Epilogue: Bat Breeder IV: Last Laugh

"This isn't funny!"

The pale makeup on her face was smudged, showing the bruises beneath. Her hair had grown out, showing the golden roots of a more natural blonde beneath the bleach job. The attendants at Arkham Asylum had left her in the padded cell with only the straight jacket. Sometimes she spread her legs to give her visitors a show, get a laugh...but not this time.

"I mean it, Harley." Batgirl said, her cape carefully draped over her body. "I can get you out of here. Tonight. All you have to do..."

"I ain't havin' no bat-babies!" The Crown Princess of Crime growled. "If you want someone to get knocked up so bad, why don't you do it yourself!"

Batgirl's arms unfolded, drawing her cape aside.

The costume was tight around the belly, the utility belt riding high, the bat-insignia stretched wide over the broader chest. Harley Quinn was momentarily speechless at the sight of the unmistakably gravid dome.

"I have," Batgirl said. "Haven't you ever thought about having a child?"

"I...Mister Jay...he shoots blanks..." Harley said, mind reeling past a thousand pregnancy jokes. "Once, I..."

"Ivy can't have kids," Batgirl broke in. "Did you know that?"

"She told me about that," Harley said.

Batgirl squatted down, until her eyes were level with Harley's. The pregnant heroine's stomach bulged, but Batgirl kept her balance perfectly.

"You can be with her again. Just the two of you, and the baby. We can give you money to help you live."

Pale blue eyes stared out at Batgirl. Harley had been in this cell for a long time.

"Why?" she said.

"I could say that it's because you have good genes, and that you're ovulating. Our breeder happens to be in town and is coming to Arkham to get an interview. But to be honest," Batgirl gave a little smile. "Because I think it would be funny."

"Not exactly romantic, is it?" Harley said.

The interview room was bare. Institutional brown paint on the walls, two chairs, a table, a dry-erase board screwed into one wall. One-way glass covered the top half of one wall, for the observation chamber. No cameras. Soundproofing all around. In Arkham Asylum, no one could hear you scream.

Batgirl hadn't taken her out of the straitjacket yet.

"Bend over the table," Batgirl ordered.

With a crinkle of her nose, Harley Quinn obeyed. The reporter took a short leather and canvas strap, and locked it into a loop at the collar of the straitjacket. The other end attached to a loop on the table. Harley gave a tug: the table was the old model, solid steel and bolted to the floor. Not going anywhere.

"Why all this?" Quinn said. "I said I'd fuck your 'breeder.' You said you'd set me free."

"You did," Batgirl walked around the table. "I will. This is for your safety."

The heroine dodged the kick and grabbed Harley's ankle. The bound woman struggled, twisting her body. An Olympic-level acrobat, and still in top form. Batgirl smiled to herself, reassured that Harley was prime breeding material. A plastic tie cinched Harley's ankle to the leg of the table.

"No more kicking," Batgirl said. "You wouldn't want to hurt my baby...would you?"

In mid-air, the criminal's leg paused. All the hesitation Batgirl needed. She grasped the back of Harley's thigh, paralyzing the nerve cluster there. The bound woman began to thrash on the table, trying to dislocate her own shoulders.

"Ow!" Harley said. "Hey, watch it..."

"You're flexible Harley," Batgirl said, as she tied the woman's other ankle to the table leg. The pale-faced blonde was practically doing a split. The pregnant redhead eyed her exposed cunny critically. "You're probably wet enough. But our breeder is a bit big...you want me to lube you up a little? Last couple women, they had a hard time..."

Harley twisted her neck as far as the strap allowed, stared at the mirrored glass. The pregnant Batgirl was on her knees, staring at the bound woman's pussy, tongue hanging out...

"You're serious!?" The clown princess of crime said. "This ain't like you red. What's gotten into you?"

Batgirl smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

She bent forward and pressed her lips against Harley Quinn's pussy. Ran her tongue up and down that slit, feeling the stubble on her tongue. One hand removed a small container of petroleum jelly from her utility belt. Squirted some into one yellow gloved hand. Harley watched as Batgirl began to rub it into her slit. Bit her lip as she felt those thick gloves pry apart her labia. Cold goo rubbed up and down and then deep inside the blonde's tight cleft, enough to make her wince.

Yet before Harley could really get into it, Batgirl was done.

"Just one last thing for your 'date'," the redhead told her. The caped crusader walked back around to the front of the table, took out a dry-erase marker and carefully wrote the word CROATOAN in two-foot letters on the board.

Batgirl knelt down. Her face was unreadable behind the half-mask, but the smile worried Harley. She had seen more than her fair share of smiles in her lifetime, and had learned to read them. This one spoke volumes. A little vacant, but unforced. Somebody had got to the Batgirl, of that Harley was certain.

"What's with the word?" she asked. "What does it mean?"

"It's a trigger. You'll see." Batgirl stroked Harley's face, leaving a streak of lube and pussy-juice. "I'll be monitoring you from the observation room. Just me. If anything goes wrong...if you need to stop...call out and I'll be there. But I think...I know you'll enjoy it. I did."

Then with a swish of her cape, the pregnant Batgirl was gone.

As soon as the door was shut, Harley began to squirm, testing her bonds. She could get out of this, given time.

The door opened again.

"...right through here, Miss Lane. I'll be in the observation room if you have any problems."

"Thank you, I..."

The woman's voice cut off. Harley heard the door shut and lock. She turned her head, stared into the mirror.

A woman stood there. Raven-black, shoulder-length hair. Big violet eyes focused on the word on the dry-erase board. A purple business jacket, and beneath that a skirt, long legs...

