Fan Fiction Friday: Batman and His Rogues’ Gallery in “The Batpaddle”


First things first: this is obviously not the Pok?mon story. I will post it at some point, possibly for a special event, but only because I hate you all and wish misery upon you. Second, I’m sorry this is a little late, but for the life of me, I had a tough time deciding between this tale and another by the same author, Crudedude. That one involves Spider-man, but since GENCOM, THE GENIE COMPUTER still lingers so large in our hearts, I decided to save that one for later too. Besides, this one is… well, maybe you can explain it to me:

THE STORY SO FAR: Dicks Harvey Dent and Jack Napier rob with Jonathan
Crane and Crane’s partners, Ra’s al Ghul and Edward Nigma. The chief
gets a call from Batman, hero of gotham city, offering to include Ra’s
and Edward when he spanks Harvey and Jack that evening. Mr. Wayne is a
friend, and the evil boys’ nemesis. Before the boys leave to keep their
appointments with Mr. Wayne, the police remind them to put on clean
underpants – not a good sign for dicks about to get their first

Don’t stress out — this is the first chapter, although it starts here. To sum up, Batman is going to spank Joker, Two-Face, Ra’s al Ghul, the Riddler and Scarecrow. The villains are all teen boys for some reason. More baffling is that Batman is doing this spanking in an official police capacity. Most baffling is that Crudedude refers constantly to the young villains as “dicks.” I don’t believe they are private detectives, but I also don’t believe they’re assholes; I’m afraid the author is just referring to them as their genitalia or something, but I can’t tell for sure, since he seems far more interested in their asses. Join me after the jump, won’t you?

Bruce Wayne, his butler and prisoners, lived in a mansion house on a ridge across from downtown Gotham. As police turned up the front walk,
a whistle-blast from a tugboat towing a coal barge under the Sixth
Street Bridge rent the night air. The chief paused at the door to
muster his courage. “Chief,” the Joker said, “can we wait a minute
before we go in? I ain’t ready.”

The chief glanced at his TIMEX. “We’re already five minutes late,” he protested.

“I know, but I gotta humongous hard-on, and I’ll bet’cha Batman’s
gonna whup us bare-ass. Why else would the guard make us put on clean

See? The cop is bringing them to Bruce Wayne’s mansion. For spanking. Oh, also, everyone knows the Bruce Wayne is Batman, Or vice versa. Either way, he mainly just spanks people. It’s very strange.

The door opened; Bruce Wayne stood in the doorframe, wearing a
sweat suit and looking like a college football player, twenty years
past his salad days. “Good evening, boys,” he said gravely. “You’re
right on time.”

The dicks craned up at their nemesis with frightened blue eyes.
“Hi, Mr Wayne,” Harvey blurted; his lower lip trembled as if it were
made of Jell-O.

“Well, come on in,” the chief motioned the boys inside. “You both look a bit peaked. Are you not feeling well?”

Dent’s nose twitched as it always did when he was about to tell a lie. “I’m okay, sir,” he said.

“Do you understand that the cheif sent you guys to me for old-fashioned, pants-off spankings, Joker?”

I call “Old-fashioned, Pants-off Spankings” as my band name.

“Yes, sir, and I ain’t exactly lookin’ forward to it.”

“I should think not. You killed people, although laws specifically
forbade you to do so – is that correct?” The culprits shuffled their
feet and invoked their Fifth Amendment rights to remain silent.

“In that case, let’s proceed to the basement and Join Scarecrow and the
fags, who are waiting for us in the Show and Tell Room, the room where
spankings are customarily applied to the bare bottoms of misbehaved

Wait. So, in this Gotham City, the punishment for murder is… spankings? Admittedly, they’re old-fashioned and pants-off, but I can’t help but wonder how effective it is as a deterrment.

Dent thrust out his lip in a sulk. “Is that how were gonna get it, Bruce – on our naked butts?” he asked.

The ex-hero scratched his chin and said, “You and Joker will be
punished the same as the boys, mister, because I want this to be a
significant experience for all five of you – not just for the fear
brats. If not being spanked naked had been among your priorities, you
wouldn’t have killed, would you? You guys both know the way to the
basement, so about face and forward march.”

I guess it doesn’t work as a deterrent. Also, I cannot tell you how much that second-to-last line delights me.

Alfred was washing dinner dishes when his master marched the joker and
two face past the kitchen door. Joker flashed him his most engagingly
boyish smile; he smiled back, but his mouth turned down rather than up.
The procession filed down the stairs and stopped before an olive-drab
door. Over the lintel a hand-painted cardboard sign bore the legend:



Bruce Wayne pushed the door open. “This is it,” he said. “Keep your chins up and your sphincters shut tight.”

How this sign wasn’t in the Batcave in Miller’s All-Star Batman and Robin I’ll never know.

