Earth-349: Batgirl
by Anton Psychopoulos, Ph.D.
Disclaimer #1
This story is set in a hypothetical parallel world within the pre-Crisis
DC Universe, based on a story in Superman #349, but not limited by that
story or any other.
Disclaimer #2
Some characters appearing in this story are based on copyrighted
characters owned by DC Comics, Inc., Marvel Comics and others. Their use here is not intended to infringe
or disparage those copyrights.
Disclaimer #3
This story is not recommended for persons under 18 or the easily
offended, especially those who are uncomfortable with themes such as
transgender, transformation, she-males, blackmail, rough sex, dominance/submission,
non-conventional pregnancy and sex acts which, though perhaps not technically
illegal, raise difficult issues of family relationships.
Disclaimer #4
SERIOUS WARNING: This is a much kinkier story than previous Earth-349
stories. I’m not kidding about persons
under 18 and the easily offended maybe wanting to skip this one.
The island of Potomac had been a council site for
tribes living along the Verazzano Sea long before the first whites appeared
there. That history, along with the opportunity
to settle a territorial dispute between Gloriana and Marysland, had made it a
reasonable site for the capital city of the new-formed United States. As large as the Federal government had grown
in recent years, Washington was still an island town that a person could
bicycle across in an hour, a place where you could pretty much count on meeting
someone you knew on every trip to the grocery store. Even so, it had been a couple of weeks since Barbara Gordon had
seen her brother, and she was looking forward to it.
A
first-term Member of Congress just didn’t move in the same circles as a college
student, and Batgirl’s sporadic vigilante assaults against street crime and
racketeering seldom overlapped with Captain America’s semi-official missions
for the FBI and the military. Dick had
enrolled at Naomi Franklin University in order to be closer to Barbara, but
they had soon learned that if they wanted to spend time together, they needed
to schedule dates and make an effort to keep them.
So
it was that after a long day of
meetings and briefings, with plenty of reading of white papers and teletype
printouts in between, Barbara found herself gingerly removing a pan from the
oven, trying not to let her pristine white sweater come in contact with the
tomato sauce and meat juices that nearly overflowed the pan. She had just laid it across a pair of
potholders when the bell rang.
A
quick check at the peephole in the door and the hidden peephole at knee level,
and she admitted her brother. She noted
with approval that he had dressed well for the occasion, too.
“Does
this mean you’re finally giving up those cowboy shirts you brought back from
Earth-348?”
“Funny you should mention
that, because actually this jacket is from there, too. The Allied commander decided to design his
own uniform, and it caught on in a big way.”
“A really sharp jacket. Hard to picture it as part of a military
uniform, though.”
“It looks more martial in
green wool than in red velour. So, what
did you make? Smells like something
Italian – manicotti?”
“Forget that, Mister Boy
Detective. It’s stuff, of course.”
Dick’s smile did Barbara a
world of good.
“Stuff! Neat-o!”
They went immediately into
the kitchen-dining room and began dishing up bubbling-hot “stuff”.
Good old stuff: elbow
macaroni, crumbled ground beef, tomato sauce and shredded cheese, all stirred
together and topped with more cheese.
Sarah Gordon’s second-best dish, after her clam chowder. Almost no work, and as good as lasagne. Better, maybe, since there were no hard
crisped noodles in the top layer.
Stuff, a salad with a
lemon-based dressing and cold club soda was just what a couple of homesick
Gordons needed on that Thursday night.
“So Babs, you said on the
phone that you thought you were wasting a lot of energy today,” Dick said
between forkfuls.
“’Fraid so. It’s the EEC. Nobody knows what’s going to come out of it, but supposedly the
Foreign Affairs Committee has to have a position on it anyway. Bricks without straw, I’m telling you.”
The Entente Extraordinaire
et Conditionale had convened a month before in Berlin. Depending on whom you asked, it was anything
from just another international talkfest to a constitutional convention for the
United States of Europe. With U.S. and
Soviet forces removed from the Continent, nobody knew what political or
economic shakeups might be in store, from Ireland to Crimea.
“Yeah, they’re going nuts
over it at the Triskelion.”
The War Department was in
the process of moving into an immense three-sided building. For the first time, all the armed services,
and the newly centralized intelligence agency SHIELD, would be headquartered in
one place, already known by such nicknames as George’s Hat and Target One. Captain America, though officially
unofficial, was a frequent visitor.
“And that’s enough
Washington talk. How’s school?”
“No, let’s talk about
Batwoman!”
A new voice, high-pitched
and nasal, had intruded. Both Gordons
turned to see a big-headed, potbellied creature floating cross-legged in the
air. It wore a long-eared, long-slippered
parody of Batwoman’s costume, with a luminous zigzag on its narrow chest in
place of a bat.
“Hello, Bat-Mite,” Barbara
said evenly. “What can we do for you?”
“You can go and have an
adventure, of course! Gee whiz, Batgirl
and Robin together again, and all you guys wanna do is have dinner?”
