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Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 01

By: Angelique Bouchette



Chapter 1: The Hellfire Club

November 17th, Central Gotham City

The Yellow Cab cruised up to the front entrance of Gotham City's newest and probably its most controversial nightspot, The Hellfire Club, just as the clock on the nearby church steeple, was chiming 10:00 pm. The grey liveried doorman, stepped forward, smartly, and opened the nearside rear door for its two passengers, who quickly alighted onto the brightly lit sidewalk, in the heart of the city's entertainment district.

The man gallantly helped the woman from the vehicle, before turning to the cab driver and casually thrusting a small wad of cash into his outstretched hand. "Thank you, my good man!" he said, smiling. "This should more than cover our fare, old boy."

The driver chuckled and nodded his agreement, before checking his rearview mirror and pulling out into the traffic flow.

"Welcome to The Hellfire Club, Sir, Madam," said the doorman, smiling politely. "Please follow me."

The tall blond-haired man, nodded and, taking the woman's hand in his, followed the doorman up the four wide marble steps that led into the building.

At first glance, they looked much like any other opulent couple, out for a night on the town. The man was shrouded in a long black silk cloak, which reached almost to his booted feet and also wore a top hat, perched jauntily on his head. In his right hand, he carried a long silver walking cane, although he displayed no signs of any invalidity. His slightly shorter female companion appeared younger and was warmly wrapped up in a gorgeous silver fox fur coat, that reached down to almost mid-calf. Her feet were encased in some startlingly high, black stiletto-heeled pumps with platform soles. The integral hood of her fur coat, was raised, partially obscured her features from view, but long wisps of red hair escaped its confines, to whip about in the cold mid November wind. An observant onlooker may also have noticed that both the man and the woman wore glittering masks, that covered much of the upper parts of their faces.

Once out of the bitter chill of the wind, the man took off his hat and gloves and smoothed his disheveled hair back into place with a hand, before walking through the opulent décor of the foyer, toward the front desk and cloakroom. The doorman departed, to return to his outside vigil.

"Phil, I-I don't think I can go through with this," the girl hissed, shaking her head and hanging back, reluctantly. She had slipped the hood back from her head, to reveal a gorgeous green-eyed beauty, with a tangled crown of glorious red hair. Her makeup was a little on the tarty side, with too much rouge on her cheeks and dark green eyeshadow. Bright crimson lipstick and lip gloss coated her full, eminently kissable lips.

"Nonsense!" her handsome escort growled, out of the side of his mouth. "It's only natural that you should feel a bit nervous, darling."

"A BIT nervous," she protested, "I'm almost wetting my knickers."

"What knickers?" he retorted, with a roguish grin, squeezing her small hand.

The girl couldn't help but smile. His humor was infectious and it did help to sooth her jangled nerves. "But..." she began.

"C'mon, Barbara, you'll be just fine!" he insisted.

A large bull of a man, wearing an evening suit that barely contained his bulging muscular physique, stepped forward and blocked their progress. "Could I see your invitations, Sir?" he asked, politely.

"What? Oh, yes, sorry old boy!" Phil fished two embossed cards out of a pocket in his cloak, and handed them over.

The man scanned them, momentarily. "These seem to be in order, Sir," he said, smiling, as he returned them. "I hope you both have a most enjoyable evening."

"Er, thank you. I'm sure we will."

Taking Barbara's elbow in a firm grip, Phil dragged her over toward the cloakroom desk, where a mousey blonde girl, in a skimpy blue uniform, was apparently acting as the cloakroom attendant.

"Good evening, Sir," the hatcheck girl greeted, smiling at him and thrusting her chest forward, so that he could get a better look at her cleavage, which Phil had to admit, was well worth a closer inspection. "Can I take your cloak and hat please?"

"Er, yes, thank you." He handed over his hat, gloves and silver walking cane, then swiftly stripped off his cloak, with a theatrical flourish, before he had the chance to change his mind.

The blonde's eyes widened in appreciation, as she took in his outfit and his broad shouldered, muscular physique. Apart from his mask, he was wearing a tight-fitting pair of black leather boxer shorts, with an impressive bulge at the front, a black leather waistcoat, open at the front, to reveal his tanned muscular chest and mid-thigh length, tight-fitting black leather boots. He also wore a four-inch, black studded leather belt, tightly cinched about his narrow waist and matching leather , lace-up cuffs about his wrists. His only item of jewelry, was a gold-colored medallion, dangling from a chain about his neck.

"Do you approve?" he asked, noting the direction of the girl's gaze.

"I do indeed, Sir," she gushed, reluctantly raising her eyes to his face, then blushing, as she realized that he was aware of what she'd just been staring at.

She took the proffered cloak from his outstretched hand. "Thank you, Sir. Now, if the lady would be so kind..."

"C'mon, honey, give the lady your coat," Phil urged his reluctant companion, with a boyish grin of anticipation. Until he'd first seen Barbara in her outfit for the evening, even he hadn't appreciated just how sexy his girlfriend could look.

After a momentary hesitation, the red haired beauty heaved a loud sigh and nodded. "If Phil can go through with this, then so can I," she told herself. She opened her luxurious silver fox fur coat and slipped it from her bare shoulders, before removing it completely and handing it to her companion, to pass over to the attendant.

The redhead proved to be almost naked beneath the warm outer garment, thus explaining her initial reluctance to remove it. She was wearing a tightly stretched skimpy black thong, that plunged down at the front, barely covered her nicely padded mons and rode high on her shapely hips; lacy black hold-up stockings, that reached almost to her crotch; matching fingerless gloves, that reached up to her shaved armpits; and black six-inch heels, with platform soles. Around her trim waist, was a tightly cinched, eight-inch wide, black leather waspie, that matched the chunky studded dog collar fastened about her long slim neck. Short, 3-inch lengths of shiny chain, complete with clips, were attached to the bottom edge of the waspie, one on either hip and one positioned at the small of her back.

About her wrists and upper arms, just above the elbows, were tight fitting black leather cuffs and armbands, similar to the ones that her boyfriend wore, only smaller, with short lengths of chain attached to the armbands. Her gorgeous, rounded, size 36c breasts, were completely exposed. Half-inch diameter gold rings hung from her pierced nipples, with three strands of cultured pearls attached to them, that swayed, erotically, with every movement of her upper torso.

Barbara had protested, vehemently, when Phil had insisted she get her nipples pierced, but not half as much as when he'd insisted on a similar piercing 'down below'.

"At least he didn't insist on my having studs in my eyebrows, nose, or tongue," she thought, with some relief. She could remove her body jewelry, once this investigation was over, and none of her small circle of friends would be any the wiser.

She blushed, slightly, as she saw the hatcheck girl staring at her. "Is this alright?" she asked, anxiously, running the damp palms of her hands down the outer curves of her waist and hips.

"Lady, with that face and figure, your every guy's wet dream!" declared the wide-eyed cloakroom attendant. Barbara's vital statistics were normally 36c-23-36, but the tightly cinched waspie had easily taken another couple of inches off her waistline, giving her a spectacular hourglass figure.

Phil wasn't about to disagree with the hatcheck girl's assessment. His cock was already straining, painfully, at the front of his boxer shorts. He just hoped the full-length zip in the front, could take the increased strain. "You'll do," he croaked. "Turn around, honey, so I can add the finishing touches."

As Barbara complied, he roughly pulled her arms behind her back, forcing her elbows to almost touch. This produced a small grunt of protest from the girl. He clipped the two leather armbands together, using one of the short chains provided, thus holding her elbows in place. This forced the girl to arch her back and thrust her already prominent boobs, out even further. Taking each wrist in turn, Phil clipped the D-rings on the cuffs to the short side chains of her waspie, further restricting her arm movements.

Barbara felt a thrill of fear, or was it anticipation? She now felt totally defenseless and at the mercy of anyone who might decide to take advantage of her situation.

"Is this all really necessary?" she hissed, ensuring that she wasn't overheard by the hatcheck girl.

"Oh, yes, my love. We want to create a big impression, don't we?" Phil replied, with a wide grin. As Barbara snorted her derision, he took a chain dog leash from a pocket in his vest, and clipped one end to the metal D-ring in the front of her tightly buckled collar. He smirked at the dark scowl that appeared on her lovely face, before giving the leash an experimental tug. "C'mon, let's go, slave!" he commanded, in a loud voice.

Barbara's shapely breasts jiggled, enticingly, as she stumbled after her 'Master' and the three strands of pearls swayed from side to side, clicking against one another. She rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Why, oh why, did I ever let Phil talk me into this?" she groaned, under her breath. Although several guys and gals had seen her nude before, this would be the first time she'd ever appeared near-enough naked, in public. "At least my mask should keep anyone from recognizing me," she consoled herself.

The mousey-blonde stared at Barbara's taut but shapely, swaying ass, naked except for a tiny black triangle of material emerging from between the tops of her buttocks and, in turn, attached to the pencil-thin side straps that rode high over her flared hips.

"Go knock 'em dead, kiddo!" she called out after the receding couple, acutely aware of the damp patch that had developed in her panties.

Our story actually began some two weeks earlier...

November 3rd, 8:57 pm, The Rooftops of Gotham City, USA

Batgirl silently padded over to the edge of the high-rise apartment block and peered over the low parapet, at the brightly-lit city streets below. It was early evening, approaching 9:00 pm, so there were still plenty of citizens about, this close to the center of one of the largest metropolises on the Eastern seaboard. She had been alerted by the multiple wails of police patrol car sirens, whilst still a few blocks away and had hurried over, using her pneumatic pistol to project a steel grappling hook and line from building to building, before fearlessly swinging over the intervening spaces on the thin, high strength nylon cable, all that prevented her from plunging to an almost certain death. The Dynamic Daredoll flew through the cool night air, with the graceful ease of a professional trapeze artist.

A lot of police activity seemed to be going on directly below the Caped Cutie, and an ambulance had just screeched to a halt at the entrance to the narrow back alley. A metal fire-escape, conveniently led down into the gloom, but she decided to ignore it and take the shorter, quicker route to street level. Pulling a nylon cord from a special compartment on her utility belt, she clipped the attached aluminum karabiner to the top rail then, without a moment's hesitation, leapt into the void. As she plunged downward, the thin cable snapped taught, and her friction device took over, quickly arresting and controlling her rate of decent.

The Dark Angel landed in a crouch, her powerful muscular thighs absorbing the shock of impact. She swiftly unclipped the cable from her utility belt, with a smooth, well-practiced motion. In the darkness, she looked both a frightening and erotic sight. She was wearing the latest sexy variation of her much talked about Bat-costume. The clinging, purple stretch material was so sheer, you could just make out the nipples and dark surrounding areolas of her otherwise naked breasts, together with the black thong clinging to her hips, her only item of underwear. On her head, was a close-fitting combination Bat-cowl and mask and a short Batcape hung down from her shoulders. Electronic enhanced hearing was incorporated into the two pointed bat-like ears that rose up from the black cowl.

She slowly rose to her full five-feet nine-inches, excluding heels, placed both hands on her hips, thrust out her chest, and strode forward, toward the noise emanating from the small gathering of people, some twenty yards further along the alley. Behind her, she heard the sound of running feet, as the paramedics hurried to the scene, from the entrance to this narrow side street.

The Dark Angel strode up to a uniformed policeman, who had his back to her, and tapped him on the shoulder. The officer spun around, his right hand moving to the butt of his holstered service revolver.

"Batgirl!" he gasped, instantly recognizing the city's most famous heroine. "You scared the shi... er, the life out of me."

The Dynamic Daredoll gave him a sexy, reassuring smile. "Sorry about that, Officer, I didn't mean to startle you." She nodded toward the small crowd that had gathered. "What appears to be the trouble here?"

The young cop managed to stop staring at her impressive jugs and looked up at her masked face, a little flustered. "Oh, er, they've found the dead body of a young woman," he explained. "Looks like she was murdered."

The two paramedics arrived and the officer turned to address the new arrivals. "Hey, you guys, don't go touching the body until the forensic squad has had a chance to take a look at it!" he warned. "This is a major crime scene."

He received a nod of confirmation from the senior paramedic, before they pushed their way through to the front of the onlookers.

"Do you mind if I go take a look at her?" Batgirl asked, in her huskiest 'pretty please' voice, suggestively running the splayed fingers of one hand over his uniformed chest.

"I-I don't think I can allow that, Miss, not without the Police Commissioner's say so," the young cop replied, swallowing, nervously. There was the sound of more running feet. "Speaking of the Commissioner, here he is now," he added, the relief obvious in his voice, as he hurriedly yanking her hand away.

The white-haired Head of the Gotham City Police Department, who also happened to be her father, unbeknown to himself, ground to a halt, breathing, heavily, and placed both hands on his hips, as he recovered from his unaccustomed exertion.

"Batgirl?" he panted, with a surprised look on his face. "I didn't expect to see you here?"

"I've only just arrived at the scene, Commissioner. I heard all the racket down here, and came to investigate."

"Oh?" The aging Commissioner of Police, dragged his eyes away from the heroine's fabulous figure, and turned to address the young uniformed officer. "Where's the body?" he snapped, tersely.

"Over there, Sir, by the trashcans! Here, let me clear the way through the crowd for you."

The officer proceeded to shove and elbow aside the usual collection of ghouls, plus a couple of members of the media, who had somehow gotten wind of the killing, yelling, "Make way for Police Commissioner Gordon!" Batgirl took the opportunity to tag along behind her father.

They broke through the crowd, to see a young woman's body, sprawled out on the cobblestones, near some overflowing trashcans.

"Get these zombies out of here," snarled Gordon, to the sergeant who appeared to be in command. "They're trampling all over the damned crime scene!"

"Yes, Sir! Straight away, Sir!" The sergeant turned to the young uniformed officer. "Billings, get these civilians out of the goddamned alley!" he snapped.

"Yes Sarg!"

Meanwhile, Batgirl had walked over to the dead girl and squatted down beside her body, careful not to disturb anything. The victim had obviously been quite young with a shapely figure. She was partially unclothed and had her hands and feet tied behind her, in a strict hog-tie. The cause of death seemed fairly obvious; there was a clear plastic bag tied down over her head. It looked like she had been asphyxiated. Her only items of attire, were a dark pair of badly laddered stockings and a single high-heeled shoe.

Batgirl glanced around the alley. There was no sign of any bra or panties, or any other items of female clothing for that matter. Both the big-breasted girl's nipples were pierced, with large brass rings threaded through the erectile tissue. With a start, Batgirl realized that there was some form of dildo or vibrator still embedded in the girl's shapely ass, the rounded cheeks of which, were criss-crossed with dark red welts, obviously administered by a whip or a crop of some sort.

The Commissioner walked over and joined her. "Any thoughts, Girl Wonder?" he enquired, as he stared down at the corpse, with his familiar morose expression.

"Probably died of asphyxiation, Sir, but we won't be able to say for sure, until the police doctor takes a look at her. I suspect she was killed somewhere else and her body was dumped here. Probably some sort of BDSM scene that went badly wrong?"

"BDSM?" the aging policeman enquired, looking bemused.

"Bondage and Discipline, Sadism and Masochism," Batgirl clarified. "There are a lot of people into kinky sexual practices these days, Jim."

"Good grief!" he gasped, looking genuinely shocked.

"Look, there's not much else I can do here, before the forensics boys turn up, so I'll leave you to organize things, and get back on my crime patrol. I'll ring you later da... er, Commissioner, to learn what else you may have uncovered."

"Mmm? What? Oh, yes, yes you do that, Batgirl. Thanks for you input!" Jim replied, scratching his scalp. The Police Commissioner was still trying to get his head around the concept of BDSM.

The sultry crime-fighter rose to her high-heeled feet, turned, and jogged off down the narrow alley, her shapely breasts jiggling, sexily.

November 4th, Gotham City Central Library

The following day, during her lunch break, Barbara rang her father's secretary, Bonnie, at GCPD Headquarters, using her office phone, and asked to be put through to the Commissioner of Police.

"Hello, Police Commissioner Gordon here. Who am I speaking to?" enquired the familiar, gravely voice.

Barbara placed her handkerchief over the mouthpiece, to help disguise her voice, before answering. "Commissioner, this is Batgirl," she replied, in her huskiest voice. "Any news on the murdered girl?"

"Girl Wonder!" he exclaimed. "I'm glad you called. Yes there is. I can confirm that the girl did die of asphyxiation, as we both suspected, and that she was murdered. Also, she'd had sex with some man, shortly before her death. We've taken the usual DNA samples from the semen of course. Her buttocks and the back of her thighs, were covered with welts from some form of severe whipping, just prior to death. There was heavy bruising and considerable lacerations to the skin. We, ah, we also discovered a sex toy rammed up the girl's anus. It was a..." he paused to consult the preliminary autopsy report, "an 'Anal Exciter' I believe they call it."

"I'm already aware of that fact, Commissioner," she replied, coldly. "Any idea how long the victim had been dead, prior to the discovery of her corpse?"


Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 01



"Not more than three hours, Batgirl."

"Hmm? Who actually found the body?"

"A guy from a local takeout, that backs onto the alley. He came out back to dump some food waste in the trashcans and accidentally stumbled upon her. It was a nasty shock, apparently."

"Yeah, it must have been. I don't suppose you've manage to identify the body yet, Jim?"

There was a brief pause. "I'm afraid we have, Batgirl. Councilor Bannerman reported his daughter, Clare, missing this morning. Apparently, he hadn't seen her since breakfast, yesterday. Normally, we would've waited 48 hours before officially classifying her as a missing person, but the description he gave us, matched the dead girl to a tee; 18 years old, five-feet, six tall, 38dd-25-36 vital statistics, brunette, blue eyes, butterfly tattoo on the left buttock. He positively identified the body, down at the City Morgue, barely a half-an-hour ago."

"Did the Councilor know where his daughter was going, when she left home, yesterday morning?"

"No! He said he knew nothing of his daughter's social life, during the last few months. He reckoned they had recently drifted apart, for some unspecified reason. The mother ran off with another man, five years ago."

"Hmm, not a great deal of help then. Well, thanks, Jim. if I come across any further info, I'll let you know. 'Bye Commissioner!"

"Yeah, goodbye Batgirl."

Barbara replaced the telephone receiver and stared at it, thoughtfully. She was more convinced than ever that the BDSM link would prove to be crucial to this homicide investigation.

"Penny for your thoughts!"

"What? Oh, hello, Jen! My mind was miles away." Barbara smiled up at her bubbly young Research Assistant, who had just bounced into her office and plopped her shapely, miniskirted derriere on the corner of the Assistant Chief Librarian's desk. Jenny deliberately crossing her slim, shapely legs, causing her short skirt to ride up and reveal the lacy tops of her sheer hosiery.

"Anything I can help with?" enquired the pretty, blue-eyed blonde, leaning forward and intimately trailing her fingers down the redhead's upper arm. The two women had been engaged in an on and off sexual relationship, for some time.

"Batgirl came across a murdered teenage girl, on her patrol last night," the redhead explained. "She'd been asphyxiated, using a plastic bag and was almost naked."

"Had she been raped?"

"She'd had sex with some guy, shortly before her death." Barbara admitted. She suddenly threw in a surprise question. "You're a woman of the world, Jen. What do you know about BDSM?"

Jenny's big blue eyes, grew even wider. "Not a lot. It's not really my scene. Why do you ask?"

"It looks like the victim might have been involved in it."

"Well, I suppose we must have a few books on the subject?" Jenny ventured, with a grin. "We are a public library after all!"

Barbara smiled her thanks. "Of course. I'll check them out this afternoon."

"Why don't you go online and check out a few BDSM websites, when you get home tonight? There are probably hundreds of them. They should open your eyes!"

Barbara's lovely big green eyes widened with delight. "What an excellent idea! Thanks, Jen, I owe you one," she exclaimed, absently placing her hand on Jennifer's raised knee.

The blonde's hand closed over Barbara's and drew it up her silky smooth thigh and onto the warm, moist swell of her pantie covered mons. "Let's go to the Rest Room and you can show me how grateful you really are," she murmured, her voice suddenly tight with need.

November 4th, GCPD Headquarters

Jim Gordon finished his telephone conversation with Batgirl and replaced the telephone in its cradle. Then he looked over at his Chief of Police, O'Hara, who was standing in front of his desk, with his hands clasped behind his uniformed back.

He uttered a loud sigh. "This is one murder case that MUST be brought to a successful conclusion, Chief," he muttered. "Councilor Bannerman is a very influential member of the City Council, and will be expecting us to find the killer of his daughter and to bring the perpetrator of this dastardly crime to justice. I'm not trying to bring any pressure to bear, old friend, but both our jobs could be on the line!"

The uniformed officer returned his superior's grave stare. "I've already got my finest detectives on the case, Commissioner. They are questioning everyone who was within four-hundred yards of the alley where the girl was found, to find out if any of them saw anything, or knew the poor colleen. So far, their enquires have all drawn a complete blank!"

The Commissioner groaned, under his breath. "Let us hope that Batgirl can come up with a lead or two," he muttered.



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 02



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 2: Another Victim Surfaces

November 5th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment

Barbara sat back on the settee in her apartment and stretched out her firm, lithe body, languorously. She stifled a huge yawn, then rubbed her aching eyes with the back of her fists. Her only items of attire, were a pair of lacy pink panties, with a cute little bow positioned just beneath her navel, and a comfortable pair of furry pink slippers that had been a Christmas present from her father, the previous festive season. On the coffee table in front of her, was her open laptop computer, connected, wirelessly, to the internet, an empty coffee mug containing a few congealing dregs and a couple of thick books that she'd taken out on loan from the library.

She hadn't realized the sheer volume and variety of internet sites dedicated to BDSM, but she had learned a lot about the subject. It seemed that BDSM was just another form of sexual expression that was regarded as being perfectly normal and healthy between consenting adults. It was sexual repression that was unhealthy. While it might seem weird to become excited by the elements of BSDM, there were factors that helped explain this. Athletes frequently spoke of attaining a 'high' when pushing themselves to new limits, for example. The chemicals in the brain, that caused this feeling of euphoria or general well being, were known as endorphins. As well as exercise, sexual orgasm and even certain foods could promote similar intense sensations. Certain people found that they received that same sort of endorphin 'rush' from playing BDSM games.

"It must be similar to the rush I get when I'm swinging through the void on a thin nylon line, hundreds of feet above the streets of Gotham," Barbara mused.

Bondage usually involved some form of physical restraint, combined with some form of tactile play, which may or may not be sexual in nature. Common restraints included rope, chains and various forms of cuffs and manacles. The tactile sensations can be provided by anything from the touch of a feather to that of a whip. Discipline often takes the form of chastisement, in whatever form best suits the type of bondage.

The Sadism and Masochism aspects of BDSM, took the whole scenario to a new level.

Barbara shuddered, causing her naked boobs to gently oscillate, as she recollected some of the pictures she'd been viewing on certain websites, although she realized that most of them must have been posed, using specialist models.

Sadists enjoyed inflicting torment, whilst masochists enjoyed being on the receiving end of such punishment. When we talk about people involved in the BDSM scene, we are usually talking about normal, sensible folk, who use and honor 'safe words' and respect and know the limits of punishment, which must not be exceeded. Frequently used expressions included Master, Mistress, Slave, Dom (Dominant) and Sub (Submissive).

Whilst recollecting this information and some of the accompanying images, Barbara's hand had crept between the tops of her creamy thighs, only to find that the crotch of her lacy panties was already sopping wet from her sexual secretions.

"Damn!" she swore, standing and quickly stripping off the soiled garment and tossing it into the laundry basket. She dried herself with a couple of tissues, then went into the bedroom to get a clean pair of panties, before returning to surf the 'net some more. Barbara was eager to learn more about this dark but fascinating subject.

November 6th, Wayne Manor

The two entwined lovers lay on the bed, their naked bodies covered in a thin film of perspiration. Jennifer, who was in her favorite 'girl power' position, on top, paused her frantic up and down motion, and sank down onto Dick Grayson's hips, fully embedding his thick, hard shaft in her eager, widespread pussy. The young couple were making love, in Dick's bedroom, in Wayne Manor.

"I'm worried about Barbara, Dick," Jenny mused out loud, a worried frown marring her pretty features.

Dick groaned in disappointment. He had been just about to climax and ejaculate his hot sperm into the teat of the rubber that was stretched tightly over his hard, throbbing shaft. He nonchalantly linked the fingers of his hands behind his neck and looked up at his sexy girlfriend, sitting astride him, with her hands pressed against his chest.

"Why, what's happened now?" he enquired, with a resigned expression on his clean-cut features.

"Well, you know that young girl they found asphyxiated in the city, three days ago." Jenny squirmed her ass as she spoke, sending delightful signals to her boyfriend's groin.

"Yeah? Oooh, Jeez, honey!"

"Well, Barbara figures her death was something to do with the so-called BDSM scene and, right or wrong, I think she's taking an unhealthy interest in the subject."

Dick chuckled. "Well, you're not exactly averse to tying me up, or using a pair of handcuffs," he pointed out.

"True!" Jennifer giggled and lent forward to kiss her boyfriend on the lips. He used this opportunity to fondle her small but perfectly shaped breasts. "But that's not the same thing," she protested, once their passionate kiss had come to an end and she had drawn her face away.

"Can we fuck first and talk about this later?" Dick pleaded, feeling his penis starting to soften.

Jenny sighed, theatrically, then gave a throaty chuckle. "Alright, you've convinced me, you smooth talkin' bastard!" Her hips began to rise up and down, sliding his erection in and out of her well-lubricated confines, and producing a satisfied gasp of pleasure from her boyfriend's lips.

