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Smoke and flames shrouded Batman’s cowled head as he lifted his broken body out of the burning wreckage that had been the Batwing mere minutes ago. It was a miracle that the Caped Crusader was still breathing. The tight rubber suit that he had once built to protect himself was showered all over with cuts, burns, and bruises from the explosive crash landing of his jet, as was the muscular body underneath. Even his leather cape was in tatters. Still dizzy from the impact, Batman could barely breath or see, his weakened lungs still coughing up smoke from the destroyed Batwing engines.
Worse than the physical damage to the Bat, however, was the mental damage. Batman had already suffered a major defeat not long ago when the Joker’s goons had cornered and knocked him out in a Gotham alley way, only to then edge him on to orgasm in his rubber pants and steal his utility belt. It was only due to the interruption of Gotham’s police forces that Batman had been able to escape with his secret identity and public dignity still intact. Nonetheless, the goons had practically raped him right there on one of Gotham’s dirtiest back streets; any notion of self-confidence that the self-proclaimed superhero may have had before had been shattered and drowned in cum.
Now, the Joker himself had managed to shoot Batman’s most powerful vehicle out of the sky with nothing but a single bullet. How could this happen? Batman had invested incredible amounts of money into developing what he’d thought was the most resilient crime-fighting technology the world had ever seen, and now that same technology was lying in burning ruins, all because of one gun shot. Could it be that the utility belt had somehow granted the Joker remote access to the Batcomputer in order to study and examine all of Batman’s technological weak spots? But that didn’t make any sense either. If the Joker had gained access to the Batcomputer, he could have simply invaded the Batcave and killed the Dark Knight on the spot. But he had not.
So perhaps it all came down to one simple, humiliating truth: that the technology of the Batman was just as pathetic as the Batman himself – so pathetic that the Joker didn’t need any secret information to take him down. Even if he would survive this night, he was not sure if he could ever go out and fight crime again after this devastating one-two punch at the hands of his arch nemesis.
With those embarrassing thoughts running through his aching head, Batman suddenly remembered a moment only a couple of minutes ago, when he had still been buried in the blazing grave of the Batwing and on the brink of consciousness. A voice! He had heard a strangely familiar male voice saying, “Gotham Cathedral. Transportation for two. 5 minutes.” And then after a beat, the voice had added, “Better make it ten.” There had also been the gasp of a female voice, just as familiar as the man. Now it hit him! It was the Joker! And the woman was Vicki Vale. Transportation for two had to mean that the Joker had kidnapped her and was about to take her away for good. Given his blurry mind, Batman could not tell for certain how much time had passed since then, but neither could not he waste another single second if Vicki’s life was on the line. Craning his neck to gaze up at the imposing church tower of Gotham Cathedral, Batman had no idea how he was supposed to climb up there in his current condition, but he had no choice. He had to save her, even if it would be the last time that the Bat ever spread its leathery wings.
With that determination, Batman started his slow, painful trudge towards the entrance of the Cathedral. Each step was more agonizing than the last. The heavy rubber of his suit which had saved life so many times now became the bane of his existence, its weight putting additional strain on Batman’s already exhausted body. By the time he had reached the front doors, Batman had to lean against the heavy wood to catch his breath before gathering all his remaining strength and pushing the almost immovable portal open.
Once inside, Batman weakly stumbled through the darkness, tripping over his feet and crashing into one of the dusty pews. Immediately the crash caused a loud chain reactions a the pews fell over one after the other like dominos, sending a booming echo through the high walls of the nave that eliminated any chances of Batman entering the church unnoticed. Grunting at his weakness and his clumsiness, Batman raised himself back up and dragged himself towards the back end of the nave where a narrow staircase wound its way up towards the top of the belfry.
Despair surged in Batman’s chest, looking at the seemingly endless flight of steps. He already felt more dead than alive just by walking the few meters from the destroyed Batwing to here. How was he supposed to climb up there and still have enough strength to face whatever the Joker had in store for him? From his fight in the alley way, Batman knew that the goons had learned his weak spots and had probably gotten even more effective in taking him down than they already had been since.
In the silence of the moonlit Cathedral, it became clear to Batman that he was fighting a battle that he would not – that he could not – win. The comics he had read as a young boy had given him the impression that at the end of the day, the hero would always prevail, no matter the odds. But now he knew that impression to be false. His deluded superhero pretensions had shown him that real life was different. In real life, heroes could not only lose but die. Still, even if his own death meant a life in freedom and safety for Vicki Vale and the rest of Gotham, it was a deal he was willing to accept.
