Feedback is welcomed and encouraged - jocktopr@gmail.com.
This is my first non-autobiographical story and also my first superhero story. Special thanks to Josh for helping me research this story. His knowledge of the DC Universe was essential. Also, thanks to Casey for input in various areas. Thanks to to Fred for his kinky brain. Finally, thanks to Hero25 and Mike for their inspiration.
Also, special thanks to SC Walker and NoahTheGooner for their stories on Jock Pussy Syndrome and Gooner Virus, which directly and indirectly helped form this story.
Nothing will fuck you up like arrogance. It inevitably leads to a smug, overconfidence and, ultimately, letting your guard down. It’s not the only time things can fuck you up, but it’s the most poetic.
For a superhero, it’s doubly true. Each hero has a little chink in their armor, and that weakness, that crack, that hole can be a major breach if it’s not guarded. It’s funny, but 9 times out of 10, arrogance is that chink.
It’s especially surprising when that weakness is created by another superhero.
After a week of rechecking all of his plans, surveilling the offices of Dr. Carson and Dr. Johnson, and getting used to his new body, the Scarecrow was ready to deploy Phase 2 of his plan to destroy Gotham City’s resident Super Heros. He had grown comfortable inside Nightwings muscular body and was enjoying the benefits of his new age and abilities, including randomly fucking one of Dick Grayson’s “girlfriends”.
Quietly, he scaled down the side of the building housing Dr. Carson’s medical practice. He moved quickly, almost effortlessly, and as he did, he marveled at how much of Nightwing remained. All of his physical prowess, his muscle memory, his swagger seemed as clear and familiar as if Scarecrow had earned them himself. Performing seemingly complicated physical maneuvers was incredibly simple now, requiring little thought or planning. And the cock…well, let’s just say his old one was nothing like Dick’s dick.
Similarly, his memories, while foggily, were still present. An echo of the former inhabitant’s life and times. Deftly, he opened a window on the third floor and crept inside.
If the plan for Robin was in private, the plan for Batman was definitely not. Robin’s demise would need no further input from Dr. Johnson, so meeting with him would be helpful and informative.
But Batman, well he would need the doctor and his staff’s engagement to truly humiliate and break him. It would take more than just any problem. It would take one that would call his Alphaness into question. One that was not just awkward but that would require him to seek help for the most unmanly and embarrassing problem possible. That would be the thing to break him.
For that reason, he needed to obtain the sample and infect the crime fighter in secret. Then, sit back and watch him squirm as he grappled with something he never could have even imagined. Something that would be in total conflict with his rigid moral code, conservative upbringing, and sexual naivety. Then force him to capitulate and seek out the doctor for assistance eventually.
The practice was small, but Dr. Carson had received a certain amount of notoriety in small medical circles for the discovery of JPS-44Q.v2, a newly found variant of the disorder Nicknamed Jock Pussy Syndrome (JPS), which he had discovered years ago. The vial Scarecrow had in his hand was a new, even more virulent form of the virus nicknamed Muscle Pussy Syndrome (MPS) by a junior member of Dr. Carson’s staff.
Unlike JPS, MPS did not result in fleshy tissue growth of the ass. It also produced less discharge, but the infection process was ultimately the same. Invading bacteria in the gut would consume all waste products and convert them into a clear, slippery gel. This new variant would ultimately infect the prostate, creating what could only be described as an “itch”. It was more than that though and during flare-ups, the patient would be driven to “scratch” it. It was this bacteria that Scarecrow would use to bring down the Dark Hero.
Scarecrow had always considered Batman the ultimate physical specimen and did not want to destroy that. But he did want to distort and confound the hero. To make him…different. He didn’t know much about this new strain, but he didn’t want to ruin Batman’s meaty and muscled ass.
The reality was that the new variant was not fully understood by anyone, but it was known to thrive in older, more dominant men. Dr. Carson was busy running his clinic and speaking at conferences and events and had little time for the study of the new variant. But it had never been seen in the wild, and so it was not a priority. Of course, a poorly understood virus might have side effects and implications that are not foreseen, as the Scarecrow would learn the hard way.
Entering the hallway, Scarecrow moved through the reception area and then continued into the hall directly behind. He moved slowly and deliberately, making no sound, not that it mattered. He found the doctor’s office and a connecting hallway at the end of the hall.
He then moved back to the hallway and checked into a series of rooms, each seemed to be for patient treatment. Strange tables, chairs, and hanging apparatus made the rooms look more like a bizarre playground than a doctor’s office, but Scarecrow was sure under the harsh florescent lights, they were less sexy. One by one, he slipped into each room. Evaluated its usefulness and then placed several small cameras in different vantage points. After installing them all, he removed a small device from his utility belt and scanned for the clinic's wifi network. The device used an advanced algorithm designed by Batman himself to break into the network. Minutes later, all of the cameras were configured and online.
Behind the last door, he found what he was looking for: the lab. Inside, he located a refrigerator holding samples, each labeled with a collection date and strain information. He looked carefully to find the most recent specimen and confirmed it was the MPS mutation. He laughed to himself. Soon, Batman will know how I have felt all these years. He placed the vile into his utility belt and slipped back out to the hallway, the lobby, and out of the building.
“Good morning, Tim,” Dick Grayson said as he sauntered into the breakfast room at Wayne Manor.
“Dick, good to see you. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Tim, the nerdy replacement for the original Robin, replied. He was completely unaware that Dick Grayson’s consciousness had been replaced by one of the dynamic duo’s arch-enemies, The Scarecrow.
Now inhabiting Dick Grayson and Nightwing’s body, the Scarecrow could go anywhere with complete discretion. He was, for intents and purposes, invisible. From Tim’s point of view, nothing could be more normal than Dick stopping by for breakfast, or at any point.
“Bruce wanted to see me about something, so I suggested I stop by before the day got away from us. How are you, Tim?”
“Well. I’m almost finished with my classes, and I’m looking forward to a summer of fighting crime. So, I’d say I’m doing well.”
“And how’s Stephanie?”
“Oh, ah, she’s good.”
“That does not sound convincing, buddy. Problem?”
“No, I mean, not really,” Tim was hesitant to say anything. Truthfully, he’d always looked up to Dick and yet always felt too intimidated to really talk to him about what was going on in his life. But that meant that he had to carry a lot himself, as he also didn’t feel comfortable talking to Bruce about things not completely on the straight and narrow.
Scarecrow could feel that in the past Nightwing had looked down on the new Boy Wonder with a fair amount of contempt. But he could also see that Nightwing’s irritation with Tim was stemmed from the supposed ‘homosexual encounter’. Now that Scarecrow was inhabiting Nightwing, he could change that dynamic. Getting into Tim’s head would enable him to take advantage of any chink in his armor, any weakness he could find.
“Hey, Tim, I know in the past I may have been a bit of a jerk, but I’m here for you. You know that right?” the Scarecrow said greasing the wheels and looking for additional information. Batman’s fall would start today, but the Boy Wonder would have his turn soon enough. There was no reason not to start now.
“Come on tell me what’s bothering you.” He gave the 21-year-old a smile. One that was sinister on the inside but warm and inviting on the outside.
Tim smiled back. Encouraged by Nightwing’s words, he decided to open up a little. “I’m just, fuck. I’m tired of Bruce riding me so hard about codes of ethics and proper behavior for a hero. I mean, do I have to have such an intense code of ethics when I’m not in costume?”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Scarecrow replied, in an effort to get Tim talking further.
“Sex,” Tim blurted out. Now that he was talking, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from unloading the real crux of his current problem.
“Batman’s just so uptight about sex. I get that he has certain ideas about sexual expression, behavior, and I mean, I guess, propriety. And I also get that he wants me on a certain path. But do I get any say in the matter? Do I get to explore? I want to have a life of my own, of my own making, by my own rules. You know? Do I get no time to experience what a normal man my age would…on my own??”
Scarecrow reached out and put his hand on Tim’s shoulder and followed it up with an affectionate squeeze. Explore and experience, that’s an interesting choice of words, Scarecrow thought. “It’s fine, Tim. I got you, remember? Go on, tell me.”