Mid-Morning, 7th November

"I think you're taking an unhealthy interest in all this Bondage and Masochist shit!" Jennifer declared, the following morning, immediately getting right down to the point, after she had stormed into Barbara's office and plonked her shapely bottom on the corner of the librarian's desk. The truth was, she been feeling a little guilty about introducing her friend to the subject, via the World Wide Web.

Barbara looked up at her friend and sometimes lover and treated her to a small, condescending smile. "Just because I've been researching the subject in more detail, doesn't mean I've been bitten by the BDSM bug," she protested. "Anyway, you of all people, should know that a little bit of bondage helps spice up your love life," she added, with a raised eyebrow.

Jenny blushed, furiously. "Yeah, but that's just a bit of fun," the blonde protested. "It's not this serious stuff!"

Barbara sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look, Jen, BDSM is NOT about pain or abuse. An abuser is a dom who doesn't bother to play safe or respect the wishes or limitations of his or her sub. Being a Master or Mistress, doesn't give them the right to act like an asshole, just as being their slave or submissive doesn't mean you have to just lie back and accept their punishment."

Jenny noted how easily Barbara had slipped into the vernacular and frowned.

"True BDSM must, above all else, be SAFE," Barbara continued, secretly pleased to be able to demonstrate her newly acquired knowledge. "This means using only the correct degree of force, always using a condom if intercourse is involved, etc, etc. It must also be SANE. Never get sexual fantasy mixed up with reality and always ensure that you have thoroughly researched and practiced something, before actually attempting it, to minimize any chance of an accident. Above all, the act must be a CONSENSUAL one, between adults, always having obtained his or her full permission, before you go ahead."

"But in the murdered girl's case..." Jennifer started to protest, her cheeks going pink.

"Exactly, Jen!" Barbara interrupted, with a scowl on her face. "In the murdered girl's case, her rights were abused, in the worst possible way! We are looking for a murderous bastard, who cares only for his own sadistic pleasures, and the sooner he his caught and locked away, the better!"

"Oh?" Jenny looked suitably chastised. "Sorry, I flew off the handle, Barbara. If you need any more help with this case, just let me know?"

The redhead smiled, tiredly. "Thanks, Jen, I will," she replied, gratefully.

November 7th, Gotham Docks

The sun was high overhead in the cloudless sky, as the dockside crane winched up the net and its soaking wet contents, from the water, alongside Pier 13. Standing watching the seawater drain from it, were several uniformed GCPD officers, the Commissioner of Police, and Gotham City's Dynamic Duo, Batman and Robin.

Directed by a police officer, the crane operator carefully lowered his dripping load to the ground, in a clear area between stacks of empty wooden pallets.

"A merchant seamen, coming ashore on shore leave from a Panamanian registered cargo ship, this morning, spotted the body floating in the water, underneath the pier. He immediately contacted the port authorities, who, in turn, contacted the police," the Commissioner explained to Batman, as they walked toward the bundle of sopping rags, tangled up in the heavy duty netting.

The Dark Knight squatted down and carefully pulled the thick rope mesh aside, revealing the pale white body of a young, brown-haired female, wearing a skimpy, torn dress, with a flowery pattern on it. Enough of her body was showing, to reveal that she wore no undergarments beneath it and had a shapely figure, with large breasts and a slim waist. Her shoes and stockings were both missing and her wrists and ankles were bound together with lengths of coarse hemp rope. A large, clear plastic bag, had been tied over her head, partially obscuring her terrified features.

"It looks like she's been in the water for some time," observed the Boy Wonder, walking over and standing at his elbow.

Batman nodded his agreement. "Did you notice her arms?" he asked, quietly. "They're both dislocated, pulled right out of the shoulder sockets, as if she had been stretched on some sort of torture rack."

"Better not touch anything before the forensic boys get here," Jim Gordon advised, placing a restraining hand on the Dark Knight's shoulder.

Batman nodded and rose to his full height. He made an impressive figure in his Kevlar reinforced dark grey Bat-costume, black Batcape and cowl. "Let me know the results of the autopsy, as soon as you have them, Jim," he growled, "but I think it will come to the conclusion that this young lady didn't die from drowning!"

The Commissioner nodded. "Of course, Caped Crusader!"

He turned to watch, as the Dynamic Duo loped off toward the waiting Batmobile.

November 7th, 9:45 pm, Wayne Manor

Multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne was sitting in a comfortable leather armchair in the library, in front of a roaring open fireplace, engrossed in a weighty textbook, entitled 'New Scientific Techniques in Criminology', when there was a polite knock at the door.

As he glanced up, his faithful old retainer, Alfred Pennyworth, stuck his head around the partially open oak-paneled door. "Commissioner Gordon is on the Batphone, Sir!" he informed his employer.

Bruce nodded. "Thank you, Alfred. Could you patch the call through to here?"

"Certainly, Sir." The head disappeared.

While he was waiting, Bruce bookmarked the page and returned the well-thumbed tome to its correct place on the bookshelf. The extension phone rang and he hurried over and picked up the receiver,

"Batman here, Commissioner. I believe you were trying to contact me?"

"Yes, Caped Crusader. The preliminary autopsy report on the dead girl, has just arrived on my desk. As we both suspected, she died from asphyxiation and not drowning. She was dead long before she was dumped in the ocean, where she'd been for something like ten days. The most unusual thing was that both arms had been almost torn from her torso! She was maybe 20 to 25 years of age, pretty once, with brown hair, blue eyes and a spectacular 37c-24-35 inch figure. The body had started to decompose and had been attacked by marine life, but there was still some evidence of whip marks across her back and buttocks and she had been bound hand and foot. We suspect that the body may have originally been weighted down, but had broken free somehow, floated to the surface, and drifted in on the prevailing tides."

"Hmm? No way of identifying the body then?"

"No, not unless we can match her dental records, Caped Crusader! Oh, there was one other thing, Batman!"

"Yes, Jim?"

"She had a small butterfly tattoo on her left buttock."

"Not unusual with modern young women, Commissioner. Body adornments are all the rage, nowadays."

"Yes, yes, but we also had another young girl arrive in the morgue, just three days ago, who had an identical tattoo, in near-enough the same place. She had also been asphyxiated with a plastic bag, but in this case, we know the name of the victim. It was..."

"Clare Bannerman, daughter of Councilor Bannerman," Bruce finished for him. "Yes, there was something in the local press about it, but there was no great depth to the news item. Perhaps you would be so kind as to fill me in on the missing details?"

The Commissioner proceeded to acquaint Bruce with the details of the other murder, and when he had finished, Bruce said, "It certainly looks like the two crimes are related, Jim. You say that Batgirl is fully conversant with this other case?"

"That is correct, Batman!"

"I shall have to have a word we her. Many thanks, Commissioner!" Bruce broke the contact and sat back in his chair, stroking his chin, thoughtfully.

Making up his mind, he reached over and pressed a button on the extension phone. Seconds later, he heard the voice of his butler. "Alfred, could you put me through to Ms. Gordon's apartment, please?"

"Certainly, Mr. Wayne!"

Bruce returned the phone to its cradle and waited, patiently.

November 7th, 9:56 pm, Barbara Gordon's Apartment

Barbara was once more sitting on the settee, hunched over her laptop computer, which was again connected to the internet via her wireless broadband connection. She was wearing just a brief pair of lacy blue panties and her favorite pair of furry pink slippers. She liked to dress casually, when she was alone at home. Suddenly, the telephone started ringing and she was forced to pull her left hand away from her sopping pussy.

"Damn!" she muttered, in annoyance. She had been browsing some really erotic and disturbing BDSM images, which had really been turning her on.

She reached over and picked up the phone, with her right hand, wondering who it could be, at this late hour. "Barbara Gordon speaking!" she said into the mouthpiece, a little hesitantly.

"Barbara, it's Bruce, Bruce Wayne!"

Her face brightened. "Oh, hi Bruce! What brings you calling me at this time of night?"

"I believe you're fully acquainted with the Clare Bannerman murder case?"

"That's right, Bruce. Why do you ask?"

"There's been another copycat killing!"

Barbara felt her blood run cold. "Who...?" she began.

"The body hasn't been identified yet, but we believe the girl died a week or so before Ms. Bannerman. This victim had also been asphyxiated with a plastic bag, had also been tortured just prior to her death, and had also got an identical butterfly tattoo on her ass," Bruce explained, tersely.

Barbara shivered with horror, as he went on to reveal all the gory details of the second victim's death.

"It's got to be the same killer!" she said, with finality, after he had finished, wondering if she should reveal her BDSM suspicions to him. She decided to say nothing... for the time being.

"It certainly looks like it, Barbara," Bruce agreed. "Anything new you can tell me about the Bannerman case?"

"N-No, not at the moment," she replied, blushing at her blatant deception.

"Hmm, okay. Well, goodnight, Barbara, sorry to have disturbed you!"

"That's okay. Goodnight, Bruce! Oh, and thanks for letting me know!"

November 8th, Chinatown

'The Golden Dragon' was a popular upscale Chinese restaurant, deep in the heart of Chinatown, an area of Gotham City that had once been regarded as an ethnic ghetto, in years gone by, where the two trades of vice and drug trafficking had flourished. But now, thanks to significant public and commercial investment, the area had been cleaned up and transformed, and had become a popular and colorful tourist destination.

Vincent Woo, the sole proprietor of 'The Golden Dragon', called over to his lovely young daughter, who was helping to clear tables, in readiness for the evening's usual influx of customers. "Zhang, please to come over here!" He deliberately spoke in a high pitched, sing-song, Pidgin English. His customers expected it of him, even though Vincent was a sixth generation American Chinese. His ancestors had emigrated from the old country to San Francisco, way back in the late nineteenth century, and Vincent was as American as apple pie.

Zhang was as different from her father, as chalk is to cheese. Whilst he was short and rotund, with the yellow complexion, slanting eyes and hair worn in a pigtail, that was typical of his race, the nineteen year old was tall and willowy, with surprisingly large and shapely breasts. Her complexion was a pale gold and the almond shape of her large dark eyes, far less pronounced, thanks to the Caucasian blood from her mother's side of the family. Her mother was the daughter of a Polish immigrant.

"Yes, father?" the beautiful oriental girl enquired, politely, walking up to him, her hips swaying, hypnotically.

"Please to go to the bank and deposit yesterday's takings, light of my life," he instructed, smiling at her. No father could have been prouder of his child. Zhang was only helping out in the restaurant for a few days, prior to her returning to University, to continue her Law studies. His daughter would not spend her adult years, working in hot, greasy kitchens or waiting on tables. She was going to become a rich, famous lawyer, once she had graduated with honors.

"Certainly, father," she replied, smiling at him, fondly, as she removed the apron from about her slim waist. Zhang had a smile that could charm the birds out of the trees. She took the leather money satchel from his outstretched hand. "I shan't be long!" 

As he watched her walk out of the door, Vincent once again thanked the Almighty Creator for blessing him with such a wonderful child, before turning back to oversee the preparations for the evening's expected rush.

-oOo-

Zhang was humming a tune to herself, as she strolled along in the unseasonably warm sunshine, her high-necked dress and tight knee length skirt, doing little to disguise her shapely figure and drawing many an admiring glance from passers-by, on the crowded city sidewalk. She clung tightly to the battered leather satchel, knowing it contained the considerable takings from the previous day's trade.

Suddenly, someone barged into her from behind, and thinking it was a thief, she clung to the bag and went to scream for help. But instead of grabbing the money, a hand went round her slim waist, while another clamped over her mouth, stifling her cry. As she was whisked off her feet, a large limousine screeched to a halt alongside her and before she had even realized what was happening, she had been bundled into the rear of the vehicle.

The waiting occupant, grabbed her around the neck and slapped a strange smelling wad of cloth over her face and mouth, even as her abductor slid into the rear seat beside her and pressed a knife blade up against her stomach. Her squirming body froze, as she felt the prick of the sharp blade point but, as the car accelerated away from the curb, she still shook her head from side to side, trying to free herself from the damp, foul-smelling cloth and trying not to breath in any more of the noxious fumes. But it was no use, she soon needed to breath, desperately.




Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 02



As the fumes entered her lungs, everything started to grow dim and, with a gentle sigh, Zhang slipped into unconsciousness and slumped back into the arms of her captors. Her skirt had ridden up during her struggles, revealing her tightly clinging pink panties, but her Chinese kidnappers tugged it back down to a more modest position and neither made any attempt to molest the helpless girl.

-oOo-

Zhang slowly returned to consciousness and as the swirling, sickening motion inside her head, slowly subsided, she realized she was lying on a narrow bed, in a strange room. With a start of fear, she realized that she was naked, her arms bound together behind her back at both wrist and elbow, using some sort of coarse thick rope. Her trim ankles appeared to be bound together, side by side, using several loops of a similar cord. A ballgag had been buckled into place, forcing her jaws wide apart and preventing her from screaming out for help.

"Oh my God," she thought, desperately squirming her slim but shapely 34d-23-34 figure, "they're going to kill me!"

The little voice of reason, inside her head, spoke to her. "Calm down, girl, they're not going to kill you, or you would already be dead. They're probably just going to rape you! You're strong enough to survive that."

"Not if I can help it," she mumbled into the gag, shaking her head from side to side. "Think, girl! How do I get out of this almighty mess?" She realized that her parents were probably frantic with worry by now.

She started bouncing up and down on the bed, hoping to roll off it onto the floor. "Then what?" asked the sweet voice of reason. "We'll face that hurdle when we get to it," was her dark reply.

Unfortunately, this idea was immediately knocked on its head, as she realized her feet were tied to the bottom of the bed and a noose of rope had been slipped about her neck, which was attached to the headboard.

Zhang stopped struggling, small beads of sweat forming on her high forehead. "Shit! If I manage to roll off the bed, I will probably strangle myself in the process," she realized, with a shudder. A feeling of hopelessness swept over her, as she tried to hold back the tears, without success.



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 03



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl 

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 3: Third Time Unlucky

November 9th, Main Commercial & Business District, Gotham City

A light was still burning in the fourth floor office of the Gotham City Council House, an indication that some dedicated individual was working late into the night. The time was almost 9:00 pm, several hours after the rest of the employees had finished up for the day and gone home.

The man in the smart business suit and loosely knotted tie, sat hunched over his desk, diligently worked on the final draft of a report for the Civic Projects Committee. He had only a cold empty house to return to. The only illumination in the room, was cast by the reading lamp on his desktop. He found its light far more conducive to concentration, than the harsh glare of the overhead neon strip lights fitted throughout the building.

The man, in his mid-fifties, had developed a small soft paunch in recent years, the result too much time spent behind a desk and too little time spent working or exercising in the open air. His neatly cropped, dark brown hair, was showing just a hint of grey at the temples.

He paused and raised his head, a bemused expression on his clean shaven face, his pen still poised in his right hand. He thought he had heard a slight but unfamiliar sound. It had seemed to come from the direction of the French windows, with their heavy, partially closed drapes. The windows opened onto a small balcony, overlooking the city plaza, some eighty feet below. It was impossible. He shrugged his shoulders and assumed that it must have been his imagination playing tricks on him, before returning to his labors.

Suddenly, he registered movement out of the corner of his eye. "What the..." he gasped, as he looked up and saw a strange menacing apparition glide out of the shadows and step into the light cast by the desk lamp.

The purple clad figure, placed her gloved hands on her hips and assumed the classic heroine pose. Batgirl was wearing a tight-fitting catsuit that was so sheer, the open-mouthed Counselor could clearly see her large braless breasts beneath it, with their large dark areolas and prominent nipples, together with the briefest of clinging black thongs, that was all she was wearing to preserve her modesty. A close fitting black mask and cowl combination, that incorporated two pointed ears, helped conceal her true identity and a short Batcape hung from her broad shoulders.

"Good evening, Councilor Bannerman!" the shapely crimefighter said, in a soft, sultry voice.

"B-Batgirl!" he gasped, his eyes wide with amazement. "How on earth did you...?"

"That doesn't matter," she interrupted, "I am here to talk to you about your daughter."

His expression turned to stone. "Clare is dead!" he retorted, bitterly. "There is nothing you, or anyone else, can do to bring her back."

"True," she agreed, "but surely you would want her murderer brought to justice?"

His face was a picture of misery. Tears glistened in his eyes. "What makes you think you can be any more successful than the police department?" he demanded, a little belligerently, half rising from his chair.

"I don't, but at least I'm going to try. Are you willing to help me?"

He sighed and slumped back into his seat, suddenly looking much older than his years. "Very well, what do you want to know?"

"I understand that you hadn't seen your daughter since breakfast, the day before her death?

He nodded, miserably. "That is correct."

"What time was that, exactly?"

"About 8:00 am."

"I understand that Clare had finished with college. Did she have a job?"

"Not a regular one. She had this dream about becoming a top model; she was a pretty girl, you know?" A look of anguish crossed his face.

Batgirl nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"She somehow managed to get herself some part-time modeling work, but with whom, or how, I have no idea. She refused to show me any photographs of herself, taken on these modeling assignments; probably thought I would disapprove, which I most certainly would have! I had initially assumed she was on one of these, when she went missing."

"Hmm? I believe you hadn't been getting on too well with your daughter, during recent months?"

The broken man nodded, miserably. "It was all to do with this modeling work. I suspected she was getting in with bad company and was worried that she might get hooked on drugs. We were constantly arguing about it, but she refused to tell me who she was working for, or introduce any of the new friends she was hanging around with."

"Did you have any proof that she may have been taking illegal substances, Councilor?"

"N-No, but you read so much about the celebrity drug scene in the papers, these days. I wanted Clare to forget all about this modeling nonsense and go out and get herself a proper job. She was a bright, intelligent girl."

"Did she ever mention anything about the BDSM scene to you, Sir?"

He looked confused. "I don't even know what that means, Batgirl."

"Was Clare into bondage, masochism or fetish apparel?"

He looked genuinely shocked at the suggestion. He shook his head, vigorously, in denial. "Nooo, not as far as I am aware! My daughter just had the normal teenage hang-ups."

"Is there anything else you think you should tell me, Sir?"

The man looked a picture of misery, as he nodded, reluctantly. "We had a blazing row, the night before she disappeared. I happened to walk past her open bedroom door, just as she was about to climb into bed, and I saw this butterfly tattoo on her bottom. Clare always slept in the nude you see. I knew she must have had it done within the last week or two, and... and, well I'm afraid I lost my temper with her. I hated to see my beautiful baby disfigure her lovely body like that. Anyway, I slapped her across the face and called her a common whore! My poor baby, I never did get the chance to apologize." Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Batgirl placed a consoling hand on his arm. "I shall do my utmost to bring the killer of your daughter to justice, Sir!" she promised, in a voice husky with emotion.

With that, she turned and ran over to the window and disappeared behind the drapes.

Councilor Bannerman rose to his feet and slowly walked over to the French windows. As he pulled back the drapes, he saw that the sliding window had been left open about a foot or so. He eased himself through the gap and stepped out onto the balcony, in the cool night air. He peered around. The Dynamic Daredoll had disappeared, like a ghost, into the darkness.

November 10th, Gotham City Central Library

During their coffee break the following morning, Barbara brought her blonde, blue-eyed research assistant up to speed on the latest developments in what she had dubbed the 'BDSM Murders'. Jennifer was already aware of the second victim, or should that have been the first victim, since it had been confirmed that the Jane Doe had died some days prior to young Clare.

"One thing that Councilor Bannerman told me, that I found most intriguing, Jen, was that his daughter already had the butterfly tattoo on her left buttock, BEFORE she went missing, so it looks like she must have had it done, voluntarily. Also, there were no signs of oozing or scabbing, so the tattooing must have been done at least two weeks beforehand, most probably by a professional tattoo artist."

"Are we sure these tattoos aren't just red herrings?" Jenny enquired, crossing her shapely legs and linking her hands about her upraised knee. As usual, she was perched on the corner of Barbara's desk, wearing a disgustingly short miniskirt, contrary to library policy.

Barbara, both hands wrapped around her hot coffee mug, looked up at her and smiled. "No, they were definitely butterflies," she replied, before taking a sip of coffee.

Jenny's frowned for a moment, then got the humorous quip. "I meant that butterfly tattoos are pretty common, nowadays," she protested. "Lots of the girls in the clubs have them. They are especially popular at the base of the spine, or on the breast."

Barbara placed her coffee mug down and shook her head. "The tattoos were near enough identical on both corpses, both high on the left buttock. That is more than just a coincidence, Jen."

"Hmm? Have they identified the other girl's body yet?"

Barbara shook her head. "Not yet! Perhaps they never will."

November 10th, 11:37 am

Zhang groaned into her ballgag and realized she was lying face down on the bed, her face pushed into the pillow. It had become soaked with her saliva, as she had drooled around the gag, during her fitful bouts of sleep. She had no idea how much time had elapsed since she had been brought here, but ironically she'd developed a raging thirst, so it must have been some considerable period of time.

"I must have managed to turn over, somehow," she concluded, logically. "It was very uncomfortable when I was lying on my bound arms. Heck! It still IS bloody uncomfortable!" she added, under her breath. Her generous sized boobs were squashed, painfully, beneath her.

She closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing and bring her pounding heart under control. "It's no use getting hysterical," she told herself, sternly. "I have to try to remain strong."

-oOo-

A few minutes later, she heard the bedroom door open, and realized just how vulnerable she was in her current position. "I hope he's not hung like a stallion," she groaned, bracing herself for the expected penetration.

She suddenly realized that at least two or three people had entered the room and, moments later, a black hood was pulled over her head, cutting off all light. She felt an initial surge of panic, then heard the murmur of low voices. Hands gripped her shoulders and thighs, firmly pinning her down to the mattress, as he ankles were untied and lowered to the bed. This was followed by the buzz of some sort of small electric device. It sounded a little like her electric toothbrush. Next second, she felt fingers grip her left buttock, followed by a searing pain, as the oscillating needle of a tattoo gun entered her tender flesh. Zhang screamed into her ballgag then passed out.

The tattoo artist chuckled. "It would be a lot easier if you let me use a local anesthetic on these bitches, before I tattoo 'em," he suggested, helpfully, to the man alongside him.

"It helps get them used to pain," came the gruff response. "Now, get on with it!"

Just Before Midnight, November 10th

Batman stood next to a huge, ugly gargoyle, streaked with a century of off-white bird droppings, and stared down at the illuminated city streets, from the balcony that surrounded the base of the Cathedral's large dome. "A quiet night, Robin," he commented. His black cape, with its familiar yellow and black Bat-symbol, fluttered slightly, in the cool evening breeze.

Robin lowered his infra-red, night-time Bat-binoculars and turned to the senior half of the crime-fighting partnership. "Yeah, most of your old nemeses are banged up in Arkham Asylum, or the State Penitentiary," he replied, in a slightly wistful tone.

"There are always fresh crimes to be solved, criminals that need to be brought to justice, Boy Wonder."

"Yeah, but it ain't the same, without The Joker, The Riddler, Two-Face, The Penguin, or that sexy temptress, The Catwoman!"

The Caped Crusader turned to stare at his garishly garbed compadre. "He's been taking far too much interest in girls of late," he mused, silently. "'Isn't the same'," he muttered aloud, absently correcting his young partner's slovenly use of the English language.

"What?"

"Never mind!"

"There are still the murders of those two young girls that need solving," Robin added, brightening up considerably at the thought. "They were both real good lookers, before... well before they were tortured and murdered."

"I think Barbara could've been on the right track, when she insisted that the murders may have something to do with the BDSM community, but how do we find out for sure?" the Dark Knight mused, stroking his chin.

-oOo-

Over the next few days, Zhang was forced to lie on her stomach in an embarrassing spreadeagle position, her wrists and ankles bound with rope, to the four corners of the metal bedspread, while her tattoo was frequently cleansed and coated with various medicated creams and lotions, to ensure that it healed properly. They also removed her ballgag at regular intervals, so that they could feed and water her, and allow her to exercise her sore and aching jaw, but only after warning her to remain quiet, under pain of death. The quality and variety of the meals they fed her, was amazingly good, if not quite up to the high standards of her father's restaurant.

Whenever she needed to use the en-suite bathroom, Zhang's wrists were handcuffed behind her back, and one of her male captors accompanied her there. Privacy, it seemed, was one luxury that they were unwilling to allow her.

A couple of days after the tattooing had taken place, Zhang had healed sufficiently for her jailors to allow her to take regular showers, much to her delight, but it was always her silent, expressionless captors, who insisted on soaping her body, as she stood beneath the warm refreshing spray, her wrists still handcuffed behind her back. They were obviously unwilling to take any chance that she might try to escape her captivity. She wasn't even allowed to clean herself up, after she had finished urinating or defecating on the toilet. Even this most personal of activities, was performed by her jailers, much to her obvious embarrassment.

"At least they can't be going to kill me," she surmised, "or they wouldn't be taking such good care of me." This thought cheered her up a little, although the logic was somewhat flawed; pigs and turkeys, for example, were usually fattened up, prior to their slaughter for food.

Zhang had also speculated about the reason for her tattoo. "Perhaps it is some sort of ownership symbol," she mused, "like the brand they use on cattle." She shuddered, imagining what it would've felt like, if they had used a red hot branding iron on her. "Thank the Lord for small mercies!" she thought, gratefully.

November 11th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment

As a skimpily clad Barbara Gordon, was surfing the net for fresh BDSM sites, on her laptop, she had an idea. She castigated herself, under her breath, for not having thought of it before, then did another search for similar websites, only more specific this time, limiting the search parameters to the Gotham City locale. She gave a cry of delight, as the search result threw up the name of a local nightspot called 'The Hellfire Club'. She clicked the mouse pointer on the link and a colorful web page, advertising the club's facilities, filled the screen.

