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F x M Batgirl Spiderman twerking romance BDSM

Description: Batgirl and Spiderman have defeated King Pin and the Black Mask. What now? A celebration. Batgirl is much freaky than someone would imagine. Piercings, and loves to be tied down with webbing and have her hair pulled while getting anal. She also stripteases to loosen poor Peter up.

Tags: Twerking, anal, straight, eating out, pairing, romance, freak, batgirl, spiderman, bdsm, restraints, oral, eating out.

Batgirl. Just the thought of her sends shivers down the spine of every villain in New York City. With her long crimson hair, piercing blue eyes like clear water, and tight-fitting suit that accentuated every inch of her divine body, she was the true vision of beauty and strength. She moves with the grace of a panther prepared to strike with equal feline effortlessness, her lithe body flowing through the darkness with deadly precision.

Her suit hugs every curve, accentuating her toned muscles and lean figure. The leather clung to her like a second skin, the cowl framing her delicate features. Her cape flutters behind her like a black butterfly, a symbol of her power and independence. And damn it, her ass, her ass was the most jarring aspect of her figure. It was like two honey hams, vast and plump, squeezed in wrapping that gave unbelievable form to an otherwise expansion mounds of flesh.

She sits on a couch, mirth playing on her face. She and Spiderman had finally accomplished the un-accomplishable, the Black Mask and King Pin were defeated. One night. One fateful night. Their partnership was nearing an end though, given their union was forced by the unlikely alliance of the former mentioned villains. She might have been happy, should be happy, but really she was forcing this, and it showed. Though, despite all this, she looked like a goddess.

But Batgirl is not just a fighter. The time to fight for justice was long gone as the night wrapped up. She was a woman, with desires and passions just like anyone else. And now the fight for something less justice oriented was coming into being. She was hesitant about confronting it.

She liked Spider-man. His costume looked pretty good on him, but he looked even better when he was out of it. But he wasn’t just a body that Batgirl found alluring, he was whip-smart and damn it, his casual throw-away comments and cavalier attitude were rather attractive. He could be nearing death, or on the door of it, like he often was, but he would have something to say about it. He would not go quietly into the night without a sarcastic comment.

She loved the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline as she chases down a criminal. But there was something else that excited her, something that few people know about, she wanted Peter. She needed Peter. Adrenaline was more potent when it was fueled by arousal. And she was pretty worked up, yet nervous, now that they were alone. Nothing in the world but them. Surrounding them, her apartment, just them… On a couch. One glove squeaked along her thick thighs, the other spooling crimson hair into a tight spring. She bites her lower lip, her eyes narrowed and scanning Spiderman’s body.

“Well, that was quite the celebration,” Peter said uncomfortably, a flute glass in his hand, the contents gone, it looked quite out of place in the costumed hero's grip. The spider-man was nervous, perhaps more than Batgirl. They’d been working for so long, so hard, never a moment's rest, and at Barbara’s behest, he was drinking a celebratory drink.

He leaned forward and placed the glass next to its sister, the one Batgirl had swiftly finished off … three different times in quick succession, “I should---”

“The celebration isn’t over with, Spider-man.” She said, her voice slightly tipsy, and slurred, but not overtly drunken or inebriated. She needed to be sharp, but she needed to cut the nervous edge from her proposition. Make no mistake, the Spider wasn’t leaving without the Bat getting what it wanted.

Barbara dared a hand, sliding from her thick vast thigh over to the outfit that Peter wore. Yellow gloves on blue thighs. She could feel Peter trembling under her hand. She could feel the awkwardness building between them. She was rather nervous herself, but the now-or-never mentality was propelling her forward.

“Ah… Batgirl…” She turned to focus on her entirely. He wasn’t completely oblivious. He knew when someone was hitting on him, but he never felt like the person hitting on him was going to pounce on him like a fucking panther, devouring him whole.

“Call me Barbara, Peter.” She fenced back at him, her voice adopting a playful low purr.

“Barbara, what are you doing?”

She shifted her body toward Peter, and she leaned forward a little, allowing her hand to a more effortless stretch, her finger splaying out, taking the thigh of Peter in the palm of her hand. She slipped upward further, the journey of something tender and perhaps even friendly broaching on the domain of, well, the domain of something quite, quite arousing.

