The Bat-Signal sliced through the Gotham night, a familiar beacon of desperation. Batman, a silhouette etched against the skyline, surveyed the city from his gargoyle perch. A call came through his comms, Nightwing’s voice, annoyingly cheerful.

"You need me for what, exactly?" a low growl rumbled.

"Just for old times' sake, Bats. One mission. But I have a condition," Nightwing’s voice chirped, a hint of mischief in his tone. "You do anything I ask right after. Anything."

A beat of silence stretched, the city’s distant wails filling the void. "Agreed." The word was clipped, a promise etched in iron.

"Excellent! Meet me at the old docks. And leave the utility belt. Just the cowl and cape."

Hours later, the moon, a voyeuristic orb, illuminated a scene Batman wished he could erase. He stood on the grimy dock, the cool night air raising gooseflesh across his exposed skin. His cowl obscured his face, but humiliation burned behind the lenses. His cape, a dark shroud, billowed around his broad shoulders, doing little to conceal his substantial chest, the fleshy expanse of his belly, and the pendulous swing of his between his thighs. He walked, legs spread wide, a ridiculous waddle, as per Nightwing's gleeful instructions.

"LOL, bro, Batman, you look hilarious!" Nightwing’s laughter echoed, a cruel symphony against the waves. "Spread 'em wider, big boy! Don't want those cheeks touching, do we?"

Batman gritted his teeth, the mission a blur of absurd contortions and whispered commands from his former protégé. They stopped a minor arms deal, the criminals too stunned by the naked, caped crusader to resist.

The next morning, a new request arrived, this time from Aquaman. "Surface, land-dweller. You need my assistance? Then show your... unique talents."

Batman found himself on a desolate beach, the salty air biting at his skin. Aquaman, clad only in his iconic green scales, stood hip-deep in the ocean. "Alright, Dark Knight, I need you to retrieve a trident from a deep trench. But first, a little warm-up. My way."

"What 'warm-up'?" Batman’s voice was strained. He knew this feeling, this creeping sense of dread.

"Butt naked squats. Hands behind your head, eyes crossed, tongue out. And a little friend for your... bat-rod." Aquaman produced a glistening, slimy fish from a nearby tide pool. "This little guy goes right on your pecker. Don't drop him!"

Batman’s muscles screamed, not from exertion, but from sheer mortification. The fish, cold and slick, flopped against his , its tail occasionally brushing his balls. Aquaman roared with laughter, a booming sound that carried across the waves. "LOL, Bats, you look like a goddamn circus act! Keep those eyes crossed, don't you dare look normal!"

Weeks later, a truce with LexCorp required a presentation. Batman, ever the strategist, prepared meticulously. He arrived at Lex Luthor’s penthouse, only to be met by a smirking Luthor and a stage set with a single spotlight.

"Bruce, my dear friend," Luthor purred, a predatory glint in his eyes. "For this unprecedented collaboration, we require... an unprecedented show of good faith."

Before Batman could respond, a hidden mechanism stripped him bare. Nothing remained except for bat stickers on his nipples, a cruel joke. He stood exposed, his body a canvas for the spotlight. Luthor gestured to a holographic display. "Your presentation, Batman. But I require a specific posture. Legs spread, hands tickling your nipples, and those hips... thrusting the air. Show us your passion for this partnership!"

Batman, his face hidden, felt a wave of nausea. He began the presentation, his voice flat, while his body performed a grotesque pantomime. His hips jerked, his fingers kneaded his nipples, his bouncing with every thrust. Luthor watched, a wide, amused grin plastered across his face. "LOL, Bruce, who knew you had such... theatrical flair! The shareholders will be *delighted*."

The next encounter was with Superman. Batman had made a snide remark about the Man of Steel’s day job as a reporter, a jab at his perceived normalcy.

"You think this is normal, Bruce?" Superman’s voice, usually so calm, held an edge. He moved with impossible speed. One moment, Batman stood fully armored in the Batcave. The next, he was splayed on a cold slab, every piece of his suit vanished. He lay on his back, legs splayed, a hand reaching for his crotch in a comically suggestive pose, his , thick and heavy, pointing skyward.

"LOL, look at you, Bruce. All that brooding, and you’re just a big, naked baby." Superman zipped around him, a blur of red and blue, snapping pictures. "This’ll make a great headline: 'Gotham’s Dark Knight: Exposed!'"

Then came the Flash. Batman, investigating a minor break-in at the Flash Museum, found himself cornered.

"Hey, Bats! Heard you’ve been having some... wardrobe malfunctions lately." Flash zoomed around him, his voice a mischievous hum. "I can help with that. Or, rather, make it worse."

Before Batman could react, his clothes vanished. Flash, a red blur, was suddenly in front of him, his hands a whirlwind. Batman gasped, his suddenly encased in a firm, warm grip. Flash’s fingers worked with incredible speed, stroking, squeezing, pumping. Batman’s hips bucked involuntarily, a low groan escaping him. The sensations were overwhelming, his body reacting despite his mind screaming in protest.

"LOL, Batman, you’re almost there! Look at that thing twitch! Bet you never thought you’d come this fast, huh?" Flash’s voice was a blur of sound, his hands a blur of motion. Batman’s eyes rolled back, his body arching as a sudden, intense ripped through him, his splattering across his stomach. Flash, with a final, mischievous squeeze, vanished, leaving Batman panting, naked and utterly spent, on the museum floor, his embarrassment a tangible shroud. The incidents kept piling up, each more ludicrous than the last, his reputation as a fearsome vigilante slowly eroding, replaced by the legend of the Gotham Nude.