wasn't enough she was sleeping. I mean, you're well over six five and you didn't need to chloroform her and you CERTAINLY didn't need to cuff her to the bedposts. I bet she surprised you when she woke up in the middle of your little workout. I mean you were going at her like a jackhammer, which is impressive since your unit HAS to be thicker than my wrist. (Gotta give you your props, man). I guess the pain was enough to pull her out of her stupor. What I didn't get was the whole screaming and yelling about "not again" she kept repeating over and over.

When you uncuffed her, I was hoping she'd tear into you, but I was surprised when she turned her attention to that tree branch you call a prick and tried to swallow it. Talk about your kink. I don't know how she could breathe when you suddenly grabbed her head and came into her mouth like that. It looked like something out of that "Alien" movie. Like a Bat-ovipositor or something.

Anyway, three more times that night in the next 2 hours, you used that girl as a puppet and fucked her like a piece of meat. I can't say as I wouldn't have in your place but HELL, I'm supposed to be a bad guy. I felt guilty for not kissing her goodbye! You just ended the night cuffing back onto the bed and forcing her to come with some sort of weird black vibrator. The way she shook and convulsed, I thought you were electrocuting her. Again, I gotta hand it to you...I've never been able to make a woman squirt. Definitely good range on her, dude.

Not sure what your plan was, if any. I don't know if that's just your usual post-patrol fuck, or if you were just marking your territory, but its nice to see your perverted side. I kind of understand you now. Its also nice to know that the body armor isn't all that thick and that rack you show off isn't teflon. Good news. That birthmark on your ass can't be all that common, either.

IV.

So, another night and another adventure. I'm beginning to wonder what kind of training you gave Batgirl. She changed her hair color today. She's a redhead now and, without a word or expression of anger or resentment, she went back out on patrol. Of course, you know that was the night most of the Justice Battalion was active and you were somewhere away from town...maybe off-planet. I tracked Batgirl over three blocks and she looked more worn out than usual. Her spirit was there, but her body was beginning to deteriorate. She was still shapely and tone and fine on the eyes, but her grace and commanding presence were not there. She looked like a gymnast just off the mat. I almost felt sorry for her. Guys like me love to exploit those kind of weaknesses, especially the new thugs out there with something to prove. If she ran into them, it would have made your run in with her look like heavy petting.

I kept up with her for a little while. She was trying to pretend she wasn't hurting, but it was still hard to keep up with her. I never claimed to be in the league of you metahuman freakazoids, so I guess the fact that I did keep up with her on the rooftops for twenty minutes or more was due entirely to testosterone. I lost her near midtown, around where one of your favorite rivals owns a nightclub. I remember working there for a few weeks until a concussion put me on underworld disability for a few weeks. I knew there was something going on there from the grapevine and figured I would run into Batgirl again somewhere there.

As I feared, Batgirl was trying to mess up somebody's cabbage patch. I had to stop her before the word got out she was still working because my rep - and her life - were at serious risk. I easily got past the doormen at the front and took the elevator past the 13th floor to the executive offices where something was always happening. I followed a trail of broken glass and cracked plaster to an office at the end of the main hall on 17. You've been in this room before, I know. It’s where the Two-Face entertains his guests. I said hello to the guys cleaning up the mess and traded shop talk with some of the underbosses before finding out that Batgirl was, indeed there, and that she interrupted Two-Face and Poison Ivy on a "business dinner".

I handed them an "A" card which, in my business means that the bearer has a pass from one of the bigger underworld types to meet another underworld type. I had to be careful here. "A" cards are tricky. Used wisely, they can be helpful to obtain goods and services, even alliances between villains. Used poorly, it means you're dead on a stick. They called down to the basement where they had taken Batgirl and announced I was coming down. I seemed to be interrupting them, but they honored the card. I had an escort down to the basement complete with complimentary champagne and $10000 credit at the casino. Sometimes I love my job.

