Nightwing Bonus Issue #1: Ambush! (Part 1)

Throbbing. If there was one word to describe the atmosphere of La Tigresas' gatherings, it would be throbbing. Throbbing engines, from dozens of illegally-customized cars and motorcycles. Throbbing music, blaring over every set of speakers, big or small. Throbbing pulses, as the pounding beats and rumbling vibrations crept into the gathered gangbangers' brains and pumped them full of hot, sticky anticipation. Throbbing nipples, tugged and tweaked, their owners gasping and cooing as they sat in their femme-daddies' laps or drifted close to any gal who looked like she might have wandering hands. Throbbing cocks, straining at their owners' clothes, teased into a frenzy by the strutting, grinding hoes they surrounded themselves with. All wrapped in the trashiest fishnets, denim and latex.

No class, just ASS.

When the first waves of conquistadoras and bandeirantes had arrived on American shores, spurred on by all the basest desires of humanity, they quickly found themselves being swallowed up by the New World. Would-be queens found themselves shuddering and moaning on the ends of fist-thick cocks or mindlessly humping into vice-tight holes. Lust for gold and silver soon became indistinguishable from lust for the plush, curvy bodies adorned in them, mesmerised by the way they drew glittering patterns in the air. Missionaries full of conviction soon became converts themselves to thick, meaty native ASS, drooling and moaning as they worshiped their jiggling new idols. From Cape Columbia to Cape Horn, the genetic legacy of those first ill-prepared Iberian adventuresses was plain to see in their descendants, and those descendants had repeated their forebearers' defeat all over again when they arrived in Blüdhaven.

Which is a long-winded way of saying that it was a damn good job Ricarda Grayson, alias Nightwing, had managed to avoid what the various attempts by the cartels to penetrate the city's criminal underworld had coalesced into before now. All that junk, swung around by such fiery latina ladies, and aimed squarely at an uncertain young superheroine taking her first strutting steps outside of mommy's protective aegis? They'd have had her in any position they liked within a few minutes, and she'd never have been able to pull herself out of it. It was hard enough to stay focused as it was, as she peered down at the swarm of lights from atop a derelict warehouse. Without a civic-minded go-getter like Selina Kyle in the mayoral residence, Blüdhaven's counterparts to the industrial park that would become The Squat Rack had stayed as monuments to urban decay and prime nests for the city's many gangs - and perfect locations for illicit dealings.

Nightwing tracked a pair of dark-suited femmes, black latex outfits glistening in the surrounding headlights, as they wove their way through the crowds and around other, less prestigious deals in progress, making their way to one of the 'quieter' areas. Occupied by a 'mere' pair of highly-tuned street racers blaring a 'merely' tooth-rattlingly bassy club anthem, surrounded by a deceptively trashy-looking gaggle of femmes and their bitches, only Nightwing's encyclopaedic knowledge of her new home turf let her pick out 'Ramrod' Rosa, La Tigresas' most disciplined and brutal enforcer - a title there was no shortage of competition for, given the criminal alliance's persistence in the face of the Mihn Tong, the Carmeletta Family, the Sukhova Mafiya, and now the False Facers. Seeing that there was no sign she'd been spotted - even with her ASS rising above her prone form like an especially spankable mountain range on the horizon - and that the pair of masked miscreants were indeed heading where she'd been told, Nightwing planted her palms on the rooftop and effortlessly pushed her bottom-heavy body into a set of perfect handstand splits.

Closing her legs and bending at the waist, she let her costume's boots hit the floor and put her in a perfect downward dog pose for a moment, before straightening up and taking a running jump off the roof. Thanking her lucky stars - and Wayne Enterprises' R&D team - that the ropes protruding from her escrima sticks held under the weight of her prodigious ASS, she swung trapeze-style through a long-broken bay window on the building opposite and rolled to bleed off her momentum as the twin grappling hooks wound back into their housings with a soft whizzing sound. Even the thump of her landing had been muffled by the pounding, throbbing, tingle-inducing beats all around her, but she still made sure to stay low and quiet as she crept along the dusty corridor; one door, two doors, three doors and... Yes! This was the office directly overlooking Rosa's little slice of the party.

