Gotham's Reigner: Chapter 51.5 - Nude Colony IV // Circe

Circe was a footnote in Aaron's long line of conquests. A Wonder Woman villain turned island manager. Indeed, calling her a footnote was not inaccurate. She was no Zatanna or Catwoman. She didn't stack up to Talia al Ghul or some of the other ladies he fucked silly.

However, even footnotes left their mark. While on the plane back to Gotham, after fucking Selina and burying his load deep inside her, he was back to sitting and relaxing.

Inevitably, he thought about his time with Circe. He remembered the gazebo he sat in and the well-hung Ani-Men around him. Humanoids as buff as a wrestler, as tall as a basketball player, and nearly as well-hung as Aaron. Indeed, these men were no slouches. Their dark schlongs hung seven inches down. A fusion of bulls and humans created by Circe herself.

Despite being surrounded by three of them, Aaron wasn't the least bit intimidated. Compared to him, these puppets were insignificant.

“So what am I here?” Aaron could have used his powers to figure it out. However, he was intrigued and he wanted to hear it from her own mouth.

“A statue of you,” Circe said. “I wish to build a mold of your body.”

Aaron blinked. “Really? A statue?”

“The largest penis in the world deserves to be commemorated,” Circe said. “Plus, it makes for an excellent tourist attraction.”

“Isn’t this island largely intended for former villains and rich people?” Aaron questioned.

“I’d like to increase the number of female villains,” Circe said. “Your body…would do very nicely.”

“Well…” Aaron eyed the woman. She was stunning and while he sensed an attraction he didn’t think she wanted to fuck him. No, more specifically, she’d like to fuck Aaron but she put that thought before her desire to have a statue in his name. “You have an hour. I have to leave this island by the end of the day.”

“Why, of course.” Circe stood up, hands on the table and licking her lips. “We will not take longer than an hour, Mr. Aaron Reigner.”

Circe purposely underestimated the time it would take her to get a mould of his body. Ordinarily, it was a long process but for a witch of her calibre she could skip practically the steps with a flick of her hand. Her control of magic was devastating and efficient.

Devastating yet feeble compared to his own.

As her hips swayed and she smirked down at him, Aaron knew what to do. She said an hour and they had fifty minutes remaining. He did what he did best—seduce her.

Seduce Circe, former enemy of Wonder Woman.

A finger drew circles on the table, inching toward him. One step, two steps…

“Although won't a statue discourage other men?”

Circe stopped. He’d challenged her, questioned her motives, and she’d met his gaze without flinching. The threat had been delicious, a spark in the humid air. “If that is your will, I will burn your balls to a crisp and then fuck my Ani-Men instead.”

And behind him, the Ani-Men had responded on some unseen command, their previously flaccid state vanishing into staggering, dripping erections that would make any mortal man weep.

Twelve inches. A commendable effort.

It was then he decided to play. A simple snap of his fingers. The world stuttered. The buzzing insects in the jungle beyond froze in mid-air. A droplet of condensation hung, suspended, on the edge of a marble glass. The Ani-Men were utterly still, magnificent statues themselves now, their massive erections a frozen tribute to Circe’s will.

But Circe herself did not freeze. Her eyes, a captivating swirl of violet and gold, widened not in fear, but in pure, unadulterated delight. A slow, wicked smile spread across her perfect lips. She understood the display for what it was: an invitation.

“Oh, you are a devil,” Circe breathed, the words a hushed reverence in the absolute silence. With a flick of her own wrist, the table between them shimmered and transformed, smoothing and elongating into a long, obsidian plinth, cool and sleek against the tropical heat.

“Lie down,” Circe commanded, though her voice was suddenly softer, a whisper of silk. It was no longer the order of a mistress to a subject, but the request of one artist to another.

Amused, Aaron complied. The dark stone was pleasantly cool against his back. He watched her, saying nothing, his expression one of lazy expectation.

Circe approached him, her hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm. She didn’t look at his face. Her entire focus was lower. Flaccid cock, twitching.

A sharp, involuntary intake of breath escaped her. Her professional demeanor cracked for a single, glorious second. She had seen the Ani-Men, creations of her own magic. She knew the measurements of myth and legend. But this… this was something else entirely. It was not just its flaccid size, which was already the stuff of legend, but its potential. The sheer, breathtaking promise of it.

Her fingers, long and elegant, trembled slightly as she reached out. The first touch. Her skin was warm, her touch feather-light, tracing the shape of him from root to tip with a scholar’s reverence. It was not a caress of passion, not yet. It was a study.

“Perfect,” Circe whispered, more to herself than to him. “The symmetry is… divine.”

Her hand closed around him, and a jolt, electric and hot, shot through them both. She began to stroke, a measured, rhythmic pump designed for one purpose alone: to bear witness to his full glory. She watched, fascinated, as he grew and hardened under her expert ministrations. The cock responded to her touch as if it were her own magic compelling it.

And he grew. And grew.

The air around her hand began to shimmer with a faint, golden light. Tiny, intricate runes, too fast for the mortal eye to see, spiraled from her fingertips onto his skin, recording every contour, every vein, every subtle curve. This was her art. This was her spell. Each stroke was a measurement, each pass of her hand a scan, memorizing the exact weight, density, and heat of him.

Aaron lay back, his head resting on the cool stone, a low groan escaping his lips. His eyes were closed, not in ecstasy, but in concentration, feeling the bizarre and intensely erotic sensation of his own form being so meticulously catalogued. He could feel the magic, a faint buzzing tease against his skin, copying him, stealing him.

Her breath came quicker now, a faint sheen of perspiration on her brow. The magical effort was immense, the precision absolute. Her fist pumped steadily, the slick sound of her skin on his a stark contrast to the utter silence of the frozen world around them. She was measuring the pulse that throbbed within him, the way the crown swelled to its full, magnificent diameter.

