The Erotic Adventures of Supergirl and Batgirl

“Mayday ... Mayday ... Mayday...” the pilot of the small jet said in a controlled voice as he struggled with the controls of the crippled aircraft. “This is Gotham Air Two-Zero-Niner declaring an emergency!”

Those simple words brought fear to the heart of Jim Lee. In all his twelve years of flying, including almost a hundred combat missions during the Gulf War, he’d never had to declare an emergency. Three minutes ago, just as he’d made the leisurely turn that would line his plane up for the approach into Washington’s National Airport, a sudden explosion had ripped through the starboard engine.

Thousands of hours of flying time helped avert any sense of panic as he quickly increased power to the port engine and tried to keep the aircraft intact long enough to make an emergency landing.

“Brace yourself.” he said to the smartly dressed young woman who occupied the co-pilot’s seat. “This is going to be a little rough.” Lee added, trying to be reassuring.

In the split second he had spared to look into the emerald eyes of his sole passenger, Captain Lee had been surprised to see no trace of fear in the redhead. It was as if the young woman faced life or death situations all the time, secure in her acceptance of an uncontrollable fate. In a way it made him feel more secure as well. The last thing he needed right now was a hysterical right-seater.

Glancing up from the instrument panel and then out the window, Jim’s eyes fixed on the rapidly growing image of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. Rapidly he ran the numbers though his head and a small smile filled his face. Once they cleared the bridge, which he judged they would be able to do, they were home free.

“Almost there...” he said as the altimeter continued to drop.

What measure of confidence he felt, evaporated in a second as the airframe suddenly rocked once again. Jerking his head to the left, a look of horror filled his face as he saw the small jagged hole that now appeared in the port engine.

“Oh shit.” he whispered, all color drained from his face.

“We’re not going to make it, are we?” the redhead said, no longer worried about breaking the pilot’s concentration.

Jim Lee’s eyes glanced down at the now spinning altimeter and the bridge before them. They were dropping like a rock. It was no longer a matter of clearing the bridge. If anything, they’d be lucky if they didn’t take out a dozen cars when they crashed into it.

Resigned that there was nothing more that he could do, he turned and faced his passenger. No sound issued from his lips, but the look of resignation in his eyes was all the silent answer she needed. Just as quietly, the 26 year old mouthed a prayer that the end would be instantaneous.

Suddenly. Incomprehensibly. The encompassing view of the bridge suddenly dropped below the horizon as the small aircraft rose once more into the sky. It took a moment for the two of them to realize they were still alive. It was a dozen more heartbeats before they dared considered asking themselves how could they be with both engines destroyed.

Before they could say a word to each other, they found themselves on the ground at National Airport. Instinct took over and they quickly exited the aircraft, right into the arms of the emergency crews that were already surrounding it.

“I guess it’s safe now to ask...” the young woman said. “Why aren’t we dead?”

The answer came in the form of an athletic blonde haired woman who walked out from under the damaged starboard wing. 5’7” and about 120 lbs, she wore a tight fitting blue shirt which topped a red skirt and matching red boots. A equally bright red cape draped across her shoulders. Situated across her rounded breasts was an irregular red and yellow pentagon with a stylized “S” in it.

“Supergirl!” the redhead exclaimed.

“Are the two of you all right?” the Girl of Steel asked as she reached the front of the plane. “I didn’t have much time to be gentle if I was going to keep you from becoming an unwelcome decoration on a National Monument.”

“We’re fine, and thankful beyond words.” Jim said as he stepped forward and extended his hand out in welcome. “Jim Lee, pilot and from now on, your number one fan.”

“That’s better than any reward.” Supergirl smiled as she accepted his outstretched hand.

“And let me add my own thanks.” the woman in the conservative business suit said as she reached out as well. “Barbara Gordon.”

Automatically, Supergirl shifted her attention to Barbara as she had done with a thousand thankful recipients before. Abruptly, the Kryptonian froze as she focused on the attractive young woman for the first time.