"-ther you've god the biggest burro dicks in Blüdhaven to talk to the bosses like that, or this is something really special." Rosa's voice drifted up from below, even over the the pumping of her rides' speakers, laced with all the teasing confidence Nightwing had come to expect from a criminal in the heart of her power. "Please, we're not stupid enough to be bratty in Blüdhaven," one of the False Facers replied, her cat mask and carefully-generic accent preventing Nightwing from identifying her as anyone specific, "this is the good stuff, straight from Gotham." Ricarda frowned; it seemed that, even with their operations smashed, Black Mask and her cronies weren't ready to give up on Blüdhaven. She made a mental note to pass this info to the Bat at the first chance she got and bring the whole family down on the this smuggling racket, then promptly forgot all about the idea as that mental note was crushed between the flexing cheeks of a perfect ASS.

Rosa tapped a finger against her chin a couple of times as her posse and the guests all tensed, then grinned. "Oh, Carmelita~" she crooned, and one of the girls sprawled across a femme's lap perked up, "come over here, would you amada?" The woman's impromptu couch pushed her upright, and she sauntered over to Rosa as the femme plucked a vial of glittering purple liquid proffered by Cat-Mask and slo~wly poured out a line across the curve of each breast, half for each. Ricarda's pussy ached as a sweet, musky smell billowed up from below, hitting her like a firehose-blast of super-thick, super-hot, super-potent purple-and-gold jizz straight to her pretty little face. Gawdess, she groaned in the privacy of her own head, that stuff smells divine! "You know what to do." Carmelita grinned and, with the ease of long practice, lapped up both lines in two quick swipes of her tongue. "You do know that's-" Rosa cut the other False Facer's concern off with a wave of her hand as Carmelita shuddered and moaned. "I know," she replied laconically, before directing her words to the alarmingly energetic woman. "Now, gimme a demonstration."

Carmelita practically sprang into motion, her fishnet-wrapped bubble butt jiggling to a degree beyond what any of the observers were expecting as she strutted over to the cars and planted her hands on the wing mirrors. She swung herself upwards into a near-perfect copy of Nightwing's earlier handstand, then let herself drop, one outstretched leg on each hood. All of this was silent, not a sign of weight on either car to be seen, and the sight drew a raised eyebrow from Rosa. Carmelita looked back over her shoulder with a wink and a manic smile, wiggled her asscheeks...

...and flexed her glutes. There was a muffled shriek of metal as both cars were abruptly crushed into the concrete, compressed down into shallow craters of their own outlines and dropping Carmelita with them. The girl moaned in delight as her crotch hit the ground, the impact setting off an orgasm that had clearly been building for some time, and Nightwing grimaced as every buck of her hips sent the smaller bits of wreckage floating into the air briefly. Some kind of gravity manipulation? I know people talk about having an ASS that pulls people in, she mused, brain instinctively analysing the power on display, but never quite that literally. If there was one bright spot, it seemed to have brought Carmelita over the edge in more ways than one, her snapback-clad head drooping as her consciousness faded with her orgasm.

Rosa watched her side piece slump, still holding her splits, and nodded in satisfaction. "We'll take it," she announced, "two cases this time, as agreed, and the bosses'll hear Black Mask's offer for a long-term supply. And if that-" She gestured to the destructive tableau in front of her. "turns out to be permanent, then I'll personally give you head so sloppy you won't walk right for a week. Hell, I might even do it anyway..." She took the case from each of the out-of-towners and looked directly up at Nightwing. "...for the chance to pull a sting on the law for a change." Ricarda's instincts screamed at her to duck straight down instead of away from the window, and proved correct when a high-heeled boot sailed through the air above her and knocked a head-sized chunk out of the window frame.

"Long time no see, Tweetie Pie."

Stranglehold grinned, thighs that Ricarda couldn't help drooling over - even in the heat of combat - flexing as she redirected her kick back and downwards. Nightwing flung herself backwards, the sheer mass of her ASS helping her turn the **** lunge into a picture-perfect roll as the super-strong Puerto Rican mercenary's blow blasted a chunk of the floor into the room below.

"Shame you forgot your posse, chica," she drawled, as Nightwing unhooked her escrima sticks from her belt and settled into a fighting stance, "we were really looking forward to a reunion..."

We? Ah, hell, Ricarda thought, as her eyes darted around for avenues of escape, you're ASS-deep in it now, RiRi.