The Caged Bird (vertigis + Vandesdelca)

[vertigis]

Carrie Kelly knelt in darkness, listening to the muffled voices and footfalls of the men below. She counted six of them in total. That was a lot. Even for Robin that was a lot. And she was Robin now. After five years of serving as Batman’s loyal sidekick-in-training, she deserved that title and then some. He’d taught her a lot and she had changed too. Sometimes she was a little scared at just how much. The things he had her doing now were a far cry from ducking Mutant gangers and putting eyes out with her slingshot. She was fighting a war for him. A war against crime and corruption both. She loved him though, like a father, and didn’t regret a moment of it, no matter how dangerous it got.

Dangerous like now. These men wanted to kill her and not just in some general sense of the word. They specifically wanted to kill her Carrie Kelly, the Robin. It was an ambush laid by the Royal Flush Gang, a mercenary group hired by the surviving crime families to hunt down the remainder of Batman’s organization. She was the prize catch, although rumors that the Bat himself still lived were growing stronger every day. Their setup was good too, they were definitely professionals, but someone had leaked their plans and she’d come prepared. Even then Batman had been suspicious, not wanting her to go alone, only giving into her pleas after much cajoling. She wasn’t just a kid now after all. It was at least partly her own choice to make and the thought of striking back at the men hunting her was too sweet an opportunity to pass over.

Besides the men in waiting below, she’d found three snipers positioned in the adjacent building. Touching the controls on her utility belt, the bombs went off simultaneously, collapsing floors and ceilings and walls onto the startled men, likely crushing bones and burying them in rubble but otherwise keeping them alive and breathing as was Batman’s way. Their friends below let out a startled cry at the sound of the explosions, and Carrie adjusted the tint of her glasses, turning them an opaque black before bursting down through ceiling panels above them. They had expected smoke, one of the Bat’s favorite tricks, but she used different tools, and their eyes were entirely unprotected from the flash grenades that exploded around them, searing their retinas. They men flailed blindly, already losing their confidence, some firing their guns up towards the ceiling where she’d already broken through, landing in a neat crouch among them.

What happened next went quickly. Tripping feet, tangling legs, dislocating joints, Carrie moved swiftly among them, a small lithe yet shapely figure in bright red Kevlar tunic, green gloves and boots, and a short yellow cape above of a thick wave of bright red hair. They had mass and strength on her but were blind and scared, and she had four of them down on the ground, unconscious, before they hardly knew what was happening. One of the remaining men got a lucky blow in with the stock of his rifle between her shoulder blades and she gasped in pain, rolling with the shot, before rising back up to her feet. They traded rapid fire attacks then, blocking, jabbing, her long slim legs extending in powerful kicks that rocked the man’s head backwards. Carrie whuffed as a fist connected with her stomach, but it gave her the opening to raise her knee into the man’s jaw, shattering teeth and sending him to the floor.

The final man wrapped her in a tight bear hug, squeezing the breath from her lungs. The muscles tensed through the dark fabric of outfit and her own slim arms, pinned to her side, were unable to break free. She could still reach her belt though, and pulling one of the R-shurikens free, she jabbed the sharpened end into his thigh. The man yelped, grip loosening, and she squirmed free, foot lancing out to kicking him hard in the knee, a satisfying crack sending him down to the ground, howling. Another swift blow with the pointed two of her boot had him unconscious, and outside a few lingering moans, the room was suddenly quiet again.

Carrie smiled to herself. Six men, nine if she counted the ones across the street, and she was still standing, winded and with a few bruises for tomorrow but otherwise perfectly okay. She was getting good. She was getting real good. Even Batman must know it to have let her come alone. Pulling the shuriken from the man’s leg, she gathered up her other tools before pulling out a small aerosol can. Scrawling on the front of each man’s vest in bright paint she wrote a ‘B’ then a ’A’ and then ’T’ until she’d spelled out BATMAN on their torsos, a letter for each man. ‘LIVES’ was then written on the floor, a warning and a threat to any who tried to stop them in their war.

As she finished, Carrie took a deep breath and then paused, the hair on the back of her neck rising. She felt like she was being watched. Had she missed one of them? Had there actually been ten? The leaked information had said there would only be nine though. Dropping to a crouch she listened, flipping her glasses to thermal vision as she began to slowly scan the area. A nervous little ball of fear began to form in her stomach like something was wrong, but she pushed it back. C’mon, you have this… don’t let yourself get spooked… Batman’s depending on you… on Robin… You can handle anything.

