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I could have waited. There was nothing I needed to do at the bank that day that I couldn't have put off another 24 hours. But it was a beautiful afternoon, just before closing, and I was in the neighborhood, and the line was short, and it looked like I'd be out of there in 10 minutes or less.
Boy, was I wrong.
In retrospect, maybe the van parked outside the building should have been a tip-off. Every newspaper article since that day has mentioned it: a rusty old vehicle with a fresh logo slapped on, probably just a few hours earlier, advertising JOSEPH KERR'S NOVELTIES. In retrospect, only an idiot would have missed it, right?
But hey, I'm no detective. I know we're all supposed to be on the lookout for Ryder trucks parked outside federal buildings and abandoned gym bags near public plazas and such, but I walked right past the van, through the revolving doors and straight into the lobby of my neighborhood branch of First Gotham just like I've done time after time for the last 10 years. I know that routine by heart; I could do it blindfolded.
And my mind was a million miles away, anyway. Something Janice had said at dinner the night before was still bugging me. Where did she get the idea that she could just blurt out something about Bill without it getting to me? If she'd felt that way the whole time he and I were going out, she could have said something - hell, she SHOULD have said something - back when it might have made a difference. To trot it out months after the fact was sheer spite, another weapon in her personal arsenal to make me feel like crap. What made her think--
I didn't see what caused the first explosion, but I sure as hell noticed the smoke. We all did: everybody in line, all the tellers, the banking agents in their cubicles, the higher-ups in their offices. I saw a security guard reach for his gun with one hand and his radio with the other.
He was the first casualty. He fell to the ground so fast I couldn't even tell what had hit him. Before I could figure out what was going on, the second blast rocked the building. More smoke, and by this time I realized it smelled funny. Really funny. Couldn't see too well, didn't want to breathe at all, but of course I couldn't help it.
Maybe if I'd paid just a little more attention during those TV shows about how to survive a terrorist attack I'd have known what to do during a bank robbery, too, but believe me, it all happened so fast that no amount of training would have kept me from gasping for air, getting a lungful of that noxious shit, and hitting the floor like a sack of potatoes.
I opened my eyes to a living nightmare: at least two guards dead or nearly so, half a dozen bodies sprawled out on the ground at random intervals, and the rest of us - I'd estimate 30 or so customers and bank employees alike -dragged into a section of the room which had been transformed into a makeshift holding pen, our hands tied behind our backs with those plastic handcuffs cops use at riots, and our feet bound with rope. The air still stank of smoke and poison.
A few of my new companions in the holding pen were sobbing, while one or two nursed their own wounds as best they could.
Three goons with fierce-looking guns stood watch over us. Your standard-issue bank robbers, only they were all dressed in crazy outfits: one was a carnival strongman, another looked like a rodeo clown, and the third wore the leotards of a tightrope walker. If you'd seen them under any other circumstances, you would have laughed out loud. Only there was nothing funny about the current situation. Nothing whatsoever.
Not a one of them spoke a word. The only sound in the room came from my fellow terrified victims of this heinous, if baffling, act. The near silence was shattered first by the deafening blast of a whistle. That shut everyone up. Next came ... something that sounded just like a hurdy gurdy, of all things. A portable PA system blared out the kind of fanfare I hadn't heard since my last trip to the Big Top with my nephews.
And then a fourth man appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. This one was clearly playing the part of ringleader-and I mean that in the circus sense, down to the red topcoat and high black hat. "Laaaaadieeeeeees and gentlemen, boys and girls, it is my distinct honor and privilege to introduce the man of the hour, the act you've all been ... dying to see. You've heard about him, you've read about him, now you can see him with your own tear-stained eyes: the notorious, the nefarious, the one and only Clown Prince of Crime. Put your hands together - ooops, I forgot, you CAN'T put your hands together at the moment - okay, well, give it up for.... The JOKER!"
