Gotham Among Other Gods update

The sky had returned to normal. The last of the monsters were being hunted down and disposed of, either violently or nonviolently. Government clean-up crews had arrived to begin rebuilding, their craft honed after decades of rapid-response emergencies. Metropolis had been rebuilt, Coast City had been rebuilt, and now Gotham would receive the same loving care. Relief workers, joined by the Amazons, focused on the citizenry, tamping down on looting and rioting while giving aid and resources to those who had not yet been helped. Superman and the Justice League, now available after emergencies elsewhere, put the finishing touches on the effort to get the city back on its feet.

None of this was good enough for Bruce, and despite his injuries, he could barely be convinced to sit at the Batcomputer instead of personally attending to each minor crisis. He was trying to help coordinate the disaster relief, but Barbara Gordon had already been doing the brunt of the work, and though Bruce pored over her work for errors, he could find little to do differently. It was only his assiduous commitment that refused to allow him to delegate to Oracle and the others; he resisted fatigue and his own wounded body on the off-chance that something would go wrong, his tired mind only truly trusting himself to fix it if it did.

“So, this is what draws you away from my daughter’s arms.” Bruce heard Hippolyta and didn’t hear her at the same time. He kept telling himself to redouble his attention on the Batcomputer, to catch some flaw in the planning, as if that could justify the pain and strain he felt. “You two have much in common. I could see this place as a temple. Not to justice, though. More to Hades, god of the underworld. Perhaps the dead motivate you more than the living. You seem anxious to join them, in any case.”

Bruce growled and turned, unable to ignore her any longer, when he saw Diana beside her. Her concerned face. He spoke to both of them. “I can’t afford to take time off for rest and relaxation. The city is still vulnerable.”

“We’ve had cities shrunken down by alien robots and stuck into bottles,” Diana said. “We’re always vulnerable to something.”

“That was Clark’s city,” Bruce pointed out peevishly—though a small corner of his mind told him that his tiredness was making him lash out.

“Take him to the hot springs,” Hippolyta suggested. “A few hours resting in them will heal him better than months in a hospital bed. It’s what we based the purple healing ray on—although hopefully he’ll be less suspicious of water.”

“How does that sound?” Diana asked Bruce. “You’d only be gone from Gotham a day at most.”

“And you, as well, taking care of me?” Bruce replied.

“Or I could be down here, waiting for you to pass out.”

“If it’s that much of an issue,” Hippolyta interjected, “I could take him. I’m sure I could find it fulfilling… somehow.”

Diana gave her a sidelong look, which Bruce didn’t notice as a sudden wave of dizziness nearly made him fall out of his chair. He centered himself and conceded the point.

“I think Diana can take care of me just fine,” Bruce said, smiling thinly. If he went with Diana, she’d pamper him to his heart’s content, and after he’d gotten better, no doubt they’d celebrate their victory and continued survival in the most sensual ways imaginable. (It was no wonder Hippolyta had volunteered to do so.)

If Alfred found him passed out at the Batcomputer, on the other hand, he’d never hear the end of the butler’s mother-hen act.

The choice was clear, or maybe he was just getting wise in his old age.

“Very well,” Hippolyta said, happy that Bruce had given in even though her voice was tinged with regret. She too knew that there was only one way for two such dedicated warriors to commemorate the end of an arduous campaign. She would’ve liked to be the one Bruce ‘celebrated’ with. “I’ll inform the handmaidens to prepare for a new customer.”

“Look after your grandchildren as well,” Diana told her. 

“See about making some new ones,” Hippolyta replied in a stage whisper.

***

The hot springs of Paradise Island were contained within a pool that was recessed and surrounded by a columned portico, giving an aura of intimacy and seclusion to an open-air body of water exposed to much of the elements. After the lightning strike, Bruce had been taken there to recuperate, the healing waters stripping away the exhaustion, the wounds, the deep strain that he had been under over the past few days.

