Epilogue: Batbreeder V: Bred Men Tell No Tales

".namow elitref a emoceB"

Before the words even hit Batman's ears, he could feel their effects. The cowl on his face was suddenly loose, a strange pressure in his chest. Instinctively he dropped into a fighting crouch...but then he hesitated.

Zatanna stood before him, in her top hat and tails, long legs dressed in fishnets...but her stomach was protruding outwards, barely showing. Not far into her pregnancy at all.

Nor was she alone. Batgirl and Batwoman stepped from the shadows behind him. His eyes went immediately to their bulging bellies, bigger than Zatanna's. To his left and right, Spoiler and Black Bat stepped forward, their tight uniforms showing their own slightly smaller swollen stomachs.

Pieces clicked into place. Weeks of them avoiding him, always "out on patrol" or special training exercises. He had been so busy...and he wondered how they had managed that? Not too difficult, if he was honest. A suggestion here, a rumor there...Gotham's criminals didn't need much incentive to start a crimewave.

"It's okay, Bruce," Batgirl said, and he turned to stare at her. "You don't want to fight us."

The Dark Knight drew himself up to his full height—now a few inches shorter than it had been. Somewhere in the cave, a bat squeaked.

"Who?" his voice came out, not as the gravelly growl that it had been, but more high pitched. Feminine. His utility belt was off-center on her suddenly wider hips and slimmer waist.

"Luthor. Selling diapers, prenatal vitamins..." She shrugged. "He's out of the picture now. Permanently. We're in charge."

"In charge of what?" The Caped Crusader asked, eyes narrowing. None of the bat-women had let down their guard. He had trained them well...

"The world needs a Batman," the pregnant Batgirl said, one hand resting on the curve of her stomach. "You're not immortal, Bruce. It is our duty to give the world its next generation of heroes."

"Why me?" Batman shot back. The cape was too long now, but he could use that, let it cover his body so they couldn't see what he was doing with his hands.

"They promised not to **** you," Zatanna said. "That you'd agree to it, once it was explained. Like they did to me. It's not so bad, Bruce. We can go through our pregnancies together..."

The smoke bomb burst and billowed out from beneath the cape. Zatanna wasn't smart enough to hold her breath, but the others were trained. Black Bat moved first, kicking into the thick of the mist...but he was already gone. As the smoke faded, the women looked around the Bat Cave. The Caped Crusader had vanished.

"It's okay," Batgirl said, rubbing her stomach as if to calm down its inhabitant. "Everything is going according to plan."

In the library of Wayne Manor, Alfred frowned at the old leatherbound book, out of place on the desk. He moved forward and glanced at it. Edgar Allan Poe. One of Master Bruce's favorites...the butler glanced at the place where it should have been on the shelf...and then was aware, through that almost sixth sense that butlers develop, that he was not alone in the room.

"Did you need something from me, sir?"

"Alfred, there's been an...incident."

A woman's voice.

She slid forward, out of the shadow between a bookcase and the corner. An inch or two less than six feet tall, body clad in a familiar grey leotard that hung loose to conceal some of her curves. Short dark hair in a man's haircut, piercing familiar eyes. The face was stern; with a little makeup, it would be coldly beautiful.

"You look very much like your mother," Alfred said. "How can I help you Miss..."

"Bryce Wayne will do for now," the high-pitched voice tried and failed to growl. "A few years ago I set up a backup identity just in case an enemy changed my gender."

"Of course, miss. And this enemy?"

The transformed Batman frowned. "Batgirl. With Zatanna, Black Bat, Spoiler, and Batwoman...maybe more. I think they're under some kind of mind control. She mentioned Lex Luthor. I'm afraid I'm going to have to be away for a while. I need you to hold the fort—and keep your ears open."

"Of course, miss," Alfred nodded. "If I may...you have a visitor. She seemed to be in quite a distraught state, and given your previous relationship, I put her up in one of the guest rooms. I feel..." the old man sucked in his breath "...I feel it may have to do with your current condition."

Bryce Wayne's right eyebrow rose, a gesture of carefully controlled interest and surprise. It was a gesture that the child had unknowingly inherited from his mother, and once more Alfred was struck by that strong resemblance. Martha Wayne had so wanted a daughter...

Lois Lane was staring out the window, across the lawns of Wayne Manor. She was dressed in a sharp suit, all grey pinstripes and padded shoulders, three-inch heels and a thin gold necklace. The kind of outfit a reporter might wear, for an interview with a billionaire.