None of us made a sound. The recorded music swelled, accompanied by canned applause. The front door opened, and in walked a frightfully thin man with pasty white skin and bright green hair. I'd seen him a dozen or more times on television and on the front page of the paper, but never in my worst dreams did I imagine he'd one day be standing ten feet away from me.
Everything about him was disgusting: the crazed look in his eyes, the maniacal laugh, the stench of a dozen nameless foul odors. His limbs and face looked shriveled, as if he was little more than an emaciated skeleton stuffed into some garish gangster outfit from a bygone decade. I'd been in shock throughout most of the ordeal thus far, but the horrible reality of the situation was finally starting to sink in. For the first time in my life, I had the distinct impression that I could die at any moment.
"Greetings, ladies and germs," he said, gesturing for the music to end. The room was now completely silent but for the sobbing of a couple of my fellow captives. "That was a JOKE, goddamit!" he snarled before pulling a pearl-handled silver revolver out of his pants and aiming it at the temple of a young woman next to me. "It's considered polite to LAUGH when someone tells you a joke, lady," he said.
I could see she was holding her breath, and I held mine, too. When she could hold it in no longer, a single tear rolled down her cheek, followed by a steady stream. Soon she was crying uncontrollably, her entire body shaking. "Please.... Please ..." she whispered as she looked the madman in the eye.
"You had your chance," the Joker proclaimed as he stared at the floor and pulled the trigger of his gun. I closed my eyes tight and wished to god I was anywhere else on the planet but here, now.
Click. The sound was a thousand times fainter than I'd expected. Through half-shut lids I peered over and saw the woman slumped backward but still very much alive. The Joker stood beside her waving the gun. From its barrel projected a stiff red flag bearing the word "BANG."
"That was a joke, TOO," he said, staring down a portly bank executive. "So is this." The Joker pointed the same gun at the man's stomach and fired. This time a real bullet left the chamber and knocked the man down to the ground, where he screamed for a good three minutes before losing consciousness.
"Christ, what a buncha stiffs. Let's get this party started, boys," the Joker said to his henchmen. More music, this time something fast and funky. Under happier circumstances - at a club with a few drinks in me, say - I'd be on the dance floor by now, but in my current state I found I couldn't move a muscle.
"This oughta loosen you up," the man in the ringleader's outfit announced as he lit three smoke bombs and hurled them into our holding pen. Plumes of red and blue smoke filled the air; once again I tried hard not to breathe, and once again I succumbed.
But this time I suddenly felt ... good. Really, really good. The beat of the music seemed to relax me, and I found myself tapping my right leg in time. Something somebody had said a few hours earlier, some wisecrack or other, crept back into my memory out of the blue, and pretty soon I was laughing my head off. I looked around the room and saw that I was in good company; everybody else was smiling and starting to dance to the music, too. Everybody who hadn't been shot yet, that is.
Even THAT idea struck me as funny for some reason, and I just had to chuckle. "We're probably not gonna make it out of here alive, you know," I said to a guy next to me, giggling at the thought.
"I know," he said, convulsing with laughter. "Looks like we're all gonna die."
Looking up once more, I noticed that the Joker and his men were now the only ones not laughing. They wore bright yellow gas masks decorated with happy faces, which now seemed even more hilarious than the comment that had gotten me started in the first place. Each one of them produced a weapon now, and appeared to be picking us off one by one. Each time a new victim lurched forward or backward and then hit the floor, I remembered a commercial jingle from my youth: "Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down."
Not like us, I thought to myself. We wobble, AND we fall down. It cracked me up, and as I was dancing I began imitating the weird, pathetic stumblings of the less fortunate men and women around me. Three or four of my fellow captives picked up on what I was doing and pretty soon a new dance craze was born.
Our ranks were thinning fast, but I'd estimate there were still about twenty-five or so of us alive, dancing and laughing like madmen, when the glass in the main lobby window shattered.
At first I couldn't tell what had just happened, but sooner or later I made out a figure standing in the center of the room, with what looked like great leathery wings wrapped around its trunk. Bits of broken glass clung to the wings. The thing didn't move for a long time. I was convinced it was probably a man, but it sure looked like a ... bat.