Diana walked under the shadows of the colonnade, looking in on Bruce as he floated unconscious in the gently bubbling waters, handmaidens devoted to the temple feeding him spoonfuls of broth and sips of drinking water which he mindlessly accepted. The healing power of the waters were miraculous, but the body needed sustenance to support a miracle—and to keep from drowning. As well, the handmaidens anointed him with oils, rubbing them into his bare skin. It was sessions like these that had robbed him of most of his scars, leaving only the gnarled tree trunks of wounds that had been near-fatal, of which there were still far too many. Diana would do it herself, but she was not a priestess of Asclepius, and it would offend the god for her to participate in this sacred ritual.

In her mind’s attempt to relieve itself of its worry, it occurred to her that she would be far more properly dressed for a pool in the one-piece armor she wore as a superhero than in the white dress she wore now. Still, she had wanted to look beautiful for Bruce, her appearance instantly setting him at ease that the crisis was over, the battle won. The long, flowing white dress was thin enough to give a tasteful impression of her bare body underneath, while burnishing the bronze tan of her skin and contrasting strikingly with her sable-black hair. 

The wind picked up, making the hem of her dress billowing up to reveal her toned calves and firm thighs, before it settled once more. The handmaidens, dripping wet and wearing soaked chitons, came up out of the pool. “He’s doing much better,” the senior one told Diana. “He’s awake and seems in high spirits. I think he just needed time to recover.”

Diana smiled, thinking of how hard he tended to push himself. “That’s not been my experience.”

“Try to convince him to take another rest. He may just listen to you.”

Diana crossed her arms. “What do you mean, may?”

The handmaidens departed without another word.

Walking down the steps to the lowered lip of the pool, Diana found Bruce resting his arms on the side of the pool, his chin on his gathered forearms. Her bare feet tamped through the layer of water that spilled up out of the pool to encompass its rim; the final step of the bleacher-like stairs leading down to it.

His body was even more attractive than she remembered, a fact that she’d forgotten in all her business and worry. He was deeply tanned and muscular, his chest thickly matted with black hair shot through with saltpeter gray. And his cock…

Even Diana had to blush a little as she looked down at his cock; even through the haze of the roiling water it was obviously sizable, even flaccid, and she knew from experience that erect, he was hung like a horse. Diana actually felt a little shortness of breath as she allowed her mind to wander back to some of their couplings, remembering the shock of pain in her invulnerable body as he’d stretched her, her own relishing of that pained pleasure, and the final, masterful merging of the two sensations down the middle of the spectrum as they learned each other’s bodies, pushed each other further and further, one dominating and then the other, one submitting and then—

“Diana,” Bruce said in greeting, some relief in his words. Diana started at the realization that he was awake, after he’d been asleep for so long. She wasn’t sure to be charmed by the stoic being relieved that she was okay, or offended that he had thought she might perish. “If you have time to spare here, then Gotham is safe?”

“As safe as it ever is,” Diana replied. “And you’re feeling alright?”

“As alright as I ever feel,” Bruce retorted. He wiped at some of the waxy residue from the oils that covered his skin despite the washing waters. It would take more than just a soak to remove them, as Diana knew from experience. “I don’t suppose you’re here to give me a bath?”

He splashed a little water at her, which landed frothing on her chest. It left a dark circle of cloth clinging wetly to the tip of her left breast. Bruce’s manhood quickly stiffened as he saw the damp cloth display the round little outline of her nipple, without an underwire in sight. But then, he supposed her not needing a bra was the least impressive thing about her.

“I’m a Princess of Themyscira,” Diana said in a mock-reprimanding tone, “blessed by the gods themselves and charged with a sacred duty.”

“I could give you a bath if you’d prefer,” Bruce said, and started to pull his naked body from the water—

Diana put her heel on his shoulder and pushed him firmly back into the pool. “Not when you smell like that, you won’t. I guess I’ll have to do the best I can…” She sighed in teasing exasperation and picked up a bar of soap from a niche in the steps holding several cakes of the same.