 

[Vandesdelca]

Carrie couldn't see it -- perhaps she could only feel it in the quiet moments after she had decimated the men below. Feel the scouring of a high-powered lens over her chosen battlefield. The scope of that lens flickered from body to body, observing the prone mercenaries that she had felled in rather short and impressive order. Of course, he'd hardly been expecting much less from Bruce Wayne's -- Batman's -- protege.

They'd been good men -- but they'd fulfilled their purpose. Giving him a nice view of her in action.

"Interesting," a man murmured in the darkness, far too far away for human ears to catch. That figure arose from the dark, keying into a communication link in his helmet.

"Found the target. She's good. Pickup in... call it ten minutes."

"You think that's all you'll need?" a voice sounded over the opposite end of the comm.

"Would you bet against it?"

"Heh. Fine, Osprey inbound."

________________

"Does he?" came a voice in the darkness, loud enough for Carrie to hear. Obviously male, though the origin of his accent was less obvious. Heavy on his every syllable, but he certainly and fluently spoke English. "Mind taking me to meet him? I've always been a fan."

He emerged from the shadows, his stride steady and even as he, too, entered the impromptu battlefield. He was tall -- over six feet, but perhaps under six and a half. He wore an unfamiliar suit of blacks and vivid oranges, those swatches of vivid color lighting up as if he had suddenly flipped a light switch. Finally, one half of an all-consuming face mask lit up orange as well -- the right half. At his hip was a blade, still sheathed.

Carrie might have been in the files enough to see a figure from Batman's past: Deathstroke... but not quite.

He walked with an unmistakable swagger, a grin all but visible through that helmet. He was alone but for his groaning enforcers spread across the floor, coming to a stop some ten paces away from her. One hand very slowly, very deliberately settled upon the hilt of his sword.

 

[vertigis]

Carrie’s head swung swiftly in the direction the voice had come from, lithe young body falling back into a fighting stance. She hadn’t heard his silent approach and somehow he’d managed to enter from her blind spot, both eerily reminiscent of her mentor’s own infamously wraithlike entrances. He was even swathed in dark clothing and a mask similar to the Batman only there were orange highlights instead of blue breaking the pattern, and his voice was thicker, heavy and masculine. This was bad she knew without needing to understand what exactly had happened here, the hard weight in her stomach growing heavier, the confidence of his stride already shaking her own. She had just taken out six men and he looked almost eager to face her in combat.

“Sure, I can take you to meet him,” Carrie replied breezily, putting forth the fearlessness Bruce had always taught to her show in front of her enemies. “Would you prefer a stretcher or wheelchair?” As she spoke the aerosol can came whirling at his head, merely a feint to disguise her actual attack, a line of R-shurikens sent hurtling at his legs. It was fast and it was good, and yet the scene seemed to move in slow motion as the saw his hand draw the sword in the very same motion that ducked her throw, the blade moving with impossible swiftness as it knocked her projectiles out of the air.

No time to simply stop and stare gape mouthed. Carrie darted forward before he could recover, coming at him with a flurry of hard blows with the flat palm of her hand. The first two struck him hard in the chest, producing a satisfying ’oof’ beneath the his face plate. The rest were absorbed on his forearms as he blocked on after the other, finally spinning backwards and bringing his sword down towards her head. Carrie caught it between her thick green gloves, clapping the blade between her small hands, the steel almost seeming vibrate. Sweat was beading on her forehead above her glasses and a little voice in her head said he’d pulled it at the last moment. That it been too fast for her to catch if he hadn’t have let her do so.

That distracting thought was enough to give him an opening, hard blow striking her in the stomach, painful enough she wanted to cry out but gritted her teeth instead. It was now her turn to go on the defensive. His size advantage and strength was massive compared to her own though. Carrie barely broke five inches over five foot and the man was almost a foot taller. Even blocking she felt the blows vibrate up her arms and back, sapping her remaining energy. She was already tired from her earlier fight, bruised and weakened, and this battle was rapidly depleting her remaining reserves.