Barbara noticed the sudden pause, unsure what to make of it. She waited a few moments, then asked.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” Supergirl said, snapping out of her momentary daze. “I thought you looked familiar, that’s all.”

“Maybe you saw me on CSPAN.” Barbara replied. “Although as Gotham City’s most junior Congresswoman I usually get on opposite most of the late night lineup.”

“Congresswoman Gordon, of course.” Supergirl smiled. “I’ve read some of your speeches. They were very impressive.”

“I’m flattered.” Barbara said.

“Well I’m just glad I was able to be here when you had your accident.” Supergirl said as she began her own well rehearsed speech. “The country needs people like you.”

“I’m glad you were as well.” Barbara replied. “But I’m afraid it was definitely not an accident.”

“I don’t understand.” Supergirl said.

“One engine exploding is an accident.” Barbara explained. “Two is a statistical anomaly.”

With that, the Girl of Steel turned and focused her amazing vision on the twisted remains under both wings. Layer by layer, inch by inch, she surveyed the mangled metal.

“I’m afraid you’re right.” she reported. “I’m picking up almost untraceable amounts of explosive residue. They’d be invisible under normal investigation.”

“I’d expect that.” Barbara said, amazingly calm for someone discussing what was supposed to be the instrument of her own death. “If we’d gone down into the Potomac, as was undoubtedly planned, it would’ve been written up as a tragic, inexplicable accident.”

“You sound like you have a good idea who planted those explosives.” Supergirl said.

“Not enough to convince the FBI.” the Congresswoman replied. “Not even with two other members of Congress having had similar, more fatal accidents in the last eight months.”

“Well I’m not the FBI.” Supergirl said, suddenly very interested. “Convince me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any real proof.” Barbara went on. “I just find it too coincidental that both of them and I were on that fact finding trip to Qurac last year. The one that led to Congress’s resolution condemning Qurac for exporting acts of terrorism.”

“Qurac, that’s a nasty bunch.” Supergirl noted. “But wouldn’t simply blowing up your plane be more their style.”

“That’s true.” Barbara agreed. “But what information I’ve been able to come by suggests that this is a contract job. A group of mercenaries led by a woman called the Crimson Rose.”

“I’ve heard of her.” Supergirl replied. “As bad as the Quraci’s are, she’s worse.”

“Definitely.” Barbara agreed. “And this is exactly her style. She wanted us to know that we were going to die. She gets off on the fear she creates in others.”

Supergirl took a few steps away, lost in thought for a few moments. She had only planned to be in Washington for a few hours, just long enough to drop off a heart for a transplant at George Washington University Hospital. Now she had a new goal.

“If you’re right, you can be certain that she doesn’t suffer defeat gladly.” Supergirl noted.

“In order words, I should expect another attempt ... and soon.” Barbara agreed.

“Exactly.” Supergirl said with determination. “And when they do, I’ll be there.”

A look of concern flashed across Barbara’s face. For some reason, the prospect of having the Girl of Steel as a bodyguard seemed to bother her. A strange reaction for someone whose life was in obvious danger.

“I’m afraid that’s not a good idea.” Barbara said. “I can’t really explain why, but I can’t let people think I’m running away from what everyone tells me is an overactive imagination.”

The Congresswoman’s heart was racing, Supergirl noted. A tell tale sign that she was hiding much more that she was telling. Still it was her business, her life. She couldn’t be forced to accept a bodyguard.

“I assume you don’t have any objection to my spending a few days in Washington and taking a little look around?” Supergirl asked.

“Of course not.” Barbara smiled, a smile that hid many secrets.

With that, the Maid of Might was gone.

Ten minutes later, Supergirl found herself drifting among the clouds. Barbara Gordon had made quite an impression on her for a number of reasons. Even if there hadn’t been an attempt on her life, she would’ve wanted to find some reason to spend a little time around Washington and try to get to know her better. Kara had been taken aback when she first saw the Congresswoman. Not that Barbara would have any way of knowing it, but she was almost a twin for Supergirl’s first lover. At least what the Kryptonian thought her friend Zara would have looked like if she’d had the chance to grow into womanhood.