When she finally stilled her hand, he was at his absolute peak. Fourteen inches of utterly rigid, breathtaking perfection, gleaming under the tropical sun, a testament to his own unique power, now captured in her own.

Circe pulled her hand away, her fingers glowing with concentrated magic. She held them up, and the light coalesced, swirling into a spinning, miniature orb of pure energy. With a final, whispered incantation, she flung the orb toward the center of the courtyard.

The air warped. Light and shadow bent and pulled, coalescing from the ground up. Stone, or something that looked like it, erupted from the earth, sculpting itself with impossible speed. It formed a massive plinth, and upon it, a perfect, larger-than-life replica of Aaron’s body, reclining just as he was now. And rising from between the legs, in staggering, meticulous detail, was the statue’s centerpiece.

A perfect, fourteen-inch cock, carved in flawless, pearlescent white stone. It was a monument to male potency, a trophy, a piece of art.

It was funny. The statue worked partially because Aaron's cock was now proportional to his height. Indeed, being five-foot-eleven, the biggest cock seemed out of place. The people viewing the statue wouldn't realize anything was out of place now that he was ten-feet tall.

The spell complete, Circe’s shoulders slumped slightly, the energy leaving her in a rush. She turned back to look at the real Aaron, her eyes wide with a new, altogether different kind of hunger.

Circe was a woman of many looks and beauties. Her hair could be as red as flames or as black as night. On this day, she chose a long-purple haired form with golden hoops. Fully nude too. The statue was magnificent, a cold, hard testament to his physical perfection, but it was the living, breathing man before her that commanded her complete attention.

Her gaze dropped from his smirking lips to the monument between his legs. It was still there, huge and magnificent, a stark, flesh-and-blood contrast to its stone counterpart. The hypnotic sway returned to her hips as she closed the distance between them.

Circe didn’t kneel. She flowed downward until her face was level with his formidable erection.

“A tribute deserves a proper…unveiling,” Circe purred, her breath a warm, shocking caress against his heated skin.

Her tongue, slick and pink, emerged. She didn’t dive in. She teased. A single, long, flat lick from the very base of his shaft all the way to the glistening tip, where a bead of pre-cum had already formed. She collected it on her tongue, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savored the taste. Salty. Musky. Potent. The essence of the man himself.

Aaron’s hand came to rest on the back of her head, not forcing, but guiding. A silent command she was all too eager to obey. She opened her mouth, and he watched, utterly captivated, as she attempted to take him in.

It was an act of worship and a feat of anatomy. Her lips stretched to their absolute limit, accommodating the impossible girth of his crown. A soft, choked sound of effort and pleasure escaped her as she pushed forward, taking another inch, then another. Her eyes, wide and watering slightly, never left his. He could see the strain in her jaw, the absolute focus in her stunning features. She was a sorceress of immense power, and in this moment, her entire world had narrowed to the Herculean task of fitting more of him inside her.

She began to move, establishing a rhythm that was as magical as any incantation. Her head bobbed slowly, each descent a little deeper, a little more confident. One of her hands came up to cradle his heavy sac, rolling his balls with a gentle, knowing pressure. The other wrapped around the base of his shaft, her fingers unable to meet, merely stroking what her mouth could not yet hope to contain.

Aaron sucked in a breath. The wet, velvet heat of her mouth. The scraping tease of her teeth, so carefully avoided. The sucking pressure that threatened to pull the very soul from his body. He could feel his balls clench. He watched her, this proud, formidable woman, rendered into a vessel of pure desire, servicing him with a fervor that bordered on the religious.

Mayor Circe had experience only with her Ani-Men, never with the men of this beach. Her standards required a high threshold started by her husband.

“That’s it. Take your tribute.”

His words seemed to spur her on. Her pace increased, her throat relaxing as she took him deeper, hitting the very back, her nose finally buried in the coarse hair at his base. She held him there, swallowing around him, and the vibration was his undoing.

The climax tore through him without warning, a seismic event. A guttural groan was ripped from his throat as his hips bucked upward, driving himself even deeper into her willing mouth. Rope after thick rope of his release surged into her throat. Circe’s eyes shot wide with surprise, then slid shut in ecstasy as she swallowed desperately, her throat working around each new pulsating wave, taking every last drop of him.

When he was finally spent, she pulled back with a soft, wet pop, gasping for air. A single, pearlescent trickle escaped the corner of her lips. She caught it with a finger and brought it to her mouth, sucking it clean, her gaze burning with a new, desperate fire.

“Now,” Circe breathed, her voice husky and used. She turned her back to him, placing her hands on the newly-formed stone plinth of his own statue. Then, she bent over, presenting herself to him. The sublime curve of her ass and the tease of her cunt was balls-wrenching. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her violet eyes dark with need. “Claim your tribute, Aaron Reigner. Breed this witch. Fill this island with the memory of you.”

Aaron stood. Fourteen inches of dick bobbed up and down and her ass happily wagged left and right. He moved behind her, his still-hard length resting against the cleft of her ass.

“You still don’t understand,” he declared. “This isn’t about you offering. It was never yours to give. It

His cock was slick with cum. He took a moment to appreciate the view. Two perfect, sculpted ass cheeks, pale and begging to be smacked. He brought his hand down on one cheek in a sharp, stinging slap.

The sound cracked through the silence. Circe gasped. "Y-you...!" A faint, red imprint of his hand bloomed on her perfect skin. But in her head, there was no disrespect. 'Gods, yes,' she thought, her mind swimming in a sea of submission and raw need. 'More. Mark me. Give me a REAL cock.'

Ani-Men were but her servants. They tended to her whims and nothing more. But this man...he could give her what she could not expect. He could surprise her. Change her. Make her world born anew.