V. There is a term in my business for an escort or a servant, or even a thug, who is controlled by either a machine or someone's "mind control"- its called being a meat puppet. I stay away from this kind of business. Never been one, never will. Meat Puppets don't mind bleeding or sacrificing themselves for the "cause." However, there is something to be said about women as meat puppets. They don't bitch. They don't remind you how much you really suck. They don't ask for money. They don't want to cuddle. Down in the basement, there was (until last week) a club called Duality where the high rollers and weirdest of the deviants gather to indulge in a little puppetry and debauchery.

When I made it to the back office and finally got to meet Two-Face, he was counting gold dollar coins in a huge pile on his desk, etching "X" into the face before tossing it into a bucket beside the desk. A geekish thug by the bucket was calling out "HEADS" or "TAILS" while making a check on a clipboard. Behind him, a door led into another back office. I was sure Batgirl was inside and, from the sound, she was taking a beating. When I entered, Two Face stopped. He was on edge. I didn't know why, so it made me extremely nervous. He placed a snumbnosed .44 on the desk in front of him, barrel pointed at crotch level directly at me. Instinctively, my escort moved aside.

"What's the news?" he grumbled.

I took a breath and said, "I work for _____. He has a special request regarding Batgirl."

He sat up erect in the chair. One side of his face - the normal side - looked like a man who just won the lottery. The other - the molten, swollen and distorted half - looked as though I had stolen the first scrap of meat he'd seen in a year. He fingered a gold dollar over his knuckles. "How do you know Batgirl is here?"

I smiled, "I know those squeals." I don't know what I expected, but that seemed to appeal to both halves of Two-Face. A twisted wreck of a smile curled up on his face.

"What's he want?"

"He hired me to make her quit. She's having difficulty getting the message."

"Well, if she ain't quit after tonight, she's got herself a death wish. Ivy's inside right now working her over."

I didn't want to think about it. It was both too horrible and too arousing. I took a breath and said, "How about you?"

He looked at the coin. "I gave her the fifty fifty. Heads came up so I gave her mine..right up the ole snatcheroo...." He started laughing hysterically. I laughed, too. I didn't want to die.

At an appropriate reflection for his great "humor" I said, "So, any chance I can get the remains gift wrapped and thrown in a wagon? I know the boss would be much obliged."

Two-Face looked at me. The silence in the room was broken only by the rhythmic slaps and snaps of leather on flesh behind the door to his right. With each contact, his geek accountant hireling would wince. I kept my eyes level with Two Face's and a casual pose. The coin floated across his hand and fell between the index finger and thumb. This was TF's schtick, and I've seen it a dozen times, except it was usually with someone else fixed in his mix-matched gaze.

I almost twitched when I heard a long, absent moan from inside the room. No more slapping or whacking, just a long low bellow I remembered from my night with Batgirl. I couldn't tell if it were pain or pleasure she was experiencing. I couldn't care at the moment. A coin was shooting up into the air, one half polished to perfection and the other marred and disfigured like the grotesque side of TFs face. I could see a twitching hand pressed palm down on the desk next to the .44. The other hand was raised to catch the coin.

It fell into his hand with a light slap. For the first time in what felt like hours, his gaze left me and casually examined the coin. One side of his face grinned. The hand next to the gun tensed and for a second, I saw the muscles in his hand contract, relax and tense again as if fighting each other. Finally, the hand snatched up the gun, a thumb pulling back the trigger rotating a round into the barrel from the magazine.

In that second, I was sure I knew what the other 13 people who stood before him thought. Actually, it was a total absence of thought. There was nothing coherent. There was simply being. When the hammer fell against the chamber, there was a soft click but no reaction. No bang. No smoke. No bullet.

But of course you knew that. I'm still here. I'm just really getting into this narrative stuff and I know you're just hanging on every word until I get to the point. I'm smiling right now the way he smiled at me, crooked and cocky. He waved the gun in the direction of the door, granting me passage and as I shakily passed him, I said. "You know that gag never gets old, Mr. Two Face. Its a classic." He grunted and muttered something like, "You better knock before you go in, lucky boy."

