End: Lois Lane Breaks Batgirl

In the end, Lois Lane didn't even notice when Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy slipped away, with the six million dollars in cash and a baby in each of their bellies. After all, she had a new toy to play with.

In her mind, the Caped Crusader knew that Batman would rescue her. It was only a matter of time. A contest of endurance, to survive the demented reporter's machinations until he or some other member of the Bat-family could come rescue her.

Except her clothes and gear were FedEx'd to Tijuana. Ivy and Harley were headed to Canada, under the radar. There was no direct evidence to tie Batgirl's disappearance to Lois Lane—and whatever chemicals the reporter had been exposed to, whatever metagene had been awakened by the combination, whatever mania drove the reporter, the mad reporter's metabolism was now superhuman.

So the hours rolled by, as Lois Lane massaged every inch of Batgirl's body. Every hour on the hour, the reporter's tongue would find Batgirl's cunny. Barbara Gordon, bound in place, tried to break free—but more than that, she tried to endure as the reporter's tireless tongue laved her labia over and over, like a cat licking a sardine tin.

At first, Barbara tried to fight her body's desires. To tamp down the heat of arousal that rose within at the reporter's tireless sexual ****. Her reasoned words fell on deaf ears, and eventually Batgirl ceased talking, so that her quavering voice would not give away her rising sexual arousal.

Except Lois Lane had no intention of allowing Batgirl to cum. Not yet.

Nor was she allowed to sleep.

Every time the redhaired heroine nodded, an eager mouth found her cunt, and the penetration of the invading tongue pushed Batgirl back to wakefulness.

No sunlight reached the hidden growhouse. There were no clocks. Nothing to mark the passage of time, except the marks of her own body. The biological urges were what **** Batgirl's mouth open again...and the Caped Crusader's cheeks burned as Lois held the bucket beneath her, so that Barbara Gordon could empty herself. Wiped the bound woman's crotch clean. Fetched a bottle of water and a straw so the dehydrated heroine could drink.

Exhausted, Batgirl tried to think of a way to use these small concessions for her escape. Put aside the fire in her loins, the **** need for relief. The mad reporter seemed tireless, maniac, her ministrations constant. The reporter sucked her toes, and each of her fingers. Batgirl's teeth snapped whenever the reporter's face got close, but the naked woman climbed, nimble as a monkey, all over the bound and naked Batgirl, to rub her cunny on each part of her.

Perhaps it was the chemicals or pheromones in Lois Lane's pussy juice that caused Batgirl to begin to waver. Or the **** need to get off that made her start to flex her hips against the reporter's face during the hourly cuntlicking sessions. The hours without sleep—it felt to Batgirl that she had been awake for days, barely able to move, arms and legs aching, cunt on fire, nodding off into periodic microsleep and then jolted awake as Lois Lane's spit-slick fingers found her ass, her pussy, her nipples.

Once, as Batgirl's head drooped, she felt the reporter's soft lips against hers. Woke to that hot tongue slide into her mouth. That was an opportunity, if Batgirl had wished to take it. To bite down hard on her tormentor, to make her bleed.

Instead, she found herself kissing back.

That was when Lois Lane began to whisper. A constant barrage of filthy things. All the things that Lois wanted to do with her. Pins, needles, whips, chains, tattoos, enemas, kisses, toys, costumes, whip cream...it was as though some inner dam of the reporter's psyche had been broken, and all the pent-up sexual fantasies of the reporter's entire life came out in a long, filthy torrent. Lois Lane seemed to relish each dirty word, and was silent only when her mouth descended to bring Batgirl to the brink of climax once again, only to leave the puffy and raw pussy wanting at the last moment.

Batgirl knew she had been there a day or two. She had used the bucket three times, and Lois had cleaned her up after. The endless fantasies had invaded the snatches of sleep that did nothing to recuperate the weakening heroine's strength. Batgirl sagged in her bonds, her body quivered with need. Lois Lane looked wan and pale, dark bags under her eyes, yet she never for a moment let Batgirl's nipples go soft, never let her pussy go dry.

Once, when Batgirl passed out for a moment, she awoke to the rubbing of soft labia against her face, Lois Lane's juices smeared across her lips, the stubble from unshaved thighs bristled against the redhead's cheeks.

The pink tongue slid out, hesitatingly. Touched the slim, juice peach in front of her. Then the reporter froze. She let Batgirl lick her own pussy. Felt the redhead pour all of her pent-up passion into that hot box, whose smell seemed to fill her head. Buried her face in that cunny, forgetting for a moment all of her aches and pains,t he long hours of exhaustion. Heard the rising pants of passion from Lois Lane...and then the sharp, piercing cry of triumph as those thing thighs clasped around her head, the pubes **** into Batgirl's nostrils even as a hot, wet spurt of liquor spat from the woman's cunt and into Batgirl's open mouth.

Batgirl swallowed what Lois Lane gave her, without even being ordered to. A dribble of juice ran down the defeated heroine's thighs.

Her last erg of energy expended in that carnal act, Batgirl was dimly aware of being released from the X-shaped cross. Of being carried over to a bed. Her head hit the pillow, and once again she felt those hot lips touch her super-sensitive clit. Except this time, there was no stopping. Not even when the limp and resistless Batigrl's back arched, her perky breasts with their swollen pink nipples pointed at the ceiling as her tired body was **** into climax.

And climax, her pussy burning.

And climax, her hips bucking uncontrollably.

And climax, her brain breaking, unable to think, to plan, to do anything except cum and cum and cum...

Sleep must have taken them sometime, for when Black Bat and Batman came in, quiet as shadows, the two were utterly ****. Lois Lane's head was on Batgirl's soft belly, and Batgirl's hands cradled that head and hugged her close. The dark cape beneath the redhead the only covering on the mattress. Delicately, Batman knelt over them, to check pulses, and peel back eyelids.

Silently, Batman and Black Bat gestured in sign language, so as not to awake the two women. Lois lane and Batgirl had been found. Ivy and Harley Quinn, the obvious kidnappers, had made good their escape for now. The important part was to get these two to the hospital.

Which left a question for tomorrow, when Batgirl and Lois Lane awoke in their hospital beds, of what story they would tell people...and no one knew what exactly that story would be. The story of Lois Lane's night out, where she was kidnapped by two villainesses...or a story where Lois Lane, maddened and empowered by them, did the ****.

Much would depend on whether Batgirl had been sufficiently broken by Lois Lane. But that is another story.