“Call me Batgirl, actually.” She chuckled a little, her voice deeper now, no longer seductive so much as bold and honest.

“Batgirl… what are you doing?” Spider repeated, the quality of the name that he had said repeatedly near constantly for a month straight had taken on a much more prominent meaning, something more forbidden.

“What does it look like? Or do you not have a witty comeback for this? Hmmm. The truth is, I like you. I have always liked you. And I think we should celebrate now that we have accomplished our goal.” Her voice was honey silk but there was a trace of hesitance in her forcefully casual demeanor. Her eyes looked at Peter, looking at him imploringly, she was out on a limb and she knew it, but she was propelled by something much more powerful than logic or reason, she was horny and had been horny since the thrill of taking down their foes.

Under that mask she was blushing, the way her eyes darted this way and that after the silence grew longer, empty. Pregnant.

“I, ah, like you too Barb--- Batgirl.” His uncertainty and uncomfortableness made her decoration rather timid and uneventful, but the feeling was there. He wouldn’t be acting this way if he hadn’t found her to be … if he hadn’t thought time and time again about making love to her. Wild, passionate love.

“Well, I guess that is covered.” She said, not skipping a beat, though her heart had skipped so many times that her heart would surely fail her sooner rather than later, “I guess onto the celebration. What, oh what, do you think that we should do for such a monumental occasion?” It was a question, but the way that her hand planted itself straight onto the groin of Peter, well, it wasn’t so much a question proper, more a rhetorical one, “Anything come to mind, anything… popping up?” It was easy for her to act the part of her true wants and desires now that she had confirmation of their mutual attraction.

This wasn’t to say that Spider-man was jumping all over her, he had a shell that needed cracking but she was more than willing to provide ample incentive. This was evident by the way that she slide that hand up and down his crotch, underneath her glove, his tight costume, and under that something did grow. It was just a half-grown bulge, the outline left little to the imagination, no mystery to it.

It was his cock. A cock that pulsated and grew under her casual sensual palm. Their heat met, and her hand continued its toiling path, the heat would burn into a fire if they weren’t careful. While Spider-man had a mask on, while his entire face was covered, she could still tell that he was squirming under it, his mouth opening and closing to let fumes of exhilaration and desperate desire, longing even.

“What do we have here, Peter? Is this how much you are attracted to me? I am sure we can do something a little better, a little… thicker than that, can’t we?” She giggled under her breath. She was sinking into herself now, becoming more her, especially now that she knew what she was doing was something that he wanted. And she wanted him. But knowing that he wanted her all the more was truly building up her self-confidence to the point that she could be, show off, who and what she really was.

She might be a panther, she might be seductive, she might even also be alluring and a sexual entity and walking wet dream, but under even all that, her true self was much more … delicious. She was a wild child, a true-blue little minx, a freak in the best possible way.

She showcased her frisky friendliness by wrapping the not-yet-hardened cock in her grip and gifted it with some firm and undulating strokes. That did the trick, given the fact that the cock immediately jolted and stood out on its own. The elastic outfit Spider-man wore wrapped around it so snugly that each and every detail, each groove and indentation was easily seen. Had not her hand been busy with its caressing and jerking.

His feet slide outward, heels on the carpet, toes upward pointing, hands lazily on the couch, he looked perfectly relaxed, a posture that was submitting and just accepting of the pleasuring vibes that she gave him, but there was tension in his posture even then.

Not for long.

Batgirl stood up, her palm still casually provoking the cock to gush pre-cum from the bulbous head, speckled dots of darkened liquid spilled and bleed through the outfit. Her rear end, though behind her, Spider-man facing her front, he could still see that fat ass. Each honey ham was the size of a pillow, and her movements just made them ripple like waves. Those pudding-filled cheeks continued to wobble even after she completed her movements, “Spider-man, I have been wanting to do this to you, for you, will you, for as long as I could remember.” She leaned forward and her lips brushed against his mask, right smack dab where his own lips would be. Her latex-gloved hands slowly pulled the mask upward, exposing his lips, a tongue lashed against him, she pulled back and chuckled a purr of enticing erotic entertainment.

