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Gone To Gotham update
🕑 Added 2020-03-17 20:00:01 +0000 UTC
Several years from the first time Bruce and Betsy had made love, on another mountaintop far away from the Hida’s stronghold, controlling the opposing territory that it had held to one degree or another since the Edo period, the Hand maintained their castle.
It was considered impossible to penetrate. Psychics scanned for the stray thoughts of any who were not loyal to the Hand. Spirits chained to mystical artifacts kept on guard for lifeforces which were not contaminated by the Hand’s magic. The latest technological devices detected motion, sound, body heat, and twelve other dead giveaways of intruders, while the physical location itself was tightly guarded, with thick walls, reinforced doors, and automated sentry turrets ready to fire on anyone who lacked authorization.
So Batman didn’t bother with sneaking in.
The Hida had said that the Yakuza often did scut work for the Hand, and that a high-value prisoner had been seen being delivered to the mountain. There’d been no notable kidnappings on their radar, so it had to be Mr. Unknown—his civilian identity low-level and anonymous. It was possible the authorities weren’t even aware he was gone yet.
Bruce tasked the Hida with his own scut work—planting dynamically guided mortars around the castle. They were simple things. Not even as complicated as rocket-propelled grenades. Just a launcher the size of the cardboard tube inside a roll of paper towels, with a base as big as a bocce ball. The base would pneumatically launch the mortar round—itself the size of the cardboard tube inside a roll of toilet papers—up into the air, and a microchip would control small fins on the sides, guiding it down to the laser pinpoint it was directed at. There, micro-explosives would explode with the force of a Hellfire missile. Expensive. For when you cared to send the very best.
As they worked, Bruce spared a moment to think once again of contrasts. There was a flicker of mistrust in his subconscious that he wanted to resolve. He had no doubt of the Bat Clan’s skill, or of their loyalty. But despite that, he didn’t feel the same confidence in them that he had with Dick, Tim, Barbara, all the others. There was a trust that only came with long experience, bonds of affection, and it had nothing to do with facts. He would be happy when he was back in Gotham. He had people there.
In his HUD, yellow lights went to green. The Hida ninjas were all in position, attack ready to begin. Bruce scanned the compound one more time. The Hand had no more use for the living than it had for life itself. Induction into its ranks meant death and resurrection, resulting in a lower body temperature overall. The only life sign within normal parameters was in the dungeon—the objective.
Everything else was fair game. Not within the law, strictly speaking. Every nation had rules against desecrating corpses.
He supposed they could take it up with the embassy.
“Go,” he said into the communicator, and the launches began—cigarette exhales of smoke and heat bloom as the mortars fired, their explosive rounds crawling along the curvature of the Earth. While they hung in mid-air, Bruce powered up the Batwing. After he’d reassembled it from several steamer trunks, the Hida had carried it on foot to a clearing in the woods. Now he used its VTOL capabilities to lift the craft straight up, coming over the treetops just as the mortar rounds arced down. They hit in the same instant, and the castle roiled with explosions. On the inside, Bruce thought, it must’ve been like someone had picked up the place and given it a hearty shake.
The wall held up though. Metal plating inside the walls as thick as a battleship. What didn’t hold up was the weak spots Bruce had lased. They buckled, weakening and then proving unable to take the loads placed on them. They caved in like toothpicks suddenly having to hold the weight of a cinder block, support beams snapping and crunching all throughout the wall, until the vast bulk of it simply detached from its moorings and fell away, tumbling end over end down the mountainside and leaving the interior of the castle as open as a cutaway illustration in a reference book.
By this time, Bruce had piloted the Batwing into position outside the castle, just shy of the wall as it fell away, and with a twitch of his finger, he fired the nose-mounted General Dynamics GAU-12/U Equalizer cannon. It fired at 3,600 rounds a minute, sixty every second. The Batwing couldn’t carry very many rounds—only enough for twenty-five seconds. It was enough for him to hose down the castle’s interior with what was essentially a three millimeter circle of absolute annihilation, which he scythed across each floor. The Hand ninjas went up in puffs of smoke, so many and so quickly that after his twenty-fire seconds of ammunition were used up, it looked like a green fogbank was rolling out of the castle, like he’d removed one side from a container full of dry ice and now the contents were escaping.
First rule of ninjas: if your watchword was stealth, make sure you didn’t have a fixed location that some crazed plutocrat could pour one thousand five hundred 25mm shells into. Because it was easier than scaling the walls with a grappling hook like in the good old days.