Suddenly one of his blows ended with him grasping her wrist and an electric shock sizzled up her arm and down her spine. This time she did shriek, falling do her knees, where a hard kick to her chest sent her sprawling onto her back in a tangle of yellow cape and bright red hair. Carrie was gasping for air now, legs uncooperative after the powerful taser just unleashed, and infuriatingly she thought she felt tears forming in her eyes. She was losing. She was failing him. She was failing herself. Reaching for her belt, Carrie fumbled for more of her flash bombs, knowing her only chance was making an escape while she still could.

 

[Vandesdelca]

"Deathstroke" might have been called merciless were it not for the fact that she could feel it in his every blow. A sort of reticence to do her true harm, his every muscle coiled in absolute, perfect control. She might have known that tension, that style that took someone apart at the same time it preserved their life. It was how Batman fought -- it was how she had been taught to fight. And it saw her to her knees, onto her back, where he certainly aimed to keep her.

The blade was almost audibly sharp in the way it cleaved the air, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade tightly as he approached her on the ground.

"Mm. Shame. I don't think you're in any shape to take me there now," he said. His foot came down, stomping down on her wrist, forcibly pushing it onto the ground and applying pressure, preventing her from getting any more of her flash bombs. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Flash bombs. You showed your hand to me earlier against those distractions," he said with a jerk of his head toward his men. "You have nothing. You are nothing," he said, every syllable coming down hard like nails in her own coffin, reverberating and heavy.

He leaned down, settling above her collarbone as he ground her wrist underneath his heel.

"But that's alright -- I can make something of you," he whispered, words only loud enough for her to hear. His blade was produced, the tip pressing into the cloth that was stretched tight between her breasts. There was a slow vppppp of tearing cloth, from collarbone all the way down to her midriff, baring some of her pale flesh.

"You'll see," he whispered, chuckling out his amusement a second later.

 

[vertigis]

Carrie struggled to rise as her opponent casually approached her prone form, brain screaming that she needed to escape while her exhausted body wanted nothing more than to collapse where she’d landed. With his blank black and orange face plate giving her nothing to focus on, her eyes were drawn to the blade as it sliced the air with an audible hissss, knowing any moment he might plunge it through her stomach or separate her head from her slender neck. She had already witnessed just how fast he was during their brief humiliating fight and knew the final blow would be quick and unerring, that is if he wished to kill her here.

Which did not seem to be the case. With her attention still focused on the razor sharp tip of the sword, Carrie didn’t see his foot moving until it had already slammed down onto her wrist, nearly snapping the delicate bones. “Nngg!” she cried, the one flash bomb she’d managed to retrieve rolling harmlessly from her fingers and across the floor, un-triggered. Glaring up at him as he mocked her with his harsh assessments, calling her nothing, she gripped his boot with her other hand, trying to pull him free. It was poor strategy though. She had no leverage in this position. Carrie was reacting with emotion now rather than training, beginning to panic.

What little of her wits remained fled as the sword whipped downward, causing her to shriek, certain she was about to be cleaved down the middle. Instead, with expert precision, he sliced apart her bright red vest, the cloth flopping open to expose her smooth flat stomach and pert round breasts in their dark green bra. Not so much as a drop of blood stained her clear white skin, the blade having avoided all contact with her and cut clean.

Carrie was breathing heavily now, the pain in her wrist growing as he ground down on it, her other hand now pressed against the floor as she stared up at him, gasping. Her mouth felt dry and the fear clawed at the inside of her stomach like caged cat. “I… I’m not going to tell you anything. If that’s what you’re thinking. You…you might as well kill me…” She meant the words but her voice wavered uncertainly, still focusing on that blade, imagining the pain he could easily cause with it.

 

[Vandesdelca]

The laugh started low in his chest, a deep and resonant basso sound. "Oh, I know. Our training is not so dissimilar, I should think. You might well break long before you give me any information that would be useful to me," he said. He knelt then, drawing close until his two-tone face, expressionless and blank, was all she could see.

"... but that's fine. Why would I go through all the trouble of breaking you to find out where your master is? He'll try and find me. Or more specifically... you," he said. His touch was almost gentle as he pulled the ruined vest off either slender shoulder, using a quick flick of the blade to cut across the sleeves of the shirt, tugging the ruined garment away to deposit it on the ground. He was less gentle when he ripped off her bra, getting a hold of the middle to drop it with the shirt. It was a message, strong and clear -- that she had been taken.