The imp waved a pudgy hand
and they were dressed as Robin and Batgirl.
They objected loudly, especially when Barbara noticed that her yellow
chest emblem had been replaced by a bat-shaped peekaboo cutout that showed a
good deal more cleavage than she would have displayed voluntarily. Brother and sister looked at one another,
exchanging grim nods. As absurd as the
little imp was, he was potentially very dangerous, and had to be handled
carefully.
Bat-Mite had appeared one
day in Gotham, insisting cheerily that he was Batwoman’s biggest fan in a dozen
dimensions. He was cheery and
enthusiastic, eager to help out in Batwoman’s crusade against crime. Unfortunately, his “help” tended to
consist of useless suggestions, annoying kibitzing, or extravagant applications
of his seemingly magical powers in very inappropriate ways. At various times, he had given Batwoman
superhuman powers that interfered with her usual methods of doing things, or
loaded her utility belt with improbable devices without bothering to explain
how they worked.
Lately, though, he had begun
to seem more like a malicious practical joker, pulling stunts like turning
Batwoman into a girl and her young partner Huntress into an adult. He’d even helped criminals escape, so that Batwoman
would have “an opportunity to display her brilliance” by catching them
again. It seemed as though he were
getting bored with Batwoman, and was playing roughly with her the way some
children did with toys they have outgrown.
Dick tugged at the collar of
Robin’s cape, trying to loosen it, but it seemed to be made in one piece, of
something that wasn’t cloth. Barbara
stepped close to the hovering creature, speaking in her most saccharine tones.
“Look, Bat-Mite, Dick –
Robin -- and I are tired, we’ve been really busy lately. We need to rest up for our next adventure,
and –“
“You wouldn’t be so tired if
you weren’t wasting time on all this Washington stuff,” the Mite said
petulantly. “You should be back in
Gotham, helping Batwoman.”
He turned suddenly on Dick.
“And quit trying to take
your cape off! Robin is who you should
be, not that dumb old Captain America!”
Dick glared at the little
imp.
“Captain America is the name
I use these days. I doubt if I’ll ever be called Robin again.”
Broad chubby cheeks turned
pink with indignation.
“Whether you’re Captain America
or Robin, you’re still just a . . . dick!”
The
imp gestured vehemently, and Dick vanished.
No, not quite vanished. Barbara
felt a strange uncomfortable sensation between her legs, looked down, and saw
at once what the creature had done with her brother.
“No. No, don’t do this.”
She
raised her hands to Bat-Mite pleadingly.
“Please
. . . put him back.”
The
creature chuckled.
“You
want him put back, you can put him back yourself.”
It
had been a trying week for Batwoman.
Still recovering from a small flesh wound in her left shoulder, she’d
found even routine crime-foiling a challenge.
Otherwise, Barbara would not have found Roberta Wayne at home as early
as midnight.
It
had been a difficult drive, all the way from Washington: the ferry ride, the
toll booths, the service stations.
Barbara had not tried to change out of Bat-Mite’s costume, merely peeled
back the cowl and thrown on an overcoat.
The costume was surprisingly comfortable, but the crotch didn’t seem to
have enough room for her new package, especially when it became erect. It seemed to do that at the oddest times,
she noticed, and wondered if having a penis was always like that.
If Roberta was surprised by
a midnight visit to Wayne Manor by an unmasked Batgirl flashing a rounded pink
bat-emblem, she didn’t betray it, merely hustled her inside.
Barbara
shrugged out of the coat and simply stood, feet wide apart, and let Roberta see
for herself.
“Bat-Mite
did this?”
“Yes. This is Dick, transformed. He said I could put him back myself.”
Roberta
nodded curtly.
“Yes,
put him back. Where he came from. All right then.”
Roberta
turned for the stairs. Barbara hurried
after.
“What
do you have in mind?”
“One
of the guest rooms.”
“But
– should we just go through with it, just like that?”
“I
don’t think we have much choice at this point, but to play the game by
Bat-Mite’s rules.”
Swallowing
hard, Barbara followed. She’d really
been hoping that Roberta would come up with some other solution, but if
Batwoman said there was no alternative, there probably wasn’t. She was terrified of the prospect, and she
cringed in shame by how her transformed brother swelled and throbbed between
her legs as she thought of what lay ahead.
The
room Roberta chose had been her mother’s bedroom, and still had the flounced
and ruffled white decor that Martha Wayne had chosen. As Roberta efficiently cut her out of Bat-Mite’s costume with a utility knife, Barbara looked around
the room. It was a good choice, in the
opposite wing from Roberta’s two young children (and their butler). But Barbara was acutely aware of the likelihood that Roberta herself had been
conceived in that same room.
“Listen,
we don’t want to give Bat-Mite any excuses for giving us the runaround. We probably shouldn’t use a condom or other
barrier.”
“It’s all right. I had a tubal ligation years ago. And I know you and Dick are both
disease-free.”