Groaning through the pain in his body, he began his ascent, taking the stairs one step at a time to measure his limited energy reserves. After the staircase had bent a few times a small object suddenly landed in front of Batman’s feet. Looking up, it had to have fallen down from somewhere above him. Taking the object into his gloved hand, Batman saw that it was a shoe, and not just any shoe. A high-heel. This had to be Vicki’s shoe! So the Joker not only knew that Batman was following him, but he was downright taunting if, beckoning Batman to face him. But if the villain had assumed that this taunt would discourage Batman in what was possibly his last ever heroic deed, he had assumed wrongly. Holding this life sign from the reporter in his hands ignited a fiery passion in the broken hero that gave him unexpected new energy. Gazing up towards where the Joker must have dropped the shoe, Batman vowed to take the villain down whatever the costs and marched on, a new spring to his booted step.
Thanks to his new energy, Batman made it more than halfway up the staircase when he suddenly heard a dull, booming noise approaching him fast from above. He strained his rubber cowl just in time to see the largest of the Cathedral bells falling through the upper levels towards him. With a painful yell, Batman leaped a few steps ahead right before the bell came plummeting through the stairs he had just been standing on, continuing its unstoppable descent until it finally crashed into the ground below with a deafening boom that made Batman’s head ring with pain. Smaller pieces of debris continued to pour down, sorely striking the Caped Crusader in the back and on the head. When he’d finally gotten hold of his senses again, he gazed up towards the top of the bell tower in grim fury. The shoe may just have been intended to taunt him. The bell had been an attempt to outright kill him, a declaration of war from the villain against the hero. So be it, Batman thought darkly as he lifted himself upward for the final stretch of the staircase. If the Joker wants to dance with the devil in the pale moon light, I'll give him one hell of a dance.
10 long minutes later, Batman finally reached the end of the staircase in the form of a wooden trap door. The steep climb had taken its toll on the Dark Knight who was panting heavily and could barely stand upright anymore. With a roar of frustration and exhaustion, he pressed his body against the heavy door, eventually pushing it open with a loud, not very stealthy creak, and climbed through it.
The eerie silence that met him at the top of the belfry was deeply disconcerting and sent a shiver down Batman’s bruised spine. If this night had taught him anything it was that underestimating the Joker could be your undoing. Nervously he looked and moved slowly around, trying to catch a glimpse of the villain himself or his equally devious henchmen. Batman knew he had to be on his guard. The tiniest slip-up and his slim chance of beating the bad guys would be gone faster than the Batwing had fallen out of Gotham’s night-time sky.
Suddenly, the ominous echo of the Joker’s voice broke through the silence.
“It can be truly said that I have a bat in my belfry. Hehehe…”
Struck by panic, Batman hastily gazed into all possible directions, eager to spot the origin of the voice, but all he saw was shadow. The villain appeared to be perfectly hid in the silence and darkness of Gotham Cathedral. Then, too close for comfort, Batman heard “Shall we dance?” and jerked his body around.
The next second, a screaming goon emerged from the shadows, flipping and tumbling towards the Dark Knight in such breath-taking speed that he was little more than a moon-lit blur to the hero. Batman could barely discern the boots of the approaching figure suddenly extending into a pair of sharp-looking blades in mid-air. All out of options, Batman reached for his glove to activate the additional protective pad that was integrated into the sleeve of his suit but in his weakened condition he was too slow. Before Batman could anything to defend himself, the backflipping goon had reached the vigilante and kicked the two metal ends of his boots into each of the hero’s shoulders. In less than a second, he detached the blades from his feet, jumping down and leaving the sharp metal objects buried in Batman’s body.
“AAAAARRGGGG”, Batman screamed.
Unimaginable pain overcame the Dark Knight as the sharp blades penetrated the thick rubber of his protective suit like butter and pierced deep into his already injured body. Streaks of blood poured forth from his stab wounds, running down his muscular rubber chest and tainting the hero’s yellow emblem in foreboding red.
Just after the goon had let go of Batman, he heard another voice scream behind him. The next second, a heavy weight pummelled into Batman’s back, forcing the hero onto all fours and winding leather-clad arms around his neck. “Hi Bats, remember me?”, a deep, but deceptively young voice purred warmly against his ear. The voice indeed sounded familiar. It was the voice of one of the goons that had defeated him in the alley way, but not just any of them: the one who had jerked him off and stripped away his utility belt!
