BOP TV: Relationship Upgrade (Patreon)

Barbara lay in bed, unable to bring herself to face the day. She’d done it again. Used the awe-inspiring powers of Delphi to sneak a peek at Helena. So chic, so lovely, so skilled, so graceful. Beautiful at all times, but especially gorgeous in the liminal state where Barbara couldn’t tell if she knew or didn’t know that she was being watched.

She was natural, pure, like a lioness out on the savannah—wild, unfettered by any self-consciousness. And yet, it seemed impossible that she could be ignorant. Something in her seemed to smirk at Barbara’s voyeurism, a private joke to her, that Barbara couldn’t share in because she couldn’t bring herself to admit how it gratified her to look at those dark blue eyes, fringed with the noon shadows of her short hair, her arching eyebrows, her pert nose, those lips…

Barbara indulging herself by ogling Helena only made her more aware of how frustrated she was. She caught herself gazing at Helena when the metahuman was actually in the room, not separated from her by a high-speed internet connection.

No, no, she had to make herself forget how Helena looked and what it did to her when she saw that sinuous body Helena seemed determined to show off—all wrapped up in skintight leather, glinting jewelry, that flowing duster that always made her look one step away from being in bed, huddled under silk sheets…

Helena could be a smile, Helena could be a swooping cape in the night, but otherwise, Helena had to be that girl Barbara had all but adopted. Barbara couldn’t let herself forget that girl. She was older. Helena was… maybe not a child… but a child to Barbara. She needed Barbara to be an adult. It wouldn’t be fair to her to suddenly put them on equal ground—to deprive Helena of her leadership by showing her Barbara was even more fucked up than she was.

She reached up to the rings above her bed, taking only one in hand to drag herself over to the receiver on her nightstand and dial the school. For the second time in a month she lied, telling the receptionist that she was ill.

Would they fire her if she kept this up? Barbara couldn’t bring herself to care. She didn’t need the money and any sense of normalcy the job had once given her was long gone. Maybe I’ll quit, she thought. Maybe I’ll stay in this damn bed and have Helena bring me my meals. No, she can cook and Dinah can bring me my food. Then I won’t have to worry about what belly shirt Helena is wearing today… probably no bra… certainly a G-string showing above the waist of some low, low jeans…

Barbara groaned aloud. Even the thought of Helena could be too much for her. At least she could count on the real Helena to be disgusted at the thought of her ‘big sister’ making a pass at her—the Helena of her fantasies… it was all too easy to imagine Helena delighted at being the center of Barbara’s attention.

Helena always did like having Barbara pay attention to her. Even nagging her, reprimanding her, it still defied Helena’s mile-wide fear of abandonment, let her know that there was someone who gave a damn and would give a damn no matter how far she strayed from the path. Imagine if Helena thought that it was all because Barbara desired her—fantasize about that!

Barbara beat her fists against her pillow and gripped the rings again to pull herself up against the headboard. She shouldn’t have called in sick. Now she was stuck at home with nothing to do. She’d go crazy if she kept on like this. What could possibly distract her from the itch between her legs? She already knew that masturbation wouldn’t get rid of it, which was reason enough not to give in…

“I won’t do it,” she told herself firmly. “No matter how good it feels. I won’t think of…”

She strangled the tell-tale pronoun before she could say even that much. She couldn’t even let on to Helena that she was bi, much less Dinah, who would just tell Helena quick as the Flash.

At first, she’d kept it from Helena because she’d fully believed it was none of the young woman’s business. Then, when Helena got comfortable enough living with her to start bringing home sorority girls who were clearly more than besties…

Why didn’t you tell her then, Babs? She asked herself. Helena’s screwed up enough that even a little thing like knowing she isn’t the only woman in the house who likes how pussy tastes would do her a world of good.

But it was too much like confessing, admitting to something… Barbara had to stay far away from any hint of impropriety. It was too late for herself, but she could still make it so Helena saw her as the woman she wanted to be, not the pervert she was.

The worst part was that Helena saw it as fun to tease Barbara for being such a straight-arrow, not knowing her mentor was anything but. ‘God, did you see the ass on that blonde? Tell me you wouldn’t want to bury your face in that. Hey, Oracle, think your supercomputer can find out her number for me? No way the losers casing this joint are going to burn up all my energy; I’m going to need some other way to unwind. Don’t tell me you never used a little Batgirl magic for some anonymous sex. ‘Fess up and I’ll start wearing a mask—if that’s why you want me to…’

All so damn irresistible. And Barbara had let her go on and on, thinking she was impervious to the flirty little jokes… not knowing there would come a time when she craved the next innuendo like it was a dose of crack… Helena’s cooed filth echoing in Barbara’s mind until she got to the shower, the bed, the toilet… anywhere she could count on some alone time.

Barbara didn’t think it was possible to sink lower than spraying air freshener around and hoping Dinah didn’t walk into the room before it stopped smelling like pussy.

And then there was those assless chaps Helena had actually worn into battle… showing off the barely-there gusset of her thong underwear… her all but totally exposed ass covered by her filmy trenchcoat. Coin toss whether she’d been irresponsible enough to run short on pants or if she was crazy enough to actually think she should be wearing that.

Shit, how had this even happened? Barbara knew what a good person Helena was. So good that even her screw-ups, her flaws, her rough spots couldn’t diminish how much of a hero she had in her.

But she was built like anything but a good girl. Good girls didn’t have such round hips and curvy tits. Good girls didn’t smile like that. Good girls didn’t have eyes that looked right into Barbara like she could see where she wanted her fist to end up once it was through Babs’ gates.

“Motherfucker,” Barbara swore, because a thought like that she just knew would give her an orgasm to remember.

She couldn’t resist how hard she would come with that image in her head. Her hand rubbed the folds of her sex—pushed her pajama pants down so they were bunched around her thighs. Barbara frictioned the palm of her hand against her pubic mound until it seemed like a crime against nature that her legs couldn’t thrash with all they were feeling.

But maybe it was good that this sensation couldn’t get out of her cunt. Just like Helena’s name might be filling up her skull, but it couldn’t leave her lips. She cursed up a blue streak, but she didn’t say anything like that name.

Her heart pounded. Her pussy was so slick that it barely felt like her own. She didn’t get this horny—not with anyone but—Barbara was close; couldn’t believe how close it was. It scared her a little bit and, conservative to a fault, she hung back—didn’t go for the hard, fast come but paced herself, let it build and build in her hand.

God, it was like riding a roller coaster. Her whole body want and need and fucking. She felt like a storm cloud before it dropped a lightning bolt. When she came, she knew it would be hard and powerful, maybe even brutal, but the nearer her orgasm came, the more she needed it.

Yes, yes, she didn’t care anymore. It was sick, it was wrong, but she wanted to fuck little Helena Wayne, her ward, the daughter of her teacher and oldest friend, the closest thing she had to a sister… she would come so hard for the Huntress that even the fantasy of her was doing this to thoughtful, considerate Barbara Gordon.

Then she heard the swoosh of a leather trenchcoat catching air.