The broad, leaking head of his cock nudging against her slick, waiting entrance. He teased her, rubbing the tip through her wetness, painting her folds with his own pre-cum, but not entering.

Circe whimpered, a desperate, broken sound. “Aaron… please… take what is yours.”

He gave her what she begged for.

Circe hummed her delight. That first inch was something, alright. She gasped and threw her head back. The girth alone was obscene. She looked up at the cock statue above her. "O-oh Hecate! Oh, forgive me! T-this cock...!"

Slowly, Aaron pushed. Slowly, more and more of his cock went inside. Slowly...

"Oh, forgive me, husband! This cock has already gone deeper than you!"

He surpassed all notions of magic.

He glanced over at the frozen Ani-Men. Aaron snorted. “Watch as I make your master orgasm properly, puppets.”

In one powerful, unyielding thrust, he buried all fourteen inches of himself inside her.

Circe’s back arched violently, her head thrown back as a scream was torn from her lungs, a raw, unfiltered sound of pure ecstasy that echoed in the unnatural silence. “AARON!” Her inner walls, so tight and impossibly hot, clamped down around him in a vise-like spasm, her first orgasm crashing over her without warning. Her knees buckled, but his hands on her hips held her firm, kept her impaled on his magnificent length.

'Watch as I plow her!'

CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!

SCHLAP—! SCHLAP—! SCHLAP–! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—!

He gave her no quarter. He set a brutal, punishing pace from the very start. Each withdrawal was a slow, torturous slide that left her feeling empty and aching. Each plunge was a deep, claiming piston that hammered into her very core, stretching her, filling her beyond what she thought possible. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting was the only rhythm in the motionless world.

"YES, YES, YESSS! THIS IS A REAL COCKKK!! THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SEARCHING FORR!!!"

He grinned. He put himself ontop of her. "Better than your husband!?"

A gasp. A nod. Tears. She could hardly say anything anymore as he fucked her senseless. See, when he was like this, when he was whispering and close, his hips didn't have much space to thrust. Meaning, more speed. Meaning, more kisses to a woman's womb. Meaning...

"CUMMMIIING! CUMMINNNNG!!"

All the woman could do was shriek her orgasms.

One hand snaked up her taut stomach to find her breast. He cupped the heavy, generous boobs and his calloused fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling. It was like he had no flaws. Most men might just fuck but not him. Her pink nipples getting pleased sent fresh, electric jolts of pleasure straight to her already overstimulated core.

Another orgasm ripped through her, this one a rolling, continuous wave that made her vision blur at the edges. “YES! YES! RIGHT THERE! DON’T STOP!” she screamed, her voice hoarse. Her magic flickered around them in harmless, shimmering sparks.

That was when he saw all of her.

Her husband, her past, all of it.

Circe was a princess of Colchis in the Caucasus region. It was said that she was the daughter of the Sun himself and that her radiance was a gift to man. That her beauty had no parallel. She was wedded to the heir to one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the Caucasus, but he was a brute, drunk, and liar man, so she saw him as an animal, and finally killed him. Chased by the prince's family, Circe fled Colchis, and after sailing alone for days and nights, surviving hunger and thirst, she landed on an island where she met the goddess Hecate, who revealed that she had come to her answering her prayers full of spite.

It was why she only trusted her Ani-Men to fuck her. Circe the Weaver despised men. She once told Wonder Woman: "With men I know what to expect. An initial spurt of bravura teamed in the end with cowardice. Even the best of men are driven by--at most--two or three desires. Easily manipulated. Like putty, but with too much hair."

"CAN'T! CAN'T STOP CUMMIIING! THE CHOSEN COCKKK! I CAN'T STOP CUMMING FROM IT!!!"

Her face was one of pride. It was born as the greatest beauty of her time and overtime became that of confidence, of a woman who had no equal.

Until now.

CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!

Deep down, even after her all her battles and worship with Wonder Woman and Hecate, she believed. She wanted to meet a man worthy of her. She had lived too long to not have encountered one or two, but they were almost always belonging to another and she would disrupt what was good.

Now...

She found it. She found her man. Her cock.

Aaron changed his angle slightly, driving upwards with each thrust, grinding against that perfect, exquisite spot deep inside her. He leaned over her, his chest plastered to her back, his mouth on her neck, sucking a dark mark into her skin as he fucked her with relentless, powerful strokes.

“This is your tribute,” he grunted into her ear. “Not a statue. This. You, coming apart on my cock. You, screaming my name into a world I’ve stopped. You, forever remembering the feel of me splitting you open.”

He was a god and she was his altar, and he worshipped her with the most profane and holy of rites. Her moans became a continuous, broken litany. She lost count of the convulsions that wracked her body. A dozen? More? They blended into one another, a never-ending cascade of pleasure so intense it bordered on hallucination. She was a vessel, created for this singular purpose: to be filled by him, to be broken by him, to be remade by the sheer, overwhelming force of his possession.

He felt his own climax building, a tight, coiling pressure in his nutsack. He pistoned into her, harder, faster, a machine of pure carnal intent. One hand returned to her hip, anchoring her for his final assault, the other groped and squeezed her breast, his fingers abusing her nipple.

“You want me to breed you?” he growled. “You want my cum deep in your witch’s cunt? To remember me by?”

“YES! PLEASE! FILL ME! BREED ME, AARON! I NEED IT!” Circe shrieked, her body convulsing in yet another shattering peak, her internal muscles milking him, begging for his release.

With a final, guttural roar that seemed to challenge the frozen sky itself, Aaron slammed into her to the hilt and held there. His own release was volcanic, a hot, torrential flood that poured into her depths, claiming her, marking her from the inside out. He pulsed again and again, each jet a testament to his primal power, seeding her with a legacy far more potent than any statue.