Sadly, among all the children of Argo City, only Kara Zor-El, known to the people of Earth as Supergirl, had the chance to grow to adulthood. The children of Argo, like their parents, had died when a thousand meteor fragments had shattered the protective shield around their small spaceborne city some eight years past. Only her father’s foresight to have constructed an escape rocket, patterned after the one that brought her cousin Superman to Earth years earlier, had enabled her to survive.

It hadn’t been easy adjusting to life on Earth. Unlike her cousin who had come to this alien world as an infant, Kara had lived the first 15 of her 24 years as a normal, that is non-super girl. Although taken to heart by the people of Earth as one of their super powered protectors, Supergirl had felt apart from them in many ways, especially in those relating to love.

Relationships are hard when you can, as the saying goes, bend steel in your bare hands. Actually, as Supergirl had corrected herself many times, it was difficult when you were a woman and had abilities far beyond those of mortal men -- or women.

It had been almost two years since Supergirl had her last serious love, Susan Wienczorkowski. An officer on Metropolis’s Special Crime Units, she had died in the line of duty while, Kara was halfway around the world fighting a fire that had already devastated half a town in Germany. The loss had hit Supergirl hard and for a time she blamed herself for not being there when it mattered. But with time, she finally accepted the counsel of her older and more experienced cousin. You can’t save everyone, he constantly reminded her. Not even when the one you can’t help, is the one that matters the most.

After that, Kara had little success with either men or women -- contenting herself with a series of meaningless flings. It was funny, she sometimes considered, how many of them had occurred with fellow costumed adventurers. It had to have something to do with the life style.

The most interesting of these brief relationships, she thought, had been with J’onn J’onzz. Known to the public at large as the Martian Manhunter, he was also an alien visitor to this world. With a compatible humanoid physiology, J’onn was perhaps the second most physically powerful man on the planet. Her cousin Kal occupied the first position. Unlike Superman, on whom she had once turned her x-ray vision on one night out of curiosity, J’onn had a 10” cock that was as thick as a baseball bat. That being the case, who cared if it was green.

It had been fun while it lasted. The relationship had paled however outside of the bedroom. By Earth calendars, Kara had been 22 years old at the time. J’onn, according to those same human measurements, was almost a century old. They just couldn’t relate to each other very well once they were out from under the sheets.

Still she ached for another relationship that would again send her heart afire with excitement. Whatever instincts she had, told her that Barbara was that type of woman who could do that. From the very first moment she seen her, she seemed the embodiment of every woman she had ever desired. Even now she could still savor the scent of her perfume, a delightful flowery aroma that conjured up images of virgin gardens and lost summer nights.

Of course she reminded herself, there could be a dozen flaws in her thinking. On the top of the list, the very strong possibility that Barbara might not be interested in other women -- a very common trait for women of this culture. Unlike her native Krypton where gender was less important than feelings.

But those were questions for later. First she had to find the ruthless bitch who wanted to see her new infatuation dead. After thinking about it a few minutes, she knew exactly how to track her down.

Soft as a feather, Kara set down on the top ledge of an apartment building across from the Quraci Embassy. By international law, the large red brick building just a few hundred feet away was protected by territorial sovereignty -- literally it was a piece of Qurac. Diplomatic immunity protected both the inhabitants and what ever secrets the hundreds of file cabinets within might contain. All of which meant absolutely nothing to the determined young woman standing in the warm afternoon breeze.

The Quraci Embassy had been protected from unwanted surveillance by several million dollars worth of security precautions, both human and electronic. All of this was useless against a person with x-ray vision, super-hearing and almost unlimited patience.

Floor by floor, office by office, Supergirl scanned each carefully guarded secret. In addition, every incoming and outgoing phone call was as clear as if Kara was an invited participant. It was only a matter of time before she found the particular secret she sought.