VI.

My last thought before opening the door was a curious thought about if Two Face's prick were split in two like his face. I was about to digress on the ramifications of an asymmetrical phallus, when the doors opened automatically and I was greeted by the smell of a hothouse in summer. I had an immediate reaction and my eyes began to water. It was as if the room were clogged with pollen. The accountant geek felt it, too, as he held a handkerchief to his face as he quickly pulled the doors closed. A second later the auto close kicked in and the doors shut behind me.

For once, the room was silent. I was reluctant to discover what waited behind the doors, but at the moment, my eyes were adjusting to a dark, botanical cavern. I knew the Gotham's Botanical Bitch was around somewhere, as was Batgirl, but there was no sound. Like you, Bats, I don't like firearms. I feel I should point this out because anyone else would think I'd have come prepared. I did, but you don't get "A" cards when you carry hotrods at your side. I prefer more subtle methods of defense. However, at the moment, with the moonlight filtering through the skylight down over a silent jungle, I truly wish I had something with large calibre rounds inside it to keep me company.

My footsteps were soft but audible, echoing off the elevated ceiling, ricocheting off the walls and through the columns of what could have been granite or cement or even beanstalks for all I knew. There was protocol here and it was this that kept me from freaking out.

In situation like this, you have to anticipate some weird-ass behavior. Especially from tights-wearing criminals with body counts higher than my IQ. You don't gain respect in this business by shooting before asking questions, or even asking stupid questions before choosing to open fire. You gotta know the psyche of your prey or, in this case, prospective employer. So what did I have to know about Poison Ivy? I had to know the lingo. I had to know the mentality. You spent years developing dossiers on these people. You probably know far more than I do. But in the middle of the night, in a dark room with a psychopath, I had to learn pretty darn quick.

I stepped forward five or six steps and took a breath. It was getting thick with humidity. Around me, there were erected scaffolds to which were clinging vines and large webs of ivy. The center of the room was a shadowy mound of bushes and small trees. I grew aware of a faint chittering and squeeking, like the sound of fat rats in a slum. I could see some movement on the floor, slithering shapes...snakes?...in the half-light. So I took this as a sign to stop and announce myself.

"Ms. Ivy? Mr. _____ sends me. I hope I'm not interrupting."

A sound like wind blowing through the treeline gave me an unnerving answer. . There was no wind, not even a ceiling fan. The chittering grew higher in pitch and more frequent. Politely and humbly, I remained in my place.

I continued, "Mr. _____ requests that Batgirl be turned over to me. He is requesting prima mortem."

Of course, he wasn't. It wasn't as though the boss wanted a dead heroine on his hands. As I said before. Superheroines become martyrs. However, invoking the underworld right of First Vengeance or First Death is pretty powerful stuff. You ignore that at your peril. So it didn't surprise me when the rustling increased and I began to see dozens or squirming, slithering shadows begin to surround me. The commotion in the hothouse grew more chaotic. I remained absolutely still. Behind me, laughter filtered through the closed doors. I don't know if it was aimed at me or some other business TF was transacting, but it distracted my attention long enough to drop my guard.

The next minute, a series of lights, soft white disks on the floor, brightened along a narrow path ahead of me. It startled me. Off the path they outlined I could see the vines - living, writhing rows and layers of them - extending into the darkness. As they did, the friction created a long, almost animal squeak as the tension increased. It explained the sound I heard earlier, but the explanation didn't make me feel any safer. I took from the sudden appearance of a path that I should follow it. I did, through an archway of tall swaying ferns and into a tunnel walled by living plants. By this time I was feeling a little disoriented by the stench of the place. I thought it was nerves and the lateness of the hour, but I pressed on.