He stayed buried inside her. The whole of the island was thick with the scent of sex, magic, and sweat. Circe’s arms gave out and she collapsed fully against the cold stone of his statue, her body utterly spent, a limp, satisfied doll held up only by his still firm grip on her hips and his presence within her.

After a long moment, Aaron slowly, reluctantly, pulled out. A soft, wet sound accompanied his exit, and a glob of his seed escaped down her inner thigh. He looked down at the breathtaking sight of her ravished, used body, bent over the monument to his own physical perfection.

A low, satisfied chuckle escaped him. “Now..."

Circe did not fall. She was still bent over, underneath the large statue of his. “Haa…haaa…”

“Measure it, bitch.”

Circe turned herself over. Eyes half-open, she dropped to her knees. She took the tip of his cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head. "One," she murmured, taking him deeper. "Two... three..."

She bobbed her head, taking more of him with each stroke, her hands gripping his thighs for support. She could no longer speak, she spoke through telepathy.

"Four... five... oh, you're so thick!"

Aaron smirked, hands on his hips. "Keep counting, Circe. I want to hear you say it."

"Six... seven..." she panted, her lips sliding down his shaft. "Eight... nine..."

This did not intrude on his brain. Rather, it was an announcement to anyone and everyone. Which, unfortunately, was no one since time was frozen on the island.

As she reached ten, eleven, and beyond, her enthusiasm only grew. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of lust and challenge, as if she was determined to take every inch he had to offer. And Aaron was more than happy to let her try.

When she finally reached fourteen, she had THAT look. That look of triumph. "There," she said through telepathy. "All of it. Every delicious inch.”

Some men hated witches. Aaron could not for the life of him understand why. "Good job."

At the end of the day, they were lonely, horny woman wanting more. That was all.

By the time he was done with her, Circe the Weaver was fucked stupid. Her gazebo as a temple for his cum and her body a whorish mess. Her Ani-Men watched and could do nothing as Aaron got away with such defilement. If Circe’s dead husband saw the sorry sight he would fall into a rage. Besides the fact that his wife killed him, her holes were stretched far too much for him to use.

The sculpture and the woman—both marks of his time here. Both marks of his superiority over every male that dared to step into this nude colony.

“Goodbye, Circe,” Aaron said dismissively. “It is good to see that villains can get a second chance.”

From being Wonder Woman’s enemy to a man’s person cum bucket. What a bizarre development of character.

Many would come to see the statues of the man with the biggest cock in the world, including Starfire (to Dick's horror), Blackfire (to her planet's delight), Lucius Fox (on the insistence of his wife, Tanya), Knockout, Scandal Savage, and Liana. Harley Quinn, a resident of the island, often teased the smaller men that walked upon the two statues.

Indeed, Circe decided to build a second.

The first had Aaron with a hand on his hip and his massive dick limp on his thigh. This was created after he left.

The second was him with his arms crossed and his cock fully erect.

Nevertheless, his status was sealed. The life-size statues were there to compare and no one could beat him. His legend was carved in stone on an island that only a select few could come to. An island of great value. An island that kept two statues that served as a reminder to heroes and villains alike: be good or else this stud may come over and steal your woman.

The name of the mane and his size were inscribed in diamond. 

The Most Well Hung Man In The World 

- AARON REIGNER

- Height: 5’11” / 180 cm

- Flaccid Cock Length: 10.6 inches

- Erect Cock Length: 14.4 inches

- Born: Gotham City, New Jersey, USA

***

A week later, another incident occurred on the fabled Nude Island. The sun was beginning its slow descent.

It wasn't about Aaron's penis or anything like that. It was the time-freezing magic used. It was powerful and several practitioners were able to narrow down a location. While most ended up dismissing it upon realizing it was Circe's island, Zatanna told Bruce in confidence that she did not believe the magic belonged to her.

"It felt..." Zatanna struggled to put it into words. "...denser. Less refined. If Circe was the type to do this kind of magic, it wouldn't be on accident and it certainly wouldn't alert all of us. John disagrees but..."

Bruce was the only one who acted on paranoia. So he descended on the beach in his private jet. Not as Batman but Bruce.

Walking along the sand, Bruce Wayne exuded an air of confidence and mystery. Clad in a tailored pair of swim trunks and a white linen shirt left open, his chiseled physique was on full display. Every step he took seemed to command the attention of everyone around him. Women glanced his way, admiring his good looks and athletic build. Men, too, couldn't help but notice the aura of authority and charisma that surrounded him.

Bruce Wayne was The World's Greatest Detective, though no one on this beach knew that. To them, he was just a wealthy, super tall, super buff playboy enjoying some downtime. He flashed charming, albeit somewhat practiced, smiles at the admiring glances he received, effortlessly slipping into the role he had perfected over the years.

Although many were admiring, it wasn't just that.

"He's still wearing his swim trunks. Does Wayne think this is Gotham?"

"Should I call Circe?"

The tip of Bruce's ears reddened. He was NOT going to strip himself, not unless he had to. He was aware this was mandatory nudity but...

He was Bruce Wayne. He could get away with it. Right?

Nope. See, the choice was out of his hands.

Without warning... yank! Bruce felt a sudden breeze and a swift tug at his swim trunks. They were yanked down in a flash. A fun-sized cock sprung out. Bruce's heart sank.

Selina Kyle, his ex-fiancée, squatted behind him with a mischievous grin. He looked over his shoulder and down. He saw her breasts first, then her face. She was as stunning as ever. “Sorry, babes, but this is a nude beach.”

She gave another yank and hurled his swim trunks in the water.

"Selina!" he cried out. Selina jumped to her feet, smirking. He was already fulling turned to her. Her smirk was wide as she glanced down.

"Come on, don't be so shy. If everyone can do it, the great Wayne can too."