“You just stay like that and enjoy the show, hmmm?” And with that her sinuous, gymnastic body twirled around, and in the same graceful movement, her ass pushed outward. Her crimson hair brushed against Peters’ naked mouth.

Her rump was as juicy and plump as a ripe watermelon, just waiting to be picked. And it was right there, starring poor Peter dead in the face. She was half crouched. That was when she slowly lifted herself up on her feet and downward, in one fluid movement. Her ass was so fat that there was a delay in movement in her asscheeks and her full body movement. When she went downward in the gyration, her ass finally responded and jiggled upward, only to collapse and slap downward when her body raised itself up.

She hardly needed to do anything at all to make the experience erotic, or eye-catching, or alluring or hypnotic, the wobbling trembling flesh like pudding did that all for her, but still she maintained a certain poise and sensual quality as she twerked. Each time her fat ass came crashing down, it would slap right on against Peter's cock. It was enough to provoke him to squirm and gasp, breathing loud. She could hear his excitement, “Oh, you like that, well, how about you show me how much you like it, hmmm?” She swiveled around a little, grasping one of his prone hands and planting it straight onto her wobbling wiggling ass.

The fleshy rear end devoured his hand whole. Without a tight, without resistance. It was like a cloud, not quite in existence but maintaining enough solidity and physical essence to actually occupy space.

Peter squeezed, his other hand joining on the other pillowy cheek. Her gloved hands went to her suit and started to latch her bat-belt. It was undone with just a snap and it noisily clamored to the ground beneath her feet. Her boot kicked it to the side, discarding it like she would everything else she possessed.

“Oh god, Barbara. Your ass is so big and fat.”

“I am a regular dump truck back there, aren’t I?” She groaned erotically, her thumbs pressing into the waistband of her tight spandex suit, she teased it down, inch by inch. It was a struggle though, to fit such perfectly sized ripe watermelons in such a tight confining space required effort and dedication to unpack. But she didn’t do it all at once. She teased it down.

Slowly and sensually. Her black spandex pants squeaked against full flesh, exposing just the top portion of her ass, the crack, but nothing more. Instead, she just provided a beginning. It was up to mutual engagement to finish the job.

Spider-man realized this, but he was at odds. He enjoyed the show very much, too much, really. The angelic movements of Barbara were much more potent and pronounced now, Her erratic gyrations and bodacious bouncy ass was working toward a goal. She would jerk down, throw her ass backward to hook on that rock-hard cock, and she would glide snugly upward, letting that cock provide leverage to peel her pants further off.

And while Peter wanted to enjoy the show, his hands palmed meat and pants, fingers digging and squeezing, the flesh overwhelming his embrace. He wanted all of it, he wanted to disappear in those seas of sinful sensation. It was warm and inviting. With much hesitation and lament, he disentangled his fingers from her bouncy ass and secured the pants in his hand, and with a violent and quick jerk, he tore them down – literally tore them down. They ripped before they would give way for such a massive ass.

All the same, she was naked in the groin and ass. The latex clutched to her toned legs as a drowning man would to floating driftwood. Her top remained on as well.

Before he could add more to the undressing, she danced away, hips rocking left and then right, adding a horizontal jiggle to the dance. It was hypnotic, suggestive, and just entirely unrealistically arousing.

Peter had never been so invigorated in his life.

That was then when their mutual arousal culminated and congealed and evolved. Barbara was aroused merely from being allowed this opportunity, by knowing that Peter was okay with everything, but Peter was spurred on by Barbara’s insatiable desires as well. They were both incorrigible.

Barbara slowly ran her gloved fingers up and down her bare exposed ass cheeks. Her costume was still so snug and tight that it was going nowhere at all. The contract of her unblemished, massive, wobbling ass, milky white, brought out the vibrant midnight black of her outfit.

Only her ass was exposed. Her yellow gloves ran against the pillow's soft flesh, up and down, stroking it. Peter couldn’t help but respond positively to such actions, it was a clear reminder of just how graceful she was with his cock, the motions very similar to how she had provoked his cock, stroking and loving, careful but with determination.

