THE BATMAN X BLOODSPORT
Frank Dux proved to be as elusive as Agent Helmer had reported back to his superiors. And although the seedier alleys of Hong Kong were abuzz with talk of a French-accented American breaking bricks and breaking records and breaking hearts, the secrecy demanded in the name of protecting the Kumite meant that substantial information was limited. With time reportedly being of the essence, basic detective work was to be seasoned with a pinch of money and a dash of violence. But isn’t that the way in the world of the Kumite? The last test of man that can be equal parts brutality and honor. I like that. Chong Li’s epic defeat at the hands (and feet) of Frank Dux was nothing short of spectacular. While I couldn’t stop thinking about Frank’s legs spread so far apart in those little red shorts, my immediate instinct was to heal the damage that he’d given to his opponent. Chong Li was a cold-blooded killer, but I saw something in him. If Chong Li could be taught to refocus his energy, like myself and Selina had, he could put that energy toward improving the world rather than taking from it. As the Batman, I followed him back to his hotel room and waited for his trainer to leave. I stepped into the doorway and pulled off my cowl. In the Kumite’s world of secrecy, I knew my true identity was safe. I stepped further into the dimly lit room and saw the large killer sitting on the edge of his bed. “Now’s, your chance, American. Finish me if you must.” He had been humiliated. I would build him back up into something greater. I took off my shirt. God, I felt hard all over. I walked over to the bed. Chong Li stood up. I’d seen how big he was at the Kumite, but I still found myself unprepared for his sheer size. Without saying a word, he reached out with his massive hands and gripped my belt buckle. I’d let those hands overwhelm me. He grunted to himself as he pinned me to the mattress. I put up a fight but held back just enough. Sweat from his chest dripped down onto mine and slicked us up. “Don’t. Fight. Back.” he said gruffly. He lifted his body just enough to flip me over. More sweat. Slowly, he pressed himself inside of me. He was so big! He pounded me and filled me. I was left spent on that hotel bed. Wet. Exhausted. Hurt. I shouted, “Matte!”
Frank Dux, the new Kumite champion, was also something of a super soldier. His dossier was filled with unbelievable story after unbelievable story. He was young, like me, younger than Chong Li. He was brash. He was cocky. If I could take him, it’d be a win for both of us. Both of us could learn something. Our bodies would teach each other. I approached him at his hotel much like I had Chong Li… as the Batman. I scaled the outside of the building and shimmied down the rope and entered a window in an empty room on his floor. Three feet into the room, and I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Looking for someone?” I spun around quickly and the figure darted back out of my reach and into a shadow. Nobody ever outruns me. “Who are you?!” I shouted. “Frank Dux,” he replied as he stepped out into the light, “and you’re the young billionaire Bruce Wayne.” How did he know? He really was as good as I’d heard. Or at least I hoped that I’d find out he was. I charged him and he dodged, reached out, and ripped off my cowl. He leaped up into the air, higher than I ever could and kicked me in the chest, sending me backwards by at least a yard and nearly into the hallway. I ran back at him and with both hands tossed batarangs to each side of him. He did a splits jump kick like I’d seen him do in the ring to knock them away. I lunged forward, my face going between his thighs. I took my hands under and around and grabbed his firm ass cheeks to pull him towards me. “You may have met your match, Frank,” I grunt-whispered as I slid my face up from his hot groin to his chest. I pushed up against him, and maneuvered my arms to his shoulders. He feigned being captured, but soon I found him crushing my crotch into his with all the strength of his powerful legs. I looked Frank straight in the eyes and he just let go of all pretense. Of all inhibition. I slid off my gloves and ran my hand down his hard chest to his shorts. Those same red shorts from the fight with Chong Li. He let out a soft sigh. I took advantage and forced my tongue deep into his mouth. As my tongue probed, so too did my hands. His shaft hardened and slid out the left leg of his little red shorts. I reached to it with my left hand and repositioned his quivering body with my right. His legs came up and I ripped the shorts from him. I aimed my manhood and pressed it into him. I gripped each ankle and began thrusting. He screamed in pleasure as I spread his legs further and further apart. I was rough, but I knew he could take it. He might’ve been the only man who could take it. His muscles were so tight. All of his muscles were tight. He fought and squeezed, but I would not give him what he wanted until I was ready. Finally, I flipped him around and pulled him up on to his knees. I flung my cape back behind me, slammed myself back in, and start ramming. He tried to hold firm. As I finished, I dug my nails into the sides of his hard tight ass. He was filled up and broken and wobbly. I fell onto him and he collapsed. I pressed my lips onto the back of his steamy wet neck and licked behind one of his ears gently. I breathed into it and he shivered meekly. I left him on the floor ravaged and humbled.
In the end, the United States government got Frank Dux back, on his terms. Chong Li returned to South Korea a very different man than the champion who brutalized Hong Kong. And I returned to Gotham with new sense of purpose. Three men connected in their need to be the best. Three men connected in their need to fight. The fight to survive.
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