Apparently, the nightclub had only recently opened and claimed to be one of the largest and most luxurious clubs on the Eastern seaboard of the United States, with regular live entertainment and special events. But what was of particular interest to the feisty redhead, was the monthly BDSM nights that they held there, and the fact that they were offering complimentary tickets to anyone interested in acquainting themselves with the 'liveliest BDSM scene around' (their quote). The next gathering of these like-minded individuals, was on the evening of the 17th November.

This was just what Barbara had been looking for. Hoping she was not too late for the upcoming event, she quickly clicked on the link that brought up an application form for a pair of free tickets and started to type in her details, including her e-mail address.

A few minutes later, she received an e-mail, confirming that her application had been successful and that a pair of complimentary admission tickets would be immediately dispatched to her home address, for the next BDSM evening on the 17th of the month. Instructions on how to become a full member, were also included, including the membership fee.

Barbara sat back and hugged herself with delight. All she needed now, was to find someone to go with her, someone who would be willing to help her in her investigation. She smiled to herself, then reached for the phone and tapped in a number. While she waited for the person to pick up, she sat drumming the fingers of her free hand, on her bare knee.

There was a click. "Hello?" enquired a rich, deep masculine voice.

"Phil, darling, I'm glad I caught you in," Barbara gushed. "I want you to do me a little favor..."



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 04



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 4: A Sting In The Tail

November 12th, 9:45 am

Jennifer couldn't wait for the morning coffee break to arrive, as she breezed into her red-haired boss's office and plonked her shapely rear down on the corner of her desk. "Well, what have you managed to find out?" she demanded.

Barbara smiled at the bubbly blonde's eagerness to learn every little detail about her personal crusade. She shrugged her shoulders, nonchalantly. "Nothing much," she replied, a little off-handedly.

Jenny's face showed her disappointment. "Nothing?" she exclaimed.

"Ever heard of a place called 'The Hellfire Club'?" Barbara asked, out of the blue.

"Isn't that the new nightclub that's recently opened up in town?" Jenny asked, with a bemused expression.

"Yes, that's the one!"

"I don't know much about the place. They don't employ strippers or pole dancers there, as far as I'm aware." Jennifer earned much needed extra income by working in various strip clubs, on several evenings a week. She used this extra source of income to help support her paraplegic younger brother.

"But they DO hold a BDSM evening, once a month," Barbara revealed, with a smug smirk.

Jenny's large blue eyes widened with interest.

"They've even got their own internet site and they're sending me two complimentary tickets for the next BDSM meeting, on the seventeenth of the month," the redhead added, triumphantly.

"Wow, that's in just five days time!" Jenny exclaimed, excitedly.

"Uh huh! And, with a bit of luck, I'll be able to find one or two fresh leads in this case."

"Er, won't you have to go dressed up in some sort of kinky fetish gear?" Jenny asked, with a slight frown.

Barbara shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose so. I hadn't given it much thought."

"Look, I may be able to get my hands on some of those slavegirl or dominatrix accessories for you, through my contacts in clubland," Jenny suggested, squirming her shapely ass at the image it conjured up in her mind.

Barbara's face lit up. "Okay, that would be great!" she agreed.

"Which do you prefer, whips or manacles?" Jenny asked, with cheeky grin.

Barbara blushed. "I'm, ah, I'm not sure, yet. I'll have to let you know, a little nearer the time."

"Fair enough! Do you want me to tag along with you, as backup?" Jenny asked, eagerly.

"Sorry, Jen, I've already asked Phil to be my chaperone." Barbara gave the blonde an apologetic shrug.

Jennifer's face fell. "Okay, then I guess I'll have to find the flatfoot something to wear as well!"

"Just as long as it's skimpy and sexy," the redhead agreed, with a devilish chuckle.

November 12th, 10:30 am

An angry Vincent Woo, marched into his local Precinct House and stormed up to the front desk.

"I want to know what you're doing to find my missing daughter?" he demanded of the sergeant on duty. His sing-song, Pidgin English style of speech, had disappeared, to be replaced by his normal educated accent, one which was tinged with worry and indignation.

The long-serving police officer looked up from the official form he had been completing and quizzically eyed the highly irate Chinaman. "Can I be of some sort of assistance, sir?" he queried, diplomatically.

"Yes, damn it! I want to know what you're doing to find my daughter, Zhang?" Vincent repeated, clenching both his fists. "She's been missing for four days now."

"I'll see if I can find someone free who can help you, sir." The uniformed officer picked up the phone and put in a call.

-oOo-

A few minutes later, Vincent was being ushered into the cramped office of Detective Hank Murphy.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Woo," the plain clothes cop said, with a well rehearsed smile, as he re-seated himself behind his cluttered desk. It was littered with open files and reports, plus a half-filled mug of coffee which had gone cold. He waited for the highly agitated civilian to settle opposite him, before continuing. "Now, what can I do for you, sir?"

"I just want you to find my daughter," retorted Woo, miserably.

Murphy picked up an open file from his desk and glanced at the top page. "I see that your daughter has been placed on the 'missing person's' list," the detective pointed out. When this received no comment, he continued. "According to this, your daughter was on her way to the bank at lunchtime, to deposit the previous day's takings from your restaurant business in Chinatown?"

"That is correct. I was expecting her to be gone for no more than fifteen minutes. I soon became worried and went to the bank to check out the cause of the delay. She never reached there; both she and the cash having disappeared somewhere between my restaurant and the bank."

"Perhaps this was a simple robbery, rather than an abduction, Mr. Woo?"

The rotund Asian shook his head, tears glistening in his sleep deprived eyes. "If that had been the case, then I would have expected her to have turned up by now, alive or... or dead!" he whispered, in a broken voice.

"And you haven't received any phone calls, demanding a ransom for her return?" Murphy asked.

The old man shook his head, miserably.

The police detective didn't say anything, but things weren't looking too encouraging for the missing girl. "We will continue our investigations, Mr. Woo and, as soon as we have any news of your daughter, we will be in touch." He rose to his feet and held out his hand to the other man. "Sorry we can't be of any more help, at this trying time for you and your good wife."

Vincent shoulders slumped, as he stood and shook the detective's outstretched hand. "Thank you," he mumbled, thoroughly dejected, before turning to leave.

November 15th, 2:00 pm

The crash of the bedroom door flying open, caused Zhang to awaken from her fitful slumber, with an abrupt start.

"Wha..." she slurred out, as a black hood was pulled over her head, cutting off all the light. As usual, she was lying naked, stretched out on her breasts and stomach in a spreadeagle position, her wrists and ankles secured to the four corners of the bed. The tattoo on her left buttock, was no longer covered by a scab, and her skin was well on the way to being completely healed.

She felt a surge of fear, as multiple hands unfastening the ropes from about her wrists and ankles, then buckled a sturdy leather collar about her neck and attached a length of metal chain to the D-ring on the front of it. A pair of tight-fitting shoes, were forced onto her feet, but she was given no other items of clothing to wear.

"W-What are you going to do with me?" she gasped, fearfully, as her arms were roughly yanked behind her back and a pair of metal handcuffs were snapped about her crossed wrists. There was no immediate answer, as she was dragged from the bed by her chain leash and she found herself stumbling toward the open door on the unaccustomed high heels, in pitch darkness.

"You've had more than enough of this life of idle luxury," growled the gruff male voice of someone just behind her. "Now it's time for you to start earning your keep, bitch. It's pay back time!" This last remark was followed by a coarse belly laugh.

A shiver of fear ran down Zhang's spine, at the sound of his laughter. Whatever was about to happen to her, she was certain she wasn't going to enjoy it.

-oOo-

After what seemed like an eternity of stumbling along, being prodded, pushed and pulled around, Zhang was bundled into a small elevator , which then rapidly descended. When the sliding door slid open again, she was dragged out of the metal cage, by the chain leash attached to her collar, as if she were some sort of domesticated pet. She found herself stumbling over a rocky, uneven surface. From the hollow clicking sounds that her metal tipped heels made against the rocky floor, and the unaccustomed coolness of the air on her naked body, the Asian beauty guessed she was in some sort of subterranean chamber or cavern, deep beneath the building where she'd been incarcerated.

The two men who had accompanied her, brought her to a sudden halt and she felt the handcuffs being unlocked and removed from about her wrists. She hardly had time to gasp in relief and start to rub her chafed and sore skin, before her arms were pulled high and wide above her head, where hanging leather cuffs were clamped about her wrists. Zhang, who was now standing, fully stretched, on her unaccustomed high heels, then felt hands about her slim ankles, pulling her feet wide apart and putting considerable pressure on her arms, which were forced to support much of her weight. Manacles were slipped around her slim ankles. These were attached to a spreader bar, thus ensuring that her legs remained in their wide spread stance.

Zhang was acutely aware that her sex was now openly displayed to her unseen abductors. "Why?" she wailed, desperately. "Why me?"

"Remove the hood and shut the Chinese bitch up!" snarled a cruel voice, one that she hadn't heard before.

The hood was yanked from her head and her mass of long raven colored hair, tumbled down about her bare shoulders. A red ballgag was stuffed into her wide mouth and the retaining straps buckled into place at the back of her head, before her eyes had even accustomed themselves to the powerful artificial illumination that seemed to be directed at her. The tightly cinched straps pulled at the corners of her mouth and dug into her cheeks.

Standing before her, was a comparatively short white man. The man appeared to be naked, apart from a pair of belted brown leather cowboy chaps and a close-fitting black hood, that completely covered his head, apart from the slits for his eyes, nose and mouth. But this was not what caused Zhang to scream into her gag, not even the sight of the huge pale penis, draped over his massive testicles, it was the coiled leather bullwhip, which he gripped tightly in his right fist.

"Prepare her!" ordered the man, with a jerk of his head.

Two of his many minions stepped forward and the first man held up a huge, battery-powered vibrator, in front of Zhang's wide, frightened eyes. With a wide grin, he flicked over a switch at its base and the dildo hummed into life.

"Mmmmmmpppggghhh! Nnnnnggghhhh!" Zhang pleaded into her gag, vigorously shaking her head from side to side and desperately pulling at her shackled wrists. She feared the oversized sex toy might split her in two, if it was forced inside her.

The powerfully built man with the clean shaven head, ignored her muffled pleas and rammed the buzzing device all the way into her unprotected pussy.

"Aaaaaiiiieee!" Zhang jerked and screamed into the gag, arching her spine, as an excruciating pain shot through her lower belly.

Her eyes suddenly widened, as the second man moved behind her and pulled her firm asscheeks apart with his hooked thumbs, before forcing a second activated vibrator up against her tight anal sphincter.

"Nnnnnnggghhh! Mmmmppphhhh! Unnnngggghhhhh!" she gasped, again shaking her head, as he swiftly overcame her feeble resistance and forced the device past her clenched anal muscles, deep into her rear passage.

The man with the whip chuckled. "We'll give the slut ten minutes to get nice and juicy, then I'll administer her punishment," he declared.

Zhang was shaking with fear, praying that this was all just some sort of terrible nightmare, and that she would soon awaken from it. She shook her head from side to side, pleading desperately with her eyes, willing to do anything for him, if her would only release her from her bondage and set her free.

The hooded man glanced to one side. "Are you getting all this on video, Al?" he demanded.

A long-haired guy, wearing tight jeans and grubby T-shirt, who was operating a miniature video camera, nodded and gave him the thumbs up signal with his free hand.

-oOo-

"Oooooohh! Unnnggghhh! Aaaaaahhhh!"

Zhang moaned into her gag, arching her back and thrusting out her tight, aching breasts, the nipples almost painfully hard and erect, her eyes squeezed tight shut. She had tried to resist and ignore the almost overpowering urge to orgasm, as the two humming vibrators did their insidious work within her two lower orifices, but she was only human.

"Ooooh God!" she cried into the saliva soaked ballgag, finally giving up the loosing battle. "I've lost it. I'm going to cummmmmmm! Aaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!"

A flood of hot secretions soaked the humming dildo in her pussy and flowed down the insides of her thighs, as her moans of passion suddenly turned into a scream of agony. Her bound frame jerked like a taut bowstring, and her eyes flew wide open, as the end of the whiplash cut deep into the tender flesh of her ass, painting a bloody crimson streak across the two rounded half-globes.

"Nooooooooooo!" she pleaded, as a second vicious blow struck her stinging ass, criss-crossing the first bloody wound and causing her taut, naked body to once more jerk, uncontrollably, with the incredible jolt of pain.

"Filthy Chinese whore!" snarled the voice of the masked torturer behind her, as he raised his bullwhip high above his head, ready to administer the third blow of her punishment, a punishment that he would continue, until the pretty bitch finally passed out from the pain.

The video camera quietly whirred in the background, recording every gory detail of the girl's torture.

November 16th, 8:09 pm

After considerable persuasion on his girlfriend's part, Phil had reluctantly agreed to accompany Barbara to the BDSM function at the Hellfire Club, the following day, but had insisted that his participation in the affair, be completely unofficial. If Commissioner Gordon ever found out what his darling daughter was up to, especially with one of his serving police officers, she would be disowned and it would be the end of his promotion prospects and possibly the end of his career in the force.

When Phil arrived at Barbara's apartment, she had immediately informed him that the complimentary BDSM tickets had arrived in the morning mail. She dragged him through the door and excitedly showed him the outfits that Jennifer had obtained for them both, through her nightclub sources.

He went a bright red at the sight of his costume and vigorously shook his head from side to side. "No way!" he declared. "No way am I wearing that outfit and, as for your own costume... well you might as well go to this gig, buck naked!"

Barbara stuck out her tongue at him, then held up the pair of tiny black leather shorts in both hands and once more ran her eyes over them. "I think you'll look real cute in these," she insisted. She gave him a sultry pout. "Come on, Phil," she wheedled, "if you try on your outfit, I'll slip into my sexy slavegirl costume and practice calling you 'Lord' and 'Master'. You realize that, as your slavegirl, I will have to obey your every wish and command," she pointed out, with a wicked glint in her big green eyes.

Phil's earlier resolve was weakening by the second. His fevered imagination was already picturing the shapely redhead in her skimpy outfit. He felt his cock growing and straining at the front of his pants. He groaned in frustration. "You'll do anything I ask?" he queried, his imagination already starting to work overtime.

"Uh huh!" she confirmed, fluttering her long eyelashes, outrageously. Barbara could see that her handsome policeman was about to give in. She found it so easy to twist Phil around her little finger.

"Okay, but it doesn't mean I'm agreeing to our going to The Hellfire Club, wearing these ridiculous outfits," Phil added.

Barbara smiled and nodded, happily. "Fair enough!" She was sure she could convince him, once she got him into bed. "I'll go into the bedroom and change into my costume, while you get changed out here," she suggested, handing him the black leather boxer shorts and the rest of his costume.

"I'll never get into these!" he protested, as she scooped up her own outfit from the table and headed for the open bedroom door.

"Courage, mon brave!" Barbara called out, as she disappeared through the doorway.

Phil was proved wrong, but it turned out to be a pretty tight squeeze. The leather boxer shorts had a full length zip up the front and he had to be extra careful when zipping them up, in his highly aroused state. The leather vest was too small to fasten across the chest, but came with a huge medallion, which he hung about his neck by the attached gold chain. The kinky boots came up to mid thigh, with a full length zip on the inside of each. As he zipped them up, Phil wondered how Jenny had known his size in footwear.

"I'm, um, ready!" he called out, a little self-consciously, walking over to the closed bedroom door and rapping on it, with the knuckles of his right hand.

"Just give me a moment, darling!" came the reply from within.

A few seconds later, the door swung open and Phil's mouth fell open, as he caught his first glimpse of Barbara in her submissive slavegirl costume.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, his eyes moving down from her naked breasts to the skimpy black thong that clung to her mons veneris. She was also wearing hold up stockings, high heels and matching fingerless, full length gloves. "You... you look fantastic!"

Barbara eyed her boyfriend, critically. "That chest hair will have to go," the vision of delight declared, in a voice that brooked no argument.



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 05



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 5: The Amorous Amazon

November 17th, The Hellfire Club

As they walked through the lobby, heading for the entrance to the main clubroom, Phil Thackeray couldn't help think how similar in both looks and build his sexy girlfriend, Barbara Gordon, was to Gotham City's gorgeous crime-fighting superheroine, Batgirl. Her eye mask further reinforced this happy coincidence. He knew it was merely fantasizing on his part though, having been in the presence of both young women, at the same time (Unbeknown to Phil, it had actually been Jennifer, dressed in the Dark Damsel's costume and mask).

He dragged his thoughts back to the present. "Remember, Barbara," he hissed, "you're the sub and I'm the dom. Don't even think of saying anything aloud, unless you are addressed directly, or I shall be forced to use a ballgag on you, and you know I wouldn't want to do that!" He somehow managed to keep the grin off his face. "Also, don't forget to refer to any dom who speaks to you, as 'Master' or 'Mistress' and never look directly into their faces, unless you're specifically ordered to."

The sexy redhead flashed him an angry look. "I know how to play my role, you just concentrate on your own!" she muttered, out of the side of her mouth. Barbara was convinced that Phil was getting one hell of a buzz out of her current, embarrassing situation and she didn't like it one little bit. She was also acutely aware that her shapely torso was nude, apart from her skimpy thong and tightly cinched leather waspie. She still couldn't see why she needed her elbows chained together behind her back though, forcing her to thrust her lovely naked breasts out in front of her.

"Stupid question," she castigated herself, observing Phil's hot eyes, glued to her gently swaying orbs. She half-expected to see him panting, with his tongue hanging out.

"Just keep your beautiful mouth shut and your eyes and ears open," he advised, looking up, with a grin on his rugged face, as if reading her thoughts. "Unless you're asked to do something other than talk with it," he murmured, under his breath.

"What was that?" she enquired, suspiciously.

"Nothing! Here we go."

He pushed open the double doors and his ears were assailed with the babble of many voices, as he strode into the large, densely crowded room, Barbara trailing in his wake, her breasts thrust forward, arms behind her back and big green eyes suitably downcast.

He gave an imperious tug on her chain leash. "Don't dawdle, slave!" he snapped, loudly, peering around the room and taking in the noisy scene.

"Yes, Master! Sorry, Master!" his gorgeous possession replied, in a small, apologetic tone.

A hush descended on the colorful looking throng, as all eyes turned to look at the two latecomers. This was quickly followed by gasps of surprise and murmurs of admiration and delight, as they took in the erotic sight of the handsome Master and his beautiful female slave. Although dressed in exotic and frequently skimpy attire, the majority of the crowd were middle aged to elderly male doms, usually with younger, but not necessarily beautiful female subs, or well built Mistresses in their thirties or forties, with teenaged submissives of either gender.

Along the far wall, was a long bar, with several bar staff, who were kept constantly busy, dispensing alcoholic and soft drinks to their kinkily clad customers. Numerous large leather chairs and settees, were dotted around the room, along with low tables, but many went unoccupied, as the majority of the crowd, tended to stand around in little clusters, discussing their mutual interests or their latest BDSM partners.

Phil ignored the attention that their entrance had aroused and made a beeline for an empty settee, tugging the sexy redhead along behind him. He dropped down onto the comfortable seat and ordered Barbara to remain standing alongside him, with her hips thrust forward and long shapely legs slightly parted.

"We seem to have caused quite a stir of excitement," he murmured, out of the corner of his mouth.

Barbara said nothing, acutely aware of dozens of pairs of eyes ogling her sensational face and figure.

Without any prior warning, a huge, big-haired platinum blonde Amazon, swept over and sat down, uninvited, next to Phil. She looked to be in her mid thirties and was at least six-feet tall, with the broad shoulders and muscular build of someone who regularly worked out with weights in the gymnasium. Despite this, she had a curvaceous figure, which she'd somehow managed to pour into a clinging Latex catsuit, with a low-cut neckline, that showcased her ample cleavage to perfection. A riding crop hung from a clip on the tightly cinched belt about her trim waist.

She deliberately crossed her long shapely legs, drawing Phil's attention to the six-inch 'fuck-me' heels on her feet. "I'm Madam Cyn," she gushed, reaching out and placing a hand over the prominent bulge in the front of Phil's tight leather shorts, "and you are?"

"Er, Phil, Phil Thackeray," he replied, feeling his cock stir beneath her hand.

The woman totally ignored his beautiful female slave. "Is this your first time here, Phil?" she asked, huskily, gently rubbing her stiffened fingers against the bulge of his straining cock, while staring into his eyes, completely aware of the devastating effect she was having on him.

"Uh, huh!" he gasped. "We... We've only just joined."

"I hope we can become close friends," the woman murmured, her long painted and manicured fingernails playing with the zip of his tightly stressed boxers.

Phil had started to sweat profusely. He knew that, if she lowered the zip much further, his straining erection would take advantage of the opportunity and take one giant leap for mankind.

The Amazon stopped teasing him, released the zip and finally deigned to glance up at the woman at the other end of the trailing leash. She slowly ran her eyes over Barbara's shapely curves, like a hungry predator checking out its cornered prey, before pouncing.

"I see you've got yourself a delightful slavegirl," she murmured, huskily, turning back to Phil and slowly running her wide-spread fingers over his hairless, well muscled chest. "Is she everything you expected?"

Phil swallowed hard. "Y-Yes," he croaked.

"And does she satisfy you... in EVERY way?" she murmured, slipping the fingers of her right hand beneath the waistband of his shorts and just brushing the head of his growing cock with her long painted fingernails.

"Y-Yes," Phil gasped, vigorously nodding his head.

Barbara could scarcely believe her eyes. The busty blonde Amazon was almost jerking her boyfriend off, in full view of all the other people in the room, but she dared not leap forward and scratch her eyes out, or she would blow her cover.

"Anyway, who am I kidding? What can I do, with my arms chained up like this?" she thought, bitterly.

Madam Cyn rose to her feet, like a black mamba uncoiling, prior to striking, and sashayed over to the manacled slavegirl, while taking the riding crop from her belt. The redhead's eyes widened, involuntarily.

"Nice figure," the Amazon murmured, flicking the slavegirl's already prominent nipples with the tip of her crop, and smiling, as she saw the sensitive nubs react and stiffen. "Very nice," she added, working the end of the crop into the front of Barbara's tightly clinging thong panties, before rubbing it up and down against the already puffy labia. This produced an involuntary gasp of pleasure from the sub's red lips.

"What's your name, slave?"

"B-Barbara!" she gasped.

"Barbara WHAT, cunt?" The woman's face had suddenly turned hard and ugly.

A look of horror momentarily crossed Barbara's face, as realization dawned.

"Barbara, MISTRESS!" she blurted out, going red in the face.

The frown faded from the blonde's face, to be replaced by a smug smirk. "That's better!"

Slipping her hand behind Barbara's neck, she gripped her red hair and pulled her mouth up to hers, in a passionate French kiss.

Barbara hesitated, momentarily, then slipped her own tongue into the other woman's mouth, kissing her back, with unfeigned enthusiasm. "To do otherwise, would have only raised her suspicions," Barbara rationalized, refusing to admit that she was thoroughly enjoying the experience.

The extended kiss came to an end, and the blonde stepped away, smiling her satisfaction. "Not bad, but she needs a little more discipline," she informed Phil, who hadn't realized he had been frantically rubbing the prominent bulge in his shorts, as he watched their erotic lesbian clinch.

Madam Cyn leaned over the arm of the settee and kissed Phil full on the lips. "The three of us must get together sometime," she murmured, before rising to her full towering height and lithely striding away on her sky-high stiletto heels.

"Holy Cow!" Phil gasped, as soon as the blonde Amazon had moved out of hearing range, at the same time repositioning his painful erection into a more comfortable position.

"Cow is right," Barbara muttered, darkly, under her breath, glowering at the woman's receding back.

-oOo-

Barbara's arms and feet were both killing her. She hadn't been free of her bondage since they'd arrived at the club, and she hadn't been allowed to sit down in all that time. Her six-inch 'fuck me' heels, were successfully doing their job of forcing her to stand with her hips pushed forward, but they were hard on her poor feet. Phil, the lucky bastard, had got up and mingled with the crowd, on several occasions, trying to find someone willing to admit that they knew either of the dead young women, without any luck, so far.

"Can I sit down, Phil, pleasssse?" she cajoled, after first ensuring that no-one was within hearing distance or was watching them.

"No! Now shut that pretty little mouth, or I shall be forced to find something to fill it with!" Phil threatened, in an annoyed aside. "You'll give the whole game away, you silly bimbo!"

Barbara felt a surge of self-righteousness. "Cheek! Who does he think he is, calling ME a bimbo," she muttered under her breath, but she obeyed him, nevertheless.

-oOo-

She was still seething, five minutes later, when two hairy arms wrapped around her torso and two large hands cupped her boobs. She was about to twist around and knee the perpetrator in the groin, when she remembered what she was supposed to be and started counting up to ten, under her breath.

"You don't mind me checking out your property, do you old fellow?" enquired a very English sounding voice. The guy's fingers were now playing with Barbara's nipples, which reacted in the usual way and stiffened, impressively.

Phil looked up and grinned at the man standing behind Barbara, who was openly fondling her tits. "Certainly not, help yourself!"

During the whole of this exchange, Barbara had not pulled away or tried to turn around in the man's arms.

"I bet you'd love to have your arms freed," the man whispered in her shell-like ear.

"Oh, YES, Master," Barbara breathed, eagerly.

"Is it alright if I free your slave's arms?" the man called over to her Master.

"Feel free, old boy!" Phil responded, with an expansive gesture of his hand.

Her rescuer unclipped her elbow chains then freed her shackled wrists.

"How does that feel?" the man asked, stepping around in front of her and reaching out to unclip the leash from her collar.

Barbara smiled at him, whilst rotating her stiff, aching shoulders. "Wonderful, Master!" she replied, gratefully.