Bruce’s mind raced, but he forced himself to remain calm. On male instinct, he turned halfway back. He wanted to hear what they were saying.

A hot blonde bimbo with huge tits and who he might have taken for a night in Gotham cooed. "Awww, it's so average!"

"Heh, even I'm bigger than him," remarked the young man beside her, her boyfriend in all likelihood.

Dammit. He could hear the murmurs and hushed comments from the onlookers, some of them not very flattering.

"Did you see that? Not what I expected," one woman whispered to her friend.

"Wow, for a guy like him... kinda disappointing," another voice chimed in.

Three inches flaccid. Average, put simply. Bruce clenched his jaw but managed to brush it off with a nonchalant shrug. Cupping his package would just lead to more attention. He turned back to face Selina, who was now laughing softly. "Selina," he said, his voice steady. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Selina put her hands on her hips. "Surprise, surprise, Brucie. Or should I say... small surprise?" she teased, her gaze dropping pointedly for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

Bruce sighed inwardly but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. No matter what she did, he couldn't hate her. "Always one for theatrics, aren't you, Cat?"

She grinned. She took a step closer, her hand playfully running up his chest. "You know me, Bat. Can't resist a little fun." Her voice was a purr, filled with seductive undertones.

As they stood there, their history seemed to hang in the air between them. Bruce wrapped an arm around Selina’s waist, pulling her closer. "You look incredible," he said softly, his eyes drinking her in.

Selina smiled, her fingers tracing the lines of his chest. "Ah-ah-ah! Too eager, Brucie," she whispered. Just as he leaned in for a kiss, she snatched and choked his nutsack. "And far too small."

Bruce bucked. "Ngh. I'll have to work on my eagerness then."

Selina’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "You always were a fast learner."

"Such loyalty. Perhaps I could learn your secret. I never enjoyed the luxury of mating."

Their moment was interrupted by a sudden presence. A tall, imposing womanly figure with her arms crossed. Vengeance, Bane's daughter and clone, made her entrance. 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward her. He knew exactly who she was. 

"Bruce Wayne…you are smaller than I expected," Vengeance said. The double-meaning was not lost on him.

Bruce frowned, his stance shifting subtly as he prepared for a potential confrontation. "Bane's daughter: Vengeance," he acknowledged. "You speak more than they say."

"My friends call me Ven. I suppose you, little bat, can also call me as such," Ven replied, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

Selina smirked and stepped back. "Be careful, Bruce. She bites."

Bruce nodded, his eyes never leaving Ven. "Is this about revenge?"

She snorted. That was it, no more talking. They slipped into fighting stances, the tension between them palpable. Ven was taller, standing at six-foot-five. Bruce had the muscle advantage, however. Neither was undeterred. The Batman had faced larger opponents before and come out on top. Ven, meanwhile, was beginning to make her legend.

The first exchange was swift and brutal. Ven struck with the power and precision worthy of her lineage. Two jabs that felt like full-on punches. Bruce countered with perfect hip adjustments. Leaning back, stepping back, and letting Ven get close.

Bruce landed a solid hit, and Ven retaliated with a crushing kick to his midsection. He caught the kick and threw her to the floor. She tried to catch herself. Going down meant defeat.

Bruce managed to sweep Ven's legs out from under her. He read her like a book. She fell to the ground with a thud, and he quickly pinned her, his hand pressed against her throat.

Bruce was not touched a single time. Bruce was on a whole other level. Batman lived up to the knowledge.

“Ngh.”

Except she also got him by the balls. Dammit. If he had his costume, if he was wearing boxers, his dick and balls wouldn't be hanging. But they were and Ven's large hands seized them. Squeezed them.

“Tiny balls, tiny damage.”

"This is a low blow,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Ven smirked. "Bat balls never been squeezed? They should.”

"Yield," he commanded, hand pressing deeper. She did the same to his balls. He winced. 

Ven's glare met the Bat Glare, her chest heaving with exertion. Bruce…he wasn't tired at all. He did this for years on end. Ven, this daughter of Bane with half of the experience of her father, she was nothing. For a moment, it seemed like she might refuse and crush his testicles. But then, a smirk tugged at her lips. "Not bad, little bat. Not bad at all."

His balls were released first. Phew. No damage done.

Bruce released her, stepping back as she rose to her feet. "You fight well," he acknowledged. He tugged at his dick. In front of this 6’4 muscle beast, he needed all the cock he could get. Sleeping with strong women was...fun.

Ven shrugged, her demeanor shifting from hostile to almost friendly. "So do you."

"You..."

"I have no interest in my father's legacy. Not anymore."

Bruce nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "...I see. That's good."

Ven's gaze dippled. This woman was in many ways like Bane. She stared. She took. She conquered. So without an inch of hesitation, despite losing and failing to touch him aside from a cheap grab, Vein said, “For the Batman, and moreso a man who has famously bedded so many women, you have a very small pemis.”

Ooof. Another blunt woman. Face to face, it was a fair judgment. “I am a shower, not a grower.”

A snort from Bane's daughter. It was like he was no longer worthy of being her adversary. “As if.”

“Aw, come on, Bruce.” Selina hung over his shoulder. “No need to lie~”

“Let’s just go.”

"Where did you want to go? You said you wanted a tour."

Yeah, well, not anymore.

"Take me to Circe," he said in a grunt. He was less Bruce and more Batman right now. Indeed, Bruce Wayne should shrug off many things, but this? A situation where his dick was out required Batman. Yet somehow...

"Alright~!"

Selina skipped ahead. He speed-walked and followed. It was the worst walk of his life. He had fought gods, stopped doomsday scenarios, and infiltrated enemy bases without breaking a sweat. But somehow… this—walking butt-naked through an island full of ordinary and not so ordinary men—was the most humiliating moment of his life.