As she did so, her dress slipped teasingly between her firm buttocks, revealing their tempting sleekness going deep into the crevice of her ass. It was amazing to Bruce the things that Amazons could do with fabric—a simple dress, seemingly all-encompassing, could breathe and flow like lingerie with the wearer’s slightest whim. He felt his cock throb even more, hardening to an almost painful degree as she walked with nerve-wracking languidness to another niche, where washcloths were piled high.

His long slumber had given his libido time to gather, pent-up lust supping on dreams of his wives—memories of them stirring in his unconscious body as each paid a visit to him, his unconscious mind revisiting every delectable body part, every wonderful encounter, as he was too disciplined to do when awake. The healing springs had worked to revitalize him too, but something in their alchemy had not worked on the urge to protect, to do violence, to avenge—as if those urges weren’t welcome here. As they lay dormant, still sated from the battle he’d participated in, the love and lust he felt for all his wives was focused exclusively on Diana. How could it not be, when she was the only one there, her perfection encompassing or at least touching upon the virtues and desirability of all the others. 

“Diana, I’m turning into a prune,” he called out as she selected interminably between the variously colored washcloths, bending over again, now allowing him to see the sides of her breasts through the gaping armholes of her loose tunic.

“I’m Greek,” Diana said teasingly. “I love raisins.”

She finally picked out an orange cloth and approached him with a sinister gleam in her eye. Settling the buttocks he had fondly admired a moment ago down onto one of the lower steps, she let her tanned thighs fall slowly apart as she balanced herself on the precarious edge.

“Now come here so I can do my work.”

“I wouldn’t dream of standing in your way,” Bruce agreed. He floated up onto his back, lifting a leg up onto the lowermost step by her foot. It was dripping wet, thick black hair flattened against his heavy, muscular thigh and calf.

“Now what did you do that for?” Diana asked innocently, working up a thick lather by rubbing the soap against the washcloth.

“It feels very dirty there. I’d like you to wash it very good.”

Diana smiled to herself. I certainly will at that, she thought, lowering the soapy cloth down to him.

Bruce’s heart hammered as, holding him steady with one hand, Diana used the other to slide to reach under his turned body and rub the back of his neck, massaging lightly down his shoulders. His whole body tingled, Bruce shivering as the cloth lowered down the small of his back until it was grazing his ass, flicking down over the muscles there. Diana smiled lustfully as the goosebumps rising on his arms. And that wasn’t all: though Bruce was turned away from her, she could see his erection pushing out past his hips.

“Am I doing good so far?” she asked sweetly.

“Could be worse,” Bruce said, teasing her right back.

“Maybe I’ll do better on the front.”

Bruce tried mightily to hold still as Diana swirled the washcloth over his chest, running it along the outlines of his muscles and then, after she made him lift his arms, rubbing down the sides of his torso. The washcloth slid down his abdomen, coming provocatively close to his groin before Diana sidestepped it entirely, washing his thighs, lifting his legs out of the water to wash them all the way down to his toes.

“There,” Diana announced. “All clean.”

“Not quite.”

“You mean there’s more?”

“Much more.”

“I don’t see any more.”

“Why don’t you feel then?” Bruce replied, easing his back down into the water. The near-bursting knob of his manhood came to the surface as he lifted his belly, the entire length rising slowly up as he dipped the rest of his body into the water to rinse off.

“What could that be?” Diana asked with exaggerated curiosity, wringing out the washcloth and working up another lather of soap suds. 

“The dirty part,” Bruce said, enjoying the unfeigned surprise in Diana’s eyes as she took in just how erect he was.

“It doesn’t look dirty to me. Are you sure you haven’t cleaned it yourself?” Diana quipped. 

“Positive.”

“Then I guess I should wash it off—just in case anyone wants to use it.”

She ran the washcloth down to his lower belly, scrubbing it more forcefully over the curling hairs that covered him there. Bruce’s jaw fell as he saw her slender arm dip into the water, felt the slight roughness of the washcloth move down between his thighs, circle just underneath the washcloth. 

