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Deeper

Her entry point would be one of the second story windows. More often than not, they weren't locked. And she was pleased to discover that was indeed the case for Timm Hall. A small stroke of luck, even if the windows were a bit small.

It was times like these where Barbara's - Batgirl's - slim body was a benefit. Slowly, carefully, she slid through the narrow gap the open window offered. She eased her long, lithe legs through first. For a moment, she was afraid that her hips might have been too wide, but she managed to squeeze them through the narrow frame as well.

All she needed now was to ground herself for support. Tenderly, she touched down onto the floor with the toe-tips of her yellow boots. Just barely a foothold, but it was all Batgirl needed for balance.

The benefits of being a gymnast…

The rest of it was child's play. In no time at all, she was in.

Quietly, she closed the window shut behind her. The masked vigilante gave a huff through her nose, a mixture of pride and expelled nerves. Flawlessly executed infiltrations were something she would never get tired of.

Barbara stood up straight, taking in her surroundings. A large, empty office. Dark, save for the moonlight shining through the window. Plain in its set-up, with barebones furniture. Desk, chairs, bookshelf, lamp in the corner, coffee table by the door. Nothing else of note. No reason for her to remain.

Of course, there was the chance of finding valuable intel somewhere in the room. Right? Perhaps in the desk drawers or hidden away between the pages of any of the books on the bookshelf. Batman had taught her to be thorough in her investigations, after all.

But Barbara couldn't shake the feeling of urgency. It just didn't make sense to waste time scouring every inch of Timm Hall when Dinah was walking right into the Brotherhood's filthy hands.

No, Barbara decided. It was best if she moved on. Groups like the Brotherhood tended to keep their secrets guarded in places of a more impressive sort anyway.

The redhead superheroine slipped into the outside hallway. There Barbara saw that the Brotherhood HQ was as creepy as she expected it to be.

The second floor hall was dim, lit only by candlelight. The walls were painted a deep burgundy, though the glow from the candles had Barbara thinking of blood. And between each of the carved wooden columns that lined the walls were set portraits of men. Young men in particular, though that made sense. Timm Hall was essentially a fraternity house and one couldn't expect old men to be enrolled at Kingston Academy.

Barbara stared up at the paintings… and was disturbed at how the portraits seemed to stare back. Their eyes followed her. But they weren't judging her or accusing her or even hating her. The men that hung upon the walls hungered for the Batgirl. Barbara could see it in their eyes, could feel them drawing up and down her lithe body wrapped in the tight, shiny material of her stealth suit. A shudder ran down the redheads back.

Averting her eyes from the creepy paintings, Barbara continued on. But she didn't make it far before coming across a peculiar sight.

A slightly open door. Not enough for her to see what awaited her beyond the doorway, but enough to see that the light was on in the other room. And enough to hear the voices coming from the other side.

Barbara moved slowly. Carefully. Years of training had made stealth second nature. She crept up beside the slightly open door, flattening her body to the wall. The voices were clearer now, though Barbara could only barely hear what was being said.

"Couldn't keep your hands off us, cariño?" A woman's voice. Sweet and sultry. Familiar, too…

"All your fault, looking like that." Came the low, deep voice of a man. A young man, from how smooth and fresh he sounded, but a man all the same. He growled next, enough to make even Barbara feel a twinge in her lower belly. "Driving me crazy."

Barbara then heard the moans and groans that left no doubt as to their activities. Batgirl was eavesdropping on a couple getting hot and heavy. Again.

The sounds of lips meeting lips, the rustle of hands roaming over - and under - clothes, they poured into Barbara's ears, slithering inside like a snake and coiling within her. Then another woman's voice joined in, husky and alluring and so damn familiar…

"That's what we do, baby." The second woman purred, her words spilling out like warm honey. "It's our mission. We gotta keep your dick hard and your balls empty."

Realization struck Barbara like a fist to the gut. She knew those voices. She'd heard them before, all three of them! She leaned forward, her body tense and tight, inching closer to the open door. She peered inside through the narrow opening and confirmed what she so dreaded.

It was Westfield. The tall, muscled athlete who she'd almost gotten eating out of the palm of her hand. Him and the two female teachers she'd caught him with some days past. Miss Flores and Miss Jameson.

All three were on a brown leather couch, with Westfield seated in the middle. Caught between the two buxom and lustful women, the young athlete was in the furthest state of undress, naked save for the jeans that were pooled around his ankles.

Rita and Belle, the two teachers, were only marginally more covered - both of their lush, abundant bodies garbed in lingerie. Each provided a delectable sight, with Jameson's deliciously dark curves stuffed into contrasting white lace and Flores' ample body poured into a scant, satin nightie of sensual red.

Both were set upon their strapping male student, roaming across his firm, toned body with hands, lips, and tongue. And he was set upon them in turn, wrapping his thick, corded arms around their slender waists to draw them closer, his big hands planted upon the soft flesh of their hips, their asses. Possessive. Like the two women were his property.

So much creamy flesh on display had sent a shock through Barbara. For a moment she had even forgotten to breathe. She couldn't move. The debauchery unfolding before her eyes had her rooted to the spot.

"Couldn't even wait for the ceremony to have his fun, either." Rita Flores spoke again, her lovely accent coloring her heated words. She ran her hand adoringly over Westfield's flat stomach while Jameson did the same to the young man's broad chest. Their darker skin was a shock against the student's pale body, caramel and chocolate feeling up vanilla. "No patience at all. We shouldn't be rewarding this behavior, Miss Jameson."

Belle Jameson gave a simple hum of agreement. But quickly she burst into a giggling fit. The darker woman shifted on the couch, the simplest of movements sending a subtle-yet-magnificent quaking across her proud breasts, her lush thighs. With a wicked smile, she reached down and began to stroke Westfield's long, thick cock.