“This time, I’ll take more than just your belt, Batsy.” Then he wrapped powerful legs tightly around Batman’s torso, loosened his left arm from his chokehold on Batman and grabbed the hero’s crotch with his free hand, starting to rub Batman off once more through his rubber codpiece. In his distressed state, the effect of the goon’s stimulation on Batman’s assaulted body was immediate. Within seconds, Batman’s moans of pain blended with moans of pleasure, and his manhood started to swell in the tight confines of his rubber pants. The squeaky friction between the goon's thin leather gloves and the rubber of Batman's codpiece only heightened the effect that the hand-job was having on the hero. This cannot be happening, Batman panicked internally. Not again! He was willing to give his life to fight the Joker, but not like this. He was a hero, not a villain’s sex toy, so why did his body act like the latter and not the former?!
“Damn, Nick, you’re really good at this”, Batman heard the goon who had stabbed him say. Batman’s groans and the swelling bulge between his legs made his growing arousal all too obvious to his enemies. “Too weak to stand, but still horny enough for a woody.”
“I told you, Jeff”, the goon holding and wanking the Bat sneered behind him. “Underneath all that rubber, he’s just a man. And every man’s number one weak spot is his cock.” Both men laughed, only heightening Batman’s panic who could do nothing but clench his teeth and pull feebly at the goon’s stranglehold on him. He had already been too weakened to fight before by the injuries to his shoulders, but now the little strength that he had left was promptly diverted into his genitals which were preparing for another climactic orgasm against which he was completely powerless to resist.
But then he remembered a new protective feature that he had added to the suit after his last sticky encounter with the Joker’s henchman. His hand clasped the buckle of his belt, pressed the button in the middle and instantly, electricity shot through the cape of his suit, knocking the goon behind him out cold. Then he pushed himself back up, grabbed a smoke grenade from his belt and threw it right into the other goon’s face, where it promptly exploded a blinding grey cloud that rendered him senseless. A couple of well-aimed hits to his face and the guy was on the ground as well. Not taking any chances, Batman pulled a couple of small tranqulizers from his belt and injected them into the goons, making sure they would be out for several hours.
Having dispatched himself for now of the henchmen, Batman doubled over and let his hands rest on his thighs to catch his breath. This had been a close one. Tentatively touching his rubber-clad shaft which was still half-hard, he realized that he only been a few more strokes away from cumming. If the electric aid of his cape hadn’t rescued him, he would have been a goner.
Lost in thoughts, Batman was too distracted to notice yet another goon that was running out of the shadows towards him and grabbed his muscular chest. With a powerful shove, the goon threw Batman backwards and send him flying through the wooden wall and onto the outer balcony. Stars erupted in Batman’s head as his head hit the hard stone-floor and a new unwanted spark of energy from the forceful impact against his spine charged up his groin. Severely disorientated, Batman barely turned around in time to dodge the heavy metal chain that came crashing down on his position a second later.
Pulling himself up and jumping back into the inside of the belfry, Batman finally caught a glimpse of the man that had caught him so dangerously off guard. He hadn’t encountered this goon in any previous fight before. He wore the trademark purple leather jacket of Joker’s henchmen, but his skin was black and his eyes were covered by a pair of sun glasses. From the way that the arms of his jacket were straining, this man looked to be far more muscular than any of Joker’s other goons. If Batman couldn’t even stand up against against his regular henchmen, how was he supposed to take down a fighter whose biceps seemed to be bigger than his own?
Seizing up the goon’s bulking shape, Batman understood that his only chance of survival was to take this guy out as quickly as possible. The longer this fight continued, the more overtly outmatched the handicapped crimefighter would become. Letting out an angry roar, Batman gathered all his remaining strength into the legs and kicked his right feet as powerfully as he could into the goon’s leather-clad chest.
To Batman’s utter horror, however, the man didn’t even flinch. Instead, he simply chuckled in a deep and horrifying voice. “Haha, thanks Bats, I like a good tickle.” Batman could not believe it. His kick had always been his most efficient attack, the one fighting technique he could always rely on to deal considerable damage to his opponents. This opponent hadn’t even flinched, though. He had laughed, making a mockery out of the one skill that Batman had placed all his remaining hopes into.
Now that hope was gone, and the goon promptly started swinging the metal chain again in the direction of Batman’s head. The Dark Knight tried his best to retreat from the vicious goon and duck anytime the chain swung his way, but the bleeding injuries in his shoulders – not to mention the still considerably swollen package below his utility belt – made that exceedingly difficult. He was so absorbed by the goon and his chain that he was briefly distracted when his back suddenly hit a wall and prevented him from withdrawing any further. It was all the distraction that the henchman needed to give his chain a good swing and smack it right into Batman’s bruised face who was thrown sideways and sprayed a shower of blood from his lips over the dusty floor.
