Kate Kane

The dank, sewage filled tunnels beneath the Gotham infrastructure are claustrophobic and reeking. The air is thick enough to taste a foul mix of rotting organic matter, chemical runoff, and the musky, reptilian stench of the apex predator, Killer Croc.

Kate Kane is pinned against the slimy brick wall of a junction, where the water drips steadily from the corroded pipes. Her Batwoman suit is absolutely ruined the Kevlar is shredded, the straps hanging off her thighs in filthy strips, the white bat emblem smeared with sewage and her own clear, slick lubrication. Croc has caught her in the dark, using his massive, clawed hands to grip her hips like two vise grips, leaving crescent shaped indents in her pale skin.

"No escape, little bat," Croc rumbles, his voice like two grinding boulders. His breath comes in hot huffs, steaming in the cold damp of the tunnel. "Now you just get... used."

Croc doesn't show any restraint or cruelty for cruelty's sake he operates with the single minded, insatiable hunger of a reptile. For hours and then days he has been fucking her nonstop. There is no break, no reprieve, no mercy. He drives his enormous, scaled cock thick as a man's wrist, dripping with viscous, greenish white slime into her cunt and throat repeatedly, over and over, with a relentless, mechanical rhythm.

This constant, repetitive stimulation the hard impact of the scales, the slippery coating of the reptilian seed, the fullness that stretches her holes to their absolute limit is acting like a hammer on her brain. In the biology of the Gotham underworld, Croc's seed is heavy and narcotic, a thick substance that overwhelms the neural pathways of a human. The constant flooding of her system is literally frying the connections responsible for thought, memory, and self preservation.

As Croc thrusts deeper, the tip of his scaled cock hitting her cervix with hard, meaty thumps, Kate's head lolls against the wet brick. The pain of the abrasions from the rough scales is immediately overridden by a sledgehammer of chemically induced euphoria. The parts of her brain that "I am a vigilante," "I must stop him," and "this is wrong" are smoldering and collapsing, turning into a warm, mushy, stupid fog.

Her eyes are beginning to glaze, the irises losing their sharp focus and becoming wide, fixed, and glassy. The pupils are dilated so far they take up nearly the whole eye, darting around at the dripping sewage and the dark scales of the beast above her with obvious, mindless fascination.

"I... I can't..." she tries to protest, but the thought is incomplete and pathetic. Instead of saying "I won't let you," her mouth produces a breathless, needy moan: "I can't... stop... wanting..."

Her thighs, marked with the red scrapes of Croc's claws, flinch and clamp down hard on the reptilian scales, trying to milk every single drop of the thick, slimy seed he is pumping into her. The instinct to absorb the substance has become more powerful than her entire trained intellect.