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Good Girls Gone Bat update
🕑 Added 2016-03-30 19:28:40 +0000 UTC Emma laced her arm through Bruce’s before he could decide to intercede, leading him gently away from Rogue and Kate as the moans renewed themselves. “Come along, Brucie. A public servant you may be, but that situation is hardly one requiring your aid. Not yet, at least.”Bruce let himself be led to another room of the mansion, out of earshot of even Kate’s most determined efforts. It was a sitting room, marble floor walled off with plaster, a dressing screen incongruously in the corner and some number of wardrobes lining the walls. Plush carpets on the floors. Bruce supposed Emma had made a home away from home for her voluminous fashion sense. He made himself at home as well, shucking his jacket—his business casual look already held no tie.
“Brandy?” Emma asked.
“As usual,” Bruce replied, sitting down. “Try not to go poking around in my head.”
“And you try not hacking our files to see what mutants there are in Gotham City. As if we’d let a bright mutant soul languish in that… city.” Emma had finished pouring, the bottle and glasses assembled the moment she’d detected Bruce’s mind, and she brought the drinks to Bruce, joining him in seats that ringed an empty chess set.
“As I recall, you quite enjoyed your time in Gotham.” Bruce sipped.
Emma drank. “The company was good, before it got tiresome.” She set her glass down. “Now, Brucie, much as you like to play the ascetic for your little Superfriends, I know you’re not the prude everyone thinks you are. So what’s all this tawdry drama about retrieving your cousin like a little lost lamb? I know you’re familiar with what a woman looks like when she’d enjoying herself…”
“She’s overindulging herself. A little… self-medication is fine, but she’s out of all moderation.”
“Perhaps she just has a larger tolerance that you.”
“Then there’s the matter of the specific company she’s keeping. I won’t insult you by trying to be inoffensive, but all of you are X-Men. You have your fair share of enemies.”
“Look who’s talking,” Emma said around her glass.
“The Batman and Bruce Wayne are separate entities as far as the world is concerned. You live in a big house in the shape of an X—the first stop for anyone who hates mutants. How many times has your mansion been blown up? How many have you lost?”
Emma’s eyes flashed—little diamonds. “I don’t think you’d care to compare records on child endangerment, Bruce.”
“I’m not criticizing you. But it’s danger that Kate doesn’t need to be in. Not when she’s so… fragile.”
“Are we talking about the same woman?”
“The Marines were her life. Without them, she’s unmoored.”
“Potent psychoanalysis from a man who dresses as a bat.”
“Are we bringing how we dress into this now?” Bruce asked pointedly.
“It’s not Labor Day yet. I’m in the clear. Excuse me, I should get changed. It’s almost dawn. Can’t be seen in these… pajamas.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. She’d practically been wearing a pantsuit. White, of course.
Emma disappeared behind the dressing screen. Through it, a small light hit her body, casting its curves onto the barrier as layers of clothing were removed to leave only bare silhouette. He could see the marble of a hardened nipple in her turn, the darkness voluptuous and full.
“Bruce, hard as it is for you to believe, Kate and Rogue are not going to play some cat and mouse game of unresolved sexual tension for the next ten years. It was just a fling. Some harmless fun. By the end of the month, Kate will get on with her bar crawl and we’ll be back in the States.” The pajamas hit the top of the screen with a slap, hung over the barricade. “What more can you ask?”
“Shut it down. Now. Say it’s for my peace of mine.”
“Oh, Brucie, spoiling young love…?”
Bruce’s brow furrowed as he heard tight clothing being rolled on, laces tightening through eyelets. He could see her silhouette, long legs kicking out as they were clothed, but her outline never seemed to thicken. Whatever she wore was barely anything at all. “You’ve done worse.”
“I’m a good guy now.”
“We’re not in public. You don’t have to pretend I’m an idiot playboy.”
Emma waved her hand, the shadow flying along the screen, up onto the wall behind. “Very well. Say I manipulate little Kate into being on her way—never did care for redheads anyway—what’s it in for me?”
“A donation from Wayne Enterprises to any given mutant relief fund.”
“Have you seen my wardrobe? Does it look as if we need money?”
“What then?”
Emma stepped out from behind the screen. “Me.”
