Batman Personal Punchline
- 4 years ago
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Batman: Girlhood free porn video
It seems that Batman is a popular subject for TG stories right now. Here
is my contribution. As usual, what was intended as a short little story
has gotten away from me. Look for the next part soon.
Bruce Wayne opened his eyes, looked down at his bright, pink-painted
toenails, wiggled them and smiled. It was such a pretty color. Then, he
frowned. His feet were big, clunky men's feet. Ugly. And he wanted so
badly to be a girl.
To be pretty.
Sitting up, he slid his feet off the bed, stood, smoothed his dress, and
walked over to the big mirror in his bedroom. He stood there looking at
himself, excited and disappointed. He still looked like a man. There
hadn't been any change. Miss Sarah had promised him that he would start
changing soon, turning into a girl, but nothing yet. He stomped his foot
impatiently. He was wearing a pink dress over a white blouse with a Peter
Pan Collar. His wrists were festooned with bracelets, and tiny little
pink earrings sparkled in his ears. The extensions they'd woven into his
hair looked real?real enough to keep him happy until his hair grew out at
least, and they were tied up into pigtails with pretty pink ribbons that
matched his lipstick.
Ugly! Ugly! Ugly! He thought. No matter how nice his clothes were he was
still an ugly man.
Just then, he heard the opening sounds of The Little Mermaid coming from
the next room and with an excited squeal ran into the other room. "Miss
Sarah!" He shouted, giving her a hug.
"Hello Princess. Ready to watch your favorite movie?"
"Yes!" he said, plopping down on the couch.
"Princess!" Miss Sarah said.
Bruce Wayne quickly put his knees together, smoothed his dress and
glanced over at Miss Sarah with a smile.
"Good girl," she said.
Bruce thrilled at the compliment, even as he fixated on the screen,
enraptured by the movie about one his all-time heroes: Arial. He wanted
to be just like her!
That was how the days went. Bruce watched movies: Snow White, Cinderella,
The Little Mermaid. He watched Pocahontas and Beauty and the Beast. He
knew all the songs, could sign them by heart. When he sat at his mirror,
brushing out his hair, he often whispered the songs to himself, dreaming
of the day when he would be a pretty girl like his heroes, a pretty girl
who would one day find her prince in shinning armor, someone to sweep her
off her feet.
When he dreamt, he dreamt of being rescued. Sometimes he was a princess,
trapped in a tower like Rapunzel. Othertimes, he had a wicked step-mother
like Snow White, or he would imagine himself as a princess, kidnapped by
pirates and held in a dirty, stinky prison. All of the dreams ended the
same way?he was rescued by a dashing young man, they fell in love and
were married.
Miss Sarah taught him many ways to have fun when he wasn't watching
movies. He loved looking through bridal magazines, fashion magazines. He
was fascinated with clothes and make-up. And it was such fun to play with
his dolls, his Barbies and baby dolls. Sometimes, she gave him romance
novels to read or cool books like The Babysitter's Club, and when he was
very, very good she taught him to dance?ballet, jazz, modern, he loved
them all, but especially ballet.
He absorbed it all with bright, eager eyes. He wanted to be a good girl.
It was the one thing he wanted more than anything. And she told him that
if he listened and did as he was told, one day that dream would come true
for him.
"When you are truly a girl in here," Miss Sarah said, pointing at his
heart, "you will become a real girl in flesh as well."
Each night before he went to bed, Bruce knelt down, clasped his hands,
closed his eyes and whispered, "please make me a girl. Please make me a
girl. Please make me a girl."
Once while helping Miss Sarah in the garden, Bruce, daffodils in his
long, pretty hair, had suddenly said, "how did I get here?"
Miss Sarah scolded him. "You must never ask me that, Princess," she said.
"You must never think about your old life. Not if you want to be a girl.
You do want to be a girl don't you?"
"Yes," Bruce had answered. "Yes, yes, yes. More than anything."