Almost beaten senseless by the impact, Batman instinctively reached for his belt and set off another smoke bomb, before dragging himself away and pulling himself onto one of the higher wooden planks and then onto of the large bells, desperate to get as much distance between himself and the seemingly invincible henchman. From this vantage point, Batman had a brief moment to recompose himself and gather his thoughts which were in complete disarray. Cold, all-encompassing fear gripped the heart of the Dark Knight. For the first time in his vigilante career, he was faced with an opponent that he did not think he could beat. The casualness with which the goon had taken his kick, and then the ease with which he had lashed the chain into Batman’s face had shaken the hero to his very core. Even in perfect health and at full strength, he realized aghast, he would have stood little chance against this monster of a man.
How then could he take down this monster? Was there even a way to take him down? How could you enter a fight knowing that your defeat is almost inevitable? Clutching at straws, Batman thought that maybe he could use his upper position as an advantage and surprise him. His strategizing was interrupted when the smoke finally lifted and the goon came closer, inspecting the very bells above which Batman was hiding.
“Come on, Bats, you know you can’t hide. The longer you wait, the more painful I’ll make it for you.”
Batman gulped, realizing how true his words were. The question was not if he would lose, but when.
“The boss is busy with your lady friend, so it’s just you and me. Though I’m sure she’s having a better time than you, Bats, hahaha.”
Batman gritted his teeth in anger, but was thrown off balance when the goon gave the bell that he was resting above a great push. Holding onto the rope for dear life, Batman could not prevent the bell from ringing and giving away his position to the goon, who simply leered, “There you are, Bats. Come at me, you flying rat!”
Batman rose to his full height, bent his knees into a jumping position and then leaped off the bell and towards the goon, spreading the tattered remains of his leather cape like the wings of a bat in the hope to catch the goon at his shoulders and thus throw him off his feet. However the person thrown off course did not turn out to the goon but Batman himself. Joker’s henchman nimbly extended his arms towards the incoming vigilante and grabbed him with both hands, one of them reaching the emblem between his pecs, the other quickly touching Batman’s rubber codpiece, which shamefully flared up in excitement again upon the contact. Instantly, Batman lost any control of the trajectory of his flight and swiftly plunged head-first into a wooden staircase, where he remained stuck, any notion of orientation and coordination lost in overwhelming pain.
The only other he thing could feel was the wooden remnants of the staircase poking the lower half of his suit in a rather uncompromising way that only added fire to the fuel of Batman’s crotch. After a few seconds in which he could not distinguish up from down, Batman felt the goon once more put him into a chokehold and was pulled rudely out of the wooden wreckage. Growing increasingly desperate as his windpipe was getting crushed, Batman weakly attempted to loosen his opponent’s arm around his neck, but the iron-clad hold didn’t budge an inch. Out of the two fighters, one of them did possess the strength of a superhero, but it was not the masked man in the skin-tight rubber suit. Even calling this interaction a ‘fight’ would be wrong, Batman mused tiredly as his diminishing air supply made his vision go spotty. ‘Fight’ would imply a balanced encounter between equals, which this encounter certainly was not. Batman was no match for the Joker’s henchman, and they both knew it.
Once on his feet again, the goon tossed Batman into the hard stone structure of the belfry and followed it up by ramming his right fist straight into Batman’s gut with a devastating thud that echoed across the walls and made the hero double over. Immediately all air was pushed out of Batman’s broken body and his pain intensified onto a level the hero had not thought humanly possible. Worse though, the swelling in his crotch intensified as well. It was as if every physical contact with the goon made Batman’s member a tiny bit harder. How could this be happening? Becoming erect from someone rubbing you off was one thing. But becoming erect from someone beating you up? The Dark Knight could only pray that the goon had not noticed yet what effect his punches were having on the superhero, otherwise Batman’s defeat would become even more degrading that it already was.
Before Batman could come up with any solution against his dilemma, the goon grabbed Batman’s lowered neck and rolled him across the floor. When the hero was upright again, he quickly raised his arms in a pathetic attempt at a counter-attack that the goon shoved aside as casually as a fly buzzing around his head, laying his rubber body open for punishment. Then began what could only be described as the beating of Batman’s life.
THUD!
THUD!!
THUD!!!
Punch after punch after punch, the goon hammered his fists into Batman’s ripped torso and his cowled face. Each blow was more relentless and more destructive than the one before, reducing the self-proclaimed protector of Gotham city to a laughable human punching bag and making him cough up blood. Batman’s imposing abs – both the rubber abs of his suit, and the human abs of the body inside that supposedly protective suit – were squished into jelly, and there was nothing that the Bat could do but gasp breathlessly and hopelessly as his muscles were systematically pulverized.