Bruce didn’t think she’d finished dressing. Thigh-high stockings, elbow-length gloves, white panties that seemed to make up, in their scanty cut, for how much her stockings covered, however thinly. Her breasts heaved majestically, icebergs with even more below the surface than was revealed above the water, by the impossibly tight corset that revealed even as it obscured. It was laced down the front, the laces strained as tight as anchor chains, and Bruce had no trouble seeing the wonderful curves on either side, nor the shadows cast between her tantalizingly beautiful globes.
“Throwback Thursday,” Emma said, a foxy grin on her purple lips. It struck Bruce how lovely her face was, how well its classical elegance fit with this decadent, supple body. Her long blonde hair was a frame around it, impressing him with the casual grace of it.
Emma went to the door, pushing it shut, and from behind her, Bruce saw how the panties hugged her rounded buttocks like a glove. The soft initial curves below her luscious cheeks was thrillingly visible. “Silly me,” Emma said. “I forgot my cape.”
“You were saying about ten years spent playing sexual cat and mouse?” Bruce asked.
“Don’t give yourself airs, Wayne. I always caught you. And I want to catch you again.”
She went back to him. Sat on the empty chessboard. She balanced her high-heeled boot on the edge of his chair, facing him, hugging a knee up to her chin to reveal the white fabric coating her pubis. She stared, smilingly, into his glare.
“I have a… well, not a child, but a child at heart. Someone with an awful lot to learn and in exquisite need of my guidance. I’ve already given her one taste of the Wayne meat; chiseled away at that virginity of hers. Now I want the job finished. And it has to be in style. Got a light?”
Bruce took a lighter from his pocket. He didn’t smoke, but he had uses for some devices the item concealed. Emma leaned forward—letting him smell a delectable perfume. He could see the flesh between the tight laces of the corset. He flicked open the lighter, rolled the flint. The flame was summoned up easy. Emma slipped a cigarette from her garter, held it to the flame. As it caught, Bruce could see her left nipple. It was voluptuously full. Even harder than before.
“Thank you. I also have another girl who just needs to get laid. And myself, of course. I have no intention of abstaining.”
“A foursome. Is that all?” Bruce asked mockingly.
“Would it be your first time?” Emma asked mockingly. “I understand you handle the Sirens three at a time back home…”
“Fighting’s easier.”
“Oh, who said there won’t be fighting? None of us like to share… oh, not over you, dearie. I expect you and my other bitches will just have to compete over who gets to taste me first.”
“Humble as always.”
“Boring as ever. Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Brucie. You know it’s good exercise. Keep your blood pressure low so you don’t have a heart attack the next time that cloying Scarecrow fellow revisits your unhappy childhood.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t amenable,” Bruce said. “But I know there’ll be a catch.”
“Yes. Quite. As long as I’m giving Rogue a long-overdue welcome to sexual maturity, I don’t want her to just settle for boozy douchebag Bruce Wayne. I want the Bat himself.” Emma cackled. “Can you imagine!?”
“No deal.” He moved to stand up.
“Now Brucie, sit, sit. Think of it as a masquerade ball. I’ll be using my powers to make them perceive you as something else, while you’ll perceive them differently as well. We’ll all be someone else! Except for me, of course. Who else would I want to be?”
Bruce thought of Jean Grey. Emma thought back a derisive comment on ‘the World’s Greatest Detective.’
“No one will know who’s who,” Emma promised. “It’ll just be three beautiful women and one handsome stranger. They’ll always wonder if it was the real thing. And I’ll always know…”
“I would expect a charitable donation to some of Gotham City’s underprivileged.”
“But of course.”
“And you’d share your files on mutants active in Gotham.”
Emma sighed. “Enough shop talk. You’ve been the Bat long enough. Time to be the man. Now, tell me honestly, do you like my little costume?” She stood and spun around on her toes, showing him how her panties crept up her sweepingly curved buttocks, bending half over, thrusting her ass back at him, then showing him how supplely her body bent straight. “Or should I get a whip? I can find one easily enough…”
“I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”
“Stand up then. Let me see how much I… interest you.”
“The same as ever, I expect.” Bruce stood. His cock was fully erect, smothering inside his boxers, pressing up against his hairy stomach to reach his belly button.
Emma licked her lips. “Shall I take it out for you? This is a private party. You can walk around with your cock hanging out.”