Could it be? Like everybody else in Gotham City, I'd heard reports for the last several years of a mysterious "Bat-Man" dedicated to saving his community from crime and corruption, but I'd always assumed the whole thing was a hoax drummed up by the media. The guy had never appeared in broad daylight, and lots of my cynical friends figured it was all a promotion for some new movie. (Urban legend or not, the pictures I'd seen were pretty hot; there were already quite a few internet sites devoted to gay fans exchanging images and stories of this "Bat-Man," and I'd even jerked off to a few of them when Bill wasn't around.)
But this ... this thing standing in front of me now was no media fabrication. Like everybody else in the room, I was trying hard to sober up and figure out just what the hell was going on. All at once, the leathery mass began to move; two arms stuck straight out at right angles, and the remaining shards of glass fell away from what I now saw was a vast billowing cape. The creature - well, by now it was safe to call it a man - lifted his head, and I saw for the first time the dark mask he was wearing. It covered most of his face except his lips and cheeks. As the smoke cleared from my head, I could even see his five o'clock shadow.
That's not all I could make out by this point, either. He was a big man, with broad shoulders and a confident stance. In my delirium, I was convinced he stood almost seven feet tall from the bizarre pointy ears at the top of his head to the imposing-looking boots on his feet. I scanned the length and width of his body, marveling at how his muscles seemed to strain against the dark tights he wore. His chest alone would have stopped my heart from beating; my eyes were drawn first to the yellow bat logo at the center of his sternum and then to the magnificent nipples to the left and right of it.
Holy shit, I thought to myself. In retrospect I'm sure the gas still had a pretty firm hold on me, but staring long and hard at this "Bat-Man" I lost all sense of the danger I was in. Suddenly I knew everything was going to be okay.
The mystery man spoke at last. His voice was deep and commanding. "It ends here, Joker."
"Guess again, Bats," the Joker replied. "I'm the one who's got the hostages. And the weapons. And I say the fun is just beginning."
I looked away from the newcomer just long enough to discover four guns aimed at my colleagues and me from four different directions.
"I've killed before, and I swear to god I'll kill again," the Joker said, suddenly serious as he gestured at the bodies littering the ground. "Unless you play by my rules, that is."
Batman suddenly didn't seem so in command of the situation as he had a moment earlier. He was silent now, almost as if he was awaiting orders.
"Drop that belt of yours," the Joker said. Batman drew his hands to the fascinating collection of tools strapped to his waist and unbuckled the bulky contraption. It fell to the ground with a loud clang. "Kick it over toward the wall," the homicidal clown commanded, and Batman once again did as he was told. I was startled to see him so compliant, but it was clear he had no other choice.
The henchman in the rodeo clown outfit leaned over to pick up the belt.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT THING!," the Joker bellowed to him. "Don't you remember what happened last time? He's got that motherfucker boobytrapped." There was an even wilder look in his eyes as he began barking out one command after another, clearly relishing the fact that he had the upper hand: "Get on your knees, Batman. Attaboy. Palms flat on the floor."
Maybe I was starting to come to my senses again, but I couldn't help noticing that my would-be savior didn't look quite so tall or so menacing in this position. Nonetheless, he was my only hope. The only hope for all of us.
It was clear by now that these two bizarrely dressed men knew each other quite well. They had a history together, a shared life in a midnight world that tied them to each other despite being on opposite ends of the law. They were larger than life; I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be either of them, only that whatever they did all day was a million years away from my own routine of breakfast, desk job, dinner, and TV.
"You, there," I heard the Joker say. I continued staring at the hero kneeling on the floor.
"I said YOU," the Joker barked. I looked up, and to my horror I realized his gun was pointing straight at me this time.
"That's right, YOU, asshole. Join our guest on the floor."