In typical goon fashion, the Joker's henchman used the opportunity to reign further taunts onto the humiliated hero and to accompany his physical beatdown with a verbal beatdown too.
THUD!
"Eat"
THUD!
"these"
THUD"
"fists"
THUD!
"Batfreak!"
THUD!
But while Batman’s abdominal muscles (and psyche) grew softer and weaker with every impeding punch, his genitals reached new levels of hardness instead. Each punch seemed to function inadvertently like a pump that sent additional blood into Batman’s swelling bulge, which soon was fully erect and straining the tight rubber of his codpiece to the breaking point. In equal measure of horror, disgust, and shame, Batman realized that his beaten body was sexually responding to – even craving for – the physical domination that he was receiving. Thanks to his playboy persona as Bruce Wayne, he’d had no shortage of sexual action over the years, but not once had his manhood been so overwhelmingly erect as it was right now, while the Joker’s henchman was serving him the beating of a lifetime. Soon, the blood spilling from Batman’s mouth and his open wounds was not the only liquid that his body was producing, as creamy drops of precum began to leak from his tenting rubber crotch.
Just when Batman thought he could not take any more punches, the goon grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed his right knee into Batman’s crotch, instantly sending the aroused hero over the edge who couldn’t help to groan at the top of his voice, both from pleasure and pain. “UUURRRGGHHHH!!!!!”. Batman sexual dam finally broke, literally and figuratively, as the amassed sperm was smashed out of his genitals and flowed in a seemingly endless stream of white manjuice out of the tip of his rubber boner and down his thick thighs. Drained of his breath and his manpower, Batman’s knees gave in and the broken hero sank to the ground, just hoping for this unspeakable ordeal to be over soon.
However, that was not quite yet to be. Instead, the sound of a zipper being pulled down was heard; next, Batman’s conqueror hoisted him to his knees by the pointy ears of his ridiculous rubber cowl and confronted him with his very own throbbing erection.
“Open up or I’ll crush your bat jewels to dust”, he warned him with a dark grin.
Barely conscious anymore, Batman couldn’t even speak and merely opened his mouth wide enough for the goon to shove his cock into Batman’s mouth until it hit the back of his throat, making the vigilante gag in disgust at the salty and sweaty sensation. Then, the victorious henchman started fucking Batman's face, roughly jerking Batman's rubber ears back and forth and outdoing even the degradation that the Dark Knight had suffered at the goons' hands in the alley way recently. Thankfully for the humiliated hero, this goon didn’t need many thrusts of his manhood until he pulled Batman off and climaxed all over his bruised face and torso, painting the dark rubber and yellow emblem in the by now all too familiar milky whiteness. Just like in his previous fight with the Joker’s goons, the Batsuit was now drenched in cum on the inside and the outside, an embarrasing testament to Batman's shameful weakness, both physically and sexually.
The goon then once more grabbed Batman’s ears, who could no longer stand on his own at this point and lifted him up.
“I hope that milk oiled up your wings to help you fly, Batsy.”
He let go of Batman’s ears, but before the hero could collapse, a devastating jump kick to his face sent him staggering backwards into the bell and then off the edge, falling down the hole below the bell. Within seconds, the staircase that he had ascended so torturously rushed past him, reminding him shamefully how he had failed to accomplish the one task given to him: saving Vicki Vale. In his semi-conscious state, Batman fumbled blindly at the grappling hook on his utility belt, his hands barely having the strength left to the pull the life-saving trigger. The next second, though, his fall abruptly stopped, a sharp agony flashing through Batman’s entire body at the sudden strain on his shoulders and arms, and the rubber-clad hunk shot upwards again, landing with a painful thwack on a section of stairs not destroyed by the church bell earlier.
Far too weak to get up, Batman could only lie there in the dust of the church and the shamefully sticky warmth in his skin-tight rubber legs, contemplating his failure. He had tried his best, he really had, but eventually his career as a crime-fighting superhero had reached the one and only logical conclusion it had always been heading towards: defeat. After a few minutes, Batman’s eyes became heavier and heavier, the broken man yearning for the mercy of unconsciousness. The last thing he perceived before his senses blacked out completely was a face with white make-up and green hair appearing in his field of vision, and a shrill cackle ringing in his ears, “Looks like you did just dance with the devil in the pale moon light after all, right, Bats? And the final dance is yet to come. Hahaha!” At last, the unexpected pain of a heavy boot pressing onto Batman's brutalized groin sent the broken hero's mind over the edge and into the darkness of oblivion...