Tim looked at Dick. He felt the pressure of Dick’s hand on his shoulder and was grateful for his’s words. He took a moment and then continued. “He seems to think that premarital sex is somehow wrong. I understand that given his upbringing and the death of his parents…he grew up fast. I also understand that he has a very old-school definition of right and wrong. But no premarital sex? What’s that about? Has he had no sex at all? If not, is that healthy? And do I have to follow in his footsteps?” Tim sighed and looked down at his plate. “You know when I say traditional…fuck it…I think it’s stuffy, old-world, and boring. I want some fun. The definitions have changed.”
Scarecrow was intrigued by that last comment. He looked thoughtfully at the 21-year-old Tim, his slightly muscled but still developing body on display below his tight t-shirt. This might be easier than he had thought.
“Well, I can certainly understand your point of view. He was even worse when I was young, so consider yourself lucky. Plus, you know, you don’t have to tell him everything you’re up to.” He paused. “Also, if he’s riding you so hard, find a way to get into his good graces and see if you can’t leverage that into a conversation about what you want.”
Scarecrow knew he had to keep his advice on the up and up, but he also wanted to introduce the idea that Tim could act on his own. Live his own life. And most importantly, investigate any “feelings” he was having. Scarecrow suddenly saw an advantage to the mental and sexual straight jacket Bruce had put Tim in. That repression would be helpful when it came time to break The Boy Wonder.
“Why not just go ahead and experiment on your own? Without telling him.” He added.
Tim looked at Dick thoughtfully. He was slightly shocked at the proposal to not be on the up and up but, as usual, Dick was right. He’d always been completely honest with Bruce, but Dick’s advice seemed to strike a cord. Maybe it was time to strike out on his own, if only in this one area….and keep it quiet. Not telling someone something is not necessarily the same thing as lying, right? He thought.
Dick had never been this outgoing towards Tim, and the isolation had made Tim a real people pleaser. He’d do whatever he could to get into the good graces of other people and Scarecrow, in the guise of Dick, could use that to his advantage as well. He smiled at how Bruce’s Bat Cabal was already teetering on fracture because of the iron hand he ruled with and his rigid code of ethics. Iron is brittle…and can be made to crack.
For his part, Tim forgot what an asset Dick could be and made a decision then and there to not only follow his advice but to consult him more frequently. He had never felt closer to him, and today’s discussion gave him a surprisingly warm sensation. A tingle.
“And hopefully, there will be some crime-fighting challenges this summer.” Dick interjected as he turned to face the window out over the rolling hills of Wayne Manor, “It’s been so quiet lately, and that might be giving you too much time to think. We’re all used to going full bore all the time, and being under-utilized is probably making us all a little on edge. Maybe you should take up a hobby.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I guess we’ve done such a good job lately; there seems to be very little crime to fight.” Tim replied. He looked at Dick’s back, framed in a well-fitting pair of jeans and a polo shirt. Dick had often marveled at Dick’s musculature and had made it a point to increase his workouts to build up his own body.
Living in the shadow of Dick Grayson had not been easy, and while he was still learning the ropes, he often wondered if he should be more aggressive in ‘getting big.’ Bruce would approve of getting stronger, but certainly not approve of any pharmacological enhancement of his workouts. Still, Dick was jacked and certainly would be a good source of knowledge in this area. And surely, getting bigger would help Bruce get on-side.
“Well, I had better get to it. See you later, Dick.” Tim said as he stood and exited the room. “You bet, Tim. Enjoy the day.” Tim turned and left, leaving Scarecrow alone in the dining room.
Back in the hall, Tim caught sight of himself in the hall mirror. He had put on some size and strength over the last year but was still much smaller than Dick and Bruce. He longed for Batman’s respect and, based on Dick’s feedback, decided then and there to set a time to meet with Dick to discuss some pointers, or maybe even training with him.
Tim had been surprised at how understanding Dick was about his frustration. He suddenly realized that Dick was the one person in the family that he could discuss things about sex. Maybe even some things about sex he had been too embarrassed to talk about with anyone. However, for now, he had to go.
He smoothed the front of his pants, not registering that the wrinkles were being caused by the chubbed-up cock inside.
Seconds after Tim walked out the front door, Alfred entered the hall with a pot of tea and a smoothie. He bobbed left and entered the breakfast room without any perturbation of the beverages.
“Master Dick, nice to see you. Can I get you anything?
“Alfred, good morning. No, I’m fine, thanks, I’m just here for a few minutes. Had to drop something off for Tim and thought I’d stay and say hello to Bruce. I’ve already eaten.”
Are you sure? Master Wayne swears by my protein smoothies.”
“It does look fortified, but I’m fine, Alfred.”
“Very well, I’ll leave you to it. Master Wayne should be down momentarily.”
“Thank you. Have a good day,” Scarecrow responded as Alfred left the room. Quickly, Scarecrow reached into his pocket and opened the small vile he had stolen from Dr. Carson’s lab. He poured the contents of the vile over the top of the smoothy, and then, using a spoon from the side table, he stirred it in. He smiled sinisterly.
“Ok, Mr. Gotham’s Finest, Mr. Straight and Narrow, let’s see how this changes you. Maybe that uptight sex code Tim complained about could use an update. Heh, maybe make a new man out of you, so to speak.”
Moments later, he heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs as Batman’s alter ego, Bruce Wayne, descended, but it was already finished. The die was set. He moved back to the side table and fixed himself a cup of coffee while looking out the window at the rolling hills of the Wayne estate.
“Dick, I was not expecting you.”
“Hey, Bruce! Yeah, I know it’s early, I just had to talk to Tim about something. No worries. I’m headed out now.”
“Ok, have a good day. Don’t forget to get back to me on that research.”
“Sure thing. Later.” Scarecrow headed back into Gotham on Nightwing’s bike, secure in the knowledge that part one of his plan had been attained.
A week later, Batman was dead asleep when he was suddenly awakened by a powerful sensation coming from his body. He tried to figure out where it was coming from, but it was hard to define. His stomach was too high…it was lower…and nonspecific. It was not an itch…more like the idea of an itch…a desire to be touched… somewhere. It was like…a need…a hunger. It seemed to be moving down. Groggily, he rolled on his side and went back to sleep. Hours later, things would change.
At 6:30, he awoke to find himself in a damp puddle in the middle of his bed. He jumped up, confused as to what had happened. He turned on the light and looked back at the mattress. There in the middle was the unmistakable ring of wetness. He reached back to the seat of his boxers to find them wet also. He tried to grasp what was happening. He slid his hand down and groped his cock and balls. They were dry, but his taint was wet…slick with something…some sort of slippery wetness. He reached down the back of his cheeks and confirmed the source of the fluid was his ass. He shuddered strangely as his middle finger slid into the crack between his muscled cheeks…a strange wave of pleasure sweeping over him.
“Lord…what the….”
He brought his hand forward and sniffed it. It had a musky smell but was not in any way offensive. If anything, it was arousing. As he thought, he realized he was experiencing a strange sensation…it was slightly erotic, an emptiness deep in his ass. But one that tingled…again, like an itch, but not an itch. A hunger? Yeah, that was more like it. Like something was missing. But where was it? He knew it was inside, but how was that possible? He stopped and thought for a second. What is going on? Slowly, he pushed his boxers to the floor and off.
Reaching back again with his large muscular hand, he pulled his right cheek away and allowed his fingers to again graze the area. At once, he was struck by an intense feeling of pleasure…elation…a premonition of something deeper. He let out a low moan as his fingers slid up and down his crack when the situation was suddenly compounded as his ass drooled out additional fluid.
He quickly pulled his hand back. He was uneasy about the fact that he had even touched his ass and received pleasure. This was not something that Bruce or Batman had any experience with or desire to investigate. His uptight moral upbringing had sealed off a world of physical pleasures from his life, and he had no intention of exploring it now.
Still, what was happening? He had to figure out what was going on, and for that, he would have to inspect the area again.
He reached back again, sliding his fingers along the crack where the slippery fluid seemed to be. It was definitely coming from inside his ass. Was this some sort of discharge? Some sort of STI? He knew that could not be true as he had not had any sex recently—of any kind.
He brought his fingers forward and was about to walk to the bathroom when he lifted his hand and smelled them again. The scent was overpowering. Musky and sexually charged, but in a way he could not define. It was overwhelming. He stopped for reasons unknown, reached back and felt around some more.
As if by instinct, his now slippery fingers immediately lunged deeper into the crack this time, sliding slightly toward his sphincter and making his knees wobble. Looking down, he saw his 10-inch cock standing at a right angle to his body, bobbing and beginning to drip.