‘How did I let this happen?’

Bruce knew he was a specimen: chiseled abs, broad shoulders, sculpted physique worthy of a Greek statue.

But.

There was a problem.

The moment he stepped into the open, bathed in glorious golden sunlight, he felt it. The eyes. Scanning him. Assessing him. Realizing he was a billionaire. And then the whispers and the soft snickers. The amused glances downward.

Bruce forced himself to keep walking, head high, spine straight, dignity intact; as much as it could be when your billionaire bat-balls were swinging in the wind.

“Well, well, well.”

This time, it wasn't a sneak. A bronze woman was waiting for him right then and there. Sultry , teasing, and absolutely relishing this moment.

"Such a perfect body… yet housing such a little dong."

Bruce clenched his jaw.

Talia al Ghul smirked at him. She knew he hated being off balance.

"Hello, Talia," Bruce greeted. . 

"Oh, don't ‘hello’ me," Talia said, stepping forward with the grace of a panther. "You came here for an investigation, didn’t you? And yet…" She dragged her gaze downward. "The light really shows your feeble manhood."

The heat in Bruce’s face had nothing to do with the tropical weather.

‘Focus, Wayne. They want a reaction. Don’t give it to them.’

"Oh, don’t be cruel, Talia," a new voice chimed from afar, this one mockingly sweet. It had a Brooklyn twang. 

Harley Quinn.

Bruce turned.

Yep. There she was—bouncing (literally and figuratively) towards him, her hourglass frame in full view, bleach-blonde pigtails swaying.

“Harley Quinn?”

“Bruuuuce! Hiiii!”

Skip, skip, skip, outreached arms…

“Ngh!”

Drop to a knee and uppercut to the balls. Against the Chosen One, it would have done nothing. Against Bruce? Devastating damage. His eyes widened. His feet left the sand. After that, he crashed down.

“Hnnngg!” Bruce looked up in pain and clasped his nutsack. He wheezed like he was running out of air. “Y-you…”

“Gotta get my training in!” Harley did some uppercuts to the air while Bruce heaved and stuttered with crossed legs. "Hya, hya, hya! You know!

“G-gggh!”

Talia laughed at her old love. Selina giggled, hand on her mouth. Harley kept shadow-boxing.

“Are you okay, Brucey-Wucey?”

At least Selina asked. In any other situation, he would have blocked the nutshot but seeing her, Bruce had been doing mental calculations. Harley was aware of him being Batman and unlike Ven or Talia or Selina, she might not have the composure to keep it hidden. He hesitated. He got worried.

And paid dearly for it.

“F-fine. I-I'm fine.”

He was not fine. The pain was slowly replaced by eagerness as Harley put her hands on her knees and looked at him like he was a poor child. Her huge breasts were almost in his face. Big enough that, on instinct, he realized would completely smother his four inch cock at its peak.

Harley cocked her head. Suddenly, Bruce remembered how cute this crazy woman was. As a man, he pushed through the pain and stood up straight. One hand left his package.

Legs wide, Harley laughed and pointed at him. 

"Hahaha! Brucey, are you kidding me!?"

Oh, goddammit, not Harley of all people...

"Puddin’, I gotta say—I seen a lotta bats in my day, but this one?" She giggled. "More like a lil' flappy bat-wing, huh?"

Bruce breathed deeply. 'Meditation techniques. Think of the mountains. Think of Gotham. The Tibetan monks taught you to resist humiliation and taunting.'

He crossed his arms. Three inches flaccid with egg-sized testicles. Above average, mind you. He winced as the open air soothed his balls.

"Harley," he called out flatly. "Enough."

"Aw, don’t be like that, Batsy," Harley teased, openly staring. "I mean, I always figured ya had that whole tall, dark, and broody energy goin’ for ya, but yikes! That’s a creative use of proportions!"

More laughter.

And then—another voice.

"Wow. If only Oliver was here."

Bruce groaned internally.

Standing nearby, her rich brown skin radiant in the sunlight, was Sandra Hawke—mother of Connor Hawke. She crossed her arms under her impressive chest, shaking her head in faux disappointment.

"I guess not all white boys are blessed," Connor mused.

‘Oh, for the love of—’

Bruce refused to react.

One last voice appeared; smooth, silky, yet merciless:

"I suppose not all white boys are built the same."

He turned, and there stood Mari McCabe—Vixen.

Of all the people....

Why this hottie!?

The ebony chick sashayed closer, toned legs, flawless curves, and a goddess in motion. Her amber eyes devoured the sight of him. She was a black woman with pride. She was a model and a woman he truly respected.

He did not want a woman who he respected and who respected in him kind to see him utterly dwarfed in dick size. Bruce was only human. His male pride could only take so many hits.

Bruce gritted his teeth. "Mari."

Vixen gave him a dazzling smile. "Bruce."

Her eyes lowered. Her eyes closed and then batted open. Bruce did not like that look.

A second later, she clicked her tongue. "Wow."

"What?" Bruce said, bracing for impact.

Vixen simply shook her head. "Just… wow."

Bruce exhaled. ‘I am vengeance. I am the night. I am not going to let this ruin my reputation.’

Then Talia spoke again, her voice dripping with amusement. "Be honest, Beloved, have you ever had a woman ever be honest with your size?"

Harley gasped dramatically. "Ohhh! Maybe that’s why you never smile, huh?"

Mari giggled. "Suddenly, it all makes sense."

"Oh, don’t worry, girls," Selina’s velvety voice rang out, absolutely relishing the situation. "Bruce might not be packing much, but at least he’s got other skills, right?"

All these women. All these hotties. All these big boobs and giggles. Selina Kyle, Talia al Ghul, Vixen...these were superstar women. These were literally the best a man could fuck and show off to and he failed to impress them.

He straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and looked every single one of them in the eye.

"Are you all done?" he said firmly. "I need to visit Circe."

Harley giggled. "Aw, c’mon, Bats, we’re just messin’ with ya. Plus, with that penis, she'll turn you down at the door."

Bruce chewed on his lip. This was getting him nowhere.

Mari smirked. "And at least you’ve got abs for days."

Talia purred, "And a strong enough seed to get me pregnant."

Selina elbowed him, winking. "And you are still my favorite billionaire."

Thwap, thwap, thwap! Everyone's eyes perked up. Two heavy figures were approaching. Bruce Wayne had been in some strange situations before. Fighting aliens? Check. Escaping death traps? Check. Negotiating with gods? Check.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

Humanoids as buff as a wrestler, as tall as a basketball player, and with dark schlongs hanging seven inches down. A fusion of bulls and humans created by Circe herself. To everyone else, the cocks hanging between their legs were normal. No one reacted.

But Bruce?

'Are you kidding me!?'

"The Ani-Men are here. That's your cue, Bruce," Selina said casually. "If you want a tour, come next time."

The Ani-Men did not speak. They pointed to Bruce, then pointed to Circe's mansion in the far back. After that, they started walking.

"Better follow them," Vixen suggested. "You won't get another invitation, Wayne."

So he followed. Walking butt-ass naked between two towering, dark-skinned, horse-hung abominations of nature was definitely a new one.

Thwap, thwap, thwap!

Circe’s Ani-Men. Half-man, half-horse, fully horrifying, and fully endowed.

Bruce had glimpsed them in photos he saw, but now that he was walking between them—sandwiching him like two walls of pure, muscular, equine testosterone—he had no choice but to acknowledge the obscene reality.

‘This isn’t fair.’

His inner Bat-training told him never to look down, but the sheer amount of movement in his peripheral vision was like watching two wrecking balls on a tightrope.

And just to add insult to injury, Harley Quinn was walking alongside him, eating this up.

"Ho-ly hell, would ya look at that!" Harley practically squealed, pointing.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Harley." She was fucking doing this on purpose. She didn't say anything at first, she was only doing it now since there was a direct comparison.

A three inch dick between two seven inchers. When she saw the hilarity, she pounced like the Joker.

"Aw, c’mon, Bats!" Harley was grinning ear to ear, her eyes flicking between him and the Ani-Men. "Talk about hung like a horse! How do ya even compete with that?!"

Bruce breathed deeply.

She then said in a low whisper, "Imagine if they learned you were Batman. Reputation gone, am I right?"

See? This was why he was concerned with her presence. He had given up trying to maintain any semblance of dignity at this point. Between Harley’s cackling, the gawking island women, and the thunderous hoofsteps of these walking anatomy lessons, he had accepted that this was his life now.

They finally arrived at Circe’s Garden, a lush, overgrown paradise in the heart of Cat Island. Thank goodness Harley wasn't allowed inside with him. In the garden, lounging like a goddess in a chair that was definitely too fancy to exist on a nudist island, was Circe, the undisputed Mayor of Cat Island.

He also saw a statue. He did not look at it. For once, the World's Greatest Detective did not scan his surroundings. He heard there were two statues here built by Circe herself, of the world's biggest cock. For his own sanity, he preferred to avoid, detective instincts be damned.

Circe took one look at Bruce—standing there, tired, naked, and humiliated—and scoffed.

"Oh, this is just tragic."

Was every fucking woman on this island a size queen? Three inches was perfectly average! Perfectly average! Bruce exhaled slowly. "Circe."

Circe was seated and nude. Duh, this was a nude beach that she helped establish. "Bruce Wayne, billionaire, brooder, and apparently..." Her eyes flicked downward. "…embarrassingly average."

The more beautiful a woman, the more the comments made his ego dip. Especially strangers. With strangers, he at least tried to garner some respect. This was Bruce as Batman, not Bruce as playboy Bruce.

Bruce clenched his jaw. "You know I'm here, huh?"

Circe wasn't aware of his identity, so he played a thin line.

Circe gave him a mocking once-over, then waved lazily. "I was curious, yes. What brings a man of your... caliber to my humble little island?"

Tell the truth and confront her about the spell of magic? Yes, that was his only choice—

"Vacation," was what Bruce ended up saying, to his own shock. It...didn't make sense. Why not ask? Why was he hesitating?

Circe arched a brow. "Vacation?"

"Yes."

Again, he didn't want to say it but he did. It was like...his soul said otherwise. Like reality was telling him not to. It didn't make sense. Where was the logic?

Circe snorted. "Sure. Let me guess—your little Cat went off on her own, and now you’re stalking her?"

Bruce said nothing.

Circe laughed. "Batman and Catwoman are legendary, but apologies, not that legendary. If you attempt to slip in between Selina and her new lover, I will be forced to act."

"You mean Aaron."

"So you know already."

Aaron. Aaron Reigner. For some reason, his brain was telling him not to ask any further. So he didn't. Bruce crossed his arms. "Is my presence approved? I did come last minute and it did seem like there were gaps in certain regards."

This was a Justice League mandated island, after all. For a billionaire, it wasn't too difficult to gain access but still mildly grueling.

Circe waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, I have approved it. You can go chill or whatever it is you pretend to do."

Bruce turned. "Thank you."

Circe smirked. "Try not to feel too inadequate while you’re here."

Too late. He accidentally faced the Ani-Men and their huge cocks. Instant jealousy. Instant longing for something bigger.

"Ah, and remember to check out Aaron's statue," Circe said.

'...Aaron...?'

He looked back. It wasn't too far, it was within the Batman's reading distance. The statue of a tall, young man with a huge cock. The statue itself was clearly upsized for his height. But as he glanced at Circe and decided to check it out, he realized something more.