“Forget—the washcloth,” he rasped. “Use your hands.” He moaned to feel the metal of her bracer brush chillily against his manhood.

“Why?” Diana asked. “Is the washcloth too small?”

“Way too small.”

“You’re really milking your injury now,” Diana informed him, dropping the cloth to work up a thick lather between her palms.

“I thought you were the one milking me.”

Diana wrapped her fingers around his stiff member, now pulsing harshly, and slid her hand up and down it. At first she was slow, but with every stroke she moved faster and faster, the lengthy increase in speed making Bruce feel as if he were about to burst. He could feel the pressure tick upward in his balls, seemingly out of all proportion to how fast she was stroking him. Then Diana gave him a little extra squeeze as her hand ran over his crown, and Bruce felt like he was on the brink of orgasm, every infinitesimal uptick in speed bringing him a sliver closer to climax when he felt like he could go no further without just coming.

Diana’s other hand sunk into the water, closing around the base of his shaft, and Bruce thrust his hips forward as Diana held that grip firmly while jerking on the upper half of his length with her other hand.

“This is a very big cock. And it’s getting even bigger,” Diana said in a studious voice. “I can feel it getting bigger and bigger, right in my hands. It’s going to take a long time to wash…”

“Maybe you could spit-shine it?” Bruce said jaggedly. She was bent over him, her breasts pressing tightly through her dress, revealing a deep cleft between her fulsome cleavage. He reached for it, his wet hand squeezing her tit through the dress, fingers sinking into the soft and creamy smoothness, feeling the soft undulations of Diana’s harsh breaths as her breasts heaved against her snug dress and his clutching hand.

“I found something else to wash,” Diana said huskily, one searching palm running down to his balls, cradling their immense roundness as her other hand continued jerking him off.

“Take off your clothes,” Bruce croaked.

“Don’t you want me to get you clean?” Diana asked mischievously. 

“I want to fuck you—not your hand.” Bruce dug his fingers deeper into her breast until her nipple found its way between his thumb and forefinger, Diana’s eyes rolled back in her head slightly as his callused fingers massaged the nipple roughly.

“Nhhh,” she moaned, one strap of her dress slipping off a shoulder. “You’ll get all sweaty again—“

“Then get in here with me,” Bruce panted. 

Diana considered it as Bruce gave the throbbing nipple a vicious little twist, not enough to hurt her, but more than enough to remind Diana of how sensitive it was in its aroused condition. His eyes ran over her upper thighs, splayed completely open as her stance widened to lessen the aroused tightness she felt between her legs.

“Hnnnngh,” Diana mewled vacantly, before making an effort of will to avoid giving in. “No!” she gasped even as her thighs closed together, the press of them giving her a heady sensation. “I’m washing you…”

“To hell with that,” Bruce said, pulling himself out of the water. “I’m washing you.”

Diana giggled unconsciously at his naked body, the huge erection he sported, a nervous little laugh as she realized it would be going inside her. Equally unintentionally, she ran her tongue over her lips as she took a second look at his enormous member. “I don’t think I have enough soap for that—“

“I’m going to rinse out your cunt, Diana. I’m going to get it nice and wet, then I’m going to lather it up and let it soak.”

“And my mouth?” Diana teased him. “Have I been saying bad words? Are you going to wash my mouth out with cock?”

“Hell yes,” Bruce said, lurching toward her. 

Diana ran for it, leading Bruce on a merry chase up the steps. “Don’t!” she shrieked as she laughed. “Don’t touch me! You’ll get me all wet!”

Despite his injuries, Bruce was only an arm’s reach behind her as she ran up the stairs, ducked behind the pillars, and was out in the meadow. She didn’t run at full speed, though—in fact, she slowed down. Bruce caught up with her, pushing her against the slope of a steep hill. The scent of the lilacs growing there filled her nostrils.

