MEET THE SADIST
by batfan60
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HOMEPAGE: https://www.angelfire.com/super2/batfan60/
DISCLAIMER: Most
of these characters belong to a giant corporation, not me. This is a work of
fan fiction; no infringement intended. I welcome your comments at mailto:batfan60@yahoo.com
1.
The first thing Batman saw
when he opened his eyes at last was his own nearly naked body, its
once-magnificent limbs stretched as far as they would reach and fastened to the
wall with heavy iron shackles which were padlocked shut. A floor-to-ceiling mirror
on the opposite side of the room provided nothing else to look at but his own
defeat at the hands of an unseen foe.
His mask was still in place,
but every other scrap of his costume had been removed, evidently with some
degree of violence. The black rubber bodysuit looked like it had been cut or
torn from his torso; it was now stapled to the wall beside him in such a way
that it could never be worn again. Two large nails fixed his cape just beyond
the suit, and further nails held his gloves and boots. All of these items had
been doused with red paint. Whoever was responsible for this defilement clearly
intended to make a point.
But what point was that, and
who was behind it? Batman struggled to remember the events of the last twelve
hours, but came up blank. The large red welts and blue bruises reflected in the
mirror offered the only clues as to his treatment. Apparently he'd been held
here for some time, and his torturer would surely be returning soon.
Scanning the room for any
possible avenues of escape, Batman spotted his utility belt lying just beyond
his bound feet on the gray cement floor. Unlike the other items of his uniform,
this one had not been mounted like a trophy; it was simply splayed on the
ground as if discarded. Free of red paint, it was in fact covered with
still-drying jism. Closer inspection revealed that its contents had been
removed and placed in a nearby box.
That triggered an uninvited
memory, and Batman soon found himself reliving a split second of recent pain.
He'd been jabbed with the batknife, dosed with batgas, forced to swallow a
bat-shaped capsule; in short, each compartment on his belt had been used
against himÉ It was horribly clear now: Some diabolical fiend had tortured him
with his own weapons! But who?
He struggled against the
restraints which held him to the wall, then froze the instant he heard
footsteps. Every light in the room snapped off at the same time. In the
darkness he felt cold and alone, blind and immobile. He was absolutely
defenseless, and his wounds cried out for immediate medical attention.
Yet there was nothing he
could do but stand here, swept up in a wave of disorientation which he
suspected was chemically induced. Whatever was going to happen next could not
be good.
2.
In the pitch black, Batman
detected the warmth of another human being. He felt a hand approach his exposed
right nipple, which had grown tender and desperate for kind treatment. From the
smell and texture of the material, he deduced that the hand was encased in a
tight leather glove.
Batman tensed up, but the
feel of a leather-clad thumb and index finger wrapped around his tit was nearly
impossible to resist. He was braced for further torture, so the gentleness of
this foreign touch took him by surprise. From time to time the digits strayed
from their concentration on the nipple and began travelling through the thicket
of hair on his chest. Eventually a second hand joined them, and soon each
nipple was receiving separate but equal attention.
The masked man groaned with
pleasure in spite of himself, and it occurred to him that his cock was now
jutting out at a right angle from his crotch. It was embarrassing to be caught
this way, unable to disguise the sheer sexual charge he felt in the midst of
such a life-threatening predicament. This, after all, was a secret he guarded
even more carefully than his alternate identity: that his true reason for
devoting his life to crimefighting as a costumed vigilante was the frequent
opportunities it provided him to face torture and the threat of death. He was,
in his own way, every bit as perverted as the Joker, the Riddler, and all the
other irresistable felons in his Rogues Gallery.
This time around, his
hard-on was rewarded with a pair of moist lips which wrapped themselves around
his fully erect member and travelled slowly across its surface. Still unable to
see, Batman knew the gloves were also working away on his nipples, which led
him to envision the mysterious stranger kneeling before him, sucking and groping with the ease of a
professional. That thought made the uncaped crusader grow even stiffer, and he
knew he was on the verge of shooting his load into the darkness.
Without warning, however,
the lips withdrew. "Not yet," a gruff voice whispered, and Batman
felt something so cold it seemed to burn the skin of his cock. Ice! The cube
travelled up the ripples of his abdomen, landing on one nipple and then the
other. Could this be the work of Mr. Freeze? Unlikely, since the supervillain
was still serving a 40-year sentence, and his heavy gear would make the current
scenario impossible.
"Wh--who are you?"
Batman heard himself pleading as he struggled to escape the numbing effects of
the cold.
"I will reveal myself
in due time," the voice replied. "And so will you."
3.
Alone. In the jet-black
room. For hours. Maybe days, or weeks. Batman had lost all track of time, and
his limbs had gone limp from their confinement. He tried hard to focus his mind
according to the rigorous training he'd subjected himself to over the years in
preparation for just this kind of situation, but he could feel himself slipping
away all the same.
Suddenly the room grew hot;
in his delirium, he was convinced the wall was glowing bright red. Beads of
sweat formed on his arms, chest, and legs, but it was the areas covered by his
mask -- the forehead and neck -- which felt warmest and wettest.
The lights snapped on, and
Batman saw at last the face of his tormentor. It was a handsome face:
clean-shaven, almost friendly. The hair was close-cropped and the eyes proclaimed
the intelligence of the man whose cruelty Batman had endured for untold hours
or days. The torturer wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to
the elbows and a patternless, conservative tie. His dark slacks and dress shoes
exuded an air of professionalism which only added to the horror of the
situation.
