Batman: Court of the BBC Owls – Issue 1: Arkham Riot & First Taste of Superior Cock

Batman: Court of the BBC Owls – Issue 1: Arkham Riot & First Taste of Superior Cock

The rain hammered down on the cracked gothic spires of Arkham Asylum like the fists of an angry god. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the barred windows where screams and laughter echoed in equal measure. Inside, the madhouse had finally lived up to its name.

Batman moved like a shadow possessed. His black cape whipped behind him as he drove a gloved fist into Killer Croc’s jaw with a sickening crack. The reptilian giant staggered but laughed, swinging a massive clawed arm that shattered a concrete pillar. “C’mon, Bats! Tonight we all get to play!”

The riot had erupted without warning. Poison Ivy’s vines choked the ventilation shafts, pumping hallucinogenic pollen into the air. The Riddler had somehow hacked the electronic locks. Penguin’s goons, smuggled in as “new orderlies,” armed the inmates with shivs and stolen batons. Two-Face flipped his coin and decided tonight was for chaos. Harley Quinn cartwheeled through the fray, her mallet cracking skulls and ribs indiscriminately.

Batman was outnumbered and tiring. A slash from Croc’s claws had torn through his armored suit, exposing bloody muscle on his side. His breathing was labored under the cowl. For the first time in years, the World’s Greatest Detective felt the cold edge of desperation.

Then came the laughter.

“HA-HA-HA-HAAAAA!”

A purple-gloved figure dropped from the upper catwalk, landing in the center of the melee. The Joker—green hair, white face paint, blood-red smile—spun a cane that extended into a electrified baton. He cracked it across Riddler’s back, sending the scrawny genius sprawling.

Batman tensed, expecting betrayal. But the Joker turned, flashing a manic grin. “What’s the matter, Batsy? Not happy to see your old pal? These amateurs are ruining my favorite vacation spot!”

The disguised figure fought with perfect synergy. Every punch Batman threw, the “Joker” complemented with a spinning kick or a brutal takedown. They herded the rogues together like wolves corralling sheep. Harley paused mid-swing, tilting her head. “Puddin’? That you? You look… different.”

A spinning backfist from the Joker sent her flying into a padded wall.

Batman narrowed his eyes behind the white lenses. Something was familiar in those movements—fluid, acrobatic, trained to perfection. They fought deeper into the asylum, bodies slamming together in the chaos. Sweat-slick muscles brushed. Batman felt the heat radiating off the other man’s frame even through the costume.

Finally, in a sealed cell block, with the last of the rioters ****, Batman grabbed the Joker by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. “Who are you?”

The Joker laughed softly, then reached up and peeled the latex mask away.

Dick Grayson’s handsome face stared back, sweat dripping from his dark hair, a cocky smirk on his lips. His Nightwing physique was evident even in the torn Joker suit—broad shoulders, ripped abs, powerful thighs. “Had to borrow the look, Bruce. You were losing. Couldn’t let my old mentor go down like that.”

Bruce released him slowly, chest heaving. Relief flooded him, but something else stirred—unease at how effortlessly Dick had matched the madness. How strong he had become. How much better.

“Good work… Dick,” Batman grunted, voice gravelly.

Dick wiped blood from his lip and winked. “Anytime, partner.”

Hours later, the storm still raged outside Wayne Manor. Bruce Wayne, freshly showered, the wounds bandaged under his silk robe, limped into the master bedroom. The fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace. Selina Kyle—Catwoman—lounged on the king-sized bed like she owned it. She wore nothing but sheer black lingerie that clung to her perfect curves: full breasts straining against lace, toned waist, hips that promised sin, long legs crossed seductively. Her green eyes gleamed with predatory hunger.

“Rough night, Bats?” she purred, voice like velvet and smoke.

Bruce dropped the robe. His body was a masterpiece of training—broad chest, defined abs, powerful arms—but tonight he felt every bruise, every year of relentless war. He climbed onto the bed and kissed her deeply. Selina responded, moaning softly into his mouth, her fingers tracing his muscles.

He entered her in missionary, thrusting with controlled power. Selina wrapped her legs around him, gasping, “Yes… just like that…” But her eyes, half-lidded, held a distant boredom. Bruce’s cock—respectable, thick enough for most, but nothing extraordinary—pumped steadily. He lasted only a few minutes before groaning and spilling inside her with a shudder.

Selina stroked his hair as he collapsed beside her. “Good boy,” she whispered, kissing his forehead condescendingly. “Now rest. You earned it.”

Bruce fell into exhausted sleep almost immediately.

What Bruce didn’t see—what the narrative panels would linger on for pages—was what happened after he drifted off.