“You were right,” he muttered, tugging her dress down her body. “I did get you all wet…”

“You’d better make it up to me,” Diana said as her dress slipped off her shoulders and hung from her generous hips, exposing her sensuously swaying cleavage. He immediately cupped them in his hands. “Brute!”

“Tease,” Bruce retorted, pressing his hands down to crush her breasts against her chest.

“Tease me back,” Diana challenged him.

“Open your legs.”

“Oh, yessss,” Diana sighed as her dress was rolled over her sensuously full hips. It fell to the floor.

Bruce dropped to his knees in front of her, gripping those curved hips, opening the soft lips of her womanhood with his thumbs. He licked over all the glossy pink flesh of her cunt, stopping at the top to flick the tip of his tongue against her throbbing clitoris. Diana quivered, fidgeting her well-rounded ass in small lewd circles against Bruce’s lapping, encouraging his tongue to go deeper inside of her. He thrust it more fully into the sweet flavor of her sex, slowly at first, savoring the taste, then faster and faster. Waves of lewd enjoyment crashed through Diana until she was about to come all over his face, the speedy rhythm of his tongue inside her seemingly impossible to endure, when suddenly it had stopped, and that proved truly unendurable. 

Before she could protest, Bruce stood and pressed his nakedness to hers, the hugeness of his swollen cock against the openness of her throbbing sex. His lips pressed against hers just as vigorously, letting Diana taste just how wet she had been, how close to orgasm, as he crushed her down against the hillside so thoroughly that she could feel the dirt caking her bare skin. What the water hadn’t made damp, her own sweat had. She was trapped between the earth and the hardened length of his manhood. His hands closed around her thighs, gripping them tightly as he parted them and circled them around his waist, fingers digging harshly into her warm flesh. 

“Have I ever told you what a big hard cock you have?” Diana asked as he brought himself up against the warmly swelling opening of her sex, his cockhead searching for a way in.

“And you… God, you’ve got such a sweet little pussy.” Bruce worked his hips, pushing at her hotly quivering labia now, slowly and expertly insinuating his cockhead inside her gates.

“Oh, it’s going to feel so good! Hurry! Fuck me now!” Diana whimpered uncontrollably, flailing her head from side to side in the long grass.

She shuddered expectantly as he got a better grip on her thighs, parting them even more, pulling her cunt wide open for him. Her calves locked against the small of his back as she urged him on. Diana bit her lip as she felt not just the tip, but his entire plum-sized cockhead slowly stretching her open. The tightness of her softly quivering cunt resisted for a moment, but there was a hardness and a cruelness to Bruce’s advance that was impossible to resist.

“Oooooh,” Diana groaned as he pushed deep inside of her.

With the sound of her enjoyment, Bruce couldn’t be patient any longer. He rammed into her receptive cunt with everything he had, sinking his member all the way to the deepest recesses of her body. He felt his bloated scrotum slap against her firm buttocks, her legs kicking out in the air behind him as the pressure mounted inside of her. But with him hilted inside her, Diana responded like a wet dream, digging her heels into his back and grinding her clasping sex against the smooth skewering of his cock, begging for more of her impalement.

Bruce could hardly contain himself as she moaned, panted, her elegance shot through with sounds of guttural lust as she lost herself in the fuck. He rhythmically thrust into her, and was further aroused by the flat smack of their naked flesh meeting with every lustful stroke. It seemed impossible, but it was true: he was fucking Wonder Woman, his wife, and she was loving every minute of it… a wild woman inside and out, from the warmly quivering confines of her cunt to the sweaty skin that flushed and heated as he pistoned into her. It took all of his self-control to keep from coming instantly for the exquisite squeeze of her soft cunt.

“Oh, ooooh, hnnnn!” Diana groaned as he pumped with greater force into her. “Fill me up, oh darling, I want to be full of you!” She continued speaking, but the sounds came incoherently as he kissed her, his tongue sinking deep into her mouth.