"Ah... and this works equally well if I have to gut you here and now. I recommend compliance. Things will go... easier for you that way," he said as he dragged the tips of his fingers along her creamy white stomach, stopping just as the rough pads of his gloves touched the underside of her soft breasts. And with no more preamble than that, he pressed down hard and shocked her into unconsciousness.

Hours were going to pass before she'd wake up -- a small pinprick on her arm and a hazy, muddy feeling in her head were likely good enough indicators that she had been drugged after she had been electrocuted into submission. Her arms had been bound above her head, mostly held off the ground -- her toes could touch the hard, cool surface beneath her, but it wasn't enough to give her any sort of leverage, just to take the pressure off of her shoulders a little bit. She couldn't have been hanging there long (judging by what soreness there already was in her shoulders), but that was a secondary consideration to the fact that she was naked, utterly exposed. She'd been cleaned up after the fight, shaved and washed.

The room around her was mostly lost in darkness -- not helped by the fact that all of the walls were simply black. She might be able to see, however, that there was a little flickering light not so far away in front of her -- there were two more, equidistant to her left and her right. Camera lights, the black lenses recording her from a few angles as she dangled prettily before them.

 

[vertigis]

Carrie tried to clamp down on the thick dark mass of fear that was rapidly gathering in her chest but could feel the cold tendrils working their way down her back and into her stomach. Making herself return Deathstroke’s cold level stare, she gazed into his blank featureless mask, eyes narrowed as he began to calmly explain he wasn’t worried about what she knew or how to get it from her. She would simply be the bait that would draw her mentor out of hiding. “No. Stop it…” she hissed as his hands pulled back her bright red vest, slicing the green leather sleeves and discarding it onto the floor, yellow cape going with it, almost everything that identified her as a hero and disciple of the Bat… rather than just some poor helpless girl caught in some maniac’s clutches.

“…stop…” she repeated more softly, humiliated tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as his fingers dipped beneath the front of her bra. A single rough tug was enough to snap the band, exposing her firm full breasts, soft and white beneath the dim lighting. The frightened heaving of her chest made them look all the more prominent while she shook her head at his words, warning her to be complaint. “… I won’t… you can’t…” Her voice suddenly quite small as a shudder went up her back with the slow caress of his gloved fingers up her flat stomach, terrified that his other hand was going to shift to the latch of his belt, imagining herself being taken forcibly here, in this room, helpless to stop to him. “…please…” hating herself for saying the word, for pleading with her enemy as his fingers wrapped around her right breast, filling his hand nicely, before it suddenly pressed flat against her chest.

And shrieking electric pain was all she felt before blackness fell.

When Carrie next awoke, she blinked her eyes groggily, chains rattling above her head as she shifted around in bleary confusion, trying to remember what had happened. It came back slowly -- the ambush, the man in the black and orange mask, her humiliating defeat, being stripped of her uniform. Glancing down she found the rest of clothing had been taken, her young athletic body looking small and feminine as she was stretched to her tiptoes, breasts exposed along with the soft curve of her firm behind, and of course the small pink mound between her legs, which has been carefully shaved she noted with a hot blush.

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening! she told herself, before the thought of Batman returned, knowing he’d come for her eventually. That was what the man wanted though. That was what he’d be ready for. “H-h-helllo?” she whispered, voice echoing in the dark empty room, glancing between the camera lights as she squinted. “What… what do you want? I… I was lying… there’s no… no Batman… just me. Please… can’t… we… talk or…?” Carrie struggled with her emotions, the fun and excitement of being Robin suddenly turning darkly real, wanting nothing more than simply be allowed to leave this place. “…is anyone there…?”

 

[Vandesdelca]

"You are a poor liar. I would have hoped the old man would have taught you better than that."

A door across the room had opened with a pneumatic hiss, admitting the man in his full dark suit. His arms were folded neatly behind his back, his stride slow and purposeful until he came to a stop just beside one of those blinking lights. He settled a hand on top of the plastic casing of the camera, giving it a slow once-over as he continued to speak.