The skirt was tenting. Cloth ripped as panties gave way, little bits of fabric drifting down to the floor between the reporter's legs. Harley gulped as she saw the size of the cock. Bigger than Mister J...bigger than that time Harley and Ivy had played "Hide the zucchini." A throbbing purple helmet the size of a child's fist, weeping precum.

"Hey," Harley said as the woman stared forward. Her movements were oddly stiff, and the villain twisted and struggled against her bonds, but it was no use. Small, strong hands grasped Harley's athletic, toned ass. Thumbs dug into the flesh of her buttocks, spreading the pussy wide. Warm, rubbery flesh pressed against the freshly-lubricated cunt.

"Hey!" Harley shouted, but the dickgirl seemed not to hear her as the cock slid home, like a train on greased wheels, utterly unstoppable until it hit the end of the line with a crash and a fury.

It's the word! The bound woman realized as the cock slammed home, stopping just short of her cervix. She's in some kind of trance. Post-hypnotic suggestion or somethin'. Don't know if I can break her out of it, but maybe I can at least engage her a bit...

"Who are you?" Harley said, above the slap of flesh on flesh as the fat cock stretched out her poor pussy.

"My name is Lois Lane," the dickgirl said, her voice soft, tone distracted. "I came here to interview you." The woman frowned. "No...no, I came here to breed you. Impregnate you."

"You're fucking the shit out of me," Harley muttered. "But we can do both, right? I'll ask the questions and you keep fucking."

"Okay," Lois said, hips slamming so hard into Harley that the bound woman could feel the tops of her thighs dig into the steel table. There would definitely be bruises there tomorrow.

"How long have you been breeding women?" Harley asked.

"S-six or seven months," Lois said. "Your pussy is so tight and wet. I hope I don't break it."

You and me both, sister, Harley said.

"Do you remember impregnating people after you're doing fucking?" The bound woman pressed.

"N-no. Well, sometimes. At night. In my dreams. I remember...all of them..." The thrusts, formerly uniform, suddenly stuttered, erratic. Harley licked her lips. She was pushing Lois to think about her programming. If she could get her conscious mind to realize something was wrong...

...the crown princess of crime frowned. Then what? Then Lois Lane would remember all the women she'd fucked. Probably including Batgirl. Right now, she didn't have any clue what was going on. Just a pawn in whatever this is.

Somehow, Harley dated that Batgirl was the mastermind behind this either. Brainwashing journalists to knock up heroines and villains didn't seem like the redhead's usual schtick.

Lois Lane came to a halt, hilt deep inside of Harley. The pale woman could actually feel the head of the cock rest against her cervix, the whole massive length and width of the thing throbbing like Mister J's pathetic pecker never had. That was bad. If the dickgirl stopped fucking, she might snap out of her trance too soon, and Harley would never figure out what was going on.

Gritting her teeth, Harley braced her feet against the table legs and began to move back and forth. There wasn't much room, and it strained even her highly-trained muscles, but the bound woman managed to move herself back and forth a few fractions of an inch on the dick. Harley winced as she felt the swollen, drooling tip of the cock hit her cervix. Not her favorite sensation, but...

"Who did this to you?" Harley gasped.

"Lex Luthor," Lois said. Harley tried to squeeze her cunt muscles around the massive invading cock. It felt like that time Mister J. had made her squat on a bowling pin. But the crown princess of crime's cunt hadn't busted that time, and it wouldn't this time either.

"Y-you remember where?"

"There's a club, in Metropolis." Lois said, and the hands squeezed Harley's ass tighter. "I still go there, sometimes. A lot of the women are pregnant there, now. Didn't used to be so many. That word...I remember seeing that word..."

I'm losing her, Harley thought grimly.

"Fuck me!" Harley said. "Hey Lois, move those hips! Can't impregnate me just standing there, can you?"

Slowly, Lois began to move, just a half an inch at a time, as though wavering back and forth while standing in place. The fat cock began to slide, meeting Harley's thrusts. After a minute of that, Lois got back into it, adjusting her stance, pulling out and pushing further, careful once again not to hit the bound woman's cervix.

"What's the address of the club?" Harley asked. Lois told her. "Did Batgirl ever visit you there?"

"Yes," Lois began to breathe harder, huffing and puffing as she got back into fucking Harley Quinn hard and proper. "All of them. Batgirl...Batwoman...Black Bat...Spoiler..."

Jesus Tapdancing Christ, Harley thought, eyes widening. She pictured Batgirl behind the mirror, rubbing her pussy. This bitch has knocked up basically every member of the Batfamily with a uterus! ...and now she's about to do the same to me!

As if one cue, Lois groaned and thrust hard.

Harley Quinn had never felt Mister J. spray his watery jizz with its tainted tadpoles inside of her. Oh, she'd cleaned up her puddin's messes more times than she could count, but the thin, sterile seed had always been the anticlimax of their lovemaking. The disappointing finish to a night that typically involved creative uses of whoopie cushions and slapsticks.

This time, Harley felt it. Like a seltzer bottle spraying directly into her womb. Her whole body shook, unaccustomed to the sensation. Knees trembled in a moment of weakness, and a hint of color rose to the bound woman's face. Maybe she and Ivy would be getting a kid after all...

Lois Lane panted for a moment. Her hands moved up, off of Harley's buttocks and getting a grip on her hips. Began to pull out...and the painted woman gagged as the thick cock pulled out, feeling like it would take all of her pussy with her...but it stopped, with just the head still inside the bound woman's freshly-fertilized pussy...and Harley realized, dimly, that Lois was still hard.

"I'd say that was successful," Harley said.

"Success is like pregnancy," Lois said. "Everyone congratulates you but has no idea how many times you got fucked in order to achieve it."

As the cock slammed back into Harley's stick snatch, the bound woman began to chuckle...then to guffaw...and finally she burst forth and laughed and laughed and laughed...