The Most Well Hung Man In The World 

- AARON REIGNER

- Height: 5’11” / 180 cm

- Flaccid Cock Length: 10.6 inches

- Erect Cock Length: 14.4 inches

- Born: Gotham City, New Jersey, USA

Aaron Reigner. It was him. It was their chef. It was Cassandra's boyfriend. it was Selina's new hook-up. First...

'Selina and Cassandra were fucking fourteen inches...!?'

Second, the dick size he was already aware of. Aaron Reigner was fucking huge. 'Those balls though...no wonder Cassandra got pregnant...!'

Third was the ten inches flaccid part. 'That's triple mine while flaccid! A-and over double me! I-I can't even match up to his flaccid size! How is that even...!?'

Jealous, envy, insecurity, and images of Selina, his ex, getting fucked by this mega cock. Bruce's dick twitched.

So did his mind.

Seeing Aaron Reigner here of all places felt...strange.

***

The hotel was like any hotel Bruce had stayed in before: lavish and decadent. He looked out. To think this was a place for villains to unwind without weaponry, where luxury wasn’t found in silk sheets or vintage champagne but in the freedom to walk naked under the sun. There was peace here.

Out on the beach, in plain sight from his suite, stood the statue of Aaron Reigner, towering in both height and ego. The locals whispered about the man behind it, boasting about his size, his influence, but more than that, there was an aura around the name Aaron Reigner that made Bruce uncomfortable.

He couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t shake him. Gotham felt different since Reigner came into his life. But why? Why did Bruce feel so powerless to act?

"Even today...I didn't want to investigate. Why?"

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Bruce stared out toward the statue as the memory of Ra’s al Ghul haunted him. He thought about the time had stood face to face with the demon’s head, their words locked in tension:

“Do you have any recollection of that particular conversation?” Ra’s had asked, his words sharp.

“You said…”

“No. Not the content. The surroundings. Where were we standing? Which company were we keeping? Which of us came face to face?”

Bruce had been confused then, as he was now. It wasn’t about what was said, but where his mind had been led—deliberately. “No,” he had answered Ra’s.

“Then perhaps you are getting forgetful,” Ra’s had mused, leaning in with that dangerous smirk.

[ Source: Detective Comics #954 ]

“Put the pieces together, Batman. There’s no sport in solving my own riddles.” 

"What did you do? What did you do!?"

Bruce clenched his fists. Back then, Ra’s had manipulated him. Bruce learned from that. He wasn't naïve anymore.

But now... Aaron Reigner.

How was this different?

“I could walk out of this cell in a hundred ways.” Ra’s had continued his mental game with a smirk: “You regret the cage now, don’t you? You would love to hammer the truth out of me with your fists.” 

Hammer the truth. His fists like it had once done to someone—to Aaron. Reigner. The name twisted in his mind. Why was he here? How had he grown so influential so quickly? Why did Bruce feel such a deep-seated urge to leave him be?

“I wiped these memories from your mind with trickery and magic,” Ra’s had told him. “But it wasn’t enough.”

Ah.

Ahhh.

Trickery. Magic. Memories. Mind. Ra’s voice echoed in his mind. Bruce sat there, breathing heavily, his brow furrowing as the hotel room walls seemed to close in around him. Aaron…his chef…his adopted daughter Cassandra's boyfriend.

Reigner’s influence was more than coincidence. The world’s greatest detective knew something was wrong, even if he couldn’t pinpoint it yet.

No, not that he couldn’t pinpoint it.

‘I can’t pinpoint it. My own mind is blocking me from making the connection.’

Or was it? Was it his paranoia speaking? Was it his delusions? As Cassandra and Selina kept saying—relax.

But the will of Batman was too strong. He couldn’t. The answer lay buried deep, somewhere behind the fog Reigner had cast over his mind. The League of Assassins had used magic before—Ra’s had used magic before—but Bruce had learned. The Martian Manhunter had taught him mental fortitude, Zatanna the tricks of deflection, and the monks in Nanda Parbat had drilled into him the art of silent rebellion. Reigner, for all his power, would not break him.

Ra’s had failed to trap Bruce forever, but Aaron… Aaron was doing something even more insidious. Controlling thoughts, reshaping feelings. And worst of all, Bruce was playing along.

Stop.

He breathed slowly, deeply, tempering the growing rage and confusion. Aaron Reigner could not know that Bruce was aware. Not yet. He had to be patient—months, if necessary. Ra’s had once said to him, “The course of history is not guided in the light. It is guided in the shadows.”

Three times. Three times he had faced Ra’s and his League of Shadows. Three times, the truth had slipped from his grasp, memories wiped, hidden by trickery. “At first, I wiped these memories from your mind with trickery and magic,” Ra’s had revealed. “But it wasn’t enough. You needed an answer that would stop you from even questioning.”

An answer. Reigner had provided that too, hadn’t he? The statue, the allure, the sense of power. All distractions from the truth, whatever that truth was.

Bruce remembered what Ra’s had said in their final confrontation, “There was work that needed doing. Mankind seems determined to destroy this world within your lifetime. I was determined to stop that destructive course at any cost.”

Aaron Reigner... What was he doing? What work had he begun in Gotham? And why did Bruce feel this compulsion to let it go?

“You would see the shape of them in the dark and come investigating again.”

Bruce's head hurt. There was a knock on the door.

"Room delivery!"

Right. Well, maybe he should enjoy the nude island. Maybe take a woman to bed and let some steam off. He didn't do it often; hell, he almost exclusively only did it with Vicki Vale. But after today, he needed to prove his manhood.

He opened the door to a nude, small-chested Japanese woman. She was smiling and pushing forward a cart. She was young and clearly hot and bothered by his good looks. Bruce chatted her up and, after some minutes, managed to get her in his room and clap her cheeks.