I heard a giggle, like a little girl enjoying a game, from somewhere nearby. My heart skipped and I stopped. I considered heading back, but I knew cowardice would undermine my purpose here and if Ivy didn't snuff me right away, Mr. ______ would for hurting his reputation. I stared ahead along the rows of soft lights and could see the trail ended around a clearing of sorts. Stepping through, I noticed a steel trellis erected in the center.

In a small clearing with a fifty foot ceiling, there were columns rising to the roof and a network of steel rods forming a rectangular dividing wall. Hanging on it, secured by thick vines, was Batgirl.

VII.

From where I stood I could only see her shape hanging a foot off the ground with vines curling and twisting around her body. As I stepped forward, I saw another shape appear from behind the trellis. What had looked like a small bush now turned into a shapely female form. She was quite muscular and had a head full of hair. She strutted forward confidently, swinging her hips and swaying like a sapling in a breeze. The air changed. It became almost sickly sweet. I cautiously approached the trellis, hoping to learn that Batgirl was alive. At the moment, I had to deal with Ivy. I had to follow protocol.

I waited to be spoken to. She stopped a few feet from me. I could see a faint outline of a dark green leotard and a full head of auburn hair that flowed over her shoulders the way you see water plunge from the top of the falls. Her legs were long and her hips slender. Her movements were enticing, graceful...even arousing.

"So you work for that bastard, ______?"

My heart sank. "Freelance. I was hired to take Batgirl out of action. He doesn't want her dead except..."

"Did you know..." she purred contemptuously, "that the last time he and I met, I swore I would rip out his spleen and fertilize my gardens with his entrails?"

I blinked. "Ouch." I honestly felt that, but continued, "You wouldn't be the first. I work for him because his money's green."

She laughed. "I admire your motives. However, I am not finished with my pretty young thing, yet. Come back tomorrow. If she desires to leave, she may. However, I have a feeling she may wish to remain with me for a while."

It was almost daring me, begging the question "why" but I had to keep to the mission. "What message should I give Mr. ______?"

She was strutting toward Batgirl, the moonlight outlining her voluptuous frame, but she stopped. "I would tell him that the next time he tries to bed me, he should wait until his stalk has a little more...turger." She reached Batgirl's body and ran a hand over her face.

"I will do just that, Ms Ivy. I apologize, but I do need assurance that she is still alive."

Ivy laughed, again like a little girl. She turned and snapped her fingers. Immediately, the ivy on the trellis began to tighten, pulling Batgirl's arms and legs apart like a rack. Batgirl lifted her head with a sudden, painful shriek. The tension continued as Ivy placed a hand on Batgirl's abdomen and slid a finger down until it disappeared between her slender legs. I heard a gasp. A slow zip and, in the shadows, I saw Ivy lower her face to Batgirl's crotch.

Soon, Batgirl began to stir, groaning softly and kicking against the trellis. The tension on her appendages was tremendous. It kept her from moving much. Her legs were spread wide and I watched Ivy's crouched form hover around her pussy, soft lapping and kissing noises sometimes overwhelming the gasps of pleasure coming from Batgirl. The sound grew steadily louder as Batgirl moaned and gasped, resisting the pleasure, but consumed by it. I could only imagine Ivy's tongue invading her tight wet pussy, finding the one place Batgirl could not resist and probing it, sucking it and grinding it until she spasmed in relief. My cock swelled in my pants.

It was a fantasy, like Acteon in the forest watching the goddess Artemis frolicking and playing. I imagined the two of them together, Batgirl a willing slave to her desires...then Batgirl screamed and I placed a hand over my crotch. I felt a sudden warm release of pleasure and managed only barely to keep on my feet as I came along with her. I stood there shaking for a moment. Batgirl went limp, whimpering like a child. Ivy rose to her feet and drew a sleeve across her lips. I could see her face in the moonlight and longed to kiss her poison lips. Her eyes found mine and she smiled. I knew to turn and go before she consumed me, too.