As he found himself focusing on the sensation, he unconsciously slipped his finger deeper into his crack. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he slowly pushed deeper, finding that it increased the pleasure he was experiencing. When his digit finally made contact with his sphincter, the bolt of pleasure that he felt made his knees buckle. He was honestly seeing stars…as if he was going to pass out.
“What happening? Ohhhh……” he sputtered even as he let his finger run around the smooth inside surface of the ring muscles of the here-too-for untouched anal entryway. His sensation of humiliation over what he was doing was overcome by the stimulation he was giving himself. It was as if there was a war going on in his very soul. Part of him wanted to stop, but the other part, reveling in this pleasure, seemed to be stronger. “I have to stop,“ he grunted, but despite the statement, he pressed and massaged as his entire body seemed to come alive. “What is this?”
He stopped, stood, and tried to compose himself. But almost immediately he had the desire to do it again. To put his fingers back…there. He tried to move toward the bathroom, but instead, his hand moved back. His fingers again slid along his crack and then deeper.
“OH….wait…I…I’m…not this…person. What is this? Not who…I am…Batman…not…OHHHHHhhhhh…”
Two fingers now dove into his hole. It was as though they were being pulled…by gravity…no, a vacuum. And nature abhors a vacuum. But why was this happening? And why did filling his hole feel so overwhelmingly good?
As if by instinct, he realized that he needed to change positions to maximize what he was feeling and the erotic thrill that was washing over him. Embarrassed by what he was thinking, he lowered his head and moved slowly back onto the bed.
He braced himself in a kneeling doggy position, one hand in a fist and pressed into the mattress, the other wrapped around his ass. Looking over his shoulder, he grabbed two of the fluffy down pillows from the head of the bed, climbed up further onto the mattress, and slid them under his suddenly sensitive balls. He did this to protect the bedding, but as soon as he felt the soft tickly feeling of the pillow on his full balls, taint, and ass, his cock throbbed, his ass lips spasmed, and more of the slick liquid drooled from his tight hole.
His new saddle was now slick with the clear fluid. Instinctively, he slid back and forth on the slippery surface and moaned at the pleasure it provided. His head lolled back and his eyes closed. There he sat, sliding back and forth over the down and cotton saddle.
But moments later, he was compelled to try and compose himself, to stop this madness, but before he made any progress, he put his fingers back to grope his muscled glutes, then slid them between his cheeks……and finally, in to stroke his asslips.
“No, wait…I….stop…” He mumbled to himself, but it was too late.
He shuddered with pleasure and let out a deep moan as his finger tickled his spaziming hole. After pausing a moment, he slid his middle finger deeper and hissed as waves of pleasure moved over him. His cock, now drooling slick precum onto the already wet pillow, flexed hard and shook with a shudder from deep inside him. He pushed his knees wider apart, flexing is hairy quads, grasped his cock with his other hand, and arched his back. He was kneeling in a more upright position now, and it allowed him to service both sides more easily. The muscular hero, his body tensed and beginning to sweat, worked his body front and back.
“What…is this…madness…I…have to stop….” he grunted as he slid his finger deeper into his formerly virgin hole and rocked his body in the slick white saddle. “Ugh…its….fuck…so sweet….I’m….oh….” he rasped as his left hand now began to masturbate his cock…sliding up and down its thick shaft. “Why…why am I doing this? I…this is not…right….I should….ssss…sss…stop….”
In the hallway, Alfred Pennyworth was already starting his day. Showered and pressed, the mild-mannered butler was not what one would expect in a butler. Though 20 years older than Batman, the taught and trim butler was more in the style of Jason Stratham than Michael Caine. His lean and solid frame hid it’s muscle and other assets beneath a perfectly tailored black suit with a black shirt and tie to match.
As he began opening the drapes and shades of the hallway, he heard groaning from his master’s bedroom. He moved closer, listening, concerned that something was wrong.
But by now, Bruce had slid even further down the rabbit hole.
“Fuck…I…oh god….so…good…that’s it….that’s the spot….isn’t it…oh fuck…must….deeper….must go deeper….” came a deep man’s voice through the thick wooden door.
Alfred listened for a moment, aroused by the sounds of Gotham City’s most famous superhero, clearly in the throws of some sort of passionate encounter. Alfred looked down, his pants tenting out from his long, stiff tool. His mind drifted to the idea of sex with the man he had quietly coveted for years before pulling himself away and moving back down the hall. Whomever she is, she must be quite talented, he thought.
In his room, Batman was now in full rut mode but that didn’t mean his mind wasn’t still trying to shut this all down. But it was failing. His hand was a blur on his juicy cock as he fingered his hole, trying to sate a desire that he could never understand. His mind was now focused on only one thing: the sexual pleasure his ass was providing.
“Oh god…this…feeling…what…what is this…I’m….oh…in it too deep to stop……so wet…I’m leaking again…front….ohhhhh…and back…” he groaned as his slick hole let loose another splurge of slick liquid. He was thrashing now, in the throws of something bigger than himself and also much smaller. Deep in his gut, the tiny bacteria were devouring everything in his digestive tract while simultaneously reproducing at the base of his prostate, making his inner fuck-nut shutter and spasm with pleasure as it tried to fight off the invading army.
On the next gush, some of the liquid drooled down onto his balls and cock. Now on his chest, his ass in the air and stroking his cock furiously, he realized he could use the slippery liquid to lubricate his turgid tool even further, and in an instant, he had done so, his hand now sliding up and down his cock at an even faster rate.
Deeper and deeper, faster and faster, his two hands worked. One deep inside, and flicking across his inflamed prostate, the other a blur on his bloated and leaking pole. Moments later, he added another of his fingers and pushed deeper into his manhole, scrubbing and rubbing his inner fuck nut. He was not long for this world, though. Seconds later, he lifted back up onto his knees and canted his torso back. His balls rapidly pulled up as he reached a mind-shattering orgasm, spraying his pillow, bedding and wall with ropes of his thick hero cum while his ass, similarly stimulated, let out a huge squirt of liquid. He collapsed, a pile of sweaty and slick muscle.
After a minute, he composed himself. He felt better. No, completely normal. It was as if nothing had happened at all. Still, he was very confused by the events that had just transpired. What had happened? Had he really just finger fucked his own ass to an earth-shattering orgasm? He felt ashamed at using his body in this way and was confused by the intense feelings of pleasure. He walked to the bathroom to clean up, but once there, he noticed in the mirror that his ass was now completely smooth—not a trace of hair anywhere on his ass, taint or balls, while the rest of his body had its normal pattern of brown hair. The short dark hairs that usually emphasized the lines of his ass and ran all the way to his asshole were now gone.
“What the devil is going on here?” he wondered. “No wonder the pillow felt so amazing…I’m completely nude from balls to ass.”
Later that morning, as Batman raced to the city to meet with Commissioner Gordon, he pondered what had transpired earlier. He felt normal now, completely as though nothing had happened. But something had happened, and he wondered what it meant.
Back at Wayne Manor, Alfred went back to Bruce’s bedroom. Upon entering, he was immediately aware of an odor. One not unpleasant in any way…something animalistic…primal…musky, and sexual. His cock immediately lurched and began to harden as his mind wandered to the idea of pounding out the Alpha of his world. While older than Bruce, Alfred was very much a man. He was self-assured and dignified in the role of butler, but that was not all he was.
He looked at the bed and was shocked at the amount of cum and, he thought, vaginal secretions? But what was this hair… Had he shaved her? Why was so much of it inside Master Wayne’s boxers? He pulled off all the bedding and began walking toward the laundry shoot when he became overwhelmed by the scent. It was intoxicating, and his cock throbbed in his tight pants, beginning to drool and leaving a wet spot on the leg. He leaned his head into them and inhaled hard.
In the hallway now, he stuffed it all down the laundry shoot. The maids did not need to see this. He then checked to make sure no other embarrassing items were in the room and left, his cock still stiff in his pants, as he closed the door.
Several days and two more intense, prostate-induced ejaculations later, Batman found himself searching the internet, specifically a database that would help him to be alerted if any biological agent appeared to be in use in the criminal world. He found nothing in that regard, but he did stumble across an article written by a Doctor Carson. One that described a condition called Jock Pussy Syndrome. He gulped as he read the description.