The shadows of Gotham's skyscrapers were dark against the sky. The storm was moving in, wet drops splattered against the glass, the wind pressing against the old panes. The "guest room" put most luxury hotels to shame; the four-pillar bed had to be at least a hundred years old, handmade from hardwood, delicately carved, and all the furniture in the room—chairs, desk, loveseat, table, vanity table and chests of drawers—matched. The roses in the vase on the table were fresh, the landscape paintings fit to grace any wall of any museum in Gotham.

A reflection fell in the mirror. Lois spun around, heart racing.

"Oh," she said, her face lit up with recognition, and then sank in despair. "They got you."

"Lois," Bryce said, slowly and quietly closing the door behind her. "You recognize me."

"Yes. I mean, you are...you are Bruce, right? I'm sorry, my mind has been..."

"Yes. It's Bruce," the woman's nose twitched. "Although I'm going by Bryce, at the moment. But you're..." the young woman looked at Lois up and down. "You're not pregnant."

"No," Lois shook her head. "I'm...I'm the one doing the impregnating."

The woman's eyebrow rose. "Perhaps you'd best start at the beginning."

They sat at the table. Lois, the trained reporter, did the best she could to calm herself, to tell the story clearly. Unconsciously, she fell into her old style, covering every detail, drawing Bryce in. Yet at the same time, the World's Greatest Detective could tell the tale was taking a toll on Lois. She was shuddering, rubbing her knees against each other over the table, near to crying at times as she remembered.

Parts of the narrative were confused—it had been Harley Quinn's pushing and prodding that had jarred loose part of Luthor's mental conditioning. She had heard Batgirl and the others planning to ambush him...and how they had let slip his identity. Then she had come here to warn him, and...

"Alfred saw how upset I was, and let me stay here. He's really a dear old man..."

"Yes, he is," Bryce said. Her hands were clasped together, fingers steepled beneath her small, straight nose. "There's one thing you left out—the trigger word for your condition."

Lois blushed. "I can't...I do know it. Now. I managed to close my eyes and write it down. But if I see it...if I even try to picture it in my mind, I get...I get..."

"Give me the slip of paper."

She reached into a pocket and handed him a folded scrap of paper. Their fingers touched for that brief moment.

Bryce unfolded the paper, nodded.

"I think...I can help you overcome Luthor's conditioning," the Caped Crusader said carefully. "But it might be a bit traumatic. I'll have to use your trigger word."

The reporter's violet eyes widened. "Is that really a good idea? I mean you're..."

The slim woman allowed herself a little smile. "Don't worry Lois. I can take care of myself. No, the real issue is to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

She gazed at the bed.

There were butterflies in Lois Lane's stomach as she lay spread-eagled on the bed. Bryce had tied sheets into the knots, one around each bedpost, one at each wrist and ankle. Even fully dressed, the reporter felt bizarrely exposed.

"How do you feel?" The Dark Knight asked. "Not too tight? No circulation issues?"

"No, it's fine. High thread count sheets," she joked.

"Real silk," Bryce said. Turning her back to Lois, the woman began to pull off her leotard. Lois caught her breath when she saw the slim, elegantly muscled back, the crisscrossed lines of scars...here a sword slash, there a knife-wound, a bullet-wound...on anyone else, Lois would have thought her a figure of terrible ****. Yet as she turned around, and the reporter saw the slim breasts with their tiny pink nipples, the smooth-shaved pubis...she knew that this is just what Bruce would always look like, man or woman. The cost of being Batman...

"Is this...really necessary?" Lois squeaked out as Bryce climbed onto the bed. The dark eyes stared into the reporter's own as they began to deftly undo the reporter's pants, pulling them down...revealing the long, stiffening cock between her legs.

"Absolutely," Bryce said as she straddled the reporter's hips, so that her pussy— her very wet pussy, Lois noticed—was flat against the reporter's abs, the rising cock hot-dogged between the cheeks of the genderbent Batman's ass. "Now..."

She brought the piece of paper up, holding it by thumb and forefinger at either end. Instinctively, Lois closed her eyes, not wanting to see the trigger word, but Bryce's voice, calm and imperative, told her: "Look."

So great was her trust in Bryce Wayne, that the dickgirl reporter opened her eyes...and immediately her eyes filled with recognition at the word CROATOAN copied out in all capitals in her own hand.

The whole body tensed beneath Bryce. The cock that had been hard stiffened until she could feel it press against her tailbone, precum drooling down the cleft of her ass. Lois Lane's nostrils went wide, flaring, sucking in air, her whole face starting to flush. The body arched upward, as though trying to hump the nude figure resting so close but so far from her girlcock...

"Lois," Bryce said, and stared the reporter in the eyes. "I need you to focus."