"Of course Batman -- Bruce Wayne -- is alive. Neither you nor the young men he enlisted during Gotham's blackout would still be doing what you are doing without him. At least, not with the names you currently bear. 'Robin'. There is never a Robin without a Batman. You should know that," he said. "He's done a good job of hiding his survival. At least for the most part," he said with a careless shrug. "But if you are right, and I am mistaken... well, that merely means that no one will be coming to save you from our... fun, yes?" he asked.

He reached up to undo the clasp on his helmet, and drew it off a moment later.

He was a good-looking man, a student of the 'tall, dark, and handsome' school. His eyes were dark, the brown skin of his jaw dusted with black scruff. His age was hard to determine, but he had to have at least been in his thirties.

"My aims are simple, and I am sure you have guessed them by now. Batman will break or die by my hand, pure and simple. No harm in telling you as much," he said as he rolled his neck. He began to undo the straps across his armor, hidden buckles and snaps. It came off piece by piece, kevlar, highly technological fibers, and various types of plating coming off in equal shares.

He was scarred. Flesh that had been burnt and healed long ago twisted into ugly patterns around his right shoulder -- the arm was gone, replaced with some sort of cybernetic replacement. A high-end model, coated in carbon polymers and sleek black metal. When he took off his pants, there was a similar prosthesis that replaced his left leg. There was no ugly scarring, just a thin line where flesh met steel. Perhaps it had been neatly cut off.

He was nude, lined heavily with lean muscle, and as he looked her up and down... well, he was quick to react. He was thick but also not lacking in length, perhaps around nine or ten inches. He grinned at her, flashing white teeth.

"I will fill in a few other blanks for you, shall I? These cameras... are going to put together a very nice video. Perhaps it will eventually get back to your old man. Perhaps not. Either way, I assure you -- we shall have fun making it," he said. He settled down to pick up a slender black bag, tucking it under one arm as he approached her -- not from the front but from the side, avoiding any kick she might intend for him.

 

[vertigis]

Carrie froze in her chains as her captor emerged from a hidden doorway, toes still stretching to touch the floor and relieve some of the mounting pressure in her shoulders. He spoke with an upsetting calmness in his voice, immediately tossing aside her clumsy lie as unlikely at best. If there was no Batman, it was true that she likely would have give up the fight herself or at least take on a different name than Robin. She was proud of being taken in as his prize student, and allowed to follow in the footsteps of his other protégés, but there was also little doubt what it meant. A student was useless without a mentor, a sidekick pointless without a hero. There was no need for a Robin if there was no Batman.

Slowly the man began to peel away the layers of his dark suit and she was forced to watch him do so. In another context she might have found the man beneath it handsome with his strong features and athletic muscular frame. Before his hair had turned gray and age began set in, she didn’t doubt Batman himself had had a very similar build, and the man looked as though he’d trained a lifetime to achieve it. Her bright green eyes settled for a moment on the neat lines where skin turned to metal, suggesting he’d made at least a few lasting mistakes in his life or otherwise been in a disfiguring accident. It also explained the strength of some of his blows and why she’d felt the wind knocked out of her whenever he connected.

The curiosity on her face turned to embarrassment as he slipped his pants off last, a dark pink blush flooding over her cheeks as she saw his thick manhood instantly throbbing to life, another weapon in its own right given its impressive length. Her heart felt as though it was clawing its away out of her throat as he approached at an angle, anticipating her hope of placing a good solid kick between his legs. “Wait…” she said as he drew nearer, speaking of the ’nice video’ they were about to start shooting, the fear beginning to tear at her insides. This could not be happening! “…if… if there is a Batman and… and you hurt me or… or anything else… he’ll make you regret it. He’ll… he’ll make you wish you were dead!” The words echoed through the room hollowly, sounding every bit as terrified as she felt.

They both knew if the Bat was to come it would not be today. Or even tomorrow. He would have to find them first. And until then Carrie would be alone, with him, to do whatever he pleased…

 

[Vandesdelca]

The chuckle started low in his chest, bubbling up and outward into a laugh that resonated off of the far walls. "I certainly hope he'll try. Batman has a particular way of operating. Of deductive reasoning following by stalking, instilling fear in his prey. When you take away the fear, the myth of the Bat... you are only left with a man. A clever, well-trained, well-armed, and very determined man. Of course," he said as he stopped, beginning to rifle through the bag. "... I am also clever, well-trained, well-armed, and I assure you, quite determined. Still in my prime. And your mentor who may or may not exist," he said, quirking a smile her way before his attention diverted to a small jar, freshly retrieved from that bag. "... passed his some twenty or thirty years ago."