Peter leaned forward, not content on just a show, but Barbara had other things in mind, using her ass to shove Peter back into the couch. Her ass dipped down and favored his drooling cock with a brush, a soothing anal embrace, before departing.

“Hey now, Tiger. You are getting a little to fiery for me. Let us just enjoy the moment, don’t you think?”

“You are having entirely too much fun with this.” Peter snarked back under his breath.

“You are too if I missed my guess.”

Those hands circled and gripped her ass, adding to the erratic fluttering and slapping of her asscheeks before she found the hem of her top and started slowly slip it off. The material struggled and squeaked against her flesh until finally it was liberated.

Peter only saw what she allowed, as she had her back toward him. He could see the dip of her spine, the lovely flesh of her back, and her shoulder blades as she danced the provocative dance, moving to unheard music. Yet it was music that they both heard, it was the music of allure, temptation, arousal, and unbridled desire.

She wore no bra and her breasts were sized and portioned just right, just enough, so that he could see those ripened fruits from behind. Just her naked silhouette was doing his body wonders.

Peter gasped, entirely intoxicated by the show.

Barbara was topless, her feminine taut legs shoved and encased still in spandex, her ass hanging out, the waistband of her outfit that wrapped around her thighs providing a foundation and definition to that rear end. She also retained her mask.

Peter sat there in awe, her cock throbbing and exposed, just peeking out, struggling to just rage on free.

And luckily for him, she accommodated, it was as if she had a bat sense about his arousal, and she knew when to elevate and escalate the situation. It wasn’t just the actions that were enticing or art, but the timing.

She turned around, breasts exposed. White flesh, round and pert, topped with pink nominally sized areolas and the cherry on top, her nipples raised and hardened, slightly bumped, darker in coloration. There was something there though that Peter had never expected to see, speared and skewed were piercings on each nipple, straight on through and to hold it there, the bars flared like little bat wings, the batgirl logo.

How … feisty.

Peter’s wide white masked eyes focused on nipples before he caught something else, she had a navel piercing. It was located an inch above the indentation of her perfectly precise belly button divot. It was ravishing. She would give a middle eastern belly dance a dance for her money. The stomach was toned, sleek though, like a surfboard. The piercing itself was a dark chocolate diamond, sparkled and shaped as such and a thread hung down a few more inches, the same black diamonds limped down, three of them, the top the biggest, the others shrinking in size.

The accessory seemed to accommodate her body exceptionally, clinging to her skin until she moved her hypnotic and suggestive body, to which the navel piercing responded in kind and provided a mobile focal point.

Peter sucked in a deep, deep breath, exhaling, squirming. This was attractive, downright absolutely divine, and electric, but it was not the physical manifestation that truly made his head light with fluttering lusty thought, it was the revelation that Barbara was a tad bit wilder, and daring than he original anticipated.

The word freak came to his mind… And the work lacked all negative condemnations and only maintained the positive ones.

“Oh my, look at that… I think you are ready to burst.”

“Yeah, well, it happens in situations like this.”

“Oh, you have experience in situations like this? Here, I thought I was unique.”

“Never a situation quite like this.”

“You have a lovely way with words… I have skills with my mouth also, just not with words.” He didn’t quite follow, but it was impossible not to follow with the body language that she was laying down.

She turned entirely around, swaying and sashaying back and forth, her body almost completely naked, exposed, but never once would it be considered vulnerable. Both of her hands went to his thighs and squeezed, slowly walking her fingers and palms up and down, smothering him with her enchanting touch. She leaned gracefully down to her knees, her face nearing his exposed cock.

The cock wasn’t entirely liberated though, just the shaft and balls, nothing more, nothing less. But that was enough for her to work with. Her movements were feline, sinuous, sensational, like water fluidly flowing. Hot breath against his cock. Her lips puckered and she planted a kiss right straight against it, as casual as breathing.

She pulled back, and inspected the phallus, the figure, the perfection of the steeled organ before she planted a kiss against the tip again. Her eyes looked upward ever so often to catch Peter’s eyes, to captivate him, before returning a gaze at her most precise and sensual work before her. The cock throbbed in her mouth as a puckered kiss turned into a narrow tight opening, and the cock sunk into her mouth with ease. The sloppy slurping of air being replaced by cock could be heard.