By a lot.
Bruce engaged the autopilot. The computer took its preprogrammed course, firing its afterburners and doing a flyby of the compound. Bruce ditched, the floor dropping out from under his feet and his chair going flat to slide him right out of his disengaging safety restraints. As the aircraft arced away, Bruce spread out his cape to catch himself, his descent now a neat little glide into the wall of mist that had once been an army of undead ninjas. Total exposed flight time: three seconds.
Bruce wondered, for those three seconds, if there were health risks to breathing this. It could be it was the zombie equivalent of asbestos. He’d have to schedule a check-up with his physician in the next month.
He landed. The floor was warm under his boots, full of dents. Even where it had held up under the autocannon’s barrage, there was no mistaking it for anything but a warzone. Each step kicked aside some of the deformed slugs that had ricocheted off the equally potholed walls. His attack had blown apart everything but the shadows.
So the shadows attacked him.
Hand ninjas, red as the sun just before it set, were everything. Like ants with a bootprint in their anthill. But Bruce wasn’t alone. All around him, his company of Hida had appeared, weapons swinging—nunchuks, shuriken, nagintas, katanas. Everything there was the sound of steel against steel, steel against wood, steel against flesh. Eruptions of smoke as a member of the Hand returned to death, or a gout of blood as a Bat ninja was hit.
Bruce fought, not mindlessly, but in a state where the mind gave way to muscle memory, memorized technique, a higher form of consciousness where harmony ruled over doubts and desires.
Or perhaps it was just animal instinct on the loosest leash imaginable.
It seemed to go on for hours, him and each of his team taking out ten for every minute they remained standing, but the supply of the Hand was inexhaustible. They were short by American standards, none of them topping six feet, which put them only chest high with Bruce. Yet their strength was enhanced. The muscle power of a linebacker, at least. Judging from their blows, Bruce thought each of them could easily bench over three hundred pounds. But they had a glass jaw. One good punch, a well-aimed kick, and they went down. Or maybe it was just that Bruce didn’t pull his punches when he was hitting zombies.
Still, they took hits. Bruce’s armor dented and sparked as steel crashed off it. It tore in places. Ripped. Hard blows stole away his oxygen, replaced the clean feel of his athletic exertion with a series of aches and throbs rattling around inside him like a machine breaking down. The others were suffering under the endless onslaught too. Limbs disabled, blood running, some downed, sure to be finished off if the melee ever settled long enough for an enemy fighter to attend to them in all the chaos.
In Bruce’s HUD, a yellow light turned green.
The Hida weren’t incompetent. There was a reason they’d never taken this castle, even knowing where it was. Fighting the Hand on their own ground was simply impossible, short of a full-on military invasion.
So, while he and his band went on the offensive, he had tasked Psylocke with infiltrating the grounds, making her way to the dungeon, and freeing Jiro Osamu. The green light meant that she and he were now far away.
The other green light meant that the Batwing’s autopilot had taken it back to the Hida stronghold where he and Betsy had first made love. Now it had been resupplied. A quick, whispered command in Swahili set it on a course back to the Hand’s castle.
“I think we have overstayed our welcome,” one of his ninjas said, a cut above one eyebrow leaving the left side of his face red.
“We won’t be staying much longer,” Bruce replied.
Three minutes later, the Batwing made its attack run, the targeting computer firing those three-millimeter bursts well clear of Bruce and the Bat Clan’s head signatures. Eighty percent of the bullets would land within that careful radius. As for the other twenty percent—rubber bullets.
With the Hand in disarray, moving to confront the Batwing, Bruce and his men retreated, carrying their wounded with them. Once they were clear, the mortars fired again.
They couldn’t take the castle. But they could be sure the Hand wasn’t very proud of it.
***
For two years, Bruce and Betsy were together as their training continued. When there was no more to learn, they went their separate ways, each with their own missions to pursue. At times they would meet again, renew the physical aspect of their relationship, but they would always part ways once more. Then came a five year stretch where their paths never crossed. When they finally reunited, Bruce had been dating Diana for almost two years.
They envied each other and there was an electricity to their conjoined jealousy. Diana envied Betsy because she had been his first and Betsy envied Diana because she was Wonder Woman. How could she not? The first woman he asked to marry him, her voluptuous beauty far more curvaceous than Betsy’s own slimmer, shorter form, with a compact musculature in Diana that still belied her enormous paranormal strength. And both of them were too mature to snipe or criticize, so the frustration mounted and mounted, which only drove them to be more hospitable and more charitable to each other, as if seeking to outdo the other with tenderness, kill one another with kindness.
