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Bruce ran a hand over his face, resting it against his stubbled cheek. The cavernous Batcave hummed faintly with the thrum of the generators and the occasional high-pitched chittering of the bats hanging from the stalactites. For what felt like the millionth time that night, he flipped through the case pulled up on the Batcomputer in front of him. He squinted, trying desperately to will some kind of theory to come to his mind as he took in the information presented. The only thing he was working with was a grainy photo of the False-facers meeting Penguin’s top lieutenants, and some intercepted chatter about a new shipment of weapons hitting Gotham docks at some point this week. He felt like he was missing something. He just… couldn’t figure out what exactly that was for the life of him.
But try as he might, nothing seemed to come to mind.
He was just about to force himself to read through the forensic analysis one more time when Hal Jordan’s voice, smooth and infuriatingly casual, crackled over the comms system.
“Hey Spooks, me and big blue caught the wizard,” He said smoothly, as muffled, furious grumbles sounded alongside him from the perpetrator. “I’ll be bringing him up to HQ for questioning. Supes is collecting a bunch of artifacts. Do you want ‘em, or should we hand them over to Zatanna to let her deal with the magical mumbo-jumbo?”
With a slow exhale and a roll of his shoulders, Bruce closed the file on the computer before raising one hand to his cowl, flicking on the comm link embedded near his ear. “Have him take them to the lab on the Watchtower. I’ll have a look at them when I’m done here,” He instructed, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. He leaned his head back against the chair for a moment as he waited for the response.
He listened for a faint, “You got it, boss man,” Before he switched the comms off wordlessly. Only then did he push to his feet, his muscles aching from hours being perched in this exact chair. With a groan, he stretched out his back before getting to work on taking the suit apart. He started with stripping off the gauntlets and tossing them onto the workbench, before continuing piece by piece. He was just about to reach for the clasping mechanism of the bottoms when a strange feeling washed over him: the unmistakable, chilling sensation of cold air ghosting over the warm folds of his cunt.
He shivered ever so slightly as the sensation disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He pushed the phantom feeling to the back of his mind, attributing it to mental fatigue. He tugged the suit pants down, the reinforced Kevlar pooling around his ankles. It was only when he bent over to pick them up that he felt… it.
Something thick, solid, and undeniably real sank into his cunt by a few inches.
With a surprised squawk, he fumbled forward, hands grasping onto the edge of the workbench to steady himself. The… thing wasn’t large by any means, possibly the size of two of his own fingers, but it thrust into him slowly, as if experimenting.
If he didn’t know any better, he would say that it was almost as if he was being fingered fucked.
But all too soon, just as his mind began trying to race for some explanation of this feeling, it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
He let out a shaky breath, his dry tongue running over his lips as he stared blankly at the platform beneath him. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining things. It’d been… what? Two weeks since he’s had time to go out as ‘Brucie Wayne’? Since he let some vapid socialite fuck him in a coatroom at a charity gala, who wound up cumming in him before he had a chance to?
Shaking the thought off, he finished stripping down to the thin underlayer of the suit. He needed a shower and some sleep, if he was getting to be so exhausted that he was hallucinating being finger fucked.
Running his hand through his hair, he climbed the stairs out of the batcave two steps at a time, desperate for some semblance of normalcy. He was sure that once he got some rest, his frazzled nerves would stop hallucinating things.
He only made it as far as the kitchen, where Alfred was meticulously cleaning up after dinner. Before he could think to formulate a greeting, however, the next sensation hit him like a blow.
He stumbled in his steps, nearly falling over. To catch himself, his hand shot out to grasp the doordframe, knuckles white. Unlike the last feeling, this time something long and flat ran along his slit from his twitching hole to his swollen, sensitive little clit. A strangled gasp fell from his lips, his eyes widening in shock.
Alfred paused his cleaning, dishtowel in his hand. His eyes filled with concern as they landed on his ward. “Master Bruce! Dear heavens, lad, are you alright?” He asked, his voice tight with worry as he took a few steps closer.
Bruce let out a shaky breath, his mind racing. The last thing he wanted was for Alfred to see him… falling apart because of a horny, malevolent spectre.
He strangled back a moan as that same sensation brushed along his slit again, his thighs trembling as he clenched them together tightly in a futile attempt to ward off the invisible assault. “A-Ah..” He choked out, cheeks flushing with humiliation, “I-I’m… fine… I just.. Mm..” He stammered, “S-Stomach ache, I’m gonna… hng…. I’m going to bed.” He gasped, clutching his stomach theatrically as he fled from the kitchen, sprinting straight for the stairs and up to the third floor as quickly as he could manage, ignoring Alfred’s concerned shouting after him as he fled.
He barely made it to the sanctuary of his bedroom before the assault escalated. Something impossibly thick, nearly the size of a fist, was rubbing along his slit, grinding into his clit in a circular motion. The feeling was so… strong, so real, that it stole the air from his lungs. Wetness gushed out from the spectre, smearing across his cunt lips as the pressure shifted backward, pressing insistently against his tight little entrance instead.