"I'm called The
Sadist," the man said, like a waiter introducing himself at a restaurant.
"Who's paying you to do
this to me?" Batman asked, trying hard to muster up his usual commanding tone.
"I ask the questions,
asshole," The Sadist replied, slapping his right hand across the lower
half of Batman's face. "And I don't feel like asking any more right
now," he continued, punctuating his comment with a blow straight into the
prisoner's gut.
Batman groaned
involuntarily. He knew this man was dead set on breaking him, and he wasn't
about to go down without a fight.
No matter how strong his
resolve, though, it was a losing battle. The heat was close to unbearable -- so
how was The Sadist able to stand it?
No way to tell. No way to
concentrate, either, with this beautiful stranger currently delivering an
unending series of punches and kicks. And then, as suddenly as they had begun,
they stopped. Nothing. Nothing, that is, but lingering pain and the
still-oppressive heat. Batman seized the opportunity to catch his breath, until
his open mouth was sealed shut -- his own lips covered by and pressed against
those of his assailant. The ensuing kiss was long and wet and violent, and
Batman wanted it to go on forever.
That's when he knew he'd
lost the game. He was putty in the hands of this horrible, irresistable man.
When the kiss ended at last,
The Sadist backed up a step or two, looked Batman square in the eye, and
without saying a word, took the captive's cock in one hand and his mask in the
other. Naked, chained to a wall, and sweating profusely, Batman was powerless
to fight back as the Sadist proceeded simultaneously to jerk him off and unmask
him.
4.
Batman squirmed and twisted,
less in an attempt to escape than to give in to the masterful strokes The
Sadist was now delivering to his penis. It wouldn't be long now before he lost
it completely: his most-closely guarded secret, as well as what felt like a
bucketload of cum. It occurred to him, with a clarity which should have
terrified him, that he no longer cared what the future brought. So what if his
life was essentially over? So what if this man worked for the Joker or the
Riddler or any of a thousand other criminals? What's a mask but a piece of
cloth or rubber?
Got to snap out of it, he
told himself, rapidly growing aware that he wasn't thinking so clearly after
all. Must be some sort of drug, lowering my inhibitions É Got to fight É back É
But it was no use. The
eleventh-hour struggle only served to amuse The Sadist, who kept at his
fiendish twin tasks with machinelike precision. The hand wrapped around
Batman's member picked up its pace while the one clutching the mask gave it one
final yank--
--and, in the blink of an
eye, the two deeds were done. Jism flew out of the captive's cockhead at the
exact moment that cool air hit his exposed, sweat-drenched face. Batman closed
his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, praying that the whole thing was just a bad
dream.
No such luck. When he opened
his eyes to the mirror which loomed before him, he saw first that he was now
completely exposed to the world, devoid of even a scrap of clothing to hide
behind. The Sadist was already hammering a nail straight through the center of
the sweaty mask, mounting it on the wall beside the rest of Batman's discarded
costume, the crown jewel of a twisted trophy case.
The second thing the uncaped
crusader noticed was just as disturbing: at his feet lay his empty utility
belt, freshly soaked with what he now realized was his own ejaculate. The
Sadist picked it up, sniffed it, then placed it with some effort around
Batman's waist and buckled it closed.
"Smile," the
sharply dressed torturer said just before he snapped a roll of film of the
humiliated hero. "So, the great Batman turns out to be Bruce Fucking
Wayne, millionaire playboy. My boss will piss his pants when he hears
that."
The Sadist returned the
camera to a small work table and picked up a grey syringe whose contents he
injected into Batman's left arm.
The drug took effect almost
instantaneously. "What are É you É doÉingÉ to É" Bruce babbled before
nodding off.
"Amnestics. I'm sure
you're familiar with their skill at dismantling short-term memory, Wayne. In
fact, this version is not unlike one I found on your belt. Just different
enough to be sure you're not immune. At this very minute, you're starting to
forget everything that's happened to you over the last two days. Tomorrow
morning, you're going to wake up in a back alley on the other side of town,
naked as a jaybird except for that fucking useless belt of yours. You won't
have a clue where you are or how you got there; you won't even remember who you
are for the first couple of hours. Eventually, that will come back to you --
but not this, not what you've been through just now. You'll start to piece your
life back together, but there will be a few pieces that just don't fit. In
time, you'll stop worrying about them and just go on with business as usual. Do
you understand me?"
From his trance, the drugged
man mumbled, "Yes."
"Yes, WHAT?"
"YesÉ sir."
Bruce's eyes were shut and his body was motionless as The Sadist began
unlocking the shackles around his ankles and wrists. He fell soundlessly into
his tormentor's arms as The Sadist continued laying out events yet to come in
the form of post-hypnotic suggestions.
"And then one day,
weeks or months or even years from now, you'll cross paths with my employer, as
you've done so many times before. Only this time, things will be different.
Because he'll know. He'll know everything about you. He'll know that you're
Bruce Wayne, and he'll know that underneath that outfit of yours you're a
broken man. He'll toy with you for a while, and then he'll finish you off. And
as he does, you'll slowly, slowly come to remember what I'm telling you now.
And you'll know then that you are powerless to resist. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." Batman
allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and into the back seat of a
waiting van, where he was hogtied and blindfolded. He put up no resistance
whatsoever.
"Very good," The
Sadist said quietly as he slammed the van door shut, pleased that the job had
gone so smoothly and anticipating the biggest paycheck of his career.
"Very, very good."
THE END
