Epilogue: Bat Breeder

Barbara Gordon, better known as Batgirl, slid through the crowded club, trying and failing to avoid touching the pregnant bellies...but they were everywhere. She had never seen a maternity miniskirt before, but then she'd also never known a hot spot that seemed determined to cater to such a gravid crowd. Even the dancers in the cages were sporting bellies, their movements almost hypnotic in the play of lights...

Batgirl herself had opted for fishnets and boots, a black vinyl skirt that came down to mid-thigh, a carefully-ripped Shub-Niggurath t-shirt, fishnet arm sleeves, and a black jacket which contained most of her utility belt. A few extra "piercings" in the ears and nose, and heavy eye-shadow completed the look of the punk college girl that didn't go totally emo.

Maternity rates in this part of Metropolis were spiking, but there were no reported rapes. Batgirl had traced it back to this club...she suspected there was something going on here, either prostitution or a serial **** or maybe a cult...but whatever the case was, she was bound and determined to figure it out.

Yet on the surface, it was just the kind of place where pregnant women were congregating to have a good time—some of them quite openly, Barbara noted, as two co-eds kissed, their nine-month pregnant bellies rubbing against each other as their tongues wrestled.

No, whatever was happening was going on downstairs.

Silent and unseen as a ninja, the Batgirl slipped through an open fire door into an unlit stairwell that smelled like stale piss. She let her eyes adjust to the gloom and began to descend, every sense on edge, careful not to kick any bottles or trash that might give away her location.

At the bottom of the stairwell, Barbara saw a familiar face.

Lois Lane was dressed in tight red pants and a black jacket, hair loose and with enough makeup on to blend in with the college-age crowd. Something was off about the way she was squatting, a wide-thigh stance on the stool that seemed unnatural for a woman. There was a kind of shrine on the wall, lots of photographs, dangling pregnancy tests. The reporter had her camera out, taking shots.

Barbara debated stepping out of the darkness. It was her favorite trick that Batman had taught her. But no, better to wait. If Lois Lane had a lead, then maybe it would be a good idea to let her follow it. Besides, the reporter might not recognize Barbara out of her costume.

There was something else, though. Some graffiti scrawled beneath the photographs, a word repeated over and over again, that Batgirl couldn't quite make out. After several minutes, Lois turned to her left and walked away. Barbara waited until the footsteps' echoes faded until she moved, to examine the scene herself.

The air was cleaner in the hallway, the light from the bulb above burning bright. There was less trash than Barbara might have expected, and no signs of squatters or **** paraphernalia. Either someone kept this place clear, or the locals knew enough to avoid it, and that set off a warning bell inside of Batgirl.

The photographs were all tagged with names and dates—and Barbara recognized some of them from her research. The oldest was going back about ten months. There seemed to be no arrangement or order to the pics, one overlapping others.

To her left, where Lois had gone, the corridor turned out of sight. There was a curtain covering the wall to her right. The redhead pushed it aside, revealing a hole in the wall, around which someone had carefully painted the same word three times: CROATOAN. Batgirl fished a pen flashlight out of her jacket and began to examine it carefully.

It was about waist height, and seemed to go straight through the wall to another chamber, where a pink light burned...she could make out brick and stone construction, showing where someone had drilled through. There was something written there in the darkness on the sides of the tunnel, hard to see from this angle. Batgirl slid her upper torso into the hole.

Not like any of the pregnant women upstairs could make it in here, Barbara thought to herself, noting the tight fit for her slender torso. Truth be told, I'm a little jealous. All those women lucky enough to get pregnant...

Batgirl heard the soft pad of feet behind her moments before the hands slid up her skirt. Instinct wanted her to lash out, to kick and cripple her assailant...and then her eyes caught on the message she had seen earlier, written on the sides of the tunnel.

WELCOME TO THE MOTHERING HOLE

IF YOU READ THIS, MAYBE YOU ARE

ABOUT TO BECOME A FUCKING MOTHER

The pink light began to strobe, so strong now that Barbara could still see after-images when she closed her eyes...and somehow the fight went out of her as the hands hiked up her skirt and pulled down her panties. Something pressed against her pussy, something bigger than Barbara had ever taken inside her before.

A fucking mother, she thought, as the raw cock slid into her snatch. With emphasis on the fucking. Barbara gasped. The cock was fat enough she winced as it stretched her out, pussy wrapped tight around the invader. It had been a long time since she had sex...and never, ever unprotected. Batgirl just couldn't risk...risk...

Batgirl moaned, head fuzzy, eyes filled with the pink glare as the long cock slid how in her slick slit. She had been jealous of those pregnant women upstairs, hadn't she? Why couldn't Barbara have a baby, if that's what she wanted? All she needed was a cock, and she was getting that right now.

Dimly, some part of her brain registered that the hands on her ass were slim and woman-like, that she could feel the material of the pants press against her fishnet-covered thighs every time the thrust bottomed out, hear the jingle of the jacket's zippers...and Batgirl knew exactly who was fucking her right then.

But not why.

The staccato pink flash shifted into some new pattern, and Batgirl could hear a voice speaking to her, down the tunnel. She had to focus to make out the words, but it sounded like...

"When was your last period?"

"I...I don't know." Which was true. Strenuous efforts to keep in top human condition had made Batgirl's "monthly visitor" erratic at the best of times. The voice was distorted, but also familiar. She recognized it...or would recognize it if she heard it again.

"Are you on birth control?"

"No..." Sex having been off the table for so long, Batgirl hadn't bothered with it in a long time. Of course, she had a morning after pill in her utility belt, for emergencies...

"Extend your arm."

Barbara did, stretching it forward to where the tunnel emerged into the other room. It was like she was stretching for the pink light, which was filling her vision. Her mind felt wrapped with cotton candy. Not hard to think, exactly, just...insulated. Her pussy was really wet. She wondered vaguely if the person fucking her had cum and was just still fucking...

A sharp pain blossomed on the inside of her wrist. Barbara saw a pink vial empty itself into the vein there.

"If you weren't fertile before," the voice said to her. "You are now."

Barbara grinned, feeling kind of stupid as the fat prick pounded her pussy. Fertile sounded good. Real good. Like having a baby. Batgirl wanted a baby. The more she stared into the pink light, the more that sank down into her mind...and the more she liked it.

She began to push back, meeting her anonymous sperm donor's thrusts, fucking back. It felt good after such a long dry spell to really cut loose. Especially when she thought about how they were making a baby. She smiled to think about what Batman would say about that. Maybe when she was too big to squeeze into her Batgirl costume, she would add her own picture to the wall. Part of the quiet gang who had fallen down the mothering hole.