He pulled a thin glove onto his left hand before scooping from the jar some manner of sticky black substance, viscous and faintly reflective, not unlike tar. He spread it over both palms, gloved and mechanical, before he pulled up behind her, pressing his chest to her back. He pressed his hands firmly to her soft breasts, that sticky paste spreading evenly over her pale skin.

It spread out more easily than one might have thought, simply leaving a faint trail of darkened slime across her skin. He kneaded her breasts almost gently, the fluid suffusing her flesh before his hands slid ever downward, along her flat stomach, down between her legs. Two rubbery fingers were not kind or gentle as they slid up into her, making sure to spread that substance to every inch of her body. Her skin would feel like she had freshly stepped out of a hot tub and into the cold -- sensitive, vaguely tingly... but there was something else to it. There seemed to be more to every touch. More pain to every strike, more pleasure to every lover's caress, more sensation.

"You are mine," he murmured, his voice almost a bass growl against her ear. "If you try and escape, you will be punished. If you harm me, I will do worse to you. And when Bruce Wayne comes for you, he will die. There is no rescue for you," he whispered, lips curling into a smile. "Carrie."

Maybe she would wonder how he knew. Maybe it had not been very difficult to look up missing persons reports from five years ago, cross checking them with family photos that were not so hard to obtain through a variety of methods.

His touches grew bolder, the fluid spread to her every erogenous zone, giving him ample space to work. Two fingers gently probed her pussy, seeking out the delicate bundle of nerves that made up her clit before his other hand went to her breasts, teasing both of her rosy nipples in equal measure.

 

[vertigis]

Already she hated his confidence. Her captor had responded to her stammered threats with rich booming laughter, causing her to blush despite herself at how little impact Batman’s name had in impressing him. Carrie knew she couldn’t let his words rattle her though, even if there was ugly truth in them. Bruce Wayne was an old man now, at the peak physical condition for a man his age but still well past his best days, while this man was clearly in his prime. There was a reason he relegated so many duties to her and their trainees lately. She didn’t doubt he would come for her eventually but already she wondered if that’s what she really wanted. The man who had her hanging from the ceiling was banking on that after all. He obviously intended another trap, another ambush, just like the one she’d stepped into so blindly and the thought of being responsible for something happening to her mentor sent a chill up her spine.

It was followed by another more literal chill as her captor spread some kind of darkish goop on his large lands, working it into the soft tissue of her breasts. Carrie squirmed in embarrassment and protest as he moved them down, caressing the soft firm curves of her body, smearing the slimy tingly gel over every square inch of her exposed skin. There was little she could do to fight or resist him with her arms bound overhead, and her efforts to pull away simply left her sway back and forth as the slap of his palms on her bare white skin sounded through the small room.

“…stop…” she hissed angrily as his rough fingers slid between the crack of her firm behind, making sure the black jelly was distributed evenly over and within her tightly rounded cheeks. Her face was nearly as red as her ruined vest had been when they then moved around to her pussy, pushing between her lower lips to let the cool mixture seep into her pink folds and the small nub of her clit. “…quit… whatever you’re doing…”

She could feel tears gathering again in her eyes as he growled his ownership of her even as he displayed it physically, taking control of her small lithe body in his strong hands. At the mention of her name Carrie blinked in shock, the words stolen from her mouth, wondering just how much he knew about them. The next thing she knew he was tweaking her nipple, twisting the small rose pink bud until it hardened, the gel somehow making his every touch feel electric, nerves jangling while her breast was squeezed roughly between his agile fingers. Carrie shook her head when he moved back to her pussy, the black gel having quickly seeped into her pores, and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood nearly as his tips moved over her now hyper-sensitive clit, causing her to wriggle in her restraints. Soon she was beginning to pant out loud, the tears now flowing steadily down her cheeks as her body began to warm from his touches, humiliated at her own reactions, the ends of his fingers beginning to growing moist from where she was slowly but undeniably dripping on them.

“What… what are you doing to me? What did you put on me? Please, stop… This is… Stop it!”