Her 'Knight in Shining Armor' was actually wearing a pair of tight blue jeans, white Stetson hat, tan-colored cowboy boots, and a small denim vest, that revealed a muscular deep tanned chest covered in curly red hair. He was clean-shaven and looked as if he was in his mid-twenties.

He placed both hands on his hips and stood facing her, feet slightly parted. "Well, aren't I going to get my reward?" he enquired with a smirk, nodding down toward his bulging crotch.

A momentary look of panic crossed Barbara's lovely face and her eyes sought out Phil's, seeking guidance.

Phil nodded, imperceptibly. It was important that they maintained their facade.

Barbara gulped and forced a tremulous smile to her lips. "Of course, Master," she murmured, lowering herself into a squatting position in front of him, so that her face was level with his crotch.

She steeled her nerves, then reached out and grasped the zip of his fly, slowly lowering it to its full extent, before reaching inside his pants and freeing his growing erection from his briefs. His cock was modestly dimensioned, hot and moist. She gently drew it out and began to jerk the semi-hard penis into full stiffness.

The man groaned with pleasure. "Now take it into that lovely mouth of yours, slave," he commanded, as he attained his full six-inches of erection.

"Yes, Master!" Barbara slipped her luscious lips over the bulbous head and slowly enveloped the first three inches, running her tongue over and around his throbbing appendage.

She felt his hands on the back of her head, pulling her onto him. "Now deep throat me, slut!" he commanded.

Barbara was terrified that she was going to start retching, as her gagging reflex took over, but by some amazing degree of self-control, she managed to slide much of his length down her throat. Luckily, the man was not particularly well blessed in that department. She now realized she needed to breathe and quickly withdrew most of his length, retaining just the head, as she gulped down some much needed air.

She took him in again, more easily this time, and soon developed a smooth rhythmical motion, as she alternated between deep throating him and breathing.

"Good little slut!" he murmured, as he guided her head up and down over his crotch.

By now, a sizeable crowd had gather around this amusing spectacle, as she quickly brought the dom to climax. With a loud cry, the man shot his hot load of cum deep into Barbara's throat, then held her head against his crotch, despite her muffled protests, until she had swallowed every last drop of his semen.

When he finally released her head, her complexion was starting to take on a distinctly bluish tinge. The crowd burst into spontaneous applause, as he pulled his glistening cock out from her lipstick smeared mouth, with a flourish, then turned to bow, theatrically, to his audience.

Barbara remained squatting, eyes downcast, trying not to blush, as she swallowed the last of his sticky seed, her lovely breasts heaving, fetchingly, as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

"You may get to your feet," her oral rapist said, magnanimously.

"Thank you, Master!" Barbara rose to her high-heeled feet, embarrassed by all the attention she was receiving.

The man examined her face, before turning to Phil. "Is it alright if your slave goes to the Rest Room and touches up her makeup?" he enquired, with a grin.

Phil nodded.

A young coffee-colored girl, wearing a sheer, see-through, black minidress, that clung to her spectacular figure, plus black knee-high, spiky heeled boots, stepped forward from the crowd. The sheer material revealed that her sole item of underwear was a pair of brief white panties.

"It should be obvious to even you, that the poor girl didn't bring any makeup with her," she informed the guy, pointedly. "She's got nowhere to put it! She can use some of mine." The bubble-haired lovely was carrying a small clutch purse in her left hand. She stepped forward and firmly took hold of Barbara's upper arm in her right hand. "Come on, honey, let's go get you cleaned up!"

Barbara flashed her a grateful smile and the two girls headed for the powder room, hand in hand, with wild applause still ringing in their ears.

"I was dying for a pee, anyway," Barbara confided to her lovely rescuer, as they made their way across the crowded floor. She stopped and looked into the girl's face, who was obviously of Afro-American origin, with a puzzled frown on her face. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" she enquired.

The girl smiled, displaying a set of dazzling white teeth. "I'm a friend of Jennifer's," she explained. "We've both worked in the same strip joints on several occasions. My name's Annabel Brown and you're Barbara Gordon, I believe. I saw you once, when you came to watch Jenny's stage act."

Barbara eyes lit up with belated recognition, then they both resumed walking.

"How come your Master lets you wander around on your own?" she asked the other girl, a little confused.

"Master? Oh, you mean Adrian, the guy you've just been sucking off." Annabel giggled. "I'm not his slave, I'm just his eye-candy for the evening. I'm being paid handsomely to accompany him to this gig."

The two girls reached and entered the Women's Rest Room. There was no-one inside, when they entered.

"So, who's this Adrian guy then?" Barbara asked, as she leant forward and stared at her mussed up makeup in the long mirror attached to the wall above the row of washbasins. She pulled a sour face at her reflection.

"He's a porn movie director. He's always on the lookout for fresh talent. I think you may have impressed him, honey. So, if you're interested in making a little extra cash on the side..."

"N-No, not really!" Barbara replied, grinning shyly and shaking her head.

She then allowed the other girl to scrub the smeared lipstick off her face, with a moistened tissue. Luckily, Annabel's tastes in cosmetics were similar to her own and the lipstick Barbara was handed, was a close color match to her own shade of red. "Thanks!" she said, with a grateful smile.

The conversation lapsed, as Barbara leaned forward and carefully applied a fresh layer of lipstick to her full lips, followed by some lip gloss and lip liner. She also borrowed her new friend's mascara, to touch up her long eyelashes.

"Thanks," she said, when she had finished the running repairs, feeling more confident again, "you're a life saver. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must take that pee that I've been promising myself!"

At that moment, two middle-aged women entered the rest room. They broke off their animated discussion, to stare at the two scantily clad beauties, with undisguised interest.

"Do you mind if I come into the cubicle with you," murmured Barbara's dusky skinned companion, "so we can continue our conversation in private." She jerked her head in the direction of the two ogling newcomers.

"Huh? Oh, er, yes, s-sure," Barbara agreed, not really sure what else to say.

The middle-aged women's eyes widened, as they watched the two sexy girls squeeze into a toilet cubicle together.

Annabel pressed her back and hands up against the closed door. "Do you want me to turn my back or close my eyes?" she enquired, with a wicked grin.

"N-No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure I haven't got anything that you aren't already familiar with," Barbara replied, quickly thumbing down her thong and sitting on the toilet. She uttered a loud sigh of utter bliss, as a hot jet of urine splattered against the pan, and the pressure in her bladder started to ease.

Barbara looked up at her companion, trying not to blush. "So, you're not actually into this BDSM scene yourself then?"

The colored girl smiled. "I've done a few photo-shoots for one or two of the BDSM internet sites," she admitted, "but I don't find that being tied up and whipped, is a particular turn on. To each their own!" She shrugged her shoulders then changed the subject slightly. "You ARE aware that these sort of gatherings are purely social events, aren't you Barbara? Very few people adhere to strict dom and sub rules, at these sort of functions."




Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 05



"Barbara's eyes widened with dawning realization. "You mean..."

Annabel grinned and nodded her head. "Yeah! When Adrian asked you to blow him, you could've just told the cock-sure bastard to go screw himself!"

"Damn!" Barbara stood up and wiped her pubes dry on a couple of tissues, before pulling up her thong and flushing the toilet.

As she turned back to face the other girl, Annabel slipped her arms around Barbara's waist, resting her hands on the smooth curves of the redhead's ass. "Jennifer is always going on about you, Barbara," she murmured, huskily, "so I know all about you two being an item."

"So what?" Barbara retorted, a little defensively.

"I'm a lesbian too, so kiss me, please." Annabel's hands rose up to fondle Barbara's naked breasts and the redhead arched her back slightly and moaned with pleasure, as her nipples hardened and stiffened beneath the other girl's palms. Then the arms moved about the slightly taller girl's neck and drew her face down. The two girls kissed, long and passionately, whilst their hands eagerly explored one another.

When they finally broke apart, Barbara smiled at her dusky companion. "Actually, I'm bi-sexual," she corrected. "That guy I came with... well, he's my boyfriend, Phil!"

"Bi is okay with me," Annabel retorted, adjusting her clothing and giving Barbara a friendly pat on the ass, before the two of them exited the toilet cubicle.

"I hope our moans didn't disturb you too much, ladies," she added to the two middle-aged women, who were still standing there, open-mouthed.

-oOo-

On her return to Phil, Barbara plumped her shapely ass down on the settee next to him. Annabel made herself comfortable on the other side of the redhead, so close that their hips were touching.

"What the hell are you doing?" hissed a startled Phil, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Resting my poor feet. These high heels are killing me," Barbara retorted, with a smirk, before stretching out her body, sinuously. "This is heaven!" she declared in a loud voice, stretching both arms high above her head, arching her back and thrusting her impressive boobs forward.

"Have you forgotten that you're supposed to be a sub and I'm your dom?" he growled, angrily.

"Not any more, buster! Oh, by the way, I'd like you to meet my new friend, Annabel."

Annabel leaned forward and stretched out her hand. "Glad to meet you, Phil!" she said, smiling.

He dragged his eyes away from her large, shapely boobs, clearly visible through the sheer, clinging material of her skimpy dress, and took the proffered hand. "Er, nice to meet you too," he replied, noticing that the hem of her short skirt had ridden up, revealing a pair of tightly clinging white panties. She made no attempt to correct the situation.

"You can put those eyeballs back in your head," Barbara commented, noting the direction of his avaricious gaze. "Annabel is an old hand at these sort of events and has been kind enough to put me fully in the picture."

"Oh, yes?"

"Yes!"

Phil deliberately placed his right hand on Barbara's left thigh, then leaned over toward the colored girl. "And what are you into, Annabel?" he asked, with a confident smirk.

Annabel placed her left hand on Barbara's right thigh and leaned in, until her luscious red lips were mere inches from Phil's. "Girls," she replied, with an amused twist to her mouth.

"Oh?" Phil's face fell and he quickly moved his head away.

Barbara pointedly removed his hand from her bare thigh, then turned to the brunette. "You were telling me about your experiences at these events," she prompted the pretty colored girl.

"Oh, yeah." Annabel removed her hand, guiltily. "Well, as I said before, I usually attend as a paid escort, but I'm always on the lookout for any well paid job opportunities that might present themselves. At last month's get-together, I was lucky enough to bump into the one and only Lew Hafnor, and guess what?"

Barbara shook her head. "No idea, what?"

"He's only gone and invited me to one of his exclusive private parties, one that he's throwing at his mansion, tomorrow night. That's an opportunity that most girls I know would die for!"

"Lew Hafnor?" Phil queried, with a blank look on his handsome face.

Barbara sighed, then clarified. "The multi-millionaire playboy and businessman. You know, the guy who publishes 'Bitch Magazine' and several other multi-national soft porn mags. You must have heard of the guy?"

"Oh, er, yeah!" he lied. At least Phil had heard of 'Bitch Magazine'. He'd even purchased the occasional issue; something to browse through on a lonely night shift.

Annabel nodded. "Well, Mr. Hafnor is a big BDSM fan, and has already opened up a couple of subscription BDSM sites on the internet. Now he's about to start publishing a nationally distributed magazine on the subject, which he claims is going to be just sensational. I've already done some modeling work for his websites and now he wants me for this new monthly publication. Isn't it thrilling?" the girl gushed, her eyes sparkling with barely suppressed excitement.

"Er, isn't that a little dangerous?" Phil asked, frowning.

She giggled, prettily. "Of course not, silly! All the photos are posed by models and anyway, it's a highly reputable publishing company. It's not as if those bondage or torture scenes are for real, or anything!"

They both decided that they could trust the girl, so Phil revealed that he was an undercover policeman and that he and Barbara were investigating a series of murders with a possible BDSM link. They asked Annabel a number of other questions, then Phil showed her some snapshots of the two victims, but Annabel didn't recognize either of them.

-oOo-

Barbara was just about ready to go home. Annabel had already departed, a short while earlier. The evening had proved of limited success, certainly not worth all the effort they'd put into it. She reached across and squeezed the bulge in Phil's tight leather shorts.

"Huh?" he gasped, with a jerk, turning to look at her. "What's the matter?"

"Come on, hon," she muttered, with an exasperated sigh, "we might as well call it a night. We aren't going..."

Her words petered out and her mouth fell wide open. Walking toward them, from across the other side of the large room, were Batman and Robin, but it was the Dynamic Duo as she'd never seen them before. Batman was wearing his trademark black Batcape and cowl but not much else, apart from a yellow posing pouch with the black Bat symbol on the front, his yellow utility belt and his black Bat-boots. Trailing along behind the Dark Knight, at the end of a length of heavy duty chain, attached to the collar about his neck, was Robin, the Boy Wonder. Robin's hands were Batcuffed behind his back and he was clad in just his black mask, blue and yellow cape, black boots and a dark green posing pouch with a large red letter 'R' on the front.

"Oh my God!" Barbara gasped, covering her naked breasts with the palms of her hands, as best she could and automatically clamping her knees together.

The Caped Crusader halted, directly in front of her. "Barbara," he queried, running his gaze over her skimpy outfit, "is that you?"

"B-Batman?" Barbara croaked, her eyes automatically moving to his well-filled posing pouch. "What, er, what brings you guys here? I didn't realized that Robin and yourself, were into this sadism and masochism stuff?"

Robin was staring, wide-eyed, at Barbara's state of near nudity, and his posing pouch was threatening to prove inadequate for purpose.

Before answering her, the Dark Knight turned to Barbara's muscular, masked companion. "Phil Thackeray, isn't it, Gotham City Police Department?"

"So much for our disguises," Phil groaned, inwardly. He leaned forward, conspiratorially. "I'm here undercover, Batman, so try to keep your voice down," he hissed.

"Oh, sorry, old chap." Batman ran his eyes over the abbreviated leather vest, tight-fitting boxers and thigh high boots worn by the policeman. "I like your outfit, by the way," he added, with a smirk. "It suits you!"

"You don't look so bad, yourself," Phil answered, returning the grin with one of his own.

Batman turned back to Barbara. "I suspect we're all here on the same mission, Barbara, hoping to find some clues that might lead us to the asphyxiation murderer. Am I correct?"

"Correct, Batman." The ravishing redhead blushed under the hot-eyed stares of both crimefighters. Normally, she would have described their expressions as 'trying to undress her' looks, but since she hadn't got a lot on in the first place...

"I, ah, I like immersing myself into the role," she explained, feebly, keeping both hands clamped firmly in place over her shapely boobs.

"And very well too, if I may say so!" the Boy Wonder complimented, unable to keep his eyes off her gently swaying tits, but wishing she would remove her hands.

"Quiet, Slave!" commanded his Master, with a frown.

Barbara had a sudden thought and blushed a deeper shade of pink. "Oh, noooo!" she groaned, inwardly. "They must have seen me giving that guy oral sex?" Moments later, her worst fears were thankfully laid to rest.

"Unfortunately, we arrived late, so a lot of people had already left, before we could question them about their, ah, hobby," Batman added, with a grimace of distaste.

"Yeah! Apparently, some dame was giving a guy head, in front of everyone, just before we got here," Robin added, in an excited voice. "Just my luck to miss out. It must've been quite a sight!"

"Oh? We, ah, we must have missed that. Isn't that right, Barbara?" a grinning Phil replied, giving her a nudge in the ribcage, which almost knocked her off the settee.

"What? Oh, yes, that's right. We, er, we must have missed it," Barbara gasped, nodding her head in agreement. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks once more.

Suddenly, the tinny strains of 'The William Tell Overture' by Rossini, interrupted the conversation.

"Excuse me folks, that's my cellphone." Batman explained, taking the mobile phone from a compartment on his utility belt. Looking at the display, he added, "It's Commissioner Gordon calling!"

He raised the phone to his ear. "Yes, Commissioner?" As he listened, his face grew grave. "Has the body been moved yet?" he asked. "Good!" he exclaimed, seconds later. "Don't let them touch anything. I'm on my way over, with the Boy Wonder!"

He closed the connection down, replaced the cellphone and stared at the couple on the settee. "They've found another dead female, with a plastic bag over her head!" he stated, grimly.

He turned to the Boy Wonder. "Too the Batmobile, Robin!"

"Your not going dressed like that?" Phil exclaimed, eyes wide. "You'll both get arrested."

Batman gave him a withering look. "We'll get changed in the car, on the way over to the crime scene," he retorted. "I'll keep you informed, Barbara!" With that, the Dynamic Duo turned and lopped off toward the club exit.

The ravishing redhead nodded, dumbly. The news had been such a shock, that she'd forgotten to keep her hands over her breasts.



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 06



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 6: The Victim Count Rises

November 17th, Industrial Ruins, South Side

The two caped crimefighters cautiously picked their way over the undulating heaps of rubble and rusting ironwork, in the dim light cast by the waxing crescent of the moon, high in the clear, star spangled heavens. They were moving toward an artificially illuminated area of the long abandoned industrial wasteland, some fifty yards further on. The police department had cordoned off the area and set up bright arc lights, at the location where the body had been discovered. It had been stumbled upon, earlier that evening, by an old hobo, looking for somewhere to shelter for the night. The corpse was close to the crumbling remnants of a low brick wall, all that remained of some old industrial building, whose former purpose had long since been lost to antiquity. There was considerable police activity going on around the site, with flashguns going off, as the scene of crime boys went about the routine task of recording the position of everything, prior to anything being disturbed. The flashing blue lights of several police patrol cars and a waiting ambulance, were visible, a hundred yards off to their left.

A bulky figure in a police uniform, stepped out of the gloom and placed a gloved hand against Batman's chest, stopping him in his tracks. "Hold it right there, buddy," the cop growled, his other hand hovering close to his holster, which held a standard police issue, Heckler and Koch semi-automatic. "Just where do you guys think you're going?"

Before the Caped Crusader could respond, recognition dawned and the policeman took his hand away from his gun and took a step backward, with an embarrassed expression on his face. "Sorry, Batman, I didn't recognize you in the darkness."

"That's all right, Officer, you were merely doing your duty. We're here at the Police Commissioner's behest. Is Jim Gordon around, by the way?"

"Yes, Sir! He's over by the body, talking with the Police Doctor, Caped Crusader," replied the young policeman, pointing toward the brightly illuminated area.

"Thanks!"

The Caped Crusaders made their way over to the crime scene. They were both now wearing their familiar crime-fighting garb; Batman in his dark grey and black, Kevlar reinforced body stocking with the yellow and black Bat-symbol on his chest, black combination Batcowl and mask; Robin in his usual lurid red, yellow and dark green combination, with the 'R' symbol on his tunic, and his black eye-mask.

As the ring of lawmen parted to let the newcomers through, the Police Commissioner looked up, at the sudden commotion that their arrival had created. "Batman, Robin, thank goodness you're here!" he exclaimed, a look of relief flooding over his stern features. "I'm afraid another young woman has been murdered by suffocation, Caped Crusader."

The Dark Knight walked over and nodded a greeting to the duty doctor, who was squatting beside the girl's body, before turning back to the grey-haired policeman. "Same M.O. as the others, Jim?" he enquired.

"I'm afraid so, Caped Crusader, but this girl was of mixed Asian and Caucasian blood... very beautiful!"

"Hmm?" Batman squatted down alongside the corpse. The girl was quite tall and slim, but with unusually large breasts for one of her ancestry. She was lying on her back, legs sprawled wide apart, totally naked, apart from her high heeled footwear and the clear plastic bag that had been tied into place, over her head.

"I was just about to remove the bag from her head," the medic explained, unfastening the twine that held it tight about her neck. He carefully eased off the plastic container with his surgical gloved hands, revealing a glorious crown of raven colored hair about a once pretty, almond eyed face. The girl's eyes were wide open with panic. She had apparently died, struggling for her last breath.

The doctor sighed, regretfully. "She died of asphyxiation, of course," he informed his caped companion. "There are no obvious signs of any other possibly fatal injuries on the body, just a few minor cuts and bruises."

"Was she tied up when she was discovered?" the Dark Knight enquired, noting the apparent lack of any bondage.

The doctor shook his head. "No, but there are marks around her wrists and ankles, where something, possibly some sort of manacles, have been tightly attached. You can clearly see the bruising and skin lacerations," he added, pointing them out to the Dark Destroyer.

The Caped Crusader nodded, noting the vibrator still obscenely sticking out of the girl's sex. "Have you turned the body over and checked her other side yet?" he asked.

"N-No, I've been waiting for the police photographer to finish up first. He's just informed me that he's taken all the photographs he needs, so we can now turn the body over."

"Then let's do it! I'll take her torso and you take her legs. Ready, Doc? Heave!"

With a wheezing grunt of effort from the doctor, the two men rolled the girl's body over onto her stomach.

"Jeez!" the doctor gasped, his eyes growing wide with shock and dismay. "I-I hadn't realized."

The whole of the girl's back, bottom and upper thighs, were a bloody criss-crossed network of deep lacerations, obviously administered by someone wielding a whip with considerable savagery. A second, battery powered dildo, was sticking out from between her shapely asscheeks.

"She must have been a very brave lass," the Dark Knight muttered, trying to remain calm and objective. "This sort of sadistic beating would have probably caused heart failure in the majority of victims. The poor kid must have been in agony, just before she died." He idly noted the butterfly tattoo on the girl's left buttock. The skin was still inflamed around the immediate area, suggesting that the tattooed skin had not had time to fully heal, prior to her gruesome demise.

Batman rose to his impressive full height, his gauntleted hands clenched together, as he tried to remain calm and detached. He cleared his suddenly dry throat. "Let me know the result of the full autopsy, Commissioner," he growled, as he approached the white-haired senior policeman. "I'll let you know my thoughts, once I've had chance to mull them over. Let's go, Boy Wonder!"

November 18th, Gotham City Central Library, 10: 35 am

Jennifer was sitting at her desk, going through a hastily scribbled list of tasks she had to do that day, prioritizing them in order of importance, when her desktop telephone started ringing.

Brrring, brrring! Brrring, brrring!

"Drat!"

She picked up the receiver. "Jennifer Goodbody speaking. How may I help you?" she said, in her best professional sounding telephone voice.

"Jen, is that you?" queried the voice at the other end of the call. "This is Annabel, Annabel Brown!"

The bubbly blonde's face broke into a broad smile. "Annie, how nice to hear from you. I haven't seen or heard from you for absolutely ages. Where are you working, nowadays?"

"I'm stripping at 'The Pink Pussy' in town, five days a week. The money's not bad, but it's a bit of a crummy dive," her exotic dancer friend revealed, with a dry chuckle.

"I miss you girl. We must get together for a girl's night out, on your next day off," Jen insisted. She had developed a genuine fondness for the pretty colored girl.

"That's why I'm calling, Jen. I've been invited to this party at Lew Hafnor's mansion, tonight, and..."

"Lew Hafnor? Not THE Lew Hafnor, the millionaire playboy?" Jenny gasped, her eyes widening with surprise. "Gosh, you lucky so and so!" she added, a little enviously.

"Uh huh! Anyway, the invitation allows me to bring a friend along, as long as that person is female and good looking, and..."

"That sounds like Lew Hafnor, all right," Jenny interrupted. "The man constantly surrounds himself with some of the world's most beautiful women, according to everything I've read about the guy."

Annabel gave a throaty chuckle. "Yeah, he's not too keen on having any male competition around, is he? Anyway, how about you and me going together? I'm sure we would have a real ball!"

"Wow! Do you really mean that?" the blue-eyed blonde gasped, excitedly.

"Of course I do. You're my best mate, aren't you?"

"Of course I'll come, but what should I wear?" Jenny wailed.

"Just wear something that's sexy and shows off your figure, but not so risqué that you get arrested before we even get there," Annie advised, with an amused giggle. "Look, I'll drive over and pick you up at your place, 'round about eight o'clock, if that's alright with you?"

"Great! I can't wait," Jenny gushed, her mind already sorting through all her party outfits and discarding most of them as far too plain and boring.

"Oh, by the way, I saw your friend, Barbara Gordon, last night. We were both at 'The Hellfire Club', that new nightclub that's recently opened in town. It was their monthly BDSM convention."

"Oh?" Jennifer's neatly plucked eyebrows nearly shot off the top of her forehead.

"Hasn't she mentioned that she saw me there?"

"N-No, but I've been so busy this morning, that we haven't had time to get together for our usual tête-à-tête yet."

"That explains it. Say hello from Annabel, when you see her. I'm sure she'll remember me."

"Yeah, will do, Annie, and thanks for the invite."

"Pick you up at eight and don't be late. See you then! 'Bye, Jen!"

"'Bye Annie!"

-oOo-

As soon as it reached lunchtime, Jennifer hurried off to Barbara's office.

She tapped on the glass pane of the open door. "Alright if I come in, Barbara?" she enquired.

Barbara looked up from her work and smiled. "Hi, Jen! Come on in. I missed your cheerful smile at coffee break this morning."

Jenny walked over and sat on the corner of the redhead's desk, before replying. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've been rushed off my feet all morning and couldn't make it. Anyway, that's enough about me, what happened last night?" she added, eager to hear all the salacious details.

"You know what happened, I went to 'The Hellfire Club' with Phil."

"And?" Jen prompted.

"And we asked around, to find out if either of the first two murdered girls were known to the people who attended, without any luck, I'm afraid."

Jennifer's face fell, then her eyes opened wide, as the full impact of Barbara's words struck home. "Hey, wha'd'ya mean 'the first two'?" she asked, curiously.

"Oh, didn't I mention it? The police found a third girl who'd been suffocated, late last night. The Dynamic Duo went to investigate."

"Did she turn out to have a butterfly tattoo on her ass, like the other two victims?"

"I don't know yet, Jen. I haven't spoken to Batman today, but I suspect that that will probably turn out to be the case."

"Hmm? I've heard that you met my friend, Annabel Brown at the club?"

Barbara's eyes widened. "Word soon gets around. Yes, I did. Annabel really is one of the most gorgeous girls I've ever met, Jen. She said that you and she were good friends."