It all came to a head when Bruce invited Betsy to escape a public relations fiasco—one of a long line of mutant-centered smear campaigns—by visiting his island in Costa Rica, where her privacy would be paramount. And although she’d said nothing, there Diana had expected to have Bruce all to herself.
Betsy flew herself there, landing the small Cessna easily on the marring scar of the airstrip, the only one of its kind on the landscape. She had seen the ‘neighborhood’ of beach houses from the air, ringing a decadently beautiful cove, and it was an easy thing to make the walk from the runway to the houses. There was only one with lights on inside and she went to knock on the door. It swung open before she could.
Diana was as beautiful as ever, tall and slender, her curves adding an abundant femininity to her athleticism. Her breasts swelled out perfectly, as sensual as Betsy’s, and she dressed to emphasize her tempting body. She wore a halter over her chest, her nipples clearly outlined, and a pair of high and tight shorts, denim, with ragged slits up each side almost to her waist, frayed denim stretched tight over toned thighs. It was clear that being on vacation, and under no obligation to dress as elegantly as she did in public, did nothing to detract from Diana’s beauty or her sexuality.
“Betsy, I’m so glad you could make it. Here, let me take your bag,” she said, reaching out to accept the heavy trunk Betsy had packed for weeks of decompression. Diana was easily able to lift it, of course.
“Shame you couldn’t have taken it at the airstrip,” Betsy commented.
“I was still asleep. Gotham time, you know.”
“I would’ve thought the plane would wake you up.”
“I was very tired last night. Bruce can take a lot out of a person.”
“I know.”
Diana’s brow furrowed. “I assume you’ll want to see your room?”
“Actually, I can’t wait to go swimming. The waves looked so good from the air that I nearly did a water landing.”
Diana smiled, though Betsy wondered if it was at the joke or at the thought of Betsy crashing. “Let’s find you someplace to change, then.”
Diana led Betsy up a long staircase, each step she took forcing Betsy to admire her ass. It was tight and curvy, flexing as she walked. Her skimpy bottoms hid only about half of it, showing off her high, firm buttocks.
“Here we are,” Diana said, opening a door to one of the bedrooms. “I’ll go get you a towel.”
Betsy dropped her suitcase on the bed and was just unbuttoning her sundress when Diana returned with the towel. Betsy stopped undressing, waiting for Diana to leave, but Diana waited herself so insistently that Betsy felt compelled to spite her by showing off that her own bikini body was nothing to sneeze at.
She still felt a little uncomfortable having Diana watch her strip, but Diana didn’t seem to mind at all. It was enough to tempt Betsy towards reading her mind and seeing what she really thought. Then she shed her dress and realized that at some point, her nipples had gotten hard. She wondered if Diana had noticed, and wondered hard enough to pick up one of Diana’s surface thoughts: Delicious.
Betsy fumbled with her panties as she peeled them down her long legs. She was almost afraid of reading Diana’s mind now, quickly putting on her bikini bottoms. She shrugged on the bikini top, but her hands wouldn’t cooperate in snapping its straps together.
“Here, I’ll help you with that,” Diana said quickly, taking the ends of the bikini top in her hands. As she connected it, Diana’s thigh nonchalantly brushed against the back of Betsy’s leg. “There. Nothing to it.”
Delicious. Now Betsy was thinking of it. She turned around, as if that would let the air out of whatever was growing between them, as if she could dispel the specter of having Diana behind her and doing God knew what and thinking God knew what. But instead, she turned around to find Diana staring at her with dark eyes, eyes holding a strange expression in them. They looked charged, excited, but Betsy couldn’t be sure. She stood there, gazing back with her own brown eyes. She felt a shiver ripple through her body, anticipating, desiring.
Diana’s face came closer to hers, more beautiful with every detail Betsy saw. She felt as frozen as a statue, her legs trembling, her knees weak. Then it was like she couldn’t take what she was feeling, could only experience it in flashes. Warm, moist lips against her own. A whimper coming from her throat. Hands running over her bare arms. Diana’s firm breasts pushing into hers.
Her mind automatically opened. She felt Diana’s lingering reluctance, her own confusion, but then a stirring lust too heated to be denied. Diana’s tongue moved against Betsy’s lips, and Betsy moaned, her lips parting, the moist tongue accepted between them. She hadn’t meant to. Or maybe she had. She definitely meant to suck at her tongue, she needed to, needed to feel the heat blooming in Diana’s brain again.