“I don’t want it hanging out,” Bruce replied.
“Then where do you want it?” Emma asked, holding the last vowel with her lips slightly parted.
A moment passed, and Emma could only imagine the calculation taking place behind his furrowed brow. Even she couldn’t read what the catalyst was that suddenly drove him to violent, dramatic action.
Emma rebounded as she hit the chaise lounge, her breasts bounding, locks of hair falling in front of her face, her stockings running and her panties tangling at her hips. One little judo throw of Bruce’s and she was in shambles. That was fine. She liked being in shambles.
“Suck me hard,” Bruce said. He stood over her. Spread his legs and opened his fly, letting his cock dangle just a fraction of an inch above her upturned face. Her parted lips. “Then swallow my cum. Then suck me hard again.”
Emma’s fingers attacked his balls, busying themselves over every contour of them, then sliding around his muscular ass to tug him closer. She took him in her mouth, twisted and turned on the couch, got hotter with every second she tasted his manhood. He sank down over her, darkness blotting out her vision, and in a moment they were locked in sixty-nine, his tongue licking as madly as hers was.
Emma squealed with delight, feeling his probing tongue between her thighs, at first teasing, then simply taking. Her hips undulated, returning the kiss he was giving her. His hips began to buck, fucking his rigid cock deep into her throat.
She clamped down just so with her teeth, filling him with an exquisite pain that earned Emma an almost sentimental grunt, then he started fucking through the pain. She quickly backed off and pressed her tongue into the slit of his cockhead. She didn’t want him coming yet. She wanted to keep sucking his prick for a long, long time.
***
Kate rolled off Rogue’s body slowly, the sweat that brought their skin together only reluctantly parting. She lay to one side, a forearm across her face covering all but a surprisingly bashful grin, and under it, her pale breasts rose and fell into a shaft of moonlight, every breath revealing the glimmer of sweat that covered them.
Lazily, Rogue watched the movement, Kate’s nipples growing pink as they came into the light, then darkening as they sunk into shadow. She wondered how they would taste if she dared to kiss one. Had she? She couldn’t remember. The entire encounter had been a blur, something hallucinogenic and hyperkinetic. But the funny thing was that she’d never wondered such a thing before.
Even thinking of lesbian sex, she hadn’t considered specific things like tastes and feels and scents (she knew how Kate’s pussy smelled now). There’d just been Touch, this great monolith of experiences that was denied to her, and now it’d fractured into a million different things she could pick up and examine. Holding hands. Massages. Even a slap across her face. She wanted to grab up as many of those sensations as she could, hoard them like a dragon’s gold.
She kept staring at Kate’s breasts, every inch of them delicious. Her eyes wandered the supple length of the body, deceptively delicate, twined with muscle. A patch of curly, darkly crimson hair nestled between slender alabaster thighs. She was almost afraid to touch. It was so much just to look and know she could touch. Had touched.
She’d been touched too. Rogue smiled to herself, remembering how openly Kate had appreciated her body. Not just looked at it as beautiful, but made it feel beautiful. Made it feel almost holy, all of it so… sensitive and warm, then so real, her body touching Kate’s, sweat blossoming from her pores, skin flushing red with pressure, the blood rushing through Rogue’s veins as her nipples grew hard, her cunt wet, her face blushing. Everything so tactile, sweaty and fleshy, laughing and kissing, the sudden intensity as Kate fixated on bringing Rogue to orgasm, the final nil of her climax.
She felt like Pinocchio becoming a real boy. Her whole body was this different thing, this incredible thing. She was ready now. She wasn’t afraid of it anymore. She wanted more.
Trembling, Rogue reached out one hand and cupped Kate’s breast. The smile on Kate’s face pinched, lips sucking into her mouth, the grin softer, a little encouraging. Rogue’s thumb and forefinger found the nipple half-hard, and rolled it into new stiffness. Kate’s lower lip emerged from her lip, plush and shimmering wet. A little sigh escaped her.
Kate’s entire mien said that the woman’s spectacular body was Rogue’s to peruse, to use as she saw fit. It was literally intoxicating, realizing that this was another person’s naked flesh and she could do anything with it. Kiss it, bite it, fondle it—even hurt it, if she wanted.