Barbara Gordon finally returned to her apartment in downtown Washington. With the almost crash as the lead on the evening news, the FBI finally took an interest in the case. In fact, the President himself had called to ask about her condition. But all of it had been merely political showmanship. The agents who had interviewed her and Jim showed no real interest in her theories concerning the Quraci’s. After all, to them she was still only a temporary Congresswoman, appointed to fill out an unexpired term. She hadn’t even been elected in her own right.

Rest assured, the men in the dark suits and sunglasses had told her, the entire resources of the federal government would be put behind the search for what really happened. Then they had sent her on her way, certain that their interest wouldn’t last longer than the next day’s evening news.

Checking in with her office, Barbara had been likewise reassured by Tim Murray, the chief of staff she had inherited from the late departed Congressman Stephen Jefferson, that everything was under control and there wasn’t even any need for her to stop by. For perhaps the hundredth time, Barbara promised herself that if she did manage to get elected in her own right in November, there were going to be major changes in that office.

Right now however, she had more important things on her mind. The people who wanted her dead were still out there. If she thought about it, she knew that any other member of Congress would’ve quickly gone into hiding, demanding FBI or Secret Service protection as they did.

That wasn’t her style. Barbara Gordon had fought her own battles all of her life. Most of them in situations that few of her colleagues could’ve ever imagined.

Moving into the bedroom, the tall redhead quickly stripped off her business suit and the equally conservative undergarments beneath them. Standing in only her panties in front of the dresser mirror, the Gothamite was reminded that periods of extreme danger had always left her incredibly aroused. Todays near fatal incident had been no different.

Gently she ran one hand across the lightly covered red bush between her legs while her other hand laid across her breasts. The lean athletic form the 26 year old had worked so hard to develop back in high school and college was still very much in evidence. Her breasts weren’t very large, but they stood on their own without support. Many times over the years she’d been told they were near perfect globes. She played with the pert nipples for a few moments, smiling as they sprang to life. They had always been very sensitive and given her current state of arousal, it took only a soft touch to bring them to erectness.

Barbara lost herself in the sensation of her own touch. Eyes tightly closed, she slid her hands down across her breasts one last time and over her flat stomach. Coming to a rest when they reached the small white triangle between her legs. Using both hands, she rubbed against the soft material. A soft sigh escaped her lips in response to her caress.

Sliding her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, she provided a deeper touch. Now Barbara’s breaths came in shorter gasps as she slid first one, then two fingers inside of herself. In due time a third finger would follow. Faster, deeper she rubbed, manipulating

her clit and covering her long, slender fingers with her wetness. Eventually the small cloth of her underwear became too restrictive and was also discarded. A few more minutes of play brought forth a small but enjoyable climax. Yet in the quiet aftermath of her pleasure she knew it to be an empty reward.

She hadn’t had a lover since leaving Gotham City some eleven months ago. Sure the work she was trying to do was important, she kept telling herself. More important than anything she could accomplish back home. Yet this was a strange city where being in the public eye meant you had little or no private life. There were times she regretted taking the appointment when it was offered to her. One of the most common times was when she crawled into bed each night alone. She had grown very tired of only having a piece of plastic and a few D cells as her only company.

Not that there weren’t a great deal of men around her all the time. She was, in truth, quite an attractive woman. But it hadn’t taken more than a few innocent dates for her to learn that most of them were more interested in the Congresswoman in front of her name and what that title could do for them. Reluctantly she had pushed her social life aside and concentrated instead on learning the ropes on her new job. Only to be checked at almost every turn by her own staff. Give it time, they kept telling her. You have to learn how to walk before you can run.

Her social life wasn’t the only thing Barbara had left behind in Gotham. Unknown to all but a select few, especially those who had proposed her selection to replace Congressman Jefferson, there was quite another facet of her personality. One which would have made them reconsider their opinion that she was a safe candidate that would simply toe the party line until they could get a professional on the ballot.