She felt Diana’s arms around her, pulling her tight, letting her feel the stiffness of her lustfully engorged nipples against Betsy’s own. Tantalizing torture: warm hands going down her back, clutching at her ass, encouraging her to grind her hips against Diana’s, share the shivers that raced through their bodies. She could feel Diana’s thoughts, transmitting across their skin-to-skin contact like they were both being shocked by the same electricity.
Diana had known she would be ready for this, but she had never dreamed Betsy would be this ready. And it was arousing her like she hadn’t been in years. This was going to be the best Diana had had in a long time—and that proved irresistible to Betsy.
Diana got down on her knees. Betsy closed her eyes and ran her hands through her own hair as she felt Diana lapping at her cunt, her clit growing bigger and bigger under the countless kisses Diana gave it, and soon her pulsing clitoris was surrounded by Diana’s lips, being flicked at with her tongue.
Betsy was brought to the brink of orgasm, but did not go over. Instead, Diana went low, stimulating the pussy that had gone sorely neglected while Diana pleasured her clit. Her skillful tongue plunged deep into it, Betsy flexing her asscheeks, clenching her inner folds, nearly sucking Diana’s tongue from her mouth. It excited Diana to have her tongue several inches deep inside of Betsy, and she pumped it in and out, using it as Bruce had his cock, to fuck Betsy’s willing sex.
“Can’t take much more!” Betsy cried, her clit still stingingly erect, still begging for attention even as her poor cunt was overwhelmed. “Too much! Too much! It’s so fucking deep!”
Diana’s mouth opened wide to cover her pussy, her clit, and her tongue was everywhere. Betsy’s eyes rolled back in her head, hands pulling fitfully at her long purple hair, drawing it taut around her heaving breasts as her climax took her and threw her around, forced her to ride out the many shockwaves of the explosion around Diana’s tongue. She felt crests and peaks; every time she thought her orgasm was dying down, it surged back up, her release pumping out of her in gulps of warm, wet cream. She covered Diana’s tongue, she filled her mouth, she washed over her face, it was never-ending, she lost count of the passionate swells, she could only try to stay standing as her relief became its own kind of torture. Surely this wasn’t just one orgasm. Surely she was by now having another, and another, and another—
Betsy collapsed, finally, falling forward as if in one last bid for more of the sweet agony she was feeling. Diana caught her: rising from her knees and gripping Betsy’s legs so that she was left slung over Diana’s muscular shoulder, easily positioned for Diana to set her down onto the bed, alongside her towel and suitcase.
Betsy was deeply unconscious.
Bruce stood in the doorway. He hadn’t gotten there long after hearing Betsy screaming, but it hadn’t taken Diana long to reduce her to a satisfyingly insensate condition, either.
“And here I thought you two were competing with each other.”
Diana just looked at him as she wiped her mouth off. “Not much of a competition. She couldn’t even reciprocate.”
“She’s a fast learner. Trust me.”
“Then we have a lot to talk about. All three of us.”
***
Diana had to leave shortly after, though Bruce was happy to take up entertaining Betsy. Another crossing of the paths that would eventually split apart once more, leaving them both with doubts and questions.
Though those questions still hadn’t been answered, Bruce couldn’t think of them, especially at the moment. They had returned to the Hida’s headquarters with Jiro to treat him for his injuries. In the meantime, Bruce went to pay his respects to his old master, Kirigi. The man had been ancient when Bruce had first known him, and now he was in a position where his rest was too valuable to be interrupted. Bruce left a bottle of scotch at the side of his bed, then retired to his own room.
There, he expected to have to take off his armor himself and tend to his own injuries, but Betsy there, her gaze at once questioning and knowing. She wore a brief kimono, pink with purple flowers on the hem, her feet bare, her dyed hair showing the gloss of having showered. She helped him out of his costume, her touch at first communicating how impressed she was with the sophisticated craftsmanship of his armor, then tracing over his revealed skin with something altogether more animal. She knew the old scars, cataloged the new ones, and saw that he was without injuries except for a few bruises and scrapes. It reminded her of how unfeelingly black and blue he had been when they’d first made love; for all his training, Bruce’s challenges didn’t lessen. It put an amused smirk on her face. Bruce saw it.
“I may have been a little banged up, but I was good enough for you.”
“Yes. You were. I guess you didn’t want a quiet, submissive geisha and I didn’t want a polite, respectful gaijin.”