But all she wanted was to love it, to see how much pleasure she could bring to it, and Rogue refused to think beyond this moment she had with Kate and the feel of Kate. Sometime there would be a dreary hour when this feeling was no longer hers, and it would fade from her and her warmth would turn cold again. But she didn’t want to think of that. She didn’t want to think of anything; just feel.
Mesmerized, she leaned closer to the nipple she had made erect with her own two fingers, vexingly asymmetrical with the one that remained slack and soft. She nuzzled into the valley between the two orbs, finding the feel of them on a wholly different level from just the sight, like another layer of reality. A world where everything was soft and scented, rounded and beguiling.
She ascended the mound, came to the summit, and her tongue eased out to toy with the nipple she hadn’t yet touched. Kate shivered, her arm coming down from her eyes, replaced by her hand as it pressed to her face and her sweaty brow and the parted lips with their sweet moans. Rogue felt her confidence soar. She’d always been told she was sexy, but for the first time she thought so with bone-deep certainty.
“Ah want to be kissed,” Rogue begged, feeling like she was waking Sleeping Beauty as suddenly Kate came alive, rolling on top of her, aggressively parting Rogue’s legs with her own, and dropping her hips—Rogue gasped as their cunts met, everything wet and slithering and sinuous, her clit in a wonderland of Kate’s warmth.
“How’s that?” Kate teased, rolling her hips a bit, more of her against Rogue, always more…
“That’s a… peach of a feeling, darlin’… but not what ah meant!”
“I know,” Kate said fondly, lowering the rest of herself to Rogue’s body, their breasts meeting. Her lips went soft and found Rogue’s open mouth, and their tongues neatly slipped together.
Their lips lovingly caressed, Rogue’s already skilled enough to meet Kate’s in counterpoint. They still tasted of each other, sweat and sex; the flavors mingled, exciting them both. Warmth and the feel of skin against skin sent fresh waves of desire through Rogue’s body, brought life to her flesh like a transfusion of much-needed blood.
That one kiss was suddenly a little world holding all the strange sensations Rogue had felt. All the pleasures, the intimacy, even the little oddities she hadn’t even thought of until they’d happened to her. And she suddenly wanted it all over again. She was a woman in a desert, out of sight of even a glimmer of an oasis, but she had dreamed the taste of water and now she knew exactly what she wanted.
Rogue groaned and wiggled her hips. She hadn’t known that heat inside her could be more than a reminder of what she couldn’t have. “Mmmmm… where’d y‘all learn to kiss like that?”
“A cop,” Kate snickered, puckering her lips on Rogue’s lower lip, sucking on it a little, letting it fall back to Rogue’s white teeth. “Handcuffs and everything.”
“I’d like to see that—“
“And a voyeur too… for shame…”
Rogue shivered. It seemed like there were a million fold and angles to her sex, and every second a new one was filled with light… “Have me. Just… have me. Ah’m all yours. Ah know it’s gonna feel good, whatever you do. So just do it. Do yer worst.”
Kate went “shhhhh,” drawing her finger over Rogue’s swollen lips. “There’s no rush.”
“Ah don’t know how long ah have this.”
“No one ever does,” Kate assured her. “Don’t try to rush it, stuff it all in your mouth at once. Just let it happen. For now, sweetie, you’re running on fumes. Stop fighting it. Relax. Shut your eyes. If you’re ready for sex, then you’re ready to fall asleep in someone’s arms too.”
“That’s what ya want? Me to go to sleep on you?”
“I want to ravish you within an inch of your skunk-striped life. But you’re all worn out. I can tell. So just breathe. Let go. Pretend we’ve got a million years. Who knows. Maybe we do.”
And Rogue felt herself getting sleepier and sleepier, in a bed that was the most comfortable she’d ever known…
***
Emma pulled her knees up and tilted her hips, urging Bruce to lick her asshole. Without a moment’s hesitation, she felt his fingers spreading her buttocks. She broadcast on an impolitely loud mental volume: Ohhhh, yes. Push your tongue in me. Fuck my asshole with tongue. Finger me, fuck me… feels so good I could just die.