"Then never think about your past life. Whenever you do, I want you to
close your eyes and think about Arial and Pocahontas and all the girls
you want to be like some day. Okay?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Do it now."
So Bruce closed his eyes, and he thought about Arial, and how much she
loved the boy, and how she'd lost her voice for him, and he smiled and
forget all about his questions and his past life.
Yes. He had to be willing to make sacrifices if he wanted to be pretty,
to find a man to love him. He had to give up his voice, his self, his
identity.
And then one day, it happened. He woke up in the morning and found that
he was no longer a boy. His body was much the same as it had always
been?an ugly boy's body, but he discovered that he was now a girl in the
one most important place. Since he'd come to Miss Sarah's, he'd been
sitting down in the bathroom because that's what good girls did. But now
he sat because he had to.
And the questions flooded his mind again. How did I get here? He
remembered a parking garage. A black sedan with tinted windows. An acrid,
chemical odor on a cloth that had been quickly placed over his mouth...
he remembered that he was a man, that he was always a man, that he'd
never wanted to be a girl. His heart began to race. I'm turning into a
woman, he realized with a start. I am a woman. But? I wish someone would
rescue me. I'm trapped here, and if only someone would come and save me I
would...
He stopped himself. I can escape, he thought. I can get out on my own.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. Alone? By myself? But, I can't
do it alone. I need someone to help me. I'm just a girl!
I'm not a girl. I'm not helpless. I'm a man.
I have to get out of here.
Bruce sat down on the edge of his bed in his nightie, brushed the hair
out of his eyes and took deep breaths. Once his mind was focused, he
moved meticulously, putting on his slip, selecting a dress from the
closet, slipping into a pair of patent leather shoes. He tied his hair
back in a ponytail. Looking in the mirror, he knew that no one would
mistake him for a woman, but there was no time to worry about that. For a
moment, he considered confronting and subduing Miss Sarah? but he
rejected the idea. He was sure that he'd been subjected to some kind of
hypnotic conditioning, and he was afraid that she would be able to re-
establish her control over him. No. It was better to get out and get
away, even if it meant being a little embarrassed about his clothes.
He looked in the mirror at himself in the little dress.
Check that. A lot embarrassed.
Taking a deep breath, he walked across the room, opened the door to his
room just a crack and peaked out. All clear. Trembling slightly, he crept
down the hall, found his way out into the garden and soon found himself
moving down a path which led through a field and out to a street lined
with small houses. He stood at the edge of the path for a minute,
glancing back over his shoulder, then out at the street. He was scared to
go out there into the world alone, but now that he'd come this far, he
felt even more frightened of what Miss Sarah might do to him if he went
back.
He was being a very, very bad girl, and he knew it.
He hurried out, raced down the sidewalk and rushed behind the first house
he saw. His heart was beating like a bird's and he stood there for a
moment, a hand to his chest, as he tried to get his breathing under
control. Finally, feeling a little more himself, he went to the back door
and knocked. No one answered. It took only moments for him to break into
the house, and twenty minutes later he'd removed the hair extensions,
slipped into a pair of trousers and a button down shirt and snuck back
out the door, eager to put as much distance between himself and Miss
Sarah as possible. With each step, it seemed that the frightened little
girl he'd become receded a little more into the background, and Bruce
Wayne, Batman, grew stronger.
He looked at his dress, laid out carefully on the bed.
I am... a.... man, he thought. A man. Not a bad girl, a man.
But was he?
Though he looked like Bruce Wayne, he became even more conscious of the
fact that down below, he was now a woman. The thought made him feel sick.
It terrified him. And at the same time, he could feel that female
presence that had been implanted in him scheming, plotting, planning...
He soon found himself moving out of the little suburb where the house had
been, on a busy street, cars and trucks racing by, the noise scared him
and, and he found himself once again in dread that Miss Sarah would find
him. How would he get home? He had no money. He chewed on a fingernail,
though Miss Sarah had told him many times not to. He should have stolen
some money. What now? He spotted a pay phone up ahead, and hoping it
still worked, he ran to it awkwardly, his arms swaying girlishly. Inside,
he picked up the phone and summoning all his courage, he dialed the
operator. "Um, hi," he said, making an effort to stop talking like a
girl. "I need to place a collect call."