"I hope you two got along alright?"

Barbara smiled. "You need have no fears on that score, Jen. We got on like a house on fire. Anyway, how did you find out about our meeting?"

"Annie phoned me this morning and invited me to go to this party with her, tonight. It's at Lew Hafnor's place."

"And are you going?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I am! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"You do know that Annabel has already done some BDSM modeling for Hafnor, don't you?"

A look of surprise crossed the blonde's face and she shook her head. "No, I didn't know that. I didn't even know that Lew Hafnor was interested in bondage."

"Oh, yes! Apparently he already owns a couple of leading BDSM websites and is about to launch a new BDSM magazine. He's offered Annabel some highly lucrative modeling work for it."

"Gosh! I wonder if he needs any more models?"

Barbara smiled. "From what I hear, he likes his women to be a little more, um, 'well blessed' on top, dear."

She went on to describe the events of the previous evening in greater detail, but carefully avoided mentioning some of the more spectacular and erotic moments.

November 18th, Wayne Manor, 10: 01 pm

Barbara had decided she would leave her chat with Batman until that evening, when she would visit him in her Batgirl persona, to learn the latest information on the most recent of the serial killings, including any further details thrown up by the police autopsy. She had been rather neglecting her alter ego of late and missed the feel of her sexy, clinging Bat-costume and the admiring looks it always engendered from both males and females.

As the Dynamic Daredoll approached stately Wayne Manor, which was situated just beyond the city limits, on her high powered Batgirlcycle, she placed a call through to the house, using her hands-free cellphone.

"Bruce Wayne's residence, Alfred the butler speaking," a very English sounding voice declared, in her earpiece.

"Alfred, this is Batgirl. Can you open up the entrance to the Batcave please. I'm coming in on my motorcycle. Please inform your employer, that I shall be arriving in about five minutes."

"Very good, Miss!" The connection went dead.

The Caped Cutie revved the powerful engine, enjoying the throb of the powerful machine between her thighs.

-oOo-

As she roared into the underground cavern and screeched to a halt, astride her powerful machine, the Dark Angel saw the two Caped Crusaders waiting for her, standing over near the Bat-computer. She switched off the four stroke engine, dismounted and placed the machine on its stand, before pulling off her crash helmet with its dark visor, and hanging it from the rear of the pillion. Underneath the safety headgear, she had been wearing her familiar mask and cowl, with its small pointed bat ears. Her curvaceous figure was clad in the usual sheer purple catsuit, with the familiar yellow bat emblem emblazoned across her shapely chest. As usual, her bright yellow utility belt, was slung low on her flared hips.

Batgirl's high-heeled ankle boots, click-clacked on the stone floor of the cavern, as she strolled over to her fellow costumed crimebusters, swaying her hips, sexily.

"Hi, guys!" she cheerily greeted, pausing to adopt her usual sexy Batpose, legs astride and elbows sticking out with hands placed on her hips. "What's new?"

Batman gazed at her revealing costume, with a jaundiced eye. The Dynamic Daredoll's breasts were clearly visible through the sheer, clinging material, as was the skimpy black thong clinging to her hips. He sighed. "You didn't have to come here personally, Batgirl," he replied. "I could've brought you up to date over the telephone."

She smiled and walked over to him, deliberately swaying her hips, sexily. She placed the widespread fingers of her left hand against the bat symbol on his chest and gently caressed it, before answering. "I prefer to hear the details face to face, in person," she murmured, huskily.

Batman smiled, then turned to face his trusty manservant, who had been hovering in the background. "Could you rustle up a pot of tea, Alfred, while I bring Ms. Gordon up to date?"

"Yes, Batman! Right away, Sir!" The butler turned and scurried away.

"Have a seat, Batgirl," the Dark Knight offered, indicating, with a nod of his head, the small conference table with half a dozen chairs about it, just a few feet away.

"Thank you."

The three of them sat down. Robin hadn't said a word throughout the brief exchange, but his eyes had been working overtime.

"So, what have you learned about the third victim?" Batgirl asked, tersely, crossing one long shapely leg over the other.

"She was a tall, shapely, 19 year old Chinese girl, suffocated by a clear plastic bag tied over her head. She had been gagged with a red ballgag and plastic vibrators had been fully inserted into both her vaginal and anal passages." The Caped Crusader watched a brief look of distaste cross Batgirl's lovely face. "Well, you did want the unvarnished truth, didn't you?" he asked, with a grim smile.

"Get on with it!" she snapped, a little annoyed that he had picked up on her emotional distress.

"Her back and buttocks had been ripped to shreds, almost certainly by some form of severe whipping. Unlike the other two victims, she was not tied up, but there was undeniable evidence that her wrists and ankles had been recently manacled. I was amazed that the poor girl had survived such a vicious beating, only to be suffocated shortly afterward. Her body was dumped on some industrial wasteland in the south of the city, shortly after her death, where it was discovered, late last night, by a passing tramp."

"Have the police managed to I.D. the victim yet?"

"Yes! She had been reported missing by her father, a well-known restaurateur in Chinatown, some four days previously. The victim's name is Zhang Woo. She vanished while taking the previous day's restaurant takings to the bank for her father. At first, the police regarded the case as one of a robbery that may have gone wrong, rather than an abduction, but when she didn't quickly turn up, they reluctantly changed their opinion."

"What about the tattoo?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? There was the usual small butterfly tattoo on the left buttock, just like with the previous two victims."

"So, there's no doubt now, that this was the work of our serial killer.

"No!"

"We must catch this sadistic bastard, before he kills any more innocent young women!" Batgirl snarled, angrily, thumping the table with a gloved fist and inadvertently causing her breasts to jiggle within her clinging costume.

At this point, their discussion were interrupted by the return of Alfred, who was carrying a tray containing a large pot of tea, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar, and three delicate china cups and saucers with a pretty floral motif.

The old family retainer, placed the tray on the table top. "Shall I be mother?" he enquired, in his pronounced English accent, looking at each of them in turn.

November 18th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment, 11:10 pm

With a quiet click, the dressing table, along with a section of wall, swung inward on its hidden hinges, and Barbara stepped into her bedroom. The dresser quietly swung back into place behind her, hiding the narrow secret passageway and staircase, which led down to the compact concealed garage at the rear of the apartment block, where she had just parked her Batgirlcycle.

She sat on the side of the bed and pulled off her cape and cowl, with an exasperated sigh. The victim count was rising and they didn't appear to be getting any closer to solving the case. After pulling off her spike-heeled ankle boots, she reached behind her back and unzipped her Bat-costume and stripped it from her shapely frame, leaving herself clad in just her tiny thong panties.

Reaching under the front of her dresser, Barbara activated the hidden button that caused the dresser and the section of the wall it was attached to, to swing inward. She hung her Batcostume and utility belt, from an empty hook on the back of the dresser mirror, then neatly stowed her boots in the narrow passageway.

Before taking a shower and retiring for the night, Barbara decided to check out her answer-phone, to see if there were any outstanding messages. She padded, bare-footed, into the living room and saw that the red light was on the device, indicating a missed call.




Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 06



She played back the message that had been left on the machine. The cellphone call was from a clearly excited Jennifer, just to let her know that she was on her way to the party at Lew Hafnor's mansion, in Annabel's car.

"Oh, and Annabel has asked me to say 'Hi' for her, and to say how much she enjoyed meeting you, last night," Jenny's voice added. "I'll let you know how the party went, when I see you at work, tomorrow morning. 'Bye!"

"Hmm?" the redhead murmured, as she thumbed down her thong panties, in readiness for a relaxing shower. "I've got a strange feeling about this. I hope Jenny and Annabel will be alright."



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 07



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl 

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 7: Lew Hafnor's Mansion

November 18th, En-route to Lew Hafnor's Mansion

Jenny had to admit that she was quite excited at the prospect of meeting the great Lew Hafnor. The multi-millionaire playboy and publishing magnate was probably the most eligible bachelor in the whole of the state, with the possible exception of Bruce Wayne, even though he was quite a bit older than Annabel or herself.

Jennifer was wearing a sexy, black, off-the shoulder dress, held up by the thinnest of spaghetti shoulder straps, which had just cost her the best part of a month's salary. The tight-fitting gown hung down to her trim ankles and had a slit up the left side that reached almost to the top of her hip, giving frequent tantalizing glimpses of her lacy black underwear. The daring plunging neckline, had meant she'd had to forgo her usual bra and Jenny was acutely aware that she looked positively flat-chested compared to her dusky, big-breasted companion. Lacy topped hold-ups and four-inch high heels, completed her party-going ensemble.

Her shapely colored companion, wore a long, white, multi-tiered halter dress, with a neckline that plunged to her belted waist, barely managing to contain her shapely 38DD breasts, and contrasting brilliantly with her blemish free, honey colored complexion.

Annabel, sensing Jenny's covert inspection, glanced over at her front seat passenger. "Almost there," she informed her, with a smile, flashing her perfectly even white teeth.

Jennifer swallowed hard. "I-I hope I look alright?" she muttered, nervously running the palms of her hands down her thighs. "The place is bound to be teeming with some of the world's most beautiful women."

"Well, soon there will be two more of them," Annie replied, reaching over with her right hand and giving the blonde's knee a reassuring squeeze through the satin-smooth material of her dress.

As the compact saloon car rounded the next bend, Annabel swung it into a broad driveway to their left, then slowed to a halt, in front of a pair of large, imposing wrought-iron gates, set back a few yards off the highway. The perimeter of the extensive Hafnor estate, was surrounded by a twelve feet high stone built wall.

"Who are you and what do you want?" enquired a deep male voice. The voice appeared to be coming from a speaker set into one of the stone columns that supported the tall, sturdy entrance gates.

The colored driver leaned out of the open window and directed her voice at a metal grill set in one of the sandstone blocks. "Annabel Brown and friend. We're here at the invitation of Mr. Hafnor, to attend his party this evening," she informed the unseen security guard.

There was the sound of papers being shuffled. "Oh, yeah, your name is on the guest list! Drive up and park your vehicle in the designated area, to the left of the main building," the voice instructed, as the two gates began to slowly open inward, electronically.

"Thank you!" Annabel trilled, smiling up at the CCTV camera that was perched on the top of the tall stone column. The wide-angle lens appeared to be currently trained upon her spectacular cleavage. She shifted the transmission into 'drive', released the handbrake, and the car moved through the gates and along the long, winding driveway leading up to the palatial Hafnor residence.

As they passed through the wrought-iron gates, Jennifer did a double take, and her mouth fell open. The intricate design in the metalwork, incorporated a butterfly as its central motif, one that appeared to match the description of the tattoos found on all three dead girls, if she wasn't mistaken.

November 18th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion

Jennifer stared around the large crowded room, her big blue eyes wide open, at the sight of so many beautiful women congregating in one place, laughing and drinking the sparkling Dom Perignon champagne that was being freely distributed by the waiters who glided among them, with their trays held high. These were young, well muscled, handsome hunks, in tight-fitting tuxedos, obviously employed for their looks as much as for their serving talents. They were virtually the only guys present at this glitzy showbiz style bash. Most of the women guests, looked to be in their late teens or twenties and nearly all of them were wearing sexy, highly revealing outfits, designed to show off their superb physical attributes to maximum advantage.

Jennifer realized that many of them were probably photographic models who were employed by the Hafnor organization and she felt positively flat-chested and gawky, compared to these generous-bosomed examples of feminine loveliness. She even thought she recognized one or two of the more famous ones. Mood music was softly playing in the background, through hidden speakers, almost drowned out by the general hubbub.

She clung on, tightly, to Annabel's hand, as her friend tugged her through the glamorous clamoring throng, with the intention of introducing her to a few of her friends and acquaintances.

"Hi, Lin, honey!" Annabel greeted a big, buxom, platinum-blonde in her mid-twenties, who appeared to be the centre of attention of one small cluster of females.

The statuesque beauty's face lit up in a welcoming smile, at the sight of the lovely colored girl. "Annie, darling, how lovely to see you," the blonde bombshell gushed, leaning in and kissing the dusky brunette full on the lips, prolonging their clinch for far longer than was strictly necessary.

Jenny stared at the blonde's revealing outfit, in wide-eyed amazement. She was wearing a full-length, tight-fitting, green sequined dress with a plunging neckline, that completely revealed her large, round, pneumatic breasts. Her only sop to modesty, was a light dusting of glittering sequins, that seemed to have been sprayed over her prominent nipples and large areolas.

The blonde reluctantly broke their embrace and turned to weigh up Jennifer, from beneath her long false eyelashes. "And who's your young friend?" she murmured. A momentary flash of jealousy crossed her lovely features.

"This is another of my friends, Jenny," replied Annabel, taking Jennifer's hand and tugging her closer. "Jennifer Goodbody, meet Lindsay Hastings!"

The buxom blonde held out a limp-wristed hand. "Sooo glad to meet you, Jennifer, darling. Any friend of Annie's, is a friend of mine."

Jenny took the hand and firmly shook it, blushing slightly, as the girl's unrestrained bosom bounced up and down in synchronicity. "N-Nice to meet you too, Lindsay," she replied.

"Lin, please."

Jennifer smiled her thanks. "And you can call me Jenny. Do you work for Mr. Hafnor, Lin?"

"Not exclusively, but I have done several major photo shoots for Bitch Magazine. You must have seen my pictures in it? I was their March 2006 centerfold," the blonde bombshell replied, self-importantly.

Jennifer blushed again. "Sorry, I've never even browsed through a copy," she admitted, somewhat reticently.

Lin chuckled, throatily and her big boobs jiggled, captivatingly, dragging Jenny's eyes down to them. "Well, honey, if you're hoping to get some modeling work with Lew, don't let on to him, that you don't read his flagship publication," she advised, giving Jenny a knowing wink.

"But it's full of naked or near-naked pictures of GIRLS," Jen protested, looking back up to Lin's face, somewhat confused. "Why should I be interested in a magazine that's for guys?"

Lin raised a well-plucked eyebrow. "We all need to keep an eye on the competition, darling," she replied, a little surprised by the petite blonde's unashamed naivety.

"Oh, er, yes," Jenny mumbled, breaking eye contact and trying not to blush.

"Jenny's not here looking for work," Annie explained, stepping in and saving her friend from any further embarrassment. "She's just come along to keep me company for the evening."

"Sorry, I misunderstood," Lindsay said, reaching out and squeezing Jenny's hand. "Never mind, I still think you're absolutely delightful, darling."

-oOo-

After spending twenty minutes or so with Lindsay, while the two old friends caught up on the gossip since they'd last seen each other, Annabel and Jennifer excused themselves and proceeded to circulate, whilst helping themselves to glasses of champagne and nibbles, from the trays carried by the waiters. Jennifer even tried flirting with a couple of the younger, more handsome ones, but received no encouragement in return. It was more than their jobs were worth, apparently.

They paused on several occasions, while Annie introduced Jenny to various other gorgeous creatures, most of whom, were in the glamour modeling profession and turned out to have done some topless or nude modeling for the Lew Hafnor publishing empire.

Jenny had taken a number of photos, using the camera built into her cell phone, so that she could show them to Barbara, at work the following day. Without such proof, she doubted whether the redhead would believe her descriptions of the more revealing outfits, that some of the more adventurous female guests were 'almost' wearing.

Finally, the man himself, Lew Hafnor, put in an appearance, along with two gorgeous, scantily clad females clinging to his arms. These were constantly fawning over the publishing mogul, feuding for his undivided attention. Hafnor was comparatively short in stature, certainly shorter than Jennifer, maybe 5 feet 6 inches tall at most. He was in his fifties, with handsome, rugged features and just a hint of grey in his close-cropped hair. Jennifer correctly assumed that the two girls must be recent centerfolds from Bitch Magazine, or one of the other glossy soft porn publications that were part of the ever growing Hafnor publishing empire.

The threesome proceeded to circulate, with the multi-millionaire pausing to converse with a number of the beautiful, well-endowed models, appearing to treat them more like members of his own family, rather than as part-time employees. Eventually, he arrived at Annabel and his face broke into a broad smile, as he caught sight of the ravishing coffee-colored beauty.

"Annabel Brown, isn't it?" Lew greeted, stepping forward and kissing her on the cheek. Lew prided himself on remembering the names of all the glamorous women who worked for his organization.

The curly-haired negress nodded, delightedly. "Uh, huh! Nice to see you again, Mr. Hafnor. Thank you for inviting me to this delightful party. I was wandering when you wanted me for that modeling work on your new BDSM magazine that you offered me, at our recent meeting?"

Lew blinked, as he tried to recollect the event. "Ah, yes! Someone will be getting in touch with you, in a week or two's time, my dear. We already have your phone number, don't we?" Annie nodded. "Oh, and please call me Lew. All I ask, is that you don't get me mixed up with that other guy, and start calling me Hugh. The guy's at least twenty-five years older than I am, and nowhere near as good looking."

Annabel giggled, prettily. "I'll try not to, Lew and thanks! I'm looking forward to working with you on this new, exciting project."

"Anyway, 'Bitch' is now the second best selling men's magazine in the US, next to 'Playboy', shifting almost as many copies as 'Maxim' and 'FHM' combined," the publishing magnate continued, a little pompously. "Soon, we will be number one. 'Bitch' magazine is the only one that still caters for the true, red-blooded all-American male. All the rest have been watered down, thanks to the Women's Liberation movement and the Politically Correct crowd."

Both girls nodded, careful to keep the expressions on their faces neutral.

"Anyway, that's enough of my blowing my own trumpet," Lew continued, with a wide grin on his face. "Who is your lovely young friend, my dear?"

"This is my friend, Jennifer Goodbody!"

He reached out and shook the blue-eyed blonde's hand. "Hi there, Jenny. Are you a glamour model too?"

Jenny reddened and shook her head, vigorously. "N-No not really, Mr. Hafnor, but I was wondering if you might need some extras for one of your upcoming BDSM shoots? It's a subject that has always completely fascinated me."

His eyes widened, imperceptibly and he looked her up and down with renewed interest. "You're a very pretty girl, Jenny, but my models are usually a little more, um, 'well-blessed' up top. You're a little lacking in that department, if you don't mind me saying." He saw the look of disappointment cross the young blonde's face and sighed. "Do you have a number that we can contact you on?" he asked, in a resigned tone.

Jenny's eyes lit up and she nodded, eagerly, then started searching through her clutch purse. "Here's my business card. It's got my cell phone number on it," she said, handing it over.

"Thanks! Someone will get in touch with you, my dear, if a suitable vacancy arises."

"Thank you, Lew," Jenny replied, with a small, bashful smile of gratitude.

November 19th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment, 1:50 am

Barbara squirmed, uncomfortably, in her bed, fully stretching her long lithe legs, as she awoke from a fitful slumber. The vibrator that she had used to help send her off to sleep, was now silent within her sopping pussy, its rechargeable batteries having finally run down. She removed the device, with a regretful sigh, then stretched out and placed it on the bedside table, before squinting at the time displayed on the LED alarm clock.

"Not even two o'clock in the morning," she groaned, realizing that the insides of her thighs were uncomfortably sticky with the copious secretions she had produced while she slept. She threw back the sheets and sat up, preparing to go take a quick shower, to clean herself up. She was well aware of the reason for her troubled sleep. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, something to do with Annabel and Jenny's visit to the Lew Hafnor mansion, but she couldn't quite seem to put her finger on it.

She walked into the bathroom and switched on the shower and adjusted the temperature, before stepping under the jets of refreshing warm water.

-oOo-

Barbara was sitting on the edge of her bed, naked, vigorously drying her long red hair on a fluffy bathtowel, when a sudden thought struck her. She had a copy of 'Bitch Magazine' somewhere, which she had purchased on a whim, some months earlier. She got up and walked out into the living room and proceeded to search through all the cupboard drawers.

"Eureka!" she exclaimed, as her gaze alighted on the much thumbed edition, lying in a bottom drawer. A gorgeous blonde model stared out from the front cover of the mag, naked apart from a tiny pair of string-sided lacy red panties. The titles of various articles and pictorials within this particular edition, were printed about her shapely figure.

As Barbara pulled the magazine from the drawer, her eyes were drawn to an emblem that was printed immediately after the block letters 'BITCH', at the top of the front cover. Her blood froze. The logo was that of a butterfly, identical to the butterfly that had been tattooed on the left buttock of each of the three dead girls.

"This must've been what was troubling me?" she realized. "Does this mean that Lew Hafnor might have something to do with the murders of those three poor girls?" This seemed a little far-fetched, but she couldn't take any chances.

Picking up her cell phone, she tried to call Jen, but the blonde must have had her phone switched off. "Damn, damn, damn!" Barbara exclaimed, in obvious annoyance.

She hurried back into her bedroom. There was only one thing for it. She'd have to get over to the Hafnor place, as quickly as possible, to ensure that nothing untoward happened to her two young friends.

As she was reaching for the hidden button beneath the top of her dresser, which activated the secret panel, Barbara paused. "Perhaps this isn't something best done by Gotham's Dark Damsel?" she mused. "As Barbara Gordon, I should have a much better chance of slipping into the party, without being observed by the inevitable gaggle of security personnel."

She rushed over to her walk-in closet and hastily sorted out her most daring party dress, a long, red, backless number, the top held up by thin spaghetti straps, that clipped together at the nape of her neck. She slipped on a pair of lacy red panties then stepped into the dress and swiftly zipped it up at the back, before positioned the top over her shapely breasts and clipped the retaining straps together behind her neck, beneath her shock of wavy red hair. The long skirt was split up to her knees at the front, giving her legs a limited amount of movement. She hitched the skirt up, sat on the bed and rolled on a fresh pair of black, lacy-topped hold-ups, then pulled on a pair of red, four-inch stiletto heels.

She allowed herself five minutes to hastily apply her makeup, then rushed out of the apartment, collecting her clutch purse and the keys to the Mercedes, on the way.

November 19th, En-route To Jennifer's Apartment, 2:05 am

The two girls were safely on their way home from the Hafnor party, having departed a few minutes earlier, when things had started to wind down. Annabel was humming a little tune, as she drove back toward Gotham City, pleased that she was soon going to get some well paid modeling work from Lew Hafnor, that might even see her modeling career finally take off. Jenny was less impressed with her evening's work. She MIGHT end up with some work for the BDSM magazine, but it wasn't guaranteed. Also, any possible link between the Hafnor organization and the three dead girls, still had to be resolved.

"I'll give Barbara a call, and let her know we're on our way home," she announced.

"The poor girl will be fast asleep," Annie protested. "Leave it until the morning."

"Hmm, I suppose it is pretty late, even for Barbara. Okay, I'll leave it and bring her up to speed in the morning," Jenny reluctantly agreed.

November 19th, En-route To Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 2:15 am

Barbara had driven half way to the Hafnor mansion, before it dawned on her that she had left her cell phone behind in her apartment, in her hurry to get over to the party.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" she muttered, banging a fist on the steering wheel in frustration, and almost loosing control of the vehicle in the darkness, in the process.

"Whoops! Idiot!" she castigated herself, under her breath, as she swerved back over to the right side of the highway. She was using the installed Satellite Navigation System, to direct her to the mansion.

As she turned the Merc into the driveway and stopped at the wrought-iron gates, a voice spoke to her, from a speaker grill set in a tall stone column. This column was supporting one of the two gates that gave access to the large, walled estate.

"Who are you and what do you want?" a gruff male voice demanded.

Barbara lowered the electric window and poked her head out. "My name is Barbara Gordon and I'm here for Mr. Hafnor's party," she brazened out, smiling.

"Oh, yeah? Well you've left it a little too late, lady, the party's over," the deep, male voice sneered.

"But..."

"Get lost, lady, you ain't even on the official guest list!" The speaker clicked off, their conversation at an abrupt end.

Barbara noted the CCTV camera, attached to the top of the stone column. It had a winking red light and seemed to be following her every movement. "Damn, it must have one of those infra-red lens," she muttered, under her breath. "I'll have to find some other way of getting into the place."




Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 07



She slammed the transmission into reverse and swiftly backed out of the entrance and turned onto the road, with a loud squeal of protesting tires. She drove down the road, alongside the high stone perimeter wall, for several hundred yards, before spotting a tree, growing close to the outside of the stone wall. She rolled to a halt and switched off the engine and lights, before opening the driver's door and sliding her shapely ass out off the leather covered seat.

"This is an ideal outfit for climbing trees," she muttered, sarcastically, slipping her clutch purse over her shoulder, yanking her skirt up about her trim waist and tugging off her shoes. She hooked the heels in the neck of her dress then took a deep breath and started to climb the gnarled trunk. A convenient branch overhung the top of the wall, into the mansion grounds. With her skirt still up around her waist, she positioned herself astride this sturdy side limb and started to inch her way along it. There was a ripping sound, as the lacy gusset of her underwear, snagged on the coarse bark.

"Oh bother!" the redhead muttered in annoyance, hoping the damage to her underwear was minimal, but knowing that this was unlikely, since she could now feel the coarse surface of the branch, rubbing against the newly exposed flesh of her mons. She tried to ignore the strangely erotic sensations that this was producing, and worked her way out over the perimeter wall. Once she was well clear of it, she eased her left leg over the limb and, clutching onto a couple of minor branches, slowly lowered her body, until she hung by her arms, her stockinged feet just a few feet above the neatly manicured grass of the lawn.

She closed her big green eyes and let go her hold, flexing her long lithe legs to absorb much of the shock of impact. She still managed to fall over onto her panties clad bottom, getting them all muddy in the process. Unfortunately, it had been raining, just a few hours earlier.

"Drat!" she muttered, scrambling to her feet and wiping the worst of the mud off her shapely ass, with both of her hands. She pushed her skirt back down from her waist, then bent over to retrieve her clutch bag and shoes, which had fallen to the ground, during her descent. There was a spare pair of panties in her clutch, but she decided to find somewhere a little less exposed, before changing into them. The last thing she wanted, was for some patrolling security guard to stumble upon her, while her underwear was around her ankles.