Betsy had a witty telepathic rejoinder for that, but Emma drowned it out with the taste of Bruce’s cock. She hoped the man’s cousin wasn’t a little psychic. As if she weren’t off men already…
Bruce got the message. Eased an exploratory finger into the quivering lips of her cunt, felt it be accepted, then pumped it in and out of her. And now his tongue was completely devoted to the aching pleasure of her opened ass. Slow, supple licks…
She knew he was close, but she also knew Bruce would withhold his full lust until he brought her off. Emma obliged him. If only all men’s egotism were so useful. She was so damn grateful, she squirted; doing her best to give his cock the tender loving care it deserved even while she enjoyed the throes of her release.
They clutched each other, their mouths working furious, their hunger craven, all-consuming. The pounding ecstasy bursting through their bodies was almost a detriment, an obstacle to making the other submit to the sensory barrage. The calves of Emma’s legs swelled; hours of jogging. Her belly billowed. She drove her mouth up and down on Bruce’s cock until she became aware of a sour, flat taste on her tongue. Precum! She caressed the tiny slit at his tip. She had him. She had him!
Perhaps it was that thought that made her come, a fountain of her cream jolting out, the first spurt spattering forcefully against the roof of Bruce’s mouth. She heard him gulp.
When the final whiplashed spasm of her sex had passed, then Bruce came. And Emma welcomed the hot, scalding gift of cum that jetted into her sucking, splattering over the carpet of her tongue and coating the roof of her mouth. She drank down the opalescent spurts, sucked and milked for more, determined to have every last drop.
She thrilled as his swollen shaft jerked and bobbed in her mouth, reveled in the lusty grunts she pulled from the depths of his body. She had given as good as she’d gotten. She had made him come just as hard as he had her.
Before the exquisite delight of her filled mouth turned to pain, she slipped her caressing lips from his manhood. They rolled onto their sides, jism crawling from the corners of Emma’s mouth, and still Bruce followed her, licking her oversensitive folds into an impossible unspooling of pleasure.
She rubbed her tingling clit up and down, bringing herself as much pleasure as she did pulling her tongue into a trough and moving it along Bruce’s cock, gathering up the remaining white seed. She swallowed it nosily. As nosily as the sound of Bruce’s tongue in her wet pussy had become.
He made her come again. The bastard.
To his ineffable smugness, Emma pulled her soft lips from his glans. But, refusing to be rushed, she curled her tongue under the ridged part to lap up a last drop of cum. Bruce shuddered and let himself relax minutely. His cock continued to pound, as stiff as before.
“I’ve had better,” Emma breathed.
“Of course. We’ve done this before, remember? When you weren’t so tired?”
“Oh, fuck you. Go return your damned sense of humor to whatever auction house you bought it from.”
“Before or after we do it again?”
Emma smiled silkily. The sharp burn of her climax had ended and now all that mattered was getting it again. “What happened to the good old days when you just said thank you?”
“Less to be thankful for.”
“Men!”
Getting up from his body—and lying against it had been as warm as a fireplace in winter—she sat on the nearest armrest, extending her high-heeled foot out onto his chest. Bruce ignored it. The scars alone dwarfed her stiletto. Emma reached over to the ashtray where she had left her cigarette, but it had gone out. Bruce offered her another. Lit it for her too. Emma took it in deeply, her penetrating eyes never leaving his.
“You’re lucky I was so thirsty.”
“You’re lucky Catwoman’s back in Gotham.”
“So what’s it to be, Bat? Think you can handle three-on-one?”
“Do you think you can? If this is what oral sex does to you…”
Emma rolled her eyes. Again, she didn’t need telepathy to read him. He was thinking that she was just like all the other women he’d fucked. Once they got his big hard cock inside them, they couldn’t get enough. Not in their mouths, not in their cunts, not even in their assholes. And she was no exception.
And she wasn’t, the bastard knew. She’d wanted this since coming within two hundred miles of him.
And gotten it. Oh, how she’d gotten it.
Now she would share the rewards with her fellow X-Men. Rely on teamwork and friendship to stop this monster, just like Cyclops always talked about. And, Emma thought, staring at his crotch, it really is a monster.
“’Not even in their assholes’?” Bruce asked. Christ, how loud had she thought that? “I think you mean ‘especially in their assholes.’”
Emma shuddered. She’d never taken Bruce in her ass.
She’d never wanted to.
Not until she imagined how it would feel.
Her jaw was sore from giving Bruce a blowjob. It was a good soreness. She wanted the rest of her body to feel the same way…