My wrists still cuffed behind my back, I pressed my way to the front of the makeshift holding cell and waited for one of the henchmen to let me out. He shoved me forward, and I soon found myself squatting next to the masked man. I was so close to him now I could almost touch him (if I had been able to move my hands at all, that is). From this new perspective, he looked even hotter than I'd ever imagined.
"Time for some real fun and games, boys," the Joker said. "First it's time for a little snack. I hope you two are hungry."
One of the henchmen appeared at our side with a plate. I couldn't quite make out what was on it before half of it ended up down my throat, but judging from the taste I'd say it was something chocolate. And I know there was frosting, because Batman put up quite a struggle before he swallowed his half, and to punish him for being such a bad sport the henchman smeared all the remaining goo on the exposed flesh around his mouth.
For a moment our eyes met, Batman's and mine, and it was clear even without words that he was trying to signal to me that everything would be alright, that he had an escape plan in mind, that whatever was in whatever we'd just been forced to eat, he was going to fight it, that ... that ... uh ...
"Nighty night, boys," the Joker cooed. I was already starting to feel a little groggy, but just before I hit the floor, I looked up in time to see a large wooden plank coming down square on the back of Batman's skull.
It's hard to say for sure, but something tells me we were both out for about an hour. In any case, by the time I woke up, I was feeling ... great. I've done my fair share of recreational drugs, and I guarantee you that whatever Joker gave us beat anything I'd ever come across before. It was a full-body high: my toes were tingling, my head was spinning, and my dick was solid as a boulder. My underwear was already moist with pre-cum.
Batman didn't look like he was having such a good time. Judging from the cuts and tears on his tights and cape, it seemed clear that Joker's men had used him as a punching bag while I'd been sleeping like a baby. I knew there was animosity between these two, and for now it looked like the Joker had the upper hand. Why he didn't simply kill his archenemy when he had the chance was a mystery to me. Perhaps he delighted in torturing the man instead. And Batman had been roughed up pretty badly.
Even so, the faintest trace of a grin on the masked man's lips and the not-so-faint tenting in his tights told me the unknown substance had worked its magic on him, too. He seemed to be fighting it, but that shit was so strong I assumed it would be a losing battle. Besides, why would anybody want to resist feeling so fucking good?
The two of us were tied to chairs, face to face. The longer I started at Batman, even in this compromised position, the hotter he looked. If I were really going to die tonight, at least I'd perish with the memory of this beautiful man emblazoned in my brain.
"I see the stars of tonight's circus are coming around," the Joker said. "And from the looks on their ... faces, I'd say the refreshments we gave them have started to kick in, too."
I'd never been in such danger in my life-I mean, this beat the hell out of that white-water rafting expedition Bill and I took a few years ago-but somehow I didn't feel too concerned. I took a deep breath and released it, enjoying the way the air moved through my body. I hadn't been this relaxed in ages, certainly not since things started to head south on the homefront, and I just wanted to savor the feeling as long as possible.
I kept staring at Batman and decided to give him a wink. I smiled. To my delight, although he was clearly resisting the drug with all his might, he winked and smiled back. I broke into a laugh, and soon, amazingly enough, he was joining me.
"How sweet," the Joker announced, his voice drenched with sarcasm. "Two condemned men share a final fleeting moment of bliss.” He walked straight over to my chair. "Keep it up, kiddo," he told me. "Maybe if you're lucky, you'll get a goodnight kiss from the big lug."
The Joker's men all laughed. For the first time in a long while I looked up and saw my fellow hostages. The dead ones had all been dragged to a clump near the front door, while the survivors cowered in their pen. Confusion reigned: some were alert enough to be terrified, others still basked in the pleasurable haze of the smoke bombs.
I glanced back at Batman. His head slumped forward slightly, and I could see his chest rise and fall as he took several deep breaths. He didn't seem to be fighting back anymore, and the lusty smile on his face confirmed my suspicion that he was now as stoned as me.