Barbara crept over the soft ground, in her stockinged feet, making for the sprawling mansion, which was faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight. Only a couple of lights were still on, otherwise the place appeared to be in total darkness. Barbara was now wishing she'd decided to wear her Batgirl costume, instead of this totally impractical party dress. The visitor's parking lot, to one side of the main house, was deserted, suggesting that all the guests had departed, but since she'd gone to all this trouble, Barbara decided she might as well do a little snooping while she was here.

"That near identical butterfly symbol can't be just a coincidence," she reminded herself, as she searched for some way into the building. Both the front and rear doors were firmly closed and locked, but she eventually found a sash window at the side of the house, that had carelessly been left open an inch or so.



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 08



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 8: Captured & Chloroformed

November 19th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 2:40 am

Barbara peered around in the darkness, checking that the coast was clear, before gently easing open the sash window. This was accompanied by the faintest of squeaks, as she raised it up and the shapely redhead froze, listening for a few seconds, worried that the sound might have carried to the ears of a patrolling security guard. Satisfied that the sound hadn't alerted anyone to her presence, she hiked her long red skirt up about her hips, hoisted her ass up onto the stone window ledge and swung first one shapely leg, then the other, through the open window, before lightly dropping to the floor within.

Barbara slipped on her heels and pushed her long dress back down over her thighs, as she peered around in the gloom. She appeared to be in some sort of small library, with book-filled shelves lining three of the four walls. It also contained a couple of comfortable-looking leather covered armchairs and a small reading table.

She crept toward a closed door, set in the center of the forth wall, directly opposite the window, carefully negotiating the furniture. She heaved a sigh of satisfaction, when the door proved to be unlocked. Gently easing it open, she peered out into a deserted corridor, dimly illuminated by emergency lighting. Barbara's heart was pounding like a drum. She knew she was taking one hell of a risk by breaking into this place. She possessed none of the sophisticated weaponry or crime-fighting paraphernalia that would have been available to her crime-fighting alter ego, Batgirl.

She eased her way out of the room and tip-toed her way along the hallway, careful to avoid the give-away clicking of high-heels on the wooden flooring. She didn't really know what she was looking for... possibly something that might link the Hafnor organization to the tragic deaths of the three girls?

She came to a large set of double doors and pushed them open slightly and peered through the gap between them. The doors gave access to a large room, with numerous tables and chairs spread about it, along with the remains of considerable quantities of food and drink, no doubt awaiting clearance by the domestic staff, the following morning.

"This must be where the party was held," she guessed, withdrawing her head. As she did so, she felt something cold, hard and metallic, press up against the base of her skull and heard the click of a safety catch being released. Barbara's eyes grew wide and she stiffened with surprise.

"Don't move a muscle, lady, or I will be forced to blow your beautiful brains out," snarled a deep threatening, male voice. This movie gangster-like threat, failed to amuse the plucky redhead, but she complied, nonetheless.

"Now, carefully hand me your purse, then place both your hands together, behind your back!" the voice further instructed. "Don't even THINK of trying anything foolish."

Barbara silently did as the man instructed. This was neither the time nor the place to voice any objections.

Hands roughly grabbed her wrists and she felt cold steel handcuffs being snapped tightly about them, securing both hands behind her back.

"Now, move your ass!" growled the voice, as the gun muzzle was repositioned and prodded into the small of her bare back, causing the red-haired beauty to stumble forward a couple of paces, on her high heels.

"You don't need to be quite so rough," she protested, turning her head slightly to one side, just sufficiently to identify her captors as two beefy uniformed male security guards.

"Shut your mouth, bitch, or I will be forced to shut it for you," warned the gun-totting security man, obviously a big fan of Al Capone movies.

Barbara wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and said no more.

The glamorous redhead was roughly herded along several carpeted hallways and up a wide flight of stairs, before being pushed past a glass paneled door, into a small private office. Sitting behind a large, imposing mahogany desk, was none other than Lew Hafnor.

He looked up in surprise, as the door burst inward and Barbara was bundled in by her two minders. He had been deep in conversation with a long-haired man, who was wearing jeans and a grubby T-shirt.

"What have we here?" the publishing mogul queried, his eyes widening with surprise, followed by quickening interest, as he took in the girl's appearance.

"We caught this dame snooping around the ground floor, boss," revealed the thug wielding the automatic pistol. "She had accidentally set of one of the silent security alarms."

Lew Hafnor ran his gaze over the shapely female in the sexy red dress. The redhead certainly had a striking face and figure. "I don't remember seeing you at the party, my dear," he murmured, noting that the girl's hands had been securely cuffed behind her back. "I'm sure I would have remembered, if I..."

"She had this purse on her, boss," interrupted the burly security guard, tossing Barbara's clutch purse onto the top of the publishing mogul's desk.

Hafnor opened the clutch and dumped its contents out onto his desk, smiling at the crumpled pair of spare red panties. He picked up her plastic coated library parking permit. "Barbara Gordon, Assistant Head Librarian, Gotham City Central Library," he read out, aloud. "Well, well, well! What brings you skulking around my home, late at night, Ms. Gordon?"

Barbara thrust out her chest, indignantly. "I wasn't skulking," she snapped, hotly. "I was looking for my two friends, who were supposed to be attending your party tonight. I just got here a little late, that's all."

"The party ended some time ago and all my guests have left," Lew snapped, his eyes sparking, dangerously. "That still doesn't explain why you broke into these private premises. What were you really looking for?"

"I-I told you..." Barbara began to protest, lamely.

"Enough of this nonsense," he snapped, impatiently. His gaze moved to the man standing behind her. "Let's see what sort of catch we have here, Herman?"

The muscular guard grinned and nodded his understanding.

Barbara felt the short zip at the back of her dress, yanked down from her waist to the base of her spine.

"Hey, what the hell do you think..." she started to protest, as the guard's hands moved to the clasp behind her neck and unclipped the spaghetti straps holding up her top. "Nooooo!" she gasped, wide-eyed, as her top fell away, revealing her otherwise naked breasts.

A moment later, the silky dress slid off her hips, down about her trim ankles, leaving her clad in just her panties, dark hold-up stockings and high heels. She was unable to cover her breasts with her hands, since her wrists were still securely cuffed behind her back.

Hafnor stared at the shredded remains of the crotch of the prisoner's lacy panties, clearly revealing her pink, pouting pussy lips, together with her badly laddered and muddied hose. "You seem to have had some sort of accident, my dear," he observed, dryly.

Barbara blushed, furiously. "You... You don't have to keep staring at me like that, you... you pervert," she snapped, her eyes flashing, angrily.

"But you have such a gorgeous figure, my dear," Lew replied, slowly running his eyes over her near-naked body, taking in her magnificent pair of tits with their large areolas and prominent nipples, narrow waist, shapely flared hips and long, lithe legs. His eyes finally returned to her face and locked onto her big green eyes. He smiled at her. "In fact, you could be just what we've been looking for, don't you agree, Al?"

"She's the ideal person to play the role," agreed Al Peterson, his long-haired movie director and chief cameraman, enthusiastically. "Both her face and figure are absolutely perfect!"

Lew gave a curt nod to the man standing behind the redhead. Moments later, a foul smelling piece of cloth was clamped over the unsuspecting redhead's nose and mouth.

"Chloroform!" she realized, trying her best not to breath in the narcotic fumes, struggling in the man's powerful grip and tossing her head from side to side, in a futile attempt at shaking him off.

"I think you need a little sleep, to help you recover from your obvious ordeal," Hafnor continued, with an amused smirk.

The gorgeous redhead finally stopped struggling and her head slumped onto her impressive chest, as she drifted into unconsciousness, supported by the guard's arm around her slim waist.

November 19th, Stately Wayne Manor, 8:12 am

"Ms. Goodbody on the telephone for you, Sir!" Alfred Pennyworth informed his employer, Bruce Wayne.

"Thank you, Alfred," the handsome multi-millionaire replied, taking the telephone from his faithful old retainer's outstretched hand. "Hello, Jennifer, this is Bruce. What can I do for you?"

"Hi, Bruce! Have you heard from Barbara this morning?"

"No! Why, should I have?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"I've been trying to get hold of her, but she isn't answering the phone in her apartment, or her cell phone. I was wondering if Batgirl went out on patrol with you guys, last night?"

"No, she didn't, but she did come over earlier in the evening, to discuss the latest developments in the asphyxiation murders case. She must have left the Batcave shortly before eleven."

"Oh?" This was followed by a short silence.

"Look, if you're worried, Dick and I will pop over to her place and check that she's alright. I have a key that will get me into her apartment."

"Would you? I would be very grateful," Jenny said, in a relieved tone. "Thanks, Bruce!"

"No problem. Leave it with me."

November 19th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment, 9:25 am

Bruce Wayne let himself and his youthful ward, Dick Grayson, into Barbara's Apartment, situated in the tree-lined suburbs of the city. There were no sign of the red haired librarian, but her bed looked as if it had been recently slept in.

Dick picked up the nine-inch vibrator from the bedside table. "Looks like she didn't get a great deal of sleep last night," he observed, with an amused grin on his youthful features.

Bruce, ignoring his young companion's flippancy, felt under the dresser and pressed the hidden button that activated the entrance to the secret passage. When the dresser swung inward, he walked into the narrow passageway that had just been revealed.

"All of her Batgirl costumes appear to be here," he called out to Dick. "I'll just pop down to the garage and check on her Batgirlcycle."

He returned to the bedroom, a couple of minutes later. "Her motorbike is still here, and the exhaust is cold, so it hasn't been used recently. I did pop out back though, and her Mercedes appears to be missing from its usual parking slot."

Dick frowned. "It looks like she must've gone somewhere during the early hours of this morning?" he ventured.

Bruce nodded. "It looks like it, old chum. I'd better call Jennifer at the library, and let her know what we've found out." He took out his mobile phone and keyed in Jenny's cellphone number.

November 19th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 10:19 am

Barbara slowly returned to consciousness, her mind a sickening swirl of incoherent thoughts and images. As her thoughts gradually sorted themselves out into a vague semblance of logical order, she remembered her desperate struggle to avoid the cloying fumes of the chloroform soaked cloth that had been clamped over her lower face, and the evil, grinning features of Lew Hafnor. She was now convinced that the multi-millionaire publisher had had something to do with the BDSM murders.

She became aware that she was lying on a bed, on her stomach, her arms and legs tied behind her, with some sort of coarse rope. Her ankles and wrists were bound together, with a further length of rope wrapped about her upper arms, pulling her elbows close together. A further piece of rope was attached to her wrist and ankle bonds, pulling them together and forcing her to arch her spine and thrust her boobs out, in what's known as a strict hog-tie.

"Mmmph! Nnnngghh!" she groaned, immediately realizing that there was a tightly stretched cloth gag between her lips. Her current position was most uncomfortable, with her large breasts squashed against the firm mattress. So, with a supreme effort, she managed to roll over onto her back and arms, at the same time becoming aware that she was no longer wearing her red party dress. She still seemed to be wearing her red panties, stockings and heels, although she was uncomfortably aware that her panties were effectively crotchless, as she felt the cool air against her exposed, smooth shaven mons.

She peered around her, trying not to panic. She seemed to be in a strange windowless bedroom, with a single exit. Apart from the bed, the only items of furniture were a dresser and stool. With a thrill of fear, she noticed a miniature television camera, with a winking red light, pointing at her, in the far corner between the ceiling and walls. It looked like she was being kept under constant electronic surveillance.

She groaned into her saliva-soaked gag, once more, then struggled to roll back onto her stomach. She wasn't going to give these perverts any more thrills than was necessary, not if she could help it.

No sooner had she completed this exhausting maneuver, accompanied by considerable grunting and groaning, than she heard the door to her room open and the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Time for you to go to dreamland again," announced a no-nonsense sounding female voice.

Seconds later, Barbara felt a hand drag down the waistband of her panties and a sharp needle prick, as a hypodermic syringe was jabbed into her exposed asscheek, eliciting a muffled grunt of protest.

November 19th, GCPD Headquarters, 11:29 am

Police Commissioner Jim Gordon looked up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk, at the polite knock on his open office door. His rheumy old eyes lit up, at the sight that greeted them. "Batman, Robin, come in, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

The grim-faced Caped Crusaders strode over to his imposing desk, one befitting the most senor lawman in the whole of Gotham City. The Dark Knight stood facing the grey-haired policeman, with his gauntleted hands on his hips and booted feet planted firmly apart. "Bad news I'm afraid, Commissioner. Your daughter, Barbara seems to have disappeared without trace, vanished into thin air."

The cheerful expression was instantly wiped from the older man's face, to be replaced by one of deep fatherly anxiety. "My goodness, Caped Crusader, do you think that anything has happened to my little girl?" he gasped. The aging Police Commissioner still thought of his adopted daughter as his 'little girl' despite her being 26 years of age and in the full flower of womanhood.

Batman sought to calm his old friend's fears. "We have no reason to suspect foul play, at this moment in time, Jim, but she does seem to have disappeared, along with her Mercedes automobile. I would be grateful if you could arrange for all the local hospitals and medical clinics to be contacted, just in case she has been involved in some sort of traffic accident. Meanwhile, the Boy Wonder and myself, will contact all her known friends and acquaintances, to find out if they might be able to enlighten us, as to her current whereabouts."

"Right away, Caped Crusader," the Commissioner replied, pulling himself together and picking up the telephone, once more the very model of police professionalism. "And, while I'm at it, I'll arrange for all officers out on patrol, to keep an eye open for her Mercedes. I have the registration details written down, somewhere. Why does my darling daughter keep vanishing like this? Never become a father, Batman," he added, shaking his head, "it's too damned hard on the nerves!"

November 19th, Gotham City Public Library, 1:05 pm

Jennifer was sitting at her desk, staring off into space, her eyes unfocused, still worried about Barbara's apparent disappearance off the face of the planet, when her cellphone started to ring.

She took it from her purse and flipped it open, noting that the caller had withheld his or her name. "Jennifer Goodbody," she said, cautiously, wondering if this might be some sort of crank call. It wouldn't be the first time that she'd had a 'heavy breather' on the line.

"Ms. Goodbody? This is Lew Hafnor!" announced the caller.

"Mr. Hafnor?" she gasped, in both surprise and delight, her face lighting up. "This is an unexpected surprise."

"Are you still interested in that job vacancy we spoke about at my party, last night?"

"What? Er, yes, yes of course I am," she replied, experiencing a thrill of excitement.

"Well, we are about to shoot a scene for a BDSM movie that my organization currently has in production, and I thought of you, for the role of the Cruel Dominatrix. It's only a small part, but..."

"Cruel D-Dominatrix?" Jenny stammered, her big blue eyes growing even wider. "Are you sure it's ME you want for this part?"

"Yes. We're hoping to film the scene at my place this evening. Can you make it, at such short notice?"

"I, ah... I... Yes, yes I think so," she agreed, excitedly, quickly making up her mind. "What time would you need me to be there, sir?"

"About seven. We're hoping to film the scene about eight, and you would probably need to spend the best part of an hour in makeup and costume, beforehand. Oh, by the way, you don't have any hang-ups about nudity, do you?"

"N-Nudity?"

"Yes, this film is X-rated, honey. Tastefully done, of course. My organization is not in the business of producing pornography."

"Oh? Er, in that case, I have no problems with undressing, provide that it is totally necessary to the story line."

"Excellent! We can discuss your generous remuneration, when you get here. See you later!"

"But what does the part actually invol..." Jenny started to ask, but Lew had already broken the connection. 



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 09



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 9: The Return Of Batgirl

November 19th, Somewhere In Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 6:15 pm

Barbara rolled over onto her back and groaned aloud. Someone was shaking her shoulder and speaking to her.

"Time to get up, sleepy head!" commanded a woman's voice, with a no-nonsense tone.

Barbara cracked open an eyelid, to see a powerfully built woman in a white nurse's outfit, standing alongside the bed. She felt awful. Her head was still spinning around and her mouth tasted like it was an ashtray full of stale cigarette butts.

"Go away and let me die in peace," she mumbled, closing the eyes again and trying to turn over, away from the source of annoyance.

The stern faced woman reached out and shook her shoulder again, more forcibly this time. "I said time to move your ass, lady!" she snapped, losing what little patience she'd possessed in the first place. The nurse dragged the sleepy redhead into a sitting position, with her legs dangling over the side of the bed. Barbara was still wearing just her shredded panties and laddered hose, along with her red high-heeled shoes.

It suddenly dawned on the sexy redhead, that she was no longer tied up, as the mental cobwebs started to dissipate from her brain. Any thoughts she might have been harboring about trying to escape, were quickly dashed, as she notice an burly armed guard, standing over by the exit to the room.

"Time for your shower, sweetie," the nurse informed her, jerking a raised thumb toward a second door, one which Barbara had previously failed to notice.

"That must lead to an adjoining bathroom," Barbara decided, along with the sudden realization that she was bursting for a leak. She nodded, then cautiously rose to her feet, swaying, alarmingly and almost tumbling over. Her head still felt fuzzy, no doubt due to the injections they'd been giving her.

The well built female, firmly gripped her upper arm, to help support her. "Take your clothes with you and get dressed, once you've showered," she further instructed the still befuddled redhead. Barbara noticed that her red party dress and spare pair of lacy red panties, had been neatly draped over the bottom end of the bed.

She nodded, drunkenly, and managed to pick up the items of clothing, before allowing herself to be guided over to the bathroom door. The nurse opened the door and roughly shoved her inside, causing her to stumble, slightly.

"Now get showered and dressed," the nurse snapped. "You've got ten minutes!" she added, before slamming the bathroom door closed.

-oOo-

Barbara draped the dress and panties over the back of the chair provided, then she sat down on it, to tug off her high heels. The torn and shredded panties and hold-ups, quickly followed, only to be discarded in the small waste bin, which she found in the corner of the bathroom. After sitting on the toilet and relieving her aching bladder, she turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature, before stepping under the powerful needle spray jets. She turned her face up to the refreshing flow of water, with a groan of relief.

Barbara stepped out from under the shower, feeling alert and alive again, but wishing she could've spent more time under the refreshing warm spray. She had just started to dry herself, on the large, fluffy towel provided, when the bathroom door flew inward, and crashed against the wall, with a loud bang.

"C'mon, bitch, you've had yer ten minutes," snarled the beefy nurse, stepping inside the room. "Get yer clothes on, or I'll take ya as you are."

Barbara could see that there was no use arguing with the woman, so she hurriedly slipped into her panties and dress then pulled on her heels, while the nurse stood watching her, an amused smile on her particularly plain features.

"Where are we going?" Barbara asked, as the woman herded her toward the door leading from the bedroom.

"The boss wants to see you," the female snapped, "and he doesn't like to be kept waiting." The armed guard fell into step behind them, as they exited.

-oOo-

They traveled down in a small elevator and, when they emerged from it, Barbara was marched along a narrow corridor, before entering what appeared to be a large dressing room, similar to those that Jenny used, in the various strip clubs that she worked in. 

As they entered the room, Lew Hafnor swung around from a spiky-haired young woman, to whom he had been earnestly engaged in conversation.

"Ah, Ms. Gordon," he declared, "I'm glad you could finally make it!"

"What the hell's going on here?" the sexy redhead demanded. "Why am I being kept in this place against my will? I demand to be released, immediately!"

The smile disappeared from Hafnor's face, replaced by an ugly scowl. "You're in no position to DEMAND anything, Ms. Gordon," he snapped. "YOU were the one who broke into MY private premises, remember."

"But... but I explained all that," she spluttered, caught off-guard.

"You explained nothing!" he snapped, then his face broke into a friendly smile, once more. "But, since you ARE here, I want you to do something for me."

"What?" she asked, suspiciously.

"I want you to play the starring roll in a little movie that I'm making."

"A-A movie?" she parroted, with a look of incredulity on her lovely face.

"Yeah," he confirmed, nodding. "Are you aware that you bear a striking resemblance to the Dynamic Damsel, Batgirl, Ms. Gordon?"

A thrill of apprehension ran up the redhead's spine, as she vigorously shook her head in denial. "No, no, I wasn't aware of that," she lied. "I'm sure you must be mistaken. I'm probably nothing like her."

"No need to be quite so modest, Ms. Gordon. While you were unconscious, we measured your vital statistics and, at 36c-23-36 inches, they are identical to those reputed to belong to Gotham City's most famous female crime fighter."

"Goodness gracious," Barbara gasped, clutching at her chest, dramatically, "that's absolutely amazing. I had no idea."

"You also have similar gorgeous red hair and your facial features bear a striking resemblance to those of The Batgirl. You also have a superbly lithe, lightly muscled physique, Ms. Gordon, which suits the Dynamic Daredoll roll we envisage for you, to perfection."

"My, oh, my! No more complements please, or you will have me blushing to the roots of my hair," Barbara replied, with just a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"So, I would like you to agree to play the part of Batgirl, in a short movie that I'm making."

"WHAT? You... you must be joking. I have no acting experience or qualifications."

"It is a none speaking roll."

"What if I refuse?"

His face turned ugly. "I wouldn't recommend that course of action," he snarled, leaving the dire consequences, an unspoken threat.

"And if I agree to your demands?"

"Then I will let you go... unharmed, naturally, and donate a generous sum to a charity of your choice."

"How do I know I can trust you to keep your word?"

He spread both hands out, palms upward. "You have my word as a gentleman, Ms. Gordon."

"Very well, I agree, but only under duress! What do you want me to do?" Barbara wasn't sure she was doing the right thing, but hopefully this would give her the answers to some of the questions now swirling around in her mind.

"This young woman..." he indicated the spiky-haired young female standing beside him, "will provide your costume and help you get ready for the scene that we wish to film a little later on, today. She will then take you through to the makeup department, before you are escorted onto the actual film set."

"What sort of film set?" the ravishing redhead asked, suspiciously.

"It is a BDSM dungeon scene, where you, The Batgirl, are the victim, and are about to be tortured by your evil nemesis, known as the 'Bitch Killer'." He saw the look of sudden panic cross her features. "Not for REAL, of course!" he added, with a wolfish grin. "You will only be acting the part."

Barbara gave a relieved sigh. "Very well, let's get on with it!" she snapped, her head held proudly.

"Then I'll leave you in Janet's more than capable hands," he replied, turning and heading for the door. He paused and turned back to face her, just as he reached it. "Oh, and if you were thinking of reneging on our agreement, there will be an armed guard following in your footsteps, wherever you go."

-oOo-

Once he had departed, Janet walked over to a long rack of clothes and removed a filmy, gossamer thin garment that hung from a wooden clothes hanger, along with a tiny black thong, that would've been hard pressed to cover a U.S. Mail postal stamp.

"This is your Batgirl costume," she explained, smiling as she saw the look of incredulity on Barbara's face. "It is based, as closely as possible, on Batgirl's own revealing crime-fighting outfit, but is made of the sheerest of stretch materials, so it is extremely fragile. You couldn't leap around or fight baddies in this outfit, it would probably disintegrate!"

"Thanks for the warning," Barbara retorted, sarcastically. "I'll try to avoid such energetic activities."

"It zips up the back, but you will have to let me help you on with it, because it is so easily damaged."

Barbara nodded.

"Right. Strip off, please!"

Barbara slipped off her heels, then swiftly removed her red dress and panties. She then wriggled, unaided, into the tiny pair of black thong panties, which were even briefer than those that she normally wore as Batgirl. Luckily, she kept her mons clean shaven, or it could have been embarrassing.

As she pulled the narrow side straps high onto her hips, the spiky-haired costumier nodded her approval.

"Good! Now, sit down on this stool, and I will roll the Batcostume up over your legs," she ordered. When she reached Barbara's crotch, she asked her to stand, before pulling the sheer clinging material up over her ass and about her slim waist.

"Now slip your arms into the sleeves," Janet ordered, before pulling the costume up over Barbara's firm breasts and shoulders and fastening the clip at the nape of her neck. Finally, she gradually zipped Barbara up, starting at her coccyx or tailbone and carefully working her way up to the nape of her neck.

"There, finished!" she exclaimed, triumphantly, stepping back. "Now for the accessories."

First she slipped some platform-soled ankle boots, with six-inch stiletto heels, onto Barbara's feet and zipped them up.

"I'm sure the real Batgirl doesn't wear heels this high!" Barbara complained, wobbling on the unaccustomed footwear.

"She would if she was in this film," the girl replied, with a cheeky grin, handing her a black combination cowl and eye mask. "Slip this on and tuck your hair in the back."

The headgear was amazingly close to the real thing, right down to the two pointed bat ears, but without the enhanced hearing and tracer device of the genuine article. Barbara then slipped the bright yellow utility belt she was handed, around her slim waist, and snapped it into place, using the magnetic buckle with its black Bat-symbol. The belt hung low on her flared hips. Barbara could tell, from the lack of weight, that the utility belt compartments were empty, or possibly stuffed with tissue paper to bulk them up.

When she was finished, Janet stood back and gave her charge the once over. "Perfect!" she declared. "You have the most amazing figure, Ms. Gordon." The clinging costume fitted Barbara like a second skin and if she hadn't been wearing the thong, she would've been revealing everything she'd got to her latest admirer.

"Thanks for the compliment," Barbara replied, pleasantly surprised by the girl's cheery, friendly disposition.

"Right, let's take you through to makeup, not that you need much. Be careful not to snag that costume on anything though. It is so flimsy, you wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, I think I would," Barbara replied, running her hands down over her shapely curves, a little self-consciously.