Selina waited ten minutes, listening to his deep, even breathing. Then she slipped from the bed, cum still trickling down her thigh from Bruce’s load. She cleaned up minimally, pulled on a tight black catsuit, and vanished through the secret balcony exit.

The rain had eased into a misty drizzle. Selina moved across rooftops with feline grace until she reached a shadowed alley in the Narrows—the kind of place Bruce’s modernization plans had not yet touched.

A deep, resonant voice cut through the darkness.

“You kept me waiting, kitten.”

Titus Jackson stepped into the faint streetlight. He was twenty-six, a young foundational Black American built like a god of pure masculine power. Towering at 6’4”, his dark skin glistened with rain. Broad shoulders, massive pecs straining a tight compression shirt, biceps thicker than most men’s thighs, and a narrow waist flaring into powerful legs. His presence alone made the air feel heavier.

Selina’s pulse quickened. She sauntered forward, hips swaying. “Had to play good girlfriend for a while. The old man needed his ego stroked.”

Titus chuckled, low and dominant. “Stroke this instead.”

He unzipped his pants and pulled out his monstrous cock.

Selina’s eyes widened, then glazed over with raw lust. Fifteen inches of thick, veiny BBC hung heavy between his legs, already semi-hard and thicker than her wrist. The dark shaft pulsed with power, heavy balls swaying like pendulums full of potent seed. Compared to Bruce’s average white dick, this was another species entirely.

“Oh… fuck…” Selina dropped to her knees on the wet pavement without hesitation. Her hands—elegant, manicured—couldn’t even fully wrap around the base. She lifted the massive cock, marveling at its weight. “Look at this fucking thing… Bruce could never.”

She worshipped it. Long, sloppy licks from balls to tip. Her tongue traced every bulging vein. Then she opened wide and took the head into her mouth. Gagging sounds filled the alley as she **** more in, throat bulging visibly with each inch. Tears of effort and pleasure streamed down her face, mascara running in black rivers. Ahegao began creeping into her expression—eyes crossing, tongue lolling.

Titus placed a large hand on the back of her head. “That’s it, Cat-slut. **** on real dick.”

He thrust deeper, face-fucking her with controlled power. Selina’s throat convulsed around him, drool and precum spilling down her chin onto her heaving tits. She came just from sucking him, thighs squeezing together as her pussy clenched emptily.

Titus pulled out with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening BBC. He lifted her effortlessly, ripping the crotch of her catsuit open. Pinning her against the cold brick wall, he rubbed the massive head against her dripping folds.

“Beg for it,” he growled.

“Please… Titus… stretch me with that superior Black cock. Ruin me for Bruce’s pathetic little white dick!”

With one powerful thrust, he buried half his length inside her. Selina’s eyes rolled back, a full ahegao face—tongue hanging, mouth wide in a silent scream of ecstasy. Her pussy stretched obscenely around the invading girth, lips gripping him tightly. The bulge was visible in her lower belly even at half depth.

“Fuuuuck! So big! So deep!” she wailed.

Titus began pounding her. Each thrust drove more inches in until finally, balls-deep, his heavy sack slapped against her ass. The belly bulge was unmistakable—rising and falling with every brutal stroke. Selina’s legs kicked helplessly in the air, heels scraping the wall as she was used like a fleshlight.

The sounds were filthy: wet squelching, skin slapping skin, her constant broken moans. “Yes! Yes! Right there—cervix! Bruce never reached my cervix! Fuck me pregnant with BBC!”

Titus fucked her through multiple orgasms. He spun her around into doggy style against the wall, pounding even harder. Then full nelson, lifting her completely off the ground, impaling her repeatedly. Her tits bounced wildly. Cum from Bruce’s earlier load was long since pushed out and replaced by her own squirting juices.

After nearly an hour of relentless fucking, Titus roared. He slammed balls-deep and erupted. Massive, thick ropes of potent cum flooded her womb. So much that her belly swelled visibly, cum backflowing around his shaft in creamy rivers down her thighs.

Selina hung limp in his arms, twitching in continuous orgasm, a ruined ahegao smile on her face. “I’m yours… Bruce is just a cuck now…”

Titus set her down, his still-hard 15-inch monster dripping with their combined fluids. He slapped her ass hard. “Clean yourself up before you go back to him. But leave some of my load leaking. I want the Bat to smell what a real man did to his woman.”

Selina nodded dreamily, kissing the head of his cock in reverence before stumbling away.

Back at Wayne Manor, Bruce stirred slightly in his sleep as Selina slipped back into bed beside him. A faint, musky scent he couldn’t quite place lingered in the air. She pressed her cum-filled pussy against his thigh, smiling in the darkness.

The Court of Owls watched from the shadows through hidden cameras. The Talon smiled beneath her mask. The first thread of Bruce Wayne’s destruction had been woven.