I won't lie to you. I wanted him more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted to taste his cock in my mouth, to feel it up my ass, anywhere and everywhere it would fit. I wanted him on his knees, on his back, straddling me, you name it. In my fantasies I was top, bottom, even the meat in a three-man sandwich, all rolled into one. My cock was growing harder than I'd ever felt it before. And from the look in his eyes it was abundantly clear that Batman himself was experiencing exactly the same thing.
"Look here, you two lovebirds," Joker cooed. "I know you're eager to get busy, but we've got a show to put on. We must think of our audience-and not just these poor fools, but the boys and girls at home. I simply can't allow you horndogs to move a ... muscle until the camera crews are ready.
"You HAVE noticed them by now, haven't you? Silly me, I forgot: you were out cold for a while there. Well, look outside. Behold: now THERE's a media circus. But who can blame them? When you've got Gotham City's two biggest costumed freaks in the same room at the same time, the press is sure to follow. Everyone's heard about the famous Batman; face it, baby, you're a star, and you really shouldn't be so shy about meeting your fans. God knows I'M not. This is our moment to shine.
"That's really why I've brought us all here today, of course. Oh, sure, my men and I do have a bank to rob, but that's really just icing on the cake. And speaking of cake, I do hope you both enjoyed Mama Joker's special recipe! I baked those goodies with you two in mind. Okay, so I had BATMAN in mind, but - no offense - YOU coulda been any old guy off the street, pal."
I guess my ego could have been bruised by that last remark, but I didn't care. How could I? From the minute I first heard rumors of a mysterious masked vigilante swinging across the skyscrapers of downtown Gotham, the very idea had sounded incredibly sexy to me. And now here he was, in the flesh, mere minutes away from doing the nasty with me. Drug or no drug, this was all too good to be true.
Though my attention was riveted to Batman, I was still vaguely aware of what was going on: Joker himself walking to the door of the bank and handpicking representatives of the three biggest TV stations, beckoning them to enter, directing them to his henchmen to be frisked. I sensed them setting up lights, cameras, and boom mikes as I felt my bonds being loosened. Within a few minutes-the precise details remain foggy even to this day-Batman and I were both free of our restraints and kneeling on the floor facing each other.
"ROLL 'EM!" the Joker cackled, and we both took his words as our cue. There's a good chance we had been given post-hypnotic suggestions while we were out, but I don't really think either of us needed them to tell us what to do next.
The two of us were on our knees staring straight ahead at each other. My gaze traveled back and forth from Batman's warm, inviting eyes to the emblem on his chest. I studied the way his dark mask clung so tightly to his face; I examined his strong chin, his broad shoulders, his massive biceps and powerful forearms, the gloves stretched over his large hands.
There wasn't much time to wonder who was going to make the first move before one of the Joker's men planted his foot in the small of my back and shoved me forward. My head landed in Batman's lap, and with uncharacteristic efficiency I soon had my tongue traveling the length and width of his crotch, licking my way to the protrusion in his briefs. I treated that mound like the most succulent meal I'd ever tasted, savoring the foamy hint of juice where the tip of his shaft jutted against the fabric of his costume. He was leaning backward now to afford me maximum access to his crotch, and I made the most of it, greedily planting myself over him, wrapping my hands around his muscular thighs and sucking away.
"Don't settle for the appetizer," the Joker teased. "Get a mouthful of the main course, why don't you?" I grabbed the rim of Batman's tights and pulled them down, freeing his cock from its confines for a moment before I gobbled up the sticky head and started working it over with my tongue. It took some effort to fit the whole thing in my mouth, but in it went, and I felt compelled to force it as far down my throat as it would go. I pulled my head back and forth, letting the shaft massage the inside of my mouth.
"I do hope you're getting all this," the villainous clown told the assembled camera crews. Somewhere above my head I heard someone object: "But we can't ... FCC regulations forbid..."
I made out the click of a gun being cocked. "Nobody likes a goody-goody," Joker replied. His voice turned deadly serious. "If any ONE of you stops recording these two, I start shooting."