Finally naked, feeling
extremely self-conscious, Barbara climbed onto the bed and lay there stiffly
beside the older woman. Naturally, Barbara’s
erection chose that moment to wilt. It
showed no sign of returning while she clumsily manipulated herself.
It felt very strange to lie
there next to that body, so familiar, yet which she’d never seen completely
naked before. Roberta Wayne was not
quite forty, her body a study in hard ropy muscle and scar tissue. It was not a conventionally attractive body,
but Barbara saw the beauty of passion and obsession in it, the beauty of a
bodybuilder or a tattoo fetishist.
Barbara turned these thoughts over in her mind, trying to find a way
around two painful truths: 1) she was not attracted to women and 2) she loved
and was intimidated by Roberta Wayne, and dreaded to subject her to an
unwelcome intimacy.
Roberta took the organ in
her hand, stroking it gently at first, then more forcefully, then lowered her
head between Barbara’s legs. Barbara
closed her eyes, bit her lip, tried to relax enough to let Roberta’s clever
tongue do its work.
Suddenly, both of Barbara’s
hands were on Roberta’s head, forcing it roughly up and down. When Barbara shoved Roberta’s head away, the
penis was purple and throbbing, veins standing out on its sides.
Barbara muscled her mentor
into position on all fours and entered her at once, with no pretense of
foreplay. It was a brutal coupling of
hard thrusts, loud wet slapping noises, savage grunts and hair-pulling. At the end, Barbara threw back her head and
roared out in triumph as she felt the ejaculatory pump firing for the first and
only time in her life.
As soon as her orgasm
subsided, Barbara withdrew, trembling with fear and shame. She crouched at the edge of the bed, staring
anxiously at Roberta.
“Please . . . I’m so
sorry. I don’t . . . I don’t know what
came over me.”
“It’s all right. I expected it. When I took that psychological profile of you a couple of years
ago, I noticed that you had a strong need for a dominant/submissive aspect to sex.”
“Yes, but . . . I’ve had two
lovers, and with them I, er . . . ”
“You were extremely
submissive, yes. You have a deep-seated
feeling that comes out during sex, that the female must submit to the
male. Only this time, you were the
male, and I was the female. So, you had
to dominate me.”
Roberta
moved towards the cringing younger woman.
She reached out and tried to lay a hand on Barbara’s cheek, but she
flinched away.
“It’s
all right. You did just fine.”
Roberta
looked up at the empty air above the bed.
“She
did, didn’t she? She did what you
wanted. Happy now?”
Bat-Mite
materialized just under the canopy.
“You
bet, Batwoman. Boy, that was great,
seeing you use your brilliant detective skills to figure out what you had to
do, and your athletic prowess to –“
“Enough. Just restore Dick to normal.”
“Okey-dokey. And while I’m at it, Batwoman, you deserve a
reward for being such a good sport.”
Roberta started to object,
but too late. With a flash and
sparkles, suddenly there were three bodies in the bed. Finding himself naked between the naked
bodies of his sister and birth-mother, Dick was understandably surprised, but
he managed to remain silent. He watched
and listened, running his tongue over his teeth as though there were an odd
taste in his mouth.
Roberta looked down at her
body, her face expressionless.
“Clever. He removed my scars. That would include undoing my tubal
ligation, no doubt.”
The
imp giggled.
“You
guessed it! Congratulations, Babs,
you’re going to be a father! Oh, and
Batwoman, don’t worry about inbreeding.
Dick was the frank, but the beans were Barbara’s. She really is the father.”
Roberta
nodded.
“Fine,
then. We’ve played your game to the
end. Now get out.”
Roberta
stood up in bed, coming nose to nose with the creature, speaking in a colder
voice than either of her former students had ever heard.
“Leave
Earth, and don’t come back. If you ever
bother anyone in this dimension, or cause someone else to come here and cause
trouble, I will kill you.”
Bat-Mite
looked at Batwoman for a long moment.
He didn’t look angry, or frightened, but he did look as though he might
be about to cry. Then he straightened
up and sighed.
“You’re
no fun anymore,” he said, and vanished.
Dick
slithered out of bed, trying not to look at Roberta or Barbara. He shuffled for the door, muttering, “Guess
I’ll have a shower.”
Roberta
looked at Barbara. Neither made an
effort to cover herself.
“Roberta,
I was the one who said –“
“Only
because you spoke up first. And you
were right. You aren’t to blame for
this, that little monster is.”
Roberta
reached out, and this time Barbara allowed Roberta to touch her.
“It’ll
be all right. If I’d been asked, I’d
have been proud to choose you for a father.
You have good genes. Jim
Gordon’s genes.”
Barbara forced a smile.
“This isn’t quite how I’d
imagined giving Dad his first grandchild.”
Roberta pulled dressing
gowns from the closet for them. Barbara
went to stand outside the bathroom door, waiting for her turn in the shower.
More Earth-349 stories can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/earth349
Contact the author at doctor_p99@hotmail.com