Anxiety erections firmed and throbbed in the evil dicks’ Jockey shorts; their buttocks tingled in anticipation of a strapping.

I take it back — I call “Anxiety Erections” as my band name. Someone else can have the spanking one.

Joker chewed nervously on a wad of bubble gum. “Can I keep my un’erpants
on, Mr. Wayne?” he begged. “I gotta boner – I mean, erection.”

Batman heaved a long exasperated sigh. “Joker,” he said, “by killing
people, you and Dent earned yourselves the same punishment my boys are
about to get, so you will take your shorts off like the others. We’re
all guys here, son. Each of us has a penis, and our penises all get
hard. And unless Harvey Dent has a Tootsie Roll stashed in his pants
pocket, you aren’t the only jail boy with an erection. As for Scarecrow
and the queers, as you can see, just a mention of the Show and Tell
Room is enough to get their scrotums itchy and their peckers randy.

“It’s normal to have lead in your pencil under the circumstances,
Joker; your penis is hard because you’re anticipating a spanking, your
imagination is running amuck, and your glands are secreting hormones
into your bloodstream to prepare your body for the ordeal. You can
thank the male hormone, testosterone, for your erection. Testosterone
is secreted by your gonads – the two little round doohickies hanging
behind your penis; that’s why dicks get monster hard-ons while they’re
waiting to be spanked: They’re scared, their ‘nads produce
testosterone, and their penises rise to the occasion.”

Don’t say FFF never taught you nuthin’.

Facing a ragtag file of naked, tumescent boys, Bruce Wayne felt like a
prisoner in front of a military firing squad, so like rifle barrels
were the five anxiety erections pointing straight at him. He took a
utility belt from an armoire and snapped it against his thigh. At the
sound, five stark-naked men stiffened as if a deranged nurse were
taking their rectal temps with the pointy end of an Icicle. The belt
had been slit lengthwise with a carton cutter to make a Scottish-style
boy’s tawse with two spanking strips on the business end. The Batman
laid the strap on an Army cot and removed a stethoscope and thermometer
from the armoire. He filled a glass jar with rubbing alcohol, took down
a Ping-Pong paddle down from its hook, and said to Joker, “Here, boy, hang onto the Caped Crusader ’til I’m ready for
him.” Joker rimpled his face and held the instrument out from his body
as if it were a snake. The paddle was painted garish yellow; a Batman
decal, intended to appeal to the imaginations of gotham males,
decorated the striking surface.

Here’s a terrifying note — they only thing that ties this story’s Bruce Wayne and Batman — other than that some people occasionally call him Batman — is this paddle. I know I’m thinking too hard about this, but I really think the Bruce Wayne of this epic little Elseworlds tale doesn’t fight crime as much as he just spanks boys, and he’s called Batman because he has a ping pong paddle with a bat logo on it. Or, more upsettingly, the paddle is actually “Batman,” and Bruce Wayne just wields it. I don’t know. I’m drinking, by the way. This thing disturbs me on a whole different level from most FFFs.

That attended to, the batman scrutinized the naked, goose-bumpy men and
shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a cockier crew of
scalawags,” he said. “I am hereby convening a General Court Martial and
finding you junior gyrines guilty as hell of murder and disobeying the
law. You’re each sentenced to receive twelve hard zingers on the bare
bottom. The fags and Joker will get theirs from the paddle over my lap.
After I’ve finished with them, Crane and Dent will get the tawse. Have
you anything to say before we begin, boys?”

Admittedly, I love the dialog here. If I’m ever in front of five teenage boys with erections, I hope I remember to say a “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a cockier crew of scallywags.” I’m skipping over a part where Bruce offers to spank them for any future misdeeds (after clearing it with the chief of police) and Joker and Two-Face, understanding that they need restrictions and ass-based punishment for their actions, readily accept.

Joker’s eyes grew large and round. He swallowed hard and asked, “Am I
gonna be first, sir?” He was acutely aware of his nemesis’s rugged
maleness. How many times had he laid in bed at night listening to his
cellmate’s soft breathing, fingering his penis, and fantasizing about
being spanked over-the-knee by Batman? And how often had he and Dent
role played spanking games with one dick assuming the role of a bitch
with his pants and Jockeys down being spanked by Batman?

Although he didn’t fully realize it – and would have denied it had
it been pointed out to him, in his own way, Jack Napier was looking
forward to a paddling. For ninety seconds – the time needed to apply
twelve swats to the naked buttocks of a bitch boy – it would be just a
crying criminal, a big hero, and the lol Batman paddle. If a legate
from the governor’s office had walked through the door at that moment,
waving a reprieve, Joker would have declined it and taken his medicine.

The batman shook down the thermometer, handed it to Joker, and said,
“Here – put this in like a good fellow.”