“Screw them all!” Barbara shouted to the empty air as she finally lost her temper.

A fiery rage flushed though her body as she stormed into the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind as she stood under the rushing water, washing away the grime of the day’s adventure. The central theme of her train of thought was that someone had tried to kill her today -- now what was she going to do about it.

Quickly drying herself once out of the shower, she concluded that there was little that Congresswoman Gordon could do. A much older one -- one a great deal more dynamic however, was quickly replacing that aspect of her personality.

“I guess I wasn’t making as much of a difference as I thought.” the naked beauty thought as she stepped into the bedroom, realizing that she had already made her decision.

Moving to the red brick wall that the builders had left when they remodeled the old building, Barbara reached up and pressed the center brick on the top row. Silent servos came to life as the brick wall separated in two, forming an entranceway to a concealed room beyond.

When she had first made the decision to relocate to Washington, Bruce Wayne had offered her this apartment in one of the buildings owned by Wayne Enterprises. He had explained about the hidden room and how she could use it to hide that which she wanted to keep away from prying eyes. At the time, she’d laughed at the idea that she would drag her past along with her as she set out on what she termed a great adventure. Still, to humor Bruce, she had allowed him to set up the room in case she ever needed it. Now it seemed that Bruce had known her better than she knew herself.

Not that she found that thought very surprising as she stepped into the inner chamber and the entrance closed behind her. People had been underestimating Bruce Wayne for twenty years. To the world at large, he alternated between the image of a playboy and the head of one of world’s leading industrial giants. What few had ever saw, because he didn’t wish them to see, was that beneath those dual guises he wore another mantle. The mantle of the bat. Bruce Wayne, was the scourge of Gotham’s underworld known as The Batman.

As the lights of the small antechamber grew to life, the paraphernalia around her gave testament to the fact that like Bruce, Barbara had also worn the mantle of the bat. For the last few years, Barbara Gordon had been Batgirl.

The room around her was almost an exact duplicate of the one she had designed herself in her original apartment back home. Bruce was good for that, recreating familiar surroundings. He’d even had the main rooms of his family’s suburban estate recreated on the top floors of the Wayne Tower when he shifted his operations to downtown Gotham.

A small dresser contained a collection of plain white sports bras and panties. Barbara had never really checked before but discovered that both were exactly her size. That was another thing that Bruce was really good at estimating.

As she put them on, Barbara slightly regretted that she never really took the time to find out what else Bruce was really good at. Of course that was the state of arousal talking she knew. There was no way she could’ve had an affair with Bruce Wayne. Not after she’d already had a somewhat brief one with the junior partner of the Dynamic Duo - Robin.

Adjusting the straps of her bra, Barbara remembered how nice it had felt to have the younger man in her bed those many mornings after they’d gone on patrol together. It was a pity that the relationship had faded after he left for college.

“Time to put all those thoughts behind you.” a little voice reminded her as she shifted into what she used to call “combat mode.”

With a practice that came back so naturally, Barbara quickly donned the purple and gold costume she had made what now seemed a lifetime ago. Of course this wasn’t the same one she had worn on her first night as Batgirl. Batman had long ago replaced that uniform with one that incorporated the very latest in lightweight body armor.

The soft feel of lycra against her chest brought back a rush of pleasant memories. How could she ever have thought she could leave all of this behind.

Carefully she adjusted the gold utility belt around here waist. There was no need to check each compartment. She knew each one would contain a duplicate of what was in her original arsenal. That, or an updated improvement.

Finally, to complete the transformation, Barbara reached for the tight purple and black cowl that rested on a styrofoam head. Back in her early days of the Darknight Damsel, she’d worn a long haired red wig underneath the cowl to hide her own short locks. Now her own natural hair was more than long enough to take the wig’s place.

Once cowl and cape were securely locked in place, the transformed Congresswoman stood before the large full sized wall mirror.

“This is what I was born to do.” she said to the reflection of the crime-fighter. “I’m never going to make the mistake of leaving it behind again.”