The operator made the connection.
Alfred answered, and Bruce almost cried with relief. "Alfred," he said.
"Bruce."
"Master Bruce? We've been..."
"Send a car," Bruce said. "I'm..." he glanced around and spotted a street
sign, "on Market Street? In a phone booth, I think. I mean, I know I'm in
a phone booth, but I think I'm on Market Street."
"Market Street? In Gotham?"
Bruce looked around. "No. No, I don't think so."
"Where are you?"
Bruce fought back the urge to cry. "I don't know," he said, feeling
helpless, lost. "Can you help me?"
"Stay on the phone," Alfred said, sensing that something was very wrong
with Bruce Wayne. "We'll find you."
"'Kay," Bruce said, looking around nervously, more and more scared that
Miss Sarah would find him. "Please hurry."
It didn't take long to trace the call. Alfred talked calmly with Bruce
the whole time, keeping him on the phone. "You're in San Francisco," he
finally said, relieved. Dick traced the call. There is a restaurant?a
Denny's?just a block down the street. Do you think that you can go down
there and wait for a car?"
"Yes," Bruce said. "I think I can do that."
"We'll put you up in a hotel until Robin can get out there for you."
"Good. That's good. Okay."
Bruce hung up the phone and sighed with relief. He hurried down the
street, found the Denny's and went inside, waiting in the vestibule.
Alfred. Alfred had saved him. He felt warm thinking of it.
Later, he found himself sitting in his hotel room. Alfred had arranged
everything, checking him in under a false name, sending up a room service
meal. Bruce was feeling more himself, the little girl receeding, his
confidence and masculinity growing stronger. With that came shame at his
new sex. No one could know what happened to him. No one could know that
he was now a female. He looked at himself in a mirror. The rest of his
body was the same as it had always been. It was a man's body. His hair
was a little longer than it had been, and his eyebrows had been plucked,
but he called the concierge and arranged for a razor to be sent up to his
room, and shaved both his head and his eyebrows. It would be easier to
explain no eyebrows than the feminine arches Miss Sarah had left him
with.
But he had a slit now. Didn't that mean he was really a woman?
It didn't matter. He looked like a man. He was a man. No one would ever
know his secret.
He didn't remember his dreams, whatever they were, but got up in the
morning, ordered a room service breakfast, and rehearsed his story. It
was always best to tell a partial truth, and he would simply tell Dick
that he'd been abducted and imprisoned, that he had no memory of what had
happened, but had found himself disoriented, wandering the streets of a
strange city and had called Alfred.
As he sat, he found himself singing a song:
Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
Ever just as sure
As the sun will rise
Realizing it was from Beauty and the Beast, he stopped short. There were
questions that he would need to answer. Who was Miss Sarah? Why had she
wanted to turn him into a girl? How deep had the conditioning gone? He
started to get dressed and found himself singing again:
Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Stop, he said. Stop. Get out of my head.
But he couldn't clear his mind of the tune, so sweet and innocent, but
now, to him, so sinister.
Bittersweet and strange.
Finding you can change.
As they flew back to Gotham in the Bat Jet, Bruce relayed his story to
Dick Grayson. Dick listened, doubtfully, but when he pressed, Bruce
simply said that he was tired and felt sick, closing his eyes and
pretending to sleep. It had been harder than he expected to lie. Looking
at Dick, so young and concerned, Bruce had found himself longing to tell
him everything, to beg him for help, to ask for comfort and protection.
He knew it was all a part of the conditioning, though, and he fought it
back, grateful now that he'd had a night to concentrate, to move away
from what Miss Sarah had tried to make of him, to get stronger.
Robin talked of medical tests, of investigations, and Bruce found himself
worrying, wondering how he would avoid them, avoid revealing his secrets,
but just as they were nearing Gotham, the radio crackled and notice came
that the Riddler was on a crime spree.