Jesus… Barbara inhaled sharply as her eyes settled on the enormity that sprang up between Westfield's tree-trunk legs. Him and Reston and probably the other Brotherhood creeps… What the hell is Kingston feeding these guys? Why are they all so damn hung?

Unnoticed, unsuspected, the caped heroine looked on from her place in the hallway. A sensation frothed in the pit of her belly, while thoughts bubbled within the cauldron of her mind. Was it revulsion that she was feeling? Dismay? Or was it a twisted admiration? Whatever it was, Barbara's eyes were fixated on Westfield's thick, monstrous, throbbing manhood… And Miss Jameson's dainty hand that was stroking the shaft.

"We really shouldn't." Belle tittered sweetly, teasingly. She gave Westfield's dick a slow, maddening pump, her thumb pressing into the swollen head and rubbing circles. She had the young man grunting, red-faced and huffing through his nose like some primal beast. With the arm he had wrapped around her waist, he drew her closer so that her body, the sweetness of her abundant flesh, was pressed flush against him. But instead of stroking him harder, faster like he silently demanded, Belle only gave another fit of spirited laughter. She held the weighty stalk of meat in her hand, slowly milking it as she presented it to her partner in crime. "But a man with equipment like this… It must be very hard to keep his urges in check, Rita."

Rita Flores gave a tsk-tsk, shaking her head. The faux-disappointment was betrayed by the fire in the latina's eyes. The same eyes that hungered, yearned for the fat dick her friend was stroking.

"Off the hook yet again, Mister Westfield." Miss Flores cooed, her voice rising an octave as the student in question slid his hand up her nightie's skirt to grab a handful of her supple rear. Pale fingers sank into the lush, brown flesh of her ass. The young man's shameless groping caused her voice to break as she continued on. "You should appreciate how… lucky you are. Looks, wealth… y tienes esta gran verga de mierda."

Miss Jameson removed her hand from Westfield's cock, like she knew what was coming. Miss Flores dipped her head down then, engulfing the head of her student's cock in the softness of her lips, the warmth of her tongue, the delicious wetness of her mouth. Or at least that's what Barbara assumed, judging from the student's pleased groan as Miss Flores dropped her face to his groin.

Barbara felt a shudder travel through her body, starting from the back of her neck and running down, down, down her spin, before ending in the deep pit of her belly. She should have felt a measure of horror at the realization that she was getting off on this - and she did somewhat. But it was muted, smothered. Overshadowed by the wicked thrill that shot through her nerves as she watched Miss Flores bob her head in Andrew Westfield's lap.

But while the latina was sucking and licking Westfield's shaft, Miss Jameson was not sitting idly by. The other teacher was not the woman to wait on the sidelines. With a bold, daring glimmer in her eyes, the ebony seductress reached behind to undo her bra. An instant later, the white lace cups fell loose and Jameson's ample tits swung free into open air. Those proud swells were succulent, perfect. Dark brown teardrop globes capped with even darker nipples. They were hardened and poking, begging for a man's hungry mouth. And Andrew Westfield was all too willing to answer.

Belle Jameson gave a lovely sigh as the strapping lad latched his mouth to one of her teats. She cradled his head, running her fingers through his short, blond hair.

The younger man - the teenage boy - suckled at her chocolate bosom, groaning, grunting like a low-minded brute as he lashed his tongue against her delectable peaks. Like a man starving, he feasted. Only pausing to murmur lazily, drunkenly, with his face buried in the deep valley between her tits.

"There's no point in us waiting for the ceremony…" Westfield groused, using one hand to clap down onto Miss Jameson's luscious ass. The teacher gasped, indignant… But broke into a giddy laugh a moment later, petering out into soft, sweet moans. His other hand… Barbara watched as Westfield drew his groping paw away from Miss Flores' behind, offering her poor buttocks some respite… Only for him to grip the latina by her dark locks. With a fist tightened in her hair, he forced her to service him at his pace. "All that shit is for the green brothers and new girls. It doesn't make sense… for me to wait… to enjoy what's already mine. Fuck."

GLRK GLRK GLRK GLRK

Barbara should have been sickened. And she was. But she couldn't deny the sick delight she felt watching Westfield pummel Miss Flores' mouth with his fat cock. And the sound. Good god, it was fucked-up music at its most sublime.

Miss Jameson's yelp shook Barbara from her mesmerized state. The sound of palm slapping against skin resounded in her ears. Westfield had clapped his hand onto her ass again, growling into her tits.

One teacher was choking on his cock. Another was feeding him her ample teats. Westfield was doubtless living a life most men only dreamed of. And there was a voice in the back - the far back - of Barbara's mind screaming to her that he shouldn't be.

Barbara bit her lip, remembering the purpose of her being there. Batgirl was on a mission. A crusade to save her friends and all the other women ensnared by Westfield and his cohorts.

Blushing under her cowl, the redhead felt a wave of shame pour over her. She pulled away from the open door, stewing in loathing and embarrassment. Angry - no, furious - at herself, at her own body.

What kind of superheroine gets off on this? What kind of woman gets off on this?

Another slap. Another yelp. Another sultry moan. The sound of Miss Flores gagging and slurping on the teen's fat dick continued to carry out into the hallway.

Barbara ignored it all. Shaking her head, forcing herself to focus on what mattered, she slipped by the open door undetected. Westfield would get his, just not now. Not when Batgirl had more important matters at hand.

Dinah was still somewhere in those very same halls. And she was running out of time.

I can't let her down. I won't.

Barbara Gordon continued on, deeper and deeper into the Brotherhood's dark sanctum.