-oOo-

Barbara followed the girl along the hallway, until they arrived at makeup. Another young woman, whose name was June, was eagerly awaiting their arrival. After the introductions were completed, Janet left them to it, and June sat Barbara down on a stool in front of the large dressing table mirror, with illuminated light bulbs around the edges.

"There's not a lot to do, unless you would like me to touch up your breasts," the makeup artist suggested, giving the redhead a saucy wink.

"Er, no thanks, just the face will be fine," Barbara replied, trying not to blush.

The girl powdered her cheeks and nose. "Nothing worse than a shiny nose, when you're filming," she revealed, with a dry chuckle. She then applied a thick layer of lilac colored lipstick to Barbara's full, eminently kissable lips. "You have a perfect complexion, Ms. Gordon," she commented, a little enviously.

"Thank you."

"There, that should do it!" June proclaimed, before turning to the bulky guard, lurking in the background. "She's ready for you now."

"This way, Ms. Gordon," the large man growled, indicating with his head, that she should take the lead. He didn't want to touch her fragile outfit, not unless it became absolutely necessary.

"Break a leg!" the girl called after them, with a titter, as Barbara was herded down the hallway, heading for the film set. The air was cool against her lightly clad skin and her nipples peaked, making her breasts look even more spectacular than usual. By now, Barbara had decided that she was underground, somewhere beneath the Hafnor mansion.

November 19th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 7:05 pm

Jennifer experienced a feeling of deja-vu, as she drove her small car through the tall, imitation wrought iron gates and along the driveway toward the house and the visitor's parking lot. She was still feeling a little guilty about leaving the search for the missing librarian, to the Dynamic Duo, but she was hoping this opportunity might lead to some possible clues to the BDSM killings. There was also that butterfly emblem on the gates to be investigated.

When Lew Hafnor had taken Jenny's phone number, she hadn't really expected to hear from the multi-millionaire again, let alone be offered an acting job, at such short notice. She hadn't known what to wear, so she'd slipped into some stretch blue jeans and a chunky, white wool sweater, together with her favorite tan leather cowgirl boots.

She parked her red Toyota Corolla compact sedan, in the almost empty parking lot, locked it up then hurried over to the main entrance, where she rang the ornate door chime. The place didn't look to be a hive of activity. After a brief wait, a butler type opened the door. The guy was about six-feet three-inches tall and covered in bulging muscle, and his manservant's uniform seemed a little on the tight side.

"Good evening, Ms. Goodbody," he greeted, standing aside to let Jennifer enter. "Mr. Hafnor is expecting you. You will find him in the Study."

"The Study?" Jenny queried, with a blank look.

"Second door on the left, Miss."

"Thanks!"

As she walked through the doorway into the office-like room, Lew Hafnor rose from behind a large imposing desk. "Ah, Ms. Goodbody, Jennifer... It is okay, if I call you Jennifer?" he added, holding out his hand to her.

The blue-eyed blonde, shook his hand and returned his pleasant smile. "Jenny, please." Despite his smile, their was something shifty about the way he looked at her.

"I was starting to get worried, Jenny," he continued, glancing at his Rolex watch. "We tend to work to a fairly tight schedule. Shall we go straight down to costume and makeup and get you ready for your part?"

"What exactly is this scene that you want me to do?" Jenny enquired, with a slight frown. "You didn't really explain over the phone."

"It's part of a movie I'm making, nominally entitled 'Batgirl: Heroine In Distress'," he explained.

Jenny blinked her surprise.

"In this particular scene, our heroine has been captured and taken to the villain's dungeon, where she is bound and whipped by a cruel dominatrix who works for him, that's you, by the way!"

"W-Whipped?" Jenny stuttered, rapidly starting to have second thoughts about her budding movie career.

"Don't worry, no-one gets hurt. Everything is faked and eventually the baddy gets his come-uppance," he reassured her, with a broad grin. "Your fee for this evening's work, will be a cool one thousand dollars."

"A-A thousand dollars?" she gasped. "That's fantastic."

"I'm sure you'll earn every dime, my dear."

"Who's playing the part of Batgirl, by the way?"

"A little known newcomer. No-one you're likely to be familiar with."

"Oh?"

"Not having second thoughts are you?"

"Certainly not. Let's go!" Jenny replied, giving him a tremulous smile.

November 19th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 7:12 pm

The set looked like something taken straight out of the 16th century Spanish Inquisition, when Protestants were tortured and punished for their so-called heretic beliefs. Two burly stagehands escorted Barbara to the centre of the dungeon set, then clamped her wrists into leather-covered metal shackles, which hung down on long lengths of chain from a fixed gantry above, spreading her arms high and wide. Her feet were spread apart and further manacles, attached to the ends of a spreader bar, were clamped around her booted ankles. As careful adjustments were made to her bondage, leaving the purple-clad Caped Cutie standing in a tightly stretched spreadeagle stance, other stagehands were busy setting up the high intensity lighting and sound equipment about her. 

A guy in tight blue-jeans and a T-shirt, walked over to her, with a big smile on his face. She had seen him talking to Lew in his office. "Hi, Ms. Gordon, my name's Al Peterson. I'm the joint producer and director of this movie," he said, introducing himself, self-importantly.

"H-Hello, Mr. Peterson."

"Let me explain what's going to happen. In the scene that we're about to film, Batgirl... that's you, is tied up and punished by her evil nemesis, the 'Bitch Killer', employing a sexy blonde dominatrix to administer a severe whipping.

"W-What?" Barbara gasped, going pale. "No way! You must be out of your tiny mind! Get me out of this!"

He grinned at her highly agitated state. "Don't get agitated, Ms. Gordon, we use a specially constructed stage whip, that will not harm you in any way, or leave any marks on that beautiful unblemished hide," he reassured.

"B-But I've never done any acting before. What do I say, what do I do?" she protested.

"The part doesn't require you to say anything," he replied, nodding to a man standing immediately behind the cowled beauty. A moment later, a red rubber ballgag was shoved between Barbara's teeth, stretching her jaws wide apart, before she could protest any further, and the buckled straps were tightly cinched up, at the back of her head.

"Mmmmph! Nnnngghh!" she cried, shaking her head, furiously.

Peterson nodded his approval. "Excellent, Ms. Gordon. That's just the sort of reaction we were hoping for. Now, try to react how you would expect someone to react, who is being severely beaten with a whiplash. Jerk and squirm your pretty ass, and scream into your ballgag, as if the whipping were really hurting you."

Barbara calmed down a little, but her big green eyes still flashed, angrily. There was nothing she could do now, but go along with their mad plans, at least for the time being.




Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 09



"Oh, by the way, Ms. Gordon, your revealing outfit has deliberately been made very flimsy. Although the lash will not harm your body, the slightly touch will tear your Batcostume to shreds, adding further titillation to your sexy punishment scene."

This was too much. Barbara shook her head and angrily protested into her gag.

"Unnngghh! Nnnngghh!"

Peterson chuckled, ignoring her agitation, before turning away, to go set up his camera positions. He was really looking forward to this scene.

The familiar figure of the white-uniformed nurse stepped forward to take up his place, and Barbara's big green eyes opened wide, as she saw the large hypodermic syringe in her hand.

"What are you going to do?" Barbara cried, eyes widening in horror, but all that came out was a frantic, incomprehensible muffled mumbling.

The powerfully built nurse, smiled at Barbara's obvious panic. "No need to get excited, Ms. Gordon. This is just a muscle relaxant," she informed her helplessly restrained patient. "It will help you to react in a more realistic way, during your punishment, rather than your acting appearing all stiff and wooden. I'm going to inject it at the base of your spine. You won't feel a thing, my dear."

She stepped around behind the curvaceous damsel and plunged the needle into her flesh, immediately above the tiny black triangle of her thong, where it emerged from between her shapely buttocks.

The redhead jerked her hips forward, at the sudden sharp stab of pain. "Lying bitch!" she muttered under her breath, as the nurse injected the contents of the syringe into her. She would almost certainly have a bruise there, in the morning. Moments later, the Batgirl clad beauty started to feel a little woozy. 



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 10



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 10: Lights, Camera, Action!

November 19th, Somewhere Beneath Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 7: 25 pm

"This is your dominatrix outfit," Janet informed Jennifer, shortly after Lew Hafnor had departed, holding up a costume hanger. A black Latex bodysuit incorporating built in high-heels, was draped over it.

Jenny stared at the costume, complete with its bewildering array of straps and clasps. "Part of the costume appears to be missing," she commented, dryly. "Actually, a whole lot of it seems to be missing," she added, under her breath, wondering what she had let herself get into.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I almost forgot." The dresser quickly produced a skimpy pair of black thong panties, which she dangled from her index finger, as she passed them over to the blonde. "Better slip into these first," she suggested, with an amused grin.

Jenny, who had already stripped down to her lacy white bra and panties, sighed, before finishing undressing. She felt no embarrassment at disrobing in front of another woman, since she had quickly got used to it, when she'd first became a striptease artist. She stepped into the thong panties and tugged them up, until they fitted, snuggly, over her nicely padded mons and the pencil thin sides clung high on her nicely flared hips.

"Well, here goes!" she exclaimed, sitting on a stool and slipping first one bare foot, then the other into the legs of the costume, before standing and tugging it up over her ass and up about her trim waist. She then slipped both arms into the long sleeves, which ended in fingerless gloves and pulled the garment up over her back and shoulders, before fastening the clasp positioned at the base of her throat. Whilst her rear was now completely encased in the Latex costume, the whole of the front of her torso was still exposed. A number of dangling, elasticized straps were provided to pull the two halves of the one-piece garment up against her sides, without covering her breasts, belly or pubic region.

Starting at the top, she clipped the two uppermost straps together, just above her breasts, followed by the next two straps, which fitted, snugly, just below her shapely boobs. A third set of straps were then clipped into place about her waist. Jenny sat down again and started connecting the numerous other straps across the exposed areas of her inner thighs and calves, starting at her crotch and working her way down to her trim ankles.

Finally, she finished, stood up again, and walked over to the full length mirror, to check out how she looked. With a bit of gentle tugging, here and there, she was finally satisfied with the snug, clinging fit of the costume and stood looking at her erotic image, with both hands resting on her hips, grateful for the thong which spared her blushes. Her breasts, chest, smooth flat belly and the insides of her legs, were fully revealed, apart from the small amount of flesh hidden beneath the narrow, tightly stretched cross-straps.

"Wow, I look like every guy's wet dream!" she exclaimed, half turning to check out her pert rear.

"Hmm? Not a bad fit, even if I do say so," Janet grudgingly acknowledged. "Shame about your small tits though. Still, makeup should be able to make your cleavage look a bit more impressive."

"I do NOT have small tits," Jenny retorted, a little self-consciously, blushing, prettily.

"You do compared to most of the girls who come through here," Janet replied, with a saucy grin. She handed Jennifer a black leather whip. "There, that completes your ensemble. Now, I'd better get you down to Makeup, pronto. You're running a little behind schedule, my girl."

-oOo-

Barbara had just about recovered from the initial dizzying effects of the injection, when she realized, with a thrill of horror, that her skin felt tingly all over, as if a small electric current was passing through her epidermis. She was acutely aware of even the slightest movement of her body, rubbing against the sheer material of her kinky Batcostume. She was also aware of the minutest changes in the flow of air current, within the large underground chamber. Her nipples were standing out, hard and almost painfully erect, threatening to burst through their clinging diaphanous covering. It dawned on her that the injection she'd just been given, had not been to relax her muscles, as claimed by the nurse, but to highly sensitize her already sensitive skin.

As her vision swam back into focus, Barbara saw the diminutive figure of Lew Hafnor, cackling and cavorting in front of her, like some sort of demented court jester from the middle ages. He was clad in a black one-piece body stocking, with the large letters 'BK' across his chest, in a brilliant blood-red color.

"Magnificent!" he chortled, once he had got his breath back. "If I didn't know better, I would've sworn you were the real thing, Ms. Gordon." He calmed down a little. "Now, as you are already aware, you will be playing the part of Batgirl, the Dynamic Daredoll, in this movie, whilst I..." he paused to puff out his chest, "I will be playing the part of your arch nemesis, the Bitch Killer!"

"Mmmmph! Nnnnngghh!" Barbara retorted into her gag, vigorously shaking her cowled head from side to side, trying to inform him that she'd had changed her mind.

Hafnor ignored this show of petulance from his star, putting it down to the fact that leading ladies were frequently notoriously difficult to work with. "The long-haired guy over there in the jeans and T-shirt, is Al Peterson, the co-director of this movie. Oh, silly me, I think you've already met, haven't you?"

"Mmmpphh! Nnnnngghh!" The purple clad heroine furiously squirmed her sexy body.

Hafnor glanced over at his director and nodded his head, to indicate that he was ready to start filming.

"ACTION!" Peterson called out to the surrounding film crew, and the video cameras started rolling.

Hafnor stared up at the sexy bound figure and rubbed his hands together, whilst uttering a villainous chortle. "Mmwhahahaha! At last, I have you in my power, Batslut!" he cried, triumphantly. This was followed by a long, insane sounding cackle. "No longer will you be able to foil my master plan for control of Gotham City followed by eventual World domination."

Barbara shuddered with apprehension. "I wonder how much of this is just ham acting and how much of it is for real?" she asked herself, deciding that the multi-millionaire was almost certainly certifiable, either way.

"But before I kill you, I have decided to have a little fun with you Allow me to introduce my sexy assistant, the 'Evil Dominatrix'. Bwahahahahahahaha!" The Bitch Killer's insane laughter echoed around the underground chamber.

"CUT! That was fine, boss," the director called over. "The blonde should be arriving on set at any moment."

-oOo-

As Jennifer was escorted onto the movie set, she reflected on the fact that the makeup girl had insisted on spending more time on her tits than on her face. Still, her cleavage did look more spectacular. Perhaps it was these musings, which were the chief reason why she initially gave the actress playing the bondage victim, who was stretched out in a standing spreadeagle position, only a cursory glance from a distance.

Barbara saw a pretty young blonde girl wearing and open-fronted Latex bodystocking, appear and walk over to the long-haired director, closely accompanied by an armed security guard. "This must be the actress playing the dominatrix role," she decided.

Al Peterson introduced himself to the newcomer, then guided her to her position, facing the bound heroine. "Now, when the cameras start to roll, you crack your whip in the air, menacingly. Do you think you can do that for me, darling?"

Jenny swallowed, a little nervously, and nodded. "I-I think so."

Peterson moved out of camera shot. "ACTION!" he called out. Once more the video cameras operated by his film technicians, started to roll.

Jenny looked over toward the actress she would be sharing the scene with, and her mouth fell open. "Barbara?" she whispered, incredulously, as she finally recognized her friend. Although Barbara was dressed in some sort of ultra-sexy version of her Batcostume and had a red rubber ballgag jammed in her mouth, she was instantly recognizable to her blonde young friend and sometimes lover.

The bound and gagged redhead's eyes widened, in belated recognition, as their eyes met. "Jen? What on earth are you doing here?" Barbara asked herself.

Jennifer tried to remain calm, as she wondered what was going on, and feebly cracked the whiplash in the air.

"CUT!"

Al Peterson hurried over to the blonde girl, with a scowl on his face. "NO, NO, NO, NO!" he yelled. "You must give the whiplash a vicious crack, with an evil sneer on your lips, not stand there gawping, with your mouth open, like some star-struck teenager." He threw both his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. "Geez, the people I have to work with!"

"S-Sorry! Can we try it again?"

"Okay." Peterson stepped away again. "ACTION!"

After another half a dozen abortive attempts, they finally got an acceptable take in the can.

"Now you start whipping the Batgirl," Peterson instructed. "Don't worry, that whip is made from a Batgirl friendly fiber, that cannot hurt her in the slightest. She may scream into her gag and squirm in apparent pain, but she is only acting her part, remember."

He returned to his former position and sat down in his Director's chair, still shaking his head. "ACTION!"

November 19th, The Batcave, 8: 19 pm

Batman, aka multi-millionaire Bruce Wayne, sat staring at the flat-screen display of the Batcomputer. He was a frustrated man. He'd entered just about every search parameter and piece of evidence that he could think of, in the hope of getting some sort of a clue as to the whereabouts of the Commissioner's missing daughter, so far without any success.

"Damned computer!" he exclaimed, banging a gauntleted fist on the surface of the computer desk, and causing the Boy Wonder to start and look up from the glossy magazine he'd been pouring over, for the best part of an hour.

"What is it, Batman?" his youthful crime-fighting partner asked, sitting up and uncrossing his legs. It was unusual for the Caped Crusader to show such an open display of emotion.

"Sorry, Robin, that was merely a childish display of frustration on my part." Batman replied, instantly regretting his foolishness. "A computer can only come up with the right answers, if you've first fed in the relevant information and, as far as Barbara's disappearance is concerned, we have very few facts to go on."

He decided to change the subject. "Isn't this your usual night for dating the lovely Ms. Goodbody?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

The Boy Wonder looked glum. "Yeah, but she sent me a text earlier this evening, explaining that she's been offered some sort of movie part by Lew Hafnor, the publishing magnate. It involves her working over at his place tonight."

Batman frowned. "Rather short notice, wasn't it?"

"That's what I thought. Still, this could be her one shot at fame and fortune," Robin added, with a boyish grin on his face. "I could end up dating a celebrity."

"Fame and fortune, isn't always what it's cracked up to be, Boy Wonder. Anyway, what's that magazine you've had your head buried in all evening?"

The Boy Wonder's face reddened. "It's an old copy of 'Bitch Magazine' that I picked up when we were over at Barbara's place, although what Barbara was doing with it, I'll never understand? It's full of pictures of naked or semi-naked young women."

"Perhaps she bought it to read the various articles in it?" the Caped Crusader suggested, rather naively. "Isn't that one of Lew Hafnor's publications?" he added, as an after thought.

"Yeah, it was the one that started his publishing empire," Robin agreed.

"May I see it?"

"It's, ah, it's not really your sort of read," the Boy Wonder replied, blushing slightly, but handed the magazine over to Batman, nonetheless.

The Dark Knight stared at the shapely, near naked girl on the glossy front cover, with undisguised interest.

"Holy Lepidoptera!" the Caped Crusader exclaimed, suddenly sitting bolt upright in his computer chair.

"What is it, Batman?"

"LOOK!" He stabbed a gloved finger at the magazine cover. "Immediately after the title 'BITCH', there's a butterfly logo, a 'Painted Lady' if I'm not mistaken."

"What about it?" the Boy Wonder queried, looking bemused.

"That is the same butterfly that is tattooed on the left buttock of all three dead girls."

"Holy Coincidence!"

"No coincidence, Boy Wonder. You say you found this magazine in Barbara's apartment?"

"Yeah, but..."

"You also informed me that Jenny had gone over to Hafnor's place this evening? Let's hope that neither of the girls has gotten into any sort of trouble, Robin, but we'd better check it out. To the Batmobile, old friend!"

The Caped Crusaders leapt to their feet and headed for their sleek, high powered vehicle.

November 19th, The Dungeon Beneath Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 8: 24 pm

Crack!

The first stroke of the whip, caught Barbara across her smooth, flat, lightly muscled midriff. Normally, the blow would've been insufficient to cause her to even flinch, thanks to the soft open-celled texture of the specially created lash, but due to the highly sensitized nature of her skin, it felt like she had just been struck by a white hot length of steel hawser. Barbara's body spasmed in agony, and she screamed into her ballgag. The gossamer thin material of her Batcostume, shredded and parted, under the slight impact, exposing her trim tummy to the lenses of the whirring cameras.

"Nnnngh! Unngghh!" she screeched, shaking her head, tears running down her cheeks from beneath her Batmask.

Jennifer was suitably impressed with Barbara's acting ability. She had examined the whip and knew the blow couldn't possibly have hurt her friend. The costume had shredded nicely though, and the mischievous blue-eyed blonde was beginning to enjoy her dominatrix role. She drew her whip arm back and lashed out again, this time selecting a different target area on Barbara's delectable torso.

Thwack!

This time, the lash struck the bound and helpless redhead across her tits, slicing through the sheer material of her costume and causing her to cry out into her gag and arch her back, thrusting out her chest, her nipples hard and erect. The blow had torn away a section of the flimsy costume, completely revealing her left breast, which heaved up and down, as the Batgirl sobbed into her ballgag.

"She really is very good," Jenny decided, as she drew her arm back and lashed out a third time, this time aiming somewhat lower on her friend's shapely torso.

The blow struck home against Batgirl's thong covered crotch, tearing away the flimsy outer covering and causing the girl to scream into her gag, this time so loudly, that the sound carried throughout the underground set, despite the gag's muffling effect. The redhead's body jerked and shuddered, under the blow, and she yanked at her shackles, trying to get free, all the while shaking her cowled head from side to side.

The film crew were loving every minute and Jennifer grinned at them, as she drew her arm back and lashed out again. None of the blows had produced the slightest mark on Barbara's creamy flesh, so she knew that they weren't really hurting her friend.

Crack!

Barbara jerked and shuddered, thrusting out her shapely breasts and pulling on her restraints. Tears streamed from her big green eyes and dripped onto her juddering jugs. This was acting of the first degree, or so Jenny had assumed.

After ten lashes, the director called "CUT!" and the crew all burst into a spontaneous round of applause. The blonde dominatrix had managed to completely strip the flimsy Batcostume from the bound redhead, leaving her clad in just her six-inch heels, brief thong and Batcowl. Jenny couldn't help but turn and bow to her new fans, delighted by their response and totally forgetting about her own state of semi-nudity.

As she glanced back toward her victim, Jenny noticed that the redhead was still squirming her gorgeous body, as if in considerable pain and that tears were streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto her chest. The blonde felt a sudden surge of concern. "She is alright, isn't she?" she wondered, anxiously, suddenly filled with doubts.

Lew Hafnor appeared at Jenny's side and grabbed her arm, just as she was about to hurry over to the manacled beauty, to check on her condition. "That really was an excellent performance, young woman," he declared. "You didn't let the fact that you and Ms. Gordon were acquainted, faze you in the slightest."

"Ms. Gordon?" Jenny responded, slightly taken aback, but trying to appear a little bemused. "I-I don't know any Ms. Gordon."

"Nice try, Jennifer," Lew replied, with a dry, rasping chuckle. "But, since you both work for the Gotham City Central Library, and you are Barbara Gordon's Research Assistant, it would be most unusual if you didn't, don't you think? Your mistake was giving me your business card, when I asked you for your phone number at my party. You must have realized by now, that Ms. Gordon was not exactly a voluntary participant in that torture scene we have just filmed."

"I-I don't understand?" Jenny replied, shaking her head in confusion.

It does mean that we can't let either of you go now," Lew added, nodding to someone who had just stepped up behind her.

Before Jenny could react, her arms were pinned to her sides and a chloroform soaked cloth was slapped over her lower face and held firmly in place, until she had breathed in sufficient of the narcotic fumes to stop struggling and pass out.

"We can use them both in a number of other peril scenes that I have planned for this movie," Lew informed Al Peterson, as he walked over to his co-director.

"Take them both back to the Gordon woman's room and tie them up," he ordered the thug supporting Jenny's limp body.

"Yes, boss!"

Barbara, who had been forced to watch her blonde friend's fate, while squirming, helplessly, in her bondage, groaned into her saliva soaked gag and shook her head in frustration. Things were not looking good for either her or Jennifer.

November 19th, En-route to Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 8:40 pm

As the Batmobile headed for the Hafnor Mansion, Robin put through a call to GCPD Headquarters on his cell phone. He asked to speak to Commissioner Gordon, but Gotham's senor police officer was unavailable. Instead, he was transferred to the extension of Chief O'Hara.

"Chief, this is Robin, the Boy Wonder. Can you get some men over to the Lew Hafnor mansion, on the outskirts of Gotham County, as soon as possible. We have reason to believe he may be involved in these BDSM murders and is holding the Commissioner's daughter hostage there, possibly along with her young friend, Jennifer Goodbody. Batman and I are going in, but we may need some backup."

"Bejazus, Boy Wonder!" exclaimed the Irish cop. "I'll get some of my officers over there as quickly as humanly possible."

"Thanks, Chief! I just hope nothing has happened to the girls, in the meantime."

"Aye, they're a bonnie pair of lasses," the Irishman agreed. "My boyos should be there within the hour, Caped Crusaders."




Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 10



-oOo-

As the Dynamic Duo neared their destination, a high perimeter wall appeared to their right, running parallel to the highway and, when they reached the turn-off for the entrance to the estate, which was slightly set back off the highway, Batman noted the electronically operated entrance gates and the security cameras, as he slowly drove past, without stopping.

"You've missed the turning," Robin exclaimed, peering back over his shoulder.

"We'll go in over the wall," the Dark Destroyer informed his young partner. "We don't want to alert them to our arrival in advance."

Robin, nodded his agreement, then his eyes widened, as he spotted a parked vehicle, just up ahead. "Isn't that Barbara's Mercedes?" he gasped, pointing through the windshield.

"I think you're right, Robin," Batman replied, slowly driving up behind the Merc and stopping.

They both leapt out and checked out the empty vehicle. It was locked up and the ignition key was missing.

"Hmm? It looks like Barbara did come here to sniff around," the Dark Knight muttered, peering around, "and, unless I'm mistaken, she climbed that tree over there, to get over the wall. Look, there's a main branch that goes right over the top into the estate."

Robin nodded. "Yeah, and without the help of her Batgirl costume or utility belt. You've got to admire that girl's pluck!"

"Or foolhardiness," Batman muttered, locking the Batmobile and setting its defenses, with his electronic key-fob. "Forget the tree, we'll go in over the wall using our Bat-grapnels."