By this time my right hand had moved to my own cock, and I was playing with myself as I slurped away. I couldn't believe I was doing any of this in public, but I honestly couldn't have stopped even if I'd wanted to. I looked up and saw Batman grimace. He grunted involuntarily. I could feel the muscles throughout his body tightening, I could hear his breathing change into something more like panting, and I knew beyond a doubt what (and who) was coming next. I didn't want to play accomplice to his enemy's evil scheme, but I couldn't help myself.
"Speaking of shooting," Joker said to the cameramen, "it looks like the Bat is about to fly. Let's get a close-up on that, boys."
I pulled my mouth off the masked man's member, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. In the same unforgettable instant I heard my companion let out a bone-shaking grunt - "Unnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggghhhhh!" - and felt his toasty warm spunk hit me squarely in the center of my forehead.
"Beautiful, just beautiful, boys," the Joker said. "But did I tell you two to take a break?" I opened my eyes and noticed that the force of his ejaculation had Batman sprawled out on the floor beside me, his head turned away in what I took to be shame.
"No rest for the weary," the clown continued. The rest of his taunts he directed to me: "Your turn, kid. You walked in here a nobody, but if you play your cards right tonight, you're leaving here a STAR. Either that or a corpse; guess I haven't made up my mind just yet. But up and at 'em; let's see what you're made of."
My hand had scarcely left my dick throughout the explosion, so I simply picked up the pace. The slow drip of Batman's cum over the edge of my nose, along my checks and down my chin was all the enticement I needed to bring myself to the verge of my own orgasm.
Batman still seemed to be trying to bury his face in the floor tiles until two of the henchmen pinned his shoulders to the ground with their boots. He was now flat on his back with no choice but to look up at me with hungry eyes. "Go ahead," he whispered coarsely. "Do it. He'll kill you if you don't."
"He's right, you know," the Joker added. "I'll kill you, and him, and everybody else in this room if you don't shoot that wad directly on his chest. See that little bat-doohickey in the center of his costume? That's your target. Hit it, or I guarantee you there will be HELL to pay."
I don't usually work well under pressure, and the awareness that I was jerking myself off at gunpoint over the prone body of a masked vigilante on live television would probably count in anybody's book as pressure. But the combination of intense fear, heavy drugs, and Batman's achingly beautiful body had me so fucking hot I had no trouble whatsoever priming the old pump. I imagined my unwilling partner and me under happier circumstances, alone in some dark cave far from the outside world, his gloved hands just barely grazing my bare flesh, our legs clamped tightly around each other, my tongue exploring the inside of his mouth...
Pretty soon I was so ready to shoot my whole body was shaking. I took a deep breath and held it; my heart was racing and my face was frozen in a grimace. My right hand slid back and forth across the surface of my cock until at last a jet of milky fluid flowed out of me. The sight of it splashing onto the yellow oval on Batman's chest only made me more excited, and in no time a second eruption followed. The Joker was laughing with unholy delight, urging the cameramen to zoom in closer.
"Oh God," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, Batman. I'm so... sorry."
"It's all right," he replied through clenched teeth.
The Joker clapped his hands together and patted Batman on the head. "Such a good sport. You really take it like a man, Batsy." He turned to address the other hostages. "Can we hear it for these two?"
There was stony silence, beyond a few muffled sobs. Joker looked angry. "I SAID, let's hear it for these brave young men. Put your hands together, every fucking one of you, NOW."
Awkward, embarrassed applause erupted in short bursts around the holding pen, then gradually grew.
"That's more like it. But I sense you people, and the boys and girls at home, are hungry for more. God knows our heroes here are chomping at the bit. Mighty impressive loads, but something tells me there's more where that came from.
"Time to answer the question all of Gotham has been asking these last few years: Is the mighty Batman a Top, or a bottom? Well, which is it, Bats? Do you pitch, or do you catch?"
Batman said nothing, even after two of the goons kicked him with sadistic glee.