Peter placed his hands against her head, fingers laced through her crimson hair, just caressing and stroking but never once forcing or guiding. She was a master in and of herself and there was nothing he could do to change or enhance the experience. But he definitely needed something to hold on to, to experience, to feel, to touch.

The slurping sounds became more intoxicated as the rhythm and the beat of her oral fixation quickened to the point that she wasn’t just sucking the cock, but fucking it, fucking her mouth, fucking his cock, drinking it in, devouring it.

She wasn’t just a freak, she was totally at home with this. This was her domain – And Spider-man couldn’t think thereafter. All he wanted was more.

But she stopped mid-way through. The cock sucking was a piece of art and he hungered for more. But Barbara hungered for more also, just in a different capacity.

She stood up, licking her lips, a rope of heavy pre-cum dangling, she caught it and enjoyed it. It looked so exquisite, the eagerness of her movements, the motions, the sounds of joy she made, the husky little chuckles, the purrs.

“Now, Tiger. How about we get this show on the road?”

Peter stood up without thinking. He leaned down and snatched her up, lifting and carrying her as he walked to the bedroom, his cock firmly jutting out like a lance. Her body slung against his, her naked arm wrapped around his neck, the other arm around his strong torso. She planted kisses and other assortments of passionate love against the nap of his neck.

“Remember when we were fighting King Pin… And I was falling. You made a very tight and protective web for me to fall onto. I thought to myself how wonderful it would have been for you to just take me then and there. All webbed up and nowhere to go. You could do anything to my body. And I would let you. Not like I would have much of a choice though.”

Peter widened his eyes at this. He didn’t quite know he would like such a suggestion but the moment he heard it was the moment that he realized that he wouldn’t just do it, but he wanted to do it, he needed to do it. It was a thing for him, something he had newly discovered.

In the bedroom, he tossed her teasing body which was grinding vexingly against his chest, onto the bed. The bed creaked and the mattress bounced her up and down in inanimate rejection of her weight.

He remained at the foot of the bed, finishing what she started with one tug, her costume was entirely off, leaving her defined strong legs bare. Now she merely had her mask on. He guided the leg angled to the far end of the bed, web shot out, and secured and fastened her leg there. He went to the other leg and did the same.

The whole way through Barbara was moaning in ecstasy, her body moving and squirming in unbridled longing and absolute desire, but those movements were now becoming lesser, more constricted, and constrained. And wildly, this did not tame nor diminish her, it infused and elevated her to new heights of passion.

When Peter was done with her knees, spread eagle, stretching her pretty pink rosebud of a flower to a en-longed side oval, he marched the side of the bed to her wrists, but before he could guide her into position --- well, she was already there. Her hands stretched to the headboard on either side.

Shoot. Shoot.

And there she was, a picture-perfect sight, submitted, naked, and eager to be taken.

Peter had enough of this.

Barbara also.

He took off his outfit, retaining his mask yet it was peeled back to reveal his mouth, and he jumped on her like a spider. She was caught in his web and it was now time for him to devour her much like a spider itself. He was careful, yet controlling and animalistic.

And while Barbara was naked, her nipples, breasts, taut stomach, the beads of perspiration. It was all very intense and intoxicating.

Peter lunged forward, one of many such movements purely motivated by intense and arousing want to satisfy his baser needs. The sight of Batgirl stretched, wet, soaking pussy was enough to make Peter tingle, and not because of some spider-sense. His unmasked mouth was placed against the shaven smooth perfectly pink pussy with harsh intent. He wasn’t trying to pleasure Barbara, his movements were far too unrelenting and thirsty and spontaneous that he merely sought to pleasure himself, though, in happenstance, Barbara got her fair share of pleasure from the ravaging. It didn’t take long for Barbara to be elevated to the absolute heights of pleasure though – it took merely a few moments of having his mouth, lips, and tongue, squirming and slashing against her crotch for her to mount an explosive orgasm.