The report described how certain top-percentile men could develop this syndrome through exposure to a specific bacteria. The bacteria most often infected very muscular men, alpha types with low body fat, and high adrenalin levels. Men who tended to lead or dominate, as the case may be, and who were single. Once infected, it was impossible to cure the patient, but treatment was available. Batman swallowed hard as he got to the section on the treatment protocol. His jaw dropped as he read.
But he did not have all the symptoms. He did not have the enlarged buttocks growth, which was one of the leading symptoms of this syndrome.
“I don’t think so. No, I can handle this on my own. No way I’m going down this perverted road. Especially not when I do not fit all the symptoms.” The repressed hero said, even as his right eyebrow raised itself as if somehow intrigued.
Batman decided to redouble his efforts to solve this issue through sheer will. Surely, Gotham’s dark hero could overtake anything, including a small infection.
The next day, Batman found himself again meeting in Gotham City with Commissioner Gordon.
“Commissioner, I know you’re happy with the virtual implosion of crime in the city, but I can’t help but think there’s something more sinister going on. The calm before the storm.”
“Batman, I understand your concern, but do you think maybe you’re just projecting? Maybe nothing at all is going on. Maybe the years of work you, Robin, and Nightwing have committed yourselves to, no, dedicated yourselves to, have finally paid off. That you have finally stamped out crime and violence. It’s not as though crime is zero, but it does seem the largest of our enemies have disappeared.”
The hero paced back and forth in the Commissioner’s office, his every muscle announced by his tight spandex costume. The leather head mask and codpiece, combined with the cape, boots, and utility belt, created an image as imposing as it was erotic. The commissioner watched as Batman paced, quietly studying the hero and his concerns.
“And you’re telling me that you are also not receiving any chatter at all? No indications that something is afoot?”
“No, that’s what has me so happy. I hope I’ve not wasted your time dragging you down here, but I thought we might celebrate. Don’t you?” Said the Commissioner, popping open a bottle of champagne.
“Well, you may be right, but….fine.” He reluctantly accepted what the commissioner said and walked to the wet bar in the corner. He took the glass of champagne from Commissioner Gordon’s hand.
“A toast,” said the Commissioner before being cut off by the caped crusader.
“To the…tentative…end of crime in Gotham City,” Batman replied.
The Commissioner nodded, happy to accept Batman’s partial agreement. “Agreed. Thank you, Batman, for all you’ve done.”
The pair clinked glasses, and each took a mouthful. Batman was about to speak when he suddenly felt a now all-too-familiar sensation rising from somewhere deep below his groin. He steadied himself and continued with the Commissioner, but several minutes later, the itchy feeling returned more intensely—enough so that the hero let out a weak moan. He looked at the champagne and wondered.
“Batman, are you ok?” Commissioner Gordon questioned in a tone that conveyed his distaste for the particular type of moan the hero had just let out, breaking the hero’s concentration.
“Yes, I…er…thank you, Commissioner Gordon.” The hero responded. He thought for a minute; he knew from the other attacks what was about to happen, but he also knew he needed to control himself. If he could not solve this by sheer will, what options did he have? After a moment, he realized that this was not the place to practice. “I’m sorry, I should go.”
“But wait, I have other news…it seems we’ve captured the Scarecrow. Would you like…”
“We’ll need to discuss that another time Commissioner,” Batman replied abruptly and exited into the hallway. Quickly, he ducked into the stairwell and went down to the lobby. Outside, he jumped into the Batmobile and sped off toward the Batcave.
Once on his way, he placed a call to Nightwing, “Nightwing, I’m wondering if you could do me a favor. Commissioner Gordon said they had captured the Scarecrow. Could you follow up with him? No, I had to cut our meeting short. Something came up unexpectedly. No, it’s nothing important…a…ah…personal matter. Yes. Thank you. I’ll follow up with you later for the details.”
Nightwing hung up his phone. “So, they’ve found my hideout and captured my former prey. I’ll need to make sure that does not become a problem. Not that anyone would believe the ramblings of a scattered old man. Still, I need to contain this.”
He climbed on his bike and headed to Gotham.
Things seemed to calm down for Caped Crusader as he led the speeding Batmobile out of the city, down a winding road, and along the shore on his way to the base under Wayne Manor, but not for long. As he drove along the ocean, his gut suddenly tensed…putting pressure on something deep inside. He gasped, the itch, the strange intensifying pleasure, the arousal—it was all back. He clamped his ass down tight, attempting to stifle the itch, just barely missing an oncoming car.
The sudden resurgence after a relatively quiet drive and his near accident led him to seek out a place to ride out the next attack of whatever this was. As he continued along, he noticed a public beach facility, sitting solitarily at the intersection of the parking lot, sand, and ocean. He cut off the road and through the lot, eager to get inside before things got too much more intense. This late in the season, nobody would be using the beach or its facilities, so at least he didn’t have to worry about being disturbed, or so he thought.
He parked alongside the structure in the Life Guard spot, partially concealing the Batmobile, and ducked inside, the lock to the door of the building already torn open.
Inside, the caped crusader located the handicapped stall at the end of a row of toilets and locked himself inside. He steadied himself and removed his leather glove from his right hand.
“What is this? I don’t understand…”
Carefully, he unbuckled his codpiece and reached inside. His cock and balls were again perfectly dry, but as he investigated further, he could tell something was about to happen. Before he could think on it anymore, his ass spasmed, and out drooled the clear, slippery fluid again.
With some urgency, he pushed his codpiece and Kevlar-impregnated leggings to his ankles. He wadded up some toilet paper and used it to soak up the slick, musky liquid. He threw several wads of slime-soaked trash into the trash can next to the bowl. The slick drool kept coming but slower now.
But by now, enough of the slippery gel had been released, and with the discharge in the toilet paper evaporating, the air in the bathroom was becoming saturated with a sexual charge. Phermoans flooded the room and hung heavily, the thick scent of sex permeating the entire facility in just a few minutes.
A frustrated Batman thought he would try to find out exactly where it was coming from. Unsure what to do, he bent over the toilet, his left hand braced against the metal bar on the stall wall. He pulled his cape broadly to the right side and used his right hand to grope around his ass in a vain attempt to determine what was going on? As his finger grazed into his ass crack, he let out a low moan. Despite hero levels of self-control, the pleasure he received from just grazing the crack was intense. He pulled his hand back and stood.
“What the? This is not how a hero behaves. This ends here. This ends now.” He bent forward to pull up the lower half of his costume but stopped halfway. Slowly, and with great but unsuccessful resistance, he reached back again. Things seemed better now. Did I just need to expel the clear, slick liquid? What is this strange substance?
Slowly, he approached his crack with his hand, again. Surely, just confirming that things had stopped could do no harm. He was just about to pull his hand back when suddenly, his finger swiped across his ass lips.
“Ohhhhh… .fuuuuuucccckkkk…” he moaned, a wave of intense pleasure washing over his body and, more importantly, his mind. “So…gg…good….” He moaned.
A second later and, his finger slid inside, just slightly, as if controlled by some almost otherworldly force.
“Great Scott…I’m….what the devil….going…on…” he shivered as waves of pleasure broke over him. More of the slick liquid drooled onto his finger as he stuffed his finger in deeper…then deeper still. The intensity of the pleasure made his knees buckle, and his spandex leggings and codpiece slid back down to his ankles. In another minute, he had another finger in…and then, three.
“I need to stop. What…again…I can’t seem…to control…my own…hand…ohhhh…wait…it’s…it’s….”
But it was no good. Despite Batman’s reputation for propriety, control, willpower, and strength, he was struggling with something he’d never had to cope with before and for that reason, had no power against it. Within seconds he was actively finger-fucking his own muscled ass, he reached back with his other hand, still in its leather glove, and pulled his other cheek wide, smearing more of the lube over his smooth muscled glute. Together, they shone like perfect twin orbs in the dim light of the bathroom.
“SQUELCH SQUELCH SQUELCH”, came the sound from his ass as the lube dripped around his slick fingers, his face leaning forward over the toilet and contorted from the extreme pleasure. Hurriedly, he brought his gloved hand and arm back to the railing to steady himself. His mind shorted out as he self-pleasured his tight hole, sliding his fingers in and out, slowly at first but then faster.