"Cat got your tongue?" the Joker asked. "Such a tease! Well, then, I guess we'll just have to flip a coin."
A henchman produced a quarter and handed it to his boss, who tossed it into the air several times. "Call it," he barked at me.
I didn't want to say a word, but I wasn't too eager to get worked over like my far stronger companion, either. "Tails," I replied at last.
"Here goes," the Joker said, flipping the coin one last time. "Heads it is. I win! And I say you fuck Batman's brains out, right here and now."
The next few minutes were a blur: guns pointed at the two of us, my unintentional partner forcibly spread-eagled face down on the floor, his tights yanked down around his boots, me directed to straddle him, my dick stiffening once again despite, or perhaps because of, the horror of the situation.
I looked up to the Joker for direction. He loomed above us, his eyes wild with madness. "You don't need me to tell you what to do," he said. "Follow your heart. Or rather your cock. We can all see how badly it wants to plant itself in that asshole."
I hated to admit he was right, but I lowered myself onto Batman's prone body and pinned his outstretched wrists to the ground, covering his gauntlets with my bare hands. I was a far weaker man than he, but he put up no resistance. With my lips close to his ears, I whispered another apology for what I was about to do.
"We have no choice," was his grim response. "Let's just get it over with."
"Hey, that's no way to look at the situation," the Joker said, clearly taking pleasure in Batman's obvious embarrassment. I wondered for a second what could have inspired any man, no matter how insane, to hate someone so much he would go to the extremes the Joker had gone to: the weeks of planning, the risk to life and limb, the likelihood of inevitable imprisonment...
"GET TO IT," one of the Joker's brutes shouted. I dutifully unbuttoned my trousers, slid them and my underwear past my waist, and positioned my shaft just over the crack of Batman's ass. I could really have used some lube, but I didn't dare ask for it, so my own spit sufficed.
I held my breath and plunged in, my cock easily locating its destination. To my surprise, the masked man's butthole was relaxed and accepted the intrusion with no resistance whatsoever. The sensation of his flesh wrapped around mine as snugly as his costume held his body was irresistible, and I soon found myself pumping away, building up a rhythm as I thrust in and pulled back, in and back, in and back, until I could contain myself no longer.
I let out a long, satisfied exhalation as I felt a fresh load of my jism float out of me and into my inadvertent lover. This was something I'd fantasized about in the privacy of my home, but never under these conditions: at gunpoint, drugged, and on live television. Even so, the sensation was undeniably intense. There was a very good chance we'd both be killed any minute now, along with the other hostages, but in the moment of orgasm I simply couldn't care any less.
Batman said nothing. I had no idea what was going through his head as he lay there with his tights pulled down and both his asscrack and his chest drenched in pools of my cum, his forced submission unfolding in such a public way. I shuddered to think what would happen next.
The Joker didn't give us long to wonder. "Up on your knees, Batman. You, too, punk." The guns pointed at each of us and the pen of hostages ensured that we did as we were told. "Your new friend here may not know it yet, but he's about to do something every criminal in Gotham City has been dreaming of doing ever since you first showed your freakish face in this town, Bats. Can either of you boys guys guess what that might be?"
I took my lead from Batman and kept my mouth shut.
"Oh come ON, you two are even bigger idiots than I thought!" the Joker taunted. "Guess I'll have to spoil the surprise. This nice young man is about to show the world just exactly who you are beneath that mask of yours, Batman."
The next few moments unfolded like a sick dream. My hands still wet with cum, I felt myself being pulled backward as I watched the henchmen who held Batman reposition him. He was kneeling now, not of his own will. The front of his costume was still glistening with my spunk, while his cape and gloves bore the dirt of the floor. He was quiet, reserved, withdrawn. The quick darting motions of his pupils suggested he was up to something, but from where I stood, the situation was hopeless.
I looked around the room at my fellow captives. They tried hard to divert their gaze, to grant their would-be hero one last moment of privacy. The camera crews seemed embarrassed, if not terrified, by what was unfolding before their lenses; they had to be coerced to set up the next awful shot.