 

[Vandesdelca]

He knew what sort of training she had gone through. Maybe not the specifics of her every day life with the old man, but it was not hard to guess. Tolerance to various poisons, a healthy smattering of martial arts, weapons, vehicle training, a combo platter of knowledge with regards to a number of subjects... but he was sure that he had not prepared her against one thing. Seduction was an easy thing to fight off when you knew how -- but pleasure, raw and powerful and unexpected as a tool of torture... well, no one ever thought to prepare for that. Batman was, after all, a man. it was not something he'd had to fight off... so why would he teach a girl, only recently fully sexually mature in the eyes of the law?

She would pay dearly for such an oversight.

His touches continued, fingers dancing nimbly across oversensitive skin. He leaned into her, all hard angles and firm muscle pressed against the smooth planes of her back, her soft skin meeting his own flesh, coarse with a dusting of black hair and a goodly amount of scar tissue. His lips, lost and questing, brushed along the pale curve of her neck, sucking and teasing with lips and tongue alike. He nipped at one ear, groping her breasts firmly with one hand as his other eked out yet more moisture, fingers worming their way into her.

He withdrew them a moment later, holding the glistening end sof his fingers up in front of her.

His voice was almost mocking as he whispered into the shell of her ear. "Not even two minutes, Carrie. And you're whimpering, panting like a bitch in heat." He ran those fingers across one soft cheek, smearing her with her own shame. "I've heard stories about the other Robins. It took more than two minutes to break any of them," he whispered. He suckled on the soft lobe of her ear. He pressed forward, against her. His hands ran all down her thighs, moving up to her shapely behind, giving her a firm squeeze before his hands slid downward along hte backs of her thighs. His hands left her for precious seconds, coming back with a few small, indistinct objects in her hand.

Something smooth and cool was pressed to either nipple, held there with thin pieces of tape. A third one, larger, was pressed against her clit and likewise held there by tape of some special sort that was optimized to stick to flesh and come off easily, not unlike a nicer sort of bandage. He thumbed a small remote and... it was gentle at first, the vibrations. Gentler on her rosy, hardened npples than they were on her clit, but the little vibrators were slowly picking up in speed/

So done, two fingers slid back up inside of her. They pumped inside of her with slow, rhythmic movements as his free hand pulled her up/ He was preparing her -- she could guess at the main course, yet to come.

 

[vertigis]

Carrie withered against her captor’s hard muscled chest, biting her inner lip until she tasted blood just to keep from gasping and crying out. His large calloused palm continued to squeeze and caress the generous swell of the firm breasts, the nipples now jutting out like hard pink eraser nubs. Whatever he had just smeared over her body had her nerve endings dancing at his every touch, the sensation intensified to levels she had never experienced. The truth was Carrie was not especially knowledgeable when it came to sex as she had joined her mentor while still a minor and his relationship with her had remained purely platonic, fatherly almost, over the years. Even though she older now, there wasn’t exactly a lot of time for dating when being trained for an unending quest against for justice.

As bad as the sensual intensity caused by his nimble groping fingers, somehow the things his mouth did were even worse. There were actual tears in her eyes as she struggled with the frustration of resisting him even while his lips brushed along her slim white neck and nibbled at the edge of her lobe, kissing the sensitive spot just behind her ears with expert teasing precision. It seemed her inexperience was in direct contrast to his own confidence. If he had possibly proved a better fighter -- and she had not been at her best, caught tired and bruised after lopsided fight -- then the question of who was a more experienced lover wasn’t even a contest. He was playing her expertly and she couldn’t pull away, her efforts to do so only causing her to slip on her toes and fall backwards against him, feeling the hard length of his manhood resting against her soft behind as she blushed.

That blush intensified when he suddenly stopped, leaving her panting and sweating from his attentions, lower lips glistening wetly as he produced his fingers. The tears that had gathered in her lashes spilled down her cheeks as he wiped her own juices across her face. It felt like a betrayal. As if she’d already failed him again somehow and failed herself as well. How could she honestly be getting aroused at the attentions of the bastard who’d defeated her battle, threatened her mentor, and left her hanging from the ceiling? What was wrong with her that she couldn’t resist?