Quiet moans came under his breath, “Ohhh…no…got to….stop…got to get….control of….what is this….feels so good…finger….possesed…can’t…seem to…stop myself…not right…”
Suddenly, he heard the door to the bathroom open. He froze, trying to stifle his whimpers of pleasure, but he could not stop his fingers for long, and his hand quickly resumed the slow in-and-out fuck of his smooth hole, the slick juice still dripping to the floor.
“Squelch…….squelch……squelch……” came, slowly and deliberately. His brain attempting to at least control the noise, if not the action.
In his elated state, what Batman did not realize was that his ministrations in the stall had shaken the partition wall enough to cause the latch to disengage, allowing the large door to the handicapped stall to swing open.
In the bathroom entrance stood Police Chief O’Hara. The 6’2”, 240-pound, muscled commander of Gotham City’s Police Department. The Irishman had noticed the Batmobile parked outside the deserted building and became curious. He turned into the parking lot, parked some distance away, and then quietly approached the building. He had always harbored suspicions of Batman, and this situation seemed off.
Upon entering, he could smell a strange scent. It was primal, seedy, and one that aroused him immediately. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but his cock was, unknown to him, rapidly stiffening in his day-old jock strap. At the other end of the building, pheromones from the slick discharge were still flooding the entire room and creating a heady sexual atmosphere.
Slowly, he entered, listening intently, his sexual arousal mixed with his cop brain’s sensitivity to unusual situations. He could hear something in the distance. Quietly, he moved into the grungy bathroom across from the changing room and down a row of stalls. The soft, squishy sound got louder as he approached, and he saw that something was afoot in the handicapped stall.
With his hand on his gun holster, he edged closer to the last stall. Once there, he stared in disbelief as he watched Batman slowly fingering out his muscled ass, his thick digits working their way in and out of his quivering hole.
Subconsciously, the Chief’s hand moved from the gun to adjust his thick cock beneath his black tactical uniform with chest rig, service belt, and baton. He sniffed the air again and closed his eyes. After a moment, he deftly moved inside, silently closing the door and moving toward the overwhelmed hero.
“Got a problem there, Batman?” The Chief whispered as one hand went to the meaty glute of the crime fighter and the other went to his shoulder.
“Chief…I…” a startled and humiliated Batman jerked partially upright, his fingers pulling out of his hole. His sense of propriety suddenly energized, he was himself offended by this deviant behavior but obstinant and aggressive in his response.
“What are you doing in here!?” Batman snapped while trying to hide his slick hand.
Unfortunately, his feet were tangled in the lower half of his costume, and with his cape hanging over his right shoulder, he was unable to turn around or fully engage with the muscular redhead face to face—man to man. Instead, he was slightly stooped forward, his feet tangled and his ass jutting backward, naked and shining in the dim light of the restroom.
“What am I doing here? The Jacks are closed, sir.” The Irishman said through a thick accent but putting extra snark on the word “sir”. At the same time, he continued to check out the semi-prone but jacked body before him.
“Chief, I…I have a problem.” The man in black stated, doing his best to sound as if this was just any other run-of-the-mill problem. But seconds later, the facade started to crack again, and he let out a stifled moan as his ass lips spasmed so violently as to make his ass jiggle. He blushed.
“Look, Chief, we need to get me out of here. I was just about to leave and.…” Said the hero, still facing the wall partially, his slick right hand, hidden under his cape, now fell unconsciously to his swollen dick and began to massage its flared head and shaft. He tried to shuffle his feet to turn to a more defensive position, but the protruding toilet bowl made it impossible.
“Shhhhh…. it’s ok man. You don’t need to leave on my account.“ The Chief cooed as he stepped forward further, his left-hand grabbing onto the hero’s left shoulder as his right one slid across the muscled ass below. “I always wondered about you.” He paused. “No worries, here…I can surely help out Gotham’s resident hero.” He continued to glance lower, over the perfectly proportioned ass to his thick legs, feet, and boots. He quietly surveyed this situation and then stepped carefully on the costume strung between them, further pinning the half-naked hero’s feet.
“What? I do not need your help, Chief. I just need to go.” The Bat pulled at his hobbled feet, but the toilet blocked his view, and he couldn’t see that the Chief’s size 12 Wescos were keeping him put.
“Can’t seem to…get… loose…caught on something…” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled at his feet. “If I can just…” Batman started to say sternly but then let out a groan that betrayed his intent as the Chief’s hand stroked his slick cheeks.
“Ughnnnnnnn….” The hero grunted as his head dropped down low.
“Like that? Yeah, you do. Tell me, what’s going on with you, Batman? You seem distracted by….something…” the Chief continued, his left hand moving under the hero’s arm and around to his thick chest, then down over the abs under his skin-tight costume.
“I…something….something is happening…to me…unnngggghhhhh…ohhhhhh….”
“You got that right. Something is. Seems like you were giving this muscled ass of yours the business. And enjoying it at that.” Again, the Chief paused as he evaluated the situation. “That’s right, isn’t it?” He whispered with some serious condescension, his face now intimately close just behind Batman’s cowl, his left hand sliding down around the waist of the man in black as the right one continued slowly gliding over the hero’s cheeks.
“I…I can…explain….I….” he exhaled deeply. “I…”
“That’s ok, I think I understand. Trust me, I got you well in hand,” the Chief chuckled as his hand now slid closer into the deep valley between the hero’s twin globes.
“I’ve taken in more than one homo in my day…but did not expect this from you…well, not exactly. Still, you’re packing, man, aren’t you?” The Chief said as his left hand reached around and grasped the caped crusader’s huge drooling 10-inch cock.
“Unggghhh…no…my…oh fuck…my peni…” the hero suddenly stuttered. “My cock…ur hand is…what the fuck are you doing???” He continued, his language suddenly lurching into a darker, more sexually charged tone.
“Yeah, it’s ok. I got this…I had you figured out long ago…just relax…I got some ideas….” Said the Chief as he continued to subvert the struggling superhero. He took another deep sniff of the sexually charged air of the bathroom.
“What? No….I’m not…gay…I…something is happening to me…what the…Chief…what’s gotten into you? Why aren’t you listening to me? I…something…inside me…Ohhh……in…my ass…ooOHHHHhhhhh…it’s on…fire…it’s itching…deep….fuck….here it comes again….” a jazzed and confused Batman replied as the Chief’s hands continued manipulating his cock, balls, and ass. His brain was fighting a losing battle to control his body as the Chief stepped up to take advantage of it. He tried to control his voice, to keep the pitch low and the emotion suppressed, but somehow the situation made him sound more like a beta in denial than the Alpha he was, or maybe had been.
“Oh, I can see that…just relax. I can help either way. A buddy in need or horned-up homo. It makes no difference to me.” Said the Chief as he let his hand slide deeper into the hero’s slick channel.
Batman tried to stand up, but the Chief stopped him. He took his hand off the hero’s ass and used it to push his upper back toward the wall as his other hand, wrapped around the hero’s cock, pushed away from the wall, keeping him stooped forward and exposed. Afterward, he maintained his grip on the hero’s oversized cock and used it to keep the Caped Crusader off balance and aroused. A befuddled Batman, confused by the manhandling, reached back to try to block the Chief’s hand on its return, but the redheaded cop now had things well under control and roughly pushed Batman’s hand away.
In that moment, the Chief realized he’d need to restrain the handsy hero. As he was about to reach for his cuffs, a better plan occurred in his fevered brain. Batman still had his utility belt on, with his cape hanging over to the side, his Batcuffs were on display at the rear, just above his jutting ass. Deftly, he pulled them from their pouch and flipped them open. Time to take this to the next level, he thought.
Stepping slightly forward, he pushed his pelvis into Batman’s side, tipping him off balance and forcing him to grab the back railing with his free right hand while his left hand continued tightly gripping the one at 90° to it. With his attention focused on not falling on his face, the Chief quickly flipped the cuff around the Man in Black’s left wrist and then snapped the other around the handicapped bar attached to the stall wall.
It took less than a second for Batman to grasp his error. “Great Scott, he’s got me cuffed…to the railing….and with my own cuffs!” Batman groaned as he pulled frantically at his new binding. “I can’t…” he reached back for the key but was stopped by the Chief, who had already pulled his own cuffs out. In an instant, the hero felt the metallic clink of the second cuff locking as the Chief stepped around the hero, roughly pulling back his wrist to the railing that ran along the back of the stall. “ Clink”
“Wait, what are you…” But it was too late, with the precision of a man after a prize, the Irishman had clipped the Bat’s wings in record time. He’d be going nowhere now, at least not until some fun was had.
