Face masks are a sick practical joke created by the Nazis during WW2. It's a horrible device, masquerading — pardon the pun — as harmless fashion. Also, Batgirl's hot

Call me a fool, but... I don't think this chick's an actual angel.

I mean, I might have... misunderstood, and thought she looked somewhat attractive—you know, seen from behind and stuff. But seeing her from the front like this; wearing a damned face mask!? Come on! She went from godly to 4/10, just like that.

"I heard everything through the ventilation shaft; don't worry, you'll be OK now. Where did they plant the— EEEK!" Batgirl shrieked in a manner far outdoing Frost's previous one on the girlishness scale, her (yuck) face mask landing inches away from my half-erect member as she turned around, "SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW THE— I COULDN'T SEE ANYTHING FROM THE AIR VENTS SO I THOUGHT— I WOULD NEVER WANT TO LOOK AT SOMEONE'S LARGE— SORRY!" she bounced back to her feet, turning her beet-red kisser away from me in shame.

I put a finger in each ear to keep out her sudden screeching.

Yeah, that went from heaven to earth real fucking quick, didn't it? I'm thinking the near-**** situation might have turned my brain a little mush earlier, because this broad is sounding a lot more bat than angel right now.

"Ahem. Not that I don't enjoy you respecting my personal space and all; it's just that, as you mentioned, there's this bomb about to kill me. If you think you could, you know, fix that, that would be stellar. Thanks."

As if caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Batgirl snapped back to attention. She seemed to be making a conscious effort of keeping her vision fixed on my forehead and not anywhere else, "R-right! Quickly, tell me where they placed the bomb and I will neutralize it."

"Ahem, ahem," I motioned towards my groin; specifically, towards the part of the bomb clipped on there that wasn't hidden behind my flaccid sausage. To my horror, the constant beeping sound it emitted merged into one, final, long-lasting tone.

Batgirl's eyes moved between where my fingers were pointing, and where my eyes met hers; her face turning redder each time.

"IT'S ON Y-Y-YOUR... THAT'S OK! NOOO PROBLEM AT ALL HAHA!" Clutching her chest while taking long, deep breaths, I couldn't help but worry a little at how the actual crime-fighter used a lot of my valuable time on calming herself, "So, erm, do you want me to maybe cover up my eyes for this, or perhaps go and get you a male doctor, or—"

"WOMAN, GET THIS THING OFF OF ME!"

"R-RIGHT!" Batgirl squealed as she compliantly dropped to her knees, wrapping her gloved hand around my tool. Lifting it up sheepishly, she constantly tilted her neck upwards to affirm by my expression that she wasn't doing anything wrong.

God dammit. That's just great.

Now I'm shouting at a lady. And a civil protector, at that. Out of all the heroes I just had to get the chaste one.

In my defense, Batgirl always seemed the calm, cool, and collected type whenever I saw her on TV. Perhaps even more so when I saw her jump down from the roof earlier.

She's been a pillar of Gotham for what seems like forever.

Now that I stop to think about it, though, when she first started out, I remember her being a teenager. I deduce that puts her somewhere in her early adulthood around now.

Goddammit, now I'm screaming at a kid as well. Perhaps I should just shut up and be grateful the hero is doing the hero thing. She's probably better at it than me in every conceivable way.

Besides...

I peeked down at the little lady below me. Ignoring the mhmhm mask she's... you know... not bad looking.

...

I did say I wanted a Wonder Babe right? Girl on her knees in front of you, her hand on your tool? Doesn't get much more wonderful than that.

As I calmed down, so did Batgirl. She'd started to become more comfortable touching my privates: her grip fastening more securely, eyes focused on analyzing the threat at hand, not blushing every time she felt a pulse run through the threat in hand.

At one point, I actually felt she was getting a bit too comfortable.

Her attention was glued to the bomb, naturally, so I'm not actually sure if she even noticed; however, her hand was kind of... moving.

I mean, I get keeping my dick from hitting her face, but (God, what are her gloves made of?) if her hand continued moving as it did, she'd be dealing with something very different all over her face.

And fuck me! I swear her other hand was playing with my ballsack! OK, at first she lifted my junk in her flat palm out of necessity, as it allowed her to dexterously pull a red wire from inside the boom-boom box that I really hope was important.

But while I understood why her thumb and pointy had to do that, I didn't get why the rest of her fingers couldn't keep themselves from clawing at my stuff as if it was gift wrapped.

Fuck, that feels good. Where did she learn how to do that? You know, I think I might be feeling more stressed than I thought, because I'm literally complaining about Wonder Babe.