“Quiet, no.” Bruce looked her over. Her thin kimono did a lot to jog his memory. Her full breasts might as well have been naked, the thick nipples pressing through the cloth, her plunging cleavage revealed by how loosely she’d tied the belt.
Betsy saw him looking and smiled knowingly. Now she thought of the time she had held his spurting cock as it covered those same breasts in his seed. “Submissive, then?”
“It can be pleasant.”
“So can politeness and respect,” Betsy told him.
“When am I not polite?”
“When you look at me like that,” Betsy said, “and don’t do what you’re so clearly thinking of.”
Bruce went over to kiss her, his tongue claiming her mouth the same way his cock would soon claim her pussy. Betsy almost dissolved in his arms just thinking about it. She trembled and mewled as she slipped the kimono out of the way, her bare body against his.
“I can’t stop thinking about you and Diana,” she gasped. “God, I get so jealous. I almost want to slap that perfect face of hers—“
“She might like it,” Bruce panted, closing his fingers in her kimono, pulling it down her taut, warm flesh until all he had to do was let do and it slunk right off of her. “She certainly did the last time.”
Betsy made a face. “That’s none of your business. I just… that was then. Now, I only want you to put that beautiful cock of yours inside of me. Not her. Me.”
She dropped her hand down, rubbing his throbbing cock through his briefs. Bruce returned the favor, filling his hands with her amazing breasts.
“Ohhhh, God!” she moaned. “When you came all of my tits the way you did, it was all I could think about for months…”
“Wasn’t so bad on my end either,” Bruce murmured, lowering his lips to her erect nipples.
“I want you to do it again!” Betsy gasped. “I want you to come just everything. In my pussy. In my mouth, my ass, my tits—all over my skin and deep inside me too. I want to be covered with it. I want to take a bath in it!”
She got down on her knees and frantically pulled his briefs away. His cock was as big and hard and perfect as it always was for her. She held it worshipfully in her hands, both of them tightening possessively around its length as she closed her lips on the swollen knob.
“Mmmm,” she moaned as she sucked passionately on the first candied drops of his precum. “I want you to forget about Diana. You can fuck me and fuck me and fuck me. Have her later. But for now, you fuck me. You make me come. The way only your hard cock can. Fuck, it’s so damn big and you know how to use it so right. I can’t get over it—I need it!”
Down on her knees, looking up at his hulking form, Betsy was all over his prick. She rubbed its throbbing length between her wonderful breasts, squeezing it between them as she massaged her own heaving tits, mewling with the same urgent lust he felt, as if she were feeling it in how his cock pulsed against her body and giving voice to what they both wanted.
“Fuck me, Bruce,” she hissed, her tongue slithering between her lips, wetting them as her flowing juices were doing for her labia. “Fuck me as long and as hard as I know you can. Fuck me everywhere. Like we did the first time.”
“How can I refuse?” Bruce asked as he got down on his knees in front of her.
Both of them knelt naked in the middle of the floor as if they were performing one of the endlessly practiced tea ceremonies their days had once been occupied with. But this time, Bruce’s desires didn’t need to be hidden and restrained by elaborate ritual. He dropped his mouth to Betsy’s engorged nipples and tugged at them with his teeth, while Betsy held his head in her hands and pushed her cleavage against his face, low noises of need coming from deep in her throat.
“Yes, yes, suck them!” she begged. “Ohhhnnn, it feels so good when you suck them like that! It drives me fucking crazy!”
She gave Bruce no reason to doubt her words. The harder he sucked, the more she writhed and gasped, inexorably encouraging him to keep mauling her delectable tits with both his hands and his sucking mouth. Betsy went crazier than ever, swaying until she was bent against his massive body, kissing at his scalp in her need.
“Fuck! Fuck!” she keened. “Oh God, yes, fuck me! Put that huge cock in my pussy, fill me up with it, I want to be full, I want to be full of you, your cock, your cum—“
Her pleas couldn’t possibly have aroused Bruce anymore. There was no discipline in her, just a wildcat sensuality to match his own bestial lust. As she writhed and moaned under him, he spread her thighs to either side of himself and nestled his cock into the gaping mouth of her wet sex. Then, taking only a moment to assure himself from her psychic broadcast of arousal that she was indeed wet enough to take him, he drove himself inside her.
“Ohhhh!” Betsy cried.
“Hurt you?” Bruce asked, though his air of smugness didn’t make it much of a question.
