Wait For Him To Come To Her

It was 3AM, and the sleeping form of the woman lay beneath the covers, still and unmoving. The door of the balcony was unlocked, and slid open easily—few people in this apartment building would expect an intruder from this angle. Dr. Crane, the Scarecrow, moved forward silently on padded feet. How best to do it, he wondered? Just a whiff of gas, as she slept. To turn her troubled dreams into erotic nightmares...to make her wet and trembling for him as he made manifest her deepest fears, and fucked a child into her unprotected wom—

The first swing of the two-foot length of the dildo-bat caught the Scarecrow just behind the right ear. Sensitive electronics in the mask crumpled and sparked, fragments cutting into his skin. He fell forward heavily across the bed, pulling at the topsheet...and revealing the carefully-arranged pile of pillows there.

Lois Lane's second swing caught in on the side of the knee. There was a wet popping sound as the joint gave way. The villain hissed in pain.

There were no words for a while. Even an experienced combatant can be caught by surprise, and Lois was savvy enough not to give up her advantage. The bat rose and fell with almost medical precision, aiming at major joints. Not to kill...just to maim, to cripple, to eliminate any and all resistance.

She lost her cool a little in the end, as tiny whiffs of gas seeped out of broken canisters, the slight traces of fear-chemicals and lust-chemicals driving her into an adrenaline frenzy, anger fuelling her as she broke the major bones in her arms and legs. He didn't move as she struck the last few blows, huffing and puffing, sweaty and bright-eyed.

Her nipples were stiff, pussy drenched. Fight, flight, or fuck response had been engaged, and she had already fought and won, and there was no point in running.

"Self-defense," she said, tapping the one part of him she hadn't swung the bat at yet gently with The Penetrator. It tinked gently against the cup protecting his family jewels. "I could toss you out on the street tonight, and Batman would scrape up what was left to you and ship it back to Arkham Asylum. Or...maybe I can show you the terror that a woman feels."

Her hands clawed at his pants, finding hidden zippers, seams. Pulled down pants and underwear to reveal the pale, hairy expanse of a frankly unimpressive bottom.

"You ever drop the soap in Arkham?" the reporter asked, a ferocious grin on her face as she tapped the Penetrator against his butt-cheeks. "You look like the type. The kind that tells themselves that they're secure in their masculinity. Situational homosexuality. Doesn't make you gay," she spat.

In her drawer was a bottle of lube. Lois Lane retrieved it and sat on the corner of the bed, where Crane could see her, lubing up the penetrator. All two feet of it, right down to the aluminum handle.

"When I'm done with you," the reporter told him coldly. "Your ass won't be worth a pack of cigarettes."