When we last left our heroine Batgirl, she was entwined in the cruelly constricting cords of the cat's-whiskers, smothered in milk, and set upon by hungry kittens. The tickling of the rough, sandpaper tongues inducing laughter from our heroine, which caused the twine to constrict tighter, and tighter, as she shook. All to the delight of Catwoman and her evil "hench-kittens."
For you, a great deal of time has passed.
For Batgirl, mere dire moments.
The tight, binding twine bit into Batgirl's soft, svelte body. It crushed her pout breasts and squeezed the air from her lungs. Her eyes teared over and sweat soaked every inch of her body under her costume. Her limbs were going numb, but her torso still felt every tickle from the kittens. She choked on her laughter trying to stop it.
"Look on the bright side, Batgirl," sneered the lanky, voluptuous Catwoman. "You're getting to die laughing!"
Catwoman's kittens laughed at the cruel quip.
Batgirl's mind frantically searched for a way out of this mess. A kinetic flurry of options raced through her mind.
Her tracer signal!
She suddenly remembered.
It's set to the police-band frequency! From when I last checked in!
In desperation, she began thrusting her pelvis up and down, violently banging her hips and buttocks against the floor. Hoping to set her tracer off from within its compartment in her utility belt.
A tired Chief O'Hara sat behind the wheel of his squad car. The noble Irishman had spent the entire night patrolling around deserted cat-food warehouses and come up with nothing.
"This is Chief O'Hara," he said into his car radio. "No luck for me here me boy'os. Has Batgirl checked in as of yet?"
"Negative Chief," said the patrolman's voice on the other end.
O'Hara looked at his watch, checking to see if Batgirl was late with her update.
She was, by 15 minutes.
Listening to a gut instinct, O'Hara switched on the special emergency tracer - signal receiver built into his radio. It was something new that Millionaire Bruce Wayne had donated to the police force. It had come in very handy in sending emergency back up to patrolmen in dangerous situations. And it had the ability to pick up distress signals from special tracers, like the kind Batman, Robin, and Batgirl used.
O'Hara immediately recognized the beeping sound the radio picked up.
Catwoman and her kittens sneered with laughter at the plight of the helpless Batgirl.
"Feeling a bit squeezed Batgirl?" Asked the lanky Catwoman. "Don't worry. At least you're getting the last laugh! Mrowww-hahahaha!"
Catwoman's gang of sultry sirens all laughed along.
Batgirl was laughing uncontrollably now. Full belly laughs, brought upon by the licking of kitten's tongues, shook her violently. She wiggled and thrashed about wildly. Hoping that her captors wouldn't notice her pounding out a distress signal.
Suddenly, the wail of a police siren cut through the malevolently mirthful attitude.
"It's the fuzz!" shouted Mittens.
"Let's scram!" cried Puffy.
"Quick my kittens," ordered Catwoman. "Out the back!"
The gang of villainous vixens fled to the back, only to be met by the police.
O'Hara ran to the side of Batgirl, scattering away the kittens.
"Batgirl, are ye alright, lassie?"
"Chief," she gasped weakly. "Cut… me … loose…" With that, she passed out.
Several hours later found Batgirl sitting up in her hospital bed. At her side, a jovial Chief O'Hara.
"So, Chief," chirped Batgirl. "You've recovered the kittens and nabbed the gang?"
"Aye, lassie, thanks to you and your way with distress signals."
"It's a good thing you showed up when you did, Chief. Those cat's whiskers almost squeezed the breath out of me."
"Well me, girlie. With the charges Catwoman's facing, she won't be putting the squeeze on anyone for a long time now."
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