Batman slowly comes to

A groggy, totally fucked Batman slowly blinked his heavy eyelids open, and sat partway up. His head was pounding. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was - then he looked down, and saw that his dick was out, and it all came back to him. He'd been knocked out a dozen times, maybe more, all in the span of forty minutes or so. Maybe less. He'd cum at least three times, he'd been fucked hard by Harley Quinn after she yet again destroyed him one-on-one, and his batsuit had been defiled by cum and lipstick graffiti. His face was wet, indicating that it wasn't just his own cum he'd been marked with. One of the thugs had juiced on his fucking face while he was asleep.

Slowly, lumberingly, Batman got up to his feet. His knees were knocked and his legs were shaking. Not just because of the head trauma, but also because of the general state he was left in, and what that did to him mentally. How many girls had just seen him that way? Common criminals, superstitious and cowardly, watching his legend get torn down. Personally chinning him in the middle of the bank. Cumming on his face, and make his own dick pump out loads.

How had he allowed himself to be so totally fucked up by Harley Quinn, a girl with barely any formal training? Was it really just because she was a full-bodied woman with a great ass, soft tits, and a dominant streak? Had his life of training and years of experience really been completely nullified by her generous genetics?

He fumbled to pull his pants up and tuck his dick back in, heart and mind racing. There was a heavy weight on his chest. The chest marked with "pussy" written over his once-fearsome bat symbol in some slut’s red lipstick.

He felt like he was done. Like Batman was finished. After such a horrible, humiliating night, how could he go on? How could he ever regain his status as a symbol of fear? His heart sank as the ball-end of the pom-pommed sleeping cap that had been placed over his cowl fell into his face, bobbing and swinging right before his eyes. He pulled the hat off and threw it to the ground, ashamed.

He looked around the bank. The civilians were still out from the sleeping gas Harley had hit them with. The sleeping gas he'd somehow missed - not that it ended up mattering anyway. Though, even with his brain as foggy and aching as it was, he did notice that there were a number less civilians than there had been earlier, implying that a few had woken up and left the bank. They would've seen him. The mighty, mythical Batman, knocked out. Fast asleep on his back. Covered in cum, limp dick hanging out, chin bruised. Unable to stop the bank robbers without falling under their spell and drifting off to a nice, deep sleep. Totally defeated. Bested. The loser.

He was ashamed. He didn't know what to do. Could he somehow track down the ones who had seen him? And then what? And what about the thieves working with Harley? They’d seen him plenty too. Even if he used his detective skills to find them, it wasn't like he could make them forget what had happened. What they'd seen. What they'd done. And worst of all, he wasn't even confident he could confront any of them without getting knocked out again… one particular thief’s bulky ass hung in his mind like a nightmare. The perfect, round curves of it… The weight of it…

Harley Quinn was out of the question. As much as it pained him, as much as it shamed him, she'd proven that she was officially off limits. Out of his league. She had his number, and she wasn't afraid to start ringing it. Whatever she wanted to do in the city, it was clear that he wouldn't be able to stop her anymore, and would essentially have to let her get away with it.

The old Batman may have added a "for now" to the end of that admission, but now, saying something like that seemed hopelessly optimistic. She'd knocked him the fuck out. With a fucking headbutt. Right when he thought he was recovered, right when he had the drop on her... and then, after flicking his lights out, she fucked him. And he didn't even want to think about all she'd made happen in between…

With slow, wobbly steps, Batman made his way to the door of the bank, exiting the building and cautiously looking side to side. His dick was back in his pants, but his costume was still as ruined and vandalised as his once-iron chin. He really didn't want to be seen by anyone as he made his way out of the area and back to the batcave, to clean his costume and try think of his next move. Retirement sounded shamefully possible, but he didn't want to think about that until he was safe from being seen. Or from being smacked on the jaw again. In all likelihood, he’d go back to sleep on the spot if anything stronger than a stiff breeze hit his chin at the moment. Collapsing in an instant, toppling to the floor, out like a light. And then any scared thugs he accidentally ran into on the way home would have quite the story to tell. As would any flies which decided the Batman’s jaw would make for a nice landing spot.