"Fuck," Lois said. "Fuck. Breed. You're ovulating. I can smell it. I can..."

"Focus," Bryce repeated. "On the sound of my voice. You can remember now, can't you? You can remember everything."

"Yes. Yes, I remember, I...I..." tears filled the reporter's eyes. "I fucked all those women. I fucked all. They. Some of them were... They couldn't move. They couldn't move and I just ripped their panties aside and pushed my dick inside them and...and they just...none of them said no..."

A sob ran through the reporter's entire body.

The story came out. Bryce was there, riding on top of her, the cock buried between her hard-toned asscheeks. It was almost the same story that Lois had told him before, but this time there was more detail. Not everything, because Lois didn't know what Batgirl had done to Luthor. But enough. And all the time, her muscles were straining, and her cock dribbled, painfully erect against Bryce, her hips striving to hump those bat-cheeks, to pump her cum inside the cunt that wasn't there...

Bryce let her cry it out. Wiped the tears away with the corner of a pillowcase.

"How do you feel?" He asked her, when she was done.

"Horny," Lois admitted. "But not like...I don't feel it, anymore. That single-minded need to breed."

The woman riding her held up the piece of paper. Lois stared at the letters...but her body remained calm, except for that one part which had never yet calmed down.

"Good," Bryce said. "I think we've almost broken the conditioning. Luthor didn't expect anyone to try and engage your higher mental processes. But it'll take a little while complete the process. We've got to break the pattern of your sexual stimuli. Which is why this time, you're tied up."

So saying, the scarred woman lifted herself up and slid her pelvis backward just an inch, so that the reporter's hard, throbbing she-cock was pointed right at her own virgin cunt.

"Bruce! I mean Bryce! No, I don't have a condom! You could get..."

"...pregnant," Bryce finished. "I know."

The purple helmet split the pale, hairless lips, dripping with their own dew. Pressed into the hot flesh...and encountered a little barrier there, something more than the expected tightness...and with a tiny grunt, the former Batman pushed through her own hymen, a smear of blood on the cock as she slid downward until all of it was inside of her. Unable to hold it any longer, Lois felt her cock burst, the spent-up seed spurting out into the untouched depths of Bryce Wayne's personal batcave.

"But why?" Lois said. Her cock twitched and throbbed as she instinctively tried to squeeze out every drop of potent sperm into that fertile cunt.

"Because Batgirl was right. She let you hear what she was planning. Wanted you to meet me and tell your story. Batgirl knew it was the only way to...convince me...that what she was doing was right," Bryce settled on that cock, and Lois knew that it had to hard, slamming a big dick into a virgin hole. The World's Greatest Detective set the piece of paper aside and reached forward to undo Lois Lane's shirt as she sat there on top of the reporter, getting used to the size of the cock. Despite just cumming, the girlcock hadn't gone down an inch...and Lois knew from long experience that it would be several more loads before her boy-bits would be spent.

Lois breathed easier when her shirt was undone. With practiced ease, Bryce undid the front clasp on the reporter's bra, revealing her small mounds. They were bigger than Bryce's...the former Batman's tits were very small, almost flat, barely A-cups compared to the reporter's Bs. What Bryce Wayne's breasts would be like, after a lifetime of exercise and training...though they might well swell with pregnancy.

"The world does need heroes," Bryce Wayne said. "And none of them said no, Lois. That's important. You didn't **** anyone. I listened very carefully to everything you said. All of those women wanted this cock. Including me."

Down below, in the parlor, Alfred made tea for the ladies.

"I must admit, I am surprised at how quickly Miss Bryce has decided to...join the family," he said.

Batgirl smiled.

"We couldn't hide it from him Alfred. We had to give him the choice," she sniffed the dark oolong and then brought the china cup to her lips. "And if he had said no, we would have respected that."

Moans began to filter down from upstairs. The women shared a smile.

"It will probably take the rest of the night for Bryce to undo what's left of Luthor's brainwashing," she said. "Best not wait up, Alfred."

"Quite all right, Miss Gordon," Alfred said. "I'm used to waiting up all night. Miss Bryce and Miss Lane will no doubt wish a bath when they are done in the morning...and they will need a hearty breakfast with plenty of fluids."

The old man smiled as his mind checked through all the things that would have to be done. Gynecologist visits, prenatal vitamins, reworking some of the guest rooms as nurseries...a high-pitched moan, familiar and yet new, broke through the ceiling...

"It will be good to have children in the house again," he said. "Mr. and Mrs. Wayne always wanted a large family, and hoped for grandchildren someday."