Opening the laptop that Bruce had left her, Batgirl quickly logged on to the secure link with the massive Batcave computers. Nimble fingers played across the keyboard as the files on the Crimson Rose filled the screen. Waynetech was the fourth largest computer software company in the world and in each program was a sub-routine that allowed Batman access to any system that used it. If there was a clue as to where to begin her search, it would be there.

Quickly, the costumed adventurer read the information on the woman who so wanted her dead. 26 years old, the Crimson Rose had been born Sumiko Tabuchi in a small village on the island of Hokkaido, Japan. Daughter of an American soldier and his bar girl lover, she had been left to grow up in the streets after her mother had simply gone out one day when she was 16 and never returned. By the time she was 18, the lithe teenager was already responsible for a half dozen murders and had acquired a reputation that impressed the local crime lord enough to accept her into his organization. Speculation was that the old man had also taken her as a lover but the only fact that was sure was that within two years the old man was dead and she was queen of his organization at the age of 20.

By 22 she had branched out into the world of international assassination and for the last four years had been one of the premier killers for hire. Sumiko had acquired a taste for the finest things in life as well as a fatalistic belief that everyday might be her last. It was an important aspect of her personality according to Batman’s notes added to the bottom of the file. If anything, she was more apt to hide in plain sight than hole up in some hidden bolt hole.

The file also contained one of the few photographs of the Crimson Rose. Taken back in the days when she was just Sumiko Tabuchi, she looked to be about 16 in the picture. Even then, the eyes held both a fierce defiance as well as the spark of hidden intelligence. If you took the time to really look at them, you wouldn’t be fooled by the outer appearance -- that of a street urchin.

Reading over Batman’s personal notes once more, Batgirl reflected how good it felt to be in costume again. It had been a long time. One thought led to another and she recalled the night she had worn it for what she had then believed would be the last time.

It was one of those nights were nothing was going right. She had just ended her relationship with Robin days before and had gone on patrol alone. Responding to a silent alarm at the Gotham Museum, she had interrupted a robbery in progress. The two low caliber thugs who had tripped the alarm systems went down without her breaking a sweat. She had just finished tying the two of them up when the lights went out.

“Who’s there?” Batgirl called out as she spun around in the dark.

The only response was a soft feminine laugh. Followed a moment later by the muffled sound of a pair of boots hitting the floor. Batgirl turned in the direction of the noise but before she could do anything, a blinding light exploded in her eyes.

Batgirl’s disorientation only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough for the new arrival to grab her from behind and slip a silken cord around her wrists, pulling it tight. She heard the laugh once more and then the overhead lighting came on once again.

Illuminated by the twin rows of track lighting that covered the opposite walls, her assailant stood revealed. Clad in a skintight dark purple jumpsuit that looked like it had been literally poured onto her body, the intruder also wore a tight fitting cowl with small cat ears. Up to this moment, Batgirl had only seen her in pictures, but there was little doubt to her identity.

“You’re the Catwoman!” she said in an excited voice.

“Congratulations. Did you figure that out all by yourself?” Catwoman laughed.

Confidently, the purple clad huntress strode over to where Batgirl had left the inept thieves. Slowly she shook her head and lamented on the sorry class of criminals these days.

“Wouldn’t you just know it.” she said as she walked over to the large glass case where a priceless and rare Egyptian cat emerald was on display. “I spend over a week casing this place. Then two hours hiding out after closing in a very uncomfortable spot. Finally an hour bypassing all of the alarms, only to have one of these idiots trip the last of them less than ten seconds before they would’ve been inactive. Some days you just can’t win.”

Picking up one of the flashlights the bungling burglars had dropped, Catwoman swung it in a wide arc and smashed open the display case.

“Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best.” she grinned as she reached into the case and picked up the gemstone.

Dropping her prize into a small bag attached to her belt, Catwoman moved over to Batgirl, stopping when their faces were only a few inches apart.