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Author Topic: Batman, the Dark Knight: The Beginning  (Read 185 times)

Offline LiskaHunter

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Batman, the Dark Knight: The Beginning
« on: August 25, 2017, 09:35:33 AM »
Preface: This is the storyline focused on the very first days of Batman's story, before and during Bruce Wayne's transformation into the Dark Knight.

Also please note the story contains a term I find personally offensive, but remember this is fantasy, serves the story, and is not intended to upset or disparage anyone.

Please see my introduction here: http://www.rapecage.com/forum/index.php/topic,3424.0.html
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"Stupid little cunt," I snarled, choking her with both hands from behind, smashing her face down into the rough, dirty carpet. Her nose was bleeding from where I had punched her, her legs flailing, one of her hands gripping the carpet, the other slapping behind her. "I should kill you!" I was hard as a rock, feeling her struggling, so helpless underneath me, so desperate to escape but so powerless. I really wanted to kill her. It was what I had come here for, after all. But if I killed her, I'd never be able to feel her like this again. And why was I so hard? Sure, she was pretty cute, if not exactly my type, but that shouldn't be enough. No, I wouldn't kill her. But I would rape her, and satisfy that nearly irresistible urge I was feeling.

"You're going to take this cock," I growled, yanking her tight miniskirt up, and from how short it was I barely had to move it at all. A black g-string greeted me, making her small, fairly flat ass look good. Not as good as a thong, but it would do. I shifted back, straddling her stocking-clad thighs, the well-worn fishnets frayed from their overuse. Freeing my cock, I pulled her tiny string of fabric, shifting the thin flap of satin away from her shaved pussy. I shoved hard, plunging into her soft, unwilling hole, bringing to bear all of my rage and frustration, thinking back to how it all started.

Two weeks ago, I had finally arrived back in Gotham. Twelve years, I had been gone, travelling the world, training from everyone from whom I could learn. Scholars, scientists, warriors, soldiers, and anyone else I could use. Four master's degrees in engineering, biochemistry, computer science, and mathematics. Six black belts in separate martial art traditions. Military tactics, strategy, and philosophy. Arts and humanities. I perfected my mind and my body. And all of that after the five years Alfred had spent training me, the loyal household servant and friend, showing me the ways of his former life in Her Majesty's SAS. I was back to clean up the city that had murdered my parents, that had stolen my childhood and future. Becoming a multimillionaire at eight years old, most kids would have set themselves down a path of self-destruction. And maybe that is exactly what I had done, but not in the way one might think.  No, I was here to make my city, my home, safe, no matter the cost.

I set out that very first night, a black balaclava, hoodie, and cargo pants, with a bulletproof vest underneath. I wanted to see the city at its worst, to see what element I would have to clean up. And that's when I ran across her. Holly Robinson, the nineteen year old hooker.

"Hey there, tall, dark, and handsome," she purred from her alleyway where she stood with two other girls. Her red tank top was probably bright at one point, but now it was faded, her black bra strap hanging carelessly off of one shoulder. "Want some company?" She was…cute, but not my type. Her bleached blonde hair was chopped short, her small breasts so very perky and on display in her push-up bra, and her eyes nearly raccoon. I found her strangely attractive with that look, with her fishnets and her super-short black skirt showing off her thin but shapely legs.

"No thanks," I said, already moving on.

"Fine then, faggot," she said, the anger and rejection bundled into that one word of hate telling me everything about her. I turned, already eager to help her. That was why I was here, after all. "Oh, change your mind?" She glanced nervously to the alleyway where the other girls stood.

"No, but I want to talk to you," I said. She shifted nervously.

"Talking is fine, but it costs the same," she said.

"What's your name?" I asked, movement in the shadows in my peripheral vision.

"Chantel," she said, and I knew it was a lie in the way it rolled off her tongue.

"Your real name," I said, my voice iron.

"Holly," she said, barely a whisper. She looked quickly, nervously over at the man emerging from the shadows, another behind him.

"That's more like it," I said. "You don't have to do this. You can get a real job. You don't have to debase yourself like this." She looked to be on the verge of tears suddenly.

"You don't understand," she said. "Who would want me? And besides, I could never get away from…"

"Yo, Chantel," the first man said, his fur coat and huge hat comical in the warm summer evening. "Who da fuck is dis man? You fuckin' him or what?" I turned to him.

"Back away, now," I said. "Chantel isn't your property."

"Oh, no?" the pimp mocked. "You sure about that?" He pulled out a six-shooter, the man behind him doing the same. I had to act quickly. I had to…fuck! Searing pain shot through my leg where Holly had stabbed me, her switchblade dripping my blood as she backed away, a look of horror and anger on her face.

"Now you get to die, punk bitch," the pimp said, levelling his revolver at me. I moved, as quickly as I could with my leg wounded. He fired, missing, and I was on him. A brutal, fast fight, both pimps dead, not really by my choice, and I crawled away, leaving a trail of blood.

"Alfred," I croaked, and it was all I could manage before I succumbed to the bullet and knife wounds.

I awoke later, and good, loyal Alfred was by my side. He had swooped in to the rescue, clearing the crime scene of my DNA, stitched my wounds, and nursed me back to health. I had nearly lost all hope, on the very first night. Was my mission a fool's errand? Had I wasted my entire life already? As I recovered, I wandered the halls of the mansion in which I lived, my family's home for generations. I dropped to my knees in front of the busts of my parents, begging them for guidance. Was I right in what I was doing? Send me a sign! And then a bat burst through the window, flapping wildly in my face. I fell backward, shielding my face, but then it hit me. I lowered my guard, and the bat flew away, back into the night. Fear. The bat. The night. Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother. I understood. Those would be my allies. That would be my mission.

So, I recovered, and I told Alfred my plan. We recruited Lucius Fox, the head of R&D at Wayne Enterprises, and the main reason my millions had grown into billions. My cause was just, and they both knew it. But we three also knew I would have to be careful about who to trust. We would need to set up shell accounts, divert money into specific technologies, and I'd have to lead a double-life. Playboy billionaire by day to throw off the scent, and masked vigilante by night. The darkness. The dark knight.

But first things first. Time to pay back that little bitch for nearly getting me killed.

I shoved into Holly, her dry pussy resisting me, and she let out a miserable grunt as I violated her. She sucked in air, my iron grip around her throat relieved, her body slumping in defeat. I thrust up into her hard, abusing her as much as pleasuring myself, fucking her, raping her. Her whole body shook from the violence of my assault, my one hand reaching under her to grope her small, perky tits. Again and again, deep into her, using and hurting her. I should have been worried about fucking her bareback, given her profession, but I wasn't. I saw the condoms on her nightstand, and I knew she was safe. So that meant I got to use her to the fullest, take my full pleasure from her. I groaned as I came inside of her, dirtying her, showing her she was nothing but a whore, just like she thought.

"That's what happens to whores," I mocked, quickly pulling out of her. Then I hesitated, thinking back to some of the people I had trained with, and how they liked to take a trophy from their victims. I found suddenly that I liked that idea. I reached down and pulled her g-string down her thighs, the tiny scrap of black satin so small, but so significant. I stuffed it into my pocket, claiming it for my trophy. "Think about your life, and the decisions you've made," I told her, my anger at her gone, my mission taking over once again. "This is how whores are treated. Women deserve better." And with that, I left her there, heading home to see where Lucius and Alfred were with the prototype Batsuit.

Si vis pacem, para bellum

 

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