“God, yes! It’s so big! It’s still so big! Hurt me some more!” Even now, Betsy enjoyed the wildness of pain, knowing that her lover desired her enough to inflict some hurt in his maddened lust for her, and despite the deepest care and love that he otherwise felt. It gratified her to know she could bring out the beast in Bruce after all these years.
She bit her lower lip. Her eyes bulged as she felt the delirious pleasure of having him rut into her once more. “Fuck me!” she groaned hoarsely, rocking her hips, throwing her cunt up into his hammering strokes. She cried out, one moment in pain, the next in pleasure, as his huge erection sank deep inside of her.
Bruce pushed faster, harder, not holding back for a second. There would be time for that, for slow lovemaking and romantic words, later. It was what she wanted, but right now, he had to give her what she needed.
“Here it is!” he barked. “Here’s what happens to your sweet… little pussy… when you don’t keep your pretty legs… shut!”
He came up to his knees, one thick arm grasping Betsy around her hips and pulling her up to his groin, the other arm down on the floor supporting their weight as he endlessly brought Betsy’s cunt against his cock, hammering it into the rolling thrusts of his hips, finishing Betsy’s lust off in a rapid succession of orgasms that hurt as much as they deliciously pleasured her.
“Yes, please, yes, please, yes, please!” Betsy panted. Through all the delight and feelings of satiation, her iron will still had some control over her body, and she lifted her legs straight up into the air, balancing on her shoulders as Bruce came up on one foot to continue thrusting downward into her, jackhammer strokes starting her lust anew and fulfilling it in almost the same moment—an instantaneous cycle of want and satisfaction, satisfaction and want, over and over again with each thrust he made into her. “Oh, Bruuuuuuuuce!”
Bruce knew she could not take this feeling for long. He let go of the last vestiges of his own control and felt release, almost as strenuous as it was pleasurable, a seemingly never-ending flow of all the lust that had built up as he looked at her, thought of her, withstood the heat of her presence. And all through it, he drove his cock down to the pit of her sex, always spurting his scalding cum.
It wasn’t as much as when he had lost his virginity to her. It was more.
“Bruce—“ she gasped when it was over, his deluge running out of her splayed cunt, down the sweet slope of her buttocks and back. With her knotted up under him to take his downward pistoning, he laid his hands gently on her ass and withdrew from her, then relaxed his grip on her body and let her sweaty skin slide across his hands, until her hips rested on the ground and her long legs had flowed out of his fingers.
Then he laid down beside her, barely able to look at her nakedly sprawled body, mauled with his rough touches and running sweat—not without feeling the stirrings of more lust, wanting to possess her once again, even more, to see if her could blend pain and pleasure more fully and give her much more pleasure than what she had just felt.
“Marry me,” he said instead.
“What?”
“I don’t want to stop doing that. I don’t want to wait a year, a month, an hour before that happens again. And I don’t want to stop taking care of you, either. I want to protect you, provide for you, even if you don’t need me to. Whatever you want, I want to give it to you. I want to be in your life. I want to feel this way all the time and I want to make you feel this way too.”
“And what about Diana?” Betsy asked warily. “Doesn’t she share you enough as it is?”
“Evidently not.”
Betsy turned her head, getting a glimpse of a womanly, a more-than-womanly silhouette through the shoji before it slid aside and there was Diana, herself dressed in a kimono of red and yellow design. Only, having been tailored for a woman of Asiatic height, it fit Diana even less than Betsy’s did, coming down to barely cover her pubis. It showed as much leg as Betsy’s leotard costume did, and Betsy couldn’t deny that Diana’s legs were just as appealing as her own.
“Fair’s fair,” Diana said. “Bruce didn’t get to join in while you and I shared our bodies, so this time I was the one who had to stand and watch.”
“Diana doesn’t share our issues with control,” Bruce said to Betsy.
Diana walked to them, one finger flicking the shoji shut behind her. The closer they came, the further they could see up the barely existent hem of her kimono. Betsy was quite sure that Diana’s famous star-spangled panties were not a factor in the equation tonight. And for that matter, that she had greatly enjoyed their lovemaking, even if she hadn’t taken part.
Stepping over both of them, Diana lowered herself down on the other side of Betsy, who started to think that Bruce was off in his description of Diana’s control issues. When she looked between Betsy’s thighs, it was with barely concealed appetites. It was with sheer gluttony, and a licking of the lips that broadcast she would soon be sated.
Diana didn’t need to be very good at controlling herself when she could always have what she wanted.
“Let’s discuss terms,” Diana said before kissing Betsy, the first of many times, on many different parts of her body.
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Shendude
YUM!