When Joker popped it into his mouth, the dating fags giggled like
seventh graders at a co-ed pajama party. “Dummy, you put it in the
wrong end,” Edward snickered lewdly. “You just put a rectal thermometer
in your mouth, Joker. I bet it don’t taste too good.” Joker spit out
the thermometer; his face as wrinkled as an old dried prune.

Bruce Wayne clapped him on the shoulder. “Take it easy, Jack,” he
said, “I bought the thermometer today after talking to the chief and
realizing a manspanking session is in order this evening. I also
dressed the tawse with neat’s-foot oil so it’ll be supple when I use it
on Crane and Dent. You’re in good hands, mister.”

Fuck. Okay, I call both “Anxiety Erections” and “Manspanking Session.” when I figure out which one I like better, I’ll let you guys know. After Joker puts in the thermometer in his ass, bend over Bruce’s lap and counts for 108 seconds — you know, to get an accurate reading — the rehabilitation begins.

“Are you about ready, Jack?”

“Yeah – let ‘er rip.” Joker’s molars gritted so hard a rasp of
tooth enamel grinding on tooth enamel sent chills coursing along the
spines of the boys awaiting their turns. They gaped in rapt fascination
at Joker’s freckled ass as the paddle began its downward arc; it landed
with a staccato TWACK! that evoked a anguished yowl and a spray of
yellow mucous from the victim’s nose. Joker kicked like a billy-goat; a
wad of Fleers Double Bubble Gum, the size of a 1″ shooter-marble,
popped from his mouth and landed on his friend’s underpants, laying
crumpled on in a corner where Dent had discarded them. Then, the Joker
began to cry. His wails were shrill, heart-rending, and plaintive, but
they failed to sway Bruce Wayne from his avuncular duty.

“It hurts, Mr. Wayne! It hurts!” the man wailed in a piping
soprano. He thrashed and squirmed, but the Batpaddle connected with
monotonous regularity, a fresh whack every ten seconds. Early in his
ordeal, Joker’s ass blushed pinker than the pecker on a Celtic boy; as
the batman settled into a steady rhythm, pink transmuted to rosy red,
then to crimson, finally to candy-apple scarlet.

Pecker on a Celtic boy? The fuck?

The four dicks queued up for their spankings exchanged terrified
glances; their naked bodies were whiter than spit in a snowbank.
Pigeons on the window well fluttered off, fed up with noisy neighbors.

Spit in a snowbank? What the fuck is going on here?

Again, the paddle connected with Joker’s freckled behind. He let
out an agonized wail and bucked like a mule. For the first time in his
long lifetime, Joker ejaculated on the batman’s sweat pants. He’d had a
humongous erection since before the chief knocked on the Batman’s front
door; the sight of the three other men, waiting naked for their
comeuppances, further aroused him. Add the stimulation of an erect
penis rubbing Bruce Wayne’s thigh as he twitched and bucked in pain,
and the stage was set for Joker’s spermarche, an anti social man’s
first ejaculation of seminal fluid. Bruce Wayne could scarcely have
been unaware of what had happened, but Joker’s spanking continued as if
nothing was amiss. The punishment lasted two minutes – twelve swats at
ten second intervals. The moment it was over, the man sprang from the
Batman’s lap, held his incandescent butt, hopped up and down as if he
were doing jumping-jacks in exercise. He wailed through tightly
clenched teeth; his facial muscles contorted in exquisite agony. His
man-sized cock-and-balls flip-flopped like an airport wind sock on a
windy day.


Bruce Wayne surveyed a saucer-sized stain on his sweat pants and
shook his head. “Joker, boy, it looks to me like you enjoyed that,” he

Joker clapped his hands protectively over his beleaguered bottom. “N…n… no, sir!” he hollered.

Satisfied, Bruce Wayne nodded. “I hope you learned a lesson, Joker,” he said.

“Yes, sir – I did!”

“Don’t stand there like a bump one a log, boy, there are towels in
the armoire. Hand me one and clean yourself up.” The batman skinned his
sweat pants down nonchalantly. He had on a BIKE supporter underneath.
“Stop staring, Joker. Haven’t you seen a man in a jockstrap before?

“Edward, take the thermometer from your rear end and give it to Ra’s – then, take Joker’s place across my lap.”


I don’t want to spoil anything for anybody, but I bet somebody gets spanked.

Jesus. I understand nothing about this. If you really want to have Batman spanking villains, why go through the elaborate set-up of having him adminster spanking professionally for the police? Why not just spank villains after… you know… being Batman? Or why not have Batman spank Robin after he steal a cookie or something? This premise is so elaborate and weird it genuinely freaks me the fuck out, and that’s well before Joker shoots his load on Bruce Wayne’s sweatpants from being spanked. I need another drink. But I’ll leave you with this parting thought:
Batman spank lol.jpg
Apologies to Mr. West, but I really can’t imagine another Bruce Wayne in this story. And now, neither can you!