“…stop, stop, nooo…” she moaned weakly as he resumed his foreplay, this time squeezing her firm little behind in his tight grip before planting something cool and sticky against her nipples and over her clit. Carrie didn’t understand at first until the small black strips begin to vibrate slowly, gradually picking up speed as they stimulated her already sensitive parts, made several times more so by the sensitizing gel he’d added earlier. His fingers slowly reinserted themselves and she could hear the slk-slk-slk of their pumping in and out of her wet pussy, face feeling like it was on fire from the humiliation, especially when her mouth opened and a long wavering moan forced its way out.

 

[Vandesdelca]

"Deathstroke" laughed, his bass rumble echoing off of the walls as his fingers pumped her, spreading her, preparing her for what was to come. Or to cum, perhaps. "I know you don't want me to stop, whore. And so will hundreds, thousands, millions," he hissed. He stopped gripping her soft breast, gesturing from one camera to another, a third finger sliding into her, clustered together and piercing into the heart of her.

"How does that feel, Carrie? There have been dozens of 'superheroes' throughout the years... and you get to be the very first to double as an amateur pornstar," he said. "I'm sure the tape will be a very hot commodity. Maybe I can make money off of it, donate it to the Wayne Foundation," he said with an all too sharp edge of malicious glee.

His fingers drew from her, dribbling with her womanly juices. He pumped himself with them, his cock glistening with her fluids... and slowly, with much deliberation, he got his hands between her thighs, pulling them apart, pulling her up fully off of the ground. He stepped forward, pressing his chest firmly against her back. "Now... let's hear you scream like a whore," he whispered hotly into her ear. He lined her up... and began to push. He slid into her inch after inch, drawing her down. He spread her easily, taking her virginity and every inch of her untried, inexperienced little pussy with a thrust and a grunt.

He began to move backward, pulling her along with him, her hands held in place by the chains until she was fully suspended between himself and the chains. She was in a perversion of doggy style, him behind her and nestled firmly in her depths, her well and truly prevented from moving out of his grip. His hands held her smooth and shapely legs firmly, and with a heavy grunt he began to thrust into her.

 

[vertigis]

Her captor’s laughter cut through the soft reluctant moans, causing the fire in her cheeks to burn all the hotter. His thick calloused fingers continued to plunge into her tight hole, the slick walls of her pussy gripping at them greedily. Carrie didn’t want to look when he pointed out the cameras but she couldn’t help herself, teary eyes staring at the blinking red lights that marked each of the lenses filming her shame. All the while he taunted her with the knowledge that she’d be unique, forever remembered as the first heroine to be fucked on film, cumming to her enemy’s thrusting cock. The intense humiliation of it left her sobbing while the addition of a third pumping finger, stretching her wider still, had her over-sensitized pussy screaming for relief, the familiar warmth of a orgasm already growing slowly and that only from his touches.

He couldn’t make her do it. It was awful enough to be forced on camera this way but she couldn’t allow herself to be complicit in it. Carrie understood she’d been drugged somehow yet there must be someway to resist. Her willpower had been hones by the Batman himself to be second to none. This was all so entirely new though, the sensations she was feeling not only heightened but unfamiliar, the man’s firm teasing caress of her breast bringing an almost instinctual reaction as her nipple hardened. Mentally she didn’t want him to do what he was planning but physically her eager little body yearned for it after all these years of not knowing.

“…no, no, you can’t, please…!” Carrie begged as he pulled his fingers free with a wet slick noise before wrapping his strong grip around her thighs. Whimpering as she was lifted from the concrete floor, the hard muscular form of his chest pressing against her slim white back, the head of his cock could be felt settling between her lips. “Ahh! AHHH!” she screamed, not intending to do as he asked but responding unwilling to sudden rush of feeling that came when he gradually forced himself into dripping pussy, causing the chains to rattle as he thrust the rest of his thick length into her body.

Pulled backwards until she was extended obscenely off the ground, held upright in her captor’s powerful arms, Carrie found herself staring at the nearby cameras, tears dripping down her flushed cheeks. With a grunt, the man began to hammer into her hot sopping cunt, causing her small lithe frame to shake with the force of his rough savage thrusts. With the drugs from the gel still coursing through her bloodstream, she was soon moaning even louder than before, her tight little box clinging to him like a sleeve as he fucked away her virginity, no doubt enjoying the feel and vision of his defeated captive hanging naked and helpless from the ceiling.