The Chief looked at the now outstretched man before him, “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto the keys for safekeeping,” he replied, grinning ear to ear as he dropped the two sets of keys into the velcro pocket on his chest rig. He then sauntered back to his starting point on Batman’s left side next to the stall wall, pinned Batman’s feet to the ground again, and again began caressing the muscled ass before him.
Batman’s face flushed bright red as he realized he was truly fucked now. He’d been taken and held with his own equipment, the ultimate in humiliation for anyone in law enforcement. But not only that, he had lost situational awareness and gotten double-cuffed. It was as though he had almost offered that second wrist to the Chief for him to bind. So concerned about getting cuffed with his cuffs that he had forgotten the fact that the Chief had a pair, too. He was throttled at his stupidity, but he also had no idea how much more was to come. And the reality was, things hadn’t even really started, yet.
“Now, where were we….” The Chief said as he moved his meaty mitt deeper into the exposed ass and again began sliding his fingers along the deep smooth groove between the Bat’s cheeks.
Suddenly, he stopped. “Shit, man, you already lubed yourself up!?” He chortled. “What the fuck, bro? Shit man, it’s a lot of lube too. Guess you like it pretty wet, huh? Still sticking with ‘no homo’?”
The Chief pushed deeper and let his fingers play with the man in black’s slick, spasming ass lips as he lost himself in the feeling. He closed his eyes and let his head lol back…his brain was now fully under the influence of the pheromones. Suddenly, something occurred to him.
“Wait, were you waiting for me?” His head snapped back upright. “Or did you have plans with someone else?” the cocky stud asked with a darker tone.
“I always thought you were interested…and fuck, running around town in this leather and spandex getup….yeah, I think you might just be fooling yourself.” The Chief continued in a low tone, his hand continuing to move up and down between the hero’s slick crack as his other held the hero tight, using his oversized cock as a handle to control him.
“I get it, though, a little afternoon hookup, right? Get some stranger to get your rocks off? I’ve busted more than a few fags down here, one more is no surprise…well, maybe a little. The great Batman, looking for a different kind of action.”
By now, Batman’s brain was in serious overload. The physical demands his body was making seemed impossible to refuse or control. And now it wasn’t just the hero’s body making demands, it was also the Chief. He was being manipulated, body and mind.
As the Chief stroke his ass, crack, and lips, the hero’s eyes quickly darted over to the side wall of the stall. It was covered in writing and comments indicative of some sexually charged, homoerotic activities. There was also a hole cut in the partition to the next stall and blackness beyond. What went on in this bathroom? What lay beyond that hole? It certainly seemed to be something that both disgusted and aroused him in this moment. And for some reason the Chief trash-talking him was amplifying all of it.
Suddenly, the man in black noticed something new. His mouth seemed to be salivating. And not by a small amount. He spit into the bowl below. What was this now? Did his mouth also itch? He would have thought further on it were he not already in it so deep.
The Chief seemed to be in over his head as well. Riled up to a level he had not experienced since his youth living in Dublin, he was full on into taking advantage of the Caped Crusader. His body and mind seemed hell-bent on sexually exploiting the Dark Warrior. Though married with a wife and children, the Chief was clearly enjoying taking charge of both Batman and the situation.
Batman tried to concentrate, to get at least some control, but he now felt even his mind was becoming aroused. It was becoming less interested in stopping this assault and more interested in getting it on.
All of this was happening at the direction of the bacteria, which were creating a positive feedback loop of heroic proportions. As the intense pleasure poured over his mind, they were feverishly dispensing chemical compounds and hormones that were serving to create a hyper-intense sense of pleasure, while the humiliation of not being in control of the situation created conflicting demands. To his brain, the two were completely intertwined dispite being opposite. And, unknown to him, every minute in this state was taking him deeper down a rabbit hole.
“No, I…please….I need your help.” Batman gruffly grunted, but the meaning of his words was becoming unclear. Exactly what fit the definition of help? Not only was he shocked at the idea that he could ever need help from someone else, but then also that the thing he needed help with was his slicked-up muscle hole.
The humiliation of Chief O’Hara now knowing about his new and unpredictable problem was compounding the mental overload as he stood hunched over, his wrists cuffed to the railings, his leggings & codpiece tangled around his feet and pinned by the Chief’s heavy boot, and his smooth ass greedily searching for something to fill it. He had never been in a situation anything like this before, and now here he was, on display, with a hulking Alpha Male looming over him.
Trying to compose himself, Batman snapped, “Just…don’t…touch me!”
The Chief stopped and pulled his hand away from the hero’s ass, and released his cock.
“Don’t touch you? “ the disgruntled and sexually amped-up cop replied. “You want me to stop?” He stopped, let go of the hero’s muscled body, and stepped back.
“Yes but…I….Unghhhh???” Batman moaned as he tried to contend with the sudden cessation of intense pleasure.
“Hey, I’m getting a little tired of your shit, BatBitch. Do you want my help or not?!” The Chief continued in a domineering tone. His hand came down fast and hard, making contact with the hero’s slick, hairless cheek like a crack of thunder.
CRACK!
“Parading around the city with your jacked body on display! CRACK! Making me look bad on a hundred fuckin occasions! CRACK! Asking for my help while telling me not to touch you? CRACK! Fuck this shite! You want my help, you gotta beg, you feel me BatFag?”
“Fuck, Chief…I don’t know what’s happening…I….” The now nearly blathering hero stammered, caught in a decision-making loop and reeling from the intense spanking. Ultimately, the needs of his body were too much for him and won out.
“Pp… please…don’t….don’t….don’t stop….” the hero stammered as his physical needs overwhelmed him again.
“Heh, there it is. Was that so difficult? I got just what you need, and I’m gonna give it to you…hard.” The Chief stepped back, releasing the hobbled feet, pulled the Bat backward away from the back wall and toilet, and then slapped the caped crusader on the ass again, even harder. “CRACK!” The sting radiated across his right buttock and shot up his crack, sending the debilitated piece of hero meat back into orgasm levels of pleasure.
“Oh, fuck….unngghhh…yesssssss…ohhhhh…please… Feels so…goooooood……I’m…I need….ohhhhh…bad….”
“Fuck yeah! You liked that, didn’t you? A bit rough, right? Don’t worry, I got you, bro,” O’Hara whispered. Again, the meaty hand fell with force onto the muscled glutes before he bluntly inserted his middle finger deep into the hero’s slippery puck.
Now further from the wall and railing, the hero was bent over to the extreme, his wrists cuffed to the railings and his arms wide. His pecs, abs, and back were all fully activated in an effort to stabilize himself, popping in relief as they flexed in the dim light. But at this angle, his ass was even more open and exposed, and the Chief intended to use that vulnerability.
“Oh…yes…oh fuck…that’s…deeper…holy fuck….that’s getting it…so gooood….ur getting….closer…” the Batman continued to babble, unable to control his melting mind as the bacteria attacked his prostate. At the same time, the Chief’s long thick finger probed into his tight, deep, wet hole. He was now in deep conflict, one side wanting this all to stop and the other wanting it to continue to much deeper levels.
“Oh yeah? Inside? Fuck…this is a prime piece of ass you got here…just you relax. Remember, I’m here to protect and TO SERVE. All right? I’m gonna take real nice care of you. Work this hole over good.” Said the Chief as his finger slid all the way through the man in black’s tight puck and onto his already jazzed prostate.
“Oh…I…your finger… it’s in…me deep…I…” groaned Batman, his mind reeling as the Chief slid deeper “But… sooooogooooood….I…please….more….fuck…yes…” the hero groaned. He twisted his head back to see what was happening, but all he could see was the snarling face of the redheaded musclebound Chief of police as he worked the drooling ass before him. His muscled arm moved forward and back in slow, steady strokes as he drilled in deep. Slowly the Chief stepped out from the side so the hero could see his whole body. Before he could stop himself, and without understanding why, Batman’s eyes flashed down to the crotch of the Chief, his oversized cock fully outlined in his pant leg.