His hand fumbled to tug his pants off, kicking them to the ground haphazardly as he stumbled toward the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room, driven by a desperate need to see what was happening. He barely managed to fall to the floor, spreading his legs wide in time to see something the size of a fucking soda can shoving its way into his un-stretched, un-prepped cunt.
“Oh fuck,” He choked out, his eyes widening as the pressure increased to an unbearable degree. It was undeniable now that this was real. That he was being raped by some spectre, some malicious entity in his own home. “Oh god, it’s not going to fit.” He choked out, his hand falling between his legs to feel the way his cunt was being stretched impossibly open, his cuntlips burning as they stretched wider than they ever had before.
Frantically, he turned onto his hands and knees to push to his feet, about to lunge for his League communicator on his nightstand when the flared, mushroom-shaped tip of the monster cock sank into his cunt with a sickening, wet pop. The assailant didn’t waste a single second before shoving more of that massive cock into him, not pausing or showing a hint of mercy until it was buried as deep as could be, pressing insistently against his cervix.
Bruce stumbled forward, choking out a high-pitched squeal as drool spilled from one corner of his lips, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hand flew to his stomach to feel the impressive bulge of the massive cock, the way it filled him more than anything or anyone ever had before.
“I-It’s too big…” He choked out, the words pathetic to his own ears. “Please, take it out, I can’t… It’s too… Mmh! Big!” He babbled as the spectre began to move. The size must have made it too difficult to move quickly, as the thrusts began at a slow pace, pulling out and sinking in a few inches at a time, each movement stretching him wide.
But this gentle pace didn’t last very long at all. Moments later, the thrusts became hard and fast, pulling all the way out before plunging in, slamming against his cervix with a bruising force. With each thrust, he was shoved forward on his hands and knees, his own slickness dripping down his thighs.
On a particularly harsh thrust, stars exploded behind Bruce’s eyes. His arms fell out from beneath him, leaving him ass up with his cheek pressed against the rug. Broken moans fell from his lips with each thrust, drool pooling under him as the ghostly rapist used him like a cocksleeve, an object for its pleasure.
“..’s too much,” He choked out with a wailing sob, the rug scraping against his chest and knees as he was shoved relentlessly forward, “P-Puh-l-lease!” He gasped with each thrust, “I…I can’t… It’s… hng, I…”
The spectre’s angle shifted, driving straight into his gspot once… twice… on the third time his vision went entirely blank, eyes rolling back as he came harder than he ever had in his life, on this ghostly rapist’s cock. Cum gushed from his cunt in a torrent, soaking his thighs and dripping onto the rug below.
He was so, so thankful that the spectre stopped for a second, cock buried to the root in his quivering, oversensitive cunt.
Bruce’s body twitched and shuddered, wrung dry from the intensity of his orgasm. But he knew that if he didn’t try to call for help, to call for Alfred, he wouldn’t be able to escape.
He pushed his weak arms up beneath him, his mind turned to mush as he fumbled up to his feet, stumbling toward the door the best he could with the massive cock buried inside him.
Just as his fingers brushed against the handle, the cock thrust slowly, tearing a ragged sob from his lips. Bruce clutched onto it tightly, forehead pressing against the wood as he let out another weak sob, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Right when he was about to open the door, his assailant began to fuck him with a renewed, brutal fervour. He pressed one hand to his lips to muffle his cries as they got impossibly faster, fucking into his now ruined cunt with more speed and strength than any man could possess. His legs fell out from under him, and he crumpled to the floor as he wailed into his palm, hiccuping with his tears. This ghost was too much, too fast, too rough. His cervix was being battered with every cruel thrust into his abused little slit.
When the head of that massive cock bullied its way through his cervix, a strangled scream of both pain and pleasure tore from his throat, more of his cum gushing down his thighs as he sank fully against the ground like a ragdoll, twitching helplessly. “Y-You’re r-raping… hnng… a-ah.. my womb..mmmm!” He shrieked.
Without a care for his feelings on the matter, rope after rope of unnaturally hot, thick cum sprayed straight into his open womb, filling him to the brim. His stomach bulged from the sheer volume, distended from the thick cock and the massive amount of seed. His cunt spasmed around nothing as he was flooded. “Y-You’re gonna… a-ah… g-get me… hng! P-Pregnant!” He moaned pathetically.
He let out a sob of relief when the monster cock was pulled from his cunt, a thick gush of cum following, and pooling on the ground between his legs. Without a doubt, his cunt was now ruined.
But the last thing he expected, as he lay in a puddle of his and his rapists’ cum on his bedroom floor, was for that same cock to sink back into him inch by inch. “N-No… n-no please, please,” He sobbed softly, his voice hoarse and cracking as it shoved its way back through his cervix, sheathing itself inside him to the hilt and going still, keeping his womb plugged up.
He choked out a cry, his cunt twitching around the intrusion.
Unable to escape the spectre now, he sank into the floor, twitching from overstimulation as he surrendered himself to his ghostly rapist.