Cream began to spill on his face. Peter's movements were now announced with the slapping of creamy watery nectar against the crotch and his face. Each time he renewed his assault, the sordid sound of squishing splashing liquid could be heard. It was further intensified as Barbara began to slam herself against his face, fucking him with as much, if not more, passionate intensity as he showered her with.

Peter couldn’t contain himself and practically jumped on her, ravaging her, licking, kissing, grinding, fucking on the stationary trapped and contained Batgirl. All the while she was moaning and pleading for more, more of this treatment. She’d just experienced an orgasm that trumped all orgasms, and she was hungry for more of the same.

“Oh, I am completely defenseless… You can fuck me however you want.” She purred deeply, “Any hole you want to. Even the naughtiest of them.” She suggested, and the suggestion was received rather quickly.

Peter didn’t want to waste this opportunity. Now, he wasn’t a freak, not like Barbara, but it was her willingness, eagerness, and prompting that gave him the confidence to do as she bid. He wanted to do it, absolutely, but it was Barbara’s ushering that really moved him to comply and supply.

With a few twists of his wrists, he took webbing and flipped Barbara over so that she was on her belly, her fat ass wobbling from the movements. It was so inviting. How could he stop himself?

Before either one of them noticed, Peter mounted her and pushed his cock between her thick thighs, right on up and down into the crack of her ass. The pillows collapsed and tightened around his cock, making movement rather difficult. His hands splayed and separated the ass cheeks to allow better penetration. With one thrust, he burrowed inside her. The lubrication from her soaking drooling pussy had provided all the lubrication ever wanted to make the entrance all the easier.

Her ass wasn’t a virgin pussy but it was significantly tighter than one. Peter would know. And it seemed that the workout regiment that Batgirl underwent to keep her body in stellar crime-fighting shape allowed her certain movements that not even Peter could control. Her ass was a pulsating mesh of muscles and throbbing undulating constriction. The narrow cavity viced on cock, and her gyrations caused her fat rear end to slap against him in waving fluctuating movements.

Peter was fucking her, jamming his cock inside her, using her body to outlet his passion and desire, and yet, it felt very much the opposite, as if Batgirl was fucking him. She didn’t move with their gyrating dance of his, she countered it and opposed it, slamming her crotch against his each and every time he thrust inside her.

Time seemed to disappear and melt into just an array of random moans and passionate murmurs.

“Fuck my ass. I always wanted to do anal with you, Pete. I want you to sample my tight asshole, you like it? Hmmmm?” She begged these words though, ever so often she would have to stop talking entirely as the sheer pleasure and pain culminated into one vibe and really just caused her body to tremble with absolute heaven.

“Show me the type of man you are.” She encouraged, knowing that Peter needed just a little prompting to get in touch with his own freaky nature, “Pull my hair.”

Before she knew it, her crimson hair was in his grip, and what a grip, and he tugged, jerking, using it as leverage to slam himself deep inside her. Deeper than he ever thought possible. His entire cock, everything, it was all treated to this wonderful treatment.

Peter awoke just then. He pulled on the webbing to rip it free, liberating his prey. Barbara joined, and together, in their hot steamy mush of flesh and sensation and passion, she was free to fuck him with all her worth.

She gave more than what she got. She was a wild fury of passion, fucking her ass against his cock, just stuffing it inside her.

The forms merged and entwined with vigor. She was a bundle of hot sordid breath. Peter was on his knees on the bed, Barbara pushed back, mounting him, shoving that cock deep inside her, her ass slapping as she rode him. Her back was against his warm and strong chest, she could feel the laboring breathing from him – he was near, she could tell.

“Go on Tiger, paint my ass with your cream.” She whimpered.

Peter snatched her hair, nibbled her ear, and growled, “your such a freak.”

“A fucking freak.” She supplied, but before she could, two things happened in quick succession.

She slammed so hard against that cock that it exploded inside her, and their combined weight and force of fucking broke the bed. It shattered. The bed frame was no more, it was a pile of kindling, the mattress was in similar broken in shape, and Barbara was getting her fill of another kind of webbing --- right in her asshole.

The whole thing was over before it even began. They collapsed on the broken bed, looking up at the ceiling. They labored breath.

“Up for round two?” She purred.