They both took their pneumatic pistols from their utility belts and fired the multi-hooked aluminum grapnels over the perimeter wall, then hauled on the attached fine nylon climbing ropes, until the grapnels hooked onto the top of the 12-feet high stone barrier. They then climbed the cable, hand over hand. Upon reaching the top of the wall, they dropped their lines over the other side, before quickly rappelling to the ground, in the semi-darkness. They found themselves standing at the edge of an extensive, well groomed expanse of lawn, that ran all the way up to the sprawling, well-lit building.

Batman pointed to some faint, relatively small footprints, leading across the soft ground, toward the house. "Barbara's, I believe," he observed.

Robin nodded, then, crouching low, he followed the Dark Knight on a weaving course across the grass, as they headed for the mansion.

Suddenly, the Dark Knight dropped to one knee and placed a warning finger to his lips. Robin crouched beside him, as the Caped Crusader pointed a gauntleted finger toward the corner of the main building. A dark figure had just appeared, accompanying the narrow beam of a powerful flashlight.

"Security patrol," the Dark Knight whispered. They remained motionless, until the security man had disappeared around a corner of the building. "I think we'd better go in via the rooftop, Robin. No doubt all of the ground floor entrances and windows are securely locked and alarmed."

Using their Bat-grapnels, they quickly scaled the walls, onto the flat roof of the rambling three storey structure. Once there, they quickly located an unlocked door, which led down into the building.

"Amazing how people never seem to secure their roof against illegal entry," the Boy Wonder observed, as they crept down a narrow stairwell, leading to the top floor.

-oOo-

They crept along the deserted third floor hallway, peering into all the unlocked rooms that they came across. They all appeared to be currently unoccupied bedrooms. Just as they were rounding a sharp right-angled turn in the corridor, a door opened to their right and two large men started to exit the room. Luckily, they were deep in conversation, and Batman managed to grab Robin's arm and drag him back around the corner, before they were spotted. Both Caped Crusaders flattened themselves up against the wall, ready to pounce if necessary.

Unfortunately, both men turned in the Caped Crusaders' direction and, as they rounded the corner, the one on the outside, immediately spotted the two costumed crimefighters.

"Batman and Robin?" the thug gasped, wide-eyed, his hand automatically going for his gun. But, before it was even halfway out of his shoulder holster, a booted foot caught him high on the chest, sending him crashing back against the wall, with a resounding thud, that shook the light-fittings and caused a priceless oil painting to sway and almost fall. It ended up hanging at a drunken angle.

Whack!

Robin's clenched and gloved fist, struck the second thug right on the point of his stubble covered jaw, before he had fully realized what was happening. The half-stunned hoodlum, went stumbling backward, before falling over the body of his sprawled out companion.

The Caped Crusaders both stepped forward and, in almost perfect unison, like two well rehearsed chorus line dancers, swung their right legs forward in a smooth rising arc.

Thwack! Thwack!

There was a staccato double cracking sound, as their boots connected with the unprotected jaws of the two groggy men, who were both attempting to rise to their feet. With low groans, both combatants lost all interest in further proceedings.

"Let's find out what these two were up to," Batman murmured, easing open the door to the room that the men had just exited, and cautiously peering inside. His eyes widened, as he spotted what appeared to be two bound and naked women, lying on a bed.

He turned back to the Boy Wonder. "Let's get these two inside, before someone else stumbles upon them," he suggested, shoving the bedroom door wide open. They both grabbed an unconscious man by his ankles, and dragged them from out of the corridor, into the bedroom.

"That guy was mighty heavy," Robin complained, as he straightened up and peered around.

"Holy Damsels in Bondage!" he exclaimed, as his gaze alighted on the two bound women, lying on their sides, back to back. Each girl had her ankles bound together, with further coils of rope wrapped around her thighs, just above the knees. Their arms were bound behind their backs, at elbows and wrists and further short lengths of rope attached their wrist bonds together and their ankle bonds together. Both gorgeous girls, were naked, apart from skimpy black thongs, which didn't hide a great deal from his voyeuristic gaze.

Barbara, who was the one facing the hallway entrance, stared at the goggle-eyed Dynamic Duo, with a resigned look on her lovely face. "It's about time you guys got here," she complained. "Now, if you'll both put your tongues back in your heads, we could do with a little help over here."

The Caped Crusaders both gave a guilty start, then hurried over and began to unravel the knots and ropes from about the bodies of the squirming heroines, trying not to stare too much, at their naked charms, but with limited success.

"Are you alright, Jen?" the Boy Wonder anxiously asked, as the shapely blue-eyed blonde sat up and started to help him unfasten the ropes from about her slim ankles.

"I'm fine, Dick! I'm more worried about Barbara," she insisted.

"I'm fine, Jen," Barbara answered, half turning to give her young friend a reassuring smile. "I don't appear to have suffered any permanent damage from my whipping."

"W-Whipping?" the Boy Wonder gasped, his eyes growing as big as saucers.

"I'll tell you all about it later," Barbara replied, patting the back of his hand, condescendingly, as the last piece of rope fell away, and she arose from the bed. "In the meantime, we've got to get out of here and unfortunately neither Jenny or myself, seem to have any clothes we can wear."

Batman took his cell phone from his utility belt and put in a call to Chief O'Hara. "Chief? We're inside the mansion and have managed to find and rescue Barbara and Jennifer, who were being held prisoner by Hafnor," he informed the police officer. "They are both unhurt."

"Praise the Lord, Batman!"

"How far away are you and your men from the rendezvous point?"

"We'll be arriving at any minute, Caped Crusader."

"Good! We don't want Hafnor, or any of his filthy crew getting away."

Batman temporarily broke the connection and turned to face Barbara, who was in the process of wrapping a bedsheet around her shapely, near naked figure. "I take it that Lew Hafnor IS behind these BDSM murders?" he enquired.

"It certainly looks like it, Batman," Barbara replied, nodding, soberly.

"By the way, where IS he and the rest of his cronies?" Batman asked, frowning.

"Most of them are probably still down in the huge underground chamber that lies beneath the mansion," she revealed. "That's where Hafnor has his pornographic film studio. It's a little bit like the Batcave, actually, but without the bats and lots of BDSM equipment! Be careful though, there are a number of armed security personnel wandering about, above ground, so we could easily bump into some of them."

The Caped Crusader nodded, grimly. "How do we get down there?" he asked.

"We traveled down in the elevator."

"Be careful, Batman," Jenny exclaimed, adding a note of caution, "I think Lew Hafnor is stark staring bonkers!"

November 19th, Lew Hafnor's Mansion, 9:38 pm

With its siren wailing and blue lamp flashing, the leading black and white recklessly careered around the final bend, swung into the driveway in a spray of loose gravel, and crashed through the heavy wrought-iron gates, without even slowing down.

"Here comes the cavalry!" Chief O'Hara yelled into his cellphone, to the listening Caped Crusader, caught up in the excitement of the moment.

As the cavalcade of police cars roared up the gravel drive, a number of technicians were just leaving the building and about to climb into several white vans, parked out front. Several of them were wearing white overalls or labcoats and some were carrying assorted items of movie-making equipment.

"Round 'em up, boys! Don't let any of them get away." O'Hara bellowed into his police radio microphone, as his black and white slewed to a halt, sideways, blocking off the driveway.

At the sight of the armed police officers piling out of the half a dozen squad cars, the frightened looking technicians, all raised their hands high in the air, in surrender.



Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 11



This story is the eighth in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures and is easily my darkest offering yet, since it introduces our plucky heroine to the murky world of BDSM. As usual, it is mainly based on characters found in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series, but with the timeline brought up to date.

Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Adventures Of Batgirl

Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist

Chapter 11: The Last Roundup

"O'Hara and his men have just arrived outside, so I think it's time we took a look at this basement area," Batman informed his three companions, switching off his cellphone and placing it back in one of the compartments of his utility belt. "We don't want the ringtone to alert any of the security guards," he explained, seeing their puzzled expressions. "Barbara, you and Jenny better make your way back to the Mercedes and wait for us there."

Barbara's big green eyes widened in annoyance. "No way!" she vehemently retorted, placing both hands on her hips and shaking her glorious crown of Titian colored hair, unaware of the spectacular effect this had on her naked bouncing breasts. "There's no way that Jen and I are going to try to climb over that perimeter wall, wearing just a blanket and a thong. We're coming with you guys, to try to get our own clothes back. Right, Jen?" she added, turning to the blonde, seeking her support.

"Er, yeah, right Barbara," Jennifer agreed. She loved it when Barbara revealed the dominant side of her personality. Anyway, she knew exactly where she'd left her jeans and sweater and those cowgirl boots had always been a firm favorite of hers.

Batman stared at the stubborn set of the feisty redhead's jaw and gave an exasperated sigh. "Very well, but stay behind Robin and myself at all times. We could be ambushed at any time, and you girls aren't exactly dressed for the occasion."

Both girls nodded their agreement and, after the two unconscious security men had been securely trussed up and gagged, directed the Caped Crusaders to the elevator, further along the hallway.

They gained the interior of the compact elevator without further mishap and Barbara pushed the unmarked button for the basement. The Caped Crusaders both fidgeted, nervously, as the cage descended, both aware that their task was dangerous enough already, without them having to play nursemaid to two near naked females.

The elevator gave a slight lurch, as it came to an abrupt halt. "We're here!" Barbara announced, unnecessarily. The door slid open and she cautiously poked her head out into the narrow corridor. It was deserted. "Not a soul in sight," the near-naked damsel declared, confidently striding forward and leading the way toward the dressing room.

Batman shook his head and groaned under his breath. Barbara had totally ignored his instruction to stay behind Robin and himself.

The shapely redhead halted in front of a closed door situated on the right and tried the door handle. "Damn, it's locked!" she exclaimed, in obvious annoyance. "Janet must have finished her shift and gone home."

"Here, let me try?" Jenny suggested, elbowing her way to the front of the group. She shrugged off her bedsheet and handed it to the Boy Wonder, apparently unconcerned by her near nudity. As they all wondered what Jenny was going to do, she raised a shapely right leg high in the air, and slammed the heel of her bare foot against the door, close to the lock. There was a loud splintering sound, as the door gave around the lock mechanism and suddenly flew open, smacking the wall to the one side, with a resounding crash.

"No problem," she added with a grin, boldly striding into the room.

Batman rolled his eyes, as he followed Jennifer into the dressing room, with Barbara and Robin trailing behind him.

As the girls started searching through the numerous racks of costumes, looking for their clothes, Batman turned to his garishly attired partner. "Keep a watchful eye on the hallway, Robin, just in case all that noise has alerted someone to our presence."

The Boy Wonder nodded and took up a position just inside the doorway.

Jennifer gave a shriek of girlish delight, as she pulled out a clothes hanger containing her jeans, sweater and lacy white underwear. Moments later, she also found her cowgirl boots.

Barbara was having no such luck. "There's no sign of my red dress or panties," she groaned in obvious frustration. "The only thing I could find were these!" She held up a replica of the gossamer thin Batgirl costume that she'd been forced to wear earlier, including a replica Batcowl , together with a pair of platform-soled ankle boots with six-inch spiky heels.

Jenny, who had turned her back to the Dynamic Duo, while she slipped out of her thong and into her own clothes, looked across at her friend and giggled. "Well, that's got to be better than what you're currently wearing, but not a lot," she exclaimed. "Better let me help you on with that outfit, Barbara, or it could easily get damaged. I'm sure the boys will look the other way, while you're dressing?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sure!" agreed the Boy Wonder, a little reluctantly.

"Just get a move on," hissed Batman. "Someone may come along and stumble upon us, at any moment!"

After Jenny had carefully zipped up Barbara, from the tail to the top of her vertebrae, the redhead buckled on the yellow utility belt and slipped on the black Batcowl, before walking over to the full-length mirror to examine herself. She stood, with her hands on her hips, examining her sexy reflection. Although she could see just as much of her body as before, she now felt 'dressed' somehow?

"These high-heeled ankle boots might be a problem though, if I'm forced to make a sudden move," she thought, before doing a twirl, to check out her rear.

"Come on!" urged the Dark Knight, standing by the doorway.

As they all followed Batman down the corridor that led to the film studio, they heard a sharp THWACK, instantly followed by a shrill, high-pitched scream of pain. It had been a woman's scream. The crimefighting foursome all burst into an urgent trot.

-oOo-

As they burst onto the movie set, they observed that the one area of the studio was brightly illuminated by floodlights. A group of around about a dozen technicians and stagehands, were clustered about the figure of a near naked colored girl. The gorgeous large-breasted female, had been strung up by her wrists, between two fake stone columns, with her back turned toward a whip wielding masked man. The girl was clad in just a brief loincloth, which barely covered the tops of her shapely buttocks. The diminutive man who had just started administering her punishment, was wearing a close-fitting leather hood over his head, which hid his identity, together with a pair of worn leather cowboy chaps, over his otherwise nude body.

As he raised the stock of his bullwhip high above his head and the ten-feet long thong snaked out again, his large pale penis swayed, obscenely, between his widespread legs. The popper cracked, as the thong struck home and cut into the girl's naked back, producing a thin bloody streak between her shoulderblades, together with a further scream of pain from the helpless victim.

"Aaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!"

The girl's sweat-filmed body jerked in agony, her spine arching, as she cried out in pain. Her blood-curdling scream, echoed around the large underground chamber. This whip was obviously no specially designed film prop, like the one that had been used earlier, on Barbara. This whip was the real thing.

"M-Mercy, Master, please have mercy on your worthless slave," the girl sobbed. She wasn't regurgitating any stock lines from a movie script, she was literally pleading for her young life.

"Miserable black whore!" snarled her torturer, a fanatical gleam in his eyes, ignoring the girl's blubbering plea for mercy. He had deliberately dispensed with her gag; he liked to hear his victims scream.

Just off to one side, Al Peterson, both director and cameraman, in this instance, was capturing all the sadistic action on the compact video camera that he rested on one shoulder.

As the small group of heroic crimefighters ran toward the group of men, Jennifer belatedly recognized the helpless female victim. "Oh my God," she gasped, in a horrified voice, "it's Annabel! YOU BASTARDS!" she yelled, increasing her pace.

The startled audience all turned to face them, as they heard Jenny's cry and the sound of pounding feet approaching.

"Desist from this sadistic foolishness and give yourselves up!" cried the Dark Destroyer, in a stern, authoritarian voice. Unfortunately, it did not have the desired effect.

"Get 'em, boys!" yelped the startled whip wielder, pausing, as he was about to lash out at his helpless victim, for a third time.

"BATMAN!" gasped the nearest thug, as he recognized the Caped Crusader, automatically dropping into a defensive crouch, as he prepared to engage with Gotham's Dark Knight. As he threw a wicked roundhouse blow, aimed at the Caped Crusader's cowled head, Batman easily blocked the cumbersome, telegraphed blow with his left forearm, then countered with the straightened edge of his gloved right hand, striking the man across his throat. The big man's head jerked back under the impact, and he went down, coughing up blood.

Robin charged, head first, into the midriff of another of the massive, muscular thugs, bowling him over, under the sheer force of the impact, before following up his advantage with a serious of vicious short armed jabs to the man's face and stomach.

Jenny swung a booted foot up between the open legs of a third man, as he lunged at her waist. The reinforced toecap of her cowgirl boot, smacking into his testicles, accompanied by a sickening squelching noise. The man sank to his knees, with a shrill squeal of pain, clutching at his damaged neither region. The shapely blonde spun out of the clutches of a second attacker, catching him in the face, with a defensive forearm, as she did so and loosening a couple of his teeth.

Barbara, who had lagged slightly behind her three companions, due to her high-heeled footwear, crouched down, facing her opponent, her big green eyes searching for an attacking opening. Suddenly, two muscular, hairy arms wrapped around her torso, from behind, pinning both her arms to her sides. Huge hands clutched at her spectacular breasts, pulling them apart. There was a tearing noise, as the sheer material covering her bosom, tore apart, under the sudden stress.

The man facing her, seized his opportunity and attacked, but Barbara twisted her hips and, raising her bent right leg high in the air, lashed out her foot, with all her might. Her booted foot caught the attacker high on his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. This well executed maneuver, was accompanied by another ripping sound, as the crotch of her flimsy costume, gave way under the strain. But Barbara had other worries on her mind, as the man behind her, painfully dug his clawed fingers into her exposed boobs. Reaching over her head, she grabbed two handfuls of his hair and, dropping to one knee, hauled him over her right shoulder, forcing him to relinquish his painful grip on her tits. With a wild yell of surprise, her attacker flew through the air, into his fellow hoodlum and they both went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

-oOo-

Meanwhile, the GCPD officers were trawling through the three above ground levels of the mansion, and hauling in all the employees of the Hafnor organization that they encountered, for questioning. This included several scantily clad young females, who were guests of the multi-billionaire publishing magnate, who had been dragged out of their beds, after having retired for the evening. Only a couple of shots had been fired in anger, and the Chief of Police was pleased with the progress of the operation, despite there having been no sign, so far, of the two missing girls, or the Dynamic Duo. O'Hara had tried to contact the Caped Crusader on his cell phone, but without success.

The short, stocky policeman, walked over to the butler, who looked more like a nightclub bouncer than a conventional manservant. "Where is Lew Hafnor, boyo?" he snapped, in his rich Irish brogue, poking the man in the chest, with a gnarled and stiffened index finger.

"Go play with yourself, Taff!" the man retorted, giving him an ugly scowl.

O'Hara bristled and raised himself up to his full five-feet seven-inches in height. "Taff?" he thundered, his thick neck going a brick red. "TAFF? Do I sound like a bloody Welshman, you moron?"

The man flinched at the fury of this outburst, and took an involuntary step backward. This was an altogether more frightening sight. "He's, er, he's down in the basement," he muttered, fully expecting some rough stuff to be dished out by the enraged policeman.

Chief O'Hara calmed down a little, unclenched his balled-up fists, and forced a smile. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it, boyo?" he said, forcefully prodding the man in the chest, several more times.

The Chief of Police, peered around the ground floor, before taking off his uniform cap and scratching his thinning scalp. There were no obvious stairs leading down to a basement level. He walked over to the open elevator door and stuck his head inside, examining the elevator control panel. There was a line of four equi-spaced floor buttons, marked 3, 2, 1, reading downward, with an unmarked button at the bottom.

"This way, men!" he called, as he stepped into the elevator. A half dozen armed officers crammed in beside him and the Chief pressed the unmarked button. With a lurch, the elevator started to descend.

-oOo-

By this time, Batman, Robin and Jennifer, were engaged in a desperate, but ultimately loosing fight, as they were gradually overwhelmed by the sheer weight of numbers of their brawny opponents, despite their superior unarmed combat techniques. Barbara, who had managed to put paid to her first two opponents, now found herself forced to the ground by several other burly males, all eager to have a crafty feel, as they immobilized the plucky redhead, wearing the flimsy, disintigrating Batgirl costume.

Suddenly, a half dozen armed police officers burst into the large underground chamber, only to be confronted by a milling mass of struggling, cursing bodies. Chief O'Hara drew his service revolver and fired a shot into the air, causing all the sweating, cursing combatants to pause and look over toward the gate crashers.

"The whole place is crawling with heavily armed police officers," O'Hara yelled, once he had everyone's full attention. "Better give yourselves up and come quietly, if you boyos know what's good for you."

The thugs all scrambled to their feet and, realizing the futility of any further show of resistance, they all raised their hands in the air, in surrender, in the face of the superior police firepower.

Jenny leapt to her feet and rushed over to the whimpering bound form of her girlfriend, Annabel Brown. "You poor thing," she gasped, staring at the two deep cuts across the girl's naked back, before starting to unfasten the ropes from about her bound wrists.

"Jenny, thank God!"

As soon as her arms were free, the dusky beauty slumped against her blonde rescuer, who supported her weight in her arms. "Hafnor's insane, Jen," Annie sobbed, raising her face to look into Jennifer's big blue eyes. "He... He was g-going to kill m-me and film my death!"

"You're safe now, honey," Jenny soothed, kissing away the tears from the colored beauty's cheeks and stroking her curly black hair.

Jenny suddenly became aware of the girl's hard, erect nipples pressing against her chest, as she clung to her, and felt the heat starting to build between her thighs. She slid her hands down the girl's smooth, curvaceous sides and beneath her loincloth, resting them on her shapely asscheeks.

"Ouch!" Annie gasped, squirming slightly in the blonde's arms.

"Sorry, I forgot about those cuts on your back," Jenny apologized, pulling her hands away.

"No, no, it's not that," the colored girl explained, with a grimace. "I have this recent tattoo on the top of my left buttock and it hasn't had time to fully heal yet."

"Don't tell me... it's a butterfly!"

"Y-Yes. Lew insisted that I had it, if I was going to become one of his Bondage Girls. I wish I hadn't signed that contract now, it gave him carte blanche to do what he wanted with me."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the studio...

Robin brought the masked torturer down, with a flying football tackle, as he was trying to sneak around the darkened edges of the movie set, heading for the elevator and possible escape in the ensuing confusion. The Boy Wonder rolled him over onto his stomach and yanked the man's arms behind his back, before slapping the Batcuffs about his wrists. Then he reached out and yanked the leather hood from the man's head.

"Hafnor!" he exclaimed. "I might have known!"

November 20th, GCPD Headquarters, 12:15 pm

The Dynamic Duo plus Chief O'Hara, were stood in front of the Police Commissioner's desk in GCPD Headquarters, as Batman brought the grey-haired senior lawman up to speed.

"So, let me get this straight," said, the Commissioner, still looking a little perplexed. "Lew Hafnor was behind the asphyxiation murders, having tortured and filmed all three victims being punished, immediately prior to their deaths?"

The Dark Knight nodded. "Correct, Jim!"

"And my daughter, Barbara, and her young friend, Jennifer, having connected the butterfly tattoos on the dead girls, with the official logo of Hafnor Publications, were engaged in a little amateur sleuthing, when they managed to get themselves caught and thus fell into the clutches of this raving lunatic?"

"That IS essentially what happened, Commissioner," the Dark Knight confirmed, nodding his cowled head once more.

"And, during your rescue mission, you also managed to stop the torture and almost certain murder of this forth young woman, what's her name...?" He glanced at the interim report, lying open on the desk before him, which had hastily been produced by Chief O'Hara. "Annabel Brown?"

The Caped Crusader nodded. "With the invaluable help of Chief O'Hara here, and Gotham's finest, of course," he added, diplomatically.

"To be sure, I was only doing my duty, Batman," the Chief of Police protested, with a modest shrug of his shoulders, pleased by the compliment, nonetheless.

"But what was his motive? Why not simulate all these bondage and torture scenes, using paid models or actresses? Why whip those poor creatures for real, then have them murdered, to keep their mouths shut?"

"Realism, Jim!"

"REALISM?" the astounded policeman croaked, hardly able to believe his ears.

"That and a deep seated hatred of all women. Hafnor is a sadistic misogynist, Jim, as well as a masochist," Batman continued. "While he did not actually kill the girls himself... that was done by Al Peterson by the way, Hafnor did order their deaths, after their sadistic torture sessions. He couldn't afford to let them live."

"And, thanks to Peterson, we have extensive video evidence of all the victims being whipped or otherwise tortured, prior to their deaths," added the Boy Wonder, gleefully. "Edited footage was going to be used on Hafnor's websites and in his new magazine publication. They will both spend the rest of their miserable lives behind bars, although I expect Hafnor to end up in Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane."

Everyone nodded, soberly.

"I never realized that this BDSM thing was anything other than some sort of weird, but relatively harmless, kinky hobby," the Commissioner of Police muttered, shaking his head, sorrowfully.




Batgirl: Sadist or Masochist Ch. 11



"Normally, the urge to dress up and put yourself in apparently dangerous situations, is NOT of serious concern for society as a whole, Jim, but in this case, it was alloyed to the warped mind of a madman," the Caped Crusader explained, failing to note the irony of his words.

The Chief of Police grunted and shook his head. "Why my daughter seems to constantly get herself involved in these cases, is beyond me," he muttered. "I put it all down to her close friendship with The Batgirl..." He glanced up and started to go red around the ears. "Er, no offence meant, Caped Crusaders. I know you all do a damned fine job, protecting Gotham City from the worst excesses of the criminal underworld."

The Dark Knight gave him a tight smile. "No offence taken, Jim. I'm sure Barbara always has the very best of intentions, even if she is a little impetuous at times."

November 20th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment, 8:20 pm

Phil Thackeray, lay stretched out on his back on Barbara's bed, his hands gripping the bars of the headboard behind his head. He was clad in the black leather waistcoat and tight-fitting black leather boxers that he'd worn at the Hellfire Club BDSM meeting. Barbara reached out and unzipped the shorts, freeing his burgeoning erection, before tugging them down about his ankles, and discarding them completely. She then clambered onto the bed, and moved astride his hips, with an impish smile on her lovely red lips.

The gorgeous redhead was clad in her Hellfire Club get-up; lacy black hold-ups, matching fingerless full-length gloves, black leather waspie cinched tightly about her waist, and studded leather dog collar. The only things missing, were her black thong panties and high heels. She'd even slipped the small gold rings through her pierced nipples, to further turn on her boyfriend.

"This time, I get to play the dom and you play the sub," she purred, with a wicked gleam in her big green eyes, gripping the base of his throbbing manhood in her left hand and positioning the one-eyed monster at the entrance to her glistening pink pussy.

"Yes, Mistress," Phil readily agreed. This was followed by a long drawn out gasp of pleasure, as Barbara sank down onto his veiny shaft, until it was fully engulfed inside her.

"Now make me cum, slave!" she ordered, arching her back and thrusting out her boobs, as her powerful vaginal muscles contracted about his hot throbbing manhood.

The policeman gripped her hips and started to rhythmically ease his girlfriend up and down on his veiny erection. "Your word is my command, Mistress!" he replied, with a knowing grin.

THE END