“Heh…yeah, I see where you’re looking. Don’t you think you should just admit what you want? How long have you been fighting this?” the Chief queried, a sly smile on his face, as he continued to finger-out the perfect puck before him.
The only response was Batman’s chattering teeth as he felt each knuckled bump slide through his taught sphincter.
“How bout now? How does this feel?” the Chief continued, bending the tip of his finger and then rotating it.
“OHHHHH….You’re on…something…ohhhh…that’s it…right….ththth…there….” suddenly the hero locked up. Every muscle went rigid, and his brain seemed to explode and freeze up at the same time. Behind him, the Chief was expertly twisting and jamming down onto the bacteria-jazzed prostate, sending intense waves of pleasure like lightning through the hero’s body.
“Right…ttthhthht…thhhhh…ttherrrreeeee….you’re on….ITTTTT!!!”
“Oh yeah? Is that the spot?” O’Hara chided. “I got you good, don’t worry. You’re just like my wife, in need of deep penetration and some serious attention on that GSpot.” The Irish stud continued, adding a second finger as he fucked into the raging gland inside Batman’s perfect hole.
“Yes…yes….that’s it…work it….Please! Scratch it…deep!!” the spasming Bat groaned loudly as he thrashed, pulling at the bars, flexing his ass and legs as he began to wobble on his own legs.
O’Hara raised his free hand and brought it down again hard, a slap resonating through the room. “Keep quiet, man…we don’t want anyone to hear the famous Batman getting his Bat Cave finger banged…ungh….do we?” O’Hara grunted as he put more muscle into the drilling he was giving the man who had made him look incompetent on several occasions.
This fucker, the Chief thought…how long has he been stealing my thunder and making me look like a fool? He stepped alongside Batman, leaned forward, and with some long-repressed anger, began aggressively finger fucking the prone hero’s ass as he gripped and slowly stroked his oversized tool. All the while, he continued sucking up the pheromone-charged air, its compounds making the Chief more and more aroused and aggressive.
“Yesssssssssssss……” Batman hissed as things went even deeper. The Chief’s large hand slapping his ass had only excited him more as the pain intertwined with the pleasure inside. His knees continued to wobble and shake as his hobbled feet could do nothing to improve his balance, leaving him at the mercy of the Chief. Had the handicapped bar not been so well attached to the wall, he’d have been face down on the floor by now.
“You know, this a beautiful ass you got here…so smooth and tanned. I guess I always thought you’d be hairy….you know, like a real man, but….wait a minute…” The Chief leaned in, his eyes peering at the perfectly smooth ass before him, then the hairy legs below.
He then snidely commented, “Did you shave your ass?
“No…I…,” Batman babbled, trying to protest and deny any additional humiliation as another wave of erotic pleasure hit his brain.
But the Chief gave him no time to respond and cut him off, “Fuck faggot, I got you clocked now. Nobody as hairy as you has an ass this smooth unless he did it deliberately. Is this what you and the Boy Wonder get into? Two fucking fairies in their Bat-nest. Fucking each other’s hairless holes?”
Batman, caught now in the rising wave of pleasure, could not focus enough to respond coherently, and the Chief took the grumbled moan coming from his distended head as agreement.
Bent forward, his feet tangled together and his knees bent slightly forward and apart, Batman’s ass was set in perfect relief. Every striation and the twin divots of his ass flexed as his hole got stretched. “Fuck, yeah, so smooth…so muscled…”. The Chief took some of the slick liquid and spread it over the hero’s cheeks, making them glisten.
“Looks like this slut hole of yours could probably handle something bigger, something longer.” The Chief said as he removed his Billy Club from his service belt. “Yeah, something harder, stronger…and much more punishing.” He smiled as he began sliding the club along Batman’s slick asscrack, hot-dogging the hero as the ass lube coated its smooth exterior.
Batman shuddered. He realized what the Chief meant to do to him, but all he could think about was how much he wanted it. Still, the mental conflict was too strong for him to allow it without an attempt to stop this from going further.
“No, please. You can’t. I….I need to stop this. This has….its gone too far…”
“Naw, you don’t want me to stop. Look how much you’re enjoying this. As for going too far…I think you’d like it to go further…or should I say deeper?” The Chief reached down and stroked Batman’s rigid cock and bloated balls, making a ring with his thumb and index finger and then rotating them around the base where they attached to the base of the crime fighter’s muscled abs.
At the same time, the clear ass lube had now dripped down over his balls and cock, thoroughly coating them. Like a milkmaid, the Chief slid his hand up and down the rigid shaft and alternately pulled down on the overfilled balls, smoothing in the prejizz dripping from the cock head, mixing it with the ass drool, and smearing it over the slick shaft. He leaned forward to Batman’s ear, “Can’t have you leaving unsatisfied. What kind of cop do you think I am?”
“No, just…not the club…please…I….ohhhhhhhhhhhhh…don’t…unman….me….” Batman groaned as the Chief fondled his cock and balls—The overstimulated equipment now painfully in need of release.
“Oh, I think you’ve already unmanned yourself.” The Chief continued in his ear. “But no matter. Here we go, Batfag. Take a deep breath.” The Chief let go of the pulsing cock and balls and repositioned the stiff black baton.
An already panting Batman inhaled sharply as the Chief quickly threw a curveball into the mix. Rather than sliding the smooth shaft of the club into the tight hole, he had flipped the club around and stuffed the handle, with its four inter-finger molded ridges, into Batman’s hungry hole. As it slid in, each one of the ridges stretched wide the quivering ass-lips of the hero’s puck before disappearing inside and sawing over the prostate below. He kept pushing until it was all the way in, and the side handle pressed firmly into the hero’s taint.
He held it down tight and rotated it back and forth a bit, making the side handle slide over the smooth and slippery taint as the finger ridges scrubbed his bacteria-jazzed prostate. The hero babbled incoherently.
After a moment or two, the Chief smiled and slowly began grinding the pole back out of Batman’s chute. He stopped just before the last finger divot popped through and pushed it back in…then out….then in…then twisting first left, then right, then left again…and right, before combining all the motions…innnnn….twist ouuuttttt……. innnnnn….twist….ouuuutttt….innnnn…twist….ouuuttt… He kept on the tight hero’s ass, making sure that with each penetrating plow, he slapped the hero’s taint with that hard side handle, using it effectively as an arresting mechanism, making sure the inserted end stayed focused on its target.
There was no need to go any further than the prostate, and the handle made sure the Chief was on target with every stroke. He adjusted the angle, again and again, to make sure he achieved maximum impact on the crime fighter’s spasming gland while reveling in the sight of his ass-lips puckering, stretching, and generally gobbling up the nubs. Picking up speed, he fucked the club in faster and faster, retracting and advancing each time with a little more twist at depth to make sure to hit that spot that was so driving the man in Caped Crusader wild. In seconds he was again drilling out the muscled ass with a vengeance.
“How’s that feeling BatPus? Is my nightstick finding that spot that needs tending? Ungh, yeah. Getting some deep treatment going here. Bet your ass never got done like this by the Wonder Boy. Naw, you need a real man for a piece of this meaty ass.”
“Oh…oh fuck…I….oh…yes…you’re…oh…yeah, you’re so deep…you’re on it…you’re…right on…it….I….so good. Faster…oh….harder….yeah, fuck that ass Chief….” The hero groaned, but then the teeter-totter of control of his mind slid the other way and his fevered brain suddenly pushed forward, his self-disgust and humiliation coming to the front in an effort to get control, “Of fuck…you’re……using….me….you’re using my slicked up hole against me!!”
The Chief laughed heartily. “Using you? Fuck that. You’re using me. Remember, you are the one behaving like some cheap slut. A two-bit back alley whore…cruising for sex in a bathroom. And on a public beach. Never knew you were such a huge fucking packer! Yeah, a good billy club bang is just what you needed. Trust me; this is not the first time I’ve club fucked a whore…first time its a guy, though. Cummon faggot, take my stick, you know you love it. You know you love getting used like this.” The Chief continued his snide trash-talking as he plowed out the formerly virgin hole.
“You’ve been parading around this city making me and my men look like idiots, incapable of doing our jobs. Acting like some type of super-masculine crime fighter. But the truth is you’ve been secretly craving a real man to fuck you. Isn’t that right Batbitch? Just a fucking pansy. Batman, the man criminals throughout the city fear is nothing more than a closet fudge-packer.” The Chief continued, deriding him mercilessly.
