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Once all his girls had checked in, Bruce moved swiftly. He left the club, he and his seducers all escorting Tracey, Candy, and Lark out. He’d already arranged things with Commissioner Gordon.

They showed up at GCPD headquarters in a group. Assistant DAs were already waiting to question them. The depositions lasted for hours. Warrants were filled out like MadLibs; friendly judges were also on high alert. Arrest squads went out as soon as the evidence started pouring in, backed by Robin, Batgirl, Spoiler, Batwoman, and other of Gotham’s guardians.

Bruce stayed focused on the star witnesses. As soon as the first round of intelligence gathering was over, the cops brought them to Wayne Manor. As Gordon put it, any house with Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, and Catwoman living in it, he wouldn’t intrude on for a million bucks. They would be safe there from the Penguin’s reprisal. Still, Gotham state police positioned themselves on the outskirts of the property.

Bruce had already prepared things for the Penguin’s former aides to feel at home. Their testimony would depend on keeping them happy and healthy until trial. They had rooms set up, clothes in the wardrobes, a spread of food waiting to be eaten. But the molls refused to be put at ease.

Now that they were faced with each other instead of the charm of their seducers, they found their doubts magnified. Bruce could see that nothing he did as Gotham’s favorite son would put them at ease. He excused himself, saying that it was late and he should get his rest. None of the molls wanted to accompany him. They were putting their heads together, trying to find a way out of their predicament, treating a disaster like it was fait accompli.

It was night now—deeper and darker than the festive evening at the club could ever have been. It seemed impossible that the two times, the shaded cool then and the oppressive blackness now, could ever neighbor each other. A chandelier cast down a sultry, intimate glow, but in their present remorseful mood, it seemed more like the shadows of the room were overrunning the light.

None of them noticed, in their hushed whispers, their furtive glances back and forth, that one of the room’s shadows was now somehow more vivid than it had once been. The eye passing over it, as though subtly intimidated away at the level of the subconscious.

They didn’t notice the Batman until he chose to make himself noticed.

And then, all at once, he was present. His midnight armor glinting subtly at the edge of the light. His presence majestic. His size intimidating and protective all at once. The molls shrunk away from him—but did not go far.

“I know you’re all frightened. You have many reasons to be intimidated. But Mr. Wayne can be trusted to provide security until this is over. And I’ll be making sure that any threat Cobblepot poses to you is dealt with long before it ever gets close.”

Tracey seemed to take his confident attempt to handle them as a personal slight. “That’s easy for you to say, lov. Not like we’ll be able to slag yer bollocks if you fail.”

Batman took a step toward her. Not she nor her two companions backed up, but Lark and Candy did shudder. “The Penguin has wanted me dead since long before any of you knew him. I’m still here. And I go looking for his men. You’ll be safe.”

“For how long?” Lark demanded, shaking her head convulsively. “We never should’ve ratted on him. Sooner or later he’ll get to us. If it takes him twenty years—”

“In twenty years, Penguin won’t even be up for parole,” Batman told her firmly. “And all the people he would’ve hurt in that time will be safe thanks to you, to all of you.” He looked each of them in the eye, one by one. “You can make a good life here. Others have. Enjoy it. You’ve earned it.”

“You might know something about staying alive,” Candy said, inching closer to Batman, as if she were testing to see if a wild animal would bite, “but you can’t tell me you know much about enjoying life.”

“You’d be surprised.” A small grin appeared on Batman’s lips. “Mr. Wayne can take good care of you. Of all your needs. Once you’re married.”

“And before that?” Candy asked, openly eyeing the bulky muscle that clearly bulged from Batman’s suit, however armored it was.

“Candy, what are you doing?” Lark hissed under her breath.

“How grateful are you?” Candy continued, glancing over into Lark’s eyes to make it clear she was overruling her objection.

“Not quite ready to give up being bad?” Batman asked, amusement entering his rough voice. “One last fling before you accept Mr. Wayne’s proposal?”

“This whole thing was on short notice,” Tracey pointed out.

“We should show Bruce he can’t take us for granted,” Lark said, starting to like the idea. “Call it a bachelorette party. Times three.”

“Never heard of a bachelorette party where the women did the stripping,” Batman grinned.

“Then I guess we won’t talk about this,” Tracey said, unzipping Candy’s dress for her.

Candy stood there, stunned speechless by the turns events had taken. This was what she wanted, but now that it was here, she realized just how intense it all would be.

Batman. She was going to spend her last night as a single woman with Batman. And she didn’t think Tracey or Lark were going anywhere.

She’d never been the most daring woman, even though she was a gangster moll. When she’d started the flirtation, she’d thought that Batman would single out one of the others to take his pleasure with. Candy would just sneak a peek at them.

It was later, after he finished with her, that Candy would get Batman alone and let him get his prick up so that she could see just how big it was and decide whether or not she wanted it in her sex.

Now Tracey was helping her out of her dress. She was going to be naked and Batman’s threatening endowment was getting harder by the second, a thick bulge in his trunks. Like it or not, she was going to find out what it was like to be serviced by Batman.

Only she knew she would like it. No matter how much harder that erection got, it was already big enough to satisfy her. If I can fuck a guy as well-hung as Bruce Wayne, I can fuck a guy who needs an entire rocket car to compensate for what he’s got.

She felt Tracey slipping her shoulder straps off her arms. Her breasts ached in the lace cups of her bra. Her nipples were too taut and tender for a space as small as the tight lingerie left for them.

If she were with Cobblepot, she’d be embarrassed, but the flush she felt as Candy unhooked her bra was quite different from anything to do with shame. She actually felt proud, feeling Batman’s eyes on her exposed breasts.

He kept staring long enough for them to be truly savored. Candy had to wonder what it would be like for him to touch her, not just look…

***

Batman caressed each woman with his eyes as she undressed. Whatever his other faults, the Penguin had good taste. Each was beautiful, sexy, shapely. They’d been delicious when devoured one by one—as a whole, they were overwhelming.

At last they stood stark naked before him, each set of full breasts offered to his gloved hands, each lithe body waiting to be touched and used. They shuddered in arousal.

Batman was familiar with the effect that the ever intermixing combination of fear, power, and safety had on women. As a token of appreciation, his attention was perhaps beyond anything Bruce Wayne could give to the three women. He would allow them to fulfill their most taboo fantasy—and perhaps manage to please him as well.

Candy sidled up to Batman, reaching out with slender fingers to massage his endowment through his trunks.

His manhood throbbing, Batman undid his utility belt. Showing them where the otherwise hidden zipper was on his costume.

The three aroused molls converged on him: pulling down his zipper, reaching into his fly, drawing his long, girthy cock out into the open air.

Batman stood before them, his erection extending from his costume like a weapon, visibly pounding with desire.

“Jesus,” Candy gasped. “Look at that.”

“I’ll do more ‘an look at it, my son,” Tracey said.

If it were an attack, Batman never would’ve reacted in time. Tracey grabbed hold of his brick-hard shaft and held it against her soft flesh like a branding iron, a gasp of pleasure escaping her sensual lips at the heated feel of it.

“Now that’s a right Mort’s dock,” Tracey continued. “Hope you know how to use it.”

“If he doesn’t, he’s about to learn,” Lark said.