Bruce smiled. He knew just what to do. "I'm going to need to take of
that," Bruce said.
"You can't," Robin answered. "You're too weak right now."
"I have to," Bruce answered, though he was touches at Robin's concern for
him.
"I'll do it," Robin said. "If I need help, I can always get it. You need
to rest."
Bruce Wayne pretended to argue, to be frustrated and annoyed, but finally
gave in, as he had planned to from the beginning. Men really were easy to
manipulate, he thought, feeling for all the world like Cruella Deville.
Make them think it's their idea, and you couldn't talk them out of it.
Back in his own house, Bruce quickly started to feel more and more like
himself. No one suspected the change that had been made in him, and as
the days past he found that he was not as bothered by it as he had
expected to be. He had little time for romance?crime fighting had always
been his priority?so aside from getting used to a slightly new routine
when it came time to relieve himself?and a sudden new concern over
whether the toilet seat was left up?it didn't seem to matter. He spent
some time in the gym and found that his forced docility had weakened him
some, but it was nothing that some solid workouts didn't quickly
compensate for. After a week, he drew his Batman costume back on and
found himself creeping around Gotham, looking for criminals to punish,
just like the old days.
* * *
It was a quiet night, as quiet as a night in the city could be. Horns
blared around the city, and there were always sirens in the distance, as
well as the noise of traffic. As he crouched in front of a Billboard,
obscured by shadows, Batman saw Lou, a lowlife mugger he knew well,
creeping along, looking for a mark. He trailed him, and when Lou came
upon an elderly man walking alone down a deserted street and accosted
him, Batman swung down, planted two feet in his chest and sent him
crashing into a pile of garbage cans. Lou pushed himself onto his elbows,
rotten food and greasy bags tumbing off him, squinted up at Batman and
said, "Hey. Did you have to be so rough?"
"Yeah," Batman said, happy to be back in action. "I really did," and gave
him a pat on the head before belting him in the jaw.
It went that way for the next few days. Robin had taken care of The
Riddler, and then gotten involved in some case of his own. Batman had
been more than happy to have the other off and occupied, and had assured
him that he was investigating the abduction himself. He wasn't. Not yet,
at least. And when he thought about why, it was simple: he was afraid of
Miss Sarah. He didn't want to ever see her again, and if that meant the
mystery of what had been done to him and why had to remain a mystery,
that was fine with him. At least for now.
It seemed that everything was back to normal. Then, Batman suddenly found
that he couldn't sleep one night. He had a headache and slept only
fitfully, his sleep disturbed with dreams, dreams where he found himself
wearing a gown, running down a dark alley in his heels, running from
something strange and terrible... or laying on the beach in a bikini, his
body the slender, rounded body of a woman, while a faceless man rubbed
sunscreen onto his shoulders...
In the morning, his knees ached. He geared up, figuring some action might
clear his head and put him in a better mood, but as he perched in one of
his favorite spots, he suddenly found himself crying, overcome with a
feeling of sadness.
What the hell is wrong with me? He wondered.
But, thankfully, just then an alarm went off nearby, and he sprung into
action. A couple of thugs were doing a smash and grab at a jewelry store,
and Batman wiped his tears as his depression suddenly turned to rage. The
thugs were coming out the door as he approached, and he tossed a smoke
bomb at them, followed by a barrage of batarangs that left them lying on
the street dazed and bleeding. When one of them struggled to his feet,
Batman kicked him in the ribs, sending him spinning across the sidewalk,
coughing up blood. As the police approached, Batman raced from the scene,
found a spot back on top of a building, and let out a sigh. It did feel
good, he thought, and then, following a sudden urge, he went and got
himself a box of chocolate. The man at the candy store had looked up in
surprise as Batman strode in and asked for a pound of his best, and
moments later Batman was sitting on top of a building, nibbling chocolate
and feeling good for the first time that day.
Kicking ass and chocolate go so well together, he thought. Why didn't I
think of this sooner?