Batman blushed with total humiliation, a crack now well formed in his psyche. Here he was, the city’s hero, a man among men, a true Alpha, getting his ass fucked hard by the Chief of Police. Being used and talked down to as if he were a common man…or worse, some sort of homosexual. The Chief was right, he was in it deep, getting railed in the bathroom while cuffed to the walls. The Chief had been his equal, but that dynamic had shifted violently. He was now on the receiving end of the long arm of the law. And the law was making him its bitch.
But the real mind fuck was, for a reason he did not understand, Batman was full-on blissed out. He’d never felt so good, and the idea that this dominant man could make him so supremely excited was crushing his sense of self. The Chief was the one taking care of his needs and putting him in his place at the same time. It was as confusing as it was arousing. The intensity of the mental game was too much and added to his drooling and spasming hole, cock, and now mouth.
At the same time, deep in his brain, things were rapidly changing as this new sexually deviant behavior and the excitement of the situation accelerated; his ass, prostate, cock, balls, the humiliation of being used by another man, the seedy bathroom, the complete loss of control, all of it was being recorded in the hero’s unconsciousness.
As his prostate was attacked by the MPS bacteria, it kicked into overdrive, increasing the conversion of testosterone into DHT. This caused a rundown of testosterone which then caused his testicles to compensate for by ramping up production. But as the situation escalated and the prostate attack increased in its veracity at the hands (and club) of the Chief, an ever-increasing feedback loop was developing. With each wave, his body was flooded with a rapidly ramping cascade of secondary hormones—adrenalin, endorphins, and pheromones. As the amplification continued, so did his horniness and excitement, which signaled to other systems in his brain and body the need for more of this new situation.
His brain was now fully overwhelmed by these new erotic sensations. Existing synapses were being destroyed and his mind‘s ability to effectively process new data was short-circuited. Instead, it began to create new connections within with no consideration for their value or appropriateness. His brain in a desperate attempt to handle the ever-increasing stimulation just recorded it all. He was being reprogrammed as these new experiences quickly and effectively began rewriting his desires. Like a junkie on drugs, his mind was being re-oriented and re-conditioned by the self-secreted compounds that were flooding in, and he became addicted to them as the new synapses were created. All of this together, the surging testosterone and DHT, the secondary hormones and endorphins, the manhandling, the trash-talking, the lack of control, the bondage, would have him craving this kind of debauchery in the future.
Of all the full frontal attempts to take him down, Batman, the Dark Warrior, feared by all the criminal world, was being undone by this new back door assault. Controlled and compelled into being a compliant, submissive bitch, by an enemy he could hardly comprehend. The first act of the Scarecrow’s plan was nearing completion, and the hero had no idea what had even hit him.
At the same time that his head was being rewired, the increase in testosterone was also causing his balls to massively overproduce his seed. Together, his already large testicles were now dangerously overfilled, about the size of a grapefruit, hanging low and full. With each thrust of the Chief’s club, they swung together, slapping against his taint and cock. Which was further stimulating them and his desire to cum.
Batman tried to pull himself together, to stop the insanity of the situation, but the Alpha Superhero could not get off the pounding stick. It was too late in the game to gain any kind of advantage. And the mind and body fuck was quickly pushing him over the edge, but still, he tried.
“Got too…UNGHHHH…fuck, I…I can’t get off that thing….the’s got that slick rod….in me…it’s too deep…pounding me out…so good…” he muttered to himself, trying unsuccessfully to pull forward and off the stiff baton handle. “Oh…fuck…it’s…it’s… I’m… too excited…not…in control…of my own body….I’m…….wait…what is…OHHHHH…something…happening…OH NO….Chief…stop…Chief….I’m gonna…oh fuck, I’m…please…too good….I’m gonna……losing it…Chief!”
The hero was in a panic now, fully aware what was about to happen but unable to and possibly unwilling to stop it. The Chief, a sly smile on his face, just kept on working over the spasming BatCunt with long powerful strokes of his club.
“UGHHHH….CAN’T…HOLD….BACK….I’M GONNA… CUUUUMMMMMMMMMMM….” He bellowed as his body shuddered and finally gave it up.
In an instant, his ass clamped down violently, momentarily jamming the baton in place, as his rigid and free-swinging cock began dumping its load and his ass simultaneously squirted out more of the slick fluid around the tightly held baton. In an instant, the additional lubricant slicked up the club again, and the Chief began pumping again, working the hero from the inside with a frenzy of rapid pumps. For Batman, this was no ordinary cum, this was one for the ages, and the Chief was driving now.
“Holy shit, you’re fucking cumming? Without touching yourself?” A shocked and impressed O’Hara snapped. “And damn….ur ass is fucking creaming on my stick…what the hell?? You fucking pussy. You love this…ungh…don’t you?!?!? Getting your tight…ungh…muscle butt stick fucked….Bat-fucking-slut!” He continued, verbally assaulting Batman’s mind as his hands groped the ass and the pole fucked the hole of the bent-over, splayed-out hero.
“Oh…Yes…I…OHHHH…still cumming!! Can’t….seem to….stop. How…not possible….I’m so….jazzed…” Batman moaned as he shot and shot and shot…both his cock and ass were now so over stimmed that they could not contain themselves. His ass juice now drooling out around the Chief’s still pistoning club and dribbling down onto the floor as his cock shot right into the codpiece below, creating a splattered pool of jizz inside.
Gradually, the orgasm ran down, and the intensity of the situation passed, leaving the disheveled hero embarrassed but also feeling completely at rest inside. The Chief stood by, looking at the once proud hero. He pulled the club out with a taught pop.
A panting and sweaty Batman groaned. He looked over his shoulder at the Chief.
“Sure you’re not a homo?” the Chief asked, a cocky smile coming to his face.
“No…I…it’s…” A timid and humiliated Batman replied. He arrested his speech and began trying to compose himself. The Chief stood for a moment, checking out the muscled older hunk before him. Batman was a true specimen to behold; jacked, lean and matching the Chief’s height, he was the definition of masculine. And yet now, here he was, still stooped over, ass out, cuffed at both wrists and stretched apart awkwardly.
Suddenly, an idea popped into the Chief’s head. He reached into his pocket, popped the AirTag on his keys from its holder, and slid it into the folds of the handkerChief in his back pocket.
Slowly, the Chief walked around the Caped Crusader and, while looking him in the eye, undid his handcuffs. Batman stood and shuffled forward as the Chief put his cuffs back on this belt. The man in black stretched slightly more upright. He was spent and exhausted.
The Chief continued to watch, his eyes boring into the man before him…slowly, he passed him the key to the Batcuffs. The Caped Crusader undid the handcuffs on his left wrist and stood. But before he could put them back in their pouch, the Chief took them from his hand. He was standing close, very close and the new chemistry between the two men was unmistakable.
“Let me help you with that.” Said the Chief as he stepped behind the hero and slid them and the handkerChief-wrapped AirTag into the pouch on the back of his utility belt. Gonna keep tabs on you Batslut. Cuz we ain’t finished here, not by a long shot. He thought as he stepped aside.
After a second or two, a slightly flustered Batman bent forward, pulled up his leggings, and refastened his codpiece. He was lucky as the Kevlar ass plate helped to cover the slick wet mess that had been made of his muscled hole, but his cock was now nestled in the cum splattered front pouch. An embarrassed but still slightly excited Batman turned back to look at Chief O’Hara, who had stepped back to watch the hero redress while absent-mindedly sniffing his finger. The scent was intoxicating, and the Chief’s cock began to drool again into his pants.
“I…need to go…th…thank you, Chief.” the hero said awkwardly, but as he did, he couldn’t help but look down at the bulge in the Chief’s pants. Long and thick with a pronounced head, the Irishman’s cock was something he had only just escaped. He looked back up and realized he’d been caught….again.
“Heh, anytime Batman. You know where to reach me.” He grabbed his ample endowment through his dark blue pants and squeezed. And I know where to reach you. “Have a good day, sir. ” He snarkily replied as the now recomposed hero pushed quickly past him and outside to the parking lot.
Moments later, the hero was back in the Batmobile and driving off. What had just happened? How did this keep happening? And what could he do to stop it? He tore onto the road and back to the real Bat Cave.