While these thoughts ran through my mind, Batgirl actually seemed focused on her work; her body the epitome of concentration, almost as if she wasn't in the middle of administering Kong Fu levels of dick stroking.

Then her face scrunched up.

Why did her face scrunch up?

It's not supposed to do that unless something is wrong.

Oh no.

"This thing will blow in exactly fifteen seconds. (Well, I can't help it if you keep—) I'm going to cut this wire with a device in my belt. I need you to hold your, um, your genitalia up for me, sir, so that I can save you."

Oh... The bomb... right. Well, that's easy. In fact, while scratching my chin, I informed, "Well... actually, I don't think that'll be necessary."

Batgirl seemed puzzled by my response, up until she lets go of my shaft, and learned it now stood proudly on its own. Her cheeks flared as she squealed another embarrassed "R-RIGHT!" (So she hadn't been doing all that other stuff on purpose?) but this time she acted with speed befitting someone of the title super. Grabbing a knife from her utility belt, she cut the wire in one swift motion; subsequently cutting the beep.

Phew.

I let out a sigh that permeated throughout my core. The shaking of my knees could finally subside; a feeling of exhaustion entering me now that all the adrenaline began leaving my body. It came as an eye-opener when my legs suddenly gave out, and I fell on my ass; however, sitting down was too gratifying for me to be of a bad mind about it.

Batgirl did me the service of using a bat-laser device that she'd fished out from her utility belt to melt the ice around my feet.

Actually — deduced through my expert detective perception abilities — it might have been for her own sake. She'd subtly kept her eyes glued to my cock even after the bomb was removed, and sitting like this gave her the opportunity to peek a little more. Son of a gun. So she is being a fizgig.

I mean, why else would she choose to sit between my legs rather than outside them as she lasered away. And though she was trying to be slick about it, she was definitely not in a natural stance, leaning down to get a closer look.

Naughty, naughty. That's not very heroic of you miss Batgirl. What happened to respecting my personal space? I guess excitement weakens her judgment because there's no denying what she's doing now.

I couldn't help but smile as the thought hit me: do superheroines masturbate? Batgirl seemed a little on the nerdy side, so she might just be the closet pervert type. You know, the one who'll be spending all night touching herself to the thought of her first up-close meeting with my lady-tamer.

The thought itself was enough to send my pole skyrocketing, which definitely didn't go unnoticed.

Batgirl dropped even more subtlety as she watched my rod rise up from my belly, seeming to lean in like fish towards bait as it closed in on her.

To my delight, Batgirl's entrancement was so severe that she never got the idea to retreat her face. Her eyes kept following the meat-stick up and up until they eventually crossed when the top of my tower rested just in front of Batgirl's nose!

Wonder Babe, Wonder Babe, Wonder Babe, Wonder Babe.

Wait... This lasted a lot longer than I expected it would.

Instead of jumping up and shrieking an apology like I'd come to expect from her by now, Batgirl just stood there with her silly, cross-eyed look as if she'd been genuinely hypnotized. Her plump lips had originally opened as if in shock, but with her brain seemingly at a loss for words, she just kept gaping like a drooling baby, further adding to her mindless look.

A supposed super genius and filthy mask user looking like that was... kind of hot.

I was almost beginning to worry if she'd stopped breathing, but after a long second of nothing, that idea left me, as the stunned super-hero finally let out her warm, ragged breath onto my ballsack.

Staring into her open mouth, I could see that Batgirl's tongue had started to move as if on instinct, trembling as it closed in on its target; however, being stopped in its tracks by Batgirl's own pearly whites biting down into her juicy lower lip. She blinked. The fun might be over.

Light slowly returning to the red head's eyes as they eventually gained the focus to remove themselves from my crotch and meet my questioning (but might I add very welcoming) expression.

We kept eye contact for a while, Batgirl seemingly in the middle of rearranging the clouds in her head. As I guessed, after a moment of serene silence, a sudden jolt of realization ran through her body, and then more noises followed, "Oh fuck... Was that just in my head, o-or did I really just... RIGHT!"

Batgirl's skin color finally matched her hair, as she at last allowed herself back onto her own two feet. She thus joined Killer Frost — who was spinning around like some grumpy disco ball with a big ass — as one of the two things filling my vision from my position of complete indulgence, splayed out on the floor.

I don't know what happened there, but that's OK. From now on I won't complain about Wonder Babe anymore. Who knows, maybe I actually did die and go to heaven.