The Joker thrust himself in front of the cameras and took full advantage of the situation. The lunatic actually had a monologue prepared, complete with cue cards and applause signs! When one of his demented jokes failed to elicit a laugh, one of the henchmen would pick a hostage at random and beat the crap out of him or her. This went on for a good five minutes before the madman cut short his routine mid-sentence. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, let's not beat around the bush any longer. We all know what's coming next, and I would be a complete sadist if I deprived you of that pleasure one more second. For the first time ever on this or any other television station, I bring you, live - for the time being, at least - and unedited, the act we've all been waiting for: The Unmasking of The Batman!"
He gestured at me with a broad sweep of his hand. I didn't move. There was no way I was going to participate in this freakshow.
Easy to say. Harder to follow through when you see three guns pointed straight at you from three different angles.
"Do it," Joker said, dropping his jovial clown act so fast I almost couldn't believe the same person was now speaking. "Do it NOW or you're both dead at the count of three. One..."
I guess we all want to believe we'd behave like heroes if our bravery ever came to the test. But maybe that only happens in the movies. In real life, when you're staring down a firing squad, you do as you're told. I started to move my hand -
-- I extended it so that it rested on the ears of Batman's cowl. I hated myself more than anything else on earth in the moment that I grabbed hold of the top of the mask and pulled upward.
It all happened so fast that I'm certain some other force was moving through me. When Batman's foot came whipping out from behind him, when he threw his body to the ground and somehow rebounded in an instant, I seized the moment myself and pushed one of the henchmen to the floor with the weight of my own body. I don't know where I got the idea or how I pulled it off without getting myself killed, but I was running on pure adrenaline by this point.
I certainly don't mean to exaggerate the importance of what I did. Honestly, beyond that one gesture, Batman did all the work. And he did it so fast -- through the smoke of some sort of explosive devices he must have been storing in his boots -- I'm still not sure I could explain what happened. All I can say for sure is, within what felt like a split second he had the henchmen subdued, the Joker in handcuffs, the hostages freed, and the cameras pushed aside. A few moments later, the place was crawling with cops. To their credit, they managed to keep the majority of reporters outside. Later on I learned that some kind of signal jam had prevented any of the footage from airing; I don't know if that was a fluke or something Batman somehow arranged in advance, but for his sake and mine, I'm glad.
Back in the bank, my fellow hostages were crying, lots of them, either from relief or sheer exhaustion. Maybe both. I knew the first thing I wanted to do was thank Batman personally for saving all our lives. I scanned the room and saw he was gone. He's famous for quick exits, I know, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed. One minute we were as close as two people can be, and the next he was nowhere to be seen.
Or was he? Something on the other side of the lobby caught my eye--a glint of something shiny. I know now it was a signal he'd sent in my direction to attract my attention. He beckoned toward a nearby door, and then disappeared behind it.
I was there in a flash, anxiously turning the knob and poking my head into what turned out to be a stairwell.
"Over here," he whispered. I walked in and felt his glove wrap around my arm, pulling me close to his chest. I practically fell into his embrace. We stood together in silence for a few long moments, neither needing to say a word. A skeptic would write all this off to the drugs we'd been given, but I couldn't be sure. Only one way to find out.
"I'd like to see you again," I said quietly as I gazed into his eyes. The mask accentuated them, made them seem even more mysterious and beautiful.
I waited for his answer, suddenly afraid that I'd been too forward. What's the etiquette when asking for a date from a masked crimefighter you've just been forced to have public sex with?
He said nothing as he held me. At last he kissed me: a long, warm, wet kiss that could have knocked me out.
"I never got your name," he said in due time.
"Richard," I replied. "Richard Grayson. But you can call me Dick."
He smiled and nodded, and then he was gone for real.
(Actually, it’s only the BEGINNING: see http://bruceanddick.blogspot.com/ to find out where the story goes from here…)