He did a pirouette and transitioned smoothly into a pas de chevel,
giggling delightedly.
He went home early that night. He was feeling elated. Really happy. He
decided to watch Pocahontas. Maybe it was part of the conditioning.
Something that had been implanted in him by HER, but what did it matter?
He wanted to watch it, his life was good, and he was back to normal for
all practical purposes. He smiled as he watched, curled up on the couch
and nibbling more chocolate, and quietly sang along with the songs. He
loved all her songs!
He smiled, whispering along with Pocahontas on "If I Never Knew You:"
If I never knew you
I'd be safe but half as real
Never knowing I could feel
A love so strong and true
I'm so grateful to you
I'd have lived my whole life through
Lost forever
If I never knew you
Alfred looked in, his head tilted to one side. "Master Bruce?"
Bruce jumped, flushing with embarrassment as he grabbed to remote and
paused the movie. "Alfred!"
"I thought I heard something... strange."
"Just watching a movie."
"Can I get you anything?"
"No. I'm fine. Goodnight, Alfred."
"Goodnight, Sir."
When the movie ended, he took some aspirin. His head was aching again,
and he felt bloated, probably from all the chocolate. He went to sleep
chanting another song from the movie to himself.
You will understand
Listen with your heart
You will understand
Let it break upon you
Like a wave upon the sand
Listen with your heart
You will understand
Voice of the Wind
You will understand
That night he had his first period. He woke up in the dark and felt
something wet down below. Turning on his bedlamp, he pulled back the
covers and saw the crimson stain on the sheets. Shit. This isn't supposed
to happen, he thought. The change was just external, cosmetic. But the
stain said otherwise. It was that he was a woman inside?that he had a
womb, and ovaries.
He would have to hide this from Alfred as well. Somehow.
But maybe it was time to tell someone... to get some help? Maybe Zantanna
or Doctor Fate could undue the spell that has been cast?
But no. He couldn't. He mustn't. He was too ashamed to reveal it,
anything like it. He had hidden the fact that he was a woman, and he
would just keep hiding it. He changed the sheets on his bed, balled the
stained ones up and put them in the trunk of his car. Later, he found
himself standing in Isle 10 at an all-night grocery store, looking at the
boxes of tampons. He was clueless. Tampons? Pads? Wings or no wings? He
wished there was a girl he could talk and ask about his periods, but who
could he trust?
He needed something secure, something for an active woman, but just about
every box there promised security. Finally, he went back and got a
shopping cart, loading it up with a dozen different kinds and styles.
Then, sheepishly, agonizing over it, he grabbed some douches as well. He
couldn't have anyone smelling him out now, could he?
On the way to the checkout he bought a couple more boxes of chocolate and
a gallon of ice cream.
The clerk looked at him through bleary eyes and smiled. "Girlfriend?"
Bruce shook his head and smiled a "you know what it's like" smile. "I
forgot to ask her what brand she uses."
"They sure are hell when they're on the rag, aren't they?"
"If you had to go through it," Bruce snapped, "you'd be bitchy, too."
"If I had to go through that, I'd kill myself."
I'd do it for you right now, Bruce thought, but tried?and almost
succeeded?to muster a masculine chuckle.
Back home, he read the directions and affixed a pad. He had boxes of
tampons, too, but he wasn't ready for anything that went... inside. It
was just too creepy. He couldn't sleep, so he got a bowl of the chocolate
ice cream and sat down at his computer, reading every webpage he could
find that talked about his periods, PMS, and what he could expect each
month from now on.
Should have bought some Midol, he thought, and made a point to pick some
up the first chance he got.
A line from one of the webpages caught his attention: Your period is your
body's way of telling you that you are a woman.
He wished he could tell his body to shut up.
As it turned out, the period was kind of a mixed blessing. His PMS
lessened, so he wasn't as moody as he'd been. But he soon discovered a
new concern. A call had come through that some thugs had taken a hostage
and were threatening to kill her. He and Robin had raced from the Batcave
and snuck up on the thug, who was on top of a thirty story building,
threatening to push the woman off the roof if he wasn't provided with a
helicopter.
"I'll tackle him and you grab the girl," Batman had whispered. Robin
nodded.
As they crept up on the criminal, Batman felt a sudden cramp, and as he
dove for the thug's legs, he felt something warm trickling down his leg.
He tackled the thug anyway, and as the thug pushed the girl toward the
brink, Robin grabbed her and pulled her to safety. Batman bound the thug,
and as he stood Robin looked down and said, "you're bleeding."
Batman looked down and saw the stain along the inside of his leg. He felt
himself flush and reached down to cover it. "The punk stuck me with
something after I tackled him."
"I didn't..."
Batman belted him, and then looked up apologetically at Robin. "Maybe
he'll think twice before sticking anyone else."
"Maybe." Robin could tell that something wasn't quite right, but he kept
it to himself.
"Sorry," he whispered to the thug, sheepishly.
For the next few days, Batman found himself struggling with more girlish
feelings and interests. Reading the paper, he would see an ad for the
cutest boots and find himself longing to go shopping. Or he would be
patrolling Gotham and see a billboard for a new fragrance, and his mind
would wander to dresses and dolls. He found himself singing his favorite
songs from Disney movies and Broadway shows, but he largely kept it in
check, only succumbing once to the urge to watch one of them, spending a
morning watching Cinderella when he should have been doing
something?anything?else.
That day, he found himself humming a song from the movie, repeating the
words over and over in his mind:
How lovely it would be
if I could live in my fantasy
But in the middle of my dreaming
they're screaming
at me
Cinderella
He thought about her transformation into the beautiful princess, about
the glass slippers and the prince. She'd been stuck in the wrong place,
living the wrong life, but she had finally become the woman she was meant
to be. Somehow, it resonted deep within Bruce Wayne, and despite himself
he found himself imaging that he was she.
Then it passed, and for the next few weeks he was Bruce Wayne again,
Batman, fighting crime on the streets of Gotham, fending off an alien
invasion with The Justice League, the usual. Until his time of the month
approached again, he went through PMS, and had his second period. Then,
he realized that he plan, his hopes, to keep all of this and secret and
just keep on living his life as a secret woman, were probably not going
to work out.
The morning after his second period, he woke to find breasts budding on
his chest. They were small, prepubescent breasts, but breasts
nonetheless. Nothing he couldn't hide, but what they told him was
something more important: the change was not complete. He knew suddenly
and certainly that his body was going to become more and more female, and
at the same time, somehow, he knew that as he became more of a female,
the woman?the little girl?that Miss Sarah had planted in him, was going
to grow stronger. He sat on the edge of his bed looking at those little
breasts pushing out the front of his silk pajamas, and he knew that as
his breasts blossomed, as he figure developed, the girl would eventually
win.
Bruce Wayne would as he knew himself would die, and he would become...
her.
It was only a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to hide it
anymore.
He had to find Miss Sarah. Find her and make her undue what she had done
to him before?before he was incapable. He knew the kind of girl they were
making him into. He remembered how he had felt when he'd snuck away from
Miss Sarah's house: scared, insecure, unsure of herself.
That was what he was going to become, and when he became more that
frightened little girl than man, he was finished. His only hope when it
came to that was that he would be rescued by his knight in shinning
armor, and?
-- but why not? He thought, looking at himself in the mirror, at the
little breasts. Why not just tell Robin? Tell the Justice League? They
would help him. They would rescue him from a life in dresses.
But no. He couldn't. He was too ashamed. He would do it himself. He had
to try, at least, while it was still an option. He had to be a man.
He turned and looked at the small little breasts in profile. Too big, he
thought. Even now.
Just wait, he heard the girl inside him say. Just wait until they really
blossom.
He saw himself with full, womanly breasts swaying on his chest, large,
fat nipples.
Shuddering, he crossed his arms over his breasts and, closing his eyes,
he cried.
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