Bruce dropped himself heavily onto her, his broad chest pushing down her full, ripe breasts. Reaching back to grab her ankles, he pried them from around his body and pushed them brutally back over her shoulders, Diana submitting to being rolled up in a tight little ball of helplessness. His shoulders pushed against the backs of her calves, locking her in that vulnerable position as he fucked her. Diana’s eyes gleamed with the awareness that she could break free at any time, and her enjoyment of allowing her husband, a mere mortal, to dominate her. It felt slightly perverse, which made it all the more pleasurable.

Reaching below her, Bruce forced his hands through the grass to the warm soft flesh of her ass, kneading it, pulling her voluptuous cheeks apart. It made her tightly clasped pussy suck even harder at his throbbing cock, convulsing hungrily around each thrust he made into her. 

“Your pussy is just as sweet—to eat—“ he panted, “as it is—to fuck. But I wonder—if it’s got room—for all the cum—I’m gonna fucking shoot!” He thrust with all his strength as he said this, as if about to explode at that very moment. Then, he felt it begin for her.

“Yesssss!” Diana screamed up into his face, her body tossing under him, writhing and churning in a ferocious burst of motion. “Nn! I’m fucking—nn! Fucking coming!”

“Gnnnh! Nice and full!” Bruce promised as he sped up the already furious rhythm of his thrusts. He could feel white-hot cum pounding in his balls, ready to fill her to the bursting point, to make up for all the juices that would gush out of her sweet little cunt as she came—

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you’re making me come—“ Diana muttered over and over. She was almost pleading with him, begging for him to give in, to stop gritting his teeth and forcing himself on and just come, give in, fill the sweet tightness of her pussy with all the cum he had, because she didn’t know if she could take him just fucking her and fucking her and fucking her, making her come repeatedly, until her pussy didn’t even feel like hers anymore, just a toy he kept playing with, the same obsessive determination he would bring to bear on any case, any criminal, any problem, now dedicated to simply making her climax. “Fucking Aphrodite, Bruce, you make me love being your woman so much, you fucking bastard—“

Before Bruce could formulate a reply, he felt his own orgasm becoming inescapable, irresistible. The folds of her pussy clamped voraciously down on him, massaging his length to a burgeoning hugeness that threatened to simply break her cunt. His breath came ragged and short, his cock jerking and stiffening as Diana absolutely demanded his cum. And he felt his body slip out of his control, obliging the perfect pleasure of her goddess’s body, his thick cum spewing out of his cockhead and filling her like an eruption of molten lava inside her cunt, laying waste to every nerve that could feel pleasure.

“That’s itttt,” Diana breathed, feeling his seed like a soothing balm after the repeated succession of orgasms had left her cunt sensitive and tender. “All of it, I want all of it—“

Bruce’s body gave one last muscular spasm before his mind too gave in, no longer exerting any willpower, but surrendering all paranoia, all suspicion, all readiness to collapse on top of Diana, trusting his safety and well-being completely to her. Without his prodigious mind forcing it onward, his body’s surrender continued apiece, his manhood throbbing out its completion to the end. Torrents of pearly cum continued to flow from his cockhead, filling her sex and flooding out her widely stretched lips and soaking the silk-soft pubic hair of her groin. The river seemed endless, and the pulsations of Bruce’s ejaculating cockhead continued for a small eternity until there was one last spasmodic jerk, a last drop pumped out of him. Bruce lay still for a moment, trying in vain to recover his composure. He managed only to pull himself slowly off of his wife and fall onto his back at her side, the grass soft and warm beneath him.

Diana too lay there, spread-eagled and satiated, exhausted more by the impossibly massive pleasures her body had been through than the physical exertion itself. Her body was heaving and panting as much as his, her mind sluggish and leaden, but her will was as indomitable as Bruce’s, and with the last of it she rolled over, displaying the incongruously mud-caked backside of her perfect body, adding a feral touch to the spectacle of them as she beached herself on Bruce’s muscular chest and let sleep take her, her mind at peace with the knowledge